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arthenaa · 9 months

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my love mine all mine— mizu x f! reader

synopsis: marriage is nigh for someone your age and with society's expectations of you, how long will you have to keep waiting for him?

content: 18+ nsfw, mdni, angst w comfort, fluff, she/her pronouns for reader, he/she pronouns for mizu, patriarchal views on women, arranged marriage, jealousy, use of sex toys, idiots in love

a/n: part 2 of nocturne (interlude)!! this is for that anon who was on their finals week (ur req got deleted i h8 tumblr) and to those who requested for a part 2 !!! a reward for your hard work

Your relationship with Mizu was ... interesting.

After what happened that day, your relationship progressed into a deeper sense of connection. He was attracted to you as much as you were attracted to him. A fact that made your fingers tingle with anticipation every time he came down to your village under the guise of getting more medicine.

Your father had no complaints as business is business and provided him with what he needed, although you could see the occassional side eyes that your father gives him every time he stays longer than he was supposed to be. It was a comical sight indeed.

Mizu helped you out as much as he could—whether it be mundane house chores or taxing ones that require hard labor or a change of locations, he was down to accompany you in any way.

While yes, his efforts of providing you aid sent a surge of butterflies down your stomach, what ultimately led you to hammering a nail in the coffin was the subtle touches that he gave you.

You knew he knew and he knew that he was being smug about it. While it didn't show on his face, his eyes told it all. Whether it be passing by and gently placing a hand on the small of your back to excuse himself out of your way as if there wasn't a 2-meter space to your right or the brushing of fingers when he lent you something or if he's being bold enough, especially when your father's not looking, outright pretending that there was a fabric stuck on your hairpin and so he leans in close to you only to place a kiss on your cheek—he always has to have some sort of skinship with you during the day. It often left you struggling for words or having a flushed face.

"Dear," Your father furrows his eyebrows as he eyes your flushed cheeks. You tense in his gaze as he glances at Mizu who appears calm as he takes a sip of his drink. The blue-eyed samurai had done it again—saw an opening and took it like he was meant for it. He fooled you into thinking that your hair was out of place and offered to fix it. Your father had stepped out to get the food and you had hoped that he stayed somehow so that you wouldn't have to deal with all this bullcrap. Mizu took the chance to grab your chin and place a kiss on your lips. Your father came back shortly and you haven't relaxed since. "You don't look alright. Do you want me to—?"

"I-It's fine, Dad!" You intercept, hands raised as you shake no. "The soup was just... hot."

You glance at Mizu who looks at you from the side of his eye. He smirks over his cup.

It was safe to say that Mizu was also mischievous by nature. Despite his usual calm and cool demeanor, you didn't expect the man before you to be quite playful when it came to just between the two of you.

You did all these things, said all those things, looked at each other with things unspoken of and you're quite sure that your relationship was susceptible to the one thing you're quite sure would lead to.

Marriage.

A want for some, a necessity for many. You'd think that in your years of living in this town that you'd find a partner suitable for marriage and you did! Just a little bit later than others.

You had expected that... Mizu would propose. After all, what comes after dating but marriage? Your father and mother did that, your aunts, uncles, cousins, hell, even your friends already got married albeit some of them out of their own will.

You dreamed of having a true love marriage. One that you could be yourself and never have to be ashamed of loving someone despite their stature in life. One that you could coexist with and that could never demean your existence as a woman. You knew those things were far fetched from reality but everyone wishes to dream right?

You had tried discreetly asking about it, curious as to why he barely mentions anything but he only casts you an unreadable look on his face then a soft smile.

He kissed the back of your hand with a gentle touch, softness mirroring that of a snowflake's descent.

"... I can't," He says. You're not sure as to why he sounded in pain, like something was troubling him but you knew better than to pry. "Not right now."

So you let it go.

It was times like this that you felt the other half of the relationship. Like there was still a barrier you couldn't decipher between you. Why he often looks secretive with your father at times or why he falls silent at the most random of moments. There was something you didn't know and it often aches you that you couldn't be able to understand him unless you knew the inner workings of his mind.

The first instance that brought up the onslaught of problems that would soon arise was the arrival of a proposal from the south. It came in the form of a letter, writings neatly imprinted on fine parchment—rolled with the delicacy that of a noble.

You could see your father's nervous glance as the messenger read what was sent to him. You could hear bits and pieces of the arrangement, hands wringing each other in anxiety as your eyes trained on your father's back. Mizu had not arrived that day and normally, you would fret over such things but your father casts a glance at you over his shoulder and suddenly everything seems to have changed its course.

"Father," You pant as you gather the ends of your kimono, trying to match the pace of your patriarch as he travels all over the house. He seems to not be at rest from the talk with the messenger—a perpetual stone-cold look plastered on his face. "Father!"

He enters the part of your house you haven't gone to in ages. Not because you despised it but because you were afraid that the spirit that once dwelled in its abode would arise and look at you with those same eyes that once held all the love and memories when you were but a wee girl. You hesitate at the entrance but decide to follow him through.

"Not right now, Y/N," He mumbles, agitated as he crouches over a chest and begins digging through the array of clothes. Your eyebrows furrow.

"What—What did he say?" You stammer as you stand to his left, eyes watching his every move as he frantically rummages through the fabrics. "Father, I have—I need to know."

Your father pauses, defeatedly slumping against the chest as his fingers tap against the wooden surface in thought. Silence ensues between the two of you and suddenly he turns to you with a sympathetic look on his face. Your blood runs cold.

"Lord Shimizu—" He pauses, catching himself stammering as he looked into those eyes that were fruition of shared dreams and a love he hasn't forgotten in ages. "He asked for your hand in marriage."

You stare at him with a shaky gaze, breath going in and out as you tried to process his response.

"Then-Then tell him no," Your eyebrows furrow. Your father falls silent at your words. "Tell him like you've always told the others."

"I can't, Y/N," He whispers, tone shifting into despair. Your shoulders are low as he lowers his head in shame.

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I can't," He emphasizes his words once more, eyes darting up to meet yours. "I have always tried to protect you but I can't this time."

Your face falls in desperation as you kneel down with him. You grab his hands in an attempt to convince him once more.

"Father, please, I can't—I don't even know him!" You plead as your grip on his callous fingers tightens. He looks at you with sadness. "Please Father, I'll do anything, just don't—"

"Y/N," He cuts you off with a stern voice. You fall silent as you wait for his response. "This man is from Kyoto. While the men here fear my stature as a medic, this man has access to professionals far greater than me. He doesn't regard me as someone important and if I dare raise my voice, we might as well be dead."

Your figure tenses at his words. He grabs your arms in an attempt to comfort you. In a last attempt to get him to decline the offer, you say the thoughts that have been at the forefront of your mind.

"I'm in love with Mizu," Your voice comes out in a whisper, eyes wide and tears welling up. He tenses at your confession, eyebrows furrowing at the implications.

"You—"

"Father, I love him." Your voice comes out in a desperate attempt to get him to see you. Your hands raise to touch his arm but he suddenly raises to his feet, taking a few steps back. Your heart speeds up at his reaction.

"Is that why he—?" Your father whispers out in thought. You're not sure if he was angry or disappointed, but you're quite sure that this was a bad thing. His face contorts into a look of anger as he continues to look at you with a hardened gaze. "When was this?"

"You told me you wanted me to have a true love marriage, Father—This is it!" You look up at him with a defiance so strong that it almost gives your father a whiplash of how similar it looked. He falters in his stance but remains rooted to his cause.

"I know but not to—!" He catches himself at the end of his sentence. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. He runs a hand through his face before sighing. "Not like this. Not to him. Not Mizu, Y/N."

Your eyebrows furrow in anger at his words. "You can't dictate what I feel for him."

There's a moment of silence as your father casts you an unreadable look on his face. You thought that your father might approve of Mizu. They after all started at the same steps and eventually grew to the path they were destined for, albeit in different fields. You're not quite sure as to what led to this defiance against your choice for marriage but it already has you intruiged.

"The messenger talks of praises of Lord Shimizu," Your father diverts the conversation. "I also hear that he is a general and part of the Emperor's Kingsguard. He is of noble stature and earned his keep. He is a man fitting of your deserving."

You fall silent at his words before finally rising to your height and dusting off your kimono. You glance at the chest, eyeing the white fabric that pops out of an array of multicolored ones. You turn back to your father.

"You raised me to not be a hypocrite," Your voice is stone cold. Your father flinches at the tone. "I expected you to not be one as well."

With that you left.

The days were grueling.

Presents after presents were sent to your doorstep and while you wish that you could throw them all away, your father accepted them and kept them in the storage, still neatly wrapped for you to open.

Mizu had also arrived less and less over the past couple of days. He usually stays for more than an hour but now he leaves within the 30-minute mark. You felt like your time had been severed into bits and pieces after your fight with your father. You saw them talking, hushed in the receiving area. You expected your father to berate him for influencing his own daughter but their relationship remained civil. In fact, after his talk with your father was what prompted fewer visits and only coming for business.

He also became distant. Little to no skinship—sometimes even none at all. He talks to you in that cold tone of his and even grunts in annoyance when you try to bother him into coming with you to window shop in town.

You thought they were being unfair. That they could freely do things like this beyond your knowledge. Watch you crumble into a pit of despair at the concept of what you believed was the essence of true love. How naïve were you.

The final straw came when Mizu stayed a little bit longer than usual. He was swift with his purchase but remained seated at the tree located just outside your humble abode.

You approached him with soft steps, eyes trained on his head devoid of his kasa and the usual orange tinted glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome.

"Why are you like this?" Your voice cuts through the silence, direct and swift as a breeze passes through you. You see the familiar curl on his forehead, swishing back and forth before settling down.

Mizu does not reply for a few seconds before finally responding. "Like what?"

Your breath shakes at his nonchalance. "Like everything's back from the start."

Mizu pauses before turning his head to look at you standing behind him. There's a long duration of silence between you, eyes only locked with each other as the breeze fills in the void.

"Y/N," Your name escapes his lips like a prayer. You will yourself not to fold. "I didn't mean to—"

"Didn't mean to what?"

He rises up from his seat on the ground, grabbing his Kasa in the process. He examines the item, eyeing the material woven intricately to form its shape. You could tell that there were a lot of things in his mind. You could only wait until he decided to break down the walls he built up so high.

"I didn't mean it to be this way." He finally looks at you in the eye, those beautiful shades of blue hidden by a tint of orange. He pauses himself before a change of expression is plastered on his face. "I think it's best if we stop here."

Your breath hitches. "What?"

"I said what I said," He mutters in that neutral tone of his, devoid of emotion. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "I... I am on a journey and I have wishes to accomplish. I operate on circumstances that prove to be unlawful. It's best that you don't associate yourself with me. I was too distracted to begin with."

Distracted? Is that what he thought all of this was about? Your hands shake in anger as your eyes darted any sort of giveaway that he might just be joking with you. The world was pinning its blame on your shoulders and now you have to receive the consequences of its actions.

You purse your lips, stopping yourself from bawling then and there. You can't give him the satisfaction of seeing yourself in a mess. You refuse.

You turn around without responding, making hasty steps towards your home before halting once more. You turn to see him putting on his Kasa, eyes in a daze. Upon feeling your stare at him, he turns back towards you. His gaze falters.

"I'm sorry." He says.

You could never will out the words you should've said.

Lord Shimizu came on the 3rd day of the week. He wasn't what you expected him to be.

Naturally, nobles of that standing would appear to be egocentric maniacs who dabbled and flaunted their wealth in various entertainment establishments. They act crass and speak crass as if their authority gives them the pass to be an asshole to everybody.

You thought to yourself, this man could have anybody that he wanted. He was a general, a skilled warrior, and a candidate for marriage to Japan's array of elegant and noble women. Why would he pick a humble medic's daughter all the way from Takayama?

Well, the answer finally came to you in flesh instead.

"L-Lord Shimizu!" Your father stammers over his words as a young man, your age enters the establishment. You take a step back towards the panel of the receiving area, slightly shielding yourself from the onslaught of 3-4 men entering the place. "I didn't expect you to be here."

The man does not respond yet, his eyes wander the interior of the establishment before finally settling on you. You flinch back at the intensity of his stare. Your father notices his attention on you before clearing his throat.

"Y/N?" He calls over, eyes meeting with yours as he beckons you over. You grumble under your breath before making hesitant steps to your father's side. "Ah yes, this is Y/N Gojo. My daughter. Y/N, this is Lord Shimizu Kaito."

Your eyes peer up at him underneath your lashes, trying to take a peek at his face. Shimizu flashes you a soft smile before bowing in greeting.

"Apologies for not having been able to meet before. The Emperor had requested me to attend to several cases in various cities. I hope that you and Y/N can forgive my tardy appearance." His voice is proper and elegant but you could only scoff at his words. Apparently, it was loud enough for him, your father, and the two other guards stationed behind him to hear. Your father elbows your waist.

"Apologies for my daughter," He sheepishly smiles. "She seems to have a... cold."

He eyes you with a strict look on his face which you turn to look away at. Just as you wished for all of this to be over, a wave of a hand catches your attention. You turn to look at Shimizu who softly smiles at you once more.

"I know this proposal is sudden but I hope you can give me a chance." He says, voice and tone genuine. You hesitantly purse your lips at his words. "I'll be staying around this time. I hope I can get to know you."

Lord Shimizu stayed true to his word. The past few days were nothing but him trying to get to know you as an individual. He was nice, accommodating, and even dare say, a proper friend you could talk to.

He helped you out in chores, got you gifts, had tea with you, learned your ways, and walked with you in town. If you were the person you were before, you could've deemed this man the perfect match for you.

While you appreciated his eagerness in wanting to get to know you, you also can't help but be reminded of a certain blue-eyed boy every time he did something remotely similar. He talks of his travels, his blade, his peers, his interests, and you're brought back to the time Mizu let you hold his blade in your palms, brought you trinkets from his previous adventure, talked to you about his annoying apprentice, or that he prefers his soba to have a little bit more soup in ratio to his noodles.

Everything remind you of him.

Mizu had not visited in a while. You tried asking about him to your father if he ever came to get medicine but your father denies every question.

Sometimes you catch glimpses of a familiar Kasa roaming the town streets but is only mistaken by a wandering traveler. You're not too sure how long it would take for you to lose your wits about everything.

Sensing the troubling thoughts that plagued your mind, Shimizu offered for you both to take a stroll in town at night and shop for trinkets that you might find interesting to place in your room. He tried his best to keep you entertained, asking about your interests, making you laugh, all that stuff.

The question that prompted you at the start of his arrival began to urge you to put forth a topic for conversation. You wait for Shimizu to finish his words before finally dropping the question.

"Why me?" You ask, eyes gazing into his as he halts at the question. He blinks a couple of times, not able to process the question.

"What?"

"Why me, my lord?" You repeat, hands clutching your satchel. "I am but a mere servant's daughter. You could have anyone."

He licks his lips eyebrows furrowing. "But you are someone."

You raise your eyebrows, urging for him to continue. The man takes a breath, looking around before finally settling his eyes on you.

"I..." He starts off, words trailing as he gazes into your eyes. He continues. "I came here before. As a child."

Your eyes widen at the revelation.

"People talk of a man named Gojo-sensei who was able to remedy almost all illnesses. I was sickly and my condition was worsening." He responds. The city lanterns glow beautifully behind his figure, laughter of children, men, and women alike provides solace in the void of silence between you. "I remember coming in there and seeing you. Seeing your father then..."

He trailed off like he was remembering something painful.

"I remember a lady," His face softens at the thought. Your eyebrows furrow. "While your father did the aiding, this woman had brought me comfort. I was never really coddled and treated with such gentleness back home. I was an only child—a firstborn son. Being soft and dependent was out of the vocabulary."

You fall silent at his words as he looks down at his hands.

"She... she stayed by my side. Fed me, clothed me, made sure I was okay." He looked up at you. "I saw you sometimes, clinging to the ends of her kimono."

A chilling realization surges through your veins. Your silence prompts him to continue.

"I heard the news that she passed away years ago. I wasn't able to come due to my duties but I am indebted to her." He says. "Then, when I visited a month ago. I saw you—a spitting image."

Your breath shakes at the words. "You proposed to me because I looked like my mother?"

Shimizu looks down in shame, hands wringing in nervousness. "I thought that if I married you, I'd be able to receive that same love again."

You let out a breath of disbelief. While the topic of your mother wasn't something you detested talking about, her memory still was something you were quite hesitant to approach. You remember her sickly figure, her weak smile, the day your father broke. It was as if you threaded lightly along the edges of her carved path, wanting to preserve what was left of her image.

You take a step back, eyes looking at him in disbelief. Shimizu falters in his stance.

"I'm sorry, this isn't going to work." You softly mutter, shaking your head. Just as you take another step back, Shimizu panics and tries to grab your hand.

"Y/N, let me explain I—"

A swift change of air alerts you of a new presence and suddenly you feel deja vu. You turn your head to meet the familiar stance of a man you didn't expect to see again.

"I believe she said no." Mizu's voice is authoritative and deep, hand encasing Shimizu's wrist. The man furrows his eyebrows at Mizu who squints back a glare.

"Who are you?! Your jurisdiction?" Shimizu demands. He tries to pull his wrist away only to be met by a steel force. Mizu scoffs.

"I won't let you go until you promise to stay 10 meters away from her." Mizu threatens. Shimizu sweat drops, eyes glancing down at the hand gripping his wrist to the eyes shielded by tinted glasses. Your eyes dart back and forth between the two, afraid that a fight might brawl out and you're not in the mood to see blood spilled.

Shimizu was also a general and if word comes out that one of the Emperor's trusted military aides got injured by someone lower of his stature, your father will definitely pay for the consequences. You rush towards them and grab Mizu's hand to break them apart.

"Let him go," You say. Mizu turns to you with furrowed eyebrows. Your eyes soften, and you nod softly in reassurance. "Let him go, its okay.

Mizu hesitantly lets the man go and Shimizu stumbles back, holding his wrist. Mizu turns to you in concern, hand grabbing your arm as he examines you. "Are you alright?"

You nod, flustered by his attention. "I'm fine."

Feeling Shimizu's stare on you, you look back at the man to see hurt and a realization spread across his face. Your gaze falters.

He clears his throat and fixes his stance. "Apologies, Y/N. It seems that I have miscalculated my approaches. Forgive me for my behavior."

"It's alright, my lord," You respond. Mizu stands menacingly beside you, eyes trained on his figure. Shimizu glances at him and then at you. He smiles.

"It was nice being your friend," He says. He bows as respect. You curtsy back, albeit shaky. "I'll leave as requested. I wish you luck."

He leaves without turning back. You watch as he gets lost in the crowd, the breeze gently swinging your clothes back and forth. The lanterns dazzle the streets—performing a pretense of joy. You take a breath before finally facing the last of your problems.

Mizu stands there, eyes already looking at you with an unreadable look on his face. Your eyes soften.

"What are you doing here?" You mumble, lacking the energy to even be angry. Mizu shifts in his stance.

"I came back." He answers vaguely.

"For what?"

There a pause of silence before he moves to remove his Kasa. You can see his face clearly now, albeit those beautiful eyes of his still covered by his glasses.

"For you." He says. He gulps as if nervous and your eyes widen at his confession.

"But I thought you said—"

"I was a coward," He says. He heaves a breath. "I have loved before and shown them everything and yet I have ruined them. I was afraid that I might—that I might ruin you with what I am."

You fall silent at his words. You were confused, you had already seen what others claim to be the worst of him—in fact, that was what you loved most about his features. Eyes that seem to hold the waters—a depiction of nature. Just as he is about to continue, cheers erupt from the central town, you flinch as the others begin to gather to watch the amusement happening. Mizu, sensing your uneasiness, pulls you towards a nearby alley—dark and hidden from the public eye. He places you against the wall, eyes watching for passersby that might lurk in while your eyes are trained on his face.

You watch with admiration as his eyebrows furrow in their usual curl, those eyes that squint into a glare, chapped lips, and the glasses that begin to slowly fall down the bridge of his nose. Unable to resist the urge, you give in.

"Coast is—"

Mizu's eyes widen at the feeling of your lips against his. You cup his cheeks, pulling him down as you encase your arms over his neck. Mizu wastes no time in reciprocating the kiss. He kisses back with the same fervor, hand dropping his Kasa in favor of encasing your waist as he pulls you towards his figure. You whine as you feel his tongue intertwine with yours.

After a few pecks and kisses, you both finally pull away. There's a hushed silence of panting as Mizu places his forehead against yours.

"I am not being truthful," Mizu whispers, breath hitting your lips. "But I want to try. With you."

You smile, hands cupping his cheeks as you rub your thumbs across the surface of his skin.

"I want you as you are," You reassure him. "No matter the flaw, no matter what you tell me. I'll be here with you."

Mizu lowers his head and drops it to burrow against your neck. He hugs you close as bells and instruments begin playing. He pulls back softly before facing you with vulnerability.

"I..." He starts off. "I am not what you think I am."

You tilt your head in confusion as you encase his hands in yours. Your thumbs run over the scar that you've bandaged from before.

"I'm not a... a man." Mizu finally reveals. You pause, eyes blinking as you watch his reaction for any sort of context. Mizu purses his lips before pulling his glasses away, tucking in the side of his clothing before reaching up to pull at his top knot. You watch as his hair—no, her hair flows to her shoulders and then suddenly everything makes sense.

Mizu's breath shakes at your silence. "I-I cannot give you what you want—"

She falls silent as you lean forward to take notice of her features. The flush that adorns her cheeks and the eyes that entranced you from the start. A smile bursts from your lips.

"You're just as I dreamed of," You whisper in awe. Your arms make their way to wrap around her neck as you press yourself close to her. Mizu's face flushes at your words.

Your eyes trace the edges of her features, face contorted in a soft expression. There's a moment of silence before you finally continue. "My father wanted me to have a true love marriage. All my life, the idea of falling in love has always been my dream as a child."

Mizu blinks softly at your words, listening to your every thought.

"And now that I have it, I can understand why my father wanted me to do so," You smile, leaning your forehead against hers. "Marry me, Mizu. I just want to be yours."

The blue-eyed girl erupts into a smile, leaning forward and capturing your lips in hers. You reciprocate with the same intensity, fingers burying in her raven locks. Mizu then pulls away.

"I'll always say yes to you."

"Do we really have to do this?"

Mizu eyes your figure seated on the tatami, eyes peering up at her as she stands in front of you. You giggle at her hesitance.

"Of course!" You grin. "Consummation between man and wife is a must tradition after marriage—well in our case, wife and wife."

Mizu rolls her eyes as she sits down in front of you. She props her knee up and places her arm on top of it. She grabs the cup of tea perched on the small table beside her and takes a sip. "Consummation is done with the idea of children, love. I'm sure you're well aware of that."

You pout before an idea arises in your mind. You lean forward, going on your knees as you crawl towards her. Mizu pauses mid-sip as she watches you with careful eyes. You grab her cup, placing it down on the table as she continues to watch your every move. You settle on her lap, the slit of your kimono revealing your thighs. Mizu's breath shakes.

You take her glasses off and place them on the table before finally focusing on her, arms propped on her shoulders. You feel her hands cup your hips as you stare down at her with a smile.

"What?" You taunt. "You don't wanna fuck me?"

Mizu pauses, eyes widening before she lets out a groan and lowers her head to your clavicle. You giggle as she takes a few moments to calm herself down. Finally, pulling away to face you, Mizu looks at you with her blue eyes clouded with lust.

"You are one dangerous lady, know that?" Mizu leans forward. You grin as you rub your nose against hers.

"Mhm," You say. "My wife told me so."

"Ah fuck! Fuck!" You whimper as you grab the sheets behind you, trying to find some sort of stability from the onslaught of ministrations Mizu's giving you. "W-Wait—Mizu-Wai—Ngh!"

You're afraid that the toy one of your close friends gave you as a congratulations gift to your marriage would be too crass for your night with Mizu. You only brought it to tease her after all. You just didn't expect how much she'd be turned on by it.

"Where are you going?" Mizu's voice is deep and taunting as she watches you claw at the sheets, trying to get away from the intense pleasure. She grabs your waist and pulls you back down towards her, folding your legs to your chest. "You wanted this, why are you backing out, hm? You wanted to consummate so here we are."

She watches as the thick girth and length of her strap pushes in and out—coated with your essence. The noises from it are slick and noisy, causing you to flush in embarrassment. God fucking damn.

"So fucking pretty, aren't ya?" Mizu chuckles as she pushes her hips. She lets out a moan, feeling the other end of the dildo pushing deep with her. You whimper as Mizu presses deep, the tip of her cock bumping against that spot of yours. "So so pretty for me, aren't you momma?"

You shiver at the nickname, hands coming down to grab Mizu's lean arms—its muscle flexing as she speeds up her thrusts, making sure that it's the right spot.

"You've been adamant about this all morning. Especially, after the wedding." Mizu growls, slamming her hips against yours. "You want my kids that bad?"

You're too lost in the pleasure, moans, and garbles of her name only coming out of your mouth. Mizu smiles, hair falling down her shoulders and framing her face as she props herself up on top of you.

"If you want it so bad, I'll give it to you," Mizu leans down to bury her face on your neck, sucking a few marks as she begins to speed up her thrusts.

"Oh! Oh!" You whine as the spot inside of you becomes more sensitive with each bump. Mizu pays no mind to your sounds, reveling in the way your nails rake through her back. She smirks against your skin, licking down until she encases your nipple within her mouth. You moan at the feeling, hands reach up to bury itself in her raven locks.

"I'm close! I-I—please!" You plead as her constant torture of your cunt begins to teeter at the edge. Mizu pants heavily as she places a soft kiss behind your ear.

"I am too." Her breath shakes as her hips falter. It doesn't take long before you climax, body arching and shivering from the intensity of the pleasure. Tears begin streaming down your face as you twitch with each thrust she gives you. She smiles placing a soft kiss on your lips. "Good girl."

Mizu follows shortly behind, coming in grunts and low moans before slumping down against you. There's a moment of reprieve before Mizu props herself up once more to take a look at your afterglow.

You smile up at her, hand coming up to brush her hair over her ear. Mizu leans against your touch.

"I love you." You mumble softly. Mizu gazes into your eyes with a love so true that it warms your very being.

"I love you too."

a/n: mwehheheheheeh hope yall enjoyed that <3 not proofread will do it later mwehe

#arthenaa #mizu #the blue eyed samurai x reader #mizu x reader #mizu smut #Spotify

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januaryembrs · 5 months

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THE KID SWINGS BACK | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [4]

Description: The THREE times things feel weird between Spencer and you because you're just best friends.

Length: 21k (this is HALF of what I wrote for this chapter before I split it into two parts :0)

Warnings: explicit hints of suicidal ideation, as I have said in the last two chapters, Bugsy has really struggled with losing Emily and has been in a bad place. it is mentioned once or twice but please read with caution if you feel topics of mental health, not vividly described but the effects of it, are mentioned. Spencer's addiction is also mentioned. Violence, blood, swearing, usual CM warnings. Also there is a brief mention of SA (bugsy gets spanked by a stranger in a casino), again if this is triggering please be cautious. EXPLOSION. Emily and bug argue + fight. Bug + hatch fight. Bugsy takes no prisoners in this one won't lie. Spencer and bugsy turn each other on accidentally.

authors note: this was supposed to be a lot longer (I've had to split it with the next part released in a few days time) and yet every time I tried to upload to Tumblr, it crashed because it was over 30k words ;-; OTHER HALF IS COMING SOON.

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‘If you take a swing, the kid swings back,

she say I’m not your punching bag,’

The one where Emily comes back.

She felt the headache as soon as she woke up. She’d experimented with Molly her first week of college, hated every second of it after she had prattled on for two hours to some other random freshman about the breakthrough research in enzyme-replacement therapy like she was catching him up on an episode of the Kardashians. She’d tried the odd few brownies, though they usually turned her stomach the next day and made her paranoid for about a week, before she swore them off entirely for their yummy, sober counterpart.

She should have known what to expect when she woke up, but then again, if she had been smart enough to pre-empt how awful she’d feel the next day, she probably wouldn’t have taken the little pink pill with a candied love heart on the top at all.

The duvet was soft against her face, and for a moment she didn’t care about anything except chasing the warmth it provided; just that she was cosy and it smelled nice, smelled familiar.

Her eyes pinged open when she realised that whatever that familiar smell was, it was very much not her own sheets. And she was very much not in the clothes she left the house in last night.

Bugsy sat up too fast, that much she knew, because in the time it had taken her to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, reach for the side table where she hoped to find her phone, a home phone, or just any working phone she could call someone off, she felt the room that smelled like a dream spinning around her.

Her legs turned to jelly, her stomach tossed with a mix of nerves and nausea, and, graceful as ever, she fell face first to the ground with a thud, smacking her temple off the corner of the bedpost on her way down.

“Fuck,” She whined, raising a hand to her brow that thudded with more than the side affects of last night, and she was quick to hear footsteps approaching as if in a half run. The door to the bedroom dragged on the thick sherpa carpet as it swung open, and she blinked wearily up at the culprit.

“Alright, up we get,” There were hands slipping under hers before she got a chance to see anything that wasn’t a blurry mess of brown hair and worried eyes, and it wasn’t until she heard his voice she felt herself sigh in relief, “Of course you wake up the second I turn around,”

“Sencer?,” She cleared her throat, hands latching onto his shoulders as he lifted her back onto the bed, “Spencer?” She tried again, her lips chapped, her skin clammy.

“Good morning, to you too,” His voice was soft, quieter than usual, like he knew just how delicate her head was and changed his tone accordingly, “Did you sleep well?”

“Morgan- where’s Morgan, I thought we…” She murmured, turning her head in confusion to the window where Spence had gone so far as to pull the curtains closed for her, seeing just the smallest crack of daylight filtering over the bed sheets. Her hands ran down his chest, her eyes lost and dazed, like someone had taken her batteries out, and Spencer took it as an opportunity to hand her the glass of water he’d got her and two advil.

“Morgan’s safe; he went home, he said he had a wonderful night,” Spencer lied, hoping she was just a little out of it that she didn’t catch him in it. She always knew when he was lying. But, as he’d suspected, she barely picked up on it, her lips pouting in confusion when she took note of the medicine he’d given her, “Drink up, Morgan said you did a lot of dancing last night, you’re probably dehydrated.”

“I did…” She echoed him, trailing off when the blur of the nightclub caught up to her, and she remembered exactly the last time someone had handed her a little tablet like those ones. Her heart plummeted, her eyes widening into saucers, and she swore she might have felt the glass crack beneath her palm with how tight her grip became. She looked up at him, and instantly picked apart the pity and the sadness swimming in his honey pooled eyes, “You know,”

He nodded softly, his hand coming up to stroke her hair away from her face, his gaze falling to where she felt something sore and achy forming on her forehead, bleeding into her brow.

“Spence-” Her own groan of pain cut her off when he brushed over the bump on her temple, and she understood she had perhaps hit it much harder than she’d initially thought.

“Let’s get you breakfast, and then we’ll talk,” He whispered softly, concern thick in his voice, and for the first time in months, she didn’t fight it. She just listened, and let him love her.

“God, I am truly pathetic,” She muttered, sipping her coffee with a scowl in between the maple ladened pancakes going down with a vicious chomp on her fork. Her other hand was occupied holding a bag of frozen peas to her head, where a nice dark bruise was spreading its way over the right side of her face, spider webbing out into a black eye.

“You’re not pathetic, everyone makes mistakes,” Spencer tried reassuring her, but he couldn’t help but smile as she devoured breakfast with the anger of a raccoon being dragged from a garbage bin, “You’re safe, that’s all that matters,”

She sighed, and Spencer didn’t actually think she had ever been so grumpy around him before, “Spencer, look at me,” He did, he had been all morning, but he did as he was told anyway, “I’m a federal agent who took molly from a frat boy all because I can’t just grieve like a normal person and cry my pathetic little heart out and be done with it. I crashed your night because I can’t even handle a little ecstasy without needing supervision and I just got into a fight with your bedframe,” She finished with a huff, dipping her next mouthful of pancake in the puddle of maple syrup she’d created on the plate, “And the fucking bedframe won.”

He smiled despite himself, reaching out to hold her wrist gently, making sure it was her turn to listen to him now, “Bug, I grew up being shoved into lockers and swirlied my whole life. I was the only kid in a classful of seniors that used to wedgie me so hard I had to have the school librarian, Mrs Addler, walk me between classes. Believe me, I’ve seen pathetic and you’re not- why are you crying, Bug, don’t cry,”

He remembered this bit, the mood swings, when he would pendulum between exhaustion and irritation straight into sadness and hopelessness, like there would never be an impasse between them unless he did more of the thing that had made him feel so awful in the first place. Still, he gently took the bag of now slightly soggy peas from her head, wrapping an arm around her back and scooching his chair to sit next to hers as she dropped onto his shoulder with a weepy sniff.

“I’m crying because I just thought of baby you all alone with Mrs Addler-” She sobbed loudly, and his heart bled out in his chest with warmth. No one had ever cried for him. “How could they be so cruel to you, I swear if we ever see those bastards, I’ll show them how we settled things in Russia-”

He chuckled, shaking his head, and she snuggled closer to him the way she had last night when the only thing keeping her on earth had been his body heat.

“It wasn’t all bad, she used to share her butterscotch with me,” He said with a small smile when she raised a wet glance at him.

“You know, you never have to be alone again, right?” Bugsy murmured, and he swore his heart might have just jumped right up into his mouth then and there, “You’re my best friend in the whole world, and I promise I’ll never leave you again. That was… selfish of me, I’m sorry I was so selfish.”

Spencer felt his throat tighten as he looked at her, innocent and entirely truthful, like he could ask anything from her right this second and her god’s honest words would be ‘Anything for you, Spencer, I’d do anything for you.’ He had never had anyone look at him like that, nothing even close.

“You’re my best friend too. And you weren’t selfish, you were grieving,” He choked out, and she tucked herself beneath his chin then, satisfied with the response, but his stomach turned sour when he remembered what he was going to tell her last night, what he should have told her months, years, ago instead of lying to her. Because he knew she would understand, knew she would get him the way no one else had even tried to, because she was just her. “I have to tell you something,”

She sat up straight, sensing the seriousness in his tone, and looked at him with imploring eyes, still sleep-addled and slightly wet around the edges.

He cleared his throat, “When I told you I was allergic to narcotics since I was born, that wasn’t entirely true, and I’m sorry I lied to you,” Her brows softened, creasing in a way that told him she was worried, or she knew where he was heading but couldn’t find a voice in her to say anything. He ran clammy palms over his pyjama pants, “There was a case, a while back, where we were tracking an UnSub to this farmhouse in the middle of Atlanta. Me and JJ got split up and the UnSub took me hostage in his father’s shed,”

She stayed quiet, but she quickly took his hand in hers when she saw him fidgeting with it in his lap. He smiled at her weakly, and squeezed her fingers gently, telling her he was okay to talk about it no matter if his chest was rattling and his face felt like fire.

“He was very sick, the UnSub. Tobias. He took on an alter of his dead father because he couldn't handle life without him. Even though his father was extremely violent and abusive, he still loved him enough to never want to let him go,” His lip pulled between his teeth for a moment, and he couldn’t look at her for what he was about to say, “Tobias tried giving me something to stop the pain of his father’s beatings when he would front and being a drug addict himself, the best thing he had was dilaudid. So, he gave it to me for the three days I was with him before the team found me,”

“Spence,” She said softly, knowing he would hate to hear an ‘I’m sorry’ because she hated those two words with a passion, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,”

“No, I want to, it’s just a little… fuzzy in parts,” He whispered, and she nodded, gently knocking her head against his jaw to let him know she was there to listen, “After the case wrapped up, everyone got home and just sort of pretended things went back to normal, even though I felt like I was drowning in everything that had happened, and the only thing I could think that had stopped the pain was the dilaudid. So I took more, and more, until I was using every other day, sometimes even at work to cope with the cases,”

“Did anyone know?” She asked, lips pressed tight as she scolded herself for talking, but he stroked her hand with his thumb to show he didn’t care if she asked questions, “Did Emily know?”

He nodded gingerly, “Everyone knew, but no one could do anything, or say anything, because otherwise Hotch would have to file a report on me, and I’d be forced to leave the team,”

“So no one helped?” She said, and there was an unexpected trace of anger in her tone that he knew too well. He’d be lying if he said that there were more than a handful of times when he was at his lowest he didn’t curse the team out for not giving a single shit about his condition. But when he’d sobered up, when he’d got clean and back to his usual self, he knew they were trying to do what was best, that they were in uncharted waters as to what would be the correct approach to helping him that wouldn’t diffuse a bomb that could ruin all of their careers.

“There was nothing they could do, Bug. If they said anything they would be just as liable as me for what I was doing, the same way Morgan and I aren’t going to say a word about what happened last night,” He pointed out, and she seemed bitter as if she knew he was right but hated the point of it anyway.

She held onto herself for long enough hearing that, and he saw it coming before it came as a shock when she threw her arms around him, hugging him tighter than she ever had before, not crying like she had been, but full to the brim of sadness and grief and mourning, as if she was trying to squeeze it all out of him so she could take it on for herself.

“You’re never going to be alone again, I swear, Spencer,”

And he believed her with everything in him.

–

Bugsy had been back in the field for five weeks now, looking healthier than ever thanks to Hotch’s insistence she joined Beth for triathlon practice despite the fact she really had started feeling more like herself.

It had only taken six months, but who was counting, right?

Sure, walking past Emily’s desk had stopped her in her tracks the first day she got back, and Morgan had quickly jumped in to distract her with a cup of coffee, leading her over to the kitchenette and far away from the empty table her sister’s things had once been on.

She was still adjusting to this alternate reality version of the BAU where Emily wasn’t there to protect her and watch out for her, and where they didn’t bicker about who got to ride shotgun with Hotch because Bug loved when he would drive fast (he pretended not to notice but would floor it when they hit the freeway), or when they would butt heads over who finished off the biscuits Emily kept in her secret stash (it was almost always Bugsy sharing them with Spencer and Penelope, when the three of them would gossip in Pen’s lair at lunchtime.)

She was adjusting, slowly yes, but there was one thing to keep her going, to keep her holding her head high as she walked past Emily’s picture on the way, full of smiles and dark hair the day she’d been instated in the bureau, her excitement tangible even through a piece of paper and a thin sheet of glass.

There was one thing keeping her going, and it wasn’t Penelope’s cheerful good mornings she showered her in the minute she entered the building, it wasn’t Beth’s runs that would take everything out of her even though she felt stronger than she ever had, it wasn’t Rossi’s insistence on cooking for her once or twice a week because ‘he had more wine he could ever need alone and she could stir the pasta while he chopped the meat’, and it wasn’t even Spencer sticking to her side like damn velcro since she had been back. Although, they played a pretty big part in it.

No, the one thing keeping her going was revenge.

Morgan had let it slip accidentally, the morning she had come back into the headquarters to fill in some forms with Hotch and Strauss before Hotch was reassigned to Pakistan, when she had slinked into his office with an apology ready at her lips for the way she had behaved, to which he was going to say he had no idea what she was talking about because that was how things had to be, only to find file upon file upon caseload on Ian Doyle splayed all over his desk, and she quickly realised Derek was not one to let sleeping dogs lie either.

And, reluctantly, he had let her help, because he hated the idea of them keeping secrets from her. Especially ones that involved them secretly tracking down the guy who killed her sister, who had threatened to abduct, torture and kill her if Emily hadn’t gone after him first.

Because Bugsy was always going to be her little sister, no matter how grown and headstrong and stubborn as an ass she was. And Emily had had zero intention of letting Bugsy come even close to danger at the hands of Ian Doyle or any other motherfucker dumb enough to think they’d get away unscathed making threats to her sister. Which was why Emily had been the one to track him down first, no matter who she had to trample on, what lines she had to cross.

And now it was Bug’s turn to reciprocate the favour.

The one thing that bounced around her head with every step she took across the BAU floor was how Ian Doyle would look when she dragged him to hell and back and everything in between, when she made him burn the way she had burnt.

Hotch had been away on temporary duty for the month, bar the occasional phone call where he checked in on her directly or through Spencer, and it wasn’t until she walked into Morgan in a blunt exchange with his own cell that she realised he was perhaps closer to coming home than she’d thought.

The man nodded, and bid the mystery caller goodbye before he flicked a look up to where Bugsy had entered his office with a cup of to-go coffee and an expression of intrigue.

“We got him,” Morgan said, and it was the three words she had been waiting to hear for two hundred and fifteen days.

They had found Doyle.

She was in the back of an SUV not even two hours later, strapped to her neck with tactical gear and two loaded pistols holstered at her hips.

“You’re sure you’re alright to do this?” JJ asked from her place beside her, noting the way the girl’s leg was bouncing, her fingers twitching as the three of them crowded around the screen linked to the surveillance camera set up outside Doyle’s apartment, Spencer and David watching an identical feed in the next block over, outside the safe house his son, Declan, was supposed to be in.

Only, when they’d arrived, the little blonde haired, blue eyed boy that was the only thing Doyle gave a damn about in the world was gone, two agents and his nanny lying dead on the floor.

“Put it this way, JJ, I’m going in after that son of a bitch whether you guys cover me or not, and it would be real nice to have back up,” Bugsy said simply, like she was reciting the weather, not ready to rain hellfire on anyone who got in between her and wringing Doyle’s neck.

The blonde woman exchanged a look with Derek, the two of them cautious about her behaviour, but thought better than to try stop her when she had just as much right as any of them for justice.

Before any of them could say another word, a car sped around the corner of the cul-de-sac, veering and wavering between parked cars, narrowly missing theirs by an inch, and red-blue blaring lights came racing after it within seconds, the siren full blast and no doubt waking the neighbours.

Or at least one neighbour in particular, as they spotted the curtains twitching in Doyle’s apartment, and they had their first sign of life in hours.

“He’s in there, someone’s in there,” Bugsy pointed to where the fabric moved in the dead of the night, unholstering one of her weapons and bursting the back door to the SUV open.

JJ clicked her radio on, speaking into her shoulder as Morgan was a hair width behind Bugsy, equally armed and ready, “We got movement on Doyle, we’re heading up to search his apartment,”

“Be careful, keep an eye on the kid,” Rossi ordered, he and Spencer adjusting their positions in their SUV, waiting for forensics to show up and investigate the nanny’s house. Spencer licked his lips nervously, and he could only imagine what was going through Bugsy’s mind at that moment, wishing more than ever she could have just stayed with him and let Morgan and JJ catch Doyle.

But she would never. She had nearly ripped Rossi’s head off for suggesting it even.

–

She’d seen him move up to the roof, had taken the stairs in twos, and she felt like kissing Aaron the second she saw him for all that cardio paying off a treat. She heard Morgan panting behind her, urging her to wait up so she wasn’t going in alone, but she didn’t listen, not when she was this close to getting that rat in her grasp and squeezing the life out of him barehanded.

She kicked down the door leading to the roof from the stairwell, her pistol drawn high and sharp and Morgan’s steps racing up behind her were the only sound for a moment.

He was here somewhere, watching them, god only hoped they had caught him unaware before he could call in his own backup.

Taking a careful step out onto the concrete, willing herself to take a deep breath and calm herself; she checked her nine o’clock, checked her three, before her boots crunched under her and she moved further out onto the roofing. Flicking a look around again, her eyes squinted against the moonlight that did little to no good, searching for even the smallest movements that would give him away.

“I heard you wanted to see me, Doyle,” She said loudly, hoping he would fit the profile they’d put together and want to tie up his loose ends once he realised who she was, “Truth is, I’ve been wanting to see you too,”

She had barely a second to react as she felt something hard slam across the back of her head, and she realised he had hit her with a rogue, loose pipe, hard enough for her to stumble forward, dropping her pistol when his body soon followed to tackle her completely to the ground in the effort to grab for the gun himself.

But she felt like body was alive with excitement, like the pain in her skull didn’t ache, didn’t matter, because she had him in her reach.

It took her barely a second to bring her elbow into his stomach, winding him hard enough he weakened his grip on top of her, then another hit square across his jaw, another to his temple, one to his already crooked nose and she threw a downward thump into his groin for good measure.

He hissed, cursing her something vile, and it was only then she saw the grey-blue eyes of the man who had killed her sister with no remorse, who had taken the person she loved unconditionally within a blink of an eye.

“You recognise me?” She said, a manic smile on her face as she raised the other gun from its holster, kicking him hard in the knee she’d seen him limping on, a bullet wound shaped scar giving his weakness away in seconds.

She wasn’t the only enemy he’d made in that business of his, but she sure as hell would be his last one.

He fell to the floor, his eyes wary as he looked up at the girl he had spent weeks collating photos of, the girl he’d had two of his best men tracking, snapping pictures of her going about her day to day life before he sent them to Emily. Because she would know what that meant no words needed.

This was her sister. Her little sister she had fought tooth and nail for, that she had given her life for. Her sister, who had the same rock solid loyalty to her family as Lauren had.

“Do you want to know where you went wrong, Doyle?” She asked, and her voice wasn’t calm like her body was, it was hiding the glee she was taking from his alarmed expression, like they both knew she was the last person he would have expected to be grabbing him in the night, “Your mistake, Doyle, was not killing me first,”

She raised her finger to the trigger, feeling for a second the same thrill as when she popped that molly just to forget everything that was happening. Because she had tunnel vision, and pulling the plug on Ian Doyle’s pathetic existence was the solution.

Until Morgan’s hand came over hers, and his voice was closer than she’d expected to her ear. She’d barely heard him creep up on her, she realised with a jolt.

“Don’t do this, kid,”

“He deserves it,” She spat, hating the sorrow in his voice when he pointed the gun away from Doyle who wiped his fingers beneath his nostrils and pulled back with a wince and a blob of blood over the back of his hand.

“I know he does. But we need to find Declan, and we can’t do that without him,” Morgan’s voice was deep and bitter, knowing full well he had to be the one to take the reins as much as he would love to just let her have at him.

Her nose scrunched in disgust when Doyle laughed at her annoyance, and she quickly holstered her weapon, pulling the cuffs out of her back pocket and helping Morgan yank him off the floor.

“I got some friends that would love to meet you, honey,” Doyle said through a wheezing breath, despite Morgan’s rough hands shoving him forward towards the stairwell.

She chuckled however, her face still bitter, her eyes something nasty and wild as she flanked his other side, “Don’t worry, I have some friends for you to play with too, Doyle.” She tightened her grip on his arm just to make it hurt, “I wonder how the Chernuses would feel about you and your men being so close to their turf. You ever fucked with the Russian Mob, Ian?”

His smile wiped clean off his face at that.

“How’s it going?” Hotch asked, and she barely had time to comment on the fact he looked rather dashing with a beard and a tan, or that he had lost ten pounds, before he was straight back to business, even after an eighteen hour flight.

“He won’t talk. He said the only person who could have helped us find Gerace would have been Emily.” She replied, rubbing her hands over her eyes with a huff, “Just another dead end,” She threw the file onto the roundtable, which was slowly piling up with documents relating to anyone Ian Doyle had ever had relations with.

Hotch’s face tightened. He took a single moment to enjoy the calm that overcame the room, took a second to enjoy the fact she was looking normal and healthy compared to when he had all but barged into her apartment to force her on a run.

Because he knew the normalcy they had found themselves in now was about to be flipped on its head, JJ confirming with a nod from the other side of the room that she was on her way.

He turned to look where Morgan, Rossi and Reid had walked in, Reid stroking a gentle hand over Bugsy’s hair where she hunched over the table and flicked through some files for anything to keep her mind off of going into that interrogation room and ripping into Doyle. She flicked a small smile up at him as he passed her, leaning over her shoulder to take half her workload off her.

She looked happier than she had in months, and he was about to take it all away again. Hotch swallowed the self loathing that threatened to choke him alive, and opened his mouth.

“Everybody have a seat,” The team looked up at him in confusion, but followed orders, JJ moving around the table to stand beside him, the same reluctant look on her face when she saw Bugsy’s frown.

“Why?” Morgan asked, seeing as no one else was going to, “What’s going on? Everything alright?”

“Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team,” Hotch began, his eyes immediately flicking to where the youngest Prentiss faltered, “As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle. But the doctors were able to stabilise her,”

Bugsy’s ears started ringing just hearing her sister’s name coming from his lips, said so casually and blunt that it felt like he had punched her in the stomach and she thought she was maybe over estimating how well she had overcome the grief.

And that hadn’t even been the worst part, she quickly realised. The doctors were able to stabilise her.

“And she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration. Her identity was strictly need to know. She was reassigned to Paris where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security,” Hotch said, avoiding the piercing eyes that were slowly melting between confusion to heartache to one she finally could land on, horror.

No one breathed for a moment, no one said a thing as the words sunk in, and she felt her entire body wash over with a gut wrenching numbness as it dawned on her what he was saying.

Emily never died on that table like JJ had said. She had never died at all.

“What?” Her voice was tiny and childlike when it came out, and she felt like she was stuck in the world’s worst nightmare, like she could claw and scratch and rip at her skin just to wake herself up from this terrifying dream where Hotch had lied and Emily had left her and everyone who was supposed to care about her had kept her in the dark.

“She’s alive?” Garcia asked, tears in her own green lined eyes, looking at Hotch with utter shock.

“But we buried her,” Spencer found it in himself to murmur, because none of this made sense and if any of what Hotch was saying was true, then he knew things were about to become really ugly.

“As I said I take full responsibility for the decision; if anyone has any issues, they should be directed towards me,” And it was only then he looked at Bugsy fully, properly, since he had opened his mouth.

He could have swore he had never seen such complete and utter betrayal written across someone’s face, let alone directed towards him. Because he knew that’s what it was. He knew he had taken every scrap and shred of trust she had placed in him since that day she ran away from her own wedding and found herself stuck in that very same office, hugging him tightly with her sodden veil and even more soaked white dress, he had taken everything vulnerable she had ever given him and spat it right back at her.

He felt like crying but before he could think too hard about it, he saw Emily walking down the hall and her own face was just as, if not more, devastated than his own and he knew he had to be the one to stay strong.

Garcia’s head snapped to the doorway, the sight of it leading Spencer and Rossi to do the same, and Morgan’s face morphed into anguish when he took a look for himself.

Because there, looking like a glowing beacon of everything they’d been missing in seven months, was Emily Prentiss, alive and well.

She seemed lost for words, her eyes falling to her sister who seemed to force herself to look up at her from where she was staring in wide eyed terror at the table, as if she was struggling to comprehend any of this, or like the building was falling down around her and she was in complete fight, flight or freeze.

But she did, she looked up at her after a second, her face unrecognisable to Emily for a moment, and it took all of three moments where she seemed relieved to see her, before it curled into a vitriolic anger Emily had never, never seen from her.

She looked like she was ready to kill her with her bare hands herself.

Penelope was first out of her seat, practically flying across the room to grab her close friend in a hug, a complete bubble of sobs and wails, her pigtails shaking with her rattling chest as Emily hugged her tight to her.

“Oh, my god, it’s real-you’re real- like I can actually touch you and you’re safe and not in that god awful box-” Penelope was a catalyst for the rest of the team standing up to take their turn crying on the woman’s shoulder.

That is, the rest of the team except Bugsy.

She remained in her seat, her gaze falling back to the mess of files that all of a sudden felt a complete waste of time, felt irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. Who cared who was Doyle’s financial advisor between the years of 2005 and 2007 when Emily was alive and they had known the whole time.

And the more she thought, the more furious she got. And then the more furious she got, the stiller she became; an atomic bomb ready to detonate at the slightest prod.

“I am so sorry, I really am,” Emily said as Spencer had wrapped his giant arms around her tentatively, smelling her perfume and feeling his heart ache with how warm and alive and healthy her body felt. “Not a day went by that I didn’t-”

But a sound cut her off, one none of them were expecting in the slightest.

Bugsy was laughing.

Not the sweet chirp she normally gave, or the hearty one that came from her gut that they hadn’t heard in months, but something manic. Something frenzied, beserk. Deranged.

Hotch’s head snapped to her, Emily’s too, though she had already taken note of the fact her sister hadn’t so much as moved from her feet, and stupidly she had hoped it was the shock sinking in.

But her eyes were cruel, her teeth more of a snarl than a smile and the laugh she gave was that of a person over the edge.

The straw that broke the camel’s back, she believed it was called.

“She never made it off the table,” Bugsy imitated woefully, her eyes snapping to JJ, who felt smaller than she ever had under the hatred in them, though the girl’s nasty smile hadn’t let up, “You are good, Jennifer. You really got me there, hey maybe if the agent thing doesn’t work out then acting is alway an option for you,”

“Bug-” Hotch started, only for her to stand up so harshly her chair nearly tipped back, but she didn’t seem to care as she rounded the table towards him in a bitter chuckle.

“And you! I didn’t know you had it in you. But very good, Hotch, very well played out. For a second I thought you actually gave a fuck about me,” She fist bumped his shoulder, a little harsher than something innocent behind it, before something spiteful settled in her tone, “But then again, you are nothing if not professional, aren’t you? I guess a suicide on your team would look terrible on your report card,”

“I think you need to calm down and let’s talk about this for a second,” Hotch tried to jump in, his brows furrowed enough to make him look annoyed but anyone with two eyes could see the worry that brewed there, that chased her as she retreated to where her jacket was slung over the back of her seat. She laughed again viciously, shaking her head. Grabbing her coat, she headed for the door where Emily stood helplessly, not knowing what to say for the best, and she thought for a minute her little sister was going to address her.

But she didn’t; didn’t even look her way as she approached, and it wasn’t until Hotch rounded the room after her with a fixed gaze she showed any sign of stopping. Not until he reached for her arm with a tight grip, a call of her name, did she even halt in her step.

“Stop, let’s just talk,”

“Let go of me,” Bugsy snapped, and it was the first time she actually gave way to the anger she felt, the amusement coming from a place of distraught long gone. She sounded pissed.

“Listen to me, we had no choice here,” Hotch barked, because it was the only way he could communicate when he felt this lost. And that’s what he was; he was losing her. They all were. “And I would have thought you’d be able to stop being so spoiled for one god damn second to see we were protecting-”

Her palm whirled around faster than he could have ever anticipated, slapping clean and sharp against his cheek, hard enough the air was sucked out of the room and his words died in his throat.

Penelope gasped. Spencer’s eyes widened. Emily took a heavy gulp.

“Bugsy!” Emily said in horror, and it was then her little sister’s eyes actually set on hers, every bit as cruel and hateful she’d expected.

“I want nothing to do with you, do you hear me? I don’t want to talk to you, or see you, don’t even speak that name, I don’t want it from you anymore,” Bugsy pointed at her with crooked, bitten nails Emily knew all too well, “You left me. You left me.”

With those three choked words, the other’s could only watch hurricane Bugsy whirl and burn and crash her way out of the room.

–

She sat on the steps to the federal building, perfectly dressed agents filtering around her with the occasional tut in disgust.

She couldn’t really blame them; her face was wet with tears, she was pretty sure there was snot running out of her nose hastily, and between her free hand, the other of which was pulling at her hair, was a cigarette that swirled its grey smoke around her head with a horribly addictive smell.

She heard footsteps approaching her from the back, different from the rest, and felt someone stop beside her, sliding to their ass on the step.

“Spencer, if you’re going to tell me this is taking seven minutes off my life then please can it wait for another day-” Bugsy started with a tearful cadence, only to be cut off by a woman’s voice.

“I was actually going to ask if you had a lighter,” Erin Strauss said, pulling her own menthol cigarette between her lips, and Bugsy dug around her pocket for the cheap ‘I <3 Virginia’ lighter she had snagged on New Years, clicking the flame out long enough for her boss’s boss to light the tip, “I heard you gave Aaron a shock,”

Bugsy stayed silent, taking a drag that burnt her lips and tasted awful, but it was the only thing she could turn to that would calm her even in the slightest, even if it was just the chemicals.

“Bit of an understatement,” She mused, exhaling softly with a frown, “Did you know?”

“Are you going to slap me too if I said yes?” Erin asked, and Bugsy gave a small, wet chuckle, shaking her head, “Would it matter if I did?”

“No, I guess not,” She replied, breathing in through her nose, “I want to feel sorry, but all I feel is just … empty. Why did JJ and Hotch know what happened to her but she didn’t think to tell her own sister?”

“Probably because you’re the one she loves the most,” Strauss picked over the hem of her navy blue midi dress that had been pressed neatly just that morning, and now here she was sitting on the steps to her building helping a girl in crisis chainsmoke, “It was how she ended up there in the first place, right? Because she wanted to protect you,”

“She left me torturing myself for months that her death was all my fault; believe me protection was not what I needed,” Bugsy said harshly, her final drag reaching the brown stub, and she scowled as she doubted it on the concrete floor below her, tucking her knees up to her face and resting her head on them.

Erin sighed, patting her on the back gently, not wanting to cross any lines for such a fragile girl, but not wanting to leave her entirely alone either.

“Our most basic instinct is not for survival but for family.” Strauss quoted, taking one more breath of her own cigarette before she squished it under her heel quickly. “Paul Pearsall,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bug asked quietly, tilting her head onto her cheek to look over at the woman.

“It means you can hate her as much as you can right now, but sooner or later, you’re going to need her, or she’s going to need you, and you’ll wish you never pushed each other away,”

2. The one where you pretend to be a couple.

Her hair was shorter, Bugsy noted, where she saw the back of her sister’s head from her desk. It looked nice, not that she would tell her that.

She wouldn’t tell her anything.

It had been eight weeks, three of which Bugsy had spent taking a leave of absence and been forced to see the designated federal councillor for her behaviour towards Hotch. She had gone to the handful of sessions to keep him off her back, but had stayed quiet for most of them, except the one where she got the psychologist to tell her the dirt on her recent, messy break up so they’d have something to talk about at least.

She had only really been speaking to Spencer the weeks since she had returned to work, had handed the slip of paper that declared her fit to work to Hotch with a smug look on her face, daring him to extend her sick leave as punishment for the tantrum she’d thrown.

She knew it was dragging, knew most of the team were at least trying to adjust to the shellshock of Emily being back from the dead, but then again, the rest of the team hadn’t been writing their own eulogy so the burden wouldn’t fall onto someone else if they ever found her unresponsive.

In the time Emily had supposedly been dead, her mind had wandered someone cold and dark and alone. Worse than any of them had ever thought it had been, worse than they gave her credit for.

Only for it to be fake. As though she was the star of her own Truman show, with a laugh track playing on loop in the back; her own friends, people she’d considered family, watching her kicking and screaming and fighting through every breath for some sort of relief from the pain, a pawn in their little sitcom of horrors.

Morgan had forgiven her sister with little resistance. She’d always known that, to Morgan, trust was higher than anything in his books. Yet with some soft words and tears shed, Derek had cracked and accepted Emily back warmly like nothing had happened. Rossi and Penelope had just been happy to see her, happy to have her back and very much not dead, so convincing them she was innocent had been no big feat. The only other person who had put up nearly as much fight as her had been Spencer. He had told her about the spat he and JJ had gotten into for being an accomplice to their pain, but even he was beginning to warm back up to her sister, not that she could really blame him.

Emily was putting in overtime trying to get back into her good books, while she couldn’t even stand to look at her without remembering how hard she’d cried when she realised Nico and Sergio would be in her apartment alone and confused if she had been sad enough to do something rash.

“Good Morning,” Emily’s voice was nails in a chalkboard, two arms winding over her shoulder to plonk two take out coffees in front of her and Spencer, one with his name written in black ink on the lid and the other with a dozen hearts dotted over the cup, a little doodle of a lady bug and a bumble bee cuddling. What she supposed was meant to be the two of them.

Spencer watched Bugsy fight the urge to roll her eyes, surprisingly somewhat progress for her since the first two weeks of Emily even being near her resulted in the two of them screaming at one another until they were separated. Emily was growing tired of being punished for trying to keep her sister safe, Bugsy was full of hatred for every lie they had told her.

But he saw the way she immediately knocked the coffee into the trash without a second thought, ignoring the fact she would need to take out a very heavy and wet bin liner later, if only to drive the point home to her older sister. I don’t want your charity.

Emily faltered for a second, her eyes snapping to him as if he could do or say anything to help her out, but he could only give her one of his awkward, straight smiles, because he had absolutely no intention of pushing Bugsy to heal any faster than she was doing like everyone else was, nor did he want Emily to feel like he didn’t care she was hurting too.

Emily gave a resigned nod, daring to pat her sister on the shoulder. “Better in the trash than thrown over my face, right?”

She moved away from the woman’s desk, shooting a disheartened look at Reid as she passed him and he murmured ‘thankyou’ for his own coffee, until the sound of JJ calling them into the round table room cut off whatever she was going to say back.

Spencer thoughtlessly handed Bugsy his own latte, smothered with caramel and cream the way he liked it, and she took an appreciative sip without a word.

He hadn’t brought up that night, hadn’t spoken about the way she’d pressed her lips to his for a split second the night Morgan had dragged her over to his apartment to sober up. And because she hadn’t brought it up either, he assumed she didn’t want to talk about it anymore than she wanted to talk about what had got her there in the first place.

He had helped her brush her own teeth more than once in the early days of her grief, hell he had even had her lips against his, so when she handed him the coffee cup back, he didn’t think much of it when he continued drinking the hot caffeinated goodness.

Bugsy was wired differently in his brain, everything about her was different than how he felt about everyone else. So if she didn’t want to talk about kissing him, if she wanted to forget it ever happened, then he would swallow his feelings and accept she didn’t ever want to do it again. If she wanted to keep the bond they had carefully crafted through days and months and weeks of being each other’s solace, then he wouldn’t fight it. Because he didn’t want to ruin it either.

He just nudged her gently with his shoulder as they meandered up the stairs to the round table room, looking at her with the puppy dog eyes that usually followed her around when she was in one of her silent moods.

“You okay?” He asked carefully, noting the way she tugged her files to her chest, smiling up at him nevertheless. Because she could never be mad at him, it was Spencer.

“You don’t have to do that, you know?” She said, lowering her voice as Morgan trailed behind the two of them his own mug of fresh brewed coffee sloshing in his hand, “Pretend like you don’t forgive her for my sake. I want you to be friends again if that’s what you want,”

She’d noticed his sheepish glances when he met Emily’s gaze, unmoving from her side like he wanted to make it clear he was there for her above everything else. But she saw how he would smile and joke with her sister when he thought she was in the bathroom, or when they would return from a crime scene, working together again like a well oiled machine.

They were still friends, even if she felt sick every time she saw her sister’s noir black bangs flick her way, even if her heart was aching and her chest heavier than she would have ever let on.

“But you’re upset with her?” Spencer muttered back, with a frown on his face, “I’m upset you got so hurt by the whole thing. I’m essentially hurt by proxy,”

She snickered, leaning into his side for a moment, pulling away when they reached Rossi’s office and began walking past the long window she saw everyone settling down behind, “I appreciate that, Spence, I do. But you were her friend first, and she’s my sister. It’s different for you guys. And it’s not like we’re dating, because then I’d be allowed to be upset if you were still friends with her,” She explained lightly, though she felt her chest pick up at the very fact she had let that silly little dating word slip past her lips.

She had no idea where they were. He was the only thing keeping her together some days, the only one who understood her for all her silly, complex feelings and didn’t make her feel dumb or crazy for feeling the world so deeply. He was special to her in a way no guy had ever even come close.

She just wished she hadn’t made such an idiot of herself that night with Morgan; wished she remembered anything of what was said or done, because things had felt electrified since then and she had no idea why. All she knew was she was falling harder for him every time he stood so close, or offered her his drink, or every time they had a movie night at his and fell asleep on his couch pressed together like they were meant to be that way forever.

He sighed, still stuck on the situation, and shot her a frown, “I’ll never understand the rules,” Though he hoped she didn’t see how his cheeks tinged pink at the fact she’d brought up whatever it was between them too.

Because he wasn’t entirely talking about her and Emily. Sometimes, he really didn’t understand the rules of telling your best friend you were in love with her.

The press was calling him “The Circle of Eight killer,” no matter how much media liaison JJ had tried to do to stop them from giving him notoriety and possibly boosting an already inflated ego. But the team had already managed to profile that the killings were some sort of ritual the UnSub was using to turn his luck on a gambling addiction, or whatever suspicion he had mentally linked from the victims needing to die and being dealt a royal flush.

“Eighty eight dollars, the UnSub’s getting generous,” She said grimly, her gloved fingers counting the wad of cash tossed over the victim’s body. Where they had usually found eight, single dollar bills and an eight card of any suit, his signature seemed to have changed on the most recent body and he had dumped a much larger sum of money, “There’s more remorse with this kill too; shot from behind so he didn’t have to see the victim when he did it,”

Bugsy slipped the cash into a clear baggie to send to forensics to see if they could pull prints, but then again bills usually gave a million possible UnSubs with how many people touched them. “There’s less rage here, an undoing,” Emily chimed in, her own gloved fingers checking the victim’s pockets for anything off.

When they were in the field, Bug could hold her eye rolls and sharp tongue and resting bitch face for the sake of helping the victim’s families find closure. Because, despite how much she seethed in private about how Hotch, JJ and her own sister had conspired without her, she knew she could choke it down if it meant she could help someone, if it meant no one else had to grieve as deeply and gut wrenching as she had when Emily ‘died’.

“There’s no sign of robbery either, wallet is still intact except his ID,” Spencer added, standing back from the body while Bugsy handed the evidence off to CSI and the chief on the case headed their way.

“Is it even the same guy?” Agent Goslin asked, looking between Hotch and Emily for an explanation, Hotch shaking his head with a stoney look on his already tired face.

“The ritual’s too similar to discount,” He said, Bugsy frowning and tugging her lip between her teeth in thought.

“The change in MO makes sense if the UnSub is still refining his system, maybe killing the cashier at the gas station didn’t work so he’s back to the drawing board.” Emily speculated, her little sister nodding along with her in the first sign of agreement she’d seen all day.

“Two eights instead of one could also be significant; I know in China the number eight symbolises prosperity, the more eights the better. As a matter of fact, in Chengdu, a telephone number consisting of all eights recently sold for over a quarter of a million dollars,” Spencer said, and Bugsy flashed a look up at him, her eyes thoughtful.

“In ancient Egypt, the number seven represented completion in this life while the number eight represented success through ambition and determination in your reincarnated life,” She replied, peeling the gloves down her hands as they clung to her skin with tight clamminess, “And the eight pointed star is associated with the Babylonian goddess, Ishtar, or the light bringer,”

He nodded with her and he hated to admit that he loved that she managed to fill in the gaps in his own knowledge, like they were two puzzle pieces finding a way to fit together; like they were two halves cleaved from the same brain that hadn’t stopped growing in the entirety of her twenty seven years.

That, and he’d always found her brain one of the most attractive things about her. One of the long list he could think of.

“Why would he be doubling up on his luck out here, away from all the casinos?” Emily asked, because she was trying not to stand in awe of her sister’s fat brain that rivalled even their pretty boy.

“There’s been another killing,” Agent Goslin stated, hanging up the phone with a tense frown on her face, “A guest in his room at the Sapphire Lady,”

“Same ritual?” Hotch asked without a pause, because they were on body number five now and they were barely closer to understanding him than they were a few hours ago.

“No. His neck was broken. And he was robbed of $50,000.” Goslin replied, shaking her head, “Strange thing is? The killer left another $20,000 behind with the body,”

“Money isn’t his motive here,” Bugsy input, crossing her arms while Hotch got on the phone to Garcia, “Atleast, not that guy’s money,”

“Garcia, is there a casino in the neighbourhood of Penrose and Morningside Avenue?” He asked, clicking the perky woman onto speakerphone.

They heard a quick clatter of typing, “Uhhh, No casinos per se, but there’s a private gambling establishment right around the corner.” She replied helpfully, with another bout of her long, delicately painted nails against her keyboard.

“Is it legal?”

“Yeah, but it’s ultra exclusive. They have a monthly high-stakes poker tournament,” She paused for a second, “Today being the day for the month, coincidentally enough,”

“Or no coincidence at all,” Emily said, as they began putting together exactly where this chain of events had come from.

“What’s the buy in?” Bugsy asked, though she already guessed the answer.

“Yikies, $50,000,” And with that Bug and Reid exchanged a knowing look, her suspicion confirmed, “But, it’s a million dollar guarantee if you win,”

“What time does it start?” Hotch asked, Bugsy already rubbing the bridge of her nose with her fingertip, willing herself not to be right about what they were going to do.

“Later this evening,” Pen replied and Hotch thanked her, hanging up the phone. A second of silence spread around the crime scene.

“So, if anyone’s got fifty k lying around, now would be a great time to share with the group,” Busgy humoured herself with a straight face, realising the paperwork that would almost definitely be declined if Strauss had anything to say about it the would enable them to borrow fifty thousand from the government.

Because if they missed their chance tonight, she had no clue when they would get another.

–

“Any luck?” JJ asked, Emily sat to her right, Rossi across from her. Spencer and Bugsy sat on the end of the table, the girl breaking a KitKat in half to share with him, which he accepted happily.

“No, they don’t want to allocate emergency funds for the buy-in, I’m still working on it,” Hotch said shortly, his phone blowing up with messages, no doubt needing a lot more details if they were really going to get the money they needed.

“Well, I can’t imagine why not, we’re only asking for fifty thousand bucks of taxpayer money, so that FBI agents can play Texas Hold ‘em,” Rossi drawled, shaking his head with a cynical humour that was all they had to hold onto while they waited in limbo.

“Hey, what about you?” Emily asked, something mischievous in her eyes as she watched David freeze in his seat, so like the old Emily that Bugsy felt her stomach turn.

“What about me what?” David said with a frown, pausing in his writing for a moment.

“You could stake us the buy-in,” She suggested, and the other three members of the team turned their attention back to Rossi’s palling face.

“You’re a best selling author,” Spencer chimed in, devouring the last of the chocolatey biscuit snack as she pulled another out of her bag.

“No,” Rossi replied, slightly wide eyed at the suggestion of it, to which Emily jumped in.

“Why not?”

“One, it’s against regulations and I’d like to hold onto this job for a little while longer.” David said, his arms out in a defensive stance towards the four people who suddenly felt like his kids asking for the newest IPhone on the market for Christmas.

“It’s a minor administrative violation,” Bugsy pointed out between bites, offering the second half again to her best friend who took it without delay.

She could have given the whole thing to him to start with, and had the first one for herself, it would have ended the same, but she liked sharing with him. She liked being the one to split things with him when he cringed in horror at other people touching his food.

“And, two, I prefer to spend my money on actual things, like single malt scotch, a fine cigar, beautiful artwork,”

“Poker chips are things!” Emily tried to reason, but it only ended with David scoffing in her cheeky, hopeful face.

“Maybe just think of it as a new experience, I mean at your age how often does that happen?” Spencer said innocently, licking the chocolate from the tips of his fingers, noticing how Bugsy tensed up and Rossi slowly turned in his seat to face the BAU’s youngest members.

“At my what?” He asked in an aghast tone, Bug grabbing onto Spencer’s forearm with a gentle squeeze.

“Reel it in, reel it in,” She whispered, and he looked at her with a lost expression, willing her to explain to him where he had gone wrong, because he knew she would, “What he meant to say was this may be our only chance to get this guy,”

David chewed his words for a second, as if he was trying not to bite at the kids who looked between one another hopefully, and he wondered if this was what being a father felt like; handing his credit card over to two twenty something year olds and watching his bank deposit plummet in seconds.

“All right. Fine.” He sighed heavily like he’d seen the fifty thousand burned there and then, “I’m a decent poker player, but I can’t promise that I can stay in the game long enough to…”

“You know what? I bet you’re a great poker player,” Emily started kindly, her gaze drifting over to the hazel hues that watched between them curiously, “But what if we sent in Reid?”

“I am banned from casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin and Pahrump because of my card counting ability,” Spencer said, and Bugsy rolled her eyes.

“They can’t ban you for maths, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” She said, nudging his side with her shoulder, “They hate to see an underdog win, it’s Rocky all over again,”

“Tell me about it,” He murmured back, even though he had never watched any of the Rocky movies, he just liked humouring her.

“Look I know I’m not a genius like the boy wonder here, but poker is not black jack. It’s about bluffing; reading human nature, head games.” Rossi pointed at Reid, who badgered over Bugsy’s shoulder for the cookies she had packed in her rucksack, “The kid does not have a poker face.”

“Which is why we’re going to send him with someone who does,” JJ chimed in, and it was then that the youngest members of the team looked up from where they had cracked open the packet of chocolate chip delights, near identical looks of innocence painted on their faces, like they really were kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

Bugsy looked between JJ and Rossi, who had equal parts hopeful and worried looks on their faces, before she glanced over to Spencer to see if he had any explanation. He looked as lost as she did.

“Huh?” She asked cluelessly, as Rossi buried his head in his hands.

At this rate was going to have to remortgage his house for wedding number four, he thought sourly.

–

“I swear to god if this dress rides up anymore, it will be me who’s charging fifty thousand per head,” Bugsy growled, her hands frantically tugging the dress down her legs more. She couldn’t deny it was a beautiful dress, bunched around certain areas that made the most of her body, but goodness was it shorter than she would have ever picked out for herself. She was the last person to be a prude when it came to showing off just how alluring she could look when she made an effort, but this was something else.

It was a striking red, meant to match the ruby of her lipstick and the vermillion of the diamonds and hearts on the cards spread around the tables in the room, flushed in between little plastic chips worth thousands of dollars, handfuls of dice being tossed over the green velvet surfaces, deciding whether the players lost their cars or paid off their kids college fund.

They queued up to be patted down, as if they were heading through airport security or into a packed nightclub. A handful of bouncers waved metal detectors over patron’s clothing, dipping hands into coat pockets, trousers, even some shoes were ordered off in the name of a fair game. She swore she had never seen so many sets of weighted dice confiscated off one man who swore blind as he was kicked out.

“Only fifty? You could rinse them for a hundred at least,” Spencer replied, his arm entwined behind her back, if not to hold her up in the clunky heels one of the women on Goslin’s task force had loaned her along with the dress. She smirked at him, pressing herself closer to him when they both saw a dozen eyes shoot towards her as they entered the building, and he tightened his grip just the slightest with a calculating coolness.

He wished his cheeks didn’t feel so hot feeling her body so close to his, wished she hadn’t made such an effort to look the part of the expensive call girl they knew the UnSub had a history with, not because he didn’t like it, but because she made everything a little more difficult when she looked like that.

He was having a hard time trying to calm the way his manhood brushed against his pants whenever she showed some of that saccharine affection, even though he knew it wasn’t real. Or atleast, was an extreme version of the love she usually showed him.

The bouncers called them up next, and he let her go first, because getting her through would be easy. He was the one with the panic alarm disguised as a shot of Halitosis in his pocket.

Spencer would never admit that his eyes fell straight down to the curves of her butt that seemed to be spotlighted by that damn dress.

Why did she have to look so irresistible? He supposed that was the point; he was the mysterious young gambler that was going to keep them in the game long enough to spot the UnSub, she was the attractive, woman of the night brought only to boost his ego and as his good luck charm. She certainly wasn’t the only one, she’d already seen a handful of other women, tall as models and so toned it looked as though they hit the gym every morning and didn’t leave until sundown, primped and primed for their player’s delight.

They were ten times better looking than she was, but to Spencer, she was the only woman in the room who he was envisioning ripping that dress right off.

She was making it very hard, no pun intended, for him to accept the idea of them as just friends.

The bouncer patted her down, Bugsy flashing him a cheeky smile just a little too forced for it to be one of her real ones, when the woman patted around her waist and hips for any hidden pockets or stashed bills.

“You wish this was you, huh, baby?” She teased him with a wicked look in her eyes, and he could only smirk back, hoping his blush didn’t give him away as quick as he reckoned it did.

He felt his knees weaken, worrying he might just fall to the ground there and then and be forced to crawl towards her if he had any hope of getting into the casino alive, but even that sent a new wave of lewd thoughts through his head, and he was grateful when the other bouncer called him forward to inspection.

The muscled guy waved a metal detector over his torso, moving down to his trouser legs where he wondered with cynical humour if the rod he now sported in his pants painfully would set off the alarm. It didn’t, and he begged his crotch to let up even the slightest if he had any hope of keeping his head on his shoulders during this game, but the detector sprung to life the minute it waved over the alarm in his pocket.

He produced the medical looking device, one they’d already planned and checked for faults, showing the fake prescription clearly to the guard, “Halitosis,”

The guy seemed to frown, took another look over the gangly guy who was with a woman way, way out of his league. A woman who waited for him after her own inspection, a very real diamond necklace that had been a sixteenth birthday present from Steph around her neck, courtesy of her dad’s bank account and ten years worth of emotional distance. Whether he took pity on Spencer because Bugsy looked like the kind of girl who could chew up a guy like him and spit him right back out, or he really didn’t care about his medical condition, he didn’t know, but he waved him through without another thought, and they both took a sigh of relief.

“You want a drink?” He asked nonchalantly as possible, wrapping his arm around her waist again, and he tried to not let his flustered demeanour show when he found slits cut into the side of the fabric, and he felt the softness of her hips under his fingertips.

“My treat, to get you started,” Bugsy replied, something unreadable in the teasing of her eyes, and she leaned up to his jaw to steal a quick kiss there like any other girl wanting to be paid the full sum of her night would have done.

At least that’s what she told herself, pretending as if her brazen action hadn’t caused her heart rate to spike.

She got him an iced tea, because she knew he wouldn’t want alcohol, and got herself a half shot Moscow Mule, sipping the lime rim appreciatively.

“See anything yet?” She asked under her breath, one hand trailing over the back of his neck, playing with the curls that sat there with vixen sly eyes that scanned the room.

He forced himself not to moan at the sensation, and he worried it was too obvious to the other patrons in the gambling room just how easily he melted beneath her fingertips. He felt like a dog drooling after a bone, like she was shaking a lead in his face and asking for walkies, and he was panting beneath her, tail wagging and dopey eyed.

Not the look of suave, mysterious stranger they were initially going for when they were coming up with identities for their covers. But at least it sold the part of a man desperate to win the jackpot if it meant he could spend the night with the siren woman that clung to him with a giggly sip of her pink straw.

“No one looking particularly suspicious,” He noted; everyone was almost too good at a poker face, though he supposed that it made sense seeing the value of the prize pool, “You are getting a lot of attention however,”

And she was. In fact, he was quick to take her hand in his own free one when he saw a group of men dressed to the nines, solid gold rings along their knuckles, diamond encrusted Rolexs staring back at him from their wrists, their faces dead yet starved when they drank in every inch of her skin, their eyes falling to where her dress rode up high, as she had whined about the entire way there.

She chuckled, and something about it sounded like her own, not the woman she’d had to become for the evening, and she kissed where his jaw clenched in annoyance, “Not from anyone that matters, boy wonder,”

And he felt his heart rest for a moment, because as long as she was with him he knew he could shift that big brain of his into gear. He loved nothing more than the click he felt when he was with her, like their brains and bodies just seemed to bluetooth to one another and they weren’t Spencer and Bugsy they were just them. A since cell amoeba.

He smiled at her, and she preened under his attention, so genuinely her that he felt the vignette that had clouded his vision shift into focus, and he knew he could find their UnSub if she was there with him.

He sat at the nearest table to them that was about to deal in, and within twenty minutes he was racking up a nice, fat pile of poker chips next to his iced tea.

Bugsy knew he was a smart man, knew he was good at magic tricks, but if he had turned to her then and there and pulled a rabbit out her ear hole she wouldn’t have questioned him otherwise. Watching him play was something else.

It was entirely sordid, the whole hour of his first game was spent trying to keep her focus on any patrons sat at their table and the rest that seemed to be twitching, whilst also trying not to look awed at just how amazing his brain was when he won damn near every time.

But she did manage to rip her eyes off him when she could, not enough to seem suspicious, just enough to scan the area for someone who could be their UnSub, her eyes quickly jumping to the guy on the table across from them with a large magic 8-ball tattoo across his bicep, unsurprisingly already looking her head to toe as he waited for his hand to be dealt out. He winked at her, a smarmy, cocky grin on his face, almost too confident in his ability to be someone to turn to suspicions and rituals in order to win.

A serious contender, but nothing that screamed their UnSub.

She looked around a little more, ignoring the handful of men who tried to grab her attention, who thought they were somewhat validated or interesting for having her look at them for a split second. They were just part of the wallpaper compared to Spencer anyway.

It wasn’t until she spotted a guy in a baseball cap a few paces away from them fiddling with yet another magic 8-ball, though this time a key chain, giving it a gentle touch every time he picked up his hand as if it really had the power to change the values once they’d been dealt.

From the quick glance she got of his face, he seemed to be running on an hour’s sleep tops. His eyes were rimmed redder than her lipstick, and his hair was damp with sweat and grease against his temple.

Unstable if there ever was a man for the word.

She quickly looked back to Spencer’s cards, her hands weaving over his shoulders to rub his muscles gently, the signal that she’d seen something important masked as an affectionate gesture.

The House called the end of the round, Spencer being awarded a heaped pile of tens, hundreds even a small few thousands thrown in there, to which he collected onto his tray they had handed him at the door.

Bugsy leaned down with a girlish squeal, giving him another big, cherry lipped kiss to his cheek, to which he felt himself blush under immediately. Quickly dodging to whisper into his ear, it looked to the other patrons as if she was simply promising him an even bigger reward later for his winnings in exchange, “Nine O’Clock at table two, guy in the green jacket has an eight ball keyring he ritually plays with before drawing,”

Spencer nodded, standing from the table with his winnings, using Bugsy’s as an excuse to angle himself to where she was talking about. He pulled her to him effortlessly, his long arms wrapping over her bare back, his neck craning over her shoulder to serveill the table she had indicated, and she quickly hugged him back with that fake giggle of hers, her body pressing to his desperately like the other ladies of the night he had seen with men three times their age.

He clocked who she was talking about almost immediately, running a hand down her spine and squeezing her waist gently to let her know he’d seen him.

They moved in tandem, just like they always had.

A hostess came over to them, all big smiles and a tight fitted black dress, a log book in her arms of where everyone was sitting in the next round to keep a fair game. Bugsy took a look at him, wiping away the smudged lipstick on his cheek with a loving swipe of her thumb, nodding at him for a small bout of reassurance.

“I’m going to go get another drink, honey,” She said loud enough for the hostess to hear, as she flashed him a flirty smile, “Don’t forget to wait for your lucky charm,”

He bristled, a smile twitching at his lips at that, “I wouldn’t dare,”

Because her message was clear. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m updating the team.

She swanned through the crowd as if she owned the place, but then again a packed scene had never been an issue for her. She felt through her concealed inseam of the tiny cardigan she draped over her shoulders, until she felt the long bullet shaped object stuffed into a tampon wrapper that Penelope had geniously planted there to look like a feminine product.

Her own alarm, the one meant to let the team know they had sights on the guy and to be ready. It was Spencer’s that would give them the signal to enter.

She was fiddling with the damn thing when she felt it, a sharp crack across her ass as she was walking towards the bar, heard the laughter in the second she froze up.

Turning on her heel with a tight expression, the anger burnt hot in her eyes when she saw the guy with the tattoo who had been trying to get her attention not even a half hour ago, watched him sidling up to her with a conceited smile.

“So, has that twiglet over there paid for you in advance or are you going home with the highest bidder?” He said, his head flicking to Spencer who now sat at table two, counting his chips out onto the table and paying himself in.

She smiled at the assailant widely, and it would have been pretty had it not been for the crazy look in her eye that twitched when he made a move to step towards her more.

“I’m spoken for in advance,” She said lightly, eyes trailing down his outfit like she was trying to commit it to memory, over his defining markers like the slit in his brow and his tattoos that looped over his hands, “But I’m sure I’ll be seeing you real soon, sweetheart,”

And she flashed him a toothy smile again, yet something was wolfish about it this time, like she was ready to lunge for him there and then.

The guy wasn’t their UnSub but he had made it to the very top of her hit list in a split second decision.

She waltzed away, securing herself another Moscow Mule she had no intention of drinking, and headed back to where Spencer was being allotted his hand of cards. Their round started, Bugsy keeping a close eye on the UnSub who sat directly to Spencer’s right, and she found a little solace in the fact he couldn't have brought in any weapons since they had all been patted down at the door.

It didn’t shake the feeling of edge the guy with the tattoo had put her into when she watched their guy flick a look over Spencer’s shoulder to look her head to toe, glancing back at Spence who was already glaring at him.

“Is she part of the winnings?” The other guy to his right chimed in, sliding a stack of hundred dollar chips into the centre, two of the players already bust as they watched the others play on for the house.

She saw her partner tense in his spine when he heard the man’s drawling voice, and she knew he was struggling to keep a lid on the facade they were putting on for the evening.

Snickering, she ran a gentle hand through his hair, down the nape of his neck with a sickeningly sweet simper, “Sorry, boys. Only person who’s taking me home tonight is the pretty boy,”

One of the guys who had already busted out scoffed, grumbling under his breath, “Lucky fucker,”

And Spencer knew it too. He felt almost rejuvenated just feeling her near, a damn near cocky smile on his face when he pushed his chips into the centre of the table, barely flicking a glance at his hand when he realised he had almost certainly secured a winning run.

Maybe she was his lucky charm, he thought cynically. Maybe he couldn’t blame the guy to his right for carrying a silly little trinket around with him in the name of luck if he was no better.

“I’m calling,” The guy on the far right declared, shuffling two piles of his chips into the middle with the total pooling.

“I’ll raise,” The UnSub cut in, grabbing some of his black thousand dollar tokens and clinking them one by one next to his opponents, “Eight thousand,”

What a surprise, eight thousand, Bug mused, squeezing onto Spencer’s shoulder again as he was quick to match the bidding and then some with his own checks.

“$8,000, that’s fifty six months’ wage for the average person in Bangladesh,” Spencer said, doubling the bet with a flick of those long fingers of his. It was heinous how much his brain managed to warm her insides, Bugsy thought, hoping she kept her poker face intact, “Kind of makes you think, doesn’t it?”

The two remaining players, UnSub included, looked at him like he’d grown a second head, and Bugsy fought off the urge to laugh in their face, because for a minute he was so Spencer like all she wanted to do was quip something back equally as smart.

“Look, it’s eight thou’ to you, are you in or are you out?” The first man snapped, perhaps seethin with jealousy that the pretty woman wanted nothing to do with him or perhaps just pissed that the fresh faced teenager of a man was serving their asses up cold.

“I am in,” He moved some more chips towards them, his eyes falling back to the guy they suspected was their UnSub with a challenge in his eyes, “And I raise,”

“Three raise,” The dealer declared, and the first guy huffed in defeat.

“That’s too rich for my blood,” He growled, crossing his arms and flipping his dead cards over.

“Sir, are you in?” The dealer asked the UnSub, and for a minute his eyes snapped to Bugsy’s where she was keeping a calm look on her face despite the fact her insides were stumbling with nerves. But she never doubted Spencer’s maths, she would stake her life on it in fact.

“I’ll call,” The UnSub replied, flicking his cards over with another small token of a hundred, an okay run of cards but not an entire failure.

Spencer met it with a couple hundreds of his own, revealing his four and his eight that met the five, six, and seven he already put down. A winning flush. “Straight.”

Her smile was genuine, dazzling, when the pile of chips were pushed over to him, and she would have laughed with glee had the UnSub’s face not dropped into something devastated, borderline demented, when he saw his ritual had meant nothing. That he had lost despite killing his own friend and four more people as a sacrifice.

He was unravelling fast, and it was then Bugsy knew they had only moments to confirm he was their guy obsessed with his suspicions and that damn lucky number eight.

“I guess you won’t be needing this anymore, will you honey?” Bugsy reached over for the charm with a cheeky grin as the other patrons grumbled at their losses, only for the guy’s hand to come slamming down on top of hers with a brutal grip, hard enough she knew it was going to bruise by morning.

“Don’t,” He hissed at her, and it seemed to click with confirmation in Spencer and Bugsy’s mind there was no doubt this was their guy.

Spencer stood up to defend the woman, only for both of them to be grabbed by security second’s later.

“You’re going to let a man put his hands on a woman like that- would you relax I can walk,” Spencer snapped, watching the other security guard manhandle Bugsy just as roughly, pinning her arms behind her back, though she complied with a victorious grin, “Real tough there pal, grabbing on a woman half your size,”

“Relax honey, I got a taser in my pocket if they really want to behave like bad boys,” The bouncers looked at her in alarm, and it was the distraction Spencer needed to reach into his jacket and trigger the signal. She gave the three of them a shit eating grin, and Spencer thought he might just love her even more, “Don’t shit your pants, I’m kidding. I charge extra for the rough stuff,”

Spencer was still laughing when Hotch and Emily barged past them after the UnSub, who was by now leaving out the back door.

–

“Spencer, really, we can go back to the hotel and forget about it,” After revealing their cover with the bouncers, courtesy of one David Rossi and his famous face clearing their names, and the UnSub caught and well on the way to the nearest jail cell for questioning, Bugsy was more than tired and ready to strip out of the impossibly tight dress.

“I want to see this guy brought to justice, think of him as another UnSub,” Spencer said, his arms crossed over his chest as they sat on the bonnet of a squad car out the front of the building, the tournament slowly trickling to an end with its patrons leaving for the night.

She rolled her eyes, his jacket over her arms the only thing keeping her warm against the evening air. It would have been so much easier if they had been allowed back in, but FBI agents or not, the guards had clear rules against breaching the peace in such a high stakes game. A bad rep for having the feds show up on their busiest day of the year was not welcomed, just as much as they weren’t.

“Except he’s not murdered anyone,” She replied, eyes darting between the guests leaving with their earnings spilling out of their pockets, “He’s just some dumb asshole who can’t keep his hands to himself and- it’s him,”

The guy with the tattoos, Mike Folio as would later be printed on the police report, had barely a second to grieve his losses of the night before Spencer had him cuffed against the squad car, yelling and spitting about his rights as an American citizen.

It wasn’t until he saw the gorgeous woman donned in the candy red dress looking down at him with amusement that he felt the colour drain from his face.

“Hi sweetheart,” She smiled viciously, “I told you I’d see you again. Spence, read him the Mirandas,”

3. The one with the bank explosion

The tweed trousers irritated her thighs, the head band fluffed her hair away from her face in a way she kept trying to fix, and the brown pumps squeaked every time she walked, but her smile was dazzling nevertheless.

“Okay, the TV movie is at Hall H at nine, can we go to that?” Penelope asked, reading from the pamphlet as Bugsy and Spencer all but ran to keep up with her.

“Absolutely!” Spencer chimed in, “Do you think we can make it to the Captains of Enterprise at eleven?”

“Obvs,” Penny replied, fixing the bow tie necklace her and Bugsy had made not even the week before. She looked over at the younger woman, who had a matching K-9 pendant, because apparently FBI salaries did not take into account life sized robot dogs, “Thanks for coming with me,”

“Ofcourse, I’ve been knitting this scarf for weeks,” Spencer replied, his eyes falling down to where Bugsy donned a Sarah Jane Smith cosplay.

“Who are you going as?” She’d asked, the minute he’d asked her to go, because there were few things he did these days without her.

“The Fourth Doctor,” Spencer replied, because he had explained in length to her about the concept of regenerating and had even flicked on some of the newer series for her to watch with him, “Tom Baker’s Doctor, he’s a fan favourite,”

He showed her a picture of the time lord stood outside the TARDIS, a younger girl stood opposite him in a pink suit, large white peter pan collar hanging wide over her chest.

“Who’s that?” She asked, pointing the girl with the cute bangs and pleated skirts.

“That’s Sarah-Jane, or Sarah-Jane Smith. She’s one of the longest starring companions since she was the Third Doctor’s companion first and also was in the spin off show for her dog, K-9,” He explained, warming inside when Bugsy listened with raptured interest.

“So like, is she his girlfriend or-”

“No, no! The Doctor is often speculated to be asexual when it comes to relations with humans. Sarah Jane was one of his closest friends however, and in the Tenth Doctor’s third season he even comes back to rescue her from a wedding set up by one of his enemies,” He said, and her smile pulled out widely when an idea popped into her head.

“Well, can I be her? For your convention?” She asked, somewhat shyly, still a little unsure how the show worked in the fine details, “You know, since you saved me from my wedding?”

He paused, because she’d never really spoken about that day she’d jumped into his arms in the elevator, holding him to her like he was the only thing that made sense. Bugsy was like that alot; giving him everything he ever dreamed in the moment and then acting like it was never a big deal the next.

“S-sure! Yeah, that would be really nice.” He said, and she immediately started searching up what she should wear for it, “I didn’t really save you though, you know, you saved yourself,”

She snickered, nudging him with her shoulder, “You all saved me, I don’t know what I would have done if Em-” She stopped herself, swallowing thickly, and he saw the glow leave her eyes.

If Emily hadn’t been there.

Things were still awkward between them. There were no more catfights, thank goodness, though there also wasn’t any doting between the sisters anymore. It was like a clean break had slit between them. Emily had given up trying to warm to her, given up trying to get her to come around, and had instead taken the high road of waiting for Bugsy to make the first move.

But Bugsy was nothing if not stubborn. So Emily would be waiting a while longer.

“Hey, listen, next time I promise I’ll be the first one to object and then you can say I saved you,” Spencer joked, because he knew the subject of Emily stung her, because he knew she needed to stop thinking about it or she’d unravel into self hatred.

She chuckled aghast, “Next time? I was kind of hoping to keep the next one, Spence, whoever the unlucky guy is,”

He shook his head, a fake look of disapprovement, “Sorry, rules are rules. You wanted to be Sarah-Jane, I have to crash your wedding with the TARDIS I’m afraid,”

She laughed, resting her head on his shoulder as they flicked through the TV some more together.

“Well, I mean if those are the rules,” She simpered, snuggling under his chin, “Does this mean I get a sick robo-dog too?”

She looked every bit the part he would have ever expected her to look. Down to the maroon tie, and the white dress shirt, and the matching tweed blazer and pants that made her look embarrassingly hot.

He was about to tell her just how great she looked because she still seemed unsure, being a casual fan of the show not nearly as religious as some of the surrounding guests were, when Penelope cut them off in a near gutted voice.

“Oh my god,”

“Penelope?”

Bugsy and Spencer looked up to see Penelope’s ex beau, Kevin, dressed in a nearly identical outfit to her (though in Bug’s opinion he didn’t have the same pzazz as she did with the glitter and the sparkliness,) a red headed woman beside him donned in a police woman uniform.

“Kevin, hi, you came,” The blonde woman replied, her face mortified as she took in just how pretty the other woman was, “And you brought a friend, CSU technician Sharp, how are you?”

Hannah Sharp, from two floors below them in the BAU, grinned tightly, as if she could sense just how disastrous the situation had suddenly become, “I’m fine, uh, you?”

Bugsy gripped onto Spence’s arm tightly, hating the turn this was taking, every second of it.

“I am also fine,” Pen replied, though she looked as though she was ready to float outside of her body any minute now. “Okay, well, see ya,”

“You’re not gonna go in?” Kevin asked, his eyes crestfallen when he saw Penelope also grab onto the boy genius’ arm, and he cursed Spencer Reid for getting so many attractive women.

“Actually, we just went in and it’s super lame,” Bugsy interrupted, flashing a disjointed smile at the two of them, turning to usher her best friend away before he could call her out in her lie. “So we’re leaving,”

“Oh, okay,” Kevin replied, his date all but forgotten as the three of them made a sharp exit, a wince on the youngest Prentiss’ face when they got far enough that the girl could cringe in peace, “Well, great costumes,”

“Yeah, you too,” Penelope called back, her heels practically leaving tire marks with how fast she had sped away from her ex that was opening fresh wounds as they spoke. At work they were separated by a whole floor, so it wasn’t quite so scathing to see each other around or even hear of one another, but to be brought out in front of what she could only assume was his new woman was horrifying.

Bugsy was at her side immediately, grabbing onto her hand with a squeezing grip.

“Well, that was awkward,” Spencer noted aloud, and Bugsy lightly slapped his arm for him to shut up, her eyes wide with worry.

He looked at her in alarm, but her face told him everything he needed to know. Girl rules.

He hated girl rules. He never understood them.

“Oh my god, we used to come every year, I can’t believe he brought someone else,” Penelope sighed to the younger girl, who watched her with furrowed brows.

“Well you brought someone else,” Spencer pointed out, only to have his arm whipped at again in a chiding motion, and he watched Bugsy stroke Pen’s back with a bite in her tone.

“Girl rules, Spencer, girl rules,” He tutted at her, rolling her eyes as if they were a married couple and she was nagging him to wash the dishes.

Sometimes it felt easy like that with them. Like she really was just his best friend and not the only girl who held any sort of romantic connection to his heart.

“Yeah, someone I couldn’t possibly be attracted to,” Penelope stated, “Besides, he always thought the two of you were a thing anyway, oh god what if he thinks I’m your guys third-”

“Woah, woah, what?” Bugsy asked with wide eyes, “He thought me and Spencer were, like, dating?”

Penelope nodded, and Bugsy couldn’t even look at him without stumbling over her words.

“Well he knows we’re- like I mean we’re not even each other’s seconds so how could you be our third you know?” She said with a forced laugh, because she could feel her face going hot.

Spencer watched her tongue tie herself into oblivion, thinking of any and every excuse as to why she didn’t want dating associated to the two of them. Because how could she ever feel the same way? He was just him and she was, well, her. So incredibly, beautifully her.

It wasn’t until she bumped into an older gentleman waiting for his valet she even shut herself up.

“And I mean Kevin shouldn’t have just assumed- oh sorry,” She whirled around to apologise the man she presumed was a fan of the early seasons of the show, perhaps even around when they first aired, though the thought died in her throat when he turned around, “Oh, Rossi?”

David Rossi looked suave as ever in his age, a blazer thrown casually over his shoulder, a neat shirt and dress pants ensemble at his hips as he looked between the three of them, their costumes staring back at him entirely too colourful for a Saturday morning.

He sighed, hard.

“Why doesn’t this surprise me?” He asked with a tired voice, as Bugsy bounced back over to Spencer’s side with an incredulous look on her face.

“Are you here for the convention?” Spencer asked, excitement bubbling in his tone as Bug grabbed his forearm gently, already sensing Rossi hadn’t had nearly enough coffee to put up with them today.

“Who schedules a cigar aficionado event back to back with this?” Rossi asked, his eyes clamping on the pendant around her neck, “What is that, a robot dog?”

“K-9,” The three of them replied, and it was as if it tipped him over the edge, his hair growing whiter by the second.

“Kevin brought another woman, I’m plotting revenge. Do you want to help?” Penelope asked, her face still warm from running into the guy who was almost her fiance.

“Know where we can get any horse heads?” Bugsy asked, her expression lost in though as Penelope gasped, “What? I’m thinking go big or go home. Also, horse head in the bed means they can't have sex-”

“I’m taking that as my cue to leave,” Rossi cut in, just as his valet arrived, “Now you know I love all three of you, but this is Saturday, and it is my day off, so I’m going to love you from afar,”

He ruffled Bugsy’s hair fondly as he took his leave, throwing his blazer over the passenger seat and bidding them a wave goodbye.

They watched him go, wondering where it left them for a moment before Bugsy spoke up again, “So are we saying a definitive no to the horse head idea, because I’m sure I know a guy in college-”

“No, Bugsy,” Penelope hissed, her face scrunched in disgust, and Spencer swore she turned green, “Definitive no,”

–

They had been half way through breakfast when Spencer got an emergency call from Hotch for a team of serial killers robbing a bank downtown, hostages and guns on scene.

She had barely had time to whip the tweed blazer off her shoulders, keeping the shirt and pants on as Derek threw her a kevlar vest.

“It’s definitely them,” Will said in his soft Southern drawl, JJ embracing him tightly to her with a worried expression. It had been him and his partner first on the scene, though unfortunately things had not ended well for her when they had ran into the three UnSubs slipping out the back of the bank and had engaged in a shoot out; Will’s partner getting a bullet to the head almost immediately, and Will narrowly escaping unscathed, but not before he managed to gun down one of the UnSubs in the stomach.

So there they were, the UnSubs back inside the bank for safety since they were now surrounded by the city police, the FBI, the SWAT team and a handful of ambulances and medics on standby.

“I only saw the King and the Jack but I figured the Queen’s inside too,” He added, JJ peeling herself from his side as they headed towards the building.

“The media's calling them the face cards,” Hotch informed his team, all eight of them decked in their thickest vests and weapons loaded in full, “Seven bank robberies in seven months. They’ve killed one person at each robbery,”

“MO?” Rossi asked, now dressed out of his smart, Saturday wear and something more akin to his usual business attire.

“Single gun shot wound, each of the victims has bled out,” Hotch replied, and it wasn’t until they turned the corner towards the bank did Bugsy realise just how packed the street was with law enforcement.

Three or four choppers circled overhead with snipers and back up SWAT teams at the ready.

“Serial killers with a thirty day cooling off period, and we’re only just hearing about this now?” Emily asked in an incredulous tone, her voice raised to accommodate the shouting between other chiefs and their units.

“Headquarters characterised them as robbers first, killers second,” Hotch said, his hands on his hips as they all assessed the situation from afar. Naturally a few new anchors had pulled up to the scene as well and were setting up their equipment despite the officers trying to corral them away.

“Oh yeah? How did that turn out for them?” Bugsy grumbled behind her thick, dark sunglasses, biting her lip from saying worse.

“I disagreed with the original assessment, I was overruled,” Her chief shot back, because things had been just as cold between them since that day as they had with Emily.

JJ was slowly reaching out the olive branch in her direction, and if it wasn’t for Henry being so darn cute every time he begged ‘Buggy’ to come play with him, she reckoned JJ would have taken even longer to forgive as well.

“Why are we here now?” Rossi chimed in, eyes locked on Aaron’s frown, that seemed to harden every step they took closer to the bank.

“Because crisis negotiation is overseas.”

“What do we know about them?” JJ jumped in straight away with the problem solving, because even if they were out in the field and not in their pretty little round table room anymore, the UnSubs were still just pictures on a white board needing that red string to connect them all together.

“They’re organised, they're efficient,” Hotch fired off, mentally running through whether he had loaded the pistol he kept around his calf for emergencies, “Each strike lasts about two minutes,”

Derek’s face scrunched in confusion, “They gotta be scouting out the banks in advance, why haven’t we been able to ID them off of surveillance footage?”

“They hacked the security feed and turn off the cameras both during the initial canvas and during the robbery, until the masks come back on and then were allowed to watch” Hotch replied, and the eight of them slipped into the base of operation for the day; a wide trailer converted to house the high tech computers Penelope needed to keep an eye on the cameras with those magic skills of hers.

Bugsy’s eyes landed on the black and white feed of inside the bank, her heart lurching in her throat when she saw well over forty men, women and children lined on their knees execution style, facing the doors to the bank to act as a shield if the snipers did happen to get a shot through the windows.

The woman took the lead, a mask over her face with a doll-like expression on it, the other men soaked in blood as one fought to hold the injured one up for dear life.

“Why haven’t they cut the feed now that they’ve been cornered,” Derek said with a shake of his head, his lips pulled into a grimace, “Letting us see inside gives us a tactical advantage, they have to know that,”

“Unless they want the audience,” Bugsy suggested, watching the jack slowly growing weaker and weaker as they discussed tactics, “Although the only one who really strikes me as the attention seeker is her, he seems more prioritised with the other male,”

“The masks add to their narcissism,” Spencer input with a nod, “Their personas are the royalty of poker,”

“JJ, you, Bugsy, Reid and Prentiss, look at past robberies, that’s going to be our victimology,” Hotch ordered, and they did as ordered with little delay, heading to the office they had set up in the opposite trailer.

This was going to be a long day.

–

“I can help,” Bugsy offered herself before the team even had a chance to protest.

It hadn’t even been an hour into them pulling research from InterPol as to who their UnSubs were before they had made their next dramatic move; they had shot a hostage.

Which meant they needed medics in there fast, fast enough to save the hostage and the jack if it kept the king from unravelling into a massacre.

“What do you mean you can help?” Emily said with a scathing tone, “Bug, you can’t just throw yourself in harm’s way if you have no clue what you’re-”

“I did three years of a medicine degree alongside my biochemistry before I got bored of doing both and gave up on it,” Bugsy snapped at her sister, brows contorting into a harsher frown than she’d had in months. She preferred it when they weren’t speaking at all.

“Because you were bored?” Derek asked, his face incredulous at the gall of the twenty year old they’d plucked from college and sent into the midst of the Russian Mob five years ago, “Did you not have anything better to do like partying or making out with guys- a whole medical degree on the side is your idea of downtime?”

She shrugged, looking back at Emily with a glare who seemed to bristle at the information.

“Can I speak to you outside please?” Emily said in the coolest tone she could muster, though even that sounded like a bite.

Something shifted in the air of the tiny, makeshift office and the other inhabitants tensed up at the sight of the Prentiss women gritting their teeth almost identically, staring daggers at one another for a moment before they stood from their seats and waltzed out of the side of the trailer to where there wasn’t the bustle of squad cars or media to be seen.

JJ looked to Morgan, who looked to Spencer, who seemed to have paled for a moment, and the three of them were out of their own seats to linger at the doorway in case things really did get ugly between the sisters.

“Do you honestly think that throwing yourself into the line of danger today is a good idea or are you trying to hurt me to get back at me?” Emily seethed the minute they had stepped foot on the ground, and the scoff that left her little sister’s throat was something nasty.

“Oh, please, don’t make yourself sound so important.” Bugsy snapped, whirling around on her heel to glare at her sister, “I’m not doing any of this to get back at you, I’m trying to save those hostages in there-”

“So I just happened to have never heard about this medical side quest you set yourself on until now because, what, it just never came up?” Emily laughed, laughed, in her sister’s face, and Bugsy saw red even more, “I thought you were a better liar than that,”

“Maybe if you’d bothered to even speak to me before you needed something from me that day with the Russians then you would have known anything about me that wasn’t being your dumb little sister you can just walk all over like you’re my mom or something,” Bugsy’s voice was getting louder, and Emily’s smirk wiped right off at the sound of that, because she knew she could have been ten times a better sister had she not wanted to get as far away from her mother as fast as possible. “Same with Hotch, he never wanted much to do with me until his wife died and then who did he come to needing help grieving, none a single one of you, and who gets bitten in the ass and punished when I find out I spent seven months grieving like some idiot to that uptight prick who lied to me-”

“Do not speak about him like that,” Emily was shouting now too because Bugsy was truly holding nothing back on her.

“Why? Are you going to pick him over me, Em?” The younger woman snarked, her eyes hateful and narrowed, “Wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest given your track record-”

Emily shoved her, like, truly shoved her back and it robbed the words out of the girl’s throat. Yet it made JJ gasp where they were watching from the crack in the doorway, wanting to break them apart but knowing they needed to fix it for themselves.

The three of them hissed when Bugsy’s hand swiped against Emily’s cheek in a territory neither of them had ever wandered into. Emily was always too old to argue with her sister, too big to fight the way most siblings did with slaps and hair pulls and scratches, but Bugsy was a grown woman now; they both were.

Emily swatted the same back to her own cheekbone, after a second of shock washing over her face, and it was like they were two cats fighting in a back alleyway over a scrap of chicken.

Bugsy shoved at her around the tits, because she knew it would ache, Emily pulled at her braid with a yank that made Bugsy’s eyes water, the two of them banging against the wall of the trailer, their heads clunking together.

“Fucking punishing me after months like some insolent child-”

“I would never have left you thinking you were to blame for my death- I would never fucking do this to you-”

This was childish, entirely childish, playground offences and girlish curses in between. The worst part was they knew they could do much worse, they knew they could truly hurt one another if they wanted to. They were both trained to kill, and yet Emily had Bugsy grabbed in a headlock like they were two infants fighting over a sandpit.

Because they didn’t want to properly hurt one another in any way that would last. Never.

“Get the fuck off me or I’m punching you in the crotch,” Bugsy barked, trying to wriggle her way out of her sister’s freakishly strong arms with a frown, “EMILY- I SAID-”

“I was trying to protect you- just get your head out of your ass for two seconds and listen to me- I was trying to protect all of you-” But by the time Emily had somewhat gotten her to stop squirming, the girl had grabbed her by the calf where she had been forced to bend at a forty five degree angle, holding her one leg up off the floor while she sweeped at the second one to knock her off balance.

She had been known to shoot an assailant in the foot from twenty feet away to stop them from getting away, and yet she was resorting to simply pushing her sister over as a way to get one up on her.

She felt like she was ready to finger paint and take a nap time next; like they were about to be sat in the headmaster’s office and have their wrists slapped with a ruler for not keeping their hands to themselves.

But it worked, and in seconds the Prentiss girls were on the floor, puffing out of breath, Bugsy’s lip bleeding where Emily’s ring had caught it on the corner, Emily’s cheek red and raised from where her sister had a surprisingly strong right hook. They took a minute to breath, Bugsy glaring at the awfully clear blue sky, much too happy and cheery for the travesty that had been her entire day. And it was only then did she hear the other three members of their team exit the trailer, JJ going to help Emily up while Morgan's face appeared in the middle of the powdered clouds, something sad and sympathetic in his eyes and it was then that he held out his hand to get her up.

She didn’t want to, had every intention of laying there and staring at the broad daylight until she managed to float far away from there and from where her chest hurt with betrayal and her lip bled with lies.

He yanked her off the floor, offered her a cold can of coke for where she felt her lip swelling already, and she resigned to sit on the stairs to the trailer with her head in her hands until her temple stopped pounding or at least until she felt herself calm down in the slightest.

Emily shuffled to sit down next to her, her breathing still uneven but she could tell because she felt a tentative hand on her thigh rubbing gently, in the motherly way Emily had always watched her.

Because Bugsy had always been her baby, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

“Bugsy?” The younger woman huffed in indignance, pouting as she stared at her lap, because she felt the tears welling up already, “I’m so sorry I left you, you know I never, ever wanted to, you know that right?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice cracked as she finally looked over at her sister’s solemn face, “You told JJ and Hotch but you couldn’t even tell me? Did you just not want to come back for me?”

Emily’s brows pulled up into a sorrowful frown, and she felt her eyes start to burn too.

“No, that was never a part of it, I swear, there wasn’t a day when I didn’t want to come home to you,” She replied, taking a deep breath in through her nose as not to start bawling her eyes out there and then, “I had to tell Hotch and JJ as a matter of precaution, not because I wanted to tell them and not you. Bug, I missed you every day, I missed Niko and Sergio and those dumb documentaries you made us watch,”

Bugsy smiled despite herself, wiping a finger under her nose to stop the tears that had already started rolling there, “Well, I don’t know about Niko but Sergio missed you a whole lot,” She sniffled, rolling the Coke over to a cooler side to sooth her lip some more, “But I think he feels like you kind of abandoned him, and like you maybe don’t love him as much because he can be kind of annoying and, like, he’s real torn up about me telling him you died only to find your you’re not, like you can’t just do that to Sergio, Em, he doesn’t deserve that,”

Bugsy’s lip was quivering by the time she’d finished, but Emily chuckled wetly, wrapping an arm over her shoulder and pressing their pounding heads together.

“Are we maybe not talking about Sergio anymore, Bug? Are we talking about you-”

“No, we’re definitely talking about Sergio,” She cut in, wiping under her eyes with her sleeve, looking back up where Emily’s face was glistening with tears though it seemed like she had somewhat calmed under her sister’s gaze that wasn’t so full of vitriol hatred anymore.

Emily nodded, a humoured smile on her lips, “Right, okay, my bad. Definitely Sergio,” She held up her hand, stroking down Bug’s cheek for her where her tears had started pooling, “Well, I want Sergio to know that even if he is annoying sometimes, that there’s nothing that could ever take me away from him again, cause even though I’m not his mom, he’s still always going to be my kid, you know?”

Bugsy’s face crumpled in pain for a minute, sniffling and meeting Emily’s eyes, dark brown hues watching her sadly, imploring her to know how much her heart called out for her.

“Really? You promise?” Bugsy whined, and Emily nodded with a sad smile, stroking the back of her braid that looked a little ratted and wispy from where it had been yanked at. She took a shaky breath, looking down to her shoes where they scraped against the steps, “Well, I’m sure he’ll love to hear that, I’ll tell him when we’re home-”

Emily laughed, kissing her sister’s forehead, and pulling her into a side hug.

“Alright, tough guys. Let’s get back to working on the profile, Sergio can wait for a minute,” Morgan said, though his face fought off the smile that crept on his lips seeing two of his favourite girls finally at peace with one another.

Bugsy looked five years younger within seconds, and they clicked back into place, hopping up off the steps to get right to work, cursing herself for wasting so much time on silly things like hating her sister, because forgiving her felt cathartic in a way she didn’t understand she needed.

Maybe they had a chance after all.

–

Bugsy swore she would never have an optimistic thought a day in her life again.

Because just as they had thought perhaps things could look up; just as they had sent in a different agent medically trained enough to save the jack, their UnSub, that they’d identified as Oliver, had bled out before he could have done anything to save him. Without a second thought, the king, Chris, had shot the agent, and demanded he wanted Will next as retribution for his brother’s death.

They had of course turned down the offer in a heartbeat but the moment everyone turned their backs, Will, ten times the cop Bugsy could ever hope to be, had walked into the bank with his arms raised in surrender despite JJ screaming for him to stop from where Morgan and Hotch held her back from following him in.

Bugsy and Penelope watched from the CCTV in blood curdling horror when Chris put two bullets in him before he could even declare he was unarmed.

“Did you see where he was shot?” JJ asked, her tone empty, her eyes bloodshot where she had broken down into a fit of wails as soon as the gunshots had sounded through the street.

Bugsy opened her mouth to speak, losing all hope as soon as the bluebell gaze fell to her for an explanation.

“Is he alive or dead, Bug?” JJ snipped, but she knew she didn’t mean it, knew she was just worried out her mind and grasping at straws.

“I don’t know, I’m sorry,” Bugsy replied, Emily’s hand at the small of her back in a comforting gesture because she sounded scared. She wished Spencer was with her, he always knew how to make people feel better, but he and Kevin had gone back to their office uptown to use Penelope’s personal lair for better coverage on the BAU’s resources.

“He was wearing a vest,” Emily jumped in, because Bug was tense and upset enough as it was, “He might be okay,”

“Might be?” JJ said humourlessly, her face hollow with sadness, “Alright we need to get inside,”

“JJ, it’s too risky,” Morgan tried as the woman stood up, a new found determination, because she refused to accept her partner, the father of her child, was dead until she saw him in a body bag for herself, “We don’t have eyes in there anymore,”

Jennifer’s eyes welled up again, and she turned to their unit chief; he was the only one who could understand just how desperate she felt right now if there was even the smallest chance he could still be alive. “Aaron.”

Hotch took a breath, nodding to her with complete empathy, “Let’s go in,”

Bugsy leapt for the medical kit they’d kept in the cupboard, because if she could stop the bleeding as soon as possible he might have a chance. She was taken back to when she had gotten to Emily that night with Doyle, when she had nothing but the clothes on her back and a loaded gun to treat her sister with, when she had felt completely helpless.

She refused to feel like that again, not now she’d been lucky enough to get Emily back. She refused to let JJ and tiny Henry go through what she did.

Will wouldn’t die if she had anything to do with it.

“Seeing what’s going on outside doesn’t help us inside,” Spencer said, standing behind where Kevin sat in Pen’s office, his hazel eyes falling to the surveillance footage of the bank live streaming from one of the choppers, where the familiar woman he worried for more than he could ever tell her moved behind a SWAT unit towards the front doors, a large med kit strapped to her back, a pistol at her side.

He looked down at the blueprints of the bank because if he watched her get even ten feet away the bank he thought he might just throw up, even if there were four armed men shielding her.

“Kevin, can you possibly pull up each of the surveillance feeds prior to Will being shot?” He asked, quickly diverting his attention away from where they were at an impasse waiting for something to happen, Emily’s SWAT team moving slowly towards hers.

“Sure, what are we looking for?” The other man asked, his fingers sprawling over Penelope’s keyboard as he did as requested, playing the older footage on the opposite screen, though even he was getting cold feet watching their team getting ready to breach the perimeter.

“The female UnSub disappeared once before, if she wasn’t looking for an escape, what was she doing?”

Spencer paused, because he couldn’t help when his eyes flicked back to the footage of Bugsy shuffling closer to the entrance behind one SWAT agent, and the doors burst open, the entire street pausing for a second to see what the movement was.

The hostages. The civillians caught in the crossfire at the bank slowly trickled out of the doorway, their arms raised in peace, some crying in relief though there was no sign of Will anywhere.

This was bad. Though he felt utmost care that the hostages had been released safely, he knew that the UnSubs keeping Will meant one of two things. One, that Will was already dead and useless to them, or two, keeping him bleeding out as a bargaining chip was their final play. Meaning they had no intention of releasing him, otherwise they would be left with nothing.

If he wasn’t already dead, he would be any minute now.

Spencer’s chest crashed in devastation for his friend and his godson, though it soon took a turn of terror when it seemed the same thought ran through Bugsy’s mind and she began stepping forward towards where the hostages were shuffling out in floods of tears.

He saw Morgan and Emily yelling at her to stop, two of the SWAT team trying to follow her because they had no idea what had come over the twenty something year old rookie with a death wish. Spencer tried to ignore the way his chest clawed in horror, his eyes snapping back onto the surveillance of the female UnSub disappearing into the back rooms of the bank, completely ignoring the vault and the very clearly marked exit, meaning she had no intention of using either.

So what was she doing?”

Spencer felt his head rattling with a horrid thought, hoping his intuition was wrong when he held the blueprints up to the screen, his skin turning to gooseflesh when he realised just exactly where she had been dipping out to with that backpack of hers.

“Gas mains,” His voice was numb with fear, his body diving for their comm link to Garcia, where she sat in the trailer with Strauss and Rossi, watching the surveillance just as he was, “Garcia, get them out of there now,”

But no sooner had he said anything, Bugsy’s figure disappeared into the building, the SWAT team confirming that the entrance was clear, JJ and Morgan moving after her with their own agents protecting them.

But she was already inside, his head screamed at him. Even when he heard David’s frantic voice through the radio they had linked to their kevlars, “ABORT, ABORT!”

Even when he heard Hotch swear hastily, calling to his team to hold back, trying to yell loud enough JJ and her team could hear his orders to take cover.

Spencer couldn’t truly take any of it in as he watched the large glass windows wobble for a second, a shock wave of what he knew was about to come.

The lines went dead, and he thought for a second his heart stopped. Because he hadn’t figured it out fast enough, hadn’t warned them before she had chance to throw herself head first into danger the way he should have known she would.

Because Spencer watched the footage with a terror he had never known, not even in his eight years on the team, not even in his own situations as a hostage, not even when he was at his lowest and he thought the dilaudid was going to finish him off, alone and high in his apartment’s little bathroom, a burnt out drug addict who had so much going for him.

Spencer had never felt the sheer, spine-chilling dread that he did when he watched, useless and heart broken, as the bank went up in a colossal explosion, a plume of flames bursting out of every window, shattering glass and cracking the brickwork, hard enough he watched part of the building start to crumble inwards.

And Bugsy went down with it.

Taglist:

@release-your-sweets @smileykiddie08 @caramelised-onions. @the-tpd-bau @stephthepeach @sunflowersndpeaches @sammy-4103 @starmansirius @yeonalie @delusionallooney @hades-disappointment-child @sadbae-33 @mdanon027 @swag13r @frickin-bats @bilesxbilinskixlahey @mindfullycriminal @mrsbellastyles @nilopillo @imagines--galore @bluejaysaysstuff @imaginexred @flow33didontsmoke @spicyspirit @mywellspringoflife @lovelyygirl8 @pleasantwitchgarden @star-girl-interlud3 @rosylnsworld @jamieolivia27 @halcyonwithletters @waywardhunter95 @ineedtosusoutmyreadinglist t @theoraekenslover @niktwazny303 @bliindmattmurdock @alyeskathewave @littlemadamred

#spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew grey gubler x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #Emily Prentiss x Sister!reader

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dolldefiler · 4 months

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Hey :)

I just wanted to say truly how incredible your writing is. I find myself refreshing on tumblr desperately looking for a new story from you whilst I mindlessly rub myself away to all the dirty things on here because it just works like no other if I’m honest..

Also wanted to say thank you for seeming like a genuine person on top of all the sex-stuff, a lot of people abuse the space with this sorta stuff so it’s refreshing to see a double edged sword type thing I suppose.

Now I guess onto the reason I gathered the courage to ask (even though I’m still on anonymous…) I was wondering if you’d be up for letting me share my fantasy and if it sparked any inspo, if you’d be open to doing a request whenever you got the free time?

One of my biggest fantasies in the world is being kidnapped, raped and gaslighted, with heavy heavy tones of misogyny. Idk something about a sexually fuelled patriarchal society really does something to me :0 but unfortunately it’s kind of hard to communicate that desire to anyone at risk of it being taken completely the wrong way (oh the joys of having these kinks) and so I fear I’ll never really get to live out any variation of this fantasy with someone I trust

I just imagine being taken one day, because I’m just a girl and it’s a man’s right to take me if they choose. He takes me back to whatever secluded hole he’s got to keep me in, and it’s brutal and harsh at first - tied, bruised, etc etc. Then as the days, weeks, months go by I begin to develop Stockholm syndrome or I’m just plain old gaslighted into thinking this is all women are made for. Maybe he recorded me saying degrading things about myself in the first few days, which I said out of fear but you play them back for me and convince me that I meant them and you never asked me to say those things, it must just be truly who I am. Maybe he’d reward me when I gagged on his golf with the most simple thing like a stroke of my hair while he brutally fucked my face, but the small sign of affection (even when being used so aggressively) would be the gentle touch that I had been craving in the months he had kept me locked away. Besides the first time he raped me (so he could hold my pleasure during it as a tool against me), he would edge me from the very start, breaking me, making me crave the pleasure against everything screaming in my body saying not to. Taunting me by saying if I could cum just one more time, he’d let me go.. but of course he’d never let me. Teasing me by saying if I do as I’m told he’ll think about letting me get extra close to the edge that day, because at this point being allowed that would be the closest I would ever get. By the end of it my rewards would no longer benefit me, I’d be thankful when he said I could cockwarm him whilst he worked, or if he said I could be spend hours and hours worshipping his cock with my mouth, even when my jaw began to hurt. He’d only fuck me ass unless he wanted to edge me and get me close, or to breed me full of cum. If I ever took a misstep, like missing a single drop of cum after he came, I’d be punished. I’d be thankful to serve him, I’d learn to speak to him as my superior and all my pleasure would come from serving him. I could be completely rewritten and by the end of it he could let me go with no worry, and I’d be his forever..

ANYWAYS… ahem. I think I may have got carried away.

Even if you don’t write anything like this, honestly it was kind of fun just typing it out.

Other than that, I hope you are doing good!

From a very horny anon (who maybe recently has maybe weirdly started subconsciously picturing some imagined version you in this fantasy)

-🍒

Aww, this is such a cute message to receive (and as ever with these asks, I apologise for taking a century to respond).

I would love to steal some girl away from her home, snatching her up like she's property to be claimed. Snatching it up, like it's property to be claimed. She'd struggle at first, screaming and crying, violently thrashing against her ropes and threatening to call the police. What a silly little sex doll. The police wouldn't care about her. They'd probably stolen away their own little fleshlights.

I'd beat her of course. Stupid fucking rapetoys need it sometimes. They need to understand that they're nothing until I give them a purpose. I'd lock her in a dark room with no clock, no water, not a single sound to accompany her but the sounds of soft sobbing and heavy breathing. She'd mark the passing of days from my sharp footsteps as I'd come down to feed her. Beat her. Abuse her.

I'd speak to her sometimes, whispering degradation into her ears. Taking off her gag to encourage to degrade herself for me, if she wanted food. The only human contact she'd know would be intensely degrading. Every vile word of degradation she'd whisper about herself would earn her a pat on the head or kiss on the forehead. I'd reward her for breaking.

I would record every trembling word of hate she'd say about herself and rape her to the sounds of it. I'd spread apart her cunt on my cock and pound away at her, recording even that, raping her endlessly to our homemade porn. To our rape videos. She'd watch her own face become stained with tears. She'd hear the nasty things she'd hear about herself. She'd lose her mind. Did she truly want this? Did she really hate herself?

I'd reassure her that this was normal. That it's okay to hate yourself. That all she needed was me. I'd strap a vibrator against her clit and drill into her ass, jerking off inside her to the sounds of her intense degradation, to the her loud, screaming in those rape videos. I'd teach her to love the feeling. Then I'd leave her again. I wouldn't speak to her for days, silently feeding her. She'd have to choose between eternal silence or... something that made her feel alive. Something that made her feel like a woman. Something like a pathetic fucking rapemutt.

I'd choke her out, squeezing her tighter and telling her that I'd stop if she only just told me to. I'd stop if she degraded herself. I'd stop it if she just said anything. But my hand would stop her. I'd watch her become unconscious and limp every time, and wake her up to my cock raping her ass violently and my palm slapping her sharply. I'd only use her cunt to reward her. To train her into loving my cock stirring up her insides in a way that didn't leave her screaming.

I'd rewrite her so thoroughly she wouldn't even be able to consider disobeying me. The police might stop burying their cocks into their own fleshlights and knock on my door. They might question her. They'd get nothing. She'd defend me and tell them she ran away with me. She'd fervently tell them how I'd saved her from her old life. How I'd helped her. They'd take one last look at her and leave my house. Perhaps I'd breed her as a reward.

#rapekink #r@pe fantasy #degradation k1nk #degrading k1nk #rough kink #r@pe kink #humiliation kink #r@pe k!nk #rapedoll #rapetoy #cnc kidnapping #kidnap fantasy #gaslighting kink #manipulation kink #bd/sm breeding

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realizinau · 7 months

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CatNap, is there any reason DogDay is a 9.5 and not a 10.5 at the very least?

So this one was a weird one lmao?? I was going to also include an ask that basically said "So Catnap and Dogday are the only siblings?" BUT TUMBLR ATE THAT ASK I GUESS I can't find it for the LIFE of me

AND this was supposed to be a longer one, but I shifted gears and decided I might as well make two posts out of it. So a short one fo today!

< Previous | Start | Next >

Patchnotes 3/4/2024

I just found that ask TUMBLR WHERE WAS IT BRO?? BRO?????

#realizin' au #realizin' au art #realizin' au ask #catnap #dogday #poppy playtime #poppy playtime 3 #poppy playtime au #poppy playtime chapter 3 #poppy playtime smiling critters

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lo1k-diamonds · 7 months

Text

How to Choose a Valentine 💜

PAIRING: idol!Jungkook x You (You can also read it on AO3)

SUMMARY: Who knew the best company for Valentine's Day would be a lovely Doberman? And who knew he'd get you a Valentine? Well, sort of.

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

GENRE: fluff and light angst

RATING: Teen (for cussing and drinking)

WARNINGS: drinking, kissing and making out while drunk (consensual), hangover, lapses of memory, misunderstandings, JK handles everything well, Bam is the center of this story, the cutest baby, and maybe a cupid, should fill your 💜 with fluff but wdik

A.N. I wasn't even supposed to write this. This is what happens when I wake up at 4 AM and can't sleep. Then I think, Hmm, I read lots of lovely fics yesterday about Valentine's Day. What would I do if I wrote one? X hours later, here we are. I just roll with it at this point, it's almost a way to deal with writer's block 😅 Enjoy 💜

Masterlist | Scroll my stories on Tumblr | Schedule and WIPs

You snorted at the reel playing on your phone while your hand petted gently between the black Doberman’s ears. One girl smashed the phone camera while repeating ‘Girls don’t want flowers for Valentine’s Day’, while another immediately shyly said that yes, she’d like flowers. You scrolled; another of a guy guiding his significant other over a trail of petals; you scrolled, another of a guy explaining how he asked a girl to become his Valentine. Another, with the type of girls on Valentine’s Day and you smirked. Which one were you? Definitely not the spoiled girlfriend, you were single. Not heartbroken, you hadn’t dated for a while, or a heartbreaker. You chuckled; the only guy in your life at the moment was that sweet Doberman sleeping on your lap and you weren’t about to break his darling heart.

The next options were single and fine with it, anti-Valentine’s Day, and Galentine’s Girl. You supposed you were fine with it but had hoped not to spend it alone, hence why you were at your best friend’s apartment. What you thought could be a day of eating and having fun together turned into dog-sitting because she needed that favor. Something along the lines of the usual sitter being ill and her needing to find someone to do it, and you were available.

You could think of more depressing ways of spending your day. You put your phone down and petted the short fur between the dog’s closed eyes, knowing he was utterly relaxed under your touch. He was the cutest thing and you had a blast walking and playing with him all day. You checked his training and he was responsive, though testy of the limits, and you made sure he understood that he had to listen to you. During your second walk, he behaved so well and was rewarded so much that you thought he wouldn’t have an appetite for dinner, but he surprised you. And now he was sleeping soundly and you didn’t want to get up, but it was time for your own dinner. Maybe you could cook something up for you and—

Your phone buzzed and you checked it; speaking of the devil.

[It’s taking longer than expected so I’ll eat here. Treat yourself sorry see you soon! 💜]

You sighed. In the end, you were going to spend it with that cutie as your Valentine. You stretched your arms and shoulders, pressing your fingers to your neck before gaining the courage to slide under the Doberman. He wasn’t pleased and adjusted his head to get back on your thigh.

“No, Bamie. I gotta eat something, come on.”

You slid again and turned on the TV as background noise before getting to the kitchen and checking your best friend’s fridge. You decided to eat a bit of everything that you could find and got set to eat on the sofa in front of the TV. Not even five minutes in, you became sort of annoyed — stupid Valentine’s Day ads. You told Bam firmly not to even think about snatching your food before you focused on streaming something instead. A corny and sweet romcom should be fun.

And you had dinner as you laughed and cried with it until a scene came up where the main character cried her sorrows over a bottle of soju and you thought, Why not? You had nothing planned the next day, at least you could have a drink.

You started with a single soju bottle, but as the episodes played and the night passed, you didn’t stop. Eventually, there were empty bottles of beer and soju and you were feeling dizzy, despite being sat down on the couch. Your last reasonable thought was to turn off the TV, the only source of light in the room, before holding on to Bam as if he were a pillow and falling asleep.

It was the sound of bottles clicking that disturbed your sleep, and your instinct was to wrap your arms closer around the fluffy dog, “Bam.”

He was wiggling his tail like crazy, and in your haze, you connected that to the bottles falling over. Not to the extra dip on the other side of the chaise longue.

Perhaps it was the fact that you heard your best friend’s voice in the distance that relaxed you, not quite registering that it disappeared after the front door closed. It was only when a different scent hit your nose that you started connecting the pieces: Bam was squeezed between you and someone else, their hand touched your arm ever so slightly while they petted him, and that musky scent was from a man.

You opened your eyes, confused by your conclusions, but not at the top of your game — a quick nap was not enough to make you sober.

“Who are you?”

Bam’s tail kept wiggling as he seemed busy facing opposite from you, looking at the person who answered you, “Who are you?”

He sounded sleepy and you couldn’t see him properly. The city lights from the window were enough but you were still too hazy.

“I asked first,” you voiced, rubbing your eyes. He didn’t seem willing to respond quickly enough, but you could feel him still petting Bam, so you sulked. You wrapped your arms around the pet harder, “Bamie is mine!”

Instantly, a new set of arms did the same and tried to steal him away, “No, he’s not! I’m his dad!”

“And I’m his mom!” The man scoffed and you raised your chin proudly. “Don’t believe me? Look.”

You let go of Bam and scanned around, seeing where you could put your feet safely in between the bottles. Then you got up and walked a bit unsteadily across the living room, standing next to the window. You could see the shape of the man all in black, including his hair, looking at you from his comfortable position with the sweet Bam happily smelling around.

He could see your expression, your baggy tee shirt falling over you and covered with cartoons, but he only cared about Bam staying in his arms. Because of course, he would.

“Bam!”

He gasped when Bam jumped from his embrace to get to you, frantically wiggling his whole body before lying on his back over your feet. He gaped as his Doberman showed his belly, happily licking your face and squirming under your belly rubs.

“Such a good boy,” you cooed, grinning from ear to ear.

Then you straightened up and snapped your fingers and Bam got up too, easily following you back on the couch and splaying himself belly up in between you and the man.

“There you go,” you murmured, scratching his belly and up his chest much to Bam’s delight.

It was when Bam squirmed that his snout ended up under the man’s chin and you saw him clearly for the first time. Then he spoke and you smiled.

You woke up with a groan, drool all over the pillow, and a headache to make you want to run for the hills. But then you sat up, confusion still scrambling your brain as you eyed the bedroom.

“Bam?”

You waited but the sound of paws scratching the floor didn't grace your ears, so you got up from bed and searched for him. You looked everywhere, calling for him every few seconds, but he didn’t come out and you couldn’t seem to find him. In fact, there was no one else at home but you, which made you befuddled — where was your best friend?

Your hangover was deadly, it was trying to pull you down with a headache the size of the world. And so you beelined to the bathroom and stripped hastily to get your head under the water and try to wake up gently.

But there was no gentleness to be found when suddenly you remember something — there was a man. Yes, but— You— kissed?

Suddenly, you were flooded with the memories of you kissing, his gentle hand cupping your jaw, your trembling breath when your tongues touched. The foreign thing that ended up being a lip ring that you felt with your tongue. The way the kiss deepened, and your legs got tangled even beyond sweet Bam lying in between you.

You were hyperventilating, “What?!”

You did what?!

Did you kiss a random man? On your best friend’s couch in the middle of the night? Or did you hallucinate him because of the alcohol?

Suddenly, it came to you — he tasted of beer, and you told him as much.

You felt him smile against your lips, “And you taste of strawberry soju.”

You remembered chuckling before kissing him again, burying your fingers into slightly overgrown strands of hair that curled around your hand.

You rubbed your face under the water; you kissed him. You were both drunk, and you couldn’t remember everything, but you pressed your lips to—

You stopped breathing.

You were feeling his shoulders and pulling him close when Bam started licking both your faces, which made you both break away and laugh.

“I have to pee,” you had said, getting up.

Before you could be mortified about having said that to a random guy, you recognized that after you went to the bathroom, you forgot about getting back to the couch. Instead, you went to bed on autopilot and fell asleep. Because you were that drunk.

Well, thankfully. Otherwise, what could have ended up happening? You were not in your right mind, you could barely remember his face aside from his eyes and lip ring. You were crazy, nuts, and shouldn’t drink that much again.

You got out of the shower and got dressed quickly with more lenient thoughts. Since only kissing happened, it was okay. No harm no foul.

Your stomach was adding to the problem, but you still decided to take headache medicine before your phone buzzed and you grabbed it.

[Meet me at work and have breakfast with me?]

You agreed and got your stuff to go to her. The subway trip was twenty minutes but it was alright at that hour. The HYBE building was in a very busy area, so to already have a direct line there was a blessing.

You gave your name at the reception to get a visitor pass and went to the floor she indicated, smiling when you saw it was a cafeteria with breakfast all around.

She met you at the door and walked you through it before sitting down and watching you eat your broth carefully.

“Lots of people need caring for this morning. Funny what Valentine’s Day does to some people,” she was amused, though her expression screamed exhaustion. “If they’re in couple they drink together, if they’re single they drink alone. There’s no escape, is there?”

You were looking down apologetically until you could talk, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. I… raided your fridge.”

She sighed, “I know, I saw the bottles on the floor. Hence why you’re here, to have a power breakfast.”

“What happened yesterday? Why didn’t you come home?”

Your best friend heaved a deep breath, her spirit hanging on by a thread, “My artist went to a friend's dinner last night and got drunk. I got his driver to get him home but they had an accident,” she sighed. Your eyes widened in alarm, but she raised her hand swiftly, “They’re both alright. This all to say that after my meeting got lost into late hours, instead of going home, I had to go and manage that situation.”

“That sucks…” You thought back to the previous night, unsure of how to introduce the topic.

“By the way, thank you for taking care of Bam. My artist and I really appreciated it—”

She was interrupted when a spot of black dashed for you, barking the instant you took a second to acknowledge his presence. You instantly smiled despite the horrid headache the noise was making and reached to pet him.

“No, Bam! No eating!”

“It’s not the food,” your best friend pointed out jokingly, dismissing the manager nearby who tried to admonish the pet.

You were happy to give him all the cuddles that were making him go crazy and whiny; you were happy to see him again too. It instantly pulled memories from the previous night into your mind and you wondered again how to bring it up with your best friend when a voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Bam.”

Bam was licking your hand happily, yet instantly darted away at the call, and you knew before you looked up. It was him. You recognized the longer hair you had gripped, the lip ring, and the eyes. The sweet yet searing eyes.

He got near your table and bowed to you both before starting a light talk with your best friend about the schedule for the day.

And you blinked, wondering why his eyes set on your best friend’s face, or rather why the whole situation felt like a gut punch. He must have been the artist your best friend was referring to, the one she managed. You wouldn’t know, she was secretive about who it was. But the way he was ignoring you couldn’t be mistaken. He didn’t acknowledge you more than that bow, but why would he? You knew who he was.

The moment your lips grazed in a slow kiss while his hand gently supported your jaw came to mind and you blinked in astonishment. You couldn't believe it happened. Even as you remembered opening your eyes the moment he pulled away a few inches to breathe and looked straight into your eyes. It was impossible. Even if you were both drunk, how—

“Excuse me.” The three of you turned to the lady in uniform. “No pets are allowed in the cafeteria,” she bowed respectfully.

It was easy for you to get up, “I’ll take Bam to the rooftop garden.”

You grabbed his leash from the man’s hand without touching him and he let it go, a bit startled. Not that you noticed; you stepped away and called for Bam, who followed you swiftly.

Jungkook stayed behind, eyes still on you leaving with his dog until you were out of sight.

“She’ll take good care of him.”

He turned back to his manager and nodded, “I know.”

His manager was ready to use every argument she had to convince him, so she chuckled, “Funny how yesterday you were borderline going nuts over a stranger taking care of him and now you’re so relaxed.”

He nodded and looked back at where you disappeared with his Bam. You were not a stranger.

“What’s that look?” She asked, eyebrows furrowing ever so lightly.

He pressed his lips and nibbled a bit on his lip ring, but then looked back at her, “When you left me at your place… something happened.”

A mix of fear and ‘oh no’ crossed his manager's face and he sat across from her where you had sat before, ignoring your tray and half-eaten food.

“We were both drunk,” he started, expecting her not to believe him, but she just nodded. “And Bam loves her. We just—” He filled his lungs with air, pushing it back out anxiously as his tattooed hand ran across his hair, “We joked around that I was Bam’s dad and she was his mom. Then, that we were both alone, nowhere close to having a Valentine, and that maybe Bam was our cupid. Instead of meeting and making a baby, the baby— made us—” He became crimson and hid his eyes for a second, then he faced her again, “We were drunk!”

“You said that,” she deadpanned firmly. She was his manager, she needed to know things in black and white. He knew that.

“So we joked. Maybe we should get together, and we kissed.”

Her eyes doubled in size, “Oh no, you didn’t!”

“We just kissed!”

Her features hardened, “Tell me right now. Tell me the truth.”

“It’s the truth! I swear, we kissed— for a while—” His ears were becoming red, “And then she went to the bathroom and I fell asleep.” His manager’s expression had not changed a millimeter, and his eyes became pleading. “You have to believe me. You woke me up and I was alone with Bam.”

“That’s true,” she acknowledged, finally heaving a breath. “Shit, this is my fault. Leave two drunk people alone, and see what happens.”

He frowned, “I don’t just go around kissing people, even when I’m drunk.”

She faced him, “That is also true.” It seemed clear to her, so he relaxed. “So what happened? Why did you kiss her?”

He blinked with wide eyes, startled by the question. “I… I don’t know.”

He looked down, containing the urge to look back at where you had left with his pet. He didn’t even know your name, he knew nothing except that Bam loved you and you tasted sweet.

His manager waited for a proper response, for any additional information. But when none came, she knew what she had to do. She sighed, “Well. I’ll have to contact our lawyers and draft an NDA. She’s my best friend”, she confessed, rubbing her eyes for a second. “Shit,” was all she expressed before getting up and rushing out.

Jungkook pressed his lips and let her leave. He was confused about the situation, about his actions. He knew so little… Why did he think it was enough?

He put away the trays you and his manager had used while he pondered this. In a way, Bam’s heart meant everything to him. The way Jungkook loved him was unexplainable, he was the only soul in the world he could ever love in such a way. His innocence and instinct were enough, and he listened to you like he only ever listened to Jungkook himself. That shouldn’t have been enough, but it was.

And he was drunk, he sighed, leaving the room. It was his fault, he knew that. He shouldn’t kiss people irresponsibly like that, and now his manager was in a tough spot.

He decided to head for the rooftop and sort this out with you. He didn’t know what to say, but he thought maybe it didn’t have to be a big deal. You two just did it and it was… freeing. There were no inhibitions or second thoughts. It was playful and innocent, and then your lips touched. He didn’t know it would feel like that, he hadn’t thought it through. But it felt so good. It created shivers, made him hot, curious, awake, alive. He had no questions, no doubts, it was like jumping out of an airplane and freefalling. It was like the wind was guiding him to fit together with you, there was nothing in him telling him to fight it.

He got to the rooftop and immediately saw you across the garden sitting on a bench with his manager, and your best friend, next to you. Bam saw him too and raised his head and ears, but he was busy grabbing a stick that had just fallen on the floor and bringing it back to you. Jungkook could have expected him to drop everything to greet him, but Bam didn’t.

His manager was explaining something to you and your eyes were glued to the floor, expression closed except for the line between your eyebrows. Only when Bam brought you back the stick and you threw it again, did you look up. Jungkook was walking closer yet slowly, not meaning to intrude, and you had thrown the stick almost right into his path. That was why Bam happily gave it to him instead, and he crouched to pet his baby while his eyes stayed on you.

Your eyes turned away when you said something. He couldn’t hear it from there, but he knew the words out of your mouth were cold. He recognized his manager trying to have you reconsider or change your mind, but your eyebrows drew closer as you bit something back and just got up and away.

You didn’t look at him as you walked in his direction towards the exit. You planned to pass by him without a word, a mix of emotions inside you that you preferred not to address. And yet Bam was what forced you to change your mind when he lit up at your presence. He looked for a pet from your hand and you immediately halted, unable to punish that sweet pup because of his dad.

Still, the words slipped the seam of your lips somewhat bitterly, “Are you a baby?”

“What?” He blinked, eyes wide as he straightened up.

“You kiss someone and your first instinct is to threaten them with NDAs?” You were frowning with a hint of contempt, but your eyes were glistening. You continued before he could say anything, “I won’t sign it. I don’t care what any of you think, this isn’t normal. You regret it? Fine, but then act like a fucking adult.”

He was at a loss for words and movement behind you had him glancing, and so you turned. Your best friend had a serious expression on her, something you imagined was her work persona. Well, too bad you had no sympathy for it.

“No,” you raised a hand before she could say something. “You’re doing your job, and I’m standing up for my principles. I’ll go to your place and get my stuff.”

You passed by him at a hastened pace and the second he turned to say, “Wait!”, the heavy glass door was already closing behind you, muffling every trace of a sound.

He turned to his manager then, seeing the tiredness, sadness, and frustration all over her face as she heaved a deep sigh and hid the tears in her eyes.

His lips twitched with a question, but she spoke instead, “She thinks I’m choosing my job over her.”

“But you’re not,” he instantly said, confused. “This isn’t necessary.”

She sighed, “I’ll deal with this, ok? Get to your shoot.”

She also passed by him quickly inside and Jungkook looked at Bam, who was lying on the floor chewing on the stick with a hard focus. Why were they so eager to get anything done without a proper conversation?

He took Bam with him across HYBE and got inside the car with other managers and assistants. They were waiting for him to continue his schedule, chatting about Bam. It would be difficult to have him on the set, but they’d contact a sitter on the way—

“Take me to Manager Kim’s place.”

“What?” His manager frowned, “Now?”

“Yes, now. To drop off Bam,” he offered, though he knew it was a lie. His manager agreed though because he knew Bam had stayed there the previous day, and being late to the shoot was fixed with a simple call giving them a warning and an apology.

Jungkook left the car first, saying that he’d go and come back quickly, and the team agreed, to his relief. He was upstairs in a beat in front of the right door, yet before he could ring the doorbell, the door opened in front of him and something crashed into his chest. His heart jumped and his hands darted to support your arms as you recoiled back, and then you looked up at him. Such beautiful big and expressive eyes, and he knew then he would have wanted to kiss you anyway.

You broke away from his arms and moved to go around him. He didn’t miss your frown, but he didn’t hesitate, “Can we talk?”

“I’m not going to sign it,” you insisted as you turned to him, adjusting your backpack over your shoulder. “But you don’t need to worry, that doesn’t mean I’ll talk about it. I’m not like that.”

He nodded once, “Okay. But that’s not what I want to talk about.”

You paused, “Oh.”

Your features smoothed in confusion and he was happy he caught your attention, “Can we go inside?”

You shrugged but walked back inside. You petted Bam gently between his ears then put your backpack down on the floor. By then, Jungkook had released Bam’s leash and closed the door. The sweet baby darted to the water bowl and your lips curved before his dad drew your attention away.

“I don’t regret it,” he said, and your eyebrows jumped. “You keep saying that, but I don’t. And I didn’t ask Manager Kim to do this either, I suppose it’s standard procedure or something. I wouldn’t know. But she’s just doing her best because she feels responsible.”

You were skeptical, “You wouldn’t know?”

“No.”

You found that hard to believe, but you didn’t insist. It had nothing to do with you. “Why would she feel responsible?”

“Because she’s in charge of me, I guess. Managers tend to feel like that even when we are, in fact, not babies.”

Your lips twitched at his choice of words.

“So don’t get mad at her. After this, I’m going to tell her to stop it. I don’t want this NDA thing, and neither do you. It’s not necessary,” he sighed. He had told his manager that before, but maybe if he insisted, she’d get it.

You nodded.

“And thank you for looking after Bam,” he finished with a smile. The Doberman had jumped on the couch a bit carelessly, but he was calm. “He’s usually nervous around strangers, but he loves you. You might really be his Mom for all he cares,” he smirked, watching as you stepped to the side to pet Bam. “And I wouldn’t… separate him from a person he loves. If you’d like to see him again.”

Your cheeks instantly caught fire as you looked at him. He held your gaze calmly, the only hint of nervousness in his fingers fidgeting. You didn’t think you were misunderstanding him, then.

“I can make time.”

He smiled, “Good.”

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