#prisoners imagine

[charliehoennam]

just need you.

a/n : I blame @joshlmbrt for this. u asked for it and it got me horny so here you go 🧡

prompt: men who knead your thighs and hip as you sit on their lap with their big hands as you slick their hair back and tell them about your day. who get so hard when you kiss their forehead and tell them you have to go shower. who don’t let you go and fuck you on the couch — deep, thoroughly, filled with love

pairing: david loki x f!reader

warnings: 18+ only, no minors please. language, smut, creampie, cockwarming, david gets horny from feeling loved.

SHARING IS CARING, REBLOG IF YOU LIKE IT

Parking your car in the driveway just behind David’s Crown Vic, you switch the alarm on as you make your way over the grassy pathway paved from David’s walking over time.

Despite the dull day you had, you smile at the butterflies that still flutter every time you’re about to see him. Using the spare key he had gifted you, you unlock the front door and step inside.

You take the liberty of making yourself at home by kicking your shoes off and walking further inside towards the kitchen, you set your bag on a chair and drape your coat over its’ back.

“Baby, that you?” he asks from the living room.

“Yeah, it’s me, honey” you reply walking over with a smile.

He leans back and manspreads against the couch after crouching over the files and documents all fanned out over his coffee table along with his gun holster and badge. You take in the sight of him, hair slicked back from his shower, dressed in a tight white tank that accentuates his muscles. He usually wears them under his button-ups, but you love it when he wears them in the house, paired with a pair of gray sweatpants.

“You look so tired, baby.”

“I am tired” he smiles reaching for your thighs to guide you closer and unspokenly invites you to sit on his welcoming lap.

You accept and lean against his broad solid figure, lazily draping one arm around his neck while your other hand rests against his chest.

“Too tired for me?” You smirk watching his eyes trail down your body to your crossed thighs.

“Never too tired for you, honey” he replies taking your knee and pulling it towards him to let you drape your leg over his as his other hands sits at your waist.

“I hope not” you chuckle and press your lips against his to properly say hello. “I missed you” you whisper.

“I missed you too, honey… Didn’t get to see you this morning.”

His eyes close as he nuzzles his nose into your neck, taking in the lingering scent of your sweet perfume as his palm glides up and down your thigh.

“I know. You spent the whole night on duty, so I figured we wouldn’t anyways. But we’re together now hm?”

“Yeah, honey. You’re right. How was your day, hm?” he questions lifting his head to admire the gentle details of your face.

He listens to you vent about your day, kneading your thigh as his other hand slowly rubs your back up and down. He listens thoroughly, making a comment here and there, asking questions as you go on, but the glimpses he takes down your shirt and at your thighs don’t go unnoticed by you.

They make you feel loved and desired although you decide not to call them out because you’re drinking him in just the same; eye roaming up and down his chest, fingers gently twirling the hairs that peek out from the top of his tank or delicately squeezing at his biceps as you mindlessly rub his strong arm.

“How about your day, baby?”

“I don’t wanna talk about my day, honey. Just…” he sighs closing his eyes.

You know how his job takes a toll on him. Being a detective means having to see and witness things that are generally hard to stomach, let alone forget. And, although he can never forget certain things he wishes he could, he’d rather treasure the moments you get to spend together because, not only are they too few, they help him shut the rest of the world out. These moments with you melt away all worries he carries as a detective and allows him to just be David, a loving and caring boyfriend.

“It’s ok, babe. You don’t have to,” you answer with a tender kiss to his forehead.

You let your kiss linger there for a moment as he groans contently, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you closer. You’re almost certain you could feel his dick hardening as your fingers comb through his damp hair.

You chuckle imagining how good and relaxed he must when you take care of him.

“Why don’t you put this stuff away then and order us a pizza? Or whatever you’re in the mood for? I’m gonna go shower.”

You move to try to stand up, but he shakes his head. His arms tighten around you and hold you in place.

“No, baby. Stay here with me. Wanna be with you” he pleads wrinkling his forehead as his brows pinch together. His hand rises from your waist and his palm rests against your cheek when his lips meet yours. “Missed you so much, honey. Feel so good when you’re with me.”

You smirk noting how his breathing hitches and his cock twitches when you kiss his forehead again.

Gently peppering his forehead with kisses, he exhales sharply clenching his jaw as he pulls your legs to fully straddle his lap. His hands greedily grope at your thighs, at your hips and at your ass, enjoying your body’s fullness through your stretchy leggings.

You pull your head back a bit, letting your fingers meet at the back of his head to continue their therapeutic scratching on his scalp.

“I haven’t even showered yet, babe” you whisper shyly concerned, fearing your natural scent might be slightly more noticeable.

“No, honey, no. You smell so good for me” he frowns with eyes closed and shakes his head. “Just wanna be with you right now.”

“Yeah?” you whisper letting him kiss on your neck as he grinds his hardened dick against your sex.

“Yeah, baby. Feel so good on me like this. Can you feel it?”

“Y-yeah” you answer breathlessly as you give in and grind your dampening pussy against his crotch. “I feel your cock, baby. Feels so nice and hard.”

“Yeah? You like how it feels like this?”

You nod licking your dry lips as you continue dry humping his clothed cock, whispering how you love his dick so much as it throbs in his sweatpants when his hands pull your leggings up to make your ass and mound more noticeable.

He groans gently biting at your collarbone as he relishes the friction your body provides. Panting softly, you move your hips faster as his hard dick rubs against your sensitive nub.

“Fuck, Dave. Right there… That feels so good.”

“Ride me, baby. Just like that. It’s ok, I got you.”

Lost in the intoxicating pleasure that is washing over you, he rests his forehead against yours watching your face contort as you chase your orgasm.

“Cum for me, baby girl. You can do it. Feels so good, right? You like it, don’t you?”

“Fucking love it” you whimper feeling it build in your core. “So close, Dave. F-Fuck!” you pant as his hands grip your hips to pull them closer. “Gonna-gonna cum!”

“That’s my baby girl. Cum for me, sweetheart.”

The pleasure snaps in your core as you moan and slowly still your hip to soothe yourself with slow thrusts against his dick.

Running his fingers up and down your obvious camel toe, he clenches his jaw realizing how wet your leggings are from the dry humping and your orgasm.

“Honey, can I rip these? Please? Please? I need to feel you.”

“But they’re new, babe. I just got them.”

“I’ll get you new ones, I promise. Promise you” he quietly begs with the softest voice. “I’ll get you a hundred if you let me rip these right now. I’m so fucking hard, it’s hurting.”

He might as well; you’re almost sure they’re ruined now from the slick that’s gushing out. 

The second you nod and approve, all eyes go straight to your crotch. You hold onto his knees as you angle your hips forward for him. David quickly gropes at the fabric, pulling it carefully away from your skin. Digging his finger into a small tear, he rips a hole into the middle of your leggings to expose your wet panties. 

"Hold them for me, honey" he asks, fumbling with his sweatpants to push them down enough to free his dick. 

You eagerly obey and pull your panties to the side to reveal your soaking cunt. With one hand on your hip, he pscoots you close as his other hand holds his cock to guide it against your folds. 

"Fucking..." he sighs closing his eyes as his head lulls back at the pleasure of your warmth against his cock. 

Taking advantage of the moment, you dip your head to kiss his neck but David's quick to capture your lips with his. He stills his kiss for a moment as he stares hungrily at you, letting his hands do the work of guiding his dick into your entrance. 

You smirk as you ease down slowly on his cock, watching how his mouth slowly opens into an O. The pained expression is purely based on the pleasure and self control he's got over himself to not cum right away. 

"Easy, baby. Easy." You remind him by pressing kisses to his forehead as you start to slowly move your hips. 

His hands squeeze at your hips and ass, so desperate to sink his fingers into your soft flesh. 

"Fuck, you're wet on my cock, honey. Can't hold back too long" he begs. 

"I got you, baby. It's ok" you pant riding his cock. 

You gently grip at his hair while his mouth mauls at your neck. The moans he elicits out of you are aphrodisiacal music that weave through his veins and make straight for his dick. 

He replaces your hand  with his, holding your panties to the side from behind with his hand resting against your ass. 

"Tell me you love me" he pleads, shutting his eyes hard as he feels his orgasm building. 

"I love you, baby. I love you so fucking much. Love every single bit of you" you pant heavily rocking your hips roughly against his. 

"God, don't stop, honey. Don't stop!"

I love you's spill from your mouth as you chase his release until you feel his broad  body tense under your arms that hug him, filling you with hot white cum. Noting the way he stills your hip from the sensitivity, you pause long enough to let him calm down and slowly regain your movements to help soothe him. 

Lifting his head, he kisses you, letting his tongue invade your mouth hungrily as his arms lock around your waist like a belt to hold your pussy on his bottoming out dick. 

"God, I fucking love you too."

[rebelliousstories]

The Secret to a Good Relationship

Relationship: David Loki x Reader

Fandom: Prisoners

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff, Light Angst

Word Count: 1,564

Masterlist: Here

Jake Gyllenhaal & Co. Masterlist: Here

Summary: Everyone always says that the secret to a good relationship is communication. Now to see if you can teach an old dog new tricks.

This case was something different. Child cases were always the toughest for law enforcement and Loki took everything to heart. He made it his life’s work to find these children and bring them home safely. He made sure to be there for them when no one else was. however in devoting his entire life and being into these cases, other aspects fall short. Eating, sleeping, even relationships.

Dating was tough in general. Learning how to cohabitate with another person, love them unconditionally, and build a life together; it was a lot of work. That didn’t mean that it wasn’t worth the effort, but it sure was a lot. Dating anyone in law enforcement was even more difficult. The long and ever changing schedule, the toll of the work on their lives, but they made it work. At the end of the day, they always made it work.

But when you’re going on week two of interrogations, interviews, and patrols, it makes it very difficult to keep up with things that aren’t necessary for survival. David slips out of bed early in the morning, well before the sun has thought about waking up, to get ready for the day. He’s not chronically addicted to coffee like his colleagues but his second cup comes around lunch if he’s just doing paperwork for the day. By the time he’s “done” for the day, i.e. the captain told him to go home, he was itching for his third cup of coffee of the day. But he held off until he went home, deciding then if he wanted another one.

Then it was straight to the shower, then the bed, hoping he’d actually be able to sleep. David was lucky if he got a couple hours during these cases. Endless facts, theories, evidence, and crime scene photos playing on an endless loop in his head. It plagued his waking hours, and infected his dreams, if you could even call them that.

But nothing drained him more than being away from her. His rock. His shelter from the storm in his work and head. His partner. Cases like this required all of his attention, meaning he didn’t have the self preservation skills like eating in his head, much less keeping up with his girl. But he tried, in some way. Holding her when she was already fast asleep when he finally dragged his body to bed. Kissing her forehead and slipping out so as to make sure she gets as much rest as possible. Even fixing her a cup of coffee just how she likes it, and keeping it in her favorite temperature controlled tumbler so it’s perfect when she does wake. Other than that? They hadn’t really spoken the past couple of weeks.

Another day. Another lead. Another interrogation. Another dead end. Loki threw himself into his work the second he arrived, desperately trying to finish this case. He knew he had the guilty man in custody, now it was a matter of proving it. But the evidence was all circumstantial. He’d never make it stick which left him feeling even worse than he had been. It had been a grueling fourteen hour day for him when he finally called it quits and came home. And there she was; waiting for him over the stove that smelled delicious. It was late for either one of them to be up and eating, but there was a routine. David made his way to the shower as he heard the sound of cooking coming from the kitchen. As he emerged, feeling better after the scalding shower, he watched as she plated their dinner.

“What are you doing up this late?” He questioned softly, watching the clock read 11:30. She shrugged and placed his plate down on his side of the table.

“Work ran late. I didn’t get home till ten.” David nodded, and tried to dig into his food. There was silence between them and it was anything but comfortable. He pushed his fork around his plate, but nothing actually made it to his lips. While his lover was quietly looking at her own plate and trying to get food in her stomach, Loki could not. His mind raced too much about the day he was trying desperately to forget.

“How was your day?” She asked in between mouthfuls of food. He quickly tried to place a bite in his to avoid answering, but he could not make his hand comply.

“Same old.” David answered quietly. His hand stilled at the side of his plate. The woman across the table from him noticed, and reached her hand across to rest on his but did not expect the reaction she got. David hand shot up as if he had been burned, and his plate was cast to the side, spilling the contents on the table and a little on the floor.

“I’m fine. Why does no one believe me when I say to listen to me?” He exclaimed, clenching the fork in his hand so tight his knuckled paled. Loki stormed off to their room in a flurry and shut the door loudly behind him, leaving his partner at the table, dumbfounded. She had never once seen him go off like that. He never liked to do it around her, preferring to keep that side of him far away from his lover. While David would never go into detail as to why, she had a sneaking feeling there was an abusive relationship he witnessed at a very young age that scarred him.

She took a deep breath in, and got to work. Waiting to see if any other noises sounded off from the bedroom, she worked to clean up the food from the floor and table. Placing the dishes in the sink with a little water in them, she figured that’s would be tomorrow’s task. Right now, she had a lover and detective to see. Again, listening for anything bing thrown or broken, all she was greeted with was silence. Silently pushing open the bedroom door, the sight broke her heart. David sat on the bed with red knuckles, disheveled hair, and the saddest expression she had seen on the man. A cautious step forward, but no response from the man in front of her. She sat on the bed, far enough away that she was not touching her partner, but close enough that she could if she wanted to. There was no response. No verbal acknowledgment. No visual cue. Nothing to indicate that he was even aware off her presence. That was, until, he began to lean over. Leaning closer and closer towards his lover until his head passed in front of her chest, and landed in her lap.

The angle was uncomfortable for him, but a quick readjustment ensured that he could have stayed there as long as he wanted. Almost as soon as he got settled, David felt his lover’s hands start to card through his hair and massage his scalp. No words were said as the lovers embraced each other.

“I’m sorry I lashed out.” A very quiet voice came from the man. It was uncharacteristically soft and fragile.

“I know.” A soft voice from above said plainly. Her hands did no cease there ministrations as the couple quietly conversed.

“Work has me so stressed lately and I don’t know how much longer I can take this.” No one interrupted the man on his speech. Just soft breaths and gentle hands.

“I wanna keep doing what I’m doing. I don’t wanna stop but its…” he tried to finish the sentence but no more words passed his lips.

“Do you want me to listen or give some advice?” She asked her lover that was in her lap. Two taps on her leg gave her all the answer she needed.

“First of all, the fact that you recognize the need for communication is important. I understand you are going to lash out from time to time, but always come back to me.’

“Secondly, you need a break. Not a day or two, but a true vacation. You haven’t had one ever and you need to relax a bit and get away from work. I know you don’t want to but if you keep going like this, you’ll put yourself in an early grave. And I can’t find anyone else like you, David Loki. So you can’t die on me.” She joked as she finished. She felt her lover crack a small, genuine smile at this and rolled over so he could see her face.

“How did I get so lucky?” He asked, mesmerized by the moonlight on her face.

“Because the universe knew you deserved someone nice.” Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to his forhead, which he relished in. Pulling him up, the couple quietly got ready for bed. Tucking themselves in their sides of the bed, Loki welcomed his lover into his arms as they laid there while he faintly registered the clock struck midnight.

“I don’t deserve you.” He whispered, tucking in a stray strand of hair.

“Yes you do.” She replied, just as softly. Meeting in the middle, the couple shared their final kiss for the day, and allowed themeselves to rest in the arms of their lover. Knowing that tomorrow, if it got too much, they would have someone reliable to come home to.

[cassiopeia-grimm]

[ozzgin]

hear me out...

yandere prison..

runs normally, but the warden hired very specific people

and you just got falsely accused of a heinous crime

Yandere!Prison x Reader

A few years back I actually wanted to make a dating sim with a similar premise! So I might just redraw my old cover and recycle the characters, haha. content: gender neutral reader, violence

You've been accused of a crime you didn't commit. Even worse, you were speedily shipped to a maximum-security prison, despite your horror and your desperate protests. Your lawyers are scrambling to get you out as soon as possible, but it's not a guarantee.

You thought you'd be killed within the first moments after arriving. The three men you're sharing a cell with, however, turned out to be reasonable enough. Unexpectedly so.

The blonde one greeted you with a wide, merry smile. He's the friendliest of the bunch, despite his heavily scarred features. One of them seems to wear a mask at all times, and he doesn't speak much. The last one is polite, though he keeps his distance. His answers are curt and to the point.

You quickly noticed that all other inmates avoid you religiously. The tables empty when you put down your lunch tray, and during breaktime the yard fluctuates with people migrating to whatever corner is farthest away from you.

Today, you finally found out why: one of the prisoners happened to bump into you, and he promptly fell to his knees, begging you to not mention it to your cellmates. You are apparently sleeping next to the leaders of the biggest gang around. Even the guards are terrified to approach them the wrong way; the last one to do so was placed on permanent medical leave.

And yet, they are nice to you. In fact, you'd go as far as to say they're strangely protective of you, always looking out for your safety and hovering in your vicinity like trained dogs.

On your way back, you find the inmate who pleaded for your silence; his head nearly cracked open, held against the bathroom sink by your beloved blonde bunkie.

"Oops! You weren't supposed to see this," he laughs awkwardly. "Why don't you return to our room? I'll join you in a moment."

He flashes you his usual smile, innocent and somewhat silly. This time it appears particularly eerie, given it's stained by fresh splatters of blood.

[More yandere stories]

[synthaphone]

i suspect they cut the 3rd stage of the manectric line for being incredibly stupid looking, but i think they should have kept it, exactly like that with no revisions. dog that got stuck in its one of its owners shirts and is trying to act like it wants to be there and can leave at any time

[sauerhundz]

Yan!Prisoner who thought you looked adorable in your nurse uniform. He could tell you were new by the way you couldn’t stop shifting every couple seconds. Or maybe it was the way your eyes hadn’t lost their sparkle yet.

Yan!Prisoner who only wants to be treated by you (his lovely nurse) and won't let anyone else touch him. Who was always so patient even when you make mistakes.

Yan!Prisoner who thought the apprehensive looks on everyone's faces were amusing when he asked you how you were liking the job so far and was anyone giving you trouble.

Yan!Prisoner who is there when you need someone to rant about work. Who always listens attempt to lose to your every need as if it were divine scripture (and to him it might as well be).

Yan!Prisoner who gets quiet when you ask about his family. Who’d much rather listen to you and subtly changes the subject.

Yan!Prisoner who was honored when you gave him a nickname

Yan!Prisoner who can't wait to get to know you better in a more domestic setting.

[januaryembrs]

YOU WERE LIKE AN ANGEL TO ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says- i’m a menace but i ADORED the spencer fic u posted 🥹 UGH THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOURRRR 👹if it’s okay, may i request another fic with the same couple 🙈 perhaps one day reader is not as sweet or chirpy as she usually is, or she gets injured or threatened in the field? much love and lots of kisses xoxo 🫶

Description: Spencer swore he wanted to hate her. She was too happy, too chirpy, too much for a guy who spent months rotting in prison. But how could he ever hate her when she cried in his chest like that?

Length: 5k (I'm feral for these two)

warnings: post prison reid. Angst. depiction of suicide from the Unsub. gory language used. guns mentioned. mention of $nuff video and other murders. Nothing that hasn't been done on CM already.

authors note: if y'all want to see more with these two just SAY because I am all ears I would die on this ship

There were a lot of times in his time at the BAU that Spencer had wished he could have changed the outcome of their bad guy, surprisingly enough. There was the time they found their UnSub a few minutes too late, and one of the victims fathers decided to take him out then and there with a shotgun to the head. He was just a kid. There was the entire time he was with Tobias Hankel, and he lived in a state of both fear and sympathy for the boy trapped in his own body after years of abuse. There was Nathan Harris, the kid who had stopped him at the subway station and practically begged him for help to stop his urges to murder, only to slit his own wrists before Spencer could get to him because he thought he was tainted. 

He could see how it was easy in their job to get wrapped up in saving the day, in saving everyone they could. He just had hoped, on some stupid grace of a god he didn’t even believe in, that she would have at least remained untouched by the bad luck. 

Spencer had always thought, since the first day he had arrived back into the office after his stint in prison, that she seemed to just waltz through life easier than anyone else. He knew the concept of luck was not quantifiable, that it was just a coincidence that good things happened to some people, and bad things happened to others. He always grouped himself in with the latter, because what was his entire life if not one bad hand of cards after another?

Part of him had been seething with vitriol jealousy when he first met her. He hated how the elevator doors seemed to open without hesitation for her, no waiting required. He hated how her hair never seemed to fall out of place, while his required primping and preening to upkeep. He hated how she was always so happy, whether it had been she’d been given an extra cookie at the bakery for free, or her coffee had just tasted super delicious that morning, or the road works clogging the city had been put on hold the one day she needed to drive into the office. She was one of those people, he had decided, that life just seemed to smile down upon, and she beamed back in that dazzling grin. 

He felt sick to his stomach for ever wishing it gone, especially when she looked like she might never smile again. 

They never liked to say that they had easy cases and hard ones, all of their cases were difficult to process. But this one had been a handful above the rest. 

“UnSub has been killed on site, all units stand down,” Luke said into the radio, and the entire squadron took a sigh of relief, all of them except him. 

Because he saw that look in her eye, the way everything sparkly about her seemed to have vanished.

They had been following Bobbie Wrids for a week. Five bodies in, five men shot between the eyes execution style, almost six by the time they’d arrived on the scene. 

She’d gone with Tara around the front of the abandoned building; Penelope tracked their newest victim, Henry Frond, through his phone pinging off the nearest satellite towers, and it had been straight forward from there. Or at least it should have been. 

Because by the time Spencer and Luke arrived in their own SUV, Penelope had time to access the rest of Henry’s phone, and it was clear to see the victimology behind all six men. 

They were distributing snuff videos of women, some between themselves, some to other usernames on the darkweb, and Bobbie Wrids’ daughter had been one of them.

Bobbie had become somewhat of a vigilante, but he was a grieving father above all. He was a wounded animal chomping at the bit to soothe the ripping pain of his daughter's murder, the same one those men were getting off to. 

Tara and her exchanged a glance as Penelope relayed the information over their headsets, her once serious expression falling into something sombre and sorrowful. How could she arrest a man she couldn’t help but feel sorry for, one she couldn’t help but think wasn’t entirely wrong in his actions. 

“Bobbie Wrids,” Tara’s voice was stern, cutting through the silence of the desolate building. Their footsteps were careful as they made their way through the hallway, down to what had once been a rec-room, or perhaps a staff room, where they knew Bobbie had Henry, “This is the FBI, we’d like to talk,” 

They heard nothing, and she looked up to the older woman hesitantly, her finger hovering over the trigger the way Spencer had taught her. Tara took a minute, knowing she was leading the charge here with the girl being so inexperienced, before she nodded to the door knob and the rookie twisted the handle, pushing the peeling wood open gently. 

Bobbie Wrids stood in the centre of the room, moth eaten couches either side of the damp rug, the ceiling tiles half caved in from wear and tear. Henry Frond was already a pulp in the UnSub’s arms, and yet it was Bobbie that her eyes shot to first, sympathy shooting through every fibre of her being when she saw the distraught look on the father’s face. 

He was grieving. He was grieving his little girl’s death. He was looking for a solution, and this seemed to be his best bet. 

“Bobbie,” Her voice was shaky, her and Tara frozen in the doorway as the man brought the pistol to Henry’s beaten face, cocking it towards his temple before they could even explain themselves. “We’re going to come in, is that okay? We just want to talk, just let us talk-”

They had only edged closer by three paces between them as she was speaking before his knuckles turned white and he squeezed the gun tighter to Henry’s skin, the barrel contorting the flesh, “Don’t come any closer, this pig isn’t worth your mercy,”

“We know,” She said, her and Tara slowly stepping over a fallen ceiling tile, cracking under her boot as she met his desolate gaze for the first time, his head snapping to her. “We know what he did, Bobbie. What they all did.”

His throat bobbed, his bottom lip quivering and the sight of it, a man so broken, forced a frog into her oesophagus, and she willed herself not to cry. 

“They hurt my little girl,” Bobbie choked out, his face turning mauve as the tears began to build behind his eyes, “She was my girl. She was only eighteen.” 

She nodded, his wetted hues seemingly permissive when she stepped closer to where he held Henry hostage. 

“I know, I’m so sorry for what happened to her,” She said, her voice croaky, unstable as she wrenched it into something audible, “I’m so sorry,” 

“He doesn’t deserve mercy, none of them did,” Bobbie spat, his forearm crushing against Henry’s trachea in a vice-like grip. The man floundered, a wheeze coming from his lungs, not that she felt much sympathy for him. 

She sprung into action, flicking her gun onto safety and holstering it, Tara doing the same as she lowered her weapon to her side. He profiled as a vigilante; he had no reason to hurt them. 

“Bobbie, listen, I know they didn’t deserve to walk free, okay?” She said, taking the smallest step towards where the men stood, “But she wouldn’t want this for you, would she?”

The man flinched, his jaw hard as a rock with how he clenched his teeth together, as if holding back a sob. 

“Come on, Bobbie. Let him go, we have enough evidence to get him sentenced. We can get you a plea deal, I know a good lawyer,” She begged, because she wasn’t beneath it, because she knew he was a good man backed into a corner, “Please,”

Maybe it was the way her eyes were soft when she looked at him, or the fact two more agents burst into the room from the hallway, Spencer’s eye immediately falling to where she was stood so close to their UnSub, her gun out of hand. Tara stood by, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He edged with light footsteps until he was behind her, his gaze cautious, never leaving the gun in Bobbie’s hand. 

“Please,” She repeated, and Spencer saw Bobbie’s shoulders drop, every sliver of resolve draining from his body at her gentle tone, a deer approaching a hunter. 

Henry was thrown to the floor, the man practically dead weight as he gasped, almost retching at the feeling of air sucking back into his chest frantically, and Luke and Tara were quick to wrestle him into cuffs, the woman reading him his Miranda rights. 

Spencer almost made a grab for her then, because she was still creeping forward towards the man who had a loaded gun still live in his hand. He didn’t care for one second that the statistics said Bobbie wouldn’t lay a hand on her since she wasn’t part of his list. He didn’t care that every sign pointed to their UnSub being benevolent towards women, especially younger ones, that she fit his daughter’s description. Spencer didn’t care, he wanted her as far away from that gun as possible. 

His heart lurched into his throat when Bobbie did in fact make a lunge for her, just not the way he’d feared. Because she had grabbed him. She’d pulled him into an embrace, a hug, kind and sweet as she always was. 

Spencer cursed her for being so soft. It was going to get her killed. 

“Agent,” His voice was terse, worried if you dug a little deeper than the sharp surface, but she didn’t listen to him. She held Bobbie tight as the man unravelled on her shoulder, falling into heart breaking sobs and it was then Spencer realised she was crying with him. 

“It’s going to be okay, you’re okay,” She was shushing him, the killer, reassuring him he was safe, as if the killing thing wasn’t still between his fingers that clutched at her back with rough hands. 

“They killed my girl, they took her from me, and then they laughed about it,” He wailed, and she nodded, squeezing him even tighter if that was so possible, “No one would listen, the police didn’t listen, I had to do something,”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be sympathising with the criminals. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help the gasping urge to comfort the man who had lost his whole world, “I’m listening. Tell me about her,” 

“She was so beautiful,” Bobbie whimpered, sniffling into her shoulder. Spencer felt his chest twinge at the scene. He hated that she was so soft. “She never hurt a soul,”

She cried with him, though hers were choked down as much as she could get them, her wet cheeks the only proof she had ever let them slip. 

“I’m sorry,” She said again, because no matter how many times she repeated those two little words, it would never bring his daughter back, “I can help you,”

He pulled away from her shoulder, and it was only then that Bobbie Wrids even noticed Spencer, his face taut in anxiety as he watched the man’s hands still holding onto her body as if she was the only thing that kept him upright, which Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. 

He fished the cuffs out of his back pocket, his finger never leaving the trigger as he stared down at their UnSub cautiously. He knew he may be being cruel, knew that ten years ago he would be just as caring as her. But that Spencer was long gone. And what remained was screaming in terror that she was in the line of danger, that she was holding the danger in her bare hands like she didn’t see the jeopardy she was putting herself in. 

Bobbie pulled away to look at her, the creases around his eyes deep chasms, and even with the smattering of grey hair, the stubble, the cold, empty look of someone with nothing left, she thought he might have been a handsome man once. He looked at her with a ghost of a smile, and one of his callused hands came up to tuck her hair behind her ear as if it had been second nature to him for eighteen years. 

“You’re a sweet girl,” He murmured, and she blinked at him, her chest easing at the way his wails had subsided into something quiet. She could help him, she swore she would help him. He was a good man beneath it all. “But no one can help me anymore, sweet girl,”

And with that he lifted the pistol beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

—

She heard someone scream before she realised it was coming from her own throat, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t open her eyes. Her face was wet and hot, and for a second she thought it was tears, but she was beyond crying now. She felt arms pulling her back into a strong chest, and someone was murmuring to her, or perhaps they were speaking normally and the sound of the gunshot had knocked her hearing. Either way, it was like someone had pulled a bag over her head as she brought her shaking hands up to her eyes to wipe. 

She managed to crack her lids then when the sludge was gone, only to see the room still a blurry mess. She could make out, in the haze of blobs and crimson tint, Bobbie’s body slumped to the floor, a dark puddle seeping into the rug as those long arms tugged her out of the room. She only then looked down to her hands where she had rubbed her face and she caught the same claret plasma coating her fingers, her white shirt, her pants, her arms. It covered her head to toe. 

It was in her eyes, she realised when she saw the ichor coating her fingertips. It was blocking her vision, turning the world a vivid wine colour, and she thinks she whimpered, or perhaps it was a moan of horror seeing the puddle beneath Bobbie’s body growing larger by the second. 

“I don’t understand,” She said out loud, her head spinning, and she brought her fingertips up to her eyes again, maybe to get the blood out, god there was so much blood on her face, or maybe because she hoped to everything out there that she would clear her sight and find it all a terrible hallucination, the product of one too many nights of sleepless tossing. 

But when she rubbed her lids again, this time seeing the scene a little better, Bobbie was still dead. She had still been too late. 

“You’re in shock, you need to breathe,” A voice instructed her over her shoulder, and it was from the same person who had their hands around her waist, pulling her away from the crime scene, as CSI filed in from behind them. 

She tried pushing the arms off her, weak because she couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t the horror in her stomach, and it took her a second before she listened to their words and realised she was holding a breath in her chest, the way a toddler does when they’re overwhelmed. 

“I don’t-” She gasped, the air rushing through her lungs, so fast it made her cough, “I don’t understand, I was going to help him- I don’t understand- why?”

“I know, just breathe for me, sweetheart,” Spencer. She only just realised it was Spencer speaking, because he had never called her that and the gentle tone he’d taken was nothing like his usual, civil cadence. He had been dropping a few jokes the past few weeks since she’d driven him home, had been more touchy feely with correcting her form when she was at the shooting range, had delicately touched the small of her back when they were navigating a crowd together. He was slowly cracking from his statuesque expression that hadn’t left his face since he’d gotten out of prison, but the softness with which he held her waist was entirely new. 

“Spencer, I don’t- I don’t get it,” She said, her voice bubbling into a sob as she allowed herself to be pulled away with no fight left in her. He took her into the hallway, turning her body from the sight of his hand lifeless on the floor with little to no effort. She was damn near limp in his arms, “Spencer, I don’t under-understand, I was going to h-help him, why would h-he do that-”

“Shhh, you need to breathe,” He murmured into her hair, trying to lead her out the front of the building and far away from where she’d just been front row seats to a messy suicide, “Come on, just breathe for me, baby, and then we can talk,”

But she wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t offended. Spencer knew it was the shock. He knew the symptoms by how her respiratory system had picked up in a matter of seconds and it was like she had gone from zero to a hundred. She let out a long whine, tears collecting the blood on her lash line and her chest seized into action, gulping down air, too short to do anything for her lungs, and her legs began to buckle beneath the two of them. 

Spencer stopped in the hallway, realising she was in more shock than he must have thought. He knew she was sensitive, hell it was one of his favourite things about her. He knew she felt everything so deeply, burned too easily, like a daisy wilting in a dry heat, or candyfloss melting in his mouth. Spencer knew, as awful as watching death up close was for any agent, it would hit her hardest of all of them. 

He moved around to her front, his hands migrating from her waist up to her shoulders, brushing over her upper arms soothingly. But her body felt numb, her head felt heavy, and her eyes were glazed over, down a rabbit hole entirely away from him, even when one of his hands cupped her wetted cheek gently. 

“Just breathe, hey, look at me,” He tried a firmer tone, and she bent to his will too easily. It was a punch in the gut seeing everything shining and pretty leached out of her eyes, as if she had become soulless in a matter of minutes, as if she had lost all hope in the world the second Bobbie pulled that trigger. She looked like hell, blood still fresh on her cheeks, in her hair, smeared around her eye sockets where she had scrubbed so hard to get it off her skin, “You need to calm down, you’re going to faint if you don’t breathe,”

She nodded, or something close to it, her eyes falling down to the floor, and she seemed to wrestle for control over her chest then. But what came after was worse, Spencer thought. Her brows screwed together, her eyes welling up with more of those fat tears, and her lips dropping into a devastated pout, her eyes trailing over the mess on her uniform, on her hands. 

“Spencer, I don’t understand, I tried to help him, I wanted to help him,” She sobbed, sniffling to herself miserably, and he barely even thought about it when he pulled her into his chest, not caring that her skin would dirty his shirt. 

His hand wound into her hair, stroking her sweetly as she buried her wails into his vest. He used his other arm to pull her close to him, which she seemed to have zero qualms about as she clawed at his back to keep him close, as if she didn’t want to face what was going to happen when they left that building. 

Spencer regretted ever thinking her sunshine was too bright for him. 

–

She hadn’t smiled in a whole week. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had given Penny a very forced smile when she had fussed over the younger woman the first day she got back, had said thankyou with downcast eyes and a fragile grin when the blonde presented her with a framed picture of a puppy to keep on her desk ‘incase she needed something nice to think about,’

She hadn’t looked at it once, because they both knew it wouldn’t do anything, no matter how much she pretended for Penelope’s sake that she would put it to good use. 

He had taken her out for coffee on him that first day, but by the time they had got to the front of the queue, he had been doing almost all of the talking, which had become rare nowadays since he had come home from Mexico. Usually, it had been her filling the silences, because he knew in her right mind she hated the sound of static nothingness, she found it awkward and unnecessary when she could talk to anyone without thinking about it too hard. 

They had got to the desk, the barista smiling up at him as he ordered his usual, before he turned to look at her as the woman serving asked her what she would like. But she wasn’t listening, she was watching out the window, nothing particularly invigorating beside a bird cleaning its feathers on top of a stop sign. 

He said her name, putting his hand on her back and her head whipped around, her eyes empty as they looked up at him expectantly, “What do you want to drink?” 

She blinked, waking herself from a stupor, and looked at the barista with an embarrassed expression, “Hot chocolate, please,” 

And that was all she really had to say until lunch rolled around, and she excused herself to head home early. Emily smiled at her reassuringly, her eyes wary as she watched their happy-go-lucky rookie head for the elevators with a desolate look in her eyes. 

Spencer hoped she would come around on her own, or maybe even be brave enough to talk to someone about the thoughts rattling around that head of hers, but she just didn’t. She stayed as silent as possible, only ever speaking when spoken to, asking Emily if she could finish off her reports at home, to which the Prentiss woman never protested. 

But Spencer had had enough. He’d worried himself sick over her, and where all thoughts of how endearing and lovely and charming she was had sat in his head before, now it was all just ways he could think to make her smile again. 

It was the following Tuesday by the time he braved action. She had gone home after their midday briefing, apologising to Emily with tired eyes that seemed to be growing more and more heavy by the day, like she hadn’t slept a wink in a fortnight. Which Spencer thought was entirely possible. 

He pulled up to the house Penelope had not so discreetly told him was hers, definitely not because he’d asked, and definitely, definitely not breaching any human resource policies about distributing fellow workers information (meaning Spencer had almost certainly not begged Penelope for the address with those puppy eyes of his he knew could bag him anything). 

The peonies in the window bays were wilting but her house was something out of a fairytale. He wasn’t sure why he was really so surprised. It screamed her, everything about it, from the toadstool post box to the little green, cast iron bench that sat in the garden, the metal forged to look like florets of ivy holding the sitter upright. 

He rapped the brass knocker, the metal cold under his long fingers. Brushing invisible dirt off his shirt, he hoped she would answer as the present squirmed at his feet. 

“Just a second,” He hushed, and as if she heard him, the front door swung open to reveal her bare face he hadn’t seen since he’d helped her wipe the blood from her skin in the back of the ambulance. 

She looked at him with furrowed brows, before they quickly shot to the floor, to her cobbled pathway that had clicked under his shoes, and her face washed with a shock. 

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She crouched to her knees, a slobbery lick immediately meeting her cheek as the Spaniel rubbed his wet nose up to her ear, sniffing her unique smell, as if it was a bag of Class A’s, “I never knew you had a dog,” 

“I don’t,” He replied, kneeling with her to ruffle the soft fur behind the canine’s ear, “This is Ace. He retired from the Bomb Unit a month ago and Penelope sent me his handler’s number. They said he’s the happiest dog in the world,” 

 “I would be too if I stopped so many people from blowing up,” She said, but before he could ask what she meant exactly by that, Ace had jumped up and attacked her entire face with kisses as if he too thought that statement was worth silencing. 

And she laughed. She laughed louder than she had in days, weeks, her eyes crinkling in joy as the little pink tongue stole away her sorrow, tickled away the traces of the blood that had tainted her skin. 

Spencer smiled, his eyes watching her face scrunch in a squeal, hands eventually coming up to the elderly dog’s jowls to gently push him down. 

“Oh, you are the sweetest guy,” She said, and the words had him tugging at the leash to lick her all over again, “Yes you are, you’re the sweetest little guy around, huh?” 

She chuckled, scratching down the mutt’s neck, and her eyes flicked back up to Spencer, who watched her with more intent than she’d realised. 

“Petting and receiving affection from pets causes spikes in serotonin in our brain and reduces anxiety, did you know that?” Spencer said, Ace pushing his muzzle into the palm of her hand to prove a point. 

Her smile wavered slightly, and she looked at his hazel hues that seemed to see right through her, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately, I just can’t sleep at the moment-”

 “Don’t apologise,” He cut in, though his tone was kind, and the two of them stood back up to their full height, “What happened was horrifying, even some of the longest serving agents I know would struggle seeing that,” 

She scoffed, unusually pessimistic coming out of her mouth, “You wouldn’t,”

His head tilted, not quite understanding what she meant, because she hadn’t sounded cruel when she said it. Then again, he didn’t think she was actually capable of that emotion. 

She looked at him, a flash of something vulnerable in her eyes, something like that day he’d held her in the hallway; too fast he almost missed it.

“You’re so brave, Spencer, you’re like invincible. I mean, you survived prison and your mom getting kidnapped and you bounced straight back to work like it was nothing. I can’t even watch a murderer die without spiralling out of control,” She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose and before he could respond on just how wrong she was, before he could tell her that that was exactly the opposite of what had happened because he had damn near changed every inch of himself in prison to stop himself from breaking, he caught her murmuring and he thought he might just have been punched all over again, “I wish I was like you,”

His jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he stepped towards her, and her head shot to him, worried she may have said the wrong thing by mentioning everything that had happened, everything Pen had specifically said was a touchy subject, and she opened her mouth to apologise. 

“Do you know how unbelievably glad I am that you are nothing like me?” Spencer said, his voice bordering on furious and her fumbled for a reply, worried she had truly pissed him off. 

She wouldn’t blame him for hating her. She’d always worried, until perhaps that day they’d gotten into her car and she’d driven him home, that her very essence annoyed him. 

“I’m sorry-” She started, but he shook his head.

“Stop apologising,” He said, his hand reaching up to grab where her fingers tugged together nervously, his hold featherlike, his face softening when he saw her expression, “I don’t want you to be anything like me. I like you just how you are,” 

She sighed, eyes doe like with emotion as she looked at him, “Really?”

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile as she seemed to glow under his words, “Yes, really.” Spencer allowed himself to enjoy the way that the twinkle returned to her expression when he smiled at her with something almost like the old Spencer in him, before he cleared his throat, “We all like you. Everyone on the team likes how you are,”

She paused, nodding to herself as if knocking herself out of a silly daze, and Ace bounced on his hind legs trying to get her attention again. 

“You don’t think I’m too sensitive?” She asked, holding her palm out for the dog to nuzzle at with that wet nose of his. 

Spencer shook his head, “Sensitive is good. It means you feel something. Means you feel the good things deeper too,” 

Her smile was blinding, because she’d never thought of it that way before, and she looked like her old self again. Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to think she was never going to think about Bobbie again, he still thought about that first UnSub he’d tried to save. He still thought about Tobias Hankel. He thought about them all. 

But he was going to make sure she never turned into him. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if she did. He’d protect her sunlight even if it burned him to know he could never have her the way he wanted. Because she was everything good, and he was him. 

She looked down at Ace, the life returning to her as she stood aside for the two of them to enter her house, “Tea?”

Yep. Spencer felt something run hot knowing she would always be out of reach. Didn’t stop him from thinking about it, though. 

[batpham-kills]

Something's... Off about the Fentons and their son's friends.

They seem to have been the last people to see Vladimir Masters, owner of DalvCo, and know of his whereabouts, yet refuse to reveal him or his location. They also seem to be taking full advantage of his absence, taking over his company and profiting from it and living in his castle in Wisconsin.

They always seem to have some kind of excuse as to why he's not around.

"He's on vacation! Oh, where? Um, Antarctica."

"You just missed him, actually. He was here a few minutes ago. Yeah, in this random dirty alley as I was being mugged. We discussed... Alleys."

"Yeah, he lives here. I know his room is super dusty. He just likes it like that."

Although Tim Drake sees the absence of Vlad Masters as an absolute win (Tucker Foley is much less creepy), he still sees that this requires an investigation. After all, a missing CEO is big news, especially when the last people to have seen him seemed to have had major beef with him. Could they have... Murdered him?

-

Or: Vlad's taken a nice little trip to ghost prison. The Batfam think Vlad's disappearance was a result of the Fenton family murdering him.

[fear-is-truth]

mature content ; mdni

˖˚⊹ 𝓙’s note: post-prison spence is just sooo pent-up but also touch-starved during sex, someone sedate me pls

after everything, he’s finally back, and it’s almost unreal having him here again. spencer’s different now, though. prison’s left its mark on him.

maybe he thinks you’re the only part of him left that feels unsullied. he’s quieter, more intense, less of the nervous, endearing man who fumbled with his words and shyly avoided your gaze. instead, his eyes are locked on you, never drifting when he’s fucking you.

almost as if he’s lost pieces of himself in those walls and found something else he hadn’t known was there.

there’s a possessiveness to him now that wasn’t there before. the old spence was gentle, careful, almost timid in how he’d reach for you. but now, he is ravenous. even when the two of you were connected in the most physically intimate way possible—with him grinding his pelvis against yours and burying himself into the deepest parts of you, somehow it’s still not enough. his hands are tracing greedily across the planes of your skin, the curve of your spine, relearning the lines of your body. mapping you in a way that feels both familiar and foreign.

sometimes, the spencer you knew surfaces. his hips stutters—that tale-tell throb accompanied by the catch of his breath, you can feel the tremors running through his entire body as he clings to you, pressing his face into your shoulder. when you thread your fingers through his hair, tugging gently, he lets out a broken whimper as he spills himself inside of you.

there are also moments when you catch a glimpse of something darker in his eyes, a hardness that wasn’t there before. it unsettles you just as much as it thrills you, but even with that edge, he’s still your boy. your spence.

[navybrat817]

Give Me One More

Pairing: Soft!Dark Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You don't need Bucky. He's going to prove you wrong. Over and over and over...

Word Count: Over 3.7k

Warnings: DUBCON to be safe, explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, masturbation, established and slightly toxic relationship, pet names, possessive behavior, family drama, betrayal, threats (not against reader), loose backstory, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a bit mean, okay?).

A/N: I spoke about prisoner!Bucky ages back and I couldn't let this go. Especially not when I'm looking at that beautiful edit by the more beautiful @nixakimbo! ❤️Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own (but thanks to @whisperlullaby for discussing this man with me!). Divider by the talented @saradika. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You pushed the curtain aside to look out the bedroom window, the clouds dark and thick in the sky. Your home used to be your safe haven, a place of comfort, and all you wanted to do now was escape from your prison of sorts. Not the kind of place your boyfriend, Bucky, spent time in. The bars that kept you in couldn't be seen by the naked eye.

“Can't stay in there all day,” Bucky said from the hall, his deep voice reminding you that you weren't alone.

You’d never be alone again.

“Yes, I can,” you called back. You had been in your bedroom for well over an hour since you snapped at him and left him alone in the living room. If staying in there meant avoiding him, you were fine with that.

You half expected him to stomp down the hall, but he only said, “You’re being a fucking brat.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks as anger flowed through you. “Leave me alone, asshole!” You shouted, feeling every bit like the brat he said you were.

You weren’t sure what set you off today. It could've been because you were still angry that Bucky used you. How long did it take for an empire to fall? In your case, six months.

Half a year ago, Bucky Barnes bumped into you at your favorite coffee shop. Literally. He was large, built like a powerhouse, but his grip that kept you from falling was so gentle. One look in his cerulean eyes and you were a goner. He easily charmed his way into your life and bed. He treated you like a princess, better than any boyfriend before, and you naively believed it was fate that brought you together.

You should’ve known it wasn't the beginning of a happy new chapter in your story. It was a clock winding down to your doom. More specifically, your father’s doom. Because Bucky wanted to destroy the man who helped land him in jail.

The White Wolf, a nickname for Bucky you recently learned about, wasn't a good man. Far from it and far from being a reformed criminal. He took it personally that your dad got him put behind bars for a short time. So he tore his life apart. Took his job away. Urged his friends to abandon or turn on him. Got him put in jail. Bucky even rubbed it in his face that he fucked his daughter. All in six months.

It would almost be impressive if you weren't the one living with the aftermath.

Had your dad known exactly who you were seeing, he may have tried to stop you.

“Asshole,” you muttered.

What Bucky didn't plan on was falling for you or so he said. You were, apparently, his chance at happiness. Because of that, he wouldn't let you go. And he expected you to just forgive him and move forward.

How could you forgive him?

He promised he’d hunt you down if you tried to leave him. You naturally tried and didn't get very far. The sick part was how much you enjoyed him chasing after you and bringing you back. After he fucked you where he found you.

As if he read your mind, he called out, “I know you're frustrated. Bet if you sit on my cock you'll feel better.”

Your cheeks flamed, your panties damp. Damn him for still arousing you with so little words. “Go fuck yourself.”

That actually wasn't a bad idea. He was right. You were frustrated and itching to get out of your own skin. Maybe if you got yourself off, you’d feel a little better. Not happy, but better.

“I don't need him,” you said.

That was what you told yourself as you stripped down and got on the bed. But as you ran your hands along your breasts, gasping as you moved one hand lower, it didn't feel right. The normal fire within you didn't burn. Didn't even a flicker. A raw ache instead outweighed the pleasure you tried to give yourself.

“Damn it,” you muttered.

You heard Bucky’s dark chuckle from the doorway and made the mistake of looking his way. You weren't sure how long he'd been standing there, but his cock was free from the confines of his pants and he lost his shirt at some point, too. He didn't attempt to hide the array of scars and tattoos that littered his torso. Ones you traced with your fingers and tongue more times than you could count. Back when you weren't a pawn in his game.

But if you really were a pawn, why did he have your name tattooed over his chest?

“Looks like you need a hand,” he said, brushing back his long hair as his eyes moved along your body from head to toe.

You ignored your racing heart as you said through your teeth, “Go away.”

He tore your life apart like a tornado, leaving destruction where there was once calm and beauty. Instead of letting you pick up the pieces, he continued to wreck everything around you. He broke you, too, but you were also the only thing he put back together.

The smirk he gave you was one you used to adore. “What’s wrong, princess? Still mad at me?”

You scoffed. Was he serious? “Yes, I’m fucking mad at you.”

“Still mad about the past? Or is it because you can't get out of your own head long enough to make yourself come?” He taunted, slowly stroking his thick cock. “Did you ever actually get yourself off before me? Or did you not know what an orgasm was until I gave you one?”

You watched with a lustful gaze as his hand moved up and down, your eyes not leaving the sight as you desperately tried to get some sort of relief. “I had plenty before you showed up,” you hissed, sliding a finger into your tight hole.

“You know, all you have to do is admit that I'm right: That I've ruined you and all you can think about is how good it feels when I'm fucking you. Admit it and I’ll get you off.”

Pushing another finger inside yourself, you refused to admit that he was telling the truth. Nothing felt as good as he did. And that was the problem, wasn't it? You shouldn't want or need him. Not after everything he had done to your family.

He groaned as he watched your fingers sink in. “You're so pathetic laying there. My pretty little slut wants to prove the impossible. Just wants to prove that she doesn't need me when we both know that's a fucking lie,” he grunted as his cock twitched, making you clench in want despite your anger at his words. “Better hurry up and say it. Otherwise I'm going to come all over you and you're going to be left begging to come and not get off at all.”

You whined as a tear fell from your eye. “You're an asshole. The lowest of the low.”

He chuckled as he brushed his thumb along the tip, watching as your eyes followed the motion. “Now you're just trying to hurt my feelings and that's mean, princess. That isn't you. I'm the mean one in this relationship.”

Your fingers froze as you narrowed your eyes. “Relationship? Don't you mean your prisoner?”

Your breath caught in your throat when he smirked, something darker than before. “You think you're a prisoner? You have no fucking idea. I’ve been to prison. This is a fucking walk in the park,” he said, pouring more salt in the open wound when he added, “And your dad knows all about prison now, doesn't he?”

You choked on your next breath. “How dare-”

“Relationship, prisoner, my girl. You're still fucking mine,” he snarled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “And I'm still right. So just say it. Tell me you need my cock and I'll get you off. Fuck that pretty pussy so good you cry for me. Won't even make you apologize for repeatedly calling me an asshole.”

“I wish I never met you,” you blurted out.

Guilt churned in your stomach at the hurt in his eyes. Why did you still care after what he did? Why did he matter to you? “You don't mean that,” he whispered before he blinked, ice in his gaze. “You’re just being a fucking brat.”

You let out a small scream of frustration when you removed your fingers and reached for your side drawer where you kept your vibrator. If Bucky was going to keep being an asshole who wouldn't get you off, your toy would. But he didn't let you get very far. Not when he was on you in a flash, throwing the toy far behind him and pinning your wrists above your head.

His breathing was almost as heavy as yours.

“Oh no, princess. You're so confident you can come without me then that must mean you don't need any help at all coming,” he smirked, gripping your wrists tighter as you squirmed beneath him. You didn't dare look down when his cock brushed against your skin. “It's cute that you think you're stronger than I am. That sexual frustration must really be fucking with your head. I can fix that.”

“You're fucking sick. I don't… I… I don't need you,” you said, not having to see your eyes to know your pupils were blown with lust. Your tongue darted out to lick bottom lip before your gaze settled on his, challenging. “You need me more than I need you. What was it you said? That I was the best pussy you ever had? And you’d be happy to keep your cock in me all day every day?”

“Just like my cock is the best you ever had.”

You opened your legs a bit more when he clenched his jaw. “And you don't want to finish on me. You want to be in me. If it were any other guy, he'd-”

He growled when he grabbed your chin. It was a reminder of just how strong he was and how he could hurt you if he wanted to. “There are no other guys. Do you fucking hear me?”

It was your turn to smirk. Bucky was a lot of things, but he never strayed. Not once. He would forever be faithful. “You sure about that? Maybe I can't relax right now, but if you won't fuck me I’m sure I can find someone who-”

He flipped you on your stomach and gripped the back of your neck before you could finish that statement. “If you think I wouldn’t kill any guy who touches you, you’re out of your fucking mind. Keep pushing me, sweetheart. See what happens.”

You bit back a moan at the gravel in his voice as you turned your head to the side, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. It was dangerous to poke the bear, but you were past the point of caring. Especially when fury looked beautiful on him. “What's wrong, Bucky? Don't like the taste of your own medicine?”

He leaned down, his breath harsh against your ear. “I prefer the taste of your pussy. Always so good for me. You wanna hear that I need you? Fine. I fucking need you,” he rasped, biting at your earlobe. “Happy?”

“And that you’re sorry?”

“For hurting you? Yes,” he whispered, nosing along your neck. “Never meant to hurt you.”

You shuddered, almost delirious from needing to come. And the fact that he admitted that he needed you. That he was sorry for hurting you. But you weren't ready to play nice. “I'll be happier when you finally decide to fuck me, but you're just a fucking asshole, aren't you?”

He let out a slow breath. “Yeah, I'm a fucking asshole.” He nipped your earlobe roughly again in retaliation before settling between your legs and teasingly brushing the tip of his cock along your folds. “And I'll fuck you when you say you need me, too.”

You tried to push back to take him in, but he kept a firm hold on your hips. You tried to wiggle out of it, but it only brought you frustration as you groaned. “If you're really going to make me say it, don't hold your breath. You can't threaten me, Bucky. You're all talk. And guess what?” You said, smiling sweetly. “I can find another guy to fuck me better than you can.”

You couldn’t see the thunderous look in his eyes, but you heard the low and menacing chuckle in his throat. It sent chills down your spine. Maybe you pushed too far this time, but you didn’t care. He deserved it and worse.

“You're trying to piss me off and I want you to remember that you pushed me to this,” he said more to himself than you before sheathing you in one hard thrust, your mouth falling open in a cry at his sudden intrusion. “Hope you enjoy the bed since you won't even be able to walk out of this room.”

You stared at the wall, your eyes unseeing as Bucky tore you apart. Seconds passed. Minutes. Hours. The sound of his grunts from behind you filled your ears, along with the brutal slap of skin-on-skin. Your body burned, the overwhelming stretch from his cock making you lose sense of yourself. You told yourself he’d finish fucking you soon, but that felt like ages ago.

You also told yourself there was no way you’d have another orgasm, but he proved you wrong. Climax after climax, your release practically flooded around him. At this rate, you really wouldn't be able to get out of bed.

“Bucky,” you gasped, trying to grip the sheets for purchase as he pulled out and slammed back into you. “Please…”

You were boneless, exhausted, and he just kept going. “Oh, no, princess. You wanted to get off.”

Tears of ecstasy streamed down your cheeks, whimpering when you felt yourself on the cusp of another orgasm. How was that possible? How many had he given you? “Bucky, I…” you moaned as you clenched around his cock again.

He cooed, a taunting sound when you choked on a sob. “So good, but I want another.”

“I don't… ” Your eyes rolled back, your head spinning. “I can't.”

You’d seriously lost count at that point how many times you’d come. And your whimper didn't stop Bucky from mockingly cooing again. “Aww, you don't think you can? My poor little fuck doll can still talk which means she hasn't had enough yet. This pussy is so fucking wet for me, so swollen,” he taunted, reaching underneath you and flicking your overstimulated clit as a choked moan escaped you, your walls tightening around him once again. “See? Your greedy little cunt can't get enough of me.”

Why did your body need him so badly? “I can't…” you whined as he licked one of your tears away, seemingly unbothered by the sheen of sweat on your face.

“You think anyone else can do this? Work your body up like this over and over again?” He grunted against your cheek. Your eyes squeezed shut at his harsh panting, his pace not slowing. “All you had to do was say that you need me. But no. You just had to be a fucking brat.”

You practically wailed as you teetered on the edge of another orgasm. “I-I need you. Just you, Bucky,” you said. At least, you thought you said it. You had a tough time stringing any thoughts together with his cock splitting you open.

But his thrusts don’t slow. They were just as relentless as before. “Oh, no. You had your chance to say it,” he snarled, leaning up to pull your hips back against his. “And my pussy is telling me all I need to know. So just lay there and give me another.”

The pleasure bordered on the edge of pain as a sob escaped. There was no possible way you could come again. As much as you thought you couldn’t take it, your body tensed. You still craved him and wanted to give him one more. So you did. You shattered. It was almost too easy that he managed to pull another orgasm from your pliable body.

Or maybe you were just easy for him.

Bucky smacked your ass hard enough to make you cry out, his hand kneading the flesh with a delighted groan. “Fuck, each one is better than the last, princess. You want me to fill you up huh? You wanna feel me dripping from you?” He chuckled darkly, finally slowing down as you let out another sob. He shushed you before he put a hand on the back of your neck and kept you down. “I’m gonna fill you up and you’re gonna take it. Then, I'm gonna lick you clean until I'm satisfied.”

“No…”

He gave you one more smack for good measure when you made a sound of protest. “C'mon, princess. Beg for me to fill you up. If you can talk.”

You didn’t know if you could. You were practically a drooling mess as he drove in as deep as he can go. “Pl… Pl… Bu…” you tried to moan, another tear falling as he shushed you again.

“Got you cockdrunk, didn't I? Need to be pumped full? Then let me give you every. Fucking. Drop.”

A tired moan came out when he filled you up, giving a few slow thrusts as he finished. Your body trembled beneath him, a whiplash of chills and heat. You barely registered him pulling out before he flipped you onto your back. Glassy and unfocused eyes. Makeup smeared all your face. Tears stains on your cheeks. You must’ve looked quite the sight.

He relished in ruining you.

And the beautiful bastard didn’t even look like he broke a sweat.

“Should I call you a dog? You’re drooling, princess,” he smirked. You didn’t have it in you to argue as his eyes drifted down to your pussy. It was still twitching and leaking with your mixed release. He licked his lips as he slid down your body more to fully take in the sight. “And you look good enough to eat, so I think that's just what I'll do.”

“What…” you gasped. He couldn't. Not after all that.

You whimpered as you tried to push him away with a tired hand, but he grabbed your wrists with a tsk. “No, no, no, sweetheart. You keep your hands to yourself. I told you I wasn't done with you and it's rude to keep a man from his meal.”

You were still floating from the multiple orgasms he gave you when he took his first lick. Your shivers picked up again and he groaned at your taste before diving in. Any strength you had to try to push him away depleted immediately, even with how sensitive your walls felt. You couldn't stop him.

You’d never be able to stop him.

After a minute, your eyes widened when you felt him build you up again. “No,” you moaned, but the sight of him between your legs, eating you like he was starving, was too much.

He just hummed against you. "Give. Me. One. More.”

Your back arched when his lips latched onto your clit, forcing the orgasm from your worn out body. You weren’t sure if you made a sound, but you trembled as your release went on for what seemed like forever. Bucky’s tongue lapped it all up, humming before he sat back and looked at your wrecked form again. He made a show of licking the shine from his lips and looked just as proud as ruining you with his tongue the way he did with his cock.

“If you ever try to threaten me with another man or refuse to admit you want me again, I'll make sure to tie you to this bed for a week and refuse to let you come even if you beg for it. And I shouldn’t have to mention what else I can do. Do you understand?”

You trembled, knowing exactly what Bucky was capable of. While he never laid a hand on you to inflict pain, you knew the damage he did to others. Like the bodies buried and cold in the ground because of him. Not to mention the connections he still had at the prison. All he had to do was say the word and that would be the true end of your dad.

With unfocused and teary eyes, you gave him a nod. “Yes, Sir,” you whispered.

“Now tell me you love me and that you’re sorry,” he ordered.

A tear slid from the corner of your eye. “…Love you. I’m sorry.”

His smile was tender and for a second you forgot about everything else. “That’s my good girl,” he praised, your heart betraying you like your body did when he kissed your lips. “And I love you, too.”

You whined as he left your line of sight, but he came back almost right away to sit beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. “Drink it, princess,” he urged, his voice gentler than before he helped you take a sip of water. He even smiled again when he wiped another tear of yours away. “We can go back to the way it was before, you know. When you were blissfully unaware and we just quickly fell in love.”

The pain in your heart came and went as your breathing evened. You wished you could go back to innocent movie nights and meals. To waking up beside him with a smile on your face. To making love so passionate that you believed you were made for each other. There was no changing anything or going back. You could only move forward with him by your side.

Bucky sighed when you didn't say anything. “I know I’m a piece of shit, but I won't stop loving you. And I think you learned your lesson.”

You blinked a little as you took another sip, on the verge of passing out.

“You’re mine and I’m never letting you go,” he whispered, brushing the gentlest of kisses against the top of your head. “Don’t you ever fucking forget that.”

So... I know he isn't all good, but I had fun writing this and I hope you lovelies enjoyed it! Would love to hear your thoughts and maybe I'll expand on this? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[majunju]

life at the fortress has become incredibly stimulating

[charliehoennam]

beyond the badge pt. 1

a/n: request made by @harmonity-vibes. had been thinking about this specific plot for a long time and this lovely angel gave me the inspiration i needed. this will divided into three parts because it's simply too big lmao that's what she said. s/o to @strangergraphics-archive for the cute divider <3

pairing: david loki x f!reader

summary: his fianceé is abducted and a distraught david realizes some rules must be broken in order to save the one he loves.

warnings: 18+, dark themes such as language, violence, eventual smut, suicide, death, physical injuries, threats, abuse of power and blood.

SHARING IS CARING, SO REBLOG IF YOU LIKE IT

two | three | four | five

What was once a home filled with love, laughter and passionate moans is now hollow and empty.

The haunting silence of the house only fuels his self-hatred. He can’t stop blaming himself because he knows, deep inside, that he could’ve avoided all this mess if he had only listened to you.

When a dead body showed up in the river by the old mill, David was quickly assigned the case. It might have taken him a couple of months, but he successfully found the man responsible for a such a horrendous crime.

The man was Frankie Donovan, a bus driver and self-made drug dealer. You would’ve never guessed by simply looking at the man, due to his scruffy appearance and uneducated demeanor, but he had successfully made around 500 thousand dollars from producing and selling meth.

It might not have been much to some people, but to a man who grew on the country skirts of Conyers, bouncing around from trailer park to trailer park and addict parents, that money was more precious to him than his own life.

No one would’ve believed that Donovan was capable of making so much money. Most people underestimated him either because of his job, his poor background or, what appeared to seem like, his friendly nature. He might have fooled many, but not David.

In the empty house that belongs to both of you, David stands in front of the foggy bathroom mirror with a towel wrapped his hip.

He stares at his stoic reflection and takes in the physical effects your absence has had on him. Dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. Hollowed cheeks from the loss of appetite. The prickly 5 o’clock shadow growing out that he refuses to waste time shaving.

The lingering heat from his hot shower constricts the air around him. He leans down to splash some cold water on his face, hoping that it will provide just a little bit of relief. Although the water soothes him on the surface, it fails to subdue him within.

He runs a trembling hand over his face to try and keep his composure, but he’s losing it. His breath shortens as the room spins around him. What feels like rocks settle in his throat. His chest tightens with rage until he finally explodes and punches the mirror before him repeatedly.

“It’s your fucking fault!” he repeatedly shouts at himself.

Dangerous shards shatter into the sink and onto the counter. David doesn’t feel it just yet, but blood drips from his knuckles over the shards. He takes a look at his hand. His fit of fury let out a bit of the steam that he had pent up inside him, but it’s not enough to make him better.

Nothing will make him feel better until you’re home, safe and sound. He promised he would always keep you safe and he feels like he failed you. There's nothing that can silence that thought in his mind.

Once he’s poorly rinsed and wrapped his knuckles with gauze to stop the bleeding, he drags himself into the bedroom that lingers with the scent of you and haphazardly chooses a few items of clothing. He doesn’t bother with the usual button-up shirt. A simple black thermal, a pair of pants and usual boxers. He tries to get dressed as fast as he can.

David hates being in the house for too long, but he tries to avoid the bedroom as much as he can. Not only does everything there remind him of you, but it’s all still the same as you left it before you went to work that day and he wants to keep it that way.

The uncertainty of the future fucking terrifies him. He doesn’t know if you’re alive, he doesn’t know if you’re hurt. His colleagues are doing their best to find you, but the fear he secretly has of you not coming home is ever present. So, he keeps the bedroom the way you left it to create a false sensation that you’re somehow still there almost like a ghost.  Like you're still coming home, even though he's not sure you will.

It’s been almost two days since you’ve been missing. The captain made it very clear to David that he could not, under any circumstances, take the case due to his close relationship to the victim. Being off your case drives him insane, but it’s not enough to make him stop looking for you.

He might not be able to professionally investigate, but it doesn't stop him from questioning the local thugs in the neighborhood about the recent kidnapping. After coming to a dead-end last night, he spent the rest of the night driving aimlessly, hoping he might find you somewhere.

He came home for a quick shower before resuming his illegal search for you. He’s tired beyond belief, but his mind can’t concentrate on anything else besides his missing fianceé.

Sat on the edge of the bed you used to share, he looks over at the engagement ring still sealed in a plastic baggie on your nightstand and reaches over to hold it in his hands. Letting his head hang low, he lifts his bloodied hand and holds his forehead in it. His head pounds as memories flood his thoughts.

When a call about an abduction came in from a co-worker of yours, David could feel his heart sink down to his stomach. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but the thought that you could’ve been the one kidnapped scared him to death.

He is in another town, a more populated, small and neighboring town who’s courthouse Conyers was appointed to. David hadn’t been aware of the newly opened case until he made it back to his car and saw 3 missed calls from his captain.

When he arrives at your workplace’s parking lot, he climbs out of his car so quickly that he doesn’t even remember to close the door to take the keys out of the ignition. It all feels like a dream, like nothing is real, everything around his is far from touch and he’s floating through the air

“Tell me it’s not her,” he begs already fearing the worst as he marches towards the blockade of police officers preserving the scene.

“Loki, I’m sorry, but you can’t be here right now. I can’t let you through.”

O’Malley has to hold him up as David’s knees give in and sits him on the curb. Kneeling in front of him, he instructs David to breathe as the air thickens in his throat.

“I-I gotta find her, captain. I gotta-“

“What you gotta do is let us do our job, Loki. You can’t work on this case and you know why. Tell me what you know.”

The truth, at the time where he can barely remember his own name, is that he doesn’t know who could have taken you. He’d put away so many bad guys already and, just like the Keller-Birch case, kidnapping were becoming more and more often in the small town of Conyers.

David is in no condition to answer most of the questions that his boss needed to ask. At least, not right there.

“David, let’s go back to the station. We can talk better there.”

“No. I’m not fucking leave. I need to be here. I need to find her!” he insists, wide eyes locked on the scene as the forensic investigators search the area.

His watchful eye notices one of the investigators lift something up from the ground after taking pictures of the object. As the woman places the small item into a plastic bad to preserve for DNA or prints, he quickly stands on his feet. Despite the dizziness that strikes him suddenly, he pushes his way through the uniformed cops, but there are too many of them to hold him back from the scene.

“Get the fuck of- Let me go! That’s her ring! That’s my fianceé’s fucking ring!” he shouts at the investigator while being restrained.

She looks at O’Malley who nods and allows her to show David the evidence. Walking towards David, he finally calms down enough and complies in order to make sure it is yours. And, just as he fears, it is indeed yours.

His hands tremble as he looks at the plastic evidence baggie containing your engagement ring. He closes his eyes as dread floods his chest.

The ring is technically evidence and is actually supposed with the forensics team to process, but David stole it from the scene to bring it home with him.

Tears drip against the plastic. He just wants you to come home.

The buzzing cellphone he'd left on your nightstand snaps him back to the present. Quickly wiping his tired blue eyes, he looks over at the phone placed beside his gun and badge. The thought of taking his weapon to his head to end the agonizing pain and guilty flashes in his mind.

Before he finds the courage to reach for the firearm, his gaze drifts and lands on a book you had been reading when you were home and he recalls one specific conversation you had had one night.

“You got a strange call today on the landline.”

You’re sat on the bed with your back against the headboard and a book in hand.

“Yeah? What’d they say?” he asks lying tiredly on the bed beside you.

Lifting your arm to make way for him, he nestles himself into your side with his strong arms locked around your hips while his face nuzzles into your waist with closed tired eyes.

“I dunno. I mean, I do, but it was just strange,” you lower your book, combing the fingers of your free hand into his luscious brown hair. “The guy just said told you to call him back or you’d regret it.”

���Probably just a prank call, sweetheart. Nothing to worry about.”

“But they asked for you. They said your full name and they know you’re a detective. Isn’t that a bit too personal?”

“I’m a cop, babe. That information is public. Anyone can find that out if you know where to look.”

You nod and stay silent as you try to continue reading, but it’s unsettling.

“I’m just saying,” you start as David groans tiredly. “Why would someone call and threaten you? Not to mention you just recently closed the Donovan case.”

Rolling over onto his back, he looks up at you from his side of the bed.

“Babe, Donovan is a small-town meth head. He doesn’t have the balls to come after a cop.”

“It’s just a strong coincidence, David.”

A lightbulb goes in his mind. Finally, a lead he could work on. How the hell didn’t he think about this before?

He shoots up onto his feet to get dressed and, just after he slides his boxer briefs on, his phone buzzes again with another incoming text.

Due to his close relationship with you, O’Malley didn’t allow him to take the lead on the case. If it had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have thought twice, but he knows the close relationship could impair David’s judgment. David’s already known for his temper and the last thing he needs is him risking the case because he didn’t follow procedure.

Instead, Chemelinski’s been assigned as the lead detective on the case. And, influenced by their close friendship, he’s ignored the direct and important order O’Malley had given him of keeping any new information from David.

The way he sees it, David’s a smart detective. If it hadn’t been for the close relationship, the case would’ve been his because he’s the only one that has solved and closed difficult disappearance cases like this.

“Evidence found at Penn Aire Motel, 46th and western. No vics”

“Didn’t hear this from me”

He wastes no time replying to his co-worker’s texts. His heart pounds with hope and adrenaline as his mind races with a thousand thoughts, wondering what kind of evidence they found. Even without a body or blood, assumptions can still be made based on the scene which is why he needs to be there.

Speeding in his car, his stomach churns contemplating what he might find once he’s there. He knows the procedure in case of dead victims. If you were dead, he would’ve already heard about it, so he’s hopeful it’s not the case.

As his car pulls up, O’Malley sighs already feeling the heavy headache setting in of having to deal with a distraught David.

“Who the hell told him?”

Chemelinski shrugs avoiding his accusing eyes, but mutters it wasn’t him as David quickly marches over to the captain, ducking under the yellow ‘do not cross’ tape with curious eyes scanning the scene to understand what’s going on.

“Loki, I told you-“

“I know, I’m off it. I know, I just wanna know what you found.”

David keeps a strong facade with hands up in surrender as O’Malley approaches him.

“You know I can’t share that information with you. You’re involved with the victim and it ca-“

“Yeah, I fucking know it can cloud my judgement! I know!” he shouts back.

O’Malley watches him take a deep breath to compose himself. He understands how stressful this is, especially for a detective.

“Captain, I-I’m losing my fucking mind. Please, j-just tell me something. I-I need something.”

He can’t ignore David’s pleading blue eyes or the crack in his voice. David’s a strong man who’s endured some of the most awful things life could throw at anyone. It takes a lot to scare him to this point.

He informs David that they’d tracked down the car from the location of your kidnapping. After identifying the vehicle with the help of local security surveillance footage, a dispatcher had ID’d it after receiving a call about an abandoned car in a rundown motel parking lot, just off the freeway.

No one saw you at the motel; the clerk working the desk that night said a man checked in alone, but a maid who had been getting off her shift mentioned she saw the man – who was staying in the room in question – putting something in the trunk of a different car before driving away in it alone.

The forensic investigation is still processing the scene, but the unit was able to find a small earring in the truck of the car, which was now in a small plastic bag labeled evidence in O’Malley’s hands.

O’Malley would’ve asked him if the earring was familiar, but the way David froze and stared down at the small accessory with swelling tears in his eyes is enough to confirm his belief.

He’d given you the beautiful jewel on your first anniversary. He remembers how happy you got when you opened the gift and saw the sparking, delicate pair in the small velvet box. His heart broke a little when you mentioned no one had ever given you jewelry before. You loved them so much that you wore them proudly every day to work.

He never thought he’d be the one having to identify a personal item of a victim.

“Y-yeah,” he sniffles blinking away his tears. “That’s hers.”

“We’re gonna find her, Loki. Loki!”

David can’t stand it anymore. The ring found at the site of the kidnapping and the newly discovered earring leads him to believe they weren’t left there on accident. He knows these are items you treasure more than anything and you would never take them off unless you were at home to avoid the risk of losing your precious accessories due to their sentimental value.

They’re breadcrumbs. They’re clues you’re leaving behind, calling out for him to save you. He needs to take matters into his hands.

[rebelliousstories]

Tall, Dark, and Handsome

Relationship: David Loki x Reader

Fandom: Prisoners

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff, Pinning, Mentions of Dark Themes including Death, Abuse, Horrible Childhoods, and Crimes Against Children

Word Count: 2,808

Masterlist: Here

Jake Gyllenhaal & Co. Masterlist: Here

Summary: There were two things that David Loki knew to be true; 1. There was a mysterious cup of coffee on his table when ever he left the room. And 2. The woman he likes has no clue about his feelings.

There were certain universal truths. The sun would come up, only to be replaced by the moon. Humans needed air, water, and food to survive. And David Loki was a workaholic. He was in the prescient by 6:00 A.M. and often left by 6:00 P.M. if there was no case. If there was a case, he spent the night in a jail cell bed instead of going home. He poured his heart and soul into his work. The other universal truth that would happen like clockwork; a coffee would always be waiting on his desk shortly before he arrived at work.

Some days, it would be there right as he walked to his desk for the first time. Some days, it would be there shortly after he left his desk in the morning after dropping off his stuff. If he was sleeping overnight, a fresh cup was waiting for him patiently outside the cell. For just about as long as he had worked in the station, this had happened. It infuriated the man. For years, David had yet to find out who this person was, or why they left a cup of coffee for him first thing in the morning. While he really appreciated the gesture, he would have preferred if he was able to know the identity of the person. Surprisingly, being a detective didn’t help. He didn’t notice anyone staring at him for a long time, or frequenting his area of the department more than they had to.

Eight years this had tortured him. Eight years of a cup of coffee every day he worked. Thousands of cups of coffee over the last eight years, and he still had no clue who left them for him. Loki realized a while ago that his secret admirer would remain a secret forever it seems. Sure, he had his theories, but they were for the most part probably credible, except one that he viewed as outlandish.

Theory number one: Cheryl. She worked as a secretary, essentially. Doing the filing, paperwork, organizing media and press. She always made sure to tell everyone that she had to leave the police academy for personal reasons, otherwise she would have been in uniform. Her leaving had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she was trying to sleep her way through the department to get passed through the academy. David always thought she was a decent worker, but she definitely was trying to not have to work super hard. Cheryl’s sights had been set on the detective since she set foot inside the department. Her advances used to be very brazen, until a few straight to the point shut downs turned her away from trying with Loki again. That didn’t stop the longing glances, and the rumors that she started to circulate. Rumors that they had in fact been together secretly but had to break it off. Most people just tuned her out; who would believe that David Loki would have the time for a partner?

One theory he hoped wasn’t true.

Theory number two: Jessie.

Jessie was a kind, older woman that looked after the prescient and its members. She brought in brownies, cookies, and food for the detectives and officers. David didn’t see much of her during his shift due to her work in the evidence room, but she was his only other legitimate theory. He could see her leaving the coffee on his desk, as she watched how he overworked himself. But there were definitely times that he had his normal coffee, and she had yet to show up for work or even work at all that day.

He wouldn’t mind that theory being true; sure as hell beats the first one. But that only left him with his last theory that he hoped was true, but was definitely not.

Theory number three: her. His crazy and outlandish theory, that he hoped was true but knew it wasn’t, was her. A quiet obsession with the woman had snuck up on him a few years ago. David never actively looked for a partner, being a workaholic and too concerned about doing his job than having a wife and kids. It didn’t mean that he didn’t want that life, but it never seemed to come up at an opportune moment. Either wrong person, or wrong place, but she made his mind want to work for that kind of life. All it took though was a few times of talking to each other, late into the evening, when they should have been home but instead were working on the same case. Loki didn’t like anyone else stepping in on his work, detective or officer. But, it just so happened that the captain had assigned them to work together on the case because of the sheer magnitude of it.

At first, Loki was vehemently opposed to the assignment, but so was she. They both thought they worked best alone, without a partner. As the case went on, they butted heads multiple times and even got in a screaming match with each other. But the next morning, she was waiting by his car with a cup of coffee before they were suppose to go out to do some recon. From that point forward, there was a sort of energy around the pair as they worked. There was more discussion about life outside of work, and their personal preferences. Many nights were spent at the Chinese restaurant pouring over theories about the case and suspects. It was one of those nights at the Chinese restaurant that Loki realized that something was changing between them.

~

“So what about this, what’s his name, Norman O’Shea? How do we feel about this guy? I mean he certainly has the rap sheet to lend itself to doing something like this.” Her question made David pause mid bite to think. He looked up to catch her eyes before looking back down to his food. Chewing over his food and thoughts, the man swallowed before responding.

“What’s he got on him? I thought he was the wrong physical type from eye witnesses? They said a grey haired man, no glasses, and a grey beard was near the kids when they noticed them gone. Not a glasses wearing, clean shaven, black haired creep.” Flipping through the folders, she stared at Loki with a ridiculous expression.

“Do you know how easy it is to dye your hair and have no traces of it anywhere? Especially if you have prep time and a space away from your main residence to do so? Besides we’ve got four different counts of child charges, including kidnapping a girl one time.” Both detectives took a break to eat as they thought about the information.

“He’s at least worth going and talking to.” Loki offered as they finished their dinners. She looked down at her almost finished plate of rice, and quietly chuckled to herself. The small chuckle made Loki’s lips quirk up into a somewhat smile while he let out an even smaller chuckle.

“What?” He asked quietly. Watching as she shook her head gently, her chuckle died and her smile turned sad.

“Nothing. Just…” she trailed off and let her eyes wander over the detective’s tattoos on his hands.

“Just, cases like this, you know? Just, they remind me of my sister. Makes me think of how proud she’d be that I’m trying to help other kids like us.” Her eyes glazed over, and David leaned closer to the woman across the table from him.

“Kids like you?” He repeated back to her. He watched as she was knocked out of whatever memory that she was trapped in. Her throat cleared, and she pushed her hair back.

“Yeah, kids like us.” She rolled up her sleeve to reveal the beautiful artwork adorning her arm. A spiraling network of flowers of all different kinds, attached to one branch spread all over her arm. It disappeared into the bicep and rest of her sleeve in one direction, and ending in a small bloom on her pinky finger in the other.

“My older sister and I were ten and five when we were orphaned. Drunk driver killed both of our parents. Well, we became wards of the state and were sent to a girls home nearby,” she noticed how Loki sat up straighter at the mention of a children’s home.

“For a few years everything was fine. But then funding got cut when we were about fourteen and nine, and the home started failing. They couldn’t keep good employees and everything was dirty. My sister and I, we-” she abruptly stopped, staring straight at the blossom on her pinky.

“When we were fifteen and ten, we were playing in the back of the home one day. We saw a few of the former employees pull up around the back where we were and they just had us. We trusted them. No one looked for us for three months. No one cared to. And the things we endured in the time between our capture to our rescue, it ended up killing my sister. She got an infection in one of the wounds on her leg. Two days later they finally found us, but it was too late for her. She died in my arms. When they got us, it had been almost a year to the day that we went missing.” Her hands started scratching at her own legs. Not scratching, picking. She was trying to pick at her skin through her jeans.

“Well that’s my sob story on why I became a detective. Sorry if I talk too much.” Her eyes adverted to the ground beside their table out of embarrassment. Loki didn’t know what to say after that. Having been through his own hardships, it was hard finding someone who understood why some people become the law. The law didn’t help either of them until it was too late; they kept themselves alive through hell. After having a moment of silence, Loki finally got his words back.

“I was at Huntington. The boys home.” She looked back up to now see David was staring at her, waiting for some sort of response.

“Huntington, huh? We were right next door at Doealair.” The two detectives started to chuckle, finding common ground in their childhoods.

“Here’s to messed up youth.” He raised his coffee cup in the air.

“To messed up youth.” She mirrored him and clinked their cups together.

~

From that night on, the two detectives became close. It was the closest thing that either one of them had to a friend in years. They would often get dinner together when time would allow, and they were the only one that the other would accept help from on cases. But it wasn’t enough that David thought he had a chance with her.

Sure, he looked out for the woman. He made sure that if she needed to take a break, he would usher her into a cell to sleep while he took on the paperwork. On a couple of occasions, he had driven her home because she was too tired to drive safely. David would ask for her opinions on cases when he was stuck, an implied ask for help was always there. He never voiced it aloud, but he cared for her more than he probably should. And it seemed that maybe she did too. She brought him food on long nights, and asked for his advice on cases. Generally, she held the same attitude towards the captain that he did: respect with a heaping cup of stay out of my investigation. She joined him in doing paperwork next to each other just so they would have a little bit of company. But it was still not enough to convince David that she was the culprit of the mysterious coffee.

Loki tossed and turned at night, always on edge. He never could get a full nights rest, which lent itself to the dark circles constantly around his eyes and his dependance on caffeine in the form of coffee. When he finally was able to pull himself out of bed, the drive to work took less time than normal. Which meant he was getting to work before he arrived, a full thirty minutes before he normally clocked in. Which meant, a full twenty minutes before she was suppose to be in. But when he got in, immediately, David was pulled into the captain’s office. For the entirety of his spare thirty minutes, he sat in there and listened to the man go on and on about the current case the detective was on. Nothing of importance was being said, just that he needed to wrap it up fast.

When Loki was finally released, it was time to get to work, which meant coffee. However, when he reached his desk, there was no coffee to be found. The man looked over at her desk, which had her stuff thrown haphazardly across, like she was in a rush. In any case, he made his way into the kitchen for his first of many cups of coffee, only to find a strange sight. There she was, making coffee. But another mug was next to her normal one; Loki’s normal mug was right next to hers. He watched from the threshold as she continued to make his coffee the same way he’d always drank it, no milk and two sugars. When she had nothing in her hands that could burn her, David spoke up.

“Is that my coffee?” He asked, startling the woman in front of him. She turned around fast and grasped her chest in fright. Several deep breaths were taken in, and she slowly recovered.

“Jesus David. Warn a girl next time.” Turning back to the coffees, she kept her eyes away from him. He stepped closer to her and leaned against the counter.

“Is that my coffee?” His question was repeated once more. Her gaze fell everywhere except his own eyes. She finished stirring the sugar into his coffee and dropped the stir stick in the garbage.

“Yes.” She quietly admitted as she slid the cup over to the man carefully. Loki accepted it and took a sip. Just how he liked his coffee. They stood there in silence, taking small sips from their coffee and not speaking about the obvious tension now in the room.

“Have you even leaving me coffees this whole time?” There it was. The question that demanded an answer. There was no way for her to lie; he caught her in the act of making his coffee. No one else in this department would know that the man liked a little sugar in his coffee. Everyone probably assumed he took it straight up. And now, she had to answer for her actions. Suddenly, her face felt hot. She was starting to think that this is what people felt like getting interrogated.

“Yes.” Another simple response.

“Why?” The question sounded simple, but they both knew that the answer was going to be anything but.

“Because, you deserve nice things. Even if it is just a cup of coffee now and then.” Her eyes still were looking away, having found her shoes to be the most interesting thing in the world at that moment. But they quickly became Loki’s shoes that she focused on as they stepped closer.

“Well, I’d like to return the favor. Maybe you’ll let me treat you to dinner tonight?” She shot up like a rocket at his words. Having expected him to deny her affections, this was certainly a turn for the better. She never thought she’d live to see the day that David Loki, tattooed, reclusive, badass detective, would look shy. But he did. He looked nervous to hear her response.

“Are you asking me out, Loki?” Her teasing words made the man crack a somewhat smile. They both knew what she wanted; a clear and direct proposal for a date.

“Maybe I am. Would you go out with me tonight?” He asked, this time a surge of confidence ran through him.

“A cup of coffee for a date? Seems like a fair trade. I’d like to go out with you tonight, David.” A full smile broke out across both of their faces, and they allowed themselves to bask in the moment before they inevitably had to get back to work. Going back to work was more difficult than before. Both detectives had to school their expressions as to not raise suspicions. And they had to be careful on how many times they glanced over at one another. But neither one could shake the butterflies from their stomach the entire day. Yeah, a cup of coffee a day might just bring someone tall, dark and handsome your way.

Going back to work was more difficult than before. Both detectives had to school their expressions as to not raise suspicions. And they had to be careful on how many times they glanced over at one another. But neither one could shake the butterflies from their stomach the entire day. Yeah, a cup of coffee a day might just bring someone tall, dark and handsome your way.

[venusbyline]

GUYS YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!!! I NEED TO RIDE THIS MAN IMMEDIATELY

[ozzgin]

Hello, how was your day? I just had an idea after reading your yandere prison story. What if the reader got hurt or they suffered some type of injury? I would imagine that all hell would break loose. Another idea that I got was, what’s it like bunking with them. I imagine that at least one of them snores. Thank you for listening to my ideas. I hope you have a good day

content: gender neutral reader, violence, obsessive behavior

Imagine if you accidentally hurt yourself out of sheer clumsiness. Maybe you didn't see the door, or you tripped on your way to lunch. Either way, you return to your cell with a visible wound, and your roommates are feral.

"What happened to your face?" the blond one asks in a casual tone. He's wearing his usual smile, but inside he's downright seething.

The other two already reach for their weapons, waiting for your damning answer.

"Nothing at all, it was my bad," you say, brushing off their worries.

You remain clueless. You continue with your day, cheerfully planning your little evening walk in the yard.

It's only when you hear the alarms that you begin to tense up. A guard rushes you back to your cell, telling you there's a lockdown in place. Several officers and inmates were assaulted with improvised blades, and some require immediate help. You pass by some nurses running around in a panic.

"This is my unlucky day," you whine to your bunkies. "First I smack my head into the door, now this..."

The masked man's eyes widen for a mere second. He exchanges a glance with the others, then sighs quietly.

Perhaps cutting up the entire breakroom was indeed a hasty reaction to your injury.

"Oh, well," the blonde remarks with a yawn. "What's a few more years?"

The pierced man pats his lap and silently gestures for you to sit. He inspects your forehead bump, then carefully places a band-aid over the swollen area.

"What about you? There's blood on your shirt," you suddenly notice.

"It's not mine."

You eye him suspiciously. They always seem to get in some fight or another.

[Yandere Prison] | [More Yandere Stories]

[tojipie]

prison bf series linked here !

content: violence, injury, blood, incarceration

˚ ✧ ───────────

prison bf ! toji who beats the shit out of other inmates to have more time on the commissary phone with you, pocketing loose change from his bunkmates to use on your weekly calls.

“this is an automated message from the tokyo prefecture rehabilitative penitentiary, to accept, pres—“

“hey pretty girl.” the bass of his voice sends a tremor up the length of your spine. you can already picture his bulky form leaning up against the brick walls of the prison mess hall.

“hi toji.” you giggle, swinging your legs behind you with glee. “did you get my package?”

“course i got your package.” he laughs, slipping a hand into his pocket to fiddle with the trio of polaroids you’d slipped into the letter. “guards gave me a ton of shit for it though.”

“aww i’m sorry.” you mumble, feeling guilty for the trouble.

“nah, don’t worry about it baby.” he laughs, shifting to looking through the candids you sent of your sweet smile.

“did you end u—”

“wrap it up fushiguro i need to call my fucking lawyer!”

the crunch you hear through the receiver is nothing short of sickening. it’s a while before the older man brings the phone back to his mouth, mumbling incoherently to himself.

“—blood on my fucking hands… hello?”

“i’m here toji.” you say, listening intently to the sound of shrill guard whistles blowing in the background. “do you have to go?”

“you know how it is babydoll.” he says apologetically. you cant help but squeeze your thighs together at how soft he can be with you, even with blood splattered across his knuckles and a room full of men who fear him.

“you’ll visit me this week right?” he asks, wiping his hands on the front of his wifebeater.

“mhm, i’m driving up tomorrow! you want me to bring you anything special?”

“you uhh, still got those chips i like at home?”

“you know i do.”

“that’s my girl.” he laughs, hanging the phone back up on the hook.