#there’s just some things that can’t be directly translated | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

januaryembrs · 10 months ago

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TROUBLE ALMOST ALL MY LIFE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader

Description: The ONE time the BAU needs you + the FOUR times you need them.

word count: 24k (what on earth was I thinking)

trigger warnings: mentions of spencers addictions + use + side affects. MOMMY ISSUES thankyou ambassador Prentiss. hostage scene + injuries. mentions of forced/pressured marriage. fem!reader. reader and Emily struggle to bond.

authors note: We never meet Emily's dad nor do we see a picture so while reader is given a nickname of Bugsy, she still keeps her real name (no use of y/n) and is given ZERO physical descriptors. ALL of my fem!readers should feel included here, let me know if this is not the case! also I don't speak any language besides English however she does speak many because of her mom, so I really tried to get it right, message me if I'm being stupid!!

series masterlist | next chapter

[this] means its spoken in another language.

—

‘trouble on my left, trouble on my right,

I’ve been facing trouble almost all my life’

1. the one where you become a translator.

“I’ll make some calls, I may still have some friends in the Eastern countries,” Ambassador Prentiss announced to the room, standing from her place on the plush sofa.

A case had landed quite literally in Emily’s lap when her mother had come by that morning asking for Hotch, a Russian migrant looking for her father with a ransom note and a sliced off finger shoved through her mailbox, wedding ring still attached.

It wasn’t every day Emily wished she’d brushed up on her Russian, but today of all days she was struggling to keep up.

“We don’t have much time, we need a division of labour,” Hotch’s serious face settled, the time constraints making him just that bit more dictatorial, “Morgan, someone needs to go to the Chernus’s house in Baltimore in case they are contacted again,”

“What about the language barrier?” Derek raised, smoothing a hand over the short scruff of his beard, “We can’t have the unsub speaking with the family directly. He could say anything to them without us knowing,”

Bugsy would hate to admit she fit the criteria for youngest daughter of a workaholic mother and distant father to a tea, but Emily would say different.

Elizabeth Prentiss had never been a warm woman; Emily used to tell her the scowl was a side effect of the overplucking of her eyebrows, not the serious nature of her job. Her youngest girl once said her mother’s lips looked like she’d sucked a lemon. Of course they admired her work, but world peace meant jack shit to a little girl wanting nothing more than a mother’s hug.

Despite the fact she’d pushed away her husband and both her daughters in favour of her career, the one useful thing about being the Ambassador’s daughter wasn’t just the money, but the widespread culture the girls had been crammed full of since they could so much as beg for a sippy cup.

“Baltimore, you say?” Emily asked Hotch with a somewhat doubtful wince, “I mean you could always-”

“Absolutely not,” Her mother cut her off, rubbing the stress lines already creasing her forehead at the very notion of her other daughter, despite the fact Emily hadn’t even finished her thought.

Emily’s sigh was a reflex, the years of her mother cutting her off sparking the frustration on instinct.

“She lives right in the city, Mother, it can’t hurt to have her just talk for them-” Emily tried to bargain, only for the sharp mouthed Ambassador shoot her a frown.

“End of discussion, Emily,” Elizabeth snipped, her manicured fingernails twitching with annoyance, “Your sister is much too young for an assignment so serious,”

Emily rolled her eyes with a scoff, as if the two had slipped back into the role of rebellious teenager and scathing mother without much thought.

“She's twenty-two, mom. She’s getting her masters degree for Christ sakes, she’s not ‘too young’,” The dark headed woman fought back, clicking her pen a few times as if the spring loaded ink would take away some of the temper Elizabeth seemed to flare up.

Her mother’s lips pursed, in the way Bugsy hated, in the way that meant she was going to be mean.

“Immature may have been a better word, then,” She replied, and Emily seemed to pause. She couldn’t argue with that. “Or perhaps lazy, or puerile; callow, wild, irresponsible. Would you like me to name more?”

“Asinine would be a good term; deriving from the Latin asinus it not only means foolish, but to be stubborn and lazy like an ass,” Spencer input helpfully to the Ambassador, only for his bright smile to fade when he saw the daggers Emily stared at him with, “Sorry, I love word games,” He muttered into his lap.

“Asinine. Perfect, Dr Reid,” Elizabeth said, and Emily could only roll her eyes harder.

Hotch huffed, the victim’s daughter watching between the two women’s quarrel with wet eyes, the ice box with her father’s finger clenched tightly in her lap, the cold of the limb bleeding into his own gaze.

“Unfortunately, Ambassador Prentiss, despite just how asinine your daughter might be, Morgan is right. Having the Unsub possibly speaking with the family without us understanding what he’s saying could prove fatal,” He explained, ignoring the way the older woman’s mouth scrunched in bitterness. They didn’t need to be profilers to see that despite how tempered the relationship between Emily and her mother was, a tension seemed to fall between the women the moment the younger Prentiss was mentioned.

Spencer was sure he was the only person who even knew Emily had a little sister.

“Very well, but don’t be surprised when you find your hands full of the girl,” Elizabeth said with a shake of her head as she led the victims, a mother and daughter that seemed to cling to one another for comfort as if to rub salt in her matriarchal wound, into the break room to get away from the frosty atmosphere that now lingered around the table.

Emily sighed, picking around her fingernails the way she did when she was bothered.

“I’m going to hate these next words that are gonna come out of my mouth,” She started with a long exhale, “But my mother’s right. Bugsy is a handful. Just try not to get her wound up, that girl smells fear,” She looked to Reid who seemed none the wiser, “I’m talking to you, wonder boy. She’ll eat you up and spit you right back out,”

Spencer gulped quietly.

Derek only chuckled, slapping a hand down onto Emily’s shoulder, “Relax, Prentiss. Your mom’s just got you all worried. Need I remind you I grew up with two sisters? This will be a piece of cake,”

–

Those were the famous last words of Derek Morgan.

Loud, heavy metal music jumped through the wooden door, so loud Morgan worried his three polite knocks would go unheard as the two of them waited outside her dorm for her to answer. Morgan was about to knock again, figuring the music had drowned out the first lot, when the door swung open and a frown the spitting image of Emily’s stressed expression met their gaze.

She looked so different to their Prentiss, but the way she seemed already scorned by the two of them told them they had the right woman.

“Miss Prentiss?” Morgan asked formally, though he felt the warmth grow when he caught sight of a beat up friendship bracelet around her wrist amongst newer gold chains, five white blocks spelling out her sister’s name pulling tight on her skin, as if she’d quickly outgrown the thing but hadn’t the heart to remove it.

It was then that he and Reid seemed to both reel back slightly at the fact she was standing in a large shirt, ratty around the edges, and what seemed to be a pair of men's boxers covering her bottom half, clearly not suspecting particularly important visitors.

She looked him head to toe with a frown, a dozen piercings in her ears, her hair highlighted with streaks of cardinal red, as if he was the one confronting her in his underwear, before she moved onto Spencer, who’s face seemed to be getting hotter by the second as he forced his eyes away from her bare legs.

“Are you guys strippers? Did someone send strippers to my door?” She asked, strawberry gum smacking between her lips as her gaze seemed to finish mulling over Spencer’s tall form and returned to Morgan.

“Emily sent us.” Reid said shortly, the music blaring in his ears making it difficult to focus on what it was she was saying, “As co-workers, no-not strippers. We’re with the FBI,”

He hated loud noises anyway, cringed at the sound of particularly cutting rock songs, but since he’d developed his … problem, the dilaudid had him feeling like someone was clawing at his skull, tugging his brain through his ears.

“Emily sent you here?” She asked with a scoff, looking the two up and down again. They both easily caught the way her face hardened, “Are pigs flying today or something?”

“We’re here to ask for your help on a case,” Spencer rushed through a sweaty brow, “Emily said you’d be able to act as a translator for us and some Russian citizens who are being targeted,”

She sighed sceptically, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame, “Any strippers or non-strippers can fraud an ID. Emily’s name was in the paper just the other week. I’m gonna need a little more than that,”

She keeps track of her sister despite the supposed distance between them. Spencer was quick to profile, his mind whirring at all the ways she reminded him of her sister down to the way she raised her eyebrows expectantly at them.

“Emily was born October twelfth, 1970 at 7:12am, graduated from Garfield High School in 1989,” Spencer said as if reporting the weather, her eyes narrowing in on him all the more coldly, “She attended Chesapeake Bay University and speaks six languages, as I expect you do from moving so often with your mother. She coined your nickname Bugsy from your childhood love of ladybugs, which she said you grew out of by the time you turned eleven yet the name stuck, though you still like counting the spots to identify their species. Your parents split when you were five and your father moved in with his now wife, born September ninth-”

“Alright- alright. What are you, living in her walls?” She interrupted incredulously, before turning her attention to Derek who seemed to hide a chuckle with a cough. “Either you really are a stripper or you’re a terrible friend,”

“She loves Kurt Vonnegut,” Derek held his finger as if to prove her entirely wrong, although not much else came to him. Maybe he was a bad friend, he thought guiltily, or maybe he simply lacked an eidetic memory like the wonder boy next to him, who had been about to tell her how old she was when Emily’s pet betta fish died, “Slaughterhouse 5?”

Rolling her eyes, she grunted at them, kicking her door open for them to enter.

“Everyone loves Vonnegut; only losers under a rock dislike Vonnegut,” She drawled, edging back into her room, the heavy bass rock growing in volume as they followed her in, “I’ll be ready in a second- Emily’s always bugging me about wearing pants,” She said vaguely, scanning around the dirty dorm, until she found one particular pair of jeans laying half under her bed, quickly yanking them up her legs. “Come in, come in.”

She flicked the speakers way down to which Spencer took a breath of relief. His eyes fell to the laptop that had been set up on her desk, the five different textbooks littered around the spare space, energy drinks and empty mugs filling the cracks where he could barely see the generic white of the table top, his nose crinkling. About as gross as he’d expect from a college student.

“Emily said your Russian was pretty good,” Derek made conversation, his eyes wandering over the various posters plastered over her walls, some fraying round the edges from where she had likely been moved from bedroom to bedroom when the Prentiss’s inevitably had to move country again.

“Yeah,” She snarked, pulling a nicer top over her head, “Kinda tends to happen when you live in Russia,”

Morgan raised his eyebrows to Spencer who seemed to give him the same look back, though the latter was biting back a snicker at her words.

How in the hell was she the Ambassador’s daughter?

–

“This all involves Russian Mafia, it’s really beefed up here the last ten years or so,” Agent Cramer, a tall, slim man who looked entirely overwhelmed by the workload on his shoulders reported, as she listened intently.

She had been somewhat de-briefed in the car, Emily messaging her for the first time since Christmas, the message a simple: “Have you met with Morgan and Reid yet? Make sure to put on pants,” to which she sent her a thumbs up emoji. She didn’t have much to say to her at the moment, barely even knew her sister anymore.

“It started off mainly in New York and LA but they send lieutenants from the old country,” Cramer went on, and she caught Reid scratching his arm beneath his shirt. She knew it was mozzy weather, and he was already under the blaring sun in a little sweater, it wouldn’t surprise her if he felt a bit prickly.

“Pahkans,” She interrupted, the man named Gideon shooting her a glance as she dug through her purse.

“Your Mom do much work about the Mafia?” He asked, as she produced a clear nail varnish.

“Here and there, I had to sit with her in her office for a whole Summer once when I got caught sneaking out. Picked up a few things, though,” She said, holding the polish out to Spencer, nodding to his arm, “Here. Supposed to help bug bites,”

He looked at her as if he wanted to say something, perhaps question her sources for such an old wives tale, but he stopped himself quickly, taking the varnish out of her hand with a dejected nod.

“Thankyou,” He muttered, shoving it in his pocket.

Three months he’d been in this rabbit hole. She had noticed it in a matter of hours.

“They open up branch offices in other cities. Baltimore, Saint Louis, Chicago, Dallas, the list goes on,” Cramer added, nodding at her words, “They’re mainly offshoots of the Odessa Mafia and they’re especially tough to crack from a law enforcement standpoint. I mean beside being well organised with sophisticated technical equipment, there’s Vory v Zakone to contend with,”

“The thieves code, eighteen principles they live by,” Reid jumped in before she could, to which she nodded as Gideon looked to her for more.

“It means ‘thief in law’, or ‘thief with code’. It's a system of repeatedly jailed convicts that have been crowned or ‘made’ with a strict list of ideals, breaking them usually means death,” She explained, kicking a stone between her feet.

“It’s like bible to these guys. We’re not gonna be turning any of them informer anytime soon,” Cramer said. Gideon seemed to tune the three of them out however, his gaze locking on the house across the street, where a curtain twitched, and a man’s face appeared in the window, watching the crime scene with guilt.

“Then we’ll need a witness who will talk,” Gideon replied, heading straight towards the neighbour who seemed just a little too invested in what was happening, much more than a concerned third party should be. Though, she had barely noticed, digging through her purse once more for chapstick.

“So, you study Russian or something?” Cramer asked as she applied it gently, Spencer swore he could smell the cherry flavour from where he stood beside her.

“I lived in Moscow until I was six, moved back to France, then back to Italy, then Algeria for a bit. Bounced around Europe for a bit longer, but I still speak better Russian than anything else,” She clarified, and she saw Cramer’s eyebrows shoot up, “Military brat except I don’t get the cool discount at the store,”

“You must have had a lot of friends though, going to so many schools,” Spencer added, and though there was nothing teasing about his tone, she laughed sharply anyway.

“You’re funny,” She snarked, but smiled at him anyway.

Spencer had never been called funny in his life. ‘Funny looking’, ‘funny sounding’ maybe, but never funny.

In fact he was so confused by what she had meant, whether it had been a taunt or genuine that he almost missed the sound of the whole street locking their front doors, dead bolting their lives away when a black prius, an expensive one at that, pulled through the street and swerved into park next to them.

“Guess who,” Cramer bit, her eyes ripping away from where Gideon had the door slammed in his face.

Detective Cramer aged by about five years when two tall men got out of the luxury car, opening the door for a shorter man in the back seat, their faces thunder.

“You familiar with them?” She asked, shoulder brushing against Spencer as she turned to watch the men approach, entirely aware of the .9mm on each of their hips.

“Arseny Lysowsky,” The detective identified, his voice cold, eyeing the two men who flanked the leader, towering over them.

“Agent Cramer, how are you?” Lysowsky smiled at him, which oddly enough seemed somewhat real, as he also took stock of the three other people around him. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, noting her lack of gun and badge, trying to decipher if she was local or just a very unprepared fed.

“Lysowsky, what brings you out?” Cramer asked, a tightness to his tone, his hand all too eager to grab his own pistol.

“I heard Chernuses had problems,” He kept it vague, didn’t reveal too much, and looked back at the victim’s house with a scorned frown.

“How did you hear that?” Gideon challenged, stance unwavering as the mob leader turned to meet his cold gaze.

“And you are?” He asked, a sinister smile on his face that flipped her stomach. She didn’t like the tension that had overcome the little patch of sidewalk they took up, and she was quick to notice how Spencer moved towards her.

He, by far, wasn’t the best shot on the team, but he was sure Hotch and Prentiss would have his and Morgan’s heads if any harm came to her.

“Churneses said they hadn’t told anyone,” Agent Gideon ignored his question, hands firmly planted on his hips. If he was unnerved by the criminal in front of him, he never showed it, not even when Lysowsky’s grin widened horribly.

“It is a small community. Word gets out,” He said simply, looking past him to the neighbours house that had kicked Gideon to the curb, “Are you a friend of Gorban’s?”

A second of silence passed between them, neither of them backing down from the moral standoff they’d engaged in.

“Mr Gorban wouldn’t talk to me,” Gideon admitted, and Arseny only smiled again, flicking a look at the house behind him, as if hearing his dog had obeyed without command.

“Would you like me to talk to him for you?” The threat was there clear as day, clear enough to have Gideon’s eyes narrow, “I can’t promise something will come of it,”

“You!” In a second, Natalya, the victim she’d briefly met when Morgan had pulled up around an hour before, had stormed out of her house, her black kitten heels clicking against the concrete, “Where’s my father? He has my father!”

“Wait a minute,” Derek called, restraining her where she stood, trying to pull his muscled arm from her shoulder, “Do you know he has your father?”

“He’s responsible for all of this,” She spat, her eyes cold as she glared at the three men with vitriol hate, “Why everyone’s afraid, him and his animals,” She threw a hand up to his bodyguards that seemed barely contained by Cramer’s silencing hand.

“I am only here to help,” Lysowsky replied, confident and calm in his words, though not as taunting as the agents would have thought, as if he truly cared for her.

A vast difference to the sadistic mob boss Cramer’s team had painted him to be.

“Help?” She laughed woefully, tears in her eyes, “You’re a dog,”

“Natalya,” Arseny said in a warning, the way a teacher would to a student, as her breath rattled in her chest through a weep.

“How exactly can you help them?” Bugsy braved to speak, Gideon and Reid both flashing her a look. She’d always had trouble holding her tongue.

Lysowsky turned his attention to her then, his eyes running down her figure, still deciphering whether she was armed; she looked much too young to be an agent.

“In any way that they’d like me to, darling,” He replied, the disdain in her frown clearly not deterring him in the slightest, though again the act of concern held up in his own grimace, “As I said this is a small community. If one is in pain, we’re all in pain.”

Natalya weeped behind Morgan, sniffling as the boss made his way over to her, “Natalya, [you didn’t have to bring in outsiders],”

The younger woman’s ears pricked up as he spoke in his native language, Spencer’s eyes flicking to her from behind his sunglasses.

“[Let me help you],” He continued, taking a step towards Natalya, unthreatening yet she saw Morgan tense, his fingers twitching towards his gun.

“[My family will never come to you for help],” Natalya hissed back, also in Russian, her face contorted in disgust, “[Get away from my house],”

“[You are not right, Natalya],” He replied, yet again the concern in his eyes was either genuine or very well faked, “[You have made the wrong decision],”

Taking a step away from the victim that wept with a scorned sneer, he looked back to the agents, noting the way the youngest of them glared at him hotly, before retreating to his car.

“What did he say? Did he threaten you, Natalya?” Morgan asked, the woman watching the group of men drive away, as if Mr Chernus wasn’t still missing and they hadn’t just bumped themselves up to number one of the suspects list. “Talk to us and we can do something about it,”

“He said I made the wrong decision,” She said wetly, frustration turning on Derek as he pushed her for an answer, “I hope I didn’t,”

With that she stormed off back into her house, the same stomping of her kitten heels in her wake, leaving the agents to all look between one another before they simultaneously turned to look at Bugsy, questions hovering on all of their lips.

“What did he say exactly?” Gideon asked without frills, a hand rubbing his brow. Relaying the information, the men’s faces all drew into frowns as they heard Lysowsky’s parting statement. Gideon huffed, turning to Morgan and gesturing for him to follow Natalya inside.

“Morgan, keep an eye on her, Reid and I are going to Cramer’s office to look over the files,” He looked at her then, worry lines littering his otherwise friendly face, damn near scowling as she looked over at him, “You are here to interpret, you understand? You do not speak to the suspects, that’s our job.” He growled, watching her with disappointment, the same tone a father used when scolding a petulant child, “Do you have any idea how much danger you could put yourself in? These guys won’t hesitate to take you out the second we’re not around, kid,”

“But-” She started with a bite, though her whole fight left her when he silenced her with a raised hand.

“Buts are for cigarettes, kiddo,” He interrupted, and Spencer winced slightly, knowing he’d heard that one a few hundred times when he’d first started under Gideon and had yet to mature entirely. Reid watched something rebellious flare in her eyes, and he worried for a moment she might just slap his boss for the patronising tone he took, “Just keep your mouth shut, you’re doing great so far,”

She opened her mouth to protest, only to then register his words entirely and stay silent once more, appreciating his praise with a guilty smile. For once, she listened.

–

The grandfather clock chimed to tell them it was merely 11am; two hours until the unsub would start cutting more if they didn’t get the ransom fee, two hours to figure out who wanted Natalya’s family to suffer.

Said woman paced her living room at the sound of the hour, as Bugsy picked over the knick knacks on her fireplace, a small smile teasing her lips when she saw a picture of three small children grinning toothily at the camera.

She had never gotten any photo’s similar, Emily being fourteen years older. The majority of their childhood photos consisted of a very grumpy teenager holding her baby sister that seemed to squirm in the tight, formal dresses Elizabeth Prentiss had forced them into, identical scowls on their faces as they were made to sit for the picture.

There were some good memories, ones where Emily let herself be a sister and not a mom, where she would put makeup on her for fun and do her hair, let her have all the clothes out her wardrobe she thought looked nice, reading to her before bed, even letting her sister keep her pet corn snake when she left home for good.

But now, it seemed like she was too caught up in her super serious grown up job to give a shit that her sister lived just an hour away. Still messaged each other for holidays, but the last few times she’d braved a call to the eldest Prentiss, it had gone unanswered. They argued the majority of the time they spoke, or there was an awkward long silence in between words, whichever was worse, but they each knew the other would come running if they were to ever need them so desperately.

“Are you hungry? I could make something?” Natalya offered kindly, Derek having a poke through her collection of books that sat on the end table, though he’d have a tough job reading them as she’d already caught most of them were in her home language.

“Oh, no thanks. I’m fine,” He replied with a small smile, putting down the books to calm the clearly on edge woman that looked to the twenty-something year old hopefully.

She shook her head, “I’m good, thanks,” which seemed to deflate her entirely as she sat next to Derek with a sigh.

“I guess I’m like my mother. When she’s upset, she cooks,” Natalya said with a sad huff of a laugh, running a hand through her short, dark hair.

“Yeah, mine does too. I think that’s just a mom thing,” He replied, and Bugsy felt the two of them look at her as her finger traced the old brass ornaments gently, “How about you, baby Prentiss?”

She snorted, “You’re kidding, right?” smiling bitterly, “My mom never cooked for us, she said we needed to figure it out for ourselves rather than relying on the staff. Didn’t stop her from trying to end world hunger though,”

It wasn’t lost to Morgan the way her eyes trained on the picture of Natalya and her mother, cuddled together with genuine love in their embrace, the snarky humour as she spoke, the same longing Emily seemed almost too good at hiding from them.

“Your mother is a great woman,” Natalya complimented, though she missed the way the girl’s face steeled over, chewing her bottom lip as if to stop herself from snapping at the woman who meant well. She said nothing. “Where is your mother?” She turned her attention back to Derek who seemed the more talkative of the two of them.

“Chicago. That’s where I’m from,” He replied, watching Bugsy turn away from the two of them to inspect more of the Chernus’s trinkets on their walls.

“I’m from Dolgoprudny. Just North of Moscow.” Natalya replied. Opening her mouth to add something else, she was cut off by a knock at the door and the three of them froze in their place.

“Are you expecting someone?” Morgan asked Natalya in a hushed tone, reaching for his gun and heading for the door.

She shook her head, “No,” She whispered back. Morgan pulled the curtain back the smallest inch to see a small blonde boy staring back, a box in his hands and a bored look on his face.

It all happened too fast from there, Natalya opening the door for the neighbourhood kid, opening the box to see a decapitated ear, the blood fresh and pooling in the bottom of the box. It couldn’t have been taken longer than an hour or so ago, unless they were keeping the parts on ice.

Bugsy’s hand slapped over her mouth, Natalya’s scream piercing through her as she shoved the box into Derek’s hands, fleeing to the toilet, and she heard the woman retching. Part of her felt the same nausea settle in her stomach, looking away from the body part with a wince as Derek got straight on the phone to Gideon.

“They didn’t wait, man. They sent a box with-” He swallowed thickly, “With Mr Chernus’s ear inside.”

Gideon replied, and whatever it was, it had Derek looking back to her. He agreed, hanging up the phone and rooting through his pockets, producing a set of rattling keys, holding them out for you between the tips of his fingers.

“Gideon wants you, kid. He said they’re at the Little Kiev restaurant, they’re going to talk to Lysowsky,” Morgan said, grimacing as he held the ear away from her, “You sure you’ll be okay to drive?”

“I’d rather be on the road than look at what’s in that box,” She said in disgust, taking the keys and heading out to the car.

She thought it best for everyone she didn’t tell him she hadn’t yet got her licence as she made her way over to the restaurant.

“Reid and I will do the talking, just see if anything he’s saying connects with Vory v zakone, think you got that?” Gideon instructed her the second she got out of the car, taking the keys and handing them back to Reid who gave her a small nod.

“We think the reason it was Mr Chernus who was targeted has something to do with the code,” Reid explained, his hands in his pockets as the three of them approached the restaurant, “You said earlier you understood the tenants,”

“Why me, though? I thought I was just translating?” She repeated Gideon’s earlier words, almost cocky that they needed her.

“Lysowsky would feel the need to show face in front of men like Morgan and Cramer, even in front of Natalya since she lives locally. Between the three of us, he had less reputation to uphold, less so with a young woman like yourself,” Reid added, holding the door open for her to go in front.

And so there she was, trailing behind Gideon and Reid over to where Lysowsky sipped a spoonful of borscht, as she tried not to marvel at the grandeur of the establishment inside. Clearly, Arsney had money to build a place like this, and wasn’t afraid to be flashy about it either, that much was apparent from the other clientele that tended to their beers around their own tables, Rolex watches and designer shoes adorning nearly every one of them. She hated to think of how many ears or fingers those suits had cost.

“Would you like something to eat?” He asked, a chunk of bread in his hand dipping into the thick sauce, seemingly unbothered that they were there, “This borscht is exquisite, it’s my mother’s old country recipe,”

“Didn’t you forsake all your relatives when you swore the thieves code?” Reid asked, which she guessed was hit foot in to get Lysowsky to talk.

“I didn’t forsake her recipes,” Lysowsky replied with a shrug, looking to her where she seemed to be staring at his plate, “Borscht?”

She shook her head, her nose wrinkling, “Much preferred stroganoff, mom used to force me to have borscht to make sure I ate my veggies,”

His eyebrows raised, surprise written over his face, before he gave a short laugh.

“[Where are you from]?” He asked in his mother tongue, gesturing for the three of them to sit down, though his eyes lit up as he watched her carefully.

“[I was born in DC, but my mother worked in Moscow for a few years],” She answered shortly, and he seemed to find it even funnier that the near child they’d brought along on their case spoke as fluently as he did.

Laughing with a heavy hand smacking on the table, he gestured to a nearby waiting staff to come over.

“What are you having then, borscht for the gentle man?” He looked at Reid and Gideon, the former shaking his head while Gideon nodded with an awkward smile.

“I’d love a taste,” He said, though any enthusiasm seemed to have drained out of his voice.

“And what is the little lady having?” Lysowsky asked, his eyes falling back to her, as she straightened in her seat.

She chanced a quick glance to Gideon, who nodded at her to play his game. She had not expected to be so deep in criminal territory when they’d said they needed a translator, and truly they hadn’t planned on getting her in the field until they realised she would know much more about this than they would.

“Do you have sharlotka?” She asked, returning his smile wearily as he clicked at the waiter who all but bolted to the kitchen.

“A sweet tooth. I like it,” Arseny replied, shovelling a heap of beets into his mouth, “Our favourite was always Leningradsky,”

“Ours?” She prompted, giving a polite thanks to the waiter who returned too quickly with a slice of cake. She caught Spencer glancing at the bowl with intrigue, the hunger clear on the quiet man’s face. Gently pushing the bowl and clean spoon towards him, he flicked a look up at her, “Apple cake,” She whispered, sending him a small smile, “Really yummy with the sugar on top,”

“Mine and my mother’s,” Arseny replied, though Gideon and Reid both caught how he paused before he replied, as if he had to think about the answer he was giving; the oldest tell that it wasn’t entirely true, “We didn’t have much when I was a boy, but that was always our dessert of choice,”

She stopped for a mere second, missing the moment when Spencer spooned the tiniest bite of the cake into his mouth, trying to ignore the way his tongue exploded in the sweet, fruit taste. He hadn’t eaten anything properly in days, and maybe that was why it tasted so good, but more likely it was just the fact that everything sweet tasted even better when he was on his come downs.

“We need to talk, Arseny,” Gideon interrupted, ignoring the way Spencer pined to go back in for a second mouthful, but chose to hand the bowl back to her with a small smile.

“We are on first name basis?” Lysowsky asked, shaking his head, and she took a small bite of the sweet cake for herself, “I still don’t even know who you are,”

“I think I understand something about this,” Gideon replied, his thumbs tapping together, the waiter returning with his borscht, “You have a problem,”

“I do?” The pahkan titled his head at the agent, the annoyance clear on his face.

“That’s why you came to the Chernus’ house this morning,” Gideon answered, unbothered as he began to scoop the borscht onto the spoon, the apple cake in her own mouth going down a treat.

She kept her head down, took tiny bites of the dessert that certainly tasted like a fresh baked sharlotka. But her thoughts lingered on what Lysowsky had said, about his own favourite pudding.

It made no sense that he would have ever tasted Leningradsky shortbread, not for the time that he was born, nor with the amount of money he claimed his family lacked. Infact, the way he fully pronounced his vowels, the akanye, the stress he put on certain parts of his words, all pointed to the same dialect you’d heard back in Moscow, more central than anything else.

So how on earth would he have eaten the so-called ‘Royal Cake’ that had only been made eight hours from there, in the town it grew its name from.

There was something glaringly obvious about his story missing.

“A man like me?” She tuned back into the conversation, swallowing another mouthful down as Gideon took another bite himself, though it seemed the topic had turned sour as Arseny wiped his mouth with the corner of his napkin.

“Four watchtowers and a convict signifies a stay in prison,” Spencer cut in, nodding towards the tattoos branded across his knuckles, “Each one of those crosses symbolises an individual sentence,”

“Twenty three years in prison in the Ural mountains,”

But she was still stuck on what it was she was missing. It had been such an odd thing to lie about, particularly when he’d even admitted himself that they hadn’t had much money, so he clearly hadn’t been lying to fake a reputation.

So why lie?

She was ripped out of her stumped silence when Natalya entered the restaurant, her voice grabbing the men’s attention immediately.

“Mr Lysowsky. You said you could help me,” She said, her purse over her shoulder and her own car keys gripped tightly in her hand as if she’d all but thrown herself out the vehicle to get there faster.

“Don’t you already have help,” Lysowsky snapped, clearly Gideon had dug under his skin enough to garner a reaction.

“I made a mistake,” Natalya replied, barely meeting Bugsy’s gaze as she stared at her from her seat at the table. “I talked to my father on the phone,”

The girl frowned at her, “That’s a lie,” It came out before she could hold herself, brows furrowed at whatever it was she was trying to pull. Gideon said her name in a reprimand, though he too was looking at the woman as if she’d grown a second head.

“Thankyou for coming, but I don’t need your help,” The woman met her confused look with a saddened expression, nodding to her solemnly.

Leave it alone, she seemed to be saying, there’s nothing more I want you to do.

And with that, the two of them left the restaurant, Natalya walking by his side obediently, her purse tucked in close under her arm, as Morgan and Cramer filed in from the parking lot, watching their only leads drive away without a fight.

–

The team were quick to head back to Natalya’s home, only to find the ear missing and the finger gone too, the only evidence left of any crime being committed leaving with the victim’s daughter herself.

“She’s not here, and the garbage was never taken out,” Morgan said with a grimace as he walked down the front steps to meet the four of them on the sidewalk.

“Her dad just went missing, surely we can cut the girl some slack-” Bugsy words were hidden in a huff, rolling your eyes at the man who cut a glance to her.

“No, no. When Hotch first talked to us, he said she noticed her father’s car in the driveway when she took the garbage out,” Morgan explained, his shades blocking the way the cogs turned behind his dark eyes.

“Right?” Reid asked, his own sunglasses now covering his eyes that winced at the brightness, surrounding them.

“Garbage can in the kitchen is completely full, she never took it out.”

“She lied,” Gideon said with finality, the penny beginning to drop for him too.

“She could be half way back to Dolgo-whatever by now,” Morgan scoffed, his arms smacking against his side as the lightbulb went off over her head, the final puzzle piece falling into place.

“Dolgoprudny?” Spencer asked, exchanging a glance with Cramer, “Isn’t that where Lysowsky’s from-”

“Yes, YES, of course!” She exclaimed, grabbing onto Spencer’s arm as he spoke.

He looked at her with wide eyes, not that she could see since his shades blocked the way, only to feel her shake him harder in the midst of her enthusiasm. Part of him wanted to rip his arm out of her grip, waiting for the sickness to crawl up his throat at a strangers germs touching him, but the oddest part of him reasoned she had the same germs as Emily did, that the fifty percent DNA the women shared negated the fact she was a stranger, just as it did when he met Jack. Jack had Hotch germs. Bugsy had Emily’s. He didn’t feel so sick thinking of it like that.

“I knew I was missing something,” She said, turning to Gideon, “He was lying before, about his favourite dessert. There was no way he could have had Leningradsky with his mother. Given his age, at that time in Soviet Russia, shortbread was incredibly expensive, only extremely wealthy families could have eaten it. That, and given the Central dialect he speaks in, I’d pinpointed he lives somewhere near or around Moscow, which means there was no way he was eating that cake considering it was only ever baked in one shop at first, one way up in Leningrad, where St Petersburg is now, like nine hours away from Moscow-”

“What’s your point?” Cramer asked, tired of the somewhat slew of thoughts she’d been saving until she knew for sure what she meant.

“Before when he said it was ‘our favourite’, I don’t think he was talking about him and his mother,” She explained, looking to see if Spencer at least understood what she was getting at.

“It was him and his own child…” Spencer finished, as Morgan’s phone began ringing.

“Yeah, what?” He asked, the frustration clear in his tone that they were all still without the evidence needed to pin it on Lysowsky, “You’re sure? Uh-huh. Okay, thanks doll,”

The four of them looked at him expectantly as he nodded to her, “Garcia just got into the bank’s system, somebody wired 500 thousand dollars into the account ten minutes ago,”

“Who wired it?” Spencer asked, though he was still reeling from the way she’d touched him, the way her voice went up about five octaves and a dozen decibels.

“She didn’t say, but the name on the account is Lyov Fulenko. She says that’s Lysowsky’s wife’s maiden name. Fulenko.” Morgan replied, and her brows furrowed.

“Why did she bring us into this?” Gideon asked, though the solemn look on his face said he already knew, “Because she needed to put pressure on the other victim,”

Gideon headed towards Mr Gorban’s house once more, though it was clear he had already sketched out in his head who was their unsub and Natalya’s involvement, he simply needed the confirmation.

Morgan clapped a hand on her back, “Nice job, baby Prentiss. Those were some mean profiling skills out there,”

She frowned at him, scoffing, “I’m not a profiler, that’s Emily’s job. It was just basic linguistics really; more a display of how I need to lay off cake for a while.”

The man kissed his teeth with a grin, “Don’t put yourself down. What’s your degree even in?”

She shrugged, picking under her nails for something to do, “Individualised genomics and health.” She said as if it were child’s play, though Spencer’s head shot to her.

“Biotechnology?” He asked, and she glanced at him with a nod, “What’s your thesis on?”

Gideon had returned by the time he’s asked, and began corralling the two of them back to the car, “We’re heading back to the restaurant. We need to speak with Lysowsky again,”

But it had fallen on deaf ears as Spencer looked at her expectantly.

“Just some new research into prenatal screening, nothing too fun,” She simpered, climbing into the back seat as he nodded with her.

“I read a fascinating paper on the uses of hCG in a woman’s body-”

“Reid,” Gideon cut him off with a short glance from the front seat, “Continue this conversation once we’ve found Mr Chernus alive,”

Spencer blushed, feeling like a kid caught in the cookie jar, “Sorry, sir,” He looked over at her, only to see her hiding a smile to herself.

He thinks it was then he’d decided Emily had been wrong about her.

“You paid the ransom already,” Gideon said plainly, the four of them trailing behind him as he followed Lysowsky to a small seating area in the front of the restaurant. She could tell the whole way Spencer had been itching to ask her more questions about her paper, barely contained as his fingers had twitched in his lap, but he seemed to straighten himself out once she’d reached the restaurant, “You paid all the ransoms,”

“Sit,” The boss ordered, barely glancing at them as he held his strong whiskey up.

“Are they going to kill Mr Chernus?” Morgan asked, cutting to the chase as Lysowsky spared him a bored glance.

“No,” He replied shortly, the look on his face about as grumpy as when they’d left.

“The account is in the name of Lyov Fulenko. Lyov is a man’s name.” Spencer input, crossing his arms as the boss glared at him, “A son’s name. Vory v Zakone. Never have a family of your own. No wife. No children.”

“Lyov,” He looked at her then, gesturing to her with the glass of strong liquor, “You know what it means?”

“The Lion,” She replied gravely, steeling herself against his dark eyes.

“No one else would be so stupid,” Lysowsky ran a hand over his weathered face, swigging his drink as if it was the only thing keeping him talking. “At first it didn’t mean much. It was a way of letting him earn his own money. I could afford it, it came from the fund. And no one questions the use of the fund-”

“Where is he?” Gideon asked, his elbows on his knees as he leaned in.

“What else could I do?” He was ignored, “I couldn’t admit I wasn’t blessing the kidnappings, I couldn’t even admit my son existed.” He huffed when he saw Gideon’s face unmoving from the glower, his question still unanswered, “Chernus will be home in a few minutes. You should be there, he will need medical attention,” He shooed them away, with his final words, drink sloshing in his hand. His face darkened, impossibly so, and the five of them looked at him, something sad and remorseful shining back.

“What are you gonna do?” She asked, though she had a feeling she already knew the answer.

“Vory v Zakone.” He said heavily, nodding to her, “We take care of our own troubles.”

It was a silent journey back to the Chernus’ house.

Morgan and Reid pulled up to the campus, the younger girl in the back seat almost dozing off with the rhythmic hum of the engine, the evening sun much nicer on Spencer’s sensitive eyes.

“This is you, baby Prentiss,” Derek’s voice jolted her out of the half sleep she was in, straightening herself from where she had her head pressed against the window.

“Thanks,” She muttered, rubbing her eyes and unbuckling herself as they did the same, assuming they wanted to walk her back to her dorm since it had gotten dark, “I’ll be okay on my own, campus security should be out by now,”

“You sure?” Reid asked, flicking his watch up to his eyes to see the meagre 6:13pm staring back at him, “I thought they started at 7,”

She blinked at him, her eyebrows quirking for a moment, “How do you know that?”

“Johns Hopkins was my backup option- well actually it was my third, I much preferred Caltech’s curriculum, Yale was my second-” He started, flicking a glance to her where she waited for him to finish, “Not that Johns was bad, there were just better- alternative options out there-”

“Don’t shit your pants, I’m hardly the dean of the university,” She chuckled indignantly patting them both on the shoulder before sliding over to open the door, “Nice meeting you both, I’ll just get back to my mediocre college with my poor curriculum, nothing like the solid gold bathrooms at Caltech-”

“I never said that!” She laughed again, with her whole chest, at his defensive tone as she stepped out the car, hand on the door to shut it behind her.

Leaning down to give them both a wave goodbye, Derek’s voice stopped her again, “Baby Prentiss, do us all a favour and enrol yourself into forensics, we need more people on our team,”

Smirking at him, she shook her head, “Very funny. Never gonna happen. I like my little slides and samples, thankyou,”

Slamming the door on the two of them she headed for the front gates, swinging her purse over her shoulder. She was stopped by a hand on her shoulder, and she quickly realised she’d been too tired to even realise a set of footsteps jogging after her.

Maybe she should have taken that walk home after all.

Whirling around, her eyes widened as Spencer had clearly not been leader of the track team as he was half out of breath just from the few feet he’d covered, though she reckoned she could have guessed that seeing his lean ribs beneath his shirt.

He shoved a business card in her face as he caught his breath, though it was more just his name and credentials followed by a phone number.

“I-I don’t have email otherwise I would-” He huffed, scratching his forehead as she frowned and looked at him.

“I’ve never been hit on via business card before,” She bit her lip with a smile, reading over the card again as he choked on his words even more than before.

“N-no, I-” He spluttered, ignoring the way Morgan beeped the horn for him, seemingly in a debate with a ticket metre that had caught him parked on yellow, “If you needed us for anything, or if you needed a second pair of eyes for your thesis, I’m happy to help,”

“You don’t have faith in the dummy that got into Johns?” She asked, and his head couldn’t shake fast enough, though he seemed to catch her teasing and shared her smile, “Thanks, Dr Reid,”

“Spencer’s just fine,” He said, giving her a small nod and a wave as Morgan’s palm bounced on the horn a dozen times. She flashed him one more smile, pocketing his number and heading back to her dorm, wondering what the doctor would think about the paper due in tomorrow she’d yet to get started on.

+1. The one where you get arrested.

The case had been heavy. They’d felt it in the car on the way back to headquarters. A little girl, molested and groomed by her own uncle, his own wife covering for him.

His mother always told him love makes you do crazy things, but Spencer hoped that whatever part of him worth loving would at least stay sane by the time he found the one. He was loyal to his team, to his mother, but that was where he drew the line. He was loyal to his family, undoubtedly so.

Yet so was Emily.

The call came to the second SUV, her phone set up to hands free mode, quickly flicking to answer the call on speaker, the other half of the team ahead of them on the freeway.

“Prentiss, speaking. Who is this?” She spoke clearly to the unknown number, her knuckles going white at the wheel when she heard a nervous laugh.

“It’s me,” Her sister mumbled through the speaker, “You wouldn’t by any chance be near DC would you?”

She huffed, cursing the knack Prentiss women had for showing up at the worst times.

“Can’t this wait, I’m on the clock,” Emily hissed, her finger edging towards the ‘End Call’ button, “I’ll call you after,”

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up!” As if sensing her movements, she all but screeched, “This was my one phone call, they won’t let me have another,”

The car went silent for a moment, Spencer’s eyes narrowing on the dash from his place in the passenger seat, JJ also leaning forward from the back with a frown.

Emily grit her teeth, her upper lip twitching the way it did when she was mad.

“What do you mean by one phone call? Where are you?” She bit in a cautious tone, though knowing how reckless Bugsy tended to be, she had a pretty good idea.

The hesitation on the other end of the line was palpable, as was the way she awkwardly cleared her throat.

“Fairfax County Jail,” She murmured sheepishly, “But it wasn’t my fault, these assholes don’t know what they’re talking about, I swear-”

“Stay there and keep your mouth shut,” Emily ordered, her expression furrowing into a sneer, “And for the love of god don’t antagonise the officers,”

The agent didn’t even wait for a response, knowing it would probably be something snarky, her mind already racing at what the hell her sister could have done this time, every worst possible explanation jumping to the forefront.

“I’ll call Hotch and tell him to turn around,” JJ offered, her fingers already searching her contacts for their boss, as Emily sighed through her nose.

“Tell him not to worry, I’ll drop you guys back to headquarters, make my way there myself,” She said, picking the skin of her nail softly with her thumb.

“By the time we’ve reached Quantico, visiting times will be over and she’ll have to stay the night,” Spencer pointed out, his own surprise evident. Sure, she had certainly been a personality when they had met, but a criminal seemed a stretch.

“Maybe it would teach her a lesson,” Emily mused, shaking her head to herself, “Who am I kidding, that psycho would Shawshank her way out of there by dawn,”

“You don’t actually think she would hurt anyone do you?” JJ said, the dial tone ringing out from the phone she held to her ear.

“Wouldn’t put it past her. She once cut a girl's pigtail off for wearing the same dress as her on her birthday,” Emily winced as Spencer’s eyebrows shot into his hairline.

“I thought getting swirlied was bad,” He muttered, watching out the window as Emily made a U-turn at the traffic lights. He and the now twenty three year old had been bouncing research papers back and forth for a few months, the odd one every week, Bugsy even once joking it was much more interesting and riveting than foreplay, which had his face red hot at his desk.

She was like that, he’d quickly realised, had a vulgar sort of humour about her, yet he couldn’t help the snigger that came out whenever he’d receive one of his papers back through the mail with pink writing scrawled all over his ideas. The little hearts that dotted her exclamations whenever she wrote “AMAZING!”, the odd time she’d written “sexy ideas, doctor Reid” which he’d come to understand meant it was really good. He’d even gotten back the drawing at the end of the paper of a stickman of the two of them, his hair a curly scribble and a purple tie which told him immediately who was who, her line of a hand pointing at his caricature with the speech bubble, “everyone point and wave at the smart man,” which had made him laugh.

She was odd, toeing the line between childish and witty, nothing like the scholars he usually worked with, and the writing he usually sent back on her papers were all in standard black ink, his own pharmacist handwriting staring back at him as he crammed in his every thought of her research into the margins. If she couldn’t read it, she hadn’t said, but he liked to think she took notice of it all, even if it wasn’t strewn with stars and doodles and the occasional flirt he knew meant nothing. He knew her from her writing, knew her from her ideas that sometimes kept him up at night thinking more about them, but the two of them hadn’t spoken directly, most certainty hadn’t seen one another since that day with the Chernus’.

Emily hummed, fingers drumming on the wheel, entirely unaware of the thoughts rattling around in Spencer’s head, then again that’s how it always was, “I just pray to god she’s listened to me for once in her damn life and keeps quiet,”

“Fucking bitch. The nuns in Moscow hit harder than you,” She spat, blood dribbling from her split lip. She wasn’t entirely lying, but god did her mouth sing with pain as she tried to muffle a moan.

“You got jokes, pig lover?” The other woman asked, a tattoo covering half her cheek, her nose crooked from the shiner the Prentiss girl had already given her. “Won’t be fucking laughing when I’m done, bitch,” The woman was quick to tackle the girl around her stomach, slamming her into the hard concrete of the holding cell. Bugsy felt her skull rattle, the wind whooshing from her chest as rough hands grab her shirt and pin her down harder.

The younger girl reached the nerve under her opponent's armpit, the soft of her ribs, twisting until the woman gave a bark of shock, and she took the opportunity to shove her off, climbing on top of her as they both scrambled for some sort of control.

“I got one for you. What’s got a broken nose, a black eye and doesn’t know what’s good for her?” She swung twice as hard, the other women in the cell rattling against the bars as if watching a matador taunt a bull, the air thick with excitement as the two of them cursed eachother out.

Emily’s sigh was audible across the room as the wardens separated the cat fight, the largest of the officers all but grabbing her sister by the scruff of the neck like a feral beast, dragging her over with stubborn feet to where the BAU stood in the lobby, eyes widened at the state of her.

“You better start acting your age, little girl. Mommy’s not gonna be around forever to save you,” The officer hissed in her ear, manhandling her over to where Emily glared daggers into the side of her head. She knew that look, it was eerily similar to mom’s that time she’d been caught sneaking out of the house, something in the warm brown of Emily’s eyes frosting over into a cold blackness. Fury.

She chewed her words for a moment, waiting until the man had turned around with a grunt of acknowledgement to the badge Emily had flashed to get his attention, before she spoke.

“She’s not my mom, she's my sister, dumbass-” Emily slapped a hand over her mouth, gripping her shoulder with the bear-like strength her jagged nails possessed when she was mad, the scoff of disgrace leaving her mouth as her team trailed behind the two of them.

“What the hell happened, baby Prentiss?” Morgan asked, ignoring the way Emily’s heated gaze turned on him, “What’s got you so worked up?”

“Don’t entertain her, Morgan,” Emily seethed, all but shoving her into the back of the SUV. She looked up at her sister with an open mouth, the guilt flashing in her eyes as she wavered under the pointing finger Emily jabbed in her face, “Don't you even dare,”

“But-” She stammered, cut off when she saw the glare intensified, if that had even been possible.

“I don’t want to hear another word from you for the rest of the day unless you’re prepared to give me a good explanation why I’ve dragged my team out here to save your sorry ass,” Emily hissed, and the girl’s mouth bobbed a few times, feeling the rest of the team watching as she got thoroughly chewed out.

“Wait-” Emily’s hand lingered at the car door, ready to slam it in her face as she rubbed her cuff over her chin, mopping up the damage. Her head tilted for a moment, hoping her sister had something good to say, only for it to be; “He just called you old, I hope you realise that,”

Emily’s gaze darkened, slamming the door shut with an anger she imagined her mother had kept warm for the past twenty three years, whirling around heatedly when she heard a snigger from one Derek Morgan.

“Damn, mama, hear the girl out.” He said, slapping a hand on the woman’s shoulder as he passed, heading back to their own SUV, “Maybe she’ll surprise you,”

If Emily was going to bite anything back, she didn’t. Instead she ran a hand over her brow, the group disbanding to their cars now the problem child had been picked up from daycare, except for Hotch who watched the older Prentiss with a scowl, despite the worry in his eyes.

“Hotch, I’m so sorry, just take it off my timecard, I’ll cover all the costs,” She said shakily, her own frown adorning her face as she felt herself blush from embarrassment under her boss’s gaze.

“I understand she’s your sister, but this was a gross misuse of agent time and resources, Prentiss,” He said, his gaze drifting to where Spencer sat next to the girl, pulling a packet of tissues and hand sanitizer out of his satchel while JJ rooted through her own purse for a plaster, “Don’t let it happen again,”

Emily nodded vehemently, flushed with anger, her palms sticky as she wiped them on her jeans.

“Absolutely sir. Believe me, this ever happens again, she’s on her own,” She replied, though they both knew she didn’t mean it. Emily would never.

He nodded stonily, deciding quickly that it was punishment enough that she felt so ashamed, he knew from his years of arguments with Sean what it was like to have a sibling stray so far.

“We can fill out reports in the morning, just get Reid and JJ home,” Hotch said, putting a tentative hand on her shoulder as he passed her to head towards his own vehicle, “And try not to kill each other in the company car. It doesn’t look good on paperwork,”

She beat off the smile on her lips as she got back into the driver's seat, the air that engulfed the four of them foul as she glared over her shoulder and into the back. Spencer twitched in his seat uncomfortably, his hand still passing over tissues to the bloodied girl.

“So, you gonna tell me what that was about?” Emily asked, her tone brittle and warning, not in the mood for any snarky response she could give, “Or is this old lady going to have to lay into you some more,”

The smell of strong ethanol engulfed her nose as she held the soaked tissue to her face, frowning into her lap silently and avoiding the burning stare as Emily stuck the keys in the ignition and started the car.

“Let’s start with why you were there,” JJ input, the same tone of voice she used as when talking to victims, calm and motherly, unlike the pissed off snarl Emily gave, “You wanna tell us why you were arrested?”

“You two really gonna pull the good cop, bad cop on me?” She snapped, her lip swelling around the wound, tongue grazing it softly despite the heavy taste of the sanitizer.

Emily said her name in a warning, her last warning, and she knew better than to push her luck even more, the SUV pulling out of the station and onto the road.

“I was just shopping for groceries,” She started, fiddling with the bloodied tissue, wincing under her tongue stroke, “Store clerk made a pass at me, I told him I wasn’t interested. So he put a pack of smokes in my handbag while I wasn’t looking; the alarms went off. I didn’t even know what was happening until security grabbed me at the door,”

JJ flashed a glance at Emily, like two parents deciding an appropriate punishment, the brunette’s lips straightening out into a line.

“You’re telling the truth?” She asked cautiously, glancing in the rear view mirror to see how her sister balled the mess of paper between her palms.

Rolling her eyes, she gladly accepted the other packet of tissues Spencer slid over the leather seat between them.

“I went out for milk and oranges, I was not looking to get picked up, Em,” She bit back, groaning when she felt it jostle the cut, “And certainly not for cigarettes, you know I only smoke on New Years,”

Spencer looked at her with a frown, and she caught his confusion quickly, pulling another leaf of paper from the packet.

“Emily and I had a rule after she caught me smoking when I was like fourteen, that we could have one cigarette between the two of us on New Years eve,” She explained, JJ also perking up to hear it, “So that by the time morning came around, it would be last year’s mistake, and it would be like it never happened,”

JJ smiled to herself, remembering the time she caught Roz sneaking one of her dad’s cigarettes on the back porch back when she was just ten. She remembered the little secrets the two of them kept back then, held them even all these years later.

“So how did that lead to, well,” JJ gestured to her lip, “That,”

“Yeah, didn’t I specifically tell you to not antagonise anyone?” Emily chimed in, signalling she was changing lanes as they headed down the freeway for a second time that day.

“Technically you said not to antagonise the officers,” She pointed out, before Spencer had the chance to, shutting his mouth as he caught the glare Emily shot through the mirror.

“Keep talking,” The older Prentiss ordered, as Bugsy sighed and blotted her lip some more.

“That woman, Mira I think her name was, anyway, she recognised me from that picture mom had us take on Independence Day, the one they put in The Hill, and she asked me if it was true my sister was a fed,”

Emily’s fingers twitched at the wheel, knowing the status agents and even people associated with agents held in prisons; knowing just being a Prentiss in a jail cell held a big, dazzling price over her head that said ‘kill me, kill me!”

The air sucked out of the car, a look passing between JJ and Reid as they thought the same thing, waiting for her to go on.

“So then you hit her?” Emily guessed, the bitterness slowly ebbing as she understood maybe her sister wasn’t as unruly as she thought.

“No, I told her to leave me the fuck alone, but she said you guys sent her brother down for something a while back, and she asked again if my family were all Pigs,” She picked her nails, the blood stain on her sleeve staring back at her, “I told her if she didn’t stop calling you a Pig, I’d make her squeal like one. And then I hit her,”

Emily tried to pretend she didn’t smile hearing that, her cheeks tightening, lips pulling down as she fended it off.

“Is that good enough, officers, or will you be needing fingerprints?” The girl chimed after a moment, a weight seemingly lifted from the car as Emily quickly realised she had, for once, not been entirely at fault.

“I want a handwritten apology to my boss for wasting his time,” Emily demanded, her unforgiving gaze softening when she saw her smile, “And you owe my team coffee,”

“I can do coffee, coffee coming right up,” She agreed, shoving the used tissues into her purse with a crooked smile, “It’s a date,”

Spencers ears turned red, looking over the seat at where she dabbed at her lip gently. She didn’t look much older for six months, but she had gotten her nose pierced since the last time he’d seen her, unless he just hadn’t noticed it before, and the streaks of red were slowly fading out into a blush pink that said it was old, and he wondered if she’d done it herself in that tiny little cubicle bathroom of hers she shared with the four other girls in her block.

“You finished your stats papers yet?” He made polite conversation, though part of him was dying to know out of curiosity if she could crunch numbers and equations as well as she could in her own labs.

“Got two more this week, they’re kicking my ass man,” She replied with a huff, and he didn’t think he’d ever been called ‘man’ by a woman before. He knew if he’d known her in college, ignoring the fact he would have been twelve, he would have thought she may just be the coolest person alive, “I miss my labs with my microscopes and watching all the little baby cells move around in the ethanol. Stats are like, just not sexy,”

He smiled at her as she stared out the window, unaware of the way she’d managed to make DNA sound like a play pen full of kittens. He held off from telling her he found stats really quite sexy, knowing it would never sound the same coming from his mouth.

He pulled a leaf of the tissues from the packet, producing his own pen from his pocket and began doodling carefully so as not to rip the delicate canvas.

Sliding it over to her after five minutes as Emily and JJ made conversation in the front seat, she didn’t care that the grin tugged on her split lip, the reaction was instant, she couldn’t stop it if she tried.

Two stick men stared back at her, her hair a close match in texture and a childish triangle drawn as means of a dress, a very tall stick figure next to her patting her metaphorical head, a speech bubble coming from his mouth.

“Maths is fun!” It said, and she flicked a glance at him, her smile the most genuine he’d seen yet. He just smiled back.

+2. The one where you graduate

Emily felt the looks on her the moment JJ had mentioned Maryland. The case was a little under their pay grade, nothing more than a stalker, no bodies or bloodshed, but one very rattled woman that had turned to the communications liaison with fear for her life.

With Hotch and Rossi in Boston helping a case of their own, the rest of the BAU had been twiddling their thumbs waiting for something to come across their desk.

“This case is in my hands now, and if we do nothing and something happens to her,” JJ took a heavy breath, her eyes lingering on the three names Keri had given her in case of her untimely death, “I’ll be the one notifying her family,”

Derek, despite his own hesitations about using their time for a case like this, caved the moment he saw the guilt on the blonde’s face.

“Okay,” He shuffled the papers into a pile, Emily and Spencer gathering their own resources on the case and standing from the round table.

Luckily, one government SUV was more than enough to carry the four of them for the hour drive North, all of them well aware Hotch would flip if they used more funds than necessary.

JJ piled into the front beside where Morgan climbed into the driver’s seat, leaving Emily next to a particularly fidgety Reid. It took all of fifteen minutes of the man flicking a glance at her, his mouth quirking as if he were about to use it, before he thought better and looked out the window, and the whole thing would start again.

Derek, the less shy about his thoughts of the two men, even glanced at her through the rear view mirror, before he too returned his gaze out the window silently. JJ shifted in her seat, knowing she had to tread carefully around mentioning Bugsy to Emily, particularly after the last time they’d seen her. Emily had said they’d grabbed coffee once or twice since then, but that was all she spoke about it, which left her team walking cracked eggshells at the thought of bringing her up.

It seemed the three of them were bursting at the seams with the same thought, and it wasn’t until Reid cleared his voice, his puppy eyes stuck in his loop, that she had had enough.

“Does anyone here have something to say?” Emily huffed, Derek immediately reaching to turn the radio up the same time that JJ flicked the AC on for something to do. Realising they weren’t easily broken, she turned to Spencer who already looked slightly guilty, thumbing at his sweater, “Reid?”

“Did you want to see your sister?” He asked without hesitation, as if the words had fallen out of him, “You know, since we’re so close on this case. It would be a good excuse to-”

“You did say she owed us a coffee,” JJ pointed out, spurred on by Spencer’s nerves, “Wouldn’t mind cashing in if we’re coming all this way.”

“Morgan, do you have anything to add?” Emily asked with raised brows, though she already knew what was coming.

Derek chewed over his thoughts a second, “I’m just saying, you only get to see your baby sisters grow up once- you know, and it couldn’t hurt to see her even if she runs rings around you with that smart mouth-”

“Shouldn’t we be focusing on the case?” Emily cut him off incredulously, but received three knowing looks back. She met JJ’s gaze where the woman had swivelled in her seat to talk to her, and Prentiss was fast to catch the buried grief in her best friend’s eyes. She knew it pained her to even bring up sisterhood, let alone watch Emily throw hers away for the sake of a decade and a half between them. It was the desperation in JJ’s face that did it, knowing she would give anything to spend just an hour with Roz one more time, that had her drawing her cell out her pocket and calling the contact with the little ladybug next to it, “Fine,”

As a profiler she would have been tempted to ignore the way Spencer smiled into his lap; as a sister, her eyes narrowed at him.

The phone rang surprisingly only once before she answered, and she heard an unnaturally tame version of her sister answer.

“Emily?” She asked, her voice hushed, worried almost, “You okay?”

Her brows furrowed, “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” She got no more than a hum in return, somewhat agreeing though Emily could tell clear as day she was holding something back. “Look, we’re gonna be in Silver Spring, I was thinking tomorrow we could grab lunch-”

“Can’t, I’m busy, it’s an all day thing,” Her sister cut her off, yet it wasn’t rude or demeaning like usual. Nervous almost, sad, “Sorry,”

“What’s an all day thing?” Emily asked, the concern matching her words.

Her sister swallowed on the other end of the phone, before she found her words, or maybe even the balls to actually speak, “I’m graduating tomorrow,”

Emily’s face lit up, the smile spreading fast on her face, ignoring the way Morgan’s words seemed to ring true in her ears; she was growing up too fast.

“Graduating, why didn’t you say!” She asked, the joy in her tone unmissable, “How’d your papers go?”

Spencer held himself off from correcting her that she’d only done five papers, that the rest of her results had come from theory and labs, thinking better than to interrupt the one conversation they’d had where there was no underlying argument brewing.

“Full honours, obviously.” Bugsy drawled with a snicker, and Emily shook her head, the smile never dimming.

“Look at you, y’little superstar,” Emily bit her lip, ignoring the guilt that tore at her when she realised she barely knew what Bug spent her days doing, “Did Mom and Dad get good seats? Oh god, dad’s not bringing Stephanie is he?”

The silence on the other end had her halting, the light in the conversation wavering for a second, before she understood the nerves, the quick defence her sister had been on the moment the call had been answered.

“Bug-”

“They’re not coming,” Her heart ached in her chest hearing it, “I sent Mom the details, she said she’s in Ukraine this week settling some papers. Didn’t even get a chance to ask Dad before he and Stephanie were off on their fifth honeymoon in the Bahamas until October,” A painful laugh echoed down the line, as if she were holding back the gravity of the situation.

“Bug,” Emily tried again, picking her thumb viciously, punishingly, hating herself for being so blind to her sister’s troubles, “Why didn’t you invite me?”

“I figured you’d be busy,” Came the reply, sad and tender, the most honest she’d heard in a while, “You’re always busy,”

“Never too busy for you,” Emily’s guilt tripled when her sister didn’t answer, knowing if she were to counter the statement with hard evidence it would only hurt both of them, “Look, I have some time today, probably,” She didn’t, not even a few minutes, “Why don’t we get that coffee, you don’t even have to pay,”

Bugsy gave a sad laugh, “Sorry, Em, I gotta get my dress fitted today, and some of the lab techs invited me to a party later. Maybe some other time,”

“A party with biology nerds?” Emily asked with false excitement, the air turned stagnant between them now, “Well, rock on, science freak. Don’t leave your drinks with strangers, and don’t walk home alone, and for god sake use protection-”

“Bye, Emily,” She said with a chuckle, the older of the two gracing her with the same, as they put the phone down.

The car was quiet, waiting for Prentiss to speak, none of them missing the way her lip pulled between her teeth, a bitterness on her face that told them she was holding in something close to sadness. You’re always busy. It echoed around her head, stabbing at her chest to think her sister was graduating alone, no one to congratulate her, no one to pat her on the back and tell her how clever she is despite the fact Bugsy would happily tell anyone just how smart she was on her own. Never too busy for you.

“She’s graduating tomorrow,” She said to the three people waiting for an update, Spencer’s brows shooting to his hairline. He hadn’t heard from her since her last paper got sent off, and why would he? They had exchanged a few little anecdotes and doodles, sent each other research papers to be graded like teachers exchanging lecture notes, “She didn’t even tell me. She’s gonna be alone,”

JJ grimaced, “What? What about your mom- or, or your dad, an uncle, someone-”

“Mom and dad are out of the country, Mom’s brother lives in Mexico with his seven kids, he can barely get a night’s sleep let alone a day off to travel up to Maryland. Dad’s sisters passed away when I was a kid,” Emily explained, running a hand over her face, “I can’t let her go up there alone,”

“So we don’t,” Spencer said, as if he’d never been more sure of anything in his life, “We don’t let her do it alone,”

“Graduating with Masters in Biotechnology; Jasper Adams, Tom Adamson, Kristen Afkins, Gavin Agriths-”

The dean read off the names of the students as she fiddled with the hem of her dress.

The dress fit beautifully, her make up done to near perfection, her hair styled neatly, she was graduating with full honours for christ sakes. Why couldn’t she just be happy with what she had? Why had she got to be so spoiled?

Lots of peoples parents missed their graduation, lots of people her age didn’t even have parents anymore, she ought to be grateful her mother was increasing famine aid in foreign countries, all the lives she would save, or even be happy her father had found a pretty, rich new wife to tour every known vacation destination with. Or even that her sister had called her just yesterday and told her in a few words she was proud of her.

But none of them quelled the feeling of loneliness that blossomed inside Bugsy. The kind that had always been there, the kind that just wanted someone in her corner, telling her she was doing pretty good for a kid who raised herself in all those big houses they’d moved to, who saw the au pair more often than her own mother.

All those rooms were so empty, the houses so quiet besides for her. It was like living in a cemetery.

“Robert Lewsinsky. Marcus Linford. Tara Lorence. Katie Macauley.”

P would be up soon. Each name of her classmates drew an applause, some whoops and screams, one family she swore there must have been ten of them in the back row cawing and howling like monkeys at a zoo, proud of their son for making it.

She willed a smile on her face, hearing Orla Parkins get called up, and she knew just by the steward that directed her where to stand in line she was close.

“Kenneth Patterson. Joshua Perriman. Harriet Pimms. Lauren Pintons.”

She held a rattled breath as Renly Prackett walked ahead of her, strolling over the stage to collect his degree, flashing the crowd a wide smile and a fist pump. She had always liked Renly, having been his experiment partner for a year, despite the fact he never washed up after himself in the lab.

Then it was, her name was called. The one no one but her mother and Stephanie ever called her, she solely went by Bugsy courtesy of Emily. It was a family name, a nice one at that. Maybe it had been the fact she had been eight and her cool big sister crowned her the new name, or maybe it just rolled off the tongue better, made her feel less like a Prentiss, that she chose to go by her monika.

She tried not to think about where or what Emily was doing, only hoping she was safe, as she began walking over the stage, her heels clicking loudly with her hesitant steps.

To her utmost surprise she heard a loud whistle echo through the auditorium, a group of jeers and screams of her name, even an air horn signing off that had her almost tripping over her own feet turning to see who it was.

Surely it was a joke, a cruel prank, she barely had any friends in her class. Acquaintances sure, but no one so bold as to make such a fuss over her.

Squinting down at the audience, her cap nearly slipping off her head as her head turned to the source, she felt her chest burst when she saw the dark hair and bangs, her sisters butchered fingertips in her mouth with a loud cattle whistle, screaming like a firework right to the stage where she graciously accepted her award, despite the fact she barely paid any attention to the dean anymore, more to her sister who smiled at her widely as she clapped. Behind her, her team she’d met on the off chance, the pretty blonde, JJ, who pressed the air horn a few more times, cheering just as loud for her. Morgan, the handsome one who had stood himself on top of his chair, cupping a hand over his mouth to scream “Kicking ass, baby Prentiss!” at her, ignoring the way other people stared wide eyed at them.

And Spencer, tall enough to be seen over the crowd even without the help of a chair, who smiled at her, clapping those big hands of his loud enough to reach her, his own whoops never ceasing even as she stepped off the stage to head back to her seat.

The rest of the ceremony dragged, a speech from one of the alumni and the exit music playing, but she simply grinned into her hand, where her degree smiled back at her, counting down the moments she would be allowed to stand.

And then she was fast walking down the stairs, amongst the bustle of students, the black gowns flurrying around her as she burst out into the square where parents, fiancees, brothers, sisters, cheered their loved ones, pulling them into tight hugs.

Her eyes scanned the wave of black hats, landing on two dark eyes, the thick sable hair framing the dazzling smile that awaited her with open palms. All but shoving her way through the crowd, she stopped in front of her sister, the urge to jump at her with a hug shying the moment she got close.

“Told you. Never too busy for you, Bug,” Emily said, pulling her in by her shoulders for a tight hug. She knew her sister wasn’t one to beg for affection, wasn’t one to let her guard drop so soon, but she also knew she’d needed it by the way she melted against her, the way she chuckled into her hair, pulled her closer.

“Do I owe your boss another letter of apology for this or do I get you guys for free?” The girl asked, as her sister pulled away, keeping an arm around her shoulder as they turned to the rest of the team.

“No, this one is entirely on us, promise,” JJ said with a smile as she saw Emily beaming maternally over at the girl, the flat of the cap knocking against her cheek as she squeezed her in once more, “We’re very proud of you,”

She heated under the woman’s words, wriggling in her shoes as bad as Emily did when she felt awkward, Derek chuckling and taking the degree out of her hand.

“Alright, lets see the creds, Prentiss,” He held it up next to her face as she shrugged, the ‘4.0’ clear as day next to her name, “Good looking, and smart. Those boys in the lab ought to watch out,”

She grinned under his teasing, “What can I say, I got the deep end of the gene pool,” She teased, feeling Emily swat her ear, her eyes falling to where Spencer held a plant pot with a poorly wrapped bow of twine around it, the soil a little displaced from the journey.

“This is for you,” He said, handing her the small green sproutling, his cheeks blushing as her face lit up, reading the small inscription on the front, “It’s-”

“Dionaea muscipula,” She said, biting her lip as she smiled at him, ��This is so cool! Where on earth did- I had a paper last semester on the ways to study their electrophysiology you just have to read- oh thank you!”

“English, please?” Emily asked, though the warmth flooded her chest when her sister threw her arms around a very rigid Spencer.

Thinking she should grab her and warn her the man disliked touch almost as much as she does, she was surprised to see him give her a small embrace back, smiling proudly the way he did when he’d made someone happy.

“Piège à mouches Vénus,” Her sister responded cockily, tugging herself away from the tall man, to inspect her new plant, well aware that Emily rolled her eyes at her use of French, “Venus Fly Trap. I’ve never seen one so young, still I should be able to pull some slides on the Rhizomes in the soil-”

Emily put a hand to her temple, JJ smiling widely as she saw for once Spencer be the one on the receiving end of an earful, chuckling to himself when she began dishing out name ideas for the sapling.

“Holy shit, there’s two of them,” Morgan grumbled, nudging his shoulder into Emily who simply sighed, her migraine already starting as Reid began jumping in with his own thoughts, which didn’t take much effort.

“Don’t even,”

+3. The one where you’re taken hostage

“Tell us about the 911 call,” Spencer requests, flicking through the file himself beside her in the back seat. She had her own set of paperwork in front of her, her pen attached to a clipboard the lanyard around her neck reading her real, honest credentials, unlike the fake ones Emily and Reid were given. She’d been to one of these sects before, invited kindly as part of her research on the effect isolation has on cultivation of crops, knew one of the mother’s well from her last research paper, and had managed to get the group a foot in the door to entering the Separtarian Sect with little fuss.

Hotch, usually hesitant to allow outsiders in on the job, especially as young and spirited as Bugsy, had to admit it would calm any potential unsubs and make them see the team as unthreatening if they had a friendly face there. He’d signed the papers with a frown that morning, and they were on their way to the little apartment the girl occupied just outside Baltimore, sample tubes stuffed into her pack ready.

“I believe the he that they refer to is the church’s leader, Benjamin Cyrus,” Nancy, a woman from child protective services, replied from the driver's seat, Emily thumbing through her papers as they neared the compound.

“Benjamin Cyrus, no criminal record; no record of him at all actually,” Reid replied, watching Bugsy scribbling notes into her lab book, perfecting her report before she had even begun, “What else do you know about him?”

“The sect I spoke to before, the one in Utah, said he was rumoured to be practising polygamy and forced marriages,” The younger woman said, looking back at him with a frown, “They were much more modern in their beliefs than these guys. Last time I spoke to Marina she was happy there, I can’t see why she would want to move here,”

Spencer looked as if he were about to answer, perhaps to tell her he was sure her contact would be just fine, when Emily shrugged and turned to Nancy.

“Do we know who the caller is?” She asked, sipping her now lukewarm coffee out of the disposable cup.

Nancy’s head tilted in a so-so motion, “Uh, Jessica Evansen is the one who the age fits, but we can’t be sure.”

“Well given their view on outsiders, it would be best if you didn’t identify us as FBI.” Emily instructed, handing Reid his new, fake credentials and his gun she’d kept in her bag through customs. “Just use our real names and introduce us as child victim interview experts.” Nancy nodded, the compound coming into view, the dust flurrying under the car wheels as the road turned into nothing more than a sandy path.

A guard seemed to be expecting their arrival as he stood, unarmed at the main gate, unlatching the bolt in the middle and opening it wide for their vehicle to pass through. She nodded in thanks, her eyes flicking out the dirty window to see a collection of mobile homes surrounding a large church, a few smaller outbuildings dotted around the compound. It was quiet, not full of laughter like the last group she had been to, the children nowhere to be seen, only a few of the handier members of the flock that were either fixing up walls, trimming trees besides a man sprawled too casually on the steps of the chapel, a bible in his hands he seemed to be catching up on.

The car pulled to a stop in front of the man that barely batted an eye at their arrival, the safety locks flicking off each of the doors, Nancy collecting her briefcase and exiting the car first.

She had all but reached for the handle when Emily stopped her, swivelling in her seat to look her dead in the eye.

“Your job is mediator, you got that?” Her sister had never looked more serious, but then again she did know her almost too well, “You and your field research are a… buffer between our investigation and the unsub. Just try to take the focus off what we’re doing, but do not provoke anyone,”

She raised her hands in innocence, “Got it, jeez, what could I possibly do that could ruin this investigation?”

Emily stared back at her blankly, unnamused, as if they both knew there was a lot she could, and would, do that would blow the whole thing.

“You look like mom when you give me that look,” She bit back, leaving the car, as Nancy spoke to the man laying on the steps, “It’s terrible,”

“I’m looking for Mr Benjamin Cyrus?” Nancy reported, her tight, knee length skirt and blouse entirely out of place amongst the dirt track.

“You found him,” The man replied, still not so much as granting them a glance of interest as he flicked through his passages.

“I’m Nancy Lunde, we spoke on the phone regarding the allegation,” She replied, which was the only thing that garnered his attention as he looked up at them behind slightly bent reading glasses.

“Savages they call us; because our manners differ from theirs,” He said, though it was clear it wasn’t entirely his own words, more likely a segment of his preach he’d repeated a handful of times. Bugsy tried to hide her disgust behind her hand tightening around her lab books she kept tightly to her chest.

“We didn’t come here to hear you cite scripture, Mr Cyrus,” Nancy snipped as he approached the group, pocketing the glasses though he kept hold of the bible in hand as if it was part of his own arm.

“Actually it’s Benjamin Franklin,” Spencer murmured to the woman, which had Cyrus’ cold brown eyes narrowing at the tall man, assessing for a motive.

“Emily Prentiss, Spencer Reid. They’re child victim interview experts,” Nancy introduced them quickly, the two of them flashing their badges, the unofficial ones at least. Gesturing to the youngest woman, she introduced her with her real name, his gaze flicking to her as he seemed to recognise it.

“Marina’s friend? The plant lady?” He asked, face half amused as she fought her lip from twitching into a sneer. Instead she smiled, holding out her hand.

“That’s what they call me,” She said, shaking his hand, ignoring the way he flashed her a cheshire cat smile, “Hope you don’t mind me dropping by, Marina said I could take some samples for my research,”

He laughed, shaking his head, looking at Spencer, “Women and their flowers, right?” Spencer swallowed back a retort, shrugging his shoulders, though Bugsy’s eye twitched. Benjamin patted her on her shoulder, “Of course you can honey, I’ll find Jared, our head gardner, and you can run along for your research,”

He said it as if she were lying, that her degree and endless hours of work would only ever chalk up to a few doodles in a notebook, or a garden full of hydrangeas, or tulips, or roses, because she couldn’t possibly care about anything else but pretty flowers.

Nodding her head graciously, choking back the hateful response she wished to spit in his face, she gave him a polite thankyou, feeling Spencer’s eyes burning into the side of her head.

“The children are in the school as I indicated,” Cyrus said, turning back to the other three, Emily and Nancy taking off in the direction he pointed, the former knowing her sister was at risk of blowing a fuse if they were here for long.

Spencer hung back, partially because he had a plan of distraction in mind to allow the women a chance to speak with the children whilst Cyrus wasn’t around, partially because he didn’t want to leave Bugsy anywhere on her own. Sure, Emily had said they were both trained in self defence when they were kids, but with no weapon of her own, he was reluctant.

“You're using solar power?” He prompted, gesturing towards where the eight blue panels warmed under the Colorado sun.

“We’re completely self-sufficient,” Benjamin nodded along, catching the impressed look on both their faces, “Electricity, food, water. Ben Franklin said ‘God helps those that help themselves,’ you look surprised,”

“No, impressed actually,” Spencer replied, and he wasn’t entirely lying. The system was incredibly complex, particularly if they received no help from outsiders, for as many people as there were in the compound.

“Thankyou; for admitting that,” Cyrus said earnestly, flicking his gaze back to Bugsy who studied the solar panels, “I’ll go find Jared, he can take you to the greenhouses,”

Thanking him again, he led the way towards the school where Nancy and Emily had headed, as the two of them exchanged a look, Spencer smiling half piteously, wishing he could shake her and tell her just how smart she was and that Cyrus knew absolutely nothing.

He didn’t miss the way she walked closer to him, or how she thumbed the corner of her notebook, or how she looked back at him, biting the inside of her cheek. He thinks he might get slapped if he pointed it out, but Emily had the exact same tell when she was nervous, which is why he bumps their shoulders together in means of reassuring her he was still there.

It was only then she gave him any sort of smile back.

Jared, as expected, had been just as condescending and patronising as Benjamin whilst she slipped on her latex gloves, scooping no more than a handful of homemade fertiliser into one of her test tubes. It had been a partial cover, their story, but she had been telling the truth when she’d contacted Marina and asked if she could drop by. She’d been meaning to expand her field research in hopes of stumbling on a job opportunity since she spent most of her postgraduate days reading while her cat pawed at her leg for more treats than he deserved, the odd phone call with her sister much more common than it had been before.

She didn’t miss the way Jared’s hand fell into the small of her back as he led her back towards the school, after having noted down a few more readings, fussing over the state of the carrots that seemed to grow entirely naturally thanks to the systems they’d been smart enough to set up. He seemed rather bored by the whole thing, for a head gardener, more interested in staring at her legs as she leaned down to identify the fat black beetle that crawled along the rockery.

It wasn’t until they were halfway to the school that the sound of tyres on a dirt path met her ears, and she saw five armoured SUVs out the corner of her eye.

She hadn’t even the time to question what was going on, before Jared’s face dropped, the hand gently holding the soft of her back grabbing on her forearm hard enough to leave bruises, as he was dragging her to the chapel they had seen when they had pulled up.

Emily had said the rest of the team stayed in Quantico, if it wasn’t them, who was it.

“Whats going on- who is that?” She asked him lamely, her feet stumbling as she half fought his heavy hand off.

That was when the shooting started.

She thinks it came from the compound first, she’d seen two men stationed on top of one of the outbuildings, thinking nothing much of it, until she saw clearly now the assault rifles they bore, pointing it straight at the vehicles that drew closer. The whistle of bullets, bangs of the chambers emptying their artillery, and it wasn’t until she heard the doors to the SUVs start opening, more gunfire began hitting the wall ahead of them that she started running. Running fast, for the cover the church provided until she figured out just what the fuck was happening.

Jared all but threw her past the chapel door, where Cyrus and four other men were waiting, a heavy barricade in their hands, her chest pounding with adrenaline, she couldn’t help the yelp that left her as Cyrus whirled on her, grabbing her shoulders firmly and looking her dead in the eye.

“Did you know anything about this?” He asked, his calm demeanour cracking when she scrambled for a response, “ANSWER ME,”

“No-no not at all.” She shook her head, voice weaker than she’d like, but the sight of more guns in the men’s hands twisted any resolve she had, “Where are the others- the- the experts-”

“Take her into the tunnels,” Cyrus ignored her question, nodding at one of his men to grab her as Jared armed himself. She felt another callused hand yank on her upper arm, and part of her wondered if that was how men handled all women here, as if they were herding cattle, as she was dragged down into the catacombs below the church.

They’d made plans for a day like this to come, she realised.

Her heart constricted at the sound of bullets rattling above them, she hadn't been able to tell in that last moment whether Cyrus believed her or not as, nor whether she was being taken to the tunnels for her own safety or to be questioned harder about the gunmen.

She could only hope Emily was safe.

She felt her tongue too big for her mouth as the man all but shoved her into the bunker, the nervous chatter of women and children, some of the more elderly men, as they clung to one another for safety, the scathing remark she would have usually made about his heavy hands failing her as she scanned the room for her sister.

Emily was faster however, and she nearly yelped again as two bony arms yanked her into a hug, a rare one, and she knew by the blazer and the sigh of relief in her ear it was Em.

Usually she would bat her off, tell her to stop fussing like a mother hen, but today she embraced her right back, trying to note if her sister had any bullet holes in her before she allowed herself the same relief.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Emily asked, the whole thing coming out in a slew of worry, and she nodded, pulling away as if she needed to see the proof in person.

Bugsy’s eyes were wild, as if she were a doe in a meadow hearing a rifle cocking near. No scratch that, she was a doe being chased and shot at and hunted, narrowly escaping being mounted on a wall.

“They were all shit shots,” Bugsy said, through a laugh she didn’t quite mean, “You would have done much better.”

Patting her sister on the shoulder, Emily finally released her when she realised the humour meant she at least had her head on her shoulders. Spencer watched her with meticulous eyes, knowing the shock that registered on her face, knowing it was the same one he wore when he first had shots fired at him. He saw her own eyes quickly check him over, satisfied with a breath of relief when she saw they were both fine.

“Where’s Lunde?” Emily asked, and she realised then Cyrus had followed her down into the shelter, two of his men grabbing handfuls of guns she had never seen before, likely imported out of country, and returning to the ground level, preparing for more shooting.

“It wasn’t us,” Cyrus replied, as if that negated the fact their recklessness had gotten the agent killed.

“What? You can’t shoot it out with the cops, you have children in here,” Emily seethed, her voice harsh and incredulous.

“I didn’t start this,” Cyrus bit back, looking towards his men as they grabbed boxes on boxes of ammunition, “I’ll take the front, you take the roof,”

And with that they stormed their way back through the tunnels, leaving the three of them to look between each other, knowing this could only end badly. Knowing the only people that could figure out how to get them out of this mess was the BAU, all 1,700 miles away.

–

They’d been in the bunker for fourteen hours when there was finally movement. The shooting seemed to have quietened down, in which Spencer whispered it was around 11pm and it was likely neither party had a clear shot. She’d managed to fall asleep leaning against the wall, Emily’s blazer draped over her legs. She’d regretted wearing cropped pants, despite how the shade of green complimented her eyes nicely, and she’d been shivering by the time she fell asleep, Emily’s hands stroking her hair gently as if she knew she was struggling to relax.

She hadn’t realised she was staring at her little sister, frowning even as she slept, which made part of her want to laugh, until she caught Spencer’s tired eyes looking between them, something knowing and warm in his gaze.

“You know, she’s always scowled in her sleep, ever since she was born,” Emily said, quiet enough it didn’t interrupt the hum of small snores, the odd baby cry that filled the bunker, but loud enough for him to smile at her, “She used to sleep walk terrible too. I’d find her in the kitchen trying to make pancakes with a cheese grater. It’s like that big brain of hers doesn’t know how to shut off,” Emily shook her head with a fatigue, rubbing her eyes.

“Was it weird? Being fourteen years older?” Spencer asked, his own hands shoved into his sleeves to try defend from the draught. Emily thought for a moment, her hand slowing for a second on her sister's hair, before she answered.

“I felt guilty leaving her in that house with my mom when I went to college,” Emily answered, Bugsy unconsciously tucking her face closer into the jacket, “I think part of her kind of hated me for it for a while.” She went quiet, the shame in her voice thick as the silence that encompassed them, “She’s never been very affectionate you know? Before her graduation I don’t think I’d hugged her in twelve years,”

Spencer held himself back from pointing out that she had been just as touchy with him since they’d met, and that maybe it was Emily’s own regret that seemed to shut the both of them down. He wasn’t one to rub salt in the wound, not since he’d gotten this job and learned to watch what he said.

He didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to give her advice, knowing the whole subject of their slowly repairing relationship was a sore one. He had no siblings of his own, had a mother who loved him despite how much she grappled with her own mind, and he had only known the girl briefly enough to consider her a friend at a push.

“I always thought the two of you were similar,” Emily chose to continue, offering him a small smile. He returned it, his face blushing at the fact that was a huge compliment to him, “Granted, you roll your eyes at me less and don’t act like I’m dumb, but you remind me of her,”

“Thankyou, I wish that were true,” He replied, eyes flicking to her sleeping form, the way her eyebrows were indeed scrunched in a permanent frown. He wondered if she was actually angry, or if she was just thinking hard, perhaps her dreams were full of equations or labs she needed to sort through. Either way, he wanted to know. “She’s much cooler than I’ll ever be,”

Emily snorted, shuffling against the wall to cosy herself, “That’s one way to put it,” She said, smiling over at him as he did the same, his head resting against the wall, Bugsy’s legs stretching out to knock against his feet, and he didn’t mind that she scuffed the bottom of his already dirty trousers. “Get some sleep,”

And so they did.

–

Cyrus had corralled the whole flock into the church, where the shooting had stopped and the bodies had been removed, stating at the break of dawn that there was a hostage negotiator coming in to make sure everyone was safe before they made any deals.

She sat next to Spencer, the three of them stiff from their sleeping arrangements, and her stomach churned with hunger. It had been over 24 hours since they’d gotten here, and besides the small bit of bread and water Cyrus gave everyone for breakfast, she was starving.

“Remind me to never leave the house, ever again,” She grumbled, as everyone waited in the pews for the negotiator to arrive, “My cat is gonna be pissed I’ve not fed him,”

“Since when did you get a cat?” Emily inputted from the other side of Reid, keeping one eye on the door in case any agents start shooting again.

The girl shrugged, “I got lonely, there’s not much to do now I’m not studying anymore,”

Reid watched how she clutched her stomach, feeling his own complaining at the lack of nutrition, “Morgan wasn’t lying when he said you should sign up for the academy. We could always use the help, we wouldn’t have solved that case in Baltimore without you,”

She snickered, nudging his foot with her boot, “You’re being modest, you would have done it just fine,”

He was a little, wasn’t surprised she called his bluff either. “Okay, so probably yes- but it would have taken us a whole lot longer. Mr Chernus likely would have died,”

She shook her head, glancing at Emily who watched her carefully, “That was all you guys. I just translated.”

Emily and Spencer exchanged a glance, leaning back in their uncomfortable seats calmly.

“You’re probably right,” Spencer said, dusting the dirt off his trousers, “Probably couldn’t handle it, high intensity mind games and such,”

She blanched, looking at him as if he’d grown a second head, not knowing him to be so brutally honest, realistic yes, but not bordering on rude.

“And it’s a lot of work,” Emily jumped in, her mouth a straight line, “I don’t know if you’d be dedicated enough,”

Bugsy scoffed, indifferently. “I have a masters degree, I was offered a scholarship to do a PHD, asked to be an assistant professor at Yale, I can work hard, Emily,” She snipped, and perhaps she was particularly just hangry or they had struck a nerve with their doubt, “and I could do it if I wanted to, I’d have the best shot they’d ever seen, guaranteed- mom made me take lessons when you left- trust me I could do it-”

She shut up when she saw their small smile exchanged, as if she’d told them a joke, or moreso they’d had the same identical thought and that alone was hilarious.

Scowling at them, she looked from where Spencer looked almost, almost, guilty at making her the butt of the joke, to where Emily had a ‘told you so’ smirk, and she kissed her teeth at their childishness.

“Are you guys reverse psychology-ing me? Seriously, so original guys,” She snapped, crossing her arms and straightening herself in her seat, ignoring the snigger that passed between them.

“You’re not wrong though,” Emily replied quietly as Cyrus walked past them, his eyes falling to them with a frown. Bugsy kept her head down, heeding Emily’s warning of not provoking anyone, and Spencer eyed the way she leaned closer to him.

If she was going to retaliate, whether agreeing or not, she stopped herself, the doors the church opening and an older gentleman walking through the doors, arms full of supplies she’d figured must have been part of the negotiation. He was patted down by an armed guard, searching for his own weapons do doubt, or a wire perhaps, as he handed the box over to another who took it without a thankyou.

“Rossi,” She heard Reid whisper beside her, and from the look he shot Emily and Spencer she gathered he was from the BAU, just as they’d expected. His eyes fell on her, softening as alot of Emily’s team did when they saw the two of them, as if they were picking her face apart for the tiny ways in which she resembled their Prentiss, or maybe it was the way she curled up in her seat, tired, hungry, on the defence. He just looked sorry for her.

“The children,” Cyrus said with no greeting, the air between them particularly frosty. He gestured towards the three of them, though Rossi had already clocked their tired faces staring at him with worry, “And our guests,”

She saw him trying not to react, guessing they had not let it slip to Cyrus he worked with the two undercover FBI agents, looking away from them as if the sight of their forlorn figures was enough to turn him sick.

Judging by the way Cyrus and he spoke quietly, tensely, Bugsy just hoped they had a plan to get them out of here soon as he soon left with a rigid handshake to the man keeping them hostage.

–

The three of them had been moved to a backroom a few hours later. Her stomach ached, the little sustenance Rossi had brought being distributed to the community before they’d been offered anything, which hadn’t left much. Reid and Emily had tried to get her to take some of their sharing, and despite how her insides cried out for it, she declined, stating they would be more use than she would; that they needed their strength more than her if they were going to get out of here alive.

The two of them hadn’t liked that answer judging by the frowns on their faces, but they sat in their seats with little fuss as they waited for things to quieten down after Cyrus’ staged “mass suicide” that had turned out to be nothign more than a test of loyalty and grape juice.

They had been sat in silence, aside from her foot bouncing on the floor impatiently, as she picked at the threads on her pants, the material uncomfortable on her skin after a day of wearing it. The door slammed open, Cyrus entering the room with nasty scowl. She didn’t know what had changed in the man in a matter of hours as he stormed over to them, two of his men behind him, loaded rifles in their arms.

This was not good.

“Which one of you is it?” He asked almost too calm for his demeanour, his eyes flicking between the three of them, where Emily attempted to brush her hair using her fingers, Reid played with the hem of his cardigan, an she sat beside him, resting against the cold stone wall behind them, her eyes narrowing at his furious expression.

The three of them remained silent, waiting for him to explain more, though clearly it was not the answer he was looking for as he threw his jacket open, revealing a loaded pistol tucked into his jeans. Drawing it into his dominant hand, her body tensed up, her back straightening like a rod as she looked up at him through fear.

“Which one of you is the FBI agent?” He repeated in that same calm tone, and her heart fell through her stomach.

She opened her mouth to say something in retaliation, though the way she saw his hand shaking with fury, she knew it was better to stay quiet in case her voice would be the final straw that made him trigger happy.

“Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?” Spencer replied softly, and if he was panicking even a fraction amount she was he held it back, though his eyes flicked to Emily.

But it was a tell. The smallest movement alone was a tell he was lying, or perhaps it was the fact he’d answered a question with one of his own, distracting from the attention on them with the unsubs own answers. Maybe his quiet and calm showed how trained he was for a situation like this, showed he had gone up against bad guys before and won.

Whatever it was about him, it had Cyrus cocking the barrel of the gun straight at Spencer’s temple.

“God forgive me for what I must do,” The preacher murmured, his finger moments away from the trigger, when she lurched forward in her seat, hand shooting out to grab his wrist deathly tight.

“It’s me,”

She hadn’t realised she’d said it until the room went quiet. She thought for a moment it had come from Emily, Emily had always been the braver of the two of them, but it wasn’t until Cyrus’ unforgiving, dark gaze fell to her where she froze in her spot, that she understood her mouth had been the one moving.

Emily looked as if she was about to vomit, Spencer looked dumbfounded, but all she could do was stare back at Cyrus as if to will herself not to back down, knowing all three of them could fall victim if she gave them reason to doubt her; he could kill all three of them just to be sure the mystery agent was dealt with.

“It’s me,” She repeated, voice stronger this time, and she felt her chest relax just the tiniest amount as he turned the gun away from Spencer’s head.

He stared back at her for a moment, before the weapon smacked across her face in a sharp whip, her cheekbone crying out in a sting she knew was going to bruise.

He grabbed her hair at the nape of her neck, yanking her into a stand hard enough she yelped, despite not wanting to give him the satisfaction of the torture.

“Watch the other two,” Cyrus barked, dragging her out of the room as she squirmed under his hand, feeling it only tighten into an unforgiving pull.

She barely caught Emily bolting out of her seat to yell at the other men, all but fighting in their heavy grasp to follow wherever it was he was taking her, only for the door to be slammed shut behind them.

It was only then she realised how fucked she truly was.

–

She struggled to breath through the blood clotting in her nose. She didn’t think it was broken, not that she could check where her hands had been tied to the bedpost, tape over her mouth to stop her calling for help, her feet bound. She’d done nothing but give him hell as he’d been laying into her, keeping her cries and groans of pain silent as he’d kicked her in the ribs hard enough to know he’d damaged something at least.

She’d not made it easy for him to tie her down, worried about what they were planning next, she’d managed to headbutt him in the mouth, and the way he clutched at his jaw when he’d left gave her a sick satisfaction, though her temple now hurt more than she’d like to admit. But they’d only covered her mouth after she’d screamed obscenities at them for an hour or so, hoping to attract attention, hoping if the BAU were on their way, Emily and Reid would be able to find her fast before they could dispose of her.

Bugsy didn’t want to go like this. Tied up like cattle, gagged and beaten, the spirit kicked out of her as the dehydration gnawed at her limbs, making her too weak to even try wriggling out of the binds.

She felt herself dropping off to sleep, or maybe it was a concussion, he’d slammed her face into that mirror quite viciously, she wouldn’t be surprised if it had rattled her head around. Fighting with her eyelids to stay open, she jumped in her battered skin as the door unlatched, and she thrashed on the rickety bed to get away from the impending second beating.

But it wasn’t Cyrus. A fawn haired woman entered, her eyes falling on the girl on the bed, where blood trickled down her cheek, pouring from her nose like a thick liquor. Frowning, she was on high alert as the woman approached, a small, damp cloth in her hand.

“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you honey,” She hushed, approaching the young girl. Bugsy didn’t believe her for one second, her head pulling away from her as far as it could, her eyes wild and distrustful as the woman kneeled down beside the bed. “I’m Kathy,”

Bugsy debated jabbing an elbow in her face then and there, telling her in few words to stay as far away from her as possible, that the moment she was free she didn’t care who she hurt; she was getting out of here even if she had to crawl.

“That woman’s your sister right?” The blonde said, and the words stopped her heart for a moment, giving the woman the chance to run the cloth over the dribble of blood, “Emily,”

“Where is she?” She tried to ask, but the gag made it little more than a muffled cry, the woman’s eyes turning down in sadness. Pity. Bugsy hated every second of it.

“She’s okay, she’s worried about you though,” Kathy said, wiping under her nose, making her wince at the feeling, “Put up a hell of a fight after they took you away,”

She must have rolled her eyes, or perhaps it was just telling on her face that that didn’t surprise her as the older woman wiped over the superficial cut on her forehead she hadn’t realised was deep until the cloth went over it and she yawped like a dog having it’s tail pulled.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Kathy cooed, and she seemed genuinely guilty as she did. She tutted, shaking her head, fighting the urge to smooth the girls hair down the way she did when her own daughter was upset, “Emily said they’ll be coming for us at 3am, Cyrus has a mass suicide planned but they think they can stop him, you just have to hold on a little longer honey,”

“I want to see her,” Bugsy tried to talk again despite her mouth being covered, only for it to come out unintelligible once more. Huffing, she resigned herself to glaring at the ceiling, biting back frustrated tears. Kathy seemed to want to say something else, but thought better of it as the twenty something year old turned away from her to stare out the window, as if she were being dismissed.

Sighing, she rose from the bed and headed for the door, praying the FBI would get them out in time, before Cyrus put his plan into action.

–

Bugsy didn’t start panicking until it hit 2:50. She’d managed to kick the small analogue clock on the beside into working, the red numbers seeming to take a millenia to change over.

Yet it wasn’t until 3am neared, and the hallways remained silent, did she start to wonder if Kathy had been telling the truth at all. What if they had found out Emily and Reid were FBI and not her? What if they’d already been caught?

She really had wanted to see Emily, wanted to scream at the woman, who had meant well, to bring her sister to her or she would make every damn bible basher in this compound regret the day they were born. She felt helpless. She despised feeling helpless.

It was only when she heard shots rattling from outside did the cold fear set in. 2:52. Any minute now.

It was then an even worse thought struck her. What if they didn’t bother to come for her? Reid and Emily were safe downstairs, at least that was how Kathy had made it seem. If they got the women and children, the agents out first, she wondered if they would leave her for last since she wasn’t their top priority.

2:53 stared back at her.

At least Emily would make it. She was more important, had more going for her. She was supposed to be an only child anyway, mom had said it herself. Bugsy was the product of a failing marriage and a shared bottle of 1896 Bourbon that had been a wedding gift they’d never opened.

2:54.

She could have sworn she tore something the way her head snapped to the door as it swung open on its hinges, as if two large men had thrown their weight into it. But it wasn’t two men at all, just one frantic Derek Morgan with an FBI grade assault rifle.

The relief in his eyes was immediate, and he pulled a pocket knife from his boot, rushing over to where she lay, almost in shock, wondering if he was real at all, her heart pounding as she heard shouting in the corridor.

“I’m gonna get you out, kid,” The man promised, slinging his gun over his shoulder as he sliced through the rope on her ankles, her eyes trained on the 2:55 that watched them as if to laugh at them.

She whimpered, cursing behind her gag when she heard footsteps pounding through the hallway, and she was sure they were going to get caught. She thought then it would have been better if they’d forgotten about her, that at least Derek would have been safe, and he could have made sure the children got out safely, could have gotten Spencer and Emily medical.

Derek whirled on the doorway the same as she did as a tall figure all but skidded around the corner, his legs weak as hers felt, too long and not at all built for running. Clumsy almost.

Spencer. She should have known from the way he looked white as a sheet the moment he saw her it was him, but maybe she really did have concussion, as it seemed within moments he was fussing over her face, tearing a little too sharply at the tape over her mouth.

She thinks she groaned, or maybe cursed him out, as he started apologising immediately, his eyes a puppy kind of sad as she stared up at him, Derek handing him the knife to cut her arms free.

He was talking, but she couldn’t make a lot of it out, just that he was really sorry, it was 2:56 now. It was like her brain switched itself back on when she realised she was free, and the two of them were trying to haul her to her feet.

“Come on, princess, we gotta get out of here,” Derek said, as Spencer looped an arm around her waist, helping her limp across the room where her weak limbs did little to hold her upright, her ribs throbbing with every step, “We managed to stop Cyrus from detonating it manually, but the circuits are all still live,”

Morgan took the lead with the rifle, knowing some of Cyrus’ men had stayed to look for them, that they would go down with the building even though he’d already shot their leader the moment they’d breached the front door, because that was how loyal they were. They’d proven so already with the wine.

She kept her groans behind tight lips as they made it down the stairs, knowing Spencer didn’t mean to hold her bruised bones so tight, that he was just worried and her legs were doing the bare minimum to keep them both moving very fast. It wasn’t until they made it within a few feet of the door that they seemed to pick up the pace.

And she saw why.

Jesse, Cyrus’ child bride that had been the reason they’d come here in the first place was holding the detonator, her face tear streaked at the sight of her husband and prophet dead on the floor, the people responsible all but dragging a lame girl through the foyer and to the doors as if they hadn’t killed a handful of her flock tonight.

Bugsy saw the moment Jesse decided she wanted vengeance on them, but then, she guessed Spencer had already acted as he slung one of her arms over his shoulder, yanking her out the front door in a matter of seconds as Morgan pulled up the rear, and the two men shoved her down behind the small wall outside the church steps.

Bugsy expected the bang to be louder as the rubble flew over their heads, the floor shaking with the impact of the bomb detonating, and it was then she realised one of Derek’s large warm hands held her head into his shoulder, protecting her already rattled skull as best as he could. Spencer had done the same, throwing half his body over her back as he covered his ears, the two men tucking into the wall tightly and waiting for the dust to settle.

Spencer started coughing first, though his position over her never faltered, and she heard his chest wheezing, and knew they needed to move away from the thick smog that blew into their faces. Morgan released her ear, tipping her head back to check her over once more.

“Kid! You okay?” He fretted, noticing the way her nose had started bleeding again from all the movement; the way the bruise had already started blotching her cheek from where Cyrus pistol whipped her.

“I didn’t think you’d come for me,” Was all she could say, and Derek thought it was the saddest he’d ever heard her.

Reid was pulling her to her feet then, where he was still hovering over her, despite the fact the blast had already cleared, still sputtering and hocking up a lung, but it didn’t stop her from throwing herself at his middle, burying her face in his dusty sweater, not caring one bit if he jostled her aching ribs.

He was trying to be gentle with her as he squeezed her back, but she knew by the way he pressed his face into her hair he needed it just as badly.

“You saved my life,” He said, his long arms wrapping around her waist, hauling her whole body against his.

She laughed through a cough, their cheeks brushing past one another as she pulled him in tighter, thankful, relieved.

“You saved mine,”

And then she heard Emily. Emily, who sounded frantic and heartbroken as she called for her, her voice breaking as if she was crying, or atleast on the verge of, and as comforting as Spencer’s long arms around her cracked ribs were, she needed to see her sister was okay.

Ripping herself from his embrace immediately, she tore off after the sound, and there she was. Her older sister, who had always seemed immovable, like she wouldn’t so much as budge for a bucking horse, like water couldn’t drown her, or however many unsubs she’d faced could stop her from catching them. Her older sister, who looked like she’d taken a few punches of her own, judging by the blood on her blue blouse, that looked around the crowd of fleeing people with watery eyes and a shaking bottom lip.

“EMILY,” She yelled, her voice a bleat, a lamb calling for its mother, as she sprinted down the steps, whatever strength she had left carrying her to where Emily was rushing towards her, taking the stairs in threes, “EM-”

She crashed into her sister’s chest, and it was only then she started crying.

“I swear I’ll never give you trouble again, I’ll never talk back, I’ll never be a bitch ever again-” It was all a slew of mumbles against her sisters shirt, that was beginning to wet through at the rate the tears were coming, “I thought he was going to shoot you-”

“I was so scared, Bug, oh my god,” Emily murmured into her hair, squeezing the life out of her baby sister that sniffled and sobbed, “You don’t ever, ever do that to me again,”

Bugsy shook her head, clawing at Emily’s back as she pulled her closer, feeling Emily stroking her hair softly to calm her even in the slightest. They stayed like that until she managed to wrangle her sobs into little sniffs, the fire burning her eyes where it burned the rest of the church to ashes.

She stayed with Emily for a month after that.

+4. The one where you leave the altar.

She knew she was turning heads, walking down the street of a drizzly day in Virginia, hair wet and sticking to her face, makeup running down her cheeks, and the sodden, dove white wedding dress clasped in her hands as she paced towards the government building.

Whether the guards recognised her as the Ambassador’s daughter, or whether they really didn’t want to get into it with a bride looking like that on her day, she didn’t know, but they opened the door for her nonetheless, exchanging raised brows as a trail of wet followed her gown over the marble floors.

Heading up the desk, she flashed her driver's licence, which was enough to gain her a visitors pass she didn’t bother putting to use as she headed for the elevator, her ballet pumps squeaking under the body of the dress. Waiting for the doors to start closing when she finally let a few tears slip, burying her face into her cold, drenched palms, undoubtedly making the mess of mascara even worse.

Her heart gave a leap when she heard someone stop the doors, hoping she could get to her sister with little delay, and she quickly wiped her face with whatever was left of her pretty, dobby cloth shawl she had yanked on before she’d ran.

Whatever excuse she was about to give, whatever one liner she was about to drop to clear the awkwardness this agent was about to walk in on was sucked out of her when she saw Spencer staring at her, his briefcase in his hands he’d used to hold the doors, a wide eyed look plastered on his face as soon as he saw her state.

“Bugsy,” It was somewhere between surprise and sadness, jumping into the elevator before the metal could shut again, the button for the sixth floor already lit up in a ring of red, “What are you- I didn’t even know…”

“Spencer!” As seemed to be a common occurrence between them now, she threw two very cold arms over his shoulders, tugging him for a hug he quickly reciprocated, feeling like she needed it in the moment, “It was so awful, I just couldn’t all those people staring at me, and he- I just feel so-”

“Hey slow down,” He soothed, slipping his favourite cardigan off his body to put over her shoulders, ignoring the way he cringed as it quickly got sodden, “Let’s get you to Emily, I’m sure we can fix this,”

She nodded, though he could tell she was still shaken up, the elevator dinging to a stop on the fifth floor where an agent looked ready to step in, his face dropping when he saw the sight.

“Sorry, we’re full,” Spencer said, with little room for discussion, pressing the button to close the doors once more, and taking her by the elbow as she began shivering, “We’re gonna be just fine, you look beautiful,”

She laughed sadly with a roll of her eyes, the tears sticking to her cheeks. She knew she looked no better than a drowned rat, windswept and disgruntled, her dress full of muck from the street.

“Thankyou, Spencer,” She mumbled, the door sliding open to the sixth floor, where Penelope and her everlasting smile greeted her favourite boy genius.

She almost dropped her glitter pen when she saw the woman stood next to him looking like Dorothy dragged through the twister.

“Oh you poor little lamb, what has happened to you honey!” She all but cried, the cute little pom poms in her hair bouncing as she brought Bugsy closer, taking her hands tightly. “Your hands are ice! You’ll catch cold with that wet hair, and your gorgeous dress-”

“Garcia,” Spencer cut her off, though the woman didn’t seem to mind being manhandled into the kind grip, he guessed her state had her letting her guard down, “This is Bugsy, Emily’s little sister.”

Penelope gasped, her ponytails swishing around some more, the gems on her glasses as bright as the light in her eyes as she yanked the younger girl in for a tight hug.

“It is so nice to meet you! Emily talks about you all the time,” She said, pulling away and fumbling through her pockets for her fresh pink handkerchief she always carried around, mopping up the girl's eyeliner.

“She-she does?” Bugsy asked, sniffling, her body trembling as the AC beat down through the water ladened on her body.

“Of course she does, come on, let’s go get you coffee, I have a new machine in my office that makes the best espresso-” Garcia grabbed her hand as if they were kids in the playground, as if she’d known the girl years, which she sort of had. She had, of course, stalked every single one of Emily’s known relatives, even a distant cousin that never left Europe, and that had thrown up the quiet corner of the internet that Bugsy took up.

“I needed to talk to my sister, if that’s okay,” Bugsy braved enough to say, the swishing of her dress on the carpet making her wince, practically hearing the gallon of rain that soaked the expensive fabric.

“Ofcourse! How silly of me, I’ll bring it out right to you, little bug. You just go with Spencer,” Handing him the handkerchief, she set off towards her ‘bat cave’ in search of a hot beverage for the shivering woman, “Spencer, clean her makeup!”

He did as he was told, dabbing the water off her face as he led her to the BAU, where Emily and Morgan sat on their desks, chatting as they finished off lunch, Emily flicking through photos on her phone of baby Henry that JJ had sent over to her that morning from maternity leave.

“He’s just the sweetest little boy, he’s got the biggest blue eyes just like Jayj,” She said through a smile, “You know Will even said-”

“Holy shit-” Morgan cut her off, and she glanced at him, wondering about his use of a curse. Following his eyes over her shoulder, she swivelled in her position to see where Spencer led a very wet, shaken version of her little sister through the doors of the BAU, a snowy ball gown hanging off her, a veil clinging to her hair that had seen much better days.

“Holy shit,” She agreed, immediately darting for the girl that tugged Spencer’s cardigan tighter to her body, “Bugsy,”

“Emily, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t take up too much time- I just couldn’t do it- and I know mom’s always saying ‘Bring home a doctor, bring home a rich man,’ but I just couldn’t no matter how rich his daddy is, he wasn’t even too bad-” It all came out in a slur, not making too much sense, and she didn’t stop until Emily held up her hands, as if easing a wild dog.

“Woah, take it easy, kiddo,” Morgan hushed, as Emily brought a hand over her sister’s cheek, wiping away the last of the mascara, “What happened?”

Bugsy took a deep breath, looking between Emily and Derek, feeling the rain drip down her back.

“So a few weeks ago, Mom made me go to that stupid debutante ball,” She started, rolling her eyes already as Emily winced, knowing Elizabeth loved any excuse to dress her youngest up like a Barbie doll.

“I hated those things,” She confessed, shaking her head, “I thought you’d agreed you didn’t have to go to them anymore,”

“That was while I was in college, she said at least I could focus on my studies,” The girl explained, as Garcia tottered back through the office, a steaming cup of coffee in her beloved Bratz mug. Taking it from the chirpy woman, she took a deep gulp, not caring if it burned her mouth as she wished for the damn chill to go away, “Thankyou- But she made me go to this one on the condition she would pay off some of my college loans, and I was dumb enough to fall for her bribe,”

She huffed, taking another sip, her stomach warming with the hot liquid settling through her throat.

“You know how she is at these things, she knows everyone, and everyone knows her. I had four guys asking for my dance card within minutes of arriving there, it was like trying to walk through a dog pound wearing a meat suit, all the hand holding, trying to touch my waist- one guy even called me Madam Prentiss,” She grimaced, shuddering at the thought of it, “Madam? No one even calls mom that-”

“Focus,” Emily reminded gently, and she seemed to nod to herself, setting back on track.

“Right. And then he was there. Byron Hastings.” Bugsy said, wrapping her hands around the mug some more.

“Oh, isn’t he that super yummy bachelor that just inherited his fathers business?” Garcia jumped in, not noticing how it made her wince, “I hear his dad totally owns a bunch of shares in Facebook and as like just signed a deal with a new company that will change the future of computing-”

“Not now, baby girl,” Morgan said calmly, patting Penelope on her shoulder when she saw the bride’s crestfallen face.

“Right, sorry. Your turn, little bug,” She said, shaking her head and fiddling with her dozen rings.

“Yeah, that’s him.” She replied, running a slightly warmed finger over her eyelash where rain even collected there, “And you know, I wasn’t complaining, he was certainly easy on the eyes, and he smelled nice, like he just smelled rich, but man alive he was so boring,” She sighed, “I like computers as much as the next girl, no offence, but he didn’t once ask me what I was into or, and when I tried to bring up my degree he just patted me on the head and said ‘That’s nice’ like I was some child that had brought him a pretty colouring or something,”

“Ouch,” Emily grimaced, rubbing her arms over the cardigan to warm her up a little more, “And then?”

“And eventually, his dad and my mom cut a deal that we’d make a good pair. He said we could be married within the season, and suddenly everyone seemed up for it, and it was like no matter how hard I tried to dig my heels in, no one would listen, and mom just seemed so pleased with me-” She spluttered, sipping her drink to catch her breath, “I just let it happen and just thought, you know, maybe we could learn to like each other, or we could just be like mom and dad and separate in everything but paper,”

“It’s your life, who is she to tell you how you’re gonna live it,” Emily was outraged, the tip of her nose pink, her dark eyes stormy as her hands fell to her hips, huffing as if it had been her backed into a corner, “I can’t believe she would do this to you,”

“I was fine with it, really. It's not like its the fifteenth century when I’d be forced to consummate- anyway,” Bugsy rubbed her face, “I just got there, and mom put on my veil and told me I’d make a lovely Mrs Hastings, and just the sound of it- I couldn’t-”

“What on earth is going on?” A new voice cut through the BAU, and the group disbanded like kids caught trading answers to the homework. Rossi and Hotch stood by the unit chief’s office, brows furrowed at the wet bride and his team that tended to her as if she were a princess.

“Should we be expecting four wet bridesmaids too?” Rossi asked, the two of them making the steps down to the floor, approaching the guilty faced woman, noting Spencer’s cardigan wrapped over her shoulders.

“Nope, just me,” Her joke fell flat as she met the stony face of Aaron Hotchner, who looked thoroughly unimpressed, “Nice to see you again, Mr Hotchner, sir,”

His gaze slid to Emily, mouth opening to share whatever scathing remark bounced around his mouth, but the younger girl beat him to it, everyone’s eyebrows raising when she all but cut him off.

“This wasn’t on Emily, sir, I just showed up out of the blue, I can go- I’ll go- I just need to figure out where I’m staying since I left my purse at the church- don’t you worry I’ll be out of your hair, Aaro- sir,” Bugsy stammered, plonking the mug onto Emily’s desk, backing away to the doors of the office, clutching her visitor pass tight in her fist.

Maybe it was because she looked so hopeless, or maybe it was the way his team shot him the same look of horror he would be so regimental, or maybe even it was the fact part of her reminded him of Sean, only his brother wouldn’t have had the courtesy to apologise for his mess.

Sighing, he gestured her to come back, “Wait,” He said her name, her government name because the other one didn’t fit right in his mouth, “Reid, get her some clothes out your go bag. Emily, tell your mother she’s safe and will be staying in Quantico until you can figure something out,”

Heaving a sigh of relief, she launched her still sodden form at the chief, wrapping him in a stiff hug, bolder than anyone else on the team had ever dared to be.

“I swear to god, Mr Hotchner, the next letter you're getting will be the best one yet,” She mumbled into his hard chest, and he fought off the way the corners of his lips twitched upwards. Patting her on the back gently, he ignored the way his dress shirt wet through.

–

let me know what you think! mAYBE A FEW MORE PARTS COMING UP ??

Edit: This is a part one of 3 or 4 I have planned, thankyou so much for all the love on this I did not expect the reaction 🥺🥺

SECOND EDIT: part two and three are out now!! Have a look at the top where it says ‘next chpt and it’s there bbys!!

THIRD EDIT: we are now balls deep into this universe here's th link for the masterlist

#spencer reid x reader #Spencer reid imagine #Spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #Prentiss #prentiss!Reader #criminal minds fanfiction #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #mathew grey gubler #Matthew grey gubler x reader

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bakuhatsufallinlove · 6 months ago

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424

All right, listen. It’s pretty damn funny that two weeks ago I posted all like, “oh I don’t really comment chapter-by-chapter, I’m waiting to see what happens next,” but this one broke me.

This chapter was everything I wanted for bkdk, and it’s so much more tender than I ever dreamed it could be.

This post is not going to be like most of my posts, because I am a flood of emotion. If you’re wanting some detailed, well-researched analysis of this scene, that ain’t coming for a while.

I don’t have some kind of comparative linguistics to show you. I just have my visceral reactions as someone who speaks Japanese and has absorbed Japanese media for many years. I have shared my heart with others in Japanese, I’ve sputtered out words between sobs and felt the many kinds of comfort different people try to offer. I have comforted others who let themselves be vulnerable with me.

In all these moments, just as in English, I wondered if my words and feelings reached them. Each time, I felt the warmth of connection when they looked at me, and I decided that they knew I did my best. They accepted me, even if it wasn’t perfect.

I’m gonna tell you the truth, and I wouldn’t normally say this so directly, but it matters to me: the fan translation for this specific scene is not good. The tone is wildly off in some ways and it outright omits a number of very important words.

The official translation gets so much of it right.

But that’s not really what I want to talk about right now. I want to talk about how people are reading this scene.

I have seen a ton of, frankly, oblivious interpretations of Izuku’s side of things.

Listen to me. Izuku is not making fun of Katsuki for crying, he is not telling Katsuki that crying isn’t like him, that isn’t in the text at all. He is not rejecting Katsuki’s feelings, or belittling them, or ignoring them, or any of that.

Izuku has seen Katsuki cry in-canon a number of times, but every time it was over his own personal failures, and the frustration, anger, guilt, and grief associated with them. We see it in the aftermath of Deku vs. Kacchan 1. We see it during Deku vs. Kacchan 2.

Izuku is shocked to see Kacchan cry because this is the first time he has cried for Izuku.

When Katsuki apologized in 322, he looked Izuku in the eye and told him his feelings with conviction and poise. He was gentle and vulnerable, but strong, because he was asking Izuku to trust them and rely on them. To come back with them and believe in them, like they believe in Izuku. He bowed his head to show his remorse. He caught Izuku when he fell, and he accepted Izuku’s own apology.

He embodied dignity, sincerity, and strength of character. He was a true hero.

This?

This is the raw, honest sorrow of a young boy. It is a tender, earnest, unguarded display of how much Izuku means to him.

These are the tears you shed for someone you cherish. These are tears for when you think you are losing something you can’t live without. Because Katsuki isn’t just crying for the loss of Izuku’s dream—it’s their dream, the future they dreamt up together as kids.

Izuku is almost pathologically incapable of understanding how other people see him and feel about him, but this is unmistakable. He is stunned because there is no other explanation.

There is unmitigated heartache and longing at the core of Katsuki saying, “I just thought somehow we would be together like this, competing and chasing after each other, forever.”

And Izuku is reeling, but so, so touched, and filled with fondness. Look at how his shock shifts to this overwhelmed, affectionate smile.

He’s right—this isn’t the usual Katsuki, and that is precisely why it means so much. We as the audience have been privy to Katsuki’s feelings, but until now Izuku himself has never really grasped the depth of them. This is all the tenderness Katsuki has kept locked up inside, and he is letting Izuku see it for the first time.

To see Kacchan—strong, fierce, and absolutely unstoppable—shed these innocent, helpless tears for him and tell him through sobs that he wanted things to stay this way forever, I can’t blame him for being blown away.

I think Izuku expected Katsuki to be shocked and a little sad that he gave up OFA, both for Izuku’s sake and because it is the legacy of their hero. Before Katsuki even starts crying, Izuku has this small smile on his face, like he was ready to reassure him that he had made peace with his own choice.

But he clearly didn’t expect for Katsuki to weep openly in front of him about it or to confess to wanting him by his side. Izuku had so enjoyed just being allowed near Katsuki, allowed in his life at all—to think that Katsuki could want the same and want it this much, to the point that he worries that things would change, that Izuku would abandon him or deny him? How could that ever be?

In what world could Izuku ever stop chasing Kacchan?

Izuku is a bit of an idiot. He has always thought that Katsuki understood how much he cared for and admired him—that’s why he is so shocked during DvK2 to hear that Katsuki thought he looked down on him for years. Izuku thought Katsuki understood his feelings and simply rejected them.

The way he loves Kacchan is natural and unquestionable. Even now, he can’t understand how Katsuki doesn’t know. It’s baffling to him.

But he still accepts Katsuki’s vulnerability and responds to the intimacy.

This is such an affectionate, loving thing to say. Izuku is being so sweet. I cannot convey to you strongly enough how Izuku telling Katsuki, “C’mon, stop it, this isn’t like you!” reaffirms their closeness.

If Izuku had not said this line and instead skipped straight to this nervous, awkward little attempt at comfort here:

It would have read as so much more distant.

With his tears and his confession, Katsuki pleads with Izuku to not leave him. To be with him always.

And in response, Izuku unabashedly stakes his claim on their bond by being bold enough to affectionately scold him and even assert authority on what kind of person Katsuki is. Remember these?

Chapters 202 and 319

This is such a staple in Japanese media for showing close bonds. Your loved ones know you. They tease you. They scold you. They have that right. You gave it to them.

The people you love cheer you up by reminding you that you’re strong and brave and that even if things feel hopeless and like you can’t go on, that they know you can. Everything will be okay, and they know so because they’ll be right there with you. Of course they’ll be there.

Symbolically, throughout the series, Izuku’s response to Katsuki trying to be closer to him has always been: “Of course.”

He has always accepted Katsuki as much as he is able to, as much as he had awareness for. He is wildly lacking in self-awareness, so it’s certainly not perfect, but by god does he try.

What Izuku is really saying is a mixture of “Really? You want that, too?” and “Don’t be silly!”

One part is him being shocked and touched; the other is him being absolutely certain of his own heart, and showing it as best he can.

He does get flustered and self-conscious, though—because it’s overwhelming to see Kacchan this way, and this is kind of new territory for them. So he switches tactics to reassure Kacchan about how things are now, and make sure he doesn’t feel embarrassed about this outburst. He still has the embers, so it’s okay for now. And their bodies are weak, so of course their heads will be in a bad place too, it’s easy to get low spirits. Of course Katsuki would be feeling vulnerable. It’s normal.

He gives Katsuki so many things here. He gives him as much as he can.

Izuku doesn’t know how long he’ll have the embers for and, frankly, he doesn’t have any guarantee that he will be able to satisfy this longing of Katsuki’s after he loses them. This, too, is a staple of promises in Japanese media: “I don’t know if I can satisfy you, but I want to try. I hope you can accept me.”

Things will be different—the future is always uncertain, now more than ever for their world. But what will never change is what they feel in their hearts.

After this scene, I honestly don’t care if we get something other people see as “bkdk canon.”

What Katsuki says is as good as a confession to me. What Izuku says in return is genuine and pure. This is a messy pair of teenage boys figuring out how to reach each other with words, when they have always been so damn bad at it. This is the two of them both reaching a new point of intimacy and reaffirming everything that came before.

#bkdk #bakudeku #mha 424 #meta #mha spoilers #mha manga spoilers #I swear to god I will fight everyone #my heart is dying at the LACK OF APPRECIATION FOR WHAT'S HAPPENING HERE #some of us need to learn how to love Izuku the way Kacchan loves Izuku

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hencheri · 4 months ago

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18+ minors dni.

pairing: kun x fem!reader (ft. ten)

warnings: noncon, manipulation, explicit sexual content, brief physical abuse.

wc: 1.1k

inspired by this story from @riizeblr ! the og idea is so good — cr. to her <3 (hope the tag is okay!)

Kun just can’t stop. Well, that’s what he convinces himself. That your little cunt is simply too tight for him to stop fucking it. Too warm and wet.

He would have preferred if Ten wasn’t there, too, but he guesses he couldn’t do this without him. He’s the only one who understands him. Or, at least, who wouldn’t judge him for having normal desires.

That’s how he felt when he saw you in the hotel lobby. He felt desire, a strong want to have you in some way.

You were speaking to the receptionist, probably booking a room. You had spoken in English, and when he heard that, he somewhat felt a little disappointed. Yes, he can understand a little English, but he struggles a lot.

How could he have you if he can’t communicate with you?

With Ten’s help that he so generously offered, seeing his friend’s expression when looking at you. It was blatantly obvious that he was attracted to you and wanted to do something about it.

That’s how you ended up here, on the floor of their hotel room with Kun’s body between your legs.

Ten’s easy going, so friendly and charming. He only needed to smile at you and use kind words to lure you in while Kun stood beside, unable to control his staring.

So naive, he thought as you followed Ten inside, but it worked in his favour. He definitely owes his friend after that one.

Kun reaches down to kiss you, forcing your mouth open and exploring it with his tongue, muffling your noises at the same time. You squirm underneath him, trying to thrash your arms away, but Kun holds them down firmly on each side of your head. He pays it no mind. He’s been anticipating this moment since he’s laid eyes on you.

As he pulls away, your lips all swollen and glossy, Ten chuckles, prompted on the bed that you’re laying in front of. He laughs lightly, like it’s really funny to see one of his closest friends use a poor foreigner girl for his own pleasure.

You cry, still trying to pull on your wrists, glancing at Ten, eyes clearly fearful and desperate. He smiles in a way that seems innocent , but you know better than to trust this man, now. His intentions are just purely evil.

Kun then mumbles something incomprehensible to you, his face really close to yours, slowly thrusting his cock into you.

“He wants you to look at him,” Ten explains, raising his eyebrows to encourage you to do just that.

You sob, reluctantly turning your head, meeting the eyes of the man who’s forcing his cock between your walls without any remorse.

His floppy bangs brushes your face, making you frown at the ticklish feeling. His mouth is fully open, letting out heavy breaths that directly hit you in the face. You quietly whimper, holding eye-contact because that’s what he wants you to do.

You keep clenching around him, and Kun just can’t get enough. Voluntarily or not, he loves feeling you tightening around his girth, makes him believe you want this as much as he does. What a pretty little thing you are.

Kun says something else, his voice rumbling through your ear, and you know he addresses you, talks to you, but Ten has to translate for him in order for you to understand, to do what he wishes.

Ten chuckles again, registering Kun’s words before translating them in English for you. “Call him gege,” he instructs.

That’s what makes you break eye-contact with Kun to his dismay, glancing at Ten in utter confusion. You shake your head as a no, and that upsets him.

Ten reaches your face and slaps you, which inevitably makes your head turn to the side, a cry escaping your lips. It wasn’t as hard as you anticipated it to be, but it was sharp. Enough to make you scrunch your eyes shut.

The thrusts have suddenly stopped and when you open your eyes back, Kun shoots a glare at Ten, clearly not appreciating what he just did.

“What? You want her to do what you want or not?” He questions his friend. “I’m just motivating her, that’s all,” Ten groans, defending his actions.

“Don’t-” Kun begins, searching for his words, “touch her.”

Ten only rolls his eyes, “whatever.” He looks back at you, now seeming more annoyed than playful. “Come on; gege, it isn’t difficult.”

You hate him. You hate the two of them.

As you face Kun, he gradually goes back to his pace, continuing to fuck your pussy, lewd, squelching noises echoing in the room. His hold around your wrists seems to tighten, moving your hands higher above your head as he moves his hips back and forth.

You swallow down the uncomfortable lump in your throat, blinking to try to clear your view that has been obstructed by the flow of your tears. “Gege,” you finally say in a low tone, cheeks burning hot from the humiliation that you feel.

A high-pitched moan slips past your lips when he pounds into you with more force, biting down on your lip to suppress the accidental sounds you make.

You pronounce it with a slight accent, but Kun doesn’t mind. It sounds pretty good, in his opinion. It sounds right. Sounds how he likes it.

He murmurs a praise he knows you don’t understand, but Ten is quick to translate.

“He said you’re a good girl,” Ten smirks.

This time, you don’t look away from Kun. You just take it. Endure it.

It doesn’t take long until he steadies his hips and you soon feel him filling you up, releasing himself inside of you. He thrusts two or three times before your cunt milks him totally dry, pulling out of you with a satisfied groan.

For the only genuine kindness that he has, he pulls your underwear back up and covers your pussy. You don’t say a word, you just follow his rhythm, getting up on your feet.

You feel lightheaded, your legs a bit wobbly. It’s like there’s a gaping hole between your legs and you can’t ignore it, nor will you be able to in the next few hours.

Kun and Ten bring you to the door, Kun’s hand grasping your bicep to prevent you from tripping over. He opens the door, but Ten holds you back for a second.

“Wish I had laid eyes on you first if I knew it was that easy to have you,” he whispers beside your ear, a playful smile drawn on his face.

Kun watches, a little irritated he doesn’t catch on what Ten said to you, but he can conclude it’s nothing sweet by the way your eyes widden.

You quickly leave their hotel room, not once looking behind and Ten closes the door.

It doesn’t matter anymore. He got what he wanted, and that’s it.

#wayv #nct #qian kun #ten lee #kun smut #qian kun smut #ten smut #ten lee smut #kun x reader #ten x reader #wayv smut #nct smut #wayv x reader #nct x reader #wayv fanfic #wayv hard hours #wayv hard thoughts #tw noncon #ten lee x reader

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victoria-grimesss · 1 year ago

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tear you apart - part II

masterlist

-> Pairing: König x fem!reader

-> Words: 3.5k

-> Warning: MDNI! nfsw, fem!reader, dominant!könig, size difference, over the desk, blindfold, unprotected sex, rough sex but there’s aftercare, google translate German.

~> A/N: first time writing smut please go easy on me I beg of thee.

It’s been a couple days since the training session with König. You've built up a nice routine around the new base and made some friendly conversations with some other new recruits both bonding over the complexities of your new home away from home.

Would it be weird to say you miss the presence of the colonel?

Is it strange that you’ve already become so attached to having him near those few times. Having his eyes gaze into you as though you’re all that exists?

No right?

Right.

He haunts your dreams, appears to you when you’re most restless to smooth your hair under his touch and whisper sweet things to you, how he wants to be your eternal love, to live a life filled with passion and fire. Your veins run with lava as his hand in your hair traces down to your neck, so small in my grasp, he tells you, how easy it would be to wrap my hand around and squeeze, he says it so sweetly to you. You hum listlessly, lost in his gaze and willing for his touch. You are mine and mine only you understand? You always wake before he even takes off a glove, you're drenched in sweat and the blankets stick to you. But these dreams are common since you’ve met him. You wonder if he dreams the same; if he’s coming to you in these dreams and expressing his deepest desires.

Silly girl you think, he wouldn’t.

Sometimes you think you see him, the corner of your eyes play tricks on you. He’s too big to move that fast, but you feel the burn of his eyes on the back of your head when you’re in the kitchen making your morning drink at times. It feels the same as it did when he laid eyes on you in the meeting room, electric.

“L/N!” You turn, it’s your captain.

“Sir.”

“Look honey I’m runnin late and these papers need to go to the big guy you mind handing them over? Thanks a lot.” He basically shoved them into your arms and you have to gather them up quickly as to not let them end up as a heap on the cold floor. This whole interaction lasts the better of 30 second.

Your eyes roll at the pet name and how this work could have been shoved on anyone else but no, gotta be the new girl.

A new girl who most definitely totally doesn’t have a crush *ehem* ~ creepy infatuation with the boss. ~

You vaguely remember the way to his office; the captain shot some directions at you as he walked away from handing off his task to you.

To the left then the right then the door second to last one on the right. You repeat these as you readjust your grip on the papers.

As you approach you grow more and more nervous, it’s just your super-hot boss who you’re giving papers to nothing more nothing less. But your hand stays still at your side, your other full of papers.

Just knock.

Your hand is in front of the door, and you knock loudly making your presence known.

“Enter.” He sounds just as he did last time. Domineering.

You open the door slowly, the light in the hall behind you flickers and your heart beats in time with the moth's wings that fly directly towards that light. You feel like that moth drawn to the light.

He sits at his desk, papers in his hand, he’s shed his utility helmet and usual mask for a plain black baklava which is fitting all the same for him. The whole room smells like him, it envelopes you and swallows you whole as you close the door.

His eyes stay on the papers but his concentration isn’t on them anymore, it’s on you.

You’ve come to him, as he thought you would. His mind has been on nothing but you, your file is always on his desk, he’s memorized every word on it.

His favorite colors are now those of your eyes, hair, lips and skin. You’ve become his very own Medusa and he can’t help but become stone when he sees you. If only you knew the grasp you had on him. If only you would grasp him and hold him tight.

“You have something for me yes?” The lamp behind him casts him as a shadow and illuminates his figure but his eyes are bright.

You walk closer, the room is quiet besides some soft music on the record player on the far side of the room next to another door.

“The captain requested I bring you these papers, important intel I suppose.”

“Shame. And here I was thinking you’ve just come to visit me.” There’s that teasing tone again.

Your cheeks heat up despite your best effort to maintain a cool façade. You’re upset you don’t have a mask to hide your expression.

You hand him the papers, neatly organized now. He reaches with one hand and takes them from you, his gloved hand brushes yours and you lock eyes, goosebumps race up your arm from the point of contact.

You grin and look down.

“I would think you’d have more interesting visitors than me colonel.”

He grows stiff at your mention of rank, calling him by his title.

His eyes scan the papers noting the important parts.

“Schatz, you are the most important visitor I’ve had the honor of having.” His gaze is heavy on you.

You are still at his words, is he insinuating what you think he is?

He’s holding bait right in front of your face.

“I highly doubt that sir, a guy like you must have many visitors….I’m sure you have many beautiful suitors.”

You bite.

He chuckles, it’s low and deep and he groans at the end.

“I have my eyes on one Ja. She has become the object of my attraction.”

Your heart skips a beat wondering if he means another woman besides you. You bite your lip wearing at the skin. You open your mouth to start and then close it.

He watches your mouth as you do so and wishes to feel it upon him, as you take him wholly.

“Speak, do not hold your tongue.”

“I-I um I suppose I’m just curious as to what woman could gain your attraction. To be honest sir I thought you were married.”

His attention is most definitely no longer on the papers, or anything job related. His mind wholly encompassed by you and your words.

He hums lowly and you imagine that it vibrates his chest.

“Come to this side of my desk Schatz.”

You obey, walking to the other side of his desk and standing next to him, facing the door you entered in.

“My desk, do you see any family portraits?”

“No sir.”

He takes off his gloves and you feel like a Victorian man seeing an ankle.

“Do you see a wedding band?”

“No sir.”

After this he stands, his full height towering above you combined with the soft music, dim lighting, and the way he looks down at you makes your knees weak and your lower stomach burn. He walks over to the door you entered and stands for a moment. You wonder if you’ve asked too much, dug yourself a hole and he’s about to ask you to leave.

“I’m sorry if I stepped over the line I didn’t mean it, I can leave if you want.” He locks the door. Your heart locks up all the same at the sound.

“No, Schatz I’d rather you stay, and I think you'd rather stay too. Am I right?” He turns his head to look at you and the way he’s standing you can see all the muscles in his back defined from the lighting and you yearn to rake your nails over them and leave a well-deserved mark.

“I would.” Your words are breathy, and you hardly know if you spoke at all but his response confirms you did.

He walks back over to you and your feet are stuck in cement. He stops when he's behind you. You can hear his breathing behind you so you know he’s actually there, he's real and this is real.

“You know I watch you right? Does it frighten you?”

“No colonel.”

“None of that here, not anymore. Just König ok Süßes Mädchen

Your knees actually nearly do give out this time, God he’s too much. Your breathing is quick now and you feel feverish he’s not even touching you yet but standing there and you don’t know what will kill you first your rapid heart rate or the anticipation.

“You want me, Ja?

“God yes.” You nearly whine and he lets out a deep laugh. He readjusts his stance.

“Do you usually get this worked up before you’re even touched?” His voice is lighter now, he’s teasing.

“Only for you.” You say almost immediately.

“Say that again.” His voice is dark again and it makes your stomach twirl.

“Only for you König.” You’ve stepped headfirst into the lion’s den and you know there's no going back from this, you thought it was just a silly crush but this is so much more, for the both of you.

He inhales deeply and lets it out, even with his mask you can feel it lightly on the back of your head.

His head is spinning with thoughts of what he wants to do to you, you were making him crazy.

“Ich schwöre bei Gott, Liebling, du wirst mein Tod sein.” [I swear to God darling, you will be my death.] You're not sure what he said but you hear his groan at the end so it must be erotic.

“Konig, please.”

“Shhh quiet Schätzchen.”

There's a beat of silence and you think your heart stops then you feel his hand on your back. It travels up until he gets to your hair, he grabs a handful of it but doesn't pull or tug, just holds. You’re growing wetter by the minute and you ache deeply. You rub your thighs together and that’s when he pulls.

He tugs you back into him and your head is pointed up now so he's looking directly down at you. You whimper and his eyes are nearly pitch black as he stares at you, he drinks you in as if you’re the last bit of water on earth.

“Scheisse you know if we do this there is not going back, I will not let you lay with another and I will never lay with anyone besides you.” His words echo in your head and you weigh your options,

Option A: sleep with König, your superior and maybe face some very serious consequences.

or…

Options B: go back to your room and absolutely resort you what’s in your bedside drawer to relieve yourself…..

Survey says, option A all the way.

“I wouldn't want it any other way sir.” You make sure to say it extra breathily as to draw him into the spiral he's sent you into.

His grip tightens ever so before he releases and you stumble a bit but a hand on your waist catches you and the coals within you are stoked even more to where they rage into an inferno.

“I would like to share more of myself with you eventually but for now... This will have to do.”

He says no more before fabric is enclosed around your eyes and your vision darkens. It must be his regular mask because it smells so strongly of him it makes you dizzy, his scent all encompassing.

“König.”

“My name sounds so sweet when it comes from your lips, I beg to hear more of it.”

His hands, both of them, are on your middle now he holds you steady and moves them upwards and cups your breasts above your uniform you let out a soft breath.

He closes his eyes and inhales deep against your crown.

“I knew you would smell wonderful Mein Schatz. You feel like heaven in my hands you know that?”

His hands move to the buttons of your uniform and he wastes no time in discarding it to the ground along with your undershirt.

“Turn around.”

You turn around and he once again grabs tight on your hair pulling your head back and exposing your neck.

He pulls up his baklava knowing he won’t be seen.

He bites.

Hard.

You let out a shameless moan and quickly slap a hand over your mouth, but he grabs your wrist and holds it behind you back your other hand is grabbing onto his hair.

“You’ll express your pleasure. I want everyone to hear so they know I’m occupied.”

He’s sucking dark bruises into your neck and leaving teeth marks in his wake. He lavishes in the way your skin tastes. He knows you sweat at some point today and your perfume is on his tongue.

“König please, I need more.”

“Gladly.” You feel him smile on your skin.

Next thing you know you’re spun around again and you’re pushed down over the desk his hand heavy on your neck.

“Stay.” He commands.

His hand is removed and he works at your pants pulling them down and to your ankles, he slides his hands all around the newly exposed skin and you hear his drop to his knees.

“Mein Gott, you are something to behold, you are beautiful you know that?”

You blush the heat growing hotter between your thighs.

There’s no time to respond before he’s diving into your heat tongue hot and wet upon you as he sucks and licks like his life depends on it.

“You taste divine, I could die here and die a happy man Liebling, scheiße”

You moan and your cheek touches the cold wood of the desk as he continues his ravaging.

“König please, I need-need more.”

He hears your pleas and it spurs him on, he’s desperately hard in his pants and palms at it a few times before collecting your wetness and entering one then two fingers.

“Is this enough for you? Or do you need more? So bedürftig.” He teases as he pumps them in the out in a come-hither motion getting quicker and quicker.

Your breathing picks up. It’s in short pants now as you get close and closer to the edge. He can feel you squeezing his fingers tighter and he latches his mouth back on as his fingers works faster.

“Come on Schatz give me a show.” He smiles and teases and he just can’t get enough even as you try to thrash and tense on his fingers reaching your high you chant his name and he’s heard nothing sweeter.

“You make such beautiful noises Meine Liebe .” He bites at the inside of your thighs as he stands.

You hear a belt buckle and a zipper undone, mouthwatering in anticipation as you’re still coming down from your previous high.

He takes himself out and strokes it slowly a few times placing a hard harshly on your hip as he lines himself up and teases the tip at your entrance.

He’s massive compared to you and he’s burning up looking and predicting the way you’ll feel around him.

“Schatz, one last chance to change your mind.” He grits through his teeth.

“Please König, I need you badly.”

He takes not a second longer after you answer to sink fully into you and to say you’re surprised is an understatement. He’s huge, incredible deliciously huge and the stretch of him knocks the breath from your lungs and he bends over you, his whole body laying just above you so his mouth is right next to your ear.

“You feel even more incredible than I could ever dream, you wrap around me so sweetly.”

He pulls back and braces both of his hands on your hips with a bruising grip and starts moving, he’s deliberate and calculated with his movements thrusting deep and harsh.

You moan loudly with the blindfold all your other senses are heightened. You grasp and scratch behind you trying to slow his movements you mind hazy with only thought of how good he’s making you feel.

“P-please, god König.” You can hardly make out your own thoughts, he groans and continues his onslaught of torture on you.

You try to slow him again but this time he takes a hold of your wrists and slams them down onto the desk. You continue to moan with abandonment.

“You’ll take what given to you, understand?” He leans down and kisses your cheek, panting you can feel the sweat on his face combining with yours.

Leaning back, he watches the way he enters you and the noises are unholy, seeing you bent over his desk so willing and drunk off of him nearly makes him cum right then and there.

Suddenly a knock at the door.

He doesn’t stop and you clamp both hands over your mouth now. He growls deep in his chest.

“Busy.” He grits out.

They knock again but he doesn’t stop.

“Are you fucking kidding me? c’mon be a good girl and let them know I’m busy.” His accent is heavy and laced with need.

You can hardly think straight and his words sound underwater. You only become semi-conscious again when he picks you by your shoulder, up holding you up to his chest by your neck as he continues his onslaught.

“Take your hands off your mouth unless you want me to tie those up too, I told you to tell them I’m busy.” He growls right by your ear and he thrust particularly hard and deep you choke on your sobs and a moan rips from your throat. It’s so erotic you hardly recognize yourself, the last knock was cut short, and you hear quick shuffling down the hallway.

“Braves Mädchen, so good for me. Fuck, need you to cum with me I won’t last much longer.”

“F-fuuck don’t stop.”

The coil within you is growing and winding and you feel you’re heading headfirst into a spiral panting and calling his name with no care for the outside world you reach up and claw at what you can reach of his expansive shoulders certainly leaving marks and he groans and grinds to show his appreciation.

“Cmon, give it to me, give it to me.” He says, each thrust his hand on your hips growing even tighter and his thrusts getting sloppy as he nears his high. He grips your jaw now slipping a finger into your mouth and you taste yourself on them and the coil snaps.

Your ears are ringing, white blinds your vision, and you’re overcome with oxytocin unlike no other.

König fills you deeply grinding to the hilt so none of him is left exposed.

You feel boneless and limp in his arms but completely and utterly satisfied.

The blindfold is removed and he’s tapping your cheek, the finger that was in your mouth leaving spit in its wake but you have no care.

“Y/N, Y/N, come in back to me Schatz.” You open your eyes and hum.

“So good.” You hiccup and you see he has his baklava fully on but his eyes are crescent shape, his eyes look lovely when he’s smiling.

“I take it you enjoyed yourself?” He’s pulling out and you wince but he’s quickly pulling his desk chair out for you to sit and gain you sanity back.

“That’s putting it lightly...” you can’t seem to wipe the dumb smile plastered on your face.

He’s pulling up his pants and re-buckling his belt, you get butterflies watching him do it.

He then walks to what looks like a bathroom connected to the office, coming back with a washcloth and cleans you gently kissing the top of your head.

“Cmon let’s get you dressed then yeah. As much as I love seeing you in my chair like that, we’ll play that scenario out another day.” He picks up your panties and stuffs them into his pocket and helps you put on your pants.

“I need those König.”

“I’ll buy you some more, these are for my personal collection.” You huff, legs feeling like jelly, and he rubs your back as you’re buttoning your jacket.

“Very well, I won’t fight a losing battle for those, at least they’re not my favorite pair-

“I’d like those as well.”

“Stop it!” You both laugh and he sounds so wonderful worry free.

He gives you some water and sits back at his desk. You stand in the same spot you were in before everything happened.

“That was a great pleasure and I hope it brought you the same.” God he’s so formal after just rearranging your guts, you laugh like a schoolgirl.

“I did, I um, would love to do this again, or just spend more time with you.”

His heart lights up and he knows he’s got you for good,

“Schatz, my door is always open to you, granted both my office and bedroom door.” He winks at you and you blush.

You walk to the door and look back at him before you leave.

“Don’t forget about those papers I brought you.” You fake authority.

“Yes ma’am.” He laughs and watches you until the door is closed.

He takes your panties out of his pocket already missing your presence next to him, next time can’t come soon enough.

2K notes · View notes

runariya · 3 months ago

Text

Y(E)ARNED (JJK) • 2

pairing: alien!Jungkook x human seamstress!female reader genre: alien!AU, S2L, slow burn, angst rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: poor handling of sadness and fear, a lot of hurt, phone call with Namjoon, talk about bonding, tears, OC is rather dramatic, a little bit of fluff, JK calls OC "princess", showdown repeats itself, angst, hurt, sadness, a lot of tears, resignation, smut, oral (f.receiving), f!ngering, big d!ck JK, unprotected s€x (pls don't do it), doggy style, minor tentacle involvement, possessiveness, minor dirty talk, "good girl", hair gripping, lmk if I forgot something pls word count: ~5.3k

a/n: part of the "Dice With Destiny" project by @thebtswritersclub and @creativepromptsforwriting | I just couldn't help but dice again 🫣 sry

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

1 • masterlist

In the days that follow, you find yourself lost in a fog, unable to fully grasp the transformation that has occurred between you and Jungkook, no matter how many times you turn it over in your mind. It is as though the foundation of your relationship, once solid and easy, has shifted imperceptibly beneath your feet, leaving you both fumbling for a balance neither of you anticipated needing. And yet, despite this unspoken gulf now separating you, Jungkook appears determined—fiercely so—to drown the cracks with a wave of affection, as if by loving you more intensely, he could somehow compensate for the void that can never be entirely bridged, no matter how much either of you wills it so.

But the weight of it all begins to smother you, it’s a constant undercurrent, tugging at your every breath, pulling you under until the smallest things set you off without warning. You retreat, bit by bit, as your emotions swell and break uncontrollably. Tears fall from your eyes in the most inconvenient moments, anger flares up for no tangible reason, lashing out at those around you even when you know deep down they have done nothing to warrant it. It’s as if the shock of everything has numbed you to rationality, and yet the pain remains unbearable, a needle against your tender heart, piercing at both you and Jungkook alike. You can see the toll it takes on him, the hurt swimming in his gaze when he looks at you, though he tries so hard not to let it show. But what can you do? The aftermath of this storm offers no remedy, no balm, only a bitter reminder of what cannot be undone.

Your days blend into each other, and more often than not, you fall asleep hunched over your laptop in your shop, exhaustion overtaking you after hours spent desperately scouring every corner of the internet for some hope, some solution to this cruel fate. Is there truly no way for a Seraphenti to bond with someone of another species? The information you find is dishearteningly sparse, frustrating in its lack of clarity. Only six cases known. Six. Six Seraphenti who managed to bond with partners outside their own kind—yet even then, the bond wasn’t what it should normally have been, not in the way it’s supposed to be, not in the way you hoped it to be. The Seraphenti in those cases had not bonded directly with their partners; no, biology saw to that. Instead, they had bonded with themselves, two of their tentacles intertwining in an act of resigned finality, signalling that their search was over—though their true connection, the one to another soul, remained forever out of reach.

You reach out to these apex Seraphenti, hoping against hope that one of them might hold the answer you’re so desperately seeking. But five immediately pushed you towards the last one—Namjoon. He speaks to you in a voice that carries both understanding and kindness, a voice that you can’t help but find calming despite the ache coursing in your chest. “I believe it has to do with the love I have for her,” he tells you, his words careful. “And, of course, a great deal of willpower. I spoke to the others, and the common thread between us all seems to be just that—love, an unshakable love for our partners, and a strength of will that perhaps goes beyond what is typical. There’s no doubt in our hearts, none at all.”

His words, though kind, do little to soothe the ache biting away at you, the ache that grows more aggressive with each passing hour. Jungkook is as stubborn as they come, more determined than anyone you’ve ever known, and his willpower is unmatched—he’s accomplished everything he’s ever set his mind to, so how could this, of all things, be different? How could this be the one thing that eludes him? And then, the thought worms its way into your mind, an unwelcome intruder that refuses to leave: perhaps it’s not a question of willpower at all. Perhaps, despite all his love for you, it simply doesn’t reach the level required for a true bond. Perhaps it’s his love, after all, that falls short.

You don’t say this aloud, of course, though Namjoon seems to hear the unspoken despair in your long, weary sigh. “I’m sorry,” he tries gently, the regret in his voice evident even through the line. “I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear. But if there’s a way for him to bond with you—well, with himself, really—I think you don’t need to worry so much. I can tell how deeply you love him, and love… love is never wasted.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, the words barely a whisper. They hang in the air, heavy with resignation, as though you’re thanking him more out of habit than genuine belief that he might be right.

“No worries,” he replies, his tone warm. “If you have more questions, or if you ever want to meet up with me and the others, don’t hesitate to reach out. We’re here for you.”

“All right,” you whisper, forcing back the tears that threaten to spill over your red eyes. “Thank you. Goodbye.”

As you end the call, the silence that fills the room seems louder than it should be. You rub at your eyes, your face, trying to chase away the exhaustion that clings to you like a second skin. You want so desperately for things to work with Jungkook, for this cruel twist of fate to somehow resolve itself. But the fear is there too, circling in the back of your mind. What if it doesn’t? What if, no matter how much you want it, it simply can’t be? You’re not sure you could bear to stay in this place, to remain on this planet where every street corner, every familiar face, every stray memory would only remind you of what could have been but never was.

You had thought, for a fleeting moment, that you had found your home—not just here on this planet but with Jungkook. And now, it seems as though perhaps your destiny lies elsewhere, forever moving, drifting like a leaf caught on the wind. Maybe you’re not meant to belong anywhere, not to any one place, not to any one person, but only to yourself and your sewing machine, crafting a life from fragments as you pass through it. A quiet sob escapes your lips as you rise from your chair, gathering the scraps of fabric strewn about your workspace, though this time you don’t return them to their rightful places on the shelves. Instead, you fold them carefully, placing them in the moving boxes still scattered throughout your storeroom.

The act feels final, a quiet resignation, a silent acceptance of the hurt you know can’t be undone, no matter how much you might wish it could be. Perhaps this is the only option left to you—leaving it all behind, even Jungkook, so that he might find the happiness he deserves, even if it’s not with you.

And then, just as he does every evening, you hear his footsteps, soft yet unmistakable, on the old wooden floor of your shop. The sound sends a pang through your chest, knowing he’s come to take you home, to ensure you don’t walk alone in the dark all by yourself.

“Hey, princess,” he greets you softly, his voice warm yet tinged with the sadness you wish you didn’t have to see there, hurting you even more than it already does. Knowing that you are the cause of this, that his suffering stems from you when all you want is for him to be happy.

You don’t turn to face him, your hands still busy folding the last of the fabric, your gaze fixed on the boxes before you. “Hey.”

“What are you doing?” he asks, stepping closer, his hand resting gently on your back, its warmth both comforting and unbearable at once. His eyes, you know, are on the boxes.

“I’m packing,” you reply simply, your voice devoid of emotion, though the tears are already sliding silently down your cheeks.

“Why?” he whispers, and you hear the crack in his voice, the heartbreak so tangible it nearly breaks you too.

You can’t answer him, not really. All you can do is shrug, helpless against the tide of emotions threatening to pull you under, your gaze remaining fixed on the boxes that hold more than just fabric—they hold your resignation, your acceptance of what cannot be changed.

And then, without warning, Jungkook pulls you up into his arms, holding you tight against his chest as if he could somehow keep you from slipping away. His voice, broken, pleads softly against your skin, repeating over and over again, “Please don’t leave me.”

But there’s nothing else you can do but nod, eyes glazing over, lost in the space just behind his shoulder, seeing nothing but the shadows of a love slipping away.

The following morning, Jungkook convinces you to take a step back, to shut the door of your shop for just a day, to close yourself off from the world and let the noise, the tension, the suffocating weight of everything that has been gnawing at your heart, dissipate into something softer. And at first, it does—there’s a glimmer of peace in his words, a balm in the simple idea of spending the day with him, untethered from all that binds you both in knots. You agree, if only because it feels like the right thing to do—because, for once, it feels like you’re choosing something together, rather than trying to unravel the tangle that fate has made of your lives.

You sleep in, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the morning light filtering lazily through the curtains as if the universe itself has decided to take a pause, allowing the two of you to rest in this fragile pocket of serenity. You bathe in each other’s presence, letting the quiet intimacy between you unfold like something sacred, something tender. For the first time in a long while, it feels right—like the two of you are simply existing, not worrying, not striving, but just being, together.

Later, you venture out for a leisurely stroll through the nearby park, the air warm against your skin, leaves rustling in the trees above as you walk hand in hand. There’s a lightness to it, a sense that, perhaps, you can both breathe a little easier today. You can feel the tension within you, and within him, slowly beginning to ebb away, like a tide retreating from the shore, leaving behind only the faintest traces of its presence. The hurt that has wrapped itself so tightly around your hearts seems to loosen its grip, just a little, and you find yourself grateful for this fleeting respite from the storm that has raged between you for so long.

It's a tentative first step towards something resembling normalcy—a small, almost imperceptible shift in the air between you, a whisper of trust that just perhaps there’s a future where things might be all right again. You glance at him occasionally, his eyes softer, his smile less weighed down by the burdens of sadness and uncertainty. Even his tentacles, usually so motionless when you’re together, seem more at ease, their movements languid and unhurried, as though they’ve finally begun to acknowledge your presence in a way they hadn’t before. It’s as if they’ve come to sense you too—recognising, in some quiet way, that you’re not just passing through but are perhaps someone who will remain by Jungkook’s side for a long time yet.

The day feels effortless at first, a gentle rhythm of comfort and routine, until it comes time to venture to the grocery store. It’s a new one, not far from the park, and the unfamiliarity of it prickles at the back of your mind. There’s a moment of hesitation as you both step inside, but you push through, determined to hold onto the lightness that has graced your day so far. You and Jungkook move together through the aisles, your fingers entwined, his hand warm in yours, though you can feel the slight tension creeping back into his grip as the crowd around you thickens. The store is bustling with Seraphenti, more than you’re used to seeing, and the sight of so many of them stirs something uneasy in you, an undercurrent of anxiety that starts to gnaw at your calm. His hand begins to sweat slightly, the grip tightening, and though you don’t want to admit it, your heart begins to race just a little too.

You try to shake it off, to keep yourself grounded in the moment, reminding yourself that you can’t live in avoidance forever. You can’t hide from the world just because the risk of something going wrong exists. You tell yourself that this is just a regular day, just an ordinary task, something that you both should be able to handle together. But the unease remains, no matter how much you try to silence it, and you can sense the same tension rising in him as he steers you away from the busiest aisles, his eyes darting around in search of something—perhaps escape, perhaps reassurance.

It’s when you’re standing before the cooling section, the faint hum of the refrigeration units filling the space around you, that the nightmare you thought you’d left behind comes rushing back with terrifying clarity. You’re looking at the yoghurt options, trying to decide on something that will be addible for both you and him, when she appears—an ethereal Seraphenti, gliding through the aisle with an elegance that makes everyone elsestop in their tracks. She’s beautiful, in that otherworldly way that Seraphenti often are, and though she shares a vague resemblance to you, it’s clear she belongs to another realm entirely, one you can never hope to touch. Her presence seems to hold the entire store captive, every gaze drawn to her as she moves with effortless grace, matching Jungkook’s usual self.

She comes to a stop beside Jungkook, reaching for some yoghurt as well, and that’s when it happens.

Jungkook swallows dryly, skin paling in seconds, and the yoghurt he holds begins to tremble violently in his hands as he whispers frantic, broken “no’s” under his breath. His tentacles, which had been so calm mere moments ago, suddenly rise of their own accord again, twisting and writhing towards hers in a movement that feels almost inevitable. She notices it too, her own tentacles responding in kind, and when her eyes meet his, they soften with a hope that nearly brings you to your knees.

You stand frozen, the world tilting on its axis as your heart hammers painfully in your chest. Tears prick at your eyes, your hands trembling as you struggle to maintain even a semblance of composure. You reach out for the yoghurt in Jungkook’s hands, more out of instinct than anything, placing it back in the cooler before it slips from his grip and shatters on the floor. You don’t know what to do—how could you, when the very thing you feared most is unfolding right before your eyes—again?

You take a step back, the weight of the moment pressing down on you with a force that threatens to crush you entirely. Your mind races through the memories of all the moments you’ve shared with Jungkook—the laughter, the tenderness, the quiet pillow talks of the mornings spent wrapped in each other’s arms. You think of all the time you wasted, mired in hurt and sadness, wishing you could turn back the clock and hold onto those fleeting moments of joy. But now, standing here, watching as his tentacles dance with hers in a way that feels so natural, so effortless, you know that those moments are slipping through your fingers like sand, and never to be reclaimed.

And then, before you can retreat any further, Jungkook moves with a desperation that breaks your heart all over again. He grabs hold of you, pulling you against him, his body trembling with the force of his emotions as he wraps you in his arms. He’s crying, silently but violently, his shoulders shaking as he presses his face into your hair, his voice a broken whisper against your skin. “I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, the words tumbling from his lips again and again. “I never wanted this. I love you. I love you.”

You clutch at his shirt, your fingers gripping the fabric as though it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. You want to tell him that you love him too, that you always have, but the words lodge in your throat, stuck behind the tears that blur your vision. You can’t bring yourself to say it—not now, not when it would only serve to twist the knife deeper into your heart. Instead, you hold onto him, letting this be your last moment together, the last time you will feel the warmth of his embrace, the last time you will ever be this close to him. You shut your eyes tightly, blocking out the sight of their tentacles intertwining, blocking out the cheers of encouragement from the crowd around you. You try to drown it all out, but then comes Jungkook’s cry—a sound so raw, so full of anguish that it shatters the air around you.

And in the sudden, shocked silence that follows, all you can hear is the sound of your own sobs, mingling with his as the two of you hold each other, broken but unwilling to let go.

It takes every ounce of strength you have to pull away from him, to step back and release your grip on his shirt. His hands fall away from you too, without hesitation, as if he knows that this is the end. You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes—you don’t want to see what comes next, don’t want your last image of him to be one of him finding happiness with someone else. But before you can turn and walk away, his hand catches your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

You turn, slowly, your vision still blurred with tears, but as you force yourself to look at him, what you see is not at all what you expected. Jungkook stands before you, tears still streaming down his face, his nose red from crying, but there’s a peace in his expression that you’ve never seen before. He smiles at you—warm, genuine—and though it breaks your heart to see him like this, knowing that his happiness isn’t because of you, it also heals something deep within you. Because at least he’ll be happy. Even if it’s not with you.

“I love you,” he whispers, and this time, the words hit you square in the face and chest, knocking the breath from your lungs.

You blink, confused, and glance behind him, expecting to see the female Seraphenti, her tentacles still entwined with his. But instead, you see her standing there with tears in her eyes, clapping, her tentacles floating freely around her, untouched. The crowd around you erupts into applause too, their cheers ringing in your ears, but all you can do is stare at Jungkook, your heart pounding in your chest as you force him to step sideways, looking past him, to where his own tentacles have coiled around one another—bonded, not with hers, but with themselves.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, the words escaping you in a rush of disbelief and overwhelming relief. You collapse to the floor, your hands covering your face as sobs wrack your body—tears of joy, of disbelief, of a happiness you never thought you’d feel again. Jungkook falls to his knees before you, wrapping you in his arms as the two of you cry together, holding onto each other as though you might never let go.

How you manage to finish the grocery shopping and return home with Jungkook by your side remains a mystery, one you have no desire to unravel, as if the details of that journey are irrelevant now, lost in a haze of pure unreality. What truly matters, what holds your attention with fierce power, is the longing that pulses through you, a desire that takes shape in the form of Jungkook’s body—every inch of him calling to you like a siren’s song, tempting you towards the only thing you now wish to explore fully and consciously.

You find yourself pressed against the wall that leads to his bedroom, your back arching as Jungkook’s larger frame towers against you, his hands mapping the landscape of your body with an eager hunger, his touch both desperate and tender. Your fingers weave through his hair, pulling him closer with an intensity that suggests you may never let go, as though in this moment he is your lifeline, the very air you breathe, and somehow he truly is. He lifts you with ease, carrying you as though you weigh nothing more than air, laying you down on his bed with a gentleness that makes your heart race even more. There is something in his gaze, a reverence that leaves you awestruck, your heart fluttering as you marvel at the sight of him.

With one quick movement, he pulls his shirt over his head and discards it, revealing his bare chest to you, every inch of him chiseled and breathtaking. Your heart stutters as you drink in the sight of him, the rise and fall of his chest, the faint red marks on his neck where your fingernails had scratched moments before, his lips swollen and flushed from your kisses. The sight of him undoes you entirely, a pulse of heat spreading through your core, the ache between your legs becoming almost unbearable. And yet, despite the haze of lust that clouds your mind, it’s his tentacles that draw your gaze, now bonded with themselves in a way that makes your body react instinctively, a fresh wave of desire coursing through you at the sight, making you pussy cream and clench without restraint.

You waste no time in peeling off your clothes, your fingers trembling with impatience as you bare yourself to him, your lips bitten red in anticipation. Jungkook watches you with darkened eyes as he follows your movements, his lips parting slightly as his tongue sweeps across them, as if starving for days on end. He’s undressing now too, pulling off his remaining clothes with a slowness that only heightens the tension between you, and when he finally stands before you, fully naked, the sight of his Seraphenti dick makes your thighs press together instinctively, rubbing them together to feel a little bit of friction you desperately need. His length is enormous, veined with red and dripping steadily from the pointed head, the sheer size of it enough to make your breath catch in your throat and saliva collecting in your mouth. But even as a small thrill of apprehension flickers through you, there’s no denying the deeper, primal need that overrides everything else—you need him, desperately, more than anything.

With a strong grip on your ankles, Jungkook pulls you effortlessly towards the edge of his bed, your legs dangling over the side, your weeping pussy now hovering just out of his reach. The lust in his eyes is unmistakable as he kneels before you, his gaze locked onto your slickened folds with an intensity that nearly sends orgasms through your whole body. You force yourself up, sitting just enough so that you can reach out and grab him by the hair, making sure his eyes meet yours. For a moment, the lust in his expression softens into something deeper, more profound—a look of pure devotion that melts your heart even as your arousal surges to new heights, leaving you dripping with need.

“I’ve loved you since the day I met you, Jungkook,” you whisper, your voice breaking with emotion, your heart swelling with colours you’ve never known existed. His face splits into a radiant smile, teeth flashing, his front two slightly protruding in a way that only adds to his charm. That smile revives something within you, a sense of purpose you thought you lost, a promise you make to yourself—to keep that smile on his face for as long as you live, no matter what it takes.

“I love you too. With everything I am,” he murmurs, but even as the words leave his lips, his expression shifts into something far more dangerous, a smirk that promises both pleasure and adoration. Before you can react, he pushes you gently down onto the bed, his hands guiding you to lie flat as he positions himself between your legs.

There’s no hesitation in him as he kisses your slit, his tongue soon following, dragging slowly along your folds before he begins to devour you with a fervour that leaves you gasping. His mouth latches onto your clit, sucking and licking with a need that borders on desperation, the wet sounds of his tongue mixing with the obscene squelching of his finger as it plunges into your pussy. Your mind spins, the room tilting as pleasure surges through you in waves, your body trembling beneath him as his deep groans vibrate against your sensitive flesh. His muscles flex and ripple beneath his skin, his back arching with each movement of his head, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the sight of him—this beautiful, otherworldly being who worships your body with such raw intensity.

And then more of his fingers enter you—two at first, then three, stretching you in a way that makes your eyes water with a delicious burn, your walls tightening around him as your mind begins to cloud with the promise of an impending high. His fingers scissor inside you, spreading your slickness until it coats his entire hand, glistening in the light of the room. “You taste so fucking divine,” he moans against your clit, and it’s all you need to fall over the edge, your pussy clenching hard around his fingers as you come with a force that has you gushing all over his arm.

“Such a good girl for me,” he praises, his voice rough and low, sending a new wave of shivers down your entire body as he continues to suck on your clit, slurping up every drop of your release before it can add to the mess on his skin. When you finally come down from your high, your vision slowly clearing, you look up to see Jungkook hovering over you, his thick cock in hand, leaking with arousal as he licks the remnants of your cum from his fingers, sucking each one clean. The sight nearly makes you cum all over again, and you feel a fresh surge of creamy wetness between your legs, your body already eager for more.

But before he can move over you, you roll onto your stomach, pushing up onto your knees, your ass high in the air as you present yourself to him, your breasts spilling onto the mattress, back arched in the way you know he loves. You know his kind bonds sexually from behind, and you want him to claim you, to make you his in every possible way. Jungkook freezes for a moment, his breath catching as he stares at your ass, transfixed by the sight of you bent over for him.

“Make me yours, Jungkook,” you keen, your voice breathy and desperate as you shift your knees to find a more comfortable position, your ass now taunting him even more. His hands are on you in an instant, strong fingers kneading the flesh of it lovingly as he positions himself behind you. He leans down, kissing a slow trail along your back, his tentacles following the path of his lips, their cool touch making goosebumps appear across your skin until he reaches your ear, his breath warm against your cheek, his hand gripping your head to make you look at him.

“Should I get a condom?” he asks, his voice strained with need.

“No,” you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation. “I want to feel everything of you.”

“As you wish, princess,” he groans before pressing a kiss to your lips, his tongue sliding into your mouth with a possessiveness that leaves your pussy gasping. He positions himself at your entrance, his cock massive against your hot folds, and with a slight movement of his hips, his tip slips into you, the stretch immediate and oh so good as he pushes deeper.

The moan that escapes your throat is swallowed by his kiss, his hands caressing your sides before they settle on your hips, gripping you firmly as he begins to thrust slowly into you. He rises to his full height, towering over you as he fucks you with slow, measured strokes, each one pushing you closer to the brink of insanity. His tentacles trail up your arms, brushing over your skin in soft, teasing strokes, while his fingers dig into your hips with a possessive strength that leaves you feeling utterly claimed. “You’re made for me,” he groans, his voice low and primal. “Fuck, princess, I love your little pussy so much.”

“Jungkook,” you cry out, his name the only coherent thought left in your mind as he pounds into you, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more frantic as he chases his release, his tentacles toying with your clit as your vision blurs with stars.

He leans over you again, his hand again gripping your hair as he forces your face to the side, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re mine,” he growls, his voice rough with possession. “You hear that, princess? You’re mine.” His pace increases, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate, and you can feel your orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter until you’re nothing but a trembling, incoherent mess beneath him.

“Say it!” he demands, his voice a guttural snarl. “Fucking say it.”

“I’m yours, Jungkook!” you sob, your body convulsing as your orgasm rips through you, your walls clenching around his cock with a force that sends him over the edge. He lets out a low, primal moan as he spills into you, his cock twitching violently as his release floods your pussy, hot and thick.

Jungkook collapses on top of you, his body trembling as he struggles to hold himself up on shaking arms, his breath coming in ragged gasps. But still, he peppers your shoulder with kisses, his lips soft and gentle against your skin, while his tentacles stroke your sides, legs and arms in soothing patterns. “I’ll never let you go,” he rasps between breathes.

“And I’ll never leave,” you whisper, your throat dry but your heart full.

As his tentacles come into view, glistening in your juices on the mattress beside you, you reach out to pat them gently, making both of you giggle, the sound light and full of love.

And so, after all that time, all the yarned threads of fate tugging you this way and that, pulling, twisting in their maddening ways, you find yourself where you always were meant to be. No more yearning, no more restless nights; only the serene, almost melodic understanding that every piece has fallen into place just as it was always meant to be. Always meant to be Jungkook.

1 • masterlist

a/n 3: hope you've enjoyed this little two-shot👀 lmk what you think in any way you like! I physically couldn't keep up with the analogies like I did in part 1—sryyyy

a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for eventual bonuses 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

taglist: @dumbheadblog, @darkeneddiary, @jksusawife, @justjkkkkk, @fluttershy-vanilla, @nikidream24, @ericawantstoescape

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dark-frosted-heart · 4 months ago

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Roger Barel Main Route - Chapter 0

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. I’m doing this for archiving purposes and you can probably find a better translation out there. Some dialogue's taken directly from the English version's prologue.

This world, it’s full of despair.

It comes in different forms, both big and small.

Even so, it wears down on the mind all the same, and can even take lives.

(I’ve been searching for a way to fight against it)

Ellis: Thanks for queueing with me, Roger.

This morning, Ellis had asked me out of the blue to go with with him to a cafe that looked like something out of a picture book as a “favor”.

In a space that was full of women, Ellis and I drew curious glances.

Roger: So, what the hell is that “thing” making people queue up so early in the morning?

The cafe recently went through some renovations and the first 30 customers would get some kind of gift.

Ellis: A tin of biscuits. It’s something Harry wanted but since he’s on a mission, I came in his place.

Roger: Haha, so that’s it. Then I’ll give him my share too ‘cause having two will make him “happier” than having one.

The man sitting in front of me’s been busy making people happy today.

Ellis: By the way, I had some business at the pub yesterday and a woman asked me where Roger was. I gave her some excuse because I know you don’t like dealing with that kind of trouble.

I’m someone that doesn’t believe in romantic love.

It’s something that’s not scientifically proven. If “romantic love” does exist in this world, then…

(It’s a dysfunction of the brain or a misunderstanding caused by sexual desire)

Seems like Ellis knew me well.

Roger: You’re too good for Jude, you know. I’ll buy you drinks as thanks.

Ellis: Yippee. Ah, I think I’ll get something for Jude. I’m going to take a look around, okay?

Roger: Do what you want. Pick what would make Jude “happy”.

As I watched Ellis make his way into the store with nimble steps—

(...Hm?)

I heard a voice cutting into this peaceful morning coming from the flower shop across the street

Flower shop owner: The delivery was delayed due to construction? Ha, how typical for a female postal workers.

I couldn’t see the face of the postwoman that was getting yelled at from here.

However, with my ears that let me pick up sounds 100 yards away, I could hear her heartbeat.

It was unsteady, probably because she was scared.

(“How typical for a female.” …What a bastard)

(If it escalates, I’ll step in—)

In the moment, her dignified voice rang out.

Kate: My sincerest apologies! I will be more careful in the future. For now, will you please accept this?

The man who was yelling is taken aback, likely feeling guilty after her apology.

Flower shop owner: Y-yeah… As long as you understand. Just be careful from now on.

I heard her let out a deep breath.

(So that postwoman’s someone that tries to be strong… Not bad)

Ellis: I’m back, Roger….Is something wrong?

Roger: No? Wow, you bought a lot?

Ellis: I wanted to get something for everyone. I’ll ask Victor to make tea and we can all have them together. Oh yeah, speaking of Victor…He said he has a mission for all of Crown.

Roger: Oh? Having us all together’s pretty rare. Could be an annoying one so let’s try not to get hurt.

Having said that, it ended without a single injury or incident.

—At least it was supposed to until an uninvited guest wandered in.

The woman standing there covered in blood, looking pale, was neither cursed nor a target. Just unlucky.

Jude: Tch…That’s why I toldja to lock the damn door!

Roger: Haha, well I didn’t think we’d have a trespasser! She’s a naughty lil’ thing, isn’t she?

My ears picked up an irregular heartbeat.

(...This sound. …No way)

—But that hunch soon came true.

The lil’ lady called Kate who stumbled upon Crown was presented to the palace’s grim reaper like a main dish.

(Now that she knows some classified info, she can’t leave without consequences)

(Worst case scenario, what waits for her is—)

Then, the lil’ lady in her hopeless situation spoke up with a dignified voice.

Kate: I swear I’ll never tell anyone about anything I just heard!

Victor: Hmm…Hm? What’s this?

Kate: I swear to protect your secret. I-I’m a letter carrier, and we’ve been trained to…maintain strict confidentiality!

Victor and William: …

Kate: If you think you can’t trust me, then go ahead and keep me under watch until you believe you can! I promise I’ll prove it.

A brave and logical proposal.

However, despite her demeanor, her heartbeat continued pounding in my ears.

The sound that didn’t match the attitude—it had me convinced.

(Ah…so she’s the postwoman from that time)

Her loud heartbeat gave away her true feelings.

(“Please don’t kill me”)

Among the anxiety was the strong desire to live and fight against despair.

(...Nice. This lil’ lady could be interesting)

I didn’t feel any sort of love or affection, but I felt this strange exhilaration in my heart.

So I thought—It'd be a shame to kill her.

(Come to think of it, at that time…)

I did “hear” her footsteps and heartbeat when she wandered in.

I could’ve made her avoid Crown.

(But I didn’t)

(Deep down, I was waiting for “something”...which is probably why I invited this heartbeat in)

I could imagine how angry this lil’ lady would be if she knew…

Victor: Well, well, what a good idea! I think we can actually make use of you. Accepted!

Kate: …Really?

Victor: Let’s see…All right, from today forward, you shall be Crown’s own personal…Fairytale Keeper!

Under the command of Victor, the Queen’s aide who controls Crown, enigmatic position of “Fairytale Keeper” was filled by Kate, saving her life.

Roger: Let’s try to get along this month, yeah?

Kate: Of course, Roger.

Ellis: Hey, Roger. Earlier, why did you look like you were having fun?

Roger: Earlier?

Ellis: When we were discussing whether or not to kill Kate.

(...This guy can really read people)

Roger: Well…I guess it’s ‘cause it’s been a while since I saw something interesting.

Ellis: Hehe, I see. Then… Would Kate being here overthrow your theory…and make you happier?

Basically he was asking if I’d fall in love with Kate and be happy.

Roger: Ellis, you’re aware of my curse…right?

Ellis: The double-crossing hunter from Snow White.

Roger: Right…The queen had ordered the hunter to bring her the heart of the detestable Snow White. But the hunter betrayed the queen by letting the girl go in the forest and instead, brought the queen a heart of an animal. After that, Snow White met a prince after her life was saved…And now here’s a question. Why do you think Snow White chose the prince instead of the hunter who saved her life?

Ellis: Huh?...I don’t know.

Roger: Because that’s just how it’s supposed to be. Because there’s supposed to be a happy ending.

Not to mention the fact that this is reality, not a fairy tale.

A man who doesn’t believe in love and a little robin who’ll leave after the month’s up—the relationship won’t develop into love or affection.

(...That’s what I think)

(But then why does my heart beat weirdly when I look at the lil’ lady?)

#ikemen villains #ikevil #ikevil jp #ikevil translations #roger barel #ikevil roger #ikevil roger route

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cameronspecial · 1 year ago

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Birthday Surprise

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.1K

Summary: With Drew's birthday on the horizon, Drew's daughter and wife wanted to do something special for him.

A/N: Happy Birthday to someone who absolutely makes butterflies in my stomach! Hope this day is amazing!

Masterlist

November 4th. The day Josepth Andrew Starkey entered the world thirty years ago. Drew doesn’t like to do anything big for his birthdays. He prefers to spend the day with his family rather than partying in a crowded club with annoying drunks, but for this milestone birthday, his family had other ideas. His daughter wants to make a big deal out of her father’s birthday and has helped her pregnant mother plan a surprise party for him. This has been kept from the man up until the morning of his birthday. Y/N is up earlier than expected because of the tiny kicks the human growing in her uterus is giving her. Her rolling back into bed in a struggle pulls Drew from his dreams of his wife and daughter. “Is mini-me giving you a hard time again?” he whispers, bringing her back into his hold. She nods against his chest, “Yes, the little bugger seems to think my bladder is a kickstand.” Drew gives a small chuckle, pressing a kiss to her forehead and then her stomach. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart. You only have three more months,” he reassures, rubbing her belly to help soothe her. Her hand finds his, “It’s okay. It will all be worth it in the end. Happy Birthday, my love.”

She leans over her stomach and kisses him on the lips. He smiles in the kiss, “Thank you. Ugh, I can’t believe I’m thirty. I’m so old.” “No, you aren’t! You are young at heart, love. Just yesterday you were eating an Uncrustable and colouring in a book,” she giggles. The image of yesterday comes to his mind, “I was only doing that because Millie wanted me to do those things with her. Speaking of Millie, what time did you guys go to bed? I swear I felt like I heard you guys up pretty late last night.” In her tiredness and pregnancy fog, Y/N lets the secret slip out of her mouth. “She went to bed at twelve and I was in bed by four I think. I was going over everything for your surprise party so it took me some time because I kept getting hungry and needing to pee.” Her eyes rival the size of the moon when she realizes what she has done, her hand finding way over her mouth.

Drew chuckles as he processes the words and tries to end her endless apologies, “It’s okay, Sweetheart. You didn’t mean to. You were up late and have a lot on your mind.” “Right. Well, you have to act surprised at the party. Millie is so excited to surprise you; it would crush her if she knew I spoiled it,” Y/N warns, looking him directly in the eye to make sure her point is getting across. Drew gives her a nod, “Got it. I’ll be so surprised that it’s almost like I act for a living.” Y/N giggles at his joke and her smile grows at the pitter-patter of their three-year-old’s footsteps.

——

Millie shooed her father out of the house right after lunch, sending him with a laundry list of things he needed to do before he got home. As he drove around doing the chores, his heart would warm every time he looked at the non-sensical scribbles that were his daughter's “writing”, which had a translation written by Y/N beside each scribble. Even if he didn’t know about the party, he knew he would gladly do these errands for his girls on his birthday because all he could ever want was to take care of them.

His hand meets his front door and he takes a second to get into character, almost like he is on set. The handle is pushed down to reveal a dark room, which is suddenly set alight with the screams of ‘surprise’ by his family and friends. He lets his shock show on his face, both hands covering the o-shape of his mouth. “Wow, this is amazing. Thank you guys so much,” he thanks the crowd, looking around for his girls. It isn’t long before Millie is running into her father’s arms. “Happy Birthday, Daddy,” she greets him, letting herself be picked up into the air by the older man. He gives her a massive grin, assaulting her cheek with multiple kisses and thanks. “Daddy, your moustache is tickling me,” she complains with joy in her voice. He pulls away, letting the hand not holding up his daughter adjust the dad hat on his head, “I’m sorry, Baby. Maybe Daddy should get rid of his moustache.”

“No! Mommy likes it. But Daddy… Were you surprised by my party?”

“Yes, I was, Baby. I was so surprised. I love it so much.”

She looks at him in disbelief, “You are lying! You weren’t surprised.” Drew doesn’t know how his acting doesn’t seem to fool his daughter. “No, I’m not. Daddy really was surprised by the party,” he promises, starting to bounce the girl, who is about to cry. “Okay, maybe Mommy accidentally told Daddy, but it’s okay. Daddy still doesn’t know what you have planned for me.” This causes the girl to pause her cries, “Can we have cake now? I want you to see the cake.” Wanting her smile to return to her face, he nods his head, booming to his party guest that it is time for cake. Nobody objects that the cake is being served before dinner or other party activities. Instead, they all gather around the kitchen table and begin to sing the famous song. “Happy Birthday dear Daddy! Happy Birthday to you.” Millie’s loud singing is the one mainly invading his senses. Maybe because of her proximity to him with her being on his lap or maybe because his focus is mainly on her. “Make a wish, Daddy,” she orders. He obeys, blowing on the candles in the form of a thirty.

“What did you wish for?” she questions. Her eyes bore into his with curiosity. He is about to tell her when Y/N speaks up, “If Daddy tells you, Millie, it won’t come true.” Drew shakes his head, smiling down at his daughter. “It’s okay, my wish is already coming true so it can’t hurt to tell. I wished for more happy days with you and Mommy and everyone else that I love.” The crowd awes at how adorable his words are. “And the baby?” Millie clarifies with concern that her father forgot her baby brother or sister. He nods, “And you baby sibling.” He gives her a kiss on the forehead, allowing her to help him with cutting the cake.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey imagine

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lavellaned · 8 months ago

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There’s a lot of contradictory things about Solas but one of them that is endlessly amusing to me is how he is simultaneously well mannered but also an absolute dick.

When an Orlesian noble throws a glass of wine in his face, he handles the situation so well it impresses Josephine, he’s kind of a stickler for only calling people by their hard-earned titles, and somehow earns the reputation throughout Skyhold as being mild-mannered (LMFAO).

But then he also says ‘fuck you suck a wolf dick’ (depending on how you want to translate it) directly to Sera’s face, picks fight with Bull on the regular, goes for Vivienne’s throat nearly every time they talk, and tells the inquisitor that he genuinely believes their entire race are so barbaric that they’re barely people.

So there are two possibilities: One, the reason that he is able to be fuckin savage and just downright rude is BECAUSE he’s genuinely well versed in proper manners and politeness and therefore knows very well what isn’t, or Two, there is a separation in his mind between Courtly Manners and Real Life Interpersonal Manners and he just genuinely doesn’t realize how some of the things he says sound because they’re not part of ~The Game~ and I can’t decide which one is more funny.

#he contains multitudes #I want to study him in a Petri dish #solas #dai #dragon age

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goingmerryfics · 7 months ago

Note

Hi I love your fics and I think the ‘sitting on their lap while they’re not paying attention’ is so cute! Could you do that prompt with Enel and Shanks? 👉👈 sfw plz

Sitting in their lap while they’re not paying attention - w/ Enel, & Shanks

Content: Gender neutral reader, SFW

Notes* Enel has never come to mind when writing these little prompts so this is new! I had to go back and watch a bit of Skypiea to remember what he's like haha. Shank’s gets a little handsy, but nothing dramatic.

Enel

Enel cannot be caught off guard, but he’ll tolerate your mischievous ways if he likes you well enough

So when you casually stroll up to his makeshift throne and plop yourself down, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word at first, or even react too much past smirking behind your gaze.

He’s laid out in a lazy position, so sitting on his lap is a little awkward- but you manage by shifting yourself forward. You can’t see his face at this angle, but maybe that’s a good thing

He’s confident, and this little maneuver is not going to fluster him. He is intrigued, though.

His amusement for the situation is painted all over his face, even if you can’t see that from where you’re sitting

“Ah, sitting in the lap of power itself. I suppose I can't blame you.”

He shifts and sits up as he speaks, careful not to move you off of him

Knowing that he approves your antics now, you can actually release the tension in your shoulders with a sigh and lean back in your spot

One hand reaches around your body to put a hand on your cheek and turn your head to look directly at him

“Were you trying to fluster me? I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that if you want to see me blush. Still, I appreciate how direct you are. Perhaps I can have you do this more often.”

He sticks to his word on that, too. Whenever he’s sat in his seat for whatever reason, he makes sure to call for you so you can accompany him, especially for meals

You’ve kind of become his little pet in a way

Shanks

Shanks is wasted when you swing over the barstool and place yourself in his lap

It’s so smooth and easy to do, there’s really a multitude of ways you could ‘catch him off guard’, which makes you question how he’s become so feared sometimes

He's so focused on finishing his drink that he doesn't even really notice the added weight

His arm immediately wraps around your middle, both to keep you close and also to keep himself from falling off the stool

He mumbles something in his drunken state, which you can kind of translate into, “What tricks are you up to?”

He doesn’t even waste time before he pulls you in for a kiss, too. He tastes like whiskey and an incoming hangover

His hand goes from your back to your hips with obvious intention, but you stop him where he’s at, knowing he’s heavily under the influence and it would be unwise to let him go too far

“Come on now, where’d that shyness come from?”

He barely gets the words out. He looks like he’s going to pass out

Not a minute later, you and Benn are carrying him to his room on the ship as he snores, limp in both of your arms

You leave him a glass of water and some painkillers at his bedside since he’ll need them in the morning, but you don’t actually see him until the following afternoon

You ask if he’d partied too hard, and he laughs before he pulls you close to him just like he did last night

“I may have been drunk off my ass, but I still remember a certain someone sitting on my lap.”

You really didn’t think that he would’ve remembered that, and he laughs at how red you go so quickly

#one piece #harleywritesop #hwop #shanks x reader #op shanks #one piece shanks #red haired shanks #enel one piece #god enel #enel op #enel x reader

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thepersonperson · 6 months ago

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Thoughts on the tragedy of Gojo Satoru and narrative cruelty towards him as of JJK 261.

Some notes before we start.

1) This originally was going to be an analysis about how Gojo is Megumi's dad. Then JJK 261 came out and shattered my heart into millions of pieces.

2) This analysis will briefly deal with suicide.

3) The light novels are canon and provide critical insight to characters and their motivations. I would go as far to say they're the equivalent of Bleach's CFYOW for JJK. I will be citing the official translation from my own copies. There is a fan translation (Book 1 & Book 2), but the syntax is a bit clunky to read. Either version is fine, I just highly encourage reading them.

4) I will be mainly using the TCB scans for the manga because of their accessibility.

5) Read the light novels.

(Click pictures for captions/citations.)

Preface

Umineko no Naku Koro ni (When the Seagulls Cry) is a visual novel about a person who is fundamentally misunderstood by those around them. They desperately want to be loved without being perceived, believing themself to be unworthy due to trauma and immutable characteristics given to them at birth. Instead of telling anyone these feelings directly, they play games akin to torture. They torment the ones they love over and over in hopes they'll see through their actions and understand them.

"Without love it cannot be seen."

If you've ever heard of Umineko, you've probably seen this quote. It's the lens in which you are supposed to view the contents of the novel in order to understand the heart behind the actions.

Keep this all in mind as I attempt to answer the following question:

What's wrong with Gojo Satoru?

Short Answer: Being the Strongest. He never got over the trauma inflicted by Toji that was worsened by Geto. And because he's the Strongest, he never sought help for these problems. I’m not going to explain why this is the case here—we’re just accepting this as canon for this analysis. How this trauma manifests and affects his interpersonal relationships is the focus here.

Regardless of trauma, Gojo Satoru is a fascinating character in that he is simultaneously a egotistical arrogant dickhead and a deeply caring individual. He's not one or the other, he is both at the same time at all times. Allow me to explain how he pulls this off.

2 Birds 1 Stone

Gojo Satoru is a 2 birds and 1 stone kind of guy. What I mean by this is that Gojo will do 1 thing and have 2 reasons behind it. The reasons often seem contradictory which leads fans and characters to have a polarized view of Gojo based on how they feel about him. If you hate Gojo, you will only see the bad/selfish reason. If you adore Gojo uncritically, you will only see the good/selfless reason.

This is why without love, it (Gojo's heart) cannot be seen.

I will now provide examples of this 2 birds 1 stone action.

Ijichi Kiyotaka

Ijichi and Gojo’s relationship is the best to start with because it teaches you how to read Gojo’s words vs his actions/results. We all know Gojo is very blunt in an rude way. This is at its extreme when he’s with Ijichi as seen in the following panels.

Gojo straight up tells Ijichi he’s useless as a sorcerer in a way that makes him cry. It’s definitely bullying, but it’s not to torment Ijichi even though it seems that way. Ijichi comes to understand Gojo was just trying to make sure he wouldn’t die. This particular scene took place right after Haibara died, Nanami quit, and Geto defected. The harshness is how Gojo is choosing to say “Hey I care about your life, but don’t get too close to me, I can’t handle that.”

Gojo was even kind enough to offer a productive alternative that let him participate in Jujutsu society without risking his life—driving a car and putting up veils.

Still, Gojo’s bullying of him is a lot. It makes Ijichi doubt that Gojo even likes him. Gojo has to spell it out that he trusts Ijichi the most. Ijichi being weak means he cannot betray Gojo like Geto did, therefore Gojo can fully trust him. Still, Gojo is aware his weakness is other people, so as The Strongest, he can’t let him in all the way. This leads to him showing affection/care in the most insane ways possible. (It’s not really a surprise people don’t understand him when he uses this plausible deniability model.)

ENTER: JJK Thorny Road at Dawn, Chapter 3 Asakusabashi Elegy

As stated in CFYOW, Gojo is aware of Ijichi’s stress and went out of his way to help him deal with it.

Not only does he recognize the stress and notice he hasn't taken time off for it, but he also pinpoints the reason so well that it moves Ijichi to tears. (Summary of Pages 75-77: He feels guilty for failing Yuji twice. Gojo assures him it’s not his fault and flicks him on the forehead.)

But! Gojo can’t be too affectionate. The very next day he piles a good deal of work on Ijichi’s desk he is aware will be stressing him the fudge out. (See Pages 78-79 for full context.)

It should go without saying that treating Ijichi like this is not ok. My point here is to demonstrate that despite being a massive asshole, Gojo does care.

So what did we learn here?

1) Gojo is aware of people’s emotional problems to some extent.

(IDing Ijichi’s stress source accurately.)

2) Gojo is aware he is unable to deal with emotional problems on his own so he enlists outside help.

(Having Shoko and alcohol help cheer Ijichi up while he talks to him.)

3) Gojo’s bluntness and flippant behavior is both rude and serves a purpose for the recipient.

(Gojo bullying Ijichi to keep him out of harm’s way.)

4) Gojo packages his affections with cruelty to keep people at a distance.

(Gojo flicking Ijichi on the head while telling him to take it easy. Taking Ijichi for a night out and then burdening him with extra work the next day.)

5) Other people do not understand Gojo and misread his intent all the time.

(It took Ijichi about 10 years to realize Gojo cares deeply about him.)

Nanami Kento

ENTER: JJK Summer of Ashes, Autumn of Dust, Chapter 2: Resurrection Doll

This chapter is so good at fully fleshing out the Gojo Nanami dynamic that I will not be using manga citations for most of this part. Please read it. Or listen to the official audio drama which has been fan translated.

Gojo spends the first half of this chapter messing with Nanami, forcing him to try unique foods and drinks and generally enjoy himself. You know the typical purposeful Gojo bullying. (See Pages 33-38)

Then it gets rather serious when they arrive at their mission’s destination. They have to deal with a grieving mother. Gojo is blunt. Nanami is comforting. (See Pages 47-50)

What’s interesting about this interaction is how Gojo reflects on it. He acknowledges how bad he is at dealing with attachment issues that come from grief.

Gojo and Nanami find the culprit and the both of them are quite pissed at how he’s exploiting grief to make a profit. They kind of let him be tortured by the curses that eat his body for a bit before killing him. Gojo makes Nanami do it because he can make him die a human death. (See Pages 50-57)

Even after he has expressed hatred of his man for preying on grieving parents, Gojo still ultimately wants this person to have a proper death. This captures the duality of his inhumanity (torture) and humanity (merciful death) quite well.

The following bar scene ties this all together nicely. (See Pages 58-60 for full context.)

I want to note that it is constantly drawing attention to the sentimentality the both of them feel as they converse about how this particular mission messed with them.

As stated in CFYOW, Gojo believes adults treat their stress with alcohol and conversation. And yet, he denies himself the alcohol.

Gojo denying himself this stress relief seems to be a combination of him being too wary to let down Limitless and not believing he needs it. He's the Strongest and he has to be the Strongest at all times, otherwise someone like Toji will get him.

As stated in CFYOW, Gojo recognizes his students will face trauma similar to himself and Nanami and that as adults they must look out for them.

What's so heartbreaking about this interaction is how Nanami is painfully aware Gojo isn't following his own advice of stress relief and says nothing. In a way it almost reads like Gojo, who knows people see him as a giant child, is asking Nanami to help him too in the most roundabout way possible.

As stated in CFYOW, Gojo deliberately paired Yuji with Nanami because he recognizes he is unfit to keep him emotionally stable. (Also note he refuses to have Yuji’s humanity denied as Sukuna’s Vessel. His concerns are explicitly about Yuji as a kid and nothing else.)

Not only is this for Yuji’s benefit, but for Nanami’s as well.

As we know, Nanami and Gojo have one thing common: they lost their best friends because they couldn’t be there for them. This guilt motivates both their actions as adults. Using that connection through shared grief, Gojo is trying to help Nanami heal from that wound with Yuji.

Why Yuji? Nanami’s best friend, Haibara, was a cheerful, friendly boy with a big heart—just like Yuji. He may not be able to replace Haibara, but that familiarity helps Nanami move on. We know this worked because Nanami dies without regrets thanks to Yuji. (All while seeing Haibara too.)

This is called the Nanago Bible for good reason. We have Gojo being an absolute annoying dick to him and then doting on him so targetedly it kind of makes your head spin. Just like Ijichi, Gojo cares but he’s got to bully you first before he shows it. (Totally sane and healthy behavior. /s)

That's why this hurts so much.

This is so cruel. Gojo does all this for Nanami only to be misunderstood by him in the end, and learn that everyone else is the same way.

However, Nanami still cares for him. Like Gojo, Nanami doesn't show affection unless he's being kind of mean. The best example of this is Yuji calling him Nanamin. And to be honest, his whole stern father dynamic with Yuji.

Nanami puts on a show here. He pretends this is pissing him off but he ultimately accepts it.

We've already established that Gojo is unable to fully understand other people. Nanami calling him a pervert/weirdo/self-satisfier was affection and Gojo too misunderstands him. So we're left with that panel of Gojo looking very hurt.

Iori Utahime

Similar to Ijichi, Gojo trusts Utahime because she is weak. And just like Ijichi, Gojo doesn’t say “I trust you won’t betray me like Geto”, he says this:

Not ignoring the misogynistic stint to his bullying of Utahime, Gojo has been doing this for so long that Utahime flat out hates him. It’s in her official character description. And Gojo is unaware of this because he can't read people well. But you want to know what else is? Her love of sports. (Baseball is one she's really into.)

After the disaster that was the first half of the Goodwill Event, Gojo makes the second half enjoyable for the students and Utahime specifically. 2 birds and 1 stone. Baseball means kids get to enjoy their youth and Utahime gets to have fun with something she genuinely enjoys. And Gojo gets to piss off Principal Yaga and Gakuganji as a treat.

Hopefully you can see the pattern now. Gojo cares for people while also being an absolute menace to keep them at a distance for what he believes to be their own good. And still he craves a direct connection with them. All of it is him failing to cope with Toji and Geto in a healthy way and being The Strongest.

Gojo's Heart

Now that we've established how to read Gojo's actions and words, let's take a look at his heart. What kind of person is Gojo Satoru really under all the posturing?

Other People

Though Gojo likes to act like he's above it all, other people are his weakness. This is not limited to other sorcerers, but the non-sorcerers as well. His attachment to people is so strong that it has been used by each major villain as an exploit. Toji used Gojo's fondness towards Riko to catch him by surprise, both Geto and Kenjaku used his sense of duty towards complete strangers to trap him, and Sukuna used Megumi to throw him off guard.

The Hidden Inventory and Shibuya Incident arcs in particular echo each other in set up and outcome—Kenjaku's plan being a finessed version of Toji's. Gojo panics over Riko and strangers potentially dying with the same expression as his weakness is exploited until he comes up with a solution on the spot. And these solutions ultimately fail to stop the villain from obtaining their goals. The difference between them is how Gojo follows up on the collateral damage. Post-Geto fallout, he starts more directly checking in on the people he potentially hurt.

The follow-up with Ijichi about Shibuya is illuminating. It reiterates that unconsciously Gojo created a domain on the fly that wouldn't be lethal to strangers, and it reveals that his cursed energy itself is hellbent on protecting others. What this indicates is that Gojo's soul is devoted to others. If he didn't care, none of this would be possible.

That being said, Nanami also isn't wrong to call Gojo a Jujutsu Pervert. Gojo does very much get off on fighting to the point where he starts disconnecting from other emotions. Just as the Hidden Inventory and Shibuya Incident showcased how much Gojo cares for other people, the same arcs showcased how unhinged Gojo is when left to his own devices.

He's both caring and a freak at the same time. Polarizing behavior included.

Gojo’s Students

Gojo cares a lot about his students, their enjoyment of life, and their futures. He also wants to change Jujutsu society without senseless bloodshed so he goes out of his way to recruit strong children with potential as his allies (Megumi, Yuta, Yuji, Hikari). Some may think he’s only using the youth for his own purposes. Others may think he just wants to help troubled youths. But it’s both. Gojo is doing both of these things. And boy does he feel immense guilt over it when it goes poorly. See how he handles Yuji "dying".

It should be noted that he still tries to maintain his jokey persona with Shoko and Ijichi while he genuinely gets upset. And he does this by bullying the tar out of Ijichi. (It's really no wonder the poor thing thought Gojo hated him.)

As stated in CFYOW, JJK Summer of Ashes, Autumn of Dust, Chapter 4: Ijichi at Work, Gojo’s style of care is one that is focused on helping the children handle the emotions he couldn’t at their age. (See Pages 116-118 for full context.)

Gojo basically finds children who are like himself and tries to make sure they don’t wind up like him. This is how he has chosen to cope with his trauma.

You could read this as manipulative and selfish if you find Gojo unbearable. It did turn out poorly in the end. But remember how he forced Nanami to speak of Yuji as a person and not a vessel. And how Gojo discusses with him the fragile hearts of youth and how he wants to prepare them for grief. Gojo is anticipating Jujutsu society ruining their lives and acting preemptively.

Gojo also postures in front of the students. As their pillar of stability, he pretends everything is ok because he's the adult in charge. Look at how quickly he buries his grief when they notice something is up.

And each time he does this, it works. He definitely believes what he says and that does make him annoying. However, the students feel secure because he's promising to take responsibility. When he fails them, he blames himself and no one else. That's the attitude of someone that cares despite most of his students not seeing through his arrogance.

Geto Suguru

It's not up for debate that Gojo was in love with Geto. Gojo 100% was gay for Geto. What is up for debate is whether or not the two of them ever acted on it when they had the chance. I lean towards the interpretation that this love was never realized in life. (Gege is a huge fan of yaoi that ends in tragedy.)

I want to make it very clear, after reading the contents of JJK 261, I believe Geto is the one who failed Gojo the most. He had a fundamental misunderstanding of his best friend so bad that he abandoned him and was shocked that Gojo still loved him in the end. It took him until the afterlife to see that all Gojo wanted was him.

Gojo checking in on him wasn't enough, Gojo not killing him for 10 years even though he could've wasn't enough, Gojo saying something that caused Geto to blush before he killed him wasn't enough, Gojo dying and immediately greeting him first wasn't enough. This is when he finally understands.

Before not denying the fact Geto saw Gojo as a self-satisfying Jujutsu pervert who cared about no one else.

Geto was too consumed by his own trauma and hang-ups to see Gojo with love. He wound up doing the exact same thing he killed non-sorcerers for; putting all the burden of their relationship on the strongest and expecting him to do all the work.

And yet somehow Geto was able to find the love Gojo also deserved. He made a family and was surrounded by people who openly loved him and even understood him. It makes me a little bitter.

At one point Geto did understand Gojo a lot. Enough to be his moral center and sense his suffering. He even accepted Gojo's awful personality when everyone else wouldn't. Since their breakup, Gojo has been mourning him. Every little thing Geto told him to do while they were together is something Gojo incorporated into his life.

Using the personal pronouns "Boku" and "Watashi" over "Ore" to be more polite? Done. Not killing ordinary people, even if they suck, because that would be pointless? Done. Even to the point where he spares most curse users or rehabilitates them. He takes care of Geto's family even after he's dead. Looking after the weak because he's strong? Done until it kills him.

Gojo is chasing after a Geto that no longer exists. These little rituals keep that ghost alive. And they turn out to be super beneficial to other people so let's make it another 2 birds and 1 stone that hides the fact he's grieving.

Gojo's Guts

In summary, Gojo does care about other people despite treating them in bizarre and unpleasant ways that aren’t ok. He may be using them as a way to work through his own trauma, but he is also determined to see that they live better lives than himself. 2 birds, 1 stone.

His status as The Strongest isolated him so severely that he was doomed to being misunderstood by everyone he loved. Both because of how Gojo treats them and how they treat his power. (Limitless being the metaphorical and literal barrier between himself and others.)

Gojo wants to give love and be loved but is denied it at every turn. His heart is that of a pathetic sopping-wet cat that pretends it's completely dry.

Narrative Cruelty

The narrative ire for Gojo Satoru cannot be overstated. This person sums it up the best.

After JJK 261, it has become abundantly clear to me that Gojo was intending to die the moment he made the date December 24th (the most romantic day in Japan and the death date of Geto Suguru). He has all this grief and guilt and truly believes that no one living will ever understand or care about him in the way he wants. The only one Gojo believes will understand him is Geto and he wants to be with him. (And that didn't pan out well either.)

Gojo is also refusing to burden the students with being a monster even though they're offering. As an adult he is in the right to do his damndest to make sure the minors in his care don't become as broken as him. He knows being a monster sucks and his whole goal is to put an end to that.

Plus, he blames himself entirely for this situation in the first place. He's taking responsibility by killing the elders to ensure that when he dies, his students don't pay for it. In a way he's correct, failing to kill Geto properly because he loved him is why they're here now. Kenjaku exploited that love to seal him and Gojo knows it.

The Gojo vs Sukuna fight was Gojo effectively committing suicide to be with his one and only love who fundamentally misunderstood him in life and barely understands him even in death. And ironically, the one who kills him is the first and only person relate directly to his suffering and acknowledge him as himself. Sukuna frees Gojo from the title of Strongest and leaves him as Gojo Satoru, appreciating him as the one who cleared his skies.

This is so unbearably cruel it makes my stomach twist just thinking about it.

It's why I want Gojo so desperately to come back to life. I want him to experience love and know that he is loved. I want him to come to terms with his grief and work through it. But we don't get that. He dies and is surrounded by people that barely understand him while claiming to have no regrets.

What's the point of this narrative ire?

Japanese society is largely Buddhist. Detachment, a kind of Stoicism, is a tenant of Buddhism. Emotions are to be let go of. Ideally when they arise, you don’t cling to or bury them. A version of this idea from Zen Buddhism manifests in Japanese culture as a mantra known as Suffering in Silence or Gaman. In summary, if you're hurting, you hide it. That's the proper thing to do. It leans much more towards repression of emotions instead of their release/detachment.

JJK deliberately draws inspiration from Buddhist teachings and imagery so I'm assuming Gojo Satoru being the poster child for Suffering in Silence is intentional. Taking everyone's burdens and pretending it's all ok because he's the strongest and that's what you're supposed to do.

He took on most of the burden for protecting Amanai Riko and they both died for it.

He took on the burden of being stronger, going on missions for both Nanami and Geto while they grieved until they both left him.

He took on the burden of raising Megumi and Tsumiki and look at what happened to both of them.

He took on the burden of every student no questions asked, money food, dealing with higher ups, etc and all but 2 of them treat him kindly.

He took on the burden of killing Geto, which Principal Yaga forced onto him when he was 17 and it came back to bite him 11 years later in Shibuya where he took on the burden of dealing with that veil.

This is a cautionary tale demonstrating just how much this kind of mindset can ruin your life. JJK has always been a massive critique of Japanese societal standards. And despite Gojo rebelling against it, the toxic ideas a part of his upbringing are ones he can't let go of for himself. He believes he can't be fixed, so he paves the way for the future generation with all his body and soul.

That's why this is so cruel.

In life Gojo was treated like an object by everyone around him. His clan saw him as a tool for their glory and pushed everything onto him. The higher ups, Yaga, Nanami wanted to push everything onto him and they did when they could. You can say whatever mean thing you want to him because he can clearly handle it. You can assign whatever mission or task because he's reliable as the strongest but not as a person. He gave his life for others and even his body, only to be scorned by those very ones he's helping. (Think back to how he forced Nanami to speak of Yuji as a person and not a vessel. He doesn't want any of his students to be dehumanized like himself.)

Yuta is only person who stopped to ask if Gojo was ok. He's the only one that noticed his status as a monster was eating him alive. He's the only one who had a problem with everyone talking about Gojo's body like a tool. And to help him be less lonely he asked for explicit permission to be the one to desecrate it.

Gojo doesn't want his students to give up their humanity and be lonely or give their lives to win. He's ok with them taking risks if it means they survive (see Megumi). And from what it looks like, Yuta will be the only one to fully understand him (obtaining his memories and all) and then die as the result of it.

So in a cruel twist of irony, Gojo will have one person know him fully as a monster and they will likely die as the result of it, further justifying his self-isolation in the first place. It's a game he always loses no matter how he plays.

Sukuna wasn't really wrong when he called Kashimo greedy for wanting Love and Strength. With how their society is structured, they really can't have both.

Note: I'm leaving Yuji out of this because he had no idea this was the plan and always saw Gojo as his teacher first, aka a person. This is also his general reaction to Gojo going things alone.

There's still more...

I also want to note Shoko's reaction here is another instance of Gojo not understanding those around him. From her first official character profile it's noted that Shoko has finally quit smoking for 5 years because Utahime asked her to.

Now what is Shoko doing in that panel and during the entire fight? Smoking. She's just mirroring Gojo's own behavior towards her. Pretending everything is ok and saying nothing of her true feelings. After getting blown off emotionally by both Geto and Gojo as a teenager, Shoko gave up on reaching them.

Gojo did this to her for over a decade and she's doing it back to him. Not because they want to me mean to each other, they just don't know how else to deal with their own trauma. To an extent the other students are doing the same. They're just being like their Sensei.

Gojo went out on a suicide mission believing only Yuta and Yuji cared about him in life as a person. (Megumi's getting his own post and believe me it's not fun.) The 2 most empathetic characters were able to let him know they saw his heart. With love it was seen. Other people cared and didn't show it or they flat out treated him like an object. Gojo is both at fault and not at fault for this.

It hurts me a lot and it's very cruel, but I think this has severed its purpose. If you don't tell people how you feel, they'll never know. Emotions will eat you from the inside out and no one will notice because on the surface you look ok. There aren't a lot of people like Yuta who will take the time to look for your heart, so it's better to outright show it. Don't put off grief, it will consume you.

Gege Akutami...when I get you...

Another prominent theme of Umineko is how poorly readers treat the creators of the story they are experiencing. Often times fans will say and wish horrible things on the author when the story they like doesn't go the way they want it to. You're free to feel upset by how this story's direction and critique it to your hearts content, but please remember Gege is a person too. Don't do to Gege what everyone else has done to Gojo.

Remember: "Without love, it cannot be seen."

However JJK ultimately concludes, I make you this promise.

"This game story will not have a happy ending."

#cactus yaps #I kind of hate everyone but Sukuna Yuta and Yuji for how they've treated Gojo. But also I understand. He is a lot.#I don't think I've been this tormented over a character's fate since Sephiran Fire Emblem.#It's ok in my delusions Gojo will be free. If his body is desecrated then I will treasure his memory.#I'm also extremely worried Yutajo is going to be eaten by Sukuna. That'll really make me cry.#gojo satoru #ijichi kiyotaka #nanami kento #geto suguru #okkotsu yuta #jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen #jjk 261 #Read Umineko btw.

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trashfangirlsworld · 8 months ago

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I think the frustrating thing about QSMP and payment is that it starts to feel like people low key implying it’s all going to go to Quackity’s pocket. Not intentionally, and not necessarily. Like, if it’s not going towards the admins directly it mustn’t be going towards anything else related to QSMP. And like, a part of it is that if the Eggs sales only went to the egg admins…then what about the other workers there? The modders and builders, just anybody else that still works at QSMP. Like, the admins should be compensated for their past work but taking any sales you get and only putting it towards said admins while it’s been made clear that financially the QSMP is not in the strongest position doesn’t seem like the best solution either.

Especially since QSMP doesn’t have a fixed income. It isn’t constantly making money like other businesses during these situations so it can’t start paying people back immediately. Everything comes out of Q’s pocket and I doubt those pockets are deep enough to pay for everything given he doesn’t stream frequently. The fact that Tubbo and Bad are concerned enough about the financial state that they are tryin to make it easier on Q (not using the translator when unnecessary, buying merch) says a lot to me.

Like I get it. If everything gets settled/improved financially and he still hasn’t paid the admins back then it’s going to be a major disappointment and problem. But like, until things are settled at the base (QSMP), I don’t think Quackity can make moves towards paying back the others without putting more strain on the situation or at worse not being able to actually pay them fully back people. Much less find a way to talk about it that might unintentionally become a false promise or could lead to more issues in him not being able to pay them back in a timely manner.

Like, idk, I’m never going to say that Q shouldn’t at the very least try to give some updates on the situation because IT IS unfair to the admins

but as somebody not involved in the Studio, who has no idea of the actual depth of the financial situation or the problems that might be going on legally in the background, I don’t PERSONALLY feel comfortable saying “well he can at least say X to the admins.” For me personally, that part just holds too many assumptions that I don’t have any insight on

I don't really have anything to add to this, this a pretty well thought out post

#qsmp #qadmin situation #admingate #ask tag

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mamapyjama · 2 years ago

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I’m having a breakdown. So the back cover of volume 37 is out, and by now we’ve all heard the preliminary translations of Edgeshot’s spiel to Kacchan.

But we didn’t have the images! Now we do, and I have Observations. Please note that I have used a combo of Google image translate and Japanese language websites for this. I don’t read Japanese but I’m fascinated by language and can’t help analysing it.

Firstly, I just want to comment on how bloody romantic the last line is, “Connect yourself to your future where you dreamed of your ideal”, considering he does exactly that, and thinks only of Izuku.

Risō: Ideal

Yumemita: Dream

Mirai: Future

Jishin: Self-confidence, assurance

Tsunaide: Link or connect (as if tied together—nice)

Misero: Show

Gorgeous, beautiful, fantastic work Edgeshot! It also really reminded me of Jeanist’s line to him about his hero name being a representation of his ideal self. These Heroes care about him so much 😭😭😭.

BUT, but but but, the part I really want to talk about is “Omae ga matsu kare wa… Deku wa kanarazu kuru!”

Omae: very informal ‘you’. Edgeshot is literally inside him so I think he’s allowed to be casual.

Matsu: Wait or look forward to

Kare wa: ‘He is’ or ‘boyfriend is’ (bear with me)

Kanarazu: Without a doubt

Kuru: Come or arrive

The sentence is very deliberate in the way Edgeshot says “He is… Deku is definitely coming.” So, what’s interesting about that? I WILL TELL YOU.

In Japanese it’s unusual to use pronouns, which is why you hear Deku saying ‘Kacchan’ directly to Kacchan all the blinking time. If it’s obvious who you’re talking by about via the context, then they don’t say he/she/they/you if possible. Here, have some evidence from translation websites and Japanese speakers:

So we already know Edgeshot is being extremely casual from his use of ‘omae’, and ‘kare’ is a casual term for boyfriend. It is unusual for him to unnecessarily use a pronoun that could also be interpreted as a reference to Deku as his boyfriend, no? He could have very easily just said “Deku is definitely coming!” without adding that ambiguity, But He Did Not.

I just think it’s interesting. And I do believe I will be thinking about this for the rest of the manga.

Edit to add:

1) Yes, ‘kare’ is the pronoun used to refer to Deku in the infamous 348 narration. 👀

2) ‘Tsunaide’ is also used in that same chapter, when Deku describes a boyfriend as someone you hold hands with: “te wo tsunaide”.

I’m not saying either of these things mean anything, it’s just interesting! * shakes uncontrollably *

#deku #bakugou #bkdk #bakudeku #mha vol 37 #mha #pyj obsesses #bnha

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haru-dipthong · 26 days ago

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Ep 10 of my Utena fansub is out!

The start of this episode where Saionji is expelled has a lot of very Japanese talk of shame, responsibility, 面倒 (mendou: care/burden), etc. Many of the turns of phrase sound funny when directly translated, so it makes more sense to rephase the sentence into something more familiar. Here’s a lightning round of 3 lines and their various translations. Hopefully based on the colour coding you’ll be able to see where and why I made the choices I did.

破廉恥にもほどがある

Is there any limit to his shame? (from ohtori.nu)

Is there no limit to his shamelessness? (from internet archive)

How desperate can you get? (my translation)

Said by Juri. 破廉恥 means “shameless, disgraceful”. にもほどがある kind of means “it’s an understatement to say X” or “is there a limit to X?”. I think talking of “shame” in this sense is distinctly Japanese. If Juri was an English speaker I think she would come at the behaviour from a different angle — desperation.

この上、面倒かけて悪いんだが…

Sorry to further burden you… (from ohtori.nu)

I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you. (from internet archive)

I hate to ask another favour of you, but… (my translation)

This from Saionji — a literal translation would be “on top of everything, I’m sorry for burdening you with another thing”. This is just before he shows Touga the exchange diary to give back to Anthy. Interesting to me that the Internet Archive subs don’t mention that he’s asking a new favour.

俺は責任持って渡しておくよ

I’ll take responsibility for delivering it to her. (from ohtori.nu)

I’ll take care of it for you. (from internet archive)

I’ll personally see to it that she receives this. (my translation)

責任持って literally means “hold onto the responsibility and…” which sounds better as “take responsibility for…” but I think it sounds even better completely rephrased. Side note: The Internet Archive subs make another interesting decision here. “Take care of” is ambiguous and makes it so that Touga isn’t outright lying (since he immediately incinerates the diary). But he literally does lie in Japanese, he says he’s going to hand it over.

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やはり、女の子は王子様にはなれないのでしょうか。

Should have known, a girl can’t become a prince… (from ohtori.nu)

Maybe a girl really can’t become a prince… (from internet archive)

Maybe girls can’t be princes after all. (my translation)

A classic translation foible: translating やはり as “as expected” or “I should have known”. Of course it can sometimes be translated as that, but in many contexts that translation doesn’t make sense. My vibe read of やはり is that it signifies that the speaker is reflecting back to a past state of mind. In some cases, this is thinking back and realising you were right all along, hence “as expected” as a common translation. But in some cases, like this one, you’re thinking back and reconsidering that you may have been wrong. I guess this is what the “should have known” translation is trying to do, but it’s not as strong as that. The English phrase “should have known” is almost berating yourself for not knowing, whereas the Japanese やはり is not nearly as self-deprecating. It just shows that you’re reflecting and reconsidering.

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目障りなのよあんた達。いつもお兄様の周りにうろちょろと。

You two are an eyesore, always hovering around my brother. (from ohtori.nu)

You’re both eyesores, always hanging around my brother. (from internet archive)

You two sicken me. Always dangling off my brother like parasites. (my translation)

It’s sad that these other translations used “eyesore”. Technically that’s what the word means, but I’m being completely honest when I say I’ve literally never seen or heard the word “eyesore” outside of an anime translation. I really, really hate the word “eyesore”. In my mind it’s the very essence of poor translation.

What does 目障り actually mean? It’s a compound word — 目 is “eye” and 障り is “hinderance”, “obstruction” or “sickness”. It basically just means “I can’t stand the sight of you”. So I translated it as such: if someone “sickens you” then you can’t stand the sight of them. This plays into the second half of the line.

I took a few liberties with the second half. うろちょろ is an onomatopoeic word for like, pottering around, loitering, hovering without doing anything. I actually like this part of the translation from the ohtori script, “hovering” is a great word. お兄様の周り can mean “around my brother” or “in the vicinity of my brother”. I believe Nanami is trying to get across the idea that Utena and Anthy have nothing better to do than hover around Touga. The problem was that the “hovering around” phrasing didn’t feel visceral enough to go with “sicken me”. I could have reworded the first half (”I can’t stand you two”), but I really liked how emotionally charged the line felt, so I doubled down on it.

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Thank you to @dontbe-lasanya for some very nice changes this episode on some lines I was really struggling to phrase naturally! And for this comment lol

Follow to see new episodes as they release! Go here for all past episodes:

#rgu #revolutionary girl utena #utena #sku #shoujo kakumei utena #langblr #japanese #japanese language #translation #learning japanese #utena fansub #official blog post

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feelmyskinonyourskin · 1 year ago

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Fight Club

Pairing: Matt Murdock x (AFAB)Reader (with platonic Frank Castle x Reader)

Summary: @hellskitchenswhore is killing it with the prompts lately. Per her request: Matt's freaking out thinking you might be cheating on him because for the last few weeks, you’ve been coming home smelling like Frank. What he doesn’t know is that you asked Frank to teach you how to fight and didn’t tell Matt.

Warnings: 18+/SMUT. No use of Y/N. Female/AFAB reader (use of terms like girlfriend and female anatomy.) Established relationship. Brief mention of an active shooter at an office, Frank and Matt using pet names like sweetheart, mentions and accusations of cheating but no actual cheating, Unprotected sex, Fingering, P in V, Creampie, and Possessiveness from our dear Matt. Sort of getting caught after the fact.

Notes: I started taking kickboxing like three weeks ago, so I like to pretend that qualifies me to know what I'm talking about (It doesn't lol). So apologizes if I got any of the terminology wrong. UPDATE DEC 2023: I wrote an alternate ending to this fic that ends in a threeway with Frank that you can read here

WC: 5,000

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on this site to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platform I currently post anything on is Tumblr. Thanks!*

“That’s it sweetheart, last round I promise.” Frank encourages you as you take swings at the bag in front of you.

You’ve been at this for at least an hour and your arms feel like jello. You can’t remember the last time you were breathing this hard that wasn’t from Matt bending you in half. Jumping directly into the Hudson would have kept you drier than the amount of sweat currently pouring down your face and exhausted body.

“Atta girl, atta girl!” Frank praises as you take your last few swings, arms too weak to make any real movement of the bag

“Alright, you’re getting the hang of it now. Few more sessions and you’ll be out there with Red every night.”

“Pfft I don’t know about that, Frank. I’m just trying to make sure I can protect myself is all.”

“So remind me again why you didn’t ask him to teach you this?”

It started last week. One of your favorite coworkers was going through a bitter divorce and her estranged husband decided to confront her at the office and pulled a gun. You heard two shots ring out from your desk and feared the worst - all the active shooter situations you'd seen on TV were happening live in your life. Fortunately, as you fled for safety, Jerry from accounting was able to disarm and tackle the guy before he could hurt anyone thanks to his black belt in Jiujitsu.

Even though the incident ended okay, it had spooked you enough to get yourself some defense classes, for all those times when your vigilante boyfriend was too far uptown to protect you at a moment’s notice and Jerry wasn’t around to save the day.

Matt was always overprotective of you and you hated to think how he’d react to the incident, so you hadn’t told him. When the story hit the news, you lied (via text so he couldn’t detect it) and said it happened on a different floor and you didn’t even notice.

You also didn’t tell him about your decision to learn self-defense. Matt was more than qualified to teach you, but for some reason, you just didn’t feel comfortable asking for his help with this. Maybe it was his propensity to throw himself into helping those he cared about, you especially, that gave you hesitation to give him another thing to prioritize over himself. Maybe it was just how good he was at fighting that made you not want to “be a beginner” in front of him (not that Matt would ever judge you about anything.)

In fairness to you, you hadn’t intended to learn it from his frenemy and former client, but you’d showed up at the boxing gym near your work and the gruff men inside intimidated you so much, you bolted out the door before signing up for a class, tears welling in your eyes when you quite literally bumped into Frank on the street.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, nodding towards the door of the boxing gym

“I thought… Look I want to learn how to fight. Or at least how to defend myself. This place is close to work but um… might not be the right fit for me.”

“Why don’t you just ask Red?”

“It’s a long story,” you replied with a sigh “but I really don’t want to ask him. Or for him to even know about it. So can you please not mention you saw me here or we had this conversation?”

“Okay, can I ask why not?”

“You can but I’m not gonna answer.”

Frank chuckled and shook his head

“Well if you want to learn to fight, this isn’t the best place. I know Vinny the owner and he’s a shit teacher. But if you want to learn for real, I’m happy to teach you.”

“What? Wait really? Wait, Frank you know how to fight?”

“Sweetheart, I was a Marine for over 15 years, ‘course I know how to fight.”

“And you’d do that for me?”

“Course. You’re Red's girl. What times’ he leave for his little night job?”

“9:00”

“Great, meet me here at 9:30. Tonight.”

And that was how you ended up here, collapsing on the gym mat beneath you with a groan.

“Not bad for your first time. We just gotta get you in the habit of resetting your hands after every hit, and you’ll be golden” Frank praises again

“Oh yeah, I forgot, always protect the face so I don’t end up lookin like you.” you jest

“Ouch” he feigns hurt with a smirk on his face “Red teach you to swing low like that?”

“Nah Castle, that’s all me. It’s part of why he loves me. Same time tomorrow?”

“Sure. See you then.”

By the time Matt returns home, you’re showered and in bed, sore muscles pulsing every time you twist and turn in your sleep. Between the smell of sweaty clothes in the hamper and the scent of your freshly washed skin rubbing against silk sheets, plus the heat radiating off your sore muscles as he crawls into bed silently beside you, Matt figures it out pretty quickly.

‘She started going back to the gym. Hmm. Have to ask her about that in the morning.’ he thinks as he drifts off beside you.

You awake in the morning to gentle hands rubbing at your back.

“Mmm morning Matty” you mumble, still pulling yourself out of sleep

“Morning sweetheart.”

“What are you doing?” you ask as he works a little lower down your spine

“Giving you a massage. I can tell you’re sore. When did you start going back to the gym?”

“Just yesterday. And you’re right I’m super sore. Thank you, this is a nice way to start my day.”

“Of course sweetheart. What gym did you go to? Did you have fun?” he inquires

His innocent prodding has you waking fully quickly, trying to cover your tracks without outright lying and getting caught.

“Oh this gym near work. Couple people in the office recommended it. And yeah I had fun.”

All truths.

“That’s nice. Mmmm do you want to start the coffee or shower first?” he asks, seemingly letting the subject go

Perfect.

As you rush around to get ready for work, Matt grabs the laundry hamper from the bathroom, walking it over to the washing machine. Your dirty workout clothes from the night before sit on top, now less potent that they have completely dried. But he can’t help but feel like something smells off.

Sure it smells like you - natural scent mixed with your fading sweat, but there’s something else. Something familiar. A very subtle hint of spiciness mixed with… is that gunpowder?

‘Weird’ Matt thinks to himself, but brushes it off a moment later, the smell not strong enough to really garner more than a passing thought.

But three times he does the laundry in a row, he smells it. It’s so subtle, he might not even give it another thought, but it’s just so damn familiar.

It takes another week for him to ask you about it.

“Hey sweetheart, you’ve been going to the gym a lot lately,” he mentions over dinner

“Mmmhmm. Yeah, can you feel my muscles growing? I’m feeling stronger.” you reply

“Yeah. What exactly are you doing at the gym? It’s really working.”

“Oh a little cardio, a little strength, you know…” you skirt around, being intentionally vague

“That’s good. Is it like a class or?”

“Um sort of. Just this guy at the gym, he’s been helping me. You know, walking me through the exercises.”

Also technically the truth.

“That’s good. Well, I’m glad you found something you like.”

‘Okay, so that guy must smell like this. She’s close enough to him in a warm sweaty gym, so there’s a little bit on her clothes. Makes sense.’ Matt thinks to himself. But he still can’t shake the feeling that that smell is so familiar.

Two weeks later, Matt is out on patrol when he hears a familiar heartbeat on the fire escape a few floors down from where he’s perched.

Frank.

“You just gonna sit there all night, listinin’ Red?” Frank asks

“Very funny Frank.” Matt says, hopping down to Frank’s level

“Haven’t seen you in a while” Matt comments

“Been busy. Madani’s been usin’ me more.”

“Oh don’t tell me you’re going legit Frank.”

“Not a shot in hell, Red. But gotta pay the bills somehow.”

And then a strong breeze blows. Frank’s signature blend of sweat, aftershave, and metallic mixed with gunpowder from all the weapons he handles overwhelms Matt’s nose. Matt cocks his head in confusion. It’s so damn familiar. But of course it is, it’s Frank. How many times has Matt been on a rooftop with him like this, bs-ing the night away while monitoring the city?

After catching up for a bit, they go their separate ways, the rest of Matt’s evening turning uneventful.

He returns home to you shortly after 3 am, your soft breathing as you sleep calms him as he strips off his suit.

You hadn’t met with Frank tonight. He said something about following a lead and you were perfectly fine with that, you needed an off day.

Matt curls up in bed beside you, resting his head on your back and falling asleep quickly.

The next night, Frank is really putting you through your paces and you swear you’re ready to collapse when he finally calls it for the night.

Per usual, Frank offers to walk you home when you’re done and for the first time since you started coming here, you accept the offer since you stayed a bit later than usual tonight. At least until you can make it to Hell’s Kitchen and within range of Matt.

You and Frank make small talk as you go and eventually, the chill of the autumn air has you shivering in your still-damp-from-sweat workout clothes.

“Here sweetheart,” Frank says with a lopsided smirk, slinging his worn jacket over your shoulders.

“Thank you Castle. Always a gentleman.”

“Course, ‘specially for Red’s girl.”

You make it to 35th and 10th, close enough to home and hand his jacket back to him, parting ways with a nod and a polite “goodnight.”

The later hour coupled with the particularly intense session has you collapsing into bed without even removing your shoes, let alone your gym clothes.

When Matt returns a few hours later, the smell hits him like a truck.

‘I swear to god Frank, if you’re bleeding on my couch again…’ Matt thinks to himself.

But when he enters the apartment the only heartbeat he can hear is yours. He inches slowly toward the bedroom and rolls the door open gently. He reaches down to feel the soft lycra of your leggings on your body, careful not to stir you from your slumber. The smell of your sweat clinging to your clothes fills his senses, way more potent than normal plus that other scent you’re bringing home from the gym. Matt pauses to wonder why he thought Frank was here but then it hits him.

Oh my god. The mystery smell from the gym you’ve been bringing home is Frank.

But how could you smell like…

And then the gears in his head start turning. And he feels like a goddamn idiot.

You had been going to the gym. But not to work out. You were cheating. With Frank of all people. And you’d made the critical error of not showering when you got home.

Matt begins to pace the apartment, rubbing at his chin as his thoughts move a million miles a minute about what to do.

Did he confront you? Did he confront Frank?! What should he even say?

The sun rises and he’s still pacing and contemplating when his alarm rings out. He shuts it off before it can wake you too. He needs more time to think about his next move. He gets ready for work quietly and slips out the door before you awake.

You find it odd you haven’t heard from Matt all day. When you woke up you saw his Devil suit in a heap in the living room and there was no damage to it or blood on it. So you knew he had come home and was relatively okay. But it was so odd for him to leave without a goodbye kiss or go this long in the day without so much as a text. But he had been busy with a heavy caseload lately. You finally break shortly after lunch and text him first.

“Hey Matty. Know you’re busy but I miss you and I love you. Dinner tonight?”

“Can’t. Working late. Don’t wait up.” He responds

That was… oddly curt. But again you figure he’s stressed and busy.

Matt on the other hand has been wracked with stress all day. It only took an hour of his constant pacing and fidgeting for Foggy to break and finally ask.

“Matt. What’s up?”

“I think… I think I’m being cheated on.” Matt confesses. He leaves the Frank part out of the equation, wanting Foggy to be as objective as possible about his response.

“What could possibly make you think that?”

“She’s been going to the gym like every night for a month now right when I leave for patrol and she came home last night smelling like… another man. And she’s been smelling like it a little the whole month but last night it was all over her”

“So did you ask her?”

“Well no but…”

“Matt you are literally a human lie detector and yet here you are jumping to conclusions instead of doing the rational thing and just asking her.”

And maybe Matt would have taken Foggy’s advice if he thought you were just cheating with your gym trainer. But this was Frank. And that made it all the more complicated.

Matt decides finally what he’s going to do. He’s going to follow you tonight, catch you in the act and confront both of you together.

Matt still hadn’t come home when you depart for your nightly workout session, but little did you know he’s there. Pacing on the roof, waiting for you to leave. As soon as he hears the lobby door shut behind you, he springs in to action, taking the stairs two at a time into the apartment and changing out of his lawyer suit and into his devil suit as quickly as possible, making sure not to lose your heartbeat now a block and a half away. He makes up for the lost distance quickly and is practically on top of you by the time you enter the gym.

“Hey Frank” you call out as you enter

“Hey. I’ll be over in a second.” he replies from the locker rooms

Matt crouches down by the side of the building, just close enough to the windows to hear everything going on inside.

You’re almost done wrapping your hands when Frank emerges from the locker room.

“Alright let’s start with our usual, then you can have a go at me again.”

“I don’t know Frank. You really wore me out last night. I woke up still in my clothes and shoes.”

Matt knew it. He fucking knew it.

“Tough shit sweetheart,” Frank responds with a chuckle. “And what did your boyfriend think about that huh? He got any idea what we’re doing here yet?”

“Honestly I don’t know. I didn’t see or hear from him at all today. Which is weird even for him. And no I don’t think he’s figured it out yet.”

“You’re gonna have to tell him eventually”

“No, I don’t”

“So what you’re just gonna keep sneakin’ around, becoming a prize fighter without him gettin’ suspicious? Shit even a regular guy would raise some alarm bells by now, but especially Red and all his … shit”

“Frank, I am not here trying to become a prize fighter. I’m just trying to get strong enough to defend myself if he’s not around to do it. That’s all”

Matt’s heart drops.

How could he possibly think you were cheating? And with Frank of all people. He felt like an idiot. Like a total asshole. Sure you had lied, well, technically withheld the truth and he’s sure you’ll explain why. And he’s hurt if you wanted to learn to fight that you didn’t come to him. But this was not nearly as egregious a stain on your relationship as he thought it was.

“I don’t know. Think you should tell him. Show him your moves. Shit, you’ve gotten a couple good hits on me these last few days I’m sure you could give Red a run for his money.”

“I am not fighting Matt, Francis.” You say with an eye roll

Matt listens for the next hour as Frank talks you through a few hitting drills, then the two of you sparring. Frank is clearly taking it easy on you, but Matt is still impressed by what he could tell of what you were doing. He absolutely would need to take you on to really gauge your skills.

Franks's phone rings out just as you’re cooling down with some stretches.

He answers and speaks for a few minutes.

“Alright sorry to jet out of here but Madani has somethin urgent for me. You good to get home alright?”

“Yeah, thanks Frank. See you tomorrow.”

Frank gives you a fist bump and then disappears through the front door. Matt uses the opportunity to sneak in just before the door slams closed behind Frank.

You’re sitting on the floor undoing your wraps as he finally speaks up.

“If you wanted to opportunity to hit Frank, I’m sure I could have arranged it some other way”

Your spine goes icy cold at the sound of the voice behind you.

“Matt… I” you stumble to explain.

“It’s okay sweetheart,” Matt says, hands up in surrender before reaching up to remove his mask

“What are you doing here?” You ask, ready for him to chew you out for your little secret.

“Alright if I’m honest, do you promise you’ll be honest?” He asks

“Yes.”

“I followed you here because I thought you were cheating. With Frank. And I know now that’s not what’s happening. And I’m sorry for not just asking you.” He confesses with a sigh

“Oh Matt. I’m so sorry that I did anything to make you think that. That’s not at all what’s happening here.”

“I know. Been listening all night so I know. But I have to know why. Why are you doing this and why didn’t you tell me? And Frank? Really?”

“It’s a long story. Can I tell you while we walk home?”

And so you do. By the time you make it home to your apartment, you’ve come clean about the incident at work and running into Frank and how he’d been coaching you the last few weeks, and why you were so hesitant to ask Matt to be the one to do it.

Matt is oddly quiet through your explanation but nods as you speak. He finally speaks up just as you’re unlocking the front door.

“I forgive you. And I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t ask me. But now that I know, I am curious…”

“You want to see how much I’ve learned?”

He nods enthusiastically

“Fine. I guess since now you know you can join us tomorrow. If you want.”

“Perfect, I’ll be there”

He tucks you in to bed with a gentle kiss before heading out on patrol again, no longer clouded by doubts about your relationship.

—

When you arrive at the gym the next night, Matt is already there, looking extra adorable in his gray sweatpants and messy hair.

It’s all so familiar to him - the buzz of the fluorescent lights, the smell of sweat and heat, the gym mat sticking beneath his bare feet with every step. Just like Fogwells when he was a kid. He feels at home here.

“Hey sweetheart” he greets you with a kiss

“Hey Matty” you can’t help but smile whenever you see him after a long day “Frank texted me, he’s running late, but um do you want to help me warm up?”

Matt’s face lights up with excitement. “Yes. Okay. What does Frank normally have you do?”

“Two rounds of jab crosses on the bag. Three minutes each.”

“Okay, have at it”

You wrap your hands and begin hitting the bag. Not even thirty seconds in, Matt speaks up.

“Woah woah woah. Frank has been letting you hit like this and not correcting your form?”

“Yes. Wait, what the hell is wrong with my form?”

“You’re too far away from the bag. I can hear your shoulder joint rubbing every time you jab, which means you’re over-extending that left arm. Makes you put way too much energy into each hit, you’re gonna wear yourself out way faster. Here. Step closer.”

Matt moves behind you to help you correct your position, then lets you take a few more punches.

“See? More power, less effort.”

“Yeah. Any other pointers?”

Matt places his hands on your shoulders and places his feet right beside yours, pressing his body tight against your back. You never thought of boxing as particularly erotic, especially not with Frank teaching you. But with Matt’s breath against your ear, you can’t help but feel a chill run down your spine straight to your core.

“Go ahead, gimme a few more, I want to feel how your body moves. See just what else Frank has been teaching you wrong.”

“Matt…” the words die on your lips. You want to speak up and defend how kind Frank has been these past few weeks to spend the time to teach you, but Matt’s sweet whisper of encouragement has you forgetting anything else but him.

“C’mon sweetheart, don’t get all shy on me. You hesitate like this for Frank?”

“N..no.” you stutter, then weakly throw out a few more punches

Matt chuckles, knowing just how much he’s winding you up with so little.

“Put a little more power behind them. Don’t let me being here hold you back.”

You try to do as he says and throw some real hits, but Matt is still pressed right against you.

God, his body is warm usually, but being flush behind you as you move and hit, he practically feels like white-hot iron against you. Your heart is thumping out of your chest, and it’s not just from the few minutes of warming up you’ve done. You know Matt can hear it and is going to play you like a fiddle. His own wicked form of punishment for not telling him about your training.

His hands drop from your shoulders, running down your back lightly and coming to rest on your hips. He plants a soft kiss right under your ear.

“You’ve been working hard. Maybe Frank does know what he’s doing.”

He places a second kiss a little lower down your neck.

“You throw any actual punches at him yet?” he asks

“A few. Landed some of them too.”

A third, fourth, and fifth kiss down your neck, working his way toward your shoulder. His stubble is coarse against your skin, sending goosebumps across your flesh, your toes curling into the squishy mat beneath you.

“Mmm that’s my girl.” he says, as he begins sucking on your neck, his right hand snaking around to your front, tickling at the top of your leggings.

“Matty” you chastise

“What?” he feigns ignorance

“Matthew. Do not start something you can’t finish. Frank will be here any minute.”

“You said he’d be late.”

“His text said ‘a few minutes’ and that was already several minutes ago.”

“Well I can’t hear his heartbeat yet, so we’ve got at least five.”

You want to protest more, you really do, but you just can’t resist Matt.

Laughing low, he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his steady breath against your exposed skin a stark contrast to the growing labor of your exhales. You spread your legs a little wider. He takes the invitation and reaches his hand fully into your leggings, using a finger to circle your sensitive bud.

You throw your head back onto his chest with a moan, his name falling from your lips in a breathy whisper.

He continues to suck on your neck as works at your core, finally sliding a finger inside you, then another.

You reach forward to grab the boxing bag for stability, Matt’s touch causing you to writhe enough that you’re not sure you’re able to stay standing without it. As you thrash against him, he inhales deeply, a mix of your natural scent and your arousal consuming his lungs.

In order to get you exactly where he wants you, he keeps a quick pace, knowing he does not have a lot of time. His rhythm never falters, stroking you over and over in that perfect spongy spot inside you. It’s not long before you're coming apart with a cry of his name.

Just as your head stops spinning and you’re returning to earth, Matt is turning you around and connecting his lips with yours. So hungry to have you, he guides you back a few steps, never breaking his lips from yours, and pushes you against the wall behind you.

His kisses grow more and more desperate, sending an electric tingle down your spine, though that could also be because the wall behind you is made of mirrors and the glass is cool against the heated skin not protected by your sports bra.

As soon as you make contact with the wall, his hands are back on your hips, pushing your leggings and panties down in a heap on the sticky mat beneath you. His clothes soon follow.

You throw your leg up and around his hip, opening yourself to him. An offer he quickly accepts. A soft gasp simultaneously escapes both your lips, the relief between the two of you as he guides himself slowly into your wet and eager core until he’s fully sheathed inside you. Restless fingers reach down to wrap your other leg around him, now fully holding you in the air against the mirrored wall behind you.

He repeats the pace of his fingers only moments ago and slams into you harshly and quickly, over and over again, desperate to feel you release around him again, knowing Frank could appear at any moment.

God, your familiar warm heat is absolute perfection, he thinks as he continues to bury himself into you over and over again. You’re still incredibly worked up from your previous climax and it takes just a few thrusts for you to be close again. The way your body is clamping around him and tensing lets him know just how close to ecstasy you are again.

Matt leans forward and you can feel his quickening breath against your ear once more.

“Damnit sweetheart, you scared me so bad. Made me think I was sharing you with someone else.” he grunts as he continues to drive his hips against yours.

“No Matty. I’m yours. Only yours — oh God. I promise.” you whimper back, arching into him further.

“Good. But to make sure you don’t forget, I’m gonna cum inside you, right now and every single night before you leave. So I’m dripping out of you after every hit, every kick. No matter how much Frank trains you. So you remember exactly who. You. Belong to.” he growls lowly against your skin, pushing you even more firmly against the cool glass with every thrust.

“Yes. Please Matt — Fuck. I’m all yours. I promise. Please.”

He thrusts one more time before he cums with a rumble of your name, his arms tightening around you, holding you impossibly close as he releases inside you just as he promised.

As he grinds against you in just the right way to hit that perfect spot one more time, your own orgasm sweeps over you. Your nails dig into his back, holding on to him as you let go, his harsh thrusts now slowed just enough so he can keep the both of you upright.

He feels you release, causing a final low groan from him, slowing down his pace, as your molten pleasure fades away. Still consumed by him and the feel of him holding you close, you lean your head back to rest against the mirror behind you as you catch your breath. Just as you feel like fully slumping against him, he sets you down gently.

You don't even really register him pulling away from you until he speaks.

“Might want to put your pants back on. Frank’s a block away and I don’t think you want him to know how I warmed you up before he got here.”

You open your eyes and see that Matt is already dressed, a smirk painted across his face as he listens to you scramble to put your clothes on.

Just as you’re adjusting your leggings back in to place, Frank and his large frame enter the gym.

“Hey –” he pauses at the sight of you and Matt in front of him, both sweaty and still panting a little.

“Hmmm. Guess Red knows now.” Frank grumbles

But then his eyes go wide.

“You wanna tell me what that’s about?” he asks with a point of his finger.

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you turn behind you to see what he’s asking about. The mirror is covered in smudges that look vaguely like the outline shape of your body.

“We don’t talk about what happens at fight club…” Matt jokes as you bury your face in your hands in embarrassment.

My Masterlist

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #frank castle #frank castle x reader #charlie cox #nmcu fic #mcu fic #daredevil fic #matt murdock x you #marvel daredevil #daredevil imagine

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