#this time he sippy tea

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[januaryembrs]

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

[perlelune]

Sippy Cup | Coriolanus Snow

The war never left you, so you find a way to cope. One where you never lost your childhood. One where the world is still pure and safe. And Coriolanus can't resist that innocence.

Warnings: NON-CON, Dd/lg, Little!Reader, Innocence Kink, Mentions of war, PTSD, Manipulation, Age Regression, Capitol!Reader

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

The first time Coriolanus catches you and Tigris playing Tea Party, you expect to find disdain in his eyes, mockery perhaps. Instead, another emotion blooms in the blond’s cerulean gaze. Curiosity.

It happens on a sweltering Tuesday afternoon, the sizzling summer rays spilling through the half-drawn lace curtains of your bedroom. As usual, you and Tigris are sitting across from each other with Teddy occupying the third seat between the two of you. He is being his sassy self, of course, complaining about the sitting arrangement and wanting more tea cakes on his plate. You scold him, reminding him what happened the last time he went on a sugar high. Teddy’s eyes are much bigger than his stomach.

Nervousness slithered through you when you confessed your secret to Tigris. You didn’t want to, initially. You missed several days of class at the Capitol University in a row and your best friend grew concerned enough to show up at your house unannounced. She found you right here, playing with your dolls and chatting with your bear.

You explained to her that the pressure to be big is too much sometimes, that instead of shaking and crying on the floor of the girls’ bathroom, you come here. Once you enter your bedroom, every single woe vanishes. Your head is empty and your heart is full. You’re a carefree, happy little girl once more.

To your surprise, there isn’t a shred of judgment in Tigris’ eyes when you tell her. She never utters a single bad word about the neat rows of dolls and plushies adorning your shelves, your soft pink walls, your frilly dresses or the ribbons in your hair. When you reveal your little secret to her, what you did to ward off the nightmares, she simply listens, hands on her chest as her blue eyes fill with tears. You tell her the pink helps erase the red. The same red that splattered across the pavement when your parents and brother’s bodies hit the ground during the First Rebellion. You were still holding your brother’s hand when he fell. You held it even as his palm grew cold and stiff against yours. If it weren’t for the Snow cousins prying your weeping form off his that day, you might have stayed there and met the same fate.

Tigris gave you the warmest hug. Then she asked if she could play with you, if that’d cheer you up. You were ecstatic. Since that day, Tigris would play dolls with you, attend your tea parties and even fill out your coloring books with you sometimes. You never have to pretend with Tigris. Don’t have to pretend to be a big girl. Or speak long, complicated words. Or care about big, important things. You can just be a princess in her pink castle.

It’s why ice scatters in your veins when Coriolanus watches you and Tigris from the ajar door. 

“You weren’t coming home, so I came to check on you,” he mumbles as he takes in the scene before him. Your face heats beneath Coriolanus’ wide-eyed stare.

Alarm flickers over Tigris’ face.

“You need to learn to knock, Coryo,” she chides. She whispers a gentle apology to you before getting to her feet. She nudges Coriolanus outside of your bedroom and they head to the bottom of the stairs.

Eavesdropping is bad; you know it. Good little girls don’t peep or listen through the door. But you can’t help it. Heart in your throat, you try to hear the whispered conversation between Tigris and her cousin. You only catch snippets. Your best friend’s voice is a little harsher than you’re used to, like she’s a bit upset.

Don’t you dare make fun of her.

She needs this, Coryo.

Stark blue eyes lock with yours from afar. Your heart slams against your ribcage. You hastily shove the door closed, rushing back to your pink wooden chair.

You pick up Teddy and cradle him against your chest. “Coryo is our friend,” you remind him. “He wouldn’t make fun of us.” Teddy is uncharacteristically quiet. You feel tears rush to your eyes, your bear’s doubts starting to creep into you.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

The deep voice rolling over you yanks you from your thoughts. Your head whips up. Coriolanus’ hunkering at your side, his head tilted in inquiry. You glance past his shoulder. Tigris is standing behind her cousin with her arms folded, her wary gaze glued to his form. 

“Join us?” you repeat, dazed by his question. 

The corners of the blond’s lips lift. 

“Yes, it’s a tea party, isn’t it?”

Your gaze bulges. You never expected to hear such words spilling from Coryo’s mouth. He’s always so serious, so very serious, having no time for games. He’s been like that for as long as you can remember.

You wipe your tears and sniffle. 

A little defensive, you clutch fistfuls of your pink dress.

“Tea parties aren’t for boys. They’re for princesses,” you state curtly.

Coriolanus’ expression softens as he considers you.

“Then I could be a knight, from a visiting kingdom.” You purse your lips, brows knitting. The blond’s warm breath caresses your ear as he bends over you, “Knights protect princesses.”

You mull it over. It’d be nice to have someone watch over you and Teddy, make sure no rebels storm your castle walls, paint your heart-covered walls red. You pluck your teddy bear from his stool and question him.

“What do you think, Teddy?” A very serious conversation silently occurs between you and your plushie. After a few minutes, you hum and nod, agreeing with him. Your eyes rise to meet Coryo’s. “Teddy says he’s okay with it.”

A bright smile unfurls on Coriolanus’ handsome face.

“That’s wonderful, princess.”

Over time, Coriolanus’ visits grow more frequent. He even gets into the habit of bringing you gifts, like new plushies and sugary treats. Despite your reluctance to include him because he’s a boy and boys can be mean and smelly, the time you spend with him is always a highlight in your day. Coryo is never smelly; he smells like the flowers in the Grandma’am’s garden and fresh pine. And he’s not mean. He never fails to be sweet to you, bowing to you and kissing your hand like a knight would, and always embracing every one of your games.

He becomes a fixture in your weekly tea parties, often accompanying Tigris or showing up when she’s too busy at the workshop to make it. 

Somehow he always finds time for you, even if you know he’s so busy with important, grown-up things. You’re delighted. While playing alone is fun, your imagination knowing no bounds, it’s always better with a friend.

Today is one of these days. It’s just you and Coryo hanging out in your bedroom. He spends most of the evening handing you crayons while you color in the new picture book he got you, a comfortable silence swaddling the both of you. Coryo appears content just observing you, a peaceful smile hovering on his lips. The book is full of beautiful drawings of birds and landscapes. You never had one this nice so you were beyond thrilled to start coloring it.

When the sky gets darker outside your window, you sit up. You turn to Coryo.

“It’s getting late. I guess it’s time for the tea party to end. It was lovely of you to visit us, Sir Coriolanus and we hope-”

“Tigris said you were having nightmares,” he interrupts.

You go still, the crayons between your fingers clattering to the floor.

“That was a secret,” you mutter, your chest clenching. Why would Tigris tell him that? She’s your best friend. She should keep all your secrets forever. As you simmer in disappointment, Coryo places his fingers under your chin and lifts it. Your tearful gaze meets his.

“You can trust me too, princess,” he assures softly.

As you drown in his gaze, you get lost in a memory. Suddenly all the pink in your room is gone. Unmoving bodies. Gaping mouths. Hollow eyes. 

Bright red ribbons flowing from their mouths. Crimson confetti popping from their bellies. 

Everything in your vision becomes red.

You curl against the edge of the bed and close your eyes.

Hands on the side of your head, you take a deep breath. You slowly open your eyes again. You focus on the plushies sitting on your shelves until the somber clouds over your thoughts turn into cotton candy again.

You coax a shaky smile onto your lips. 

“I don’t want to talk about it. Can we just play?”

He chuckles.

“It’s too late for games, princess. Isn’t it your bedtime by now?”

“Then I guess you should go, Coryo,” you say, resting your chin against your knees.

Coriolanus pauses, studying you for a while.

His next words are barely above a whisper.

“Or I could stay.” His large hand drapes over yours, covering your knees. “I could sleep in your bed with you.”

Shocked that he’d even suggest such a thing, you gasp.

“Boys and girls don’t sleep in the same bed,” you mumble.

He cocks his head, amusement swimming in his blue eyes.

“But I’m not a boy. I’m your knight, remember?”

Happiness flows through you with this reminder.

“Yes, you are,” you chime.

His fingers slowly drag over your joined knees.

“Actually…I could be more than your knight, princess.” His gaze locks with yours. “I could be your daddy.”

Your forehead creases, confusion mounting inside you.

“My daddy?”

His lips twist in an uneven smile.

“Yes…daddies protect their little girls. Just like knights.” His fingers drift down to your ankle, the warmth of his touch seeping through your thigh high socks. “They don’t let anyone hurt their pretty princesses. And they keep the nightmares and monsters away at night.”

Amazement colors your tone with this knowledge.

“Really?”

“Of course.” He cups your cheek. “I could sleep in the bed with you and keep my little girl safe that way.”

“I could even tell you a bedtime story.”

Your eyes light up. “A bedtime story?” 

He fondles your cheek, his expression softening.

“Of course, anything for my sweet little girl.”

You climb into bed, your entire body shaking in anticipation. Coryo removes his shoes. He picks a book from your shelf and joins you on the bed. He gets under the covers with you and tucks your head against his chest. He opens the book to the first page, his tone patient and clear as he begins to read the tale to you. Your lids sag as you relax against Coryo, his fingers absently stroking the top of your head. You get engrossed in the story of a princess who gets lost on her way home. Lulled by his deep voice, you sink into sleep before the story’s even done.

For the first time in a while, a dreamless slumber welcomes you that night.

When Coryo’s tall frame slips through your door that day, hope twitches inside your chest. 

Tigris promised she’ll come today. She’s canceled on you so much lately and expressed how awful she feels about it, so you have been looking forward to seeing her again.

For some reason, work has been exceptionally busy these last few weeks. And while you understand how important work is to your best friend, you’ve missed her so much.

However as he clicks the door shut and you realize no one’s trailing behind Coriolanus, your shoulders slump.

The faint hope you harbored withers away.

“I thought Tigris was coming today.”

Coriolanus sighs as he inches towards you.

“I know princess…” He plucks your hands from your lap. “But there was an emergency at the dress shop. It’s gonna keep her the whole night.” His lips graze the back of your hand. “I’m sorry, she said it was more important than being here.”

Your mouth flies open.

More important than being here? Coryo’s words drive a dagger through your chest, his sympathetic expression twisting it even more.

You lower your head. Tigris has had a lot of emergencies lately. You hardly spend any time together anymore. Part of you even wonders if maybe she’s sick of playing with you. After all, Tigris is a big girl with many things to do. You know she dreams of becoming a stylist and that’s likely more important than silly little girl games. You swallow the tears threatening to fall from your eyes. 

Coryo cradles your face.

“But daddy’s here to play with you.”

Your voice trembles as you quell a sob. You look at him, warmth flowing through your chest. Your daddy’s right. You have no reason to be sad. After all, he’s with you. Just like he’s held you against him so many times in the last few weeks, reading you stories to help you fall asleep, and cheering you up whenever you felt sad, you can always count on your daddy.

“That’s amazing, daddy.”

His eyes seem to flare with an idea.

“Actually I thought we could play a new game today.”

Curiosity widens your gaze. “A new game?”

Coryo pulls you closer, his thumb tracing your bottom lip.

“Yes.” He pauses before revealing slowly, “It’s called ‘Mommy and Daddy’, princess.”

“Mommy and daddy?” Your brows squeeze together in confusion. “Tigris and I have never played that before.”

Coryo licks his lips, his gaze running over you.

“It’s a special game between daddies and their little girls,” he explains, his tone lower than before.

“I don’t know it.”

A deep chuckle parts from his lips. You frown, not understanding what’s so funny.

“I know you don’t, sweet girl,” he says. fondling your cheek. A tilted smile blooms on his lips. “It’s okay because Daddy can teach you all about it.”

You feel nothing but complete trust as Coriolanus nudges you backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed. You look up at him, a mix of confusion and curiosity written on your features. He smiles at you, sinking to his knees to remove your shoes. 

You watch him do it, wondering why they need to be off for the game. Your daddy’s palm lingers on the sole of your socked feet, his finger traveling upward, dragging over your ankle. 

His eyes look a little weird now, though you can’t explain in what way. You frown, the air around you growing colder.

Did you forget to close the window?

He crawls over you, pushing you down on the mattress. Coriolanus’ smell surrounds you and your nose twitches. You’re not used to being so close to him. You can make out every detail of his handsome face, trace every one of his long lashes, and distinguish every line on his face.

He scrutinizes your form beneath him, one hand beside our head while the other sweeps under your thigh. 

“What’s going on, daddy?” you ask, your voice trembling. 

“It’s a game that’s easier played on a bed, princess.”

You give a nod of understanding. He strokes the side of your face, pride lacing his tone.

“Such a good girl.”

He bends his head against your shoulder. You hold your breath, a little uncomfortable for a reason you can’t place. Daddy drops a kiss at the base of your neck. Goosebumps spark on your skin. His kisses go lower and lower, his large hands following the same path. 

When his fingers land between your legs, your eyes go wide with confusion.

“D-Daddy, what are you doing?”

A soft gasp leaves you as he begins to rub your cotton panties. 

“There’s a special place where daddies touch mommies,” he whispers. He clutches at your center and the breath dies your throat. Your body gets hotter, your belly tightening as he pinches you in a particular spot. Coriolanus’ fingers go up and down. It both hurts and doesn’t hurt. Twisting and pulsing in a foreign way the more he touches you. Overwhelmed by the feeling spreading all the way to your toes, you cling to his arms for support.

His blue eyes are glued to your squirming frame as he traces circles around that little spot that leaves you feeling strange.

The hand besides your head moves, drifting to unbutton his pants. Your heart skips a beat as a part of your daddy you never saw is revealed to you. It’s big and red at the tip. You tense, heat rushing through you as you look away.

“Look at me, princess,” he instructs, drawing your quivering chin back to him. He presses himself against your little girl parts. Whimpers spill from your mouth as he humps you through your clothes, pinning you underneath his frame.

His hot breath rolls over your face.

“How does it feel?”

“A little weird.” You shake your head, a surge of tears threatening to break free beneath your lashes. “I don’t know if I like this game…”

He frames your chin, squeezing more tightly than usual. “Do you want to make daddy happy, princess?”

“Y-Yes,” you stammer.

His thumb skims over your shuddering mouth.

“This is daddy’s favorite game to play with his princess.”

“Okay…”

Your mood sinks. You’re liking the game less and less the longer it goes on, but you don’t want to disappoint your daddy who held you almost every night to chase away the bad dreams. His daddy thing gets heavier and bigger against your belly while he moves. He grunts, his throat rippling. The sensation is almost too much to bear, your vision swaying as he stimulates your little girl parts.

Daddy’s game is a little strange, you’re starting to think, and it’s making you feel weird things. Weird, tingly things. And it makes the room spin like a carousel. 

You try to close your legs, stop the wave of strange, uncomfortable feelings…But Coriolanus wedges himself between your thighs, forcing your knees apart.

“Daddy…”

His brow twitches. “Shh, let daddy take care of you, princess.” His lips cover yours, smothering all your doubts. You feel bruises form on your mouth and cheek as he kisses you harshly. Lips trailing down to your neck, he pulls your panties down your legs. 

There’s barely time for you to register the cool air hitting your bare center before he’s starting to push himself in. The pain strikes you mute at first. Just the tip of him is so much. Too much. It feels like you will break any second. Coriolanus pants above you, straining to fit as you squeeze around him, fear and pain throbbing through you.

“It’s okay, princess. Daddy’s got you,” he mutters.

When he sinks even further, a broken sob leaves you. A fire burns you from inside, amplifying every time your daddy moves ever-so-slightly.

Tears fill your eyes to the brim. 

“I don’t like this game, daddy. Can we stop playing, please?” 

He wipes your tears with soft kisses. The words pouring into your ear, while uttered sweetly, are firm. “The game’s not over until daddy says it is, princess.”

Your breath falters as he goes all the way inside. He hums deep in his throat, draping himself over your shaking frame. Your head lolls to the side, your eyes wandering to your dolls and stuffed animals. The abrupt urge to poke their eyes out so they don’t have to see any of this blooms inside you. Tears stream down your cheeks as Coriolanus thrusts inside you. His throaty moans mingle with the slapping of skin against skin. The noises your daddy makes get louder every time he slams into you. He spreads your thighs more, pushing deeper. When you tighten around him, your daddy moans, his eyes rolling back. 

“You’re squeezing daddy’s cock so well, princess,” he lauds, knuckles dragging over your temple.

He goes faster, hitting sensitive parts that draw sharp noises of agony from you. Every part of your body is wide awake with pain and discomfort. Numb with a plethora of confusing, terrifying emotions, you don’t move as his hips snap into yours relentlessly. 

The game lasts for hours, it seems. You’re thankful when daddy appears done, his movements getting sloppier as his pace slows.

As his hips stutter, his hand wraps around your jaw. 

“Daddy’s going to come inside you, so you have to say ‘thank you’”

A hoarse sigh leaves him, his lashes fluttering as he empties himself inside you. You shudder.

“Thank you for coming inside me, daddy,” you mechanically repeat. Bile rises in your throat as the excess gathers around your folds, pooling over your once pristine white sheets. 

His sweaty form folds over yours. Another tear slides down your cheek.

“Such a good girl for me.” He buries his head in the crook of your neck and coos, “We’re going to play so many fun games together, princess.”

Your stomach curls with dread at that promise.

[tinylilacbun]

I wonder how daddy!Rafe would react after catching sick little!reader, who is supposed to be resting, out of bed and playing with their toys

Rest

Pairing: dark!daddy!rafe x little!reader

Warnings: age regression, dark themes, drugging

A/n: this one got a bit darker than intended but I couldn't help myself bc I actually think this is how he would handle this situation in his twisted rafe way yk?

⭒𖥸⭒

He just wants what's best for you and when the doctor says you need to rest Rafe would most definitely make you rest, if you wanted to or not.

"You stay right here while daddy's makes some calls. I warn you once, just because you're sick doesn't mean I won't punish you if you dare to leave this bed, a'ight?" He looks at you sternly, tucking you in and tries not to smile at your pouty face, your arms crossed and kicking your leg one time.

"I wanna play! The bed is boring." You cough loudly, your throat burning like hell.

"And I want you to get healthy, so you're gonna rest and take your medicine later like a good girl." There was no room for arguing and you huff, turning your back to him and grabbing your tablet.

He just shakes his head, leaning down to kiss your head before leaving the room. Once you hear the door click shut you throw the blanket off your body. You got up from the bed and walked over to the big pile of stuffies, grabbing some of them you carry them to your little table where you have all your tea parties.

Rafe should've known better. He keeps forgetting that littles mostly don't understand common sense and don't see what's good for them and what's not. That's why you don't see why you can't keep doing what you normally do in little space, not understanding that if you don't rest that your body could get even more sick.

Half an hour later, after all calls have been dealt with and made a small request to Rose, Rafe went to check on you only to find you in fact not in your bed. Even though you were facing the door you haven't noticed him yet, still babbling to your lamb.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" Rafe asks, standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips, the frustration clear on his face.

You freeze, looking at him with wide eyes while he approaches you slowly.

"Didn't I tell you to rest? Care to explain how I find you sitting here and in fact not resting, huh?" He doesn't even give you a chance to speak, standing beside you he places his hand on your forehead and sighs loudly at feeling how your fever got worse. Suddenly you feel incredibly warm and a little dizzy.

"Don' feel good." You mumble, your body leaning against him automatically for comfort.

"Yeah, I figured that. That's what happens when you don't listen to daddy." He clicks his tongue before scooping you up, carrying you over to your bed.

Just as he lowers you down Rose walks in, holding one of your sippy cups and handing it to Rafe, looking a little concerned. "Are you sure you-"

"Thank you, Rose. I'll handle this on my way now." Rafe quickly cuts her off, shooting her a warning glare. You don't know what he means and just wave at Rose sweetly while coughing.

She just nods, giving you a small smile before walking off again, closing the door behind her.

He turns his attention back to you and smiles, holding the sippy out for you to take which you happily did, feeling how warm the cup it is. You sigh when the warm tea goes down your aching throat.

Rafe keeps brushing a hand over your hair, watching you empty the sippy and notices how your eyes already start to get droopy, trying your hardest to keep them open.

"There we go." He coos, gently grabbing the cup and placing it on your nightstand. "How you feelin' baby?"

"M'sleepy..." You yawn, pawing at your eyes.

"That's normal. That's your body trying to help you with your fever, just close your eyes." He says, covering you with your weighted blanket before kissing your forehead.

When he pulls back again he chuckles at you already sleeping, the drugs having you completely knocked out.

"Now you'll get all the rest you need."

⭒𖥸⭒

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @aagn360 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @fluffyblanketgecko @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse @kissforvoid

For Rafe:

@chiaraanatra

[satorusugurugurl]

L.O.M.L

Summary: On Late August day, you and Nanami go out to dinner, where you reveal a wonderful surprise.

Pairing: Nanami Kento x FAB!Reader

Word Count: 5,682

Warning: angst, character death, mentions of blood, pregnancy complications, Shibuya incident, angst

A/N: I am so sorry. 🥲

The normal clanking of knives against plates, the murmur of conversation around you was nearly silent as you waited. With a glance around the bakery you and Nanami often visited, you spot your fiance walking in. He was sporting his blue down top, suit jacket resting over his arm, and tie off. His typical ‘off the clock' aesthetic. Honey-brown eyes glanced through the bakery before landing on you. His smile was soft as he hurried forward, avoiding other customers before bending over and kissing your lips.

“Hello love, don't you look stunning? You're practically glowing.”

“I'm just happy to see you!” Nanami chuckled, nodding as he slid into the booth across from you. “I hope you don't mind, but I ordered a drink for you already.”

“That’s perfectly fine, you know what I like.” Nanami yawned into the back of his hand. “I was thinking that perhaps we can go for dessert after this, maybe to that ice cream parlor you like.”

“Mhmm, I think that sounds like a great idea!”

“One iced green tea.” The young waitress sat the drink down before him, giving you a wink before she walked away.

Nanami looked up from the menu to thank the waitress for bringing his drink. Something caught his eye just as he turned his head to look at her. Sitting in front of him was a glass of iced green tea. It wasn’t in a glass but a baby bottle: bright blue lid, yellow teat, and measuring lines. Your fiance blankly stared at the baby bottle, looking at it as if it were a puzzle that could not be solved. The confusion in his eyes settled into a look of annoyance.

Nanami stood up, his eyes searching the restaurant for someone. “Kento?” You asked, confusion thick in your voice. “Babe, what in the world are you doing?” With an exasperated sigh, Nanami turned to look back down at you.

“I think a certain blindfolded freak followed us here.” The veins in his neck bulged in frustration over the prospect of Gojo being there.”I had a little mishap at work today. I didn’t realize the lid to my coffee wasn't secure enough. so when I tried to take a drink, it spilled down the front of my jacket.” Trying to imagine your ordinarily prim and proper fiancé with a coffee stain down his coat was a sight you were slightly intrigued to see. “Gojo thought it was the funniest thing in the entire world. He insisted that he invest in hundreds of sippy cups until I learned how to drink properly. It's a thing to tease me at work but another to do after hours. So, if you excuse me, I need to try to find a way to get through his infinity.”

Before Nanami could begin his manhunt, you gently grabbed his wrist, ceasing his momentum. “It wasn't Gojo.” You softly said, winning a puzzled look from Kento.

“If it wasn’t Gojo, then who was it?”

Your heart felt like it would explode from how fast it was beating against your rib cage. He needed to know. Nanami watched as you reached into your bag with trembling fingers, grabbing a rectangle box and sliding it in front of him. Your throat felt so incredibly dry that you took a sip of water to ease the burning sensation as Nanami picked up the box.

The whole world seemed to freeze when Nanami opened the box lid. Inside it, a pregnancy test with the lid secure. Nanami’s eyes trail to a blue positive sign in the center of the test. His eyes lingered on that blue plus sign; it seemed like an eternity before his honey-brown orbs slowly traveled to your face. He bore an unreadable expression; you weren’t sure if that was better than him freaking out or ten times worse.

“I-I—well, I was feeling a bit nauseated this morning, and I noticed I hadn’t started my period yet.” The bustling sounds of the busy bakery turned into a muffled noise as you stared directly at the table's surface. “So I figured I should check when you left for work this morning. I thought maybe it was just a stomach bug, something I would be over in twenty-four hours; I hadn’t expected it to be positive.”

“Love—”

“I know this isn’t part of the plan. We wanted to get married first and save up some money.” Thundering heartbeats pounded inside your eardrums, muting the outside world around you. “I’m sorry; I’m the one who suggested that we mess around when we were both drunk last month.”

“Love—”

“‘M’ so sorry. I know you would prefer for things to go differently and more smoothly. I ruined that for us.”

Thoughts of that drunken passion came flooding back to you. You both had one too many drinks at a work function. There had been a lot of kissing, necking, and fondling on the elevator ride back up to your hotel room. One thing led to another, and one condom-less sex session later, you found yourself pregnant with his baby. Something neither of you intended to happen until maybe five years down the road, maybe less if things were good. You getting knocked up six months before your wedding was not in the plans.

A large hand cupped your cheek before you could start spiraling into intrusive thoughts. Lips so soft and warm pressed against yours in a gentle kiss. A strangled gasp rose in your throat as Nanami turned his head, deepening the kiss. Both of his hands cupped each side of your face. He was so gentle and kind, putting all of his love into that single kiss.

Nanami finally managed to pull himself away from you, his fingers gently caressing your face before he sat back down in front of you. His hands cradled the box that you had given him. Looking into his eyes, there was no trace of anger or frustration. There was nothing but hope and love in his iris’.

“You’ve given me everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner. you’re kind, compassionate, and so undesribilingly beautiful.” A wet tear hit the surface of the table. “You’re giving me a life I never knew I wanted until I met you. Any other man would’ve been content just that. But you're giving me something I can’t even describe.” he placed the lid back onto the box. “You’ve given me hope, unconditional love, and a future.”

“Kento—”

“Don't you dare apologize for that.” he gently scolded, placing the back so gently to the side as if it would shatter. “It may not have been in our plans, but who cares?” Large, calloused fingers gently gripped yours, holding them tight. “We’re going to be just fine, you, me, and our little one.”

Happy tears streamed down your cheeks as Nanami ran his thumb over. “You're right!” you brought his hands to your lips, peppering kisses over his larger hands. “Everything is going to be perfect.” The joy etched over Nanami’s face had your heart racing with pure excitement instead of the dread it had felt ever since you saw that positive sign.

Everything would work out as long as your fiancé was by your side. Your child may not have been planned, but that didn’t mean it would be loved any less. Things would be okay; they would be even better, not that you were expecting a little one soon.

For the first month, things were perfect aside from the morning sickness and the fatigue. You’ve also had a never-ending craving for frozen yogurt and sauerkraut. Not together, of course; your cravings hadn’t gotten that weird yet. Nanami was so perfect. He held your hair back while you vomited in the early hours of the morning, he’d bring you home frozen yogurt when you didn’t even have to ask, and he would massage your back ever so gently before his hands gently pulled out your lower abdomen.

The hands gently stroked your lower abdomen. “My sweet little bean.” he would whisper in your ear, his eyes glancing down at his hand. “I can't wait to meet you. I bet you’ll look just like your mommy.” The tenderness of his tone had you cuddling into him and sighing contently as his palms rested against you.

Moments like that were perfect.

But things took a turn so quickly it could give whiplash. It started as a typical day, nothing out of the ordinary until you were out grabbing some groceries. There was a sharp, stinging pain in your lower back. You thought nothing more of it than just a strained muscle. But when you walked into the restroom to use it, pulling your underwear down to your knees, you saw a stain of red.

Panic settled in as you began to wonder what was going on. You had done everything right. You listened to your doctors, read all the baby books, and even took your vitamins like you were supposed to. So why, why was this happening?

You immediately called Nanami. He stopped what he was doing, rushing to meet you at the doctor's office. Much like when you first told him that you were pregnant, your heart was racing against your rib cage like a hammer to a nail. Only this time, it wasn’t from excitement; it was from terror.

The dread and the panic settled in the pit of your stomach. Noticing your anxiety, Nanami gently took your hand, letting you know he was here for you no matter what. And while you knew he was trying to be kind to let you know that he was here to hold the burden of the unknown with you, that only seemed to worsen things. If something were wrong, you would not be able to live with the guilt; your fiancé had been so excited, you were excited.

Your stomach twisted as the doctor came in. “Well, let’s look and see what’s going on with your baby.” You laid back against the medical exam table. You were shuddering as he poured the cool jelly against your lower abdomen before performing an ultrasound. You knew something was wrong. Not once did the doctor turn towards you. Instead, the screen was securely in front of his face, an unable expression plaster against it. That expression must’ve taken years of practice to master. An expression that screamed he knew something was wrong, but he didn’t want to alarm his patients.

“Is everything okay with our little bean?” Nanami tentatively asked, sensing the same thing you had.

“I’m not seeing anything wrong, per se. I think it’s just a little too early for us to see your little bean right now.”

“I'm sorry, but what?” you sat up on your elbows as a doctor began wiping off the jelly. “What do you mean you can’t see them? Isn’t that a bad thing?”

The doctor and your fiancé exchange the books with one another. “Not necessarily. I checked both your fallopian tubes, and I didn’t see that it’s an ectopic pregnancy, so that’s good. It could be that your little bean is too small for us to see on the monitor.”

“Or there’s no bean at all. It’s possible that it didn’t stick right; it wasn't viable?”

“Love—” your fiancé looked at you as if you had broken his heart with your words.

“Yes, that is a possibility, too.” You felt like the whole world was about to crash down on you. Nanami, tighten this hand on yours before glancing at the doctor.

“But there’s still a chance, right?”

“Of course, like I said, it might be too early. Before you leave, I want to have some blood work drawn. That way, we know for sure.”

Several tubes of blood later and a very silent car ride home, you and Nanami walked into the apartment. You headed straight for the kitchen, pulling out pots and pans to prepare dinner, but your attempts were throttled. Nanami snatched the pots and pans away from you. Whirling around, you reached for the pans.

“Give me that back.” Your tone is sharp and short as you yank a pan back.

“Were you not listening to what the doctor told you when we left? You’re supposed to be resting in bed.”

“Why? I'm bleeding; that's never a good sign.”

Nanami pulled the pan out of your hand as you reached for it again. “You're spotting there's a difference.” A soured scoff left your mouth. “Don’t act like it's over; our little bean is strong.” he placed the pans down, hands reaching for your lower stomach, but before they could touch you, you slapped them away.

“Kento! Stop it! Please!” Tears ran down your cheeks as you choked on a sob. “Please! All day, I've been having this feeling of dread! It didn't stick!”

The tension flooded the room, which was so thick you could almost cut it with a knife. You stared down at the floor, your own hands cradling your stomach while he hovered just in front of you. Kento wanted to touch you, but you had made it clear by smacking his hands away that you didn’t want that.

But seeing you so visibly upset had Kento fighting his instincts. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you in for a hug. Smelling his cologne and feeling the warmth of his body against yours was the final straw—the reins on the emotions you have held back slipped from your grasp. You shoved your face into his chest; soft sobs rocked through you. While you were having a breakdown, Kento gently rubbed his hands up and down your back.

“It’s going to be okay.” His words were muffled as he pressed his lips against your head. “Our little bean is going to be.”

Pulling back with tear-stained cheeks, you hiccuped, taking a deep breath. “A-And what if it’s not?!” Nanami’s smile was across between sorrow and happiness.

“If that does happen, which I doubt it is, we’ll try again.”

“We will—?”

“Of course, we will.” His lips pressed against your head, pulling back to glance down at your sobbing figure. “I love you. I want to raise a family with you. We’ll get there eventually, I promise.”

His words held a sure hope in them. One that made you want to believe that he was right everything would work out for the best. But you also didn’t want to get your hopes up. For now, you will continue to do things as you were. Watching what you were eating and taking your prenatal vitamins, but not losing yourself in the serotonin that came with early pregnancy.

That could change in an instant.

“I love you too.” You whispered gently, grabbing his hands and placing them on your stomach. Nanami’s shoulders relaxed as he ran his hands over you with gentle, loving strokes.

“I love you both.” Without another word, Nanami ushered you to the bedroom, where he promptly tucked you into bed. “I’ll make us something to eat. You need to rest.”

While you wanted to help him, deep down, you knew he wouldn’t let you help. So you’ve fluffed your pillows and laid back against the headboard in defeat. You stayed like that for five minutes before you and Nanami’s phones went off.

Glancing at your screen, you stared at a summons text from Jujutsu High. You were being summoned to go to Shibuya to handle an incident. Just as you finished reading your message, Nanami walked into the bedroom. His eyes were glued to the screen before they quickly darted in your direction, taking note of your hand, which was still in your hand.

“Where did they summon you to?” He said tentatively.

“Shibuya, what about you?”

Nanami huffed out a sigh, running his hand against the back of his neck. “Shibuya.” His confirmation had you sitting up straight. “I’m going to call Yaga and let him know you won’t be joining me.” his words were sharp and cold, like an icepick to your heart.

“I can help; I may not know the reverse curse technique, but my barriers are the best in the business.”

“And our doctor put you on bed rest.” The sharpness of his tone let you know there would be no further discussion. Your fiancé was putting his foot down and would refuse to listen to any arguments you came up with. “So lay back down; I’m going to finish making your dinner before I head out.”

Watching him leave the room had you feeling all sorts of emotions: frustration, sadness, and dread. Something about this wasn’t right if you both were called in on the same mission. It had to be serious.

Different thoughts and outcomes were rolling through your head like a raging river. You had no clue what was waiting for your fiancé, leaving you feeling sick, souring the remains of your lunch. You thought you would be sick until Nanami came back into the room. He placed a piping hot mug of ginger tea on the nightstand beside you before laying a bed tray down in your lap with a bowl of steaming rice porridge.

“Oh, Kento, thank you.” Your fiancé gently kissed your cheek before kneeling next to the bed, his hand resting over the spot he’d been obsessed over.

“Daddy needs to go to work, but I’ll be home as soon as possible.” He traced a small heart over your skin. “I love you and Mommy very much, bean.” His honey-brown eyes, which you loved so much, glittered in the lamp beside you. “I love you; please get some rest; don’t hesitate to call me.”

“I love you too, Kento.”

Nanami grinned, putting on his glasses and jacket. “I’ll be home soon.” He pressed one final kiss to your lips before walking out the bedroom door.

The incident in Shibuya was worse than you had thought. Veils were brought down, there was no cell service, and you were anxiously staring at your phone's screen. Nanami texted you a few times before finally sending you two final messages.

Kento: We’re heading further in; I’ll check in with you in a little bit.

You: Please be safe. I love you.

Kento: I love you too.

That was the last message you received. Worry filled every ounce of your being as you anxiously texted everyone you knew who was at Shibuya. Between you keeping up with the updates on social media and searching for answers as to what was going on, just like everyone else, you were outside of the loop, which had your anxiety at an all-time high.

Nanami was okay; he was always okay. Before you knew it, he would walk back in with a big smile. He’d apologize for being late and complain all about the overtime he worked, and he would hold you. That’s precisely what was going to happen.

You should have known something was wrong when there was a knock on the door around noon that morning. “Did you lose your keys?” You asked as you opened the door, finding Yaga standing there, eyes hidden behind sunglasses. “Yaga?” You question, looking behind him, searching for Nanami.

“Can I come inside?”

“W-Where’s Kento?”

“Hun, please let me in—”

The dread lingering in your stomach rose to your throat as you stepped aside, allowing Yaga to walk in. He was solemn, not looking at you until you both sat at the kitchen table. Your hands felt like ice as Yaga began explaining what happened in Shibuya that he knew thus far.

Gojo had been sealed, and Itadori had been given more fingers; overall, it was a total massacre. So many died, and others were injured. Hearing all of the gory details, had you reaching for your lower stomach. In fear of what Yaga was going to tell you next.

“Is Kento okay? Is he at the hospital, or is Shoko taking care of him?” Yaga remained silent, not saying a single word leaving his lips. “Yaga.”

“Todo and Nitta Arata were called in from Kyoto. They found Itadori fighting the patch-face curse, Mahito.”

Your body went rigid as your vision blurred. Nanami had told you everything that happened with that curse. From his battle with it in the sewers, its technique, and the damage it had done. That curse nearly killed Nanami and Itadori. Hearing about a curse that could alter the shape of a soul had chills running down your spine. Your fiance had said that if he wasn’t dealt with in a timely manner, he would become too strong.

It seemed as though he was right.

“That doesn't answer my question—where’s Kento?” your former high school teacher said nothing again. “Yaga, you need to tell me what happened.”

“When they arrived, itadori was not in a very good state given the circumstances.” Of course, he would be like that. Having Sukuna take control and run a rampage through the city and having to live with that would traumatize anyone. “Mahito touched Nobara, and well—” Yaga trailed off, “we’ll see what happens with her, but Yuuji also informed Todo that Nanami—”

You didn’t wait for him to continue. You stood up, frantically searching for your keys and your jacket. “Stop, let’s go. I need to see him.” Yaga followed after you, gently grabbing your shoulders to stop you. “I need to be by his side. He would do the same for me!” Yaga tightened his grip on you, grabbing your keys and slamming them on the counter.

“Sit down, please.”

“W-Why?” Tears welled in your eyes. “W-We have to go! I need to be with him! Yaga, please!” he helped ease you into the chair before kneeling in front of you. “Yaga?” Your former teacher took his glasses off, holding them between his fingers.

“Itadori told both of them that Nanami—” he swallowed, “Nanami was killed.”

It felt as though your stomach fell out of your body, followed by your heart. You rocked back in the chair, eyes widening as Yaga grabbed your hand. Time stopped; neither you nor Yaga moved or breathed. Heavy breathing filled the silence as the tears fell from your eyes. No way, there was no way he was gone; your Kento w-wouldn't have been taken out—no, he said he would be home soon!

Your stomach churned as you shook your head. “N-No, no, he—” Looking around your apartment, which was full of memories with him, you searched for Kento like it was a bad dream. “H-He was just here—he made me food—” Yaga squeezed your hand gently. “He said he'd be home soon.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“No, no, I don't believe you.” You tried getting up, but your body remained glued to the chair as the shock settled in. “I need to see him. Take me to him, Yaga.”

“There's nothing to see; I refuse to let you see the state they found him in. I can't give you the closure you want.” More tears fell as you struggled to breathe. “We were only able to confirm that it was Nanami because we found his blunt blade and wallet.”

You were going to be sick; your hand covered your mouth as Yaga reached into his back pocket, pulling out a cloth. He gently placed it on the table next to you. Your icy, trembling fingers reached forward, picking up the fabric and unwrapping it. You discovered what was hidden underneath it. Nanami’s wallet sat there in the palm of your hand. Opening it, you choked, seeing his ID.

Yaga kept apologizing as you flipped through the contents of your fiancè’s wallet. You looked through his cards, the money he had inside, before finally landing on a picture he kept of the two of you in the back. A wallet was all that you got? This pathetic piece of leather was your goodbye?

“I know it’s not his body, but it’s still a part of him.”

Part of him? You didn't want part of him; you wanted all of him here at home with you! Where he would caress your stomach absentmindedly while reading. Where you'd cook and share a meal. The two of you would blissfully talk about the future and what it had in store for you.

The nausea settled deep in your stomach as you got up on shaking legs. “I need some air.” As you stepped forward, the room spun, and you began falling forward.

Yaga was fast catching you in his arms as he helped steady you. “Easy there, I got you, hu—” His words trailed off before his muscles clenched. “You're bleeding.” Turning to follow his gaze, you saw a bloom of red staining your chair. “Shit, I’m taking you to the hospital.” Yaga was moving, but all you felt was a numbing sensation. Your eyes stayed locked on your chair before the door slammed shut.

You just lost the love of your life. Now, this was happening? Are you honestly going to lose the one thing he left behind that was a part of both of you? No, no, this wasn't fair! You wailed, screaming as Yaga rushed you out of the apartments into the car one of the assistant supervisors was driving. Yaga barked out an order before resting your head in his lap. Your hands rubbed over the spot Nanami always did as you hiccuped and screamed.

This wasn't real; it was all a nightmare, a terrible, horrible nightmare. But the chill that coursed through your veins and settled in your chest was a sick reminder. A reminder that this was, in fact, not a nightmare. This was reality. The harsh, cold reality that you were having to face on your own. one where your fiancé was dead, and you were bleeding when you were carrying his child. Nanami wasn't dead; this had to be some cosmic twisted joke. Why, on the same day you lost the love of your life, would you lose the last part you had of him?

“No,” you whispered, “no, they’re strong, they’re so strong like their daddy.” Break squealed as the door to the backseat opened. “They have to make it; they’re gonna make it.”

Lights were blurred as you were placed upon a gurney, faces crowded about you, voices shouting, commands, and barking out orders. The sickening smell of sterilizing chemicals flooded your nose, making the nausea worse. You were overwhelmed by the sounds, smell, and grief.

“Where’s that Ultrasound?!”

Cold jelly was on you as you thrashed around trying to find Kento, to look at the screen to see your baby. “I got nothing!” Someone screamed, making you sit up.

“No! No! Please! T-They're okay!”

“Miss, you need to relax.”

“Look again!” You pleaded before you were pushed back against the gurney. “Look again!”

“Easy! Relax!”

They weren't listening to you! You needed to make sure your child was okay! You could not lose them both, not on the same day. Your blurry eyes searched the faces around you, desperately trying to find honey-brown eyes. But he wasn't there. You needed him! Fuck you needed him so tucking bad!

“Kento!!” Your scream was so loud it made your ears ring as nurses and doctors worked around and above you. “P-Please! Please, I can't lose them too, Ken! I can't lose you both!!!”

A warmth washed over you like a warm hand, gently rubbing up and down your arm, easing you down into a calm state. Or maybe you were given something by the doctors, or the shock was making you drift out of consciousness. Your heart stopped thundering in your ears, slowing to a normal pace as your eyes began to shut. The blurry shapes around you faded into darkness.

That same warm caress had you stirring, blinking as the sound of ocean waves crashing drew you from your hellish nightmare. Slowly following the hand on you gasped, finding Nanami sitting before you. He was in his blue button-down top, tie long forgotten, just like the day you had told him you were pregnant. You sat up on pure white sand, tears rolling down your cheeks as you reached for him, cupping his face.

“Kento—”

“Love, I'm so sorry.” He turned, nuzzling his face into your palms. “I’m so sorry I left you both.”

“I love you.” The words were broken and full of disdain as you pulled him closer. “I love you, I love you.”

Blonde brows furrowed in sorrow as Nanami shut his eyes as tightly as possible. “I love you too, darling.” He huffed out a heavy sigh. “I love you both.” The way he shifted his arms had your eyes darting toward his chest, where a bundle lay in his arms. A bundle that wailed softly as he pushed the blanket back. “You were right.” Blinking tears away, you stared up at him in confusion.

“About what?”

“About her being strong like me.” His eyes filled with tears as he ran his knuckle over a chubby cheeks. “She's a fighter.”

“She?”

“And she’s beautiful like her mommy.” Kenton continued as he gently transferred the bundle into your arms. “She’s going to be smart like the both of us.” Nanami cupped your cheek, gently kissing you. “She’ll pull through, just like you will, and I’ll be right there with you, watching over my girls; I swear I’ll always be there.”

Pressing your forehead against his, you stared into those eyes you loved. “I love you, Kento.” He stared back, blinking slowly before pressing a chaste kiss against your lips while his hand rested against your tummy, making your heartache.

“I love you too.”

Shutting your eyes, you took a deep breath before opening them again. Big sparkling honey-brown eyes peered down at you, framed by thick lashes. They were full of concern as a tiny hand gently wiped a tear away from your eye.

“Mommy? Why are you cryin’?”

Sitting up, you quickly wiped your eyes before turning towards the four-year-old. “I was dreaming, little bean; I'm okay.” Blonde hair bounced as she tilted her head to the side. Her frilly pink swimsuit was on, and her yellow duck floaties squeaked as she wrapped her arms around your neck. “Oh, Kotoe.” You hugged her back, squeezing her gently. “Thank you, baby.” Your daughter pulled back, rubbing your cheek softly.

“Was it scary?”

“Nope, it was a good dream.”

“Good?”

“Mhmm,” You kissed her cheek, “your daddy just stopped by to say hi to us.” She smiled wide, looking up at the blue umbrella shielding you from the sun.

“Hi, Daddy!” She waved so enthusiastically. “I love you!” She focused her attention back on you. “Mommy, can Uncle Yuuji and Uncle Ino take me back to the water to play more?”

“Sure baby, just a little longer; Uncle Gojo and the others will be back soon with the watermelon and fireworks. Can I put some more sunscreen on you first?”

A bottle of sunscreen promptly landed beside you as Ino passed. “Already did it!” He ran for the water as Yuuji bolted by picking your daughter up.

“Ah, haha! Uncle Yuuji!!”

“Nana-Bean! Nana-Bean!” Yuuji chanted as he and Ino grabbed one of her hands, walking toward the water.

Nanami had been right; your little girl was strong, just like him. She fought and made it through a scary dark time in your life. Kotoe was your entire world; she was loved by you and everyone around you. It was all thanks to her that you found the strength to fight.

A warm caress brushed down your cheek as you watched your daughter pick up seashells. You learned into it, sighing happily. “Hi, Kento,” you whispered as the warmth spread. “Thanks for saying hi, I love you.”

Little Kotoe turned and looked back at you, holding up a pink shell she found. When she did, she saw a see-through man and recognized him immediately. Her father, Nanami Kento, whom she'd only seen in pictures and videos, sat on the beach towel beside you. His see-through hand gently rubs up your cheek.

“Nana-bean? Whatcha looking at?”

“My daddy!” She announced proudly before putting her seashell in her bucket. “He loves my mommy so much he comes and visits her!”

Ino and Yuuji shared a look before focusing on you. Both young men felt an ache in their chests as their eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Does he visit a lot?” Yuuji asked as Kotoe dropped another seashell in her pink sand bucket.

“Mhmm! Daddy said Mommy is strong! The strongest! Stronger than Uncle Gojo!”

A shadow spread over the trio. “I’m sorry. Someone's stronger than me?” Kotoe looked up at Gojo, who held a watermelon over his shoulder.

“My daddy said my mommy is!”

“Oooh~” Gojo fixed his glasses, turning his head to smile at you as Maki and Yuuta sat with you. “Yeah, your mommy is strong. But your dad needs to shut his mouth, or I'll put a sippy cup on his altar.”

The trio all tilted their heads in confusion. Gojo smirked before telling them the story of Nanami spilling coffee down the front of himself the same day you had found out you were pregnant. The group busted into a string of giggles. You turned from Maki, watching your little girl throw her head back, rays of light surrounding her.

Once in a blue moon, Kento had mentioned to you that he told a girl at a bakery, ‘No one would mind if I was gone.’ he couldn't have been more wrong. There wasn't a day that you didn't miss him. So many people missed him; he had been taken far too soon.

Four years have passed since you lost the love of your life. But Nanami had blessed you with memories of him and helped make your little bean before his untimely departure. Knowing and loving him was one of the greatest honors bestowed upon you. It was the kind of love that transcended time. A once-in-a-lifetime kind of love that lived on through his pupils, his daughter, and you.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe

[ronnie-quinn]

🎪 The Amazing Digital Circus Agere Headcanons 🎪

Pomni

• Pomni's regressed age is 0-5.

• Ragatha is Pomni's caregiver.

• Pomni is very sweet when she's regressed.

• She regresses due to the new and wacky environment around her.

• She has a stuffed animal that Ragatha made for her.

• Pomni has her own little blanket fort in a corner of her room that she goes to whenever she needs to escape from Caine's adventures that he sets up.

Ragatha

• Ragatha is Pomni's caregiver.

• She sews up everything, from ripped up stuffed animals to baby blankets.

• She has a regression bag that she carries with her everywhere she goes, filled with anything that Pomni may need.

• She has the most gentle voice that keeps Pomni calm and safe. She also crouches down to Pomni's eye-level. She never raises her voice at her.

• She holds Pomni's hand or carries her on her hip.

• She calls Pomni “sweetie” and “little one”.

Gangle

• Gangle's regressed age is from 2-4.

• She is a vent regressor.

• Like Pomni, she has her own little safe space in her room whenever she needs to regress.

• She has a lot of stuffies that were given by Kinger. She carries one with her everywhere she goes along with a baby blanket.

• She hides behind Kinger when she gets scared.

• She loves drawing! She has a ton of art supplies and coloring books.

Kinger

• Kinger is Gangle's caregiver.

• He makes the comfiest pillow forts for anyone who regresses.

• Rules and routines are a must, but Kinger is not too strict.

• Kinger repairs Gangle’s comedy mask whenever it breaks.

• He has a lot of insect-themed regression items (stuffies, sippies, bottles, pacis, etc.).

• He throws the best royal tea parties!

• He calls Gangle royal-themed nicknames like “princess”.

Jax

• Jax is flip (babysitter lean).

• Jax is a big kid/middle regressor. His regressed age range is from 7-12.

• When he regresses, he is still mischievous. He will sometimes draw on walls and put Monster Energy in his cup.

• When he is a babysitter, he is still his mischievous self, but it’s toned down a little.

• He calls any regressor he babysits “kiddo” and “squirt”.

Zooble

• Zooble is a babysitter.

• They have a chill personality when they babysit Pomni or Gangle.

• They don’t have a lot of rules other than basic stuff like staying hydrated and going to bed on time.

• Their heart warms up when someone makes a drawing for them.

• Their nicknames when babysitting are “little guy” and “munchkin”.

Caine and Bubble

• Caine and Bubble are caregivers.

• Caine comes up with agere-related activities and adventures.

• Bubble makes the best meals and snacks.

• Caine is the king of dad jokes, which annoys Jax and Zooble a lot.

• Caine’s nickname for the regressors is “little superstar”.

[arkangelo-7]

Okay, but, what types of water bottles do the Bats use?

Bruce uses a Yeti. It’s sturdy, reliable, and hasn’t dented once in the past 15 years, which is quite the accomplishment, given how many explosions that thing has been caught in. Back when Dick was like 10 and still Robin, he gifted Bruce the aforementioned Yeti with a sticker that had “#1 Boss!” printed on it. (It’s been nearly two decades and a day has yet to go by where Bruce doesn’t use it). Sometimes, he brings it to Justice League meetings just to throw people off guard.

If you think Dick Grayson doesn’t carry around a half-gallon jug of water, then you’re wrong. It’s bright blue and covered with stickers from all the places he’s traveled (including that one planet from that one mission the Titans refuse to speak about). Bruce has lectured him about the importance of hydration so many times over the years, that’s it’s ingrained in him to finish at least two refills before going on patrol. He also says “hydrate or die-drate” and quotes hydration statistics to anyone that tries to ask why he drinks so much water.

Jason is the type of person to have like five boxes of those plastic Ozarka water bottles stacked in his pantry. Damian berates him for his ostentatious use of plastic, but Jason grew up in a world where clean water was never a given. Now, it’s not something he needs to worry about—he’s got money, power, influence. But old habits die hard and he can’t go to sleep unless he knows he has a reliable source of water somewhere in his safe house.

Tim got a hydroflask back when they were popular in 2019 and just never bothered to upgrade. He doesn’t actually keep water in it, through; he’s got a rotating system of Diet Coke, black coffee, Celsius BCAA, and a synthetic energy drink he designed himself (one which Bruce would 100% forbid him from drinking if he knew about it).

Cass… drinks water. It’s just, no one has ever actually seen her with a water bottle, so to speak. They’ll be on a mission, or patrol, or a stakeout, and a full on plastic cup (usually with some sort of animated character or football team plastered on it) will just materialize out of nowhere. No one knows where she keeps them. No one knows where she even got them.

Steph (plus Barbra) uses a Stanley Cup. Although she first invested in it somewhat ironically, she’s grown to appreciate its functionality. It fits in her car’s cup holders, it’s easy to carry around when she’s at school, and she once used it to knock out the Riddler when he tried to abduct her principal at a pep rally. She and Babs both already pre-ordered the purple, LoveShackFancy special addition and guilt tripped Bruce into getting a matching one with them.

Damian uses some weird, eco-friendly water bottle brand that no one has ever heard of. (It’s expensive, but it comes with a complimentary metal straw, naturally). Dick thinks his seriousness about his carbon footprint is adorable; Jason thinks it’s fun to tease him, so he got him a Bubble Guppies sippy cup as a gag-gift for Earth Day back in 2020. He lost the tip of his left ring finger by the time Bruce and Dick were able to drag Damian off of him.

And then there’s Alfred. No one’s actually sure if he needs water in the first place, because no one’s actually seen him drink anything other than tea. Dick claims that he saw Alfred using one of those green, squeezey Gatorade bottles back when he was still Robin, but no one believes him.

[icarusredwings]

i *live* for your agere wade omg 😢🙏🏻 i also age regress there's just something about your favorite character being like you that makes me smile :) your writing is absolutely wonderful as well!! :3

Hi hon, Im so proud of you for doing what's good for you, and I am so happy that you've found something to enjoy that makes you feel good about yourself.

Thank you so much for the support. I've seen more people mention how excited they were to find cute, mild, and nonnsexual regressions for Wade, so I've decided to put it on A03 for more people to enjoy.

I actually was nervous about posting them in general because of the stigma around it but seeing how supportive you all have been (I dont know why im even shocked) it's made me a little more confident in my writing. I was abused quite a bit as a child, and while I don't regress, I do have a special attachment to my stuffed animals and find comfort in kids' shows. Annnddd, as someone who was working towards becoming a geneticist? It's comforting to know that some very intelligent and successful people also do.

While you're waiting for me to write more or upload to A03, have some HCs:

Depending on what's going on, he fluctuates between 5-8.

Wade has 3 caregivers, Al, Vanessa, and Logan. He loves them all so much but certian care givers are for certain things. Al (Mama) is he goes too for booboos, Ness (Mommy) is who takes him out the most, to the park and doctors (If things get too out of hand, she can pull the "He's my disabled son you bastard" card, and Logan (Kitty) is general. The one youll find when wade is casually colouring or playing tea party with.

He'll take "sippies" but hes a bit too old for them because he chews the tops off.

Cereal, mac and cheese, pizza, bassically anything he already eats as an adult, including spicy tacos.

He doesn't have a lot of toys (and if he does, they're from a give away or a dumpster) so is very possesive of them and will instantly get upset if you try to take them away or "hurt" them.

Wade is the type to just chill with you on the couch and eat snacks if you don't have the energy to play or take him to the park. Even as a child, he was very emotionally intelligent, and it shows.

Most kids would have tantrums, but he seems to either be understanding or go cry in silence while isolated (its what hes used too)

As much as people say he's a potty mouth, I don't see it. Not yet anyway. Sure he'll say "bad words" sometimes but as someone whos used to being screamed at to shut up all the time, I believe he talks so much as an adult BECAUSE he wasn't allowed as a kid so he's more of an observer unless you are unfortunately his favorite and then hes going to tell you random facts.

Oftentimes, the "perfect child" are ones that are independent, quiet, and who monitor their emotions/ actions around other kids and adults. This means being forced to act older than you actually are, walking on eggshells around adults and trying to do things by himself.

He likes to wear clothes that are too big for him rather then tight. (Bonus points if they're a hoodie or a sweater)

He likes baths and sometimes will tell you that his "Skin hurts" when really it's just itchy/peeling/ needs lotion.

He's not big on babytalk but "puppy" "mama" "mommy" "park?" "Kitty scratch bad guys" "I watch tv?" "Go home?" "Play horses?" Are common. Its either small unfinished sentneces or endless rambling with full sentences that repeat themself. Logan has once heard "Did you know-?" 30 times once all in 10 minutes

He has a stuffy of a Wolverine named Fluffy from Kitty, a unicorn named Buttercream from Mommy, and a bear shaped dog toy from Mama. In her defense she didn't know it was a dog toy (because shes blind and cant read duh) but Wade loves it more that it squeaks.

Because kidWade (He is "NOT little", he's a "Big boy") is bigger than them, he has issues playing a little... rough... with other kids. He has infact shoved a kid into the sand while playing tag.

Wade is very erm... possesive.. over his caregivers and will act out if he believes Kitty is ignoring him. Because of their history, hes even more prone to acting out with Ness and has gone as far as telling someone they looked like a burnt quesodilla that "had a baby with a wrinkled cucumber" before (and will do it again)

Flappy hands. Giggles. Screeches. That is all that needs to be said.

Wade likes music, arts, and crafts. Physical exercise is nice too but naps are needed afterwards.

Naps must be willing. If you tell him to go take a nap he'll just stomp his feet and cry that hes "being good" so "doesn't need one" bassically, naps are punishment.

Tw for sensitive topics such as mental and physical health

The worst part about having Wade isn't that he is a "brat" or "bad", no infact wade barley ever is a brat. He's very people pleasing because he just wants as much affection as possible. it's the fact that you can't trick him or keep him from doing something. He's too smart.

"Come on baby, we're going to the park"

"Yay!!- wait.... Mommy... Mommy the park is that way...Mommy this is how you go to the mean doctors! They're gonna rip my teeth out!"

It's even HARDER to care for a kid who can escape literally anything and can run all the way home if you upset him too badly. The only thing really you can do is call a different cg and double up on the reassurance. (And maybe a bribe)

Another thing is that just because he's in this headspace doesn't mean his issues are gone. Between the nightmares, the flashbacks, the scary hallucinations that he can't understand, intrusive thoughts about harming a person, impusive thoughts, and just straight up having to deal with cancer on top of it all, etc.

Do you know how hard it is to explain to a child that they're nauseous and exhausted because the cells inside of him are eating the other cells, dying, and healing all at the same time?

[softshuji]

Rindou is not affectionate by nature.

He's quiet, introspective, awkward at the best of times. He's never been the type to pretend he's something he's not and it's never bothered him that he finds the more physical affection a little harder, a little more difficult and that his love comes in other forms. Yes he wishes it were easier to tell you he loves you, and he wonders if you're upset by the fact that he hardly does, even if he does try to make up for it with the multitudes of gifts and quality time. He knows hearing it must be something special. He knows it is to him.

Rindou is not affectionate by nature and it's never been more apparent than it is now, when his daughter, just shy of a year and a half, sniffles and he has to dab at her tiny nose and tears in the way he thinks should be best.

"You're not gonna get better if you don't drink your juice," he says and eagerly prompts her with a tilt of his head towards the pink sparkly sippy cup on the table. And he's trying really, and he wishes it were easier, that he had your natural charm, that he wasn't so rough around the edges.

"I'll.....we can play with your tea set, if you eat your lunch." And he's using the gentlest voice he knows, an octave or two higher, softer even. And she deliberates, holds the beaker in her tiny hand and takes a tentative sip.

Rindou smiles and it feels like a victory.

You watch from the doorway, him leaning down on his knees, a crease of his mouth and the soft hair fanning his cheek and your heart aches at the scene of the two people you love the most.

You know it's difficult for him, that the affection which comes easy to others doesn't for him, and you like it anyway, that the love is in the effort nonetheless. He's the best father, the best husband, despite his own ambivalence towards his efforts. He tries, and it's enough.

When she's done, and a tentative smile matches his, he lifts her gently to rub her back, a resounding burb with which he whispers a "there you go" before strolling to the kitchen to watch the dappled sunlight spill through the blinds, her on his shoulder, a mitten covering one hand and giggling when he does a tiny bounce that he knows makes her laugh.

You are not perfect, either of you, and you wonder sometimes at night, when the two of you are asleep and the baby monitor is hushed with the soft sighs of your sleeping daughter, whether you've done well enough to care for this little family that means so much to you. It's harder for him, who's never really known a family that wasn't ran, all the getting up to speed, all that he's had to learn and unlearn.

And when you press a kiss to his neck from behind, and tickle your daughters chin as you join them in the kitchen, it's with that in mind.

Maybe Rindou isn't affectionate by nature, but you find it's never mattered to you, not when he is irrevocably him, that he fills the gaps by himself.

"She's ready for a nap, I think," he says and watches her eyes flutter, the dark blond lashes that resemble his more than yours before she snuggles further against his chest, thumb in her mouth and quickly slipping into sleep.

"Mhm, I think so too." And then after a beat. "Thank you Rin."

"What? What for?"

"you're good at this y'know, just, everything."

And the tips of his ears fade to pink because it never gets old, praise for the things he thinks he's lacking at, and he loves, more than he can express, the safety of your home that never makes him feel any lesser.

"Oh." He clears his throat, a soft kiss to her forehead, and then a peck to your lips in thanks, in confession, in all the things he can't say.

Rindou has never been affectionate by nature, and he has always wondered whether he is really enough, but it's never been a surprise to you that he is. He is enough and more.

Reblogs appreciated

[inkspiredwriting]

Daddy Daycare: Five’s Flu Fiasco

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

It was a gloomy Monday morning when Five Hargreeves woke to the sound of coughing and sneezing. He blinked, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. Beside him, his wife Y/n was bundled up in blankets, looking utterly miserable. Her face was flushed, her nose was red, and her eyes were watery.

“Good morning,” Five said, though it sounded more like a question.

“Mmph,” Y/n groaned, pulling the blankets tighter around her. “I feel awful.”

Five’s heart sank. He knew what that meant. “The flu?”

Y/n nodded, looking like a pitiful burrito of misery. “I’m sorry, Five. You’ll have to take care of the kids today. And me.”

“Of course,” Five said, kissing her forehead. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got this.”

Y/n gave him a weak smile. “Thanks, love. Good luck.”

The Hargreeves’ kitchen was a scene of controlled chaos. Five had managed feed their two young children, Maddie and Milo, while also making tea for Y/n and preparing a quick breakfast.

Maddie, their five-year-old daughter, was seated at the kitchen table, trying to spread jam on her toast. Half of it ended up on her face.

“Daddy, I need help!” she called, waving her sticky fingers in the air.

Milo, their one-year-old son, was happily tossing Cheerios on the floor, giggling each time they bounced and rolled away.

“Cereal!” he shouted, flinging another handful.

“Alright, everyone, calm down,” Five said, juggling a spoon and a sippy cup. He quickly wiped Maddie’s face with a napkin and refilled Milo’s cup. “Breakfast is almost over. We’ve got a big day ahead.”

After breakfast, Five attempted to tidy up the kitchen while keeping an eye on Maddie and Milo. He heard a faint call from the bedroom and rushed to check on Y/n, who was now sitting up in bed, looking slightly more alive but still pale.

“How are you feeling?” Five asked, handing her a cup of tea.

“Like I’ve been hit by a bus,” Y/n replied, taking a sip. “Thank you for handling everything.”

“No problem,” Five said with a confident smile. “I’ve got it all under control.”

Five’s confidence was tested as soon as he attempted to dress the kids. Maddie was determined to wear her princess costume, complete with tiara and wand, while Milo insisted on nothing but his superhero cape and diaper.

“We can’t go out like this,” Five said, trying to wrestle Milo into some pants.

“But Daddy, I want to be a princess!” Maddie pouted.

“hero!” Milo added, running around the living room with his cape flapping behind him.

“Okay, okay,” Five sighed. “You can wear your costumes. But just for today.”

The kids cheered, and Five quickly sent a photo to Y/n, who responded with a laughing emoji and a thumbs-up.

Determined to keep the kids entertained, Five set up a makeshift play area in the living room. Maddie and Milo were delighted with the stack of pillows and blankets that Five turned into a fort.

“This is the best castle ever!” Maddie declared, crawling inside with her tiara.

“Yeah! Castle!” Milo echoed, diving in after her.

Five felt a small surge of pride. “I told you I’ve got this,” he muttered to himself. “How hard can it be?”

Lunchtime was another adventure. Five attempted to make grilled cheese sandwiches, but the kitchen soon filled with smoke as the first batch burned. He coughed and waved a dish towel in the air, trying to clear the haze.

“Uh-oh, Daddy’s cooking!” Maddie giggled, peeking over the counter.

���Oops!” Milo said, covering his mouth with his tiny hands.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Five said, scraping the burnt sandwiches into the trash. “We’ll try again.”

The second attempt was more successful, and soon the kids were happily munching on their sandwiches, while Five checked on Y/n again.

Y/n was dozing off when Five came in, a tray with soup and crackers in hand.

“Brought you some lunch,” he said softly, placing the tray on her bedside table.

Y/n opened her eyes and smiled weakly. “You’re amazing. How’s it going out there?”

“Surprisingly well,” Five said, though he wasn’t entirely sure who he was trying to convince. “The kids are having a blast.”

“Good,” Y/n said, reaching for the soup. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

“I will,” Five promised, though he hoped he wouldn’t have to.

Nap time was a blessed relief. Five managed to get Milo down for a nap, but Maddie was proving more difficult. She kept bouncing on her bed, her tiara askew.

“Daddy, I’m not tired!” she insisted, even as she yawned.

“Just try to rest,” Five said, tucking her in. “You don’t have to sleep, just relax.”

Maddie finally settled down with a storybook, and Five tiptoed out of the room, feeling a rare moment of calm.

By the time dinner rolled around, Five was feeling the strain. The kitchen was a mess, the kids were getting cranky, and Y/n still needed care. He decided on a simple dinner of pasta, hoping it would be quick and easy.

Of course, things didn’t go as planned. Milo managed to spill his milk, and Maddie decided to add her own “seasoning” to the pasta, which consisted of chocolate chips she had found in the pantry.

“What are you doing?” Five exclaimed, rescuing the pasta from further contamination.

“Making it yummy!” Maddie said, her eyes wide with innocence.

“Okay, no more cooking for you,” Five said, giving her a stern but playful look.

After the chaotic dinner, Five managed to get the kids into their pajamas and ready for bed. Maddie insisted on wearing her tiara to bed, and Milo refused to part with his superhero cape.

Five read them a bedtime story, feeling his energy finally start to flag. By the time he kissed them goodnight and closed their doors, he was ready to collapse.

Five finally had a moment to sit down and relax. He sank into the couch, closing his eyes for just a second.

“Five?” Y/n’s voice called softly from the bedroom.

Five sighed and got up, making his way to their room. “Yeah?”

Y/n looked up at him with a tired but grateful smile. “You did an amazing job today.”

“Thanks,” Five said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “But I don’t know how you do this every day.”

“Practice,” Y/n said, laughing softly. “And you’re a natural. The kids love spending time with you.”

“I love spending time with them too,” Five admitted, leaning down to kiss her. “Even if it’s exhausting.”

Y/n reached up to brush his hair back. “You’re a wonderful dad. And a wonderful husband.”

“And you’re a wonderful wife,” Five said, lying down next to her. “Even if you’re currently a snotty mess.”

Y/n laughed and lightly smacked his arm. “Thanks. I think.”

“Get some rest,” Five said, pulling the blankets up around her. “I’ll handle everything else.”

Y/n snuggled into the blankets, her eyes already drifting shut. “Love you,” she murmured.

“Love you too,” Five whispered, watching her for a moment before heading back to the living room.

Five was finally able to relax. He sat on the couch with a cup of coffee, the house quiet and peaceful. Despite the chaos and exhaustion, he felt a deep sense of satisfaction. Taking care of his family, no matter how challenging, was worth every moment.

As he sipped his coffee, he couldn’t help but smile. Today had been a test of his patience and skills, but he had passed. And as he looked around at the cozy, if slightly messy, living room, he knew he wouldn’t trade this life for anything.

[the-universal-sun]

On what age range does Stan regress? And also what type of agree gear does be use? Just politely asking as a fren :3

Yes! Thank you friend for the ask! There’s going to be more coming this way because I’ll have entirely too much time on my hands in the next few days! So please enjoy this too!

Can you guys tell what book I apparently really like?

I don’t think there’s a solid age he regresses down to, like consistently, I think it’s around the 2-5 mark, unless something happens or he’s feeling extremely distressed, then he regresses down younger. Which, in that case, means he HAS to have someone take care of him. Which is probably going to be Ford, he’s the only one he can really trust to care for him in the way he needs when he feels that young.

As for gear, it depends.

If Fiddleford is his caregiver (and even though this would be in the early 80s we are going to be anachronistic. This is fiction we can take liberties) then he’s getting at least one pacifier. Fidds probably made it for Stan so he doesn’t mess up his teeth even more, and he probably made it to have a cute little nickname spelled out. I like to think Fidds uses food/southern nicknames for Stanley when regressed, so think something like “Pumpkin” or “Junebug”. He does have his “Poindexter” plush that he’s had since he was 19, but Fidds does win him a really big Duck plush when the fair comes to Gravity Falls. He has some sippy cups because he has a tendency to tilt the cup all the way up and pour his drink all down his face and clothes. He really only has some footie pajamas for when it gets to be winter up there. It’s not easy to come by someone who will custom make clothes in gravity falls, especially nothing like the kind of clothes Stan wants. So he mostly settles for some softer clothing with fun designs and patterns. Nothing vibrant that’ll hurt his eyes. Sweats and grandma sweaters mostly. Fidds makes sure he has a lot of paper and coloring books with as many crayons and markers as he wants. He loves to color and draw. He also has some blocks, a lite brite for when the lights needs to be off so his eyes can rest, play doh, and fighting robots to name a few. He has a few story books that Fidds will read to him. Fidds wants to spoil him, but he knows that he can’t buy Stan everything he wants to, so he does what he can (for now…)

If Ford is his caregiver (we’re doing Grunkle Ford for now) then he is going to do his best to spoil Stan with all he wants as much as possible. From buying stuff online (the internet is marvelous!) to making/inventing it. Ford’s got Stan enough pacifiers stashed around the ship and later shack to have a different one every day. He’s getting Stan sippy cups of all kinds of patterns and designs. it’s easier than cups for him if he’s got dentures since he likes to take those out. He’s got one bottle for the times he’s feeling extra small. He’s got some nice and warm footie pajamas for when they’re in the Arctic, and some lighter ones for more general use-sometimes his brother just needs a lazy day where he can wear what’s basically pajamas. Those kinds of footies are going to be the kind that are animal themed with the ears and tails-Ford thinks they’re so cute. He’s also got some nautical themes pajama sets for the summers spent in Gravity Falls. That’s not even accounting for all the soft handmade sweaters Stan’s got from Mabel that he wears-his favorite having dinos on it-and the soft pants and shorts he feels more comfortable wearing now that his secrets out in the open. I’ve already mentioned Poindexter, that’s a staple for any kind of regressed Stanley, and I mentioned in a few posts Shanklin 2, the stuffed Opposum Ford gets Stan after finding out he’s barely got any Little stuff. He will give Stan all the toys he had back in Jersey and all the toys he’s ever wanted. Legos, blocks, slinkies, playdoh, etch n sketches, fighting robots, hard to break tea sets, coloring books, fancy crayons (This is art, it deserves the best!), anything Stan looks twice at really. He goes a bit overboard, but he’s just trying to make up for all the years he’s missed out on. Also Goodnight Moon, can’t forget that book. That’s Stan’s favorite out of the multitude of books Ford reads to him.

Now if it’s just Stan regressing by himself? He only allows himself the bare minimum. He has Poindexter, an old onesie he allowed himself to buy a few years beforehand, and old and worn pacifier, some crayons, coloring books, blank paper, Ford’s old coat that he likes to wrap around himself when he misses him, a sippy cup, and Goodnight Moon. He feels guilty letting himself indulge. He feels ashamed to be acting like that, a child, to be needing his paci and sippy cup, even in the privacy of his own home, even though he can’t help it. So without anyone there to tell him it’s okay, he doesn’t allow himself to indulge or to spoil himself like he is when he’s being taken care of.

[tinylilacbun]

Heard that you've been wanting for someone to send you brother!rafe, guess it's my time to shine

So brother!rafe has to babysit toddler!reader since their parents are out for the night and well basically he looks after her, feeding her and tucking her to bed <33

Or even, toddler!reader has a nightmare and won't go back to sleep so she finds comfort in her brother!rafe's room!!

Not So Annoying After All

Pairing: brother!rafe cameron x toddler!sister!reader

Warnings: some cussing (I mean it's rafe), nightmare, rafe being soft for his baby sister, just tooth-rotting fluff

A/n: why not do both!!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ♡ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

"Dad, seriously? Can't Sarah look after her?" Rafe groans. He just received the news he has babysitting duties this afternoon because his dad and Rose are going out after weeks of planning to have one night for themselves.

"No, she's with that Routledge boy and Wheezie is sleeping over at a friend's. I'm not asking much from you. Just keep an eye on her, give her dinner, and tuck her into bed. Alright?" Ward looks at him sternly, holding you on his hip and trying to keep ahold of you as you're trying to reach out for Rafe with grabby hands.

"Ugh, fine. I'll watch the little gremlin." He reluctantly agrees, reaching out to grab you under your armpits, hoisting you onto his hip and trying not to smile at the way you snuggle into him.

Ward thanks him, looking at his watch. "Okay, I don't know when we'll be back. Call me when something's wrong."

"Yeah, yeah. Have fun, I guess." He mutters, turning around and making his way to his room with you. He sets you down on his bed, looking down at you with his hands on his hips. "So...what do you do for fun?"

"Tea party!" You squeal but Rafe shakes his head immediately.

"Nah, no way I'm doin' that. Pick something else."

You think for a moment before replying. "I wike coloring."

"Okay, that's something I can work with." He helps you down from his bed, placing his hand on your head to steer you towards his door and to the stairs.

As he starts descending them he stops when he hears you whine, turning back to see you hesitating to set your foot on the first step. With a sigh he jogs back up, scooping you up. "Damn, the stairs are not gonna eat you y'know?"

He carries you into the living room, setting you back onto the ground and watching as you waddle over to the couch table, plopping down on the ground and trying to pull out the small drawer that had your coloring supplies in it but seem to struggle a little.

He walks over to you, squatting down and helping you with the drawer before standing back up straight. "I'll go to the kitchen real quick, stay here and- just don't do anything stupid."

In the kitchen her grabs your sippy from the cupboard, filling it with some apple juice, grabbing the package of those silly animal crackers you can't seem to get bored of.

Rafe joins you again, sitting down on the couch he places the sippy and crackers close to you, leaning back and crossing his arms. "I could be out drinking with Topper and Kelce right now..."

You ignore his complaints, holding a crayon out for him.

"Nah, I'm good." He says but you just keep holding the crayon out repeatedly. Reluctantly he groans and grabs the crayon from your small hand, scooting closer to the edge of the couch as you place a blank sheet of paper in front of him.

After coloring for a while you giggle, holding up the picture for him to see. He tilts his head a little, figuring out the two messily drawn stick figures who are probably supposed to hold hands. "Who's that supposed to be? You and dad?"

You shake your head with a frown. "Is us Rafey! Wook, this me and this you." You point out the two figures, holding the sheet up to his face again.

Rafe needs a moment to comprehend what you just said. You made a picture including him? You mostly draw about animals or whatever you currently like, for example that Bluey show you watch like- every day. He didn't expect you to draw you both together.

"Uh, that's- that's nice. You're a real artist huh?" He ruffles your hair a little, taking the picture from your outstretched hands. "Can I keep this?"

You nod quickly, smiling brightly. He smiles back at you, folding it and putting it in his pocket, looking at his watch.

"Alright, time for dinner. After that y'gonna take a bath and then go to bed. No whining and shit." He says and grabs the remote from the table, turning on the tv. "You can watch your show while I fix you up some dinner."

You clap with excitement as soon as you hear the familiar intro of Bluey, climbing onto the couch, your coloring completely forgotten.

Rafe decides on some chicken nuggets, easy and quick. He lets you eat in the living room, knowing you usually weren't allowed to eat on the couch and uses that to make you favorite him more than you already do.

It does trigger him a little the way your hands are full of ketchup but keeps his frustration down, knowing you can't do anything for it, being a toddler and all. As soon as you were finished he grabbed a tissue from the box that stood on the coffee table, wiping your face and hands quickly before you could wipe it on yourself or the white luxury couch.

He grabs the plate from your lap before picking you up, setting you on his hip as he walks into the kitchen to place the plate in the sink. After, he makes his way upstairs to the bathroom with you.

He sits you down on the toilet lid, starting the bathtub. "Wait here, I'm gonna grab you some pyjamas." He says, looking around and grabs one of the rubber ducks, handing it to you to keep you occupied until he comes back.

Rafe soon returns, seeing you move the duck on the edge of the sink, holding it up to him when he enters the room again. "Quack! Quack!"

He smiles, placing your clothes on the counter, stepping in front of you. "Alright, hands up, kiddo."

You lift your hands, letting him pull your shirt over your head. Before you know it you are in the bathtub with some toys, splashing a little with them.

While you are entertaining yourself Rafe starts to wash your hair, trying his best to not let soap get into your eyes as you're moving around. He uses his hands to pour water over your head to rinse out the shampoo.

"Can I go underwater now?" You ask, wiping some water from your eyes. "Wanna be a mermaid!"

"Sure. Go on, I'm done anyway." He rinses off his hands just as your head goes beneath the water but quickly come up again.

Soon you were finished with your bath, whining as Rafe combs your hair. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

Before he puts on your pyjamas he grabs one of your nappies from under the sink. You're in potty training right now but still have to wear a nappy during the night just in case.

"So, since you're a big girl I bet you don't need me to read you to sleep...right?" He asks, hoping you would agree but he drops his head in defeat as you shake your head.

"No! You need to! Sarah usually does it." You tell him, grabbing his hand and dragging him to your room. You let go to rush over to the shelf, pointing up at the little section of books stacked up. "The gween book! S'my favorite!"

"A'ight, get on your bed." He waits for you to climb onto your pink princess bed, walking over to grab the book from the shelf and sits down on the edge of your small bed. He opens the book, coughing awkwardly. "Uh- ok...let's get this over with."

As he starts reading you get more comfortable, snuggling into your pillow and grabbing your teddy to cuddle with, listening intently.

You were already asleep after three pages but Rafe kept reading a while longer just to make sure before as slowly as possible standing up, praying you don't wake up again as he walks out of your room.

He sighs in relief after closing the door behind him. "Finally..." Now with you asleep in bed he could at least game for a while with the boys since they couldn't go party tonight.

Almost two hours later his door slowly opens and at first he is frustrated when you stand there but quickly takes his headset off when he sees tears rolling down your cheeks while holding onto your teddy tightly.

"Hey, hey, hey. C'mere." He waves you over, holding his arms out for you. You shuffle over to his bed, letting him hoist you up onto his lap and bury your face in his shirt. "What's wrong now?"

"Bad dream..." You sniffle, already feeling better just by him stroking your back.

"Ah, that sucks..." He waits a moment before continuing. "You- uhm, wanna stay here and watch me play for a while? Can't tell dad about this tho."

You nod and he moves you so you're facing the tv, kissing the top of your head. He grabs his head set again and you could hear the muffled voices of Topper and Kelce who are asking where the hell Rafe is.

"God damn, calm your asses down I'm back. So, change of plans, we gotta play something else. My sis is here and can hear you too so you idiots better watch yourself."

You giggle into your teddy as he talks to them, not seeing the smile on your brother's face. You're not so annoying after all.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ♡ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @aagn360 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @fluffyblanketgecko @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse @kissforvoid

For Rafe:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity

[silverflqmes]

໒⦂ 𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐈’𝐌 𝐓𝐑𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆.

synopsis. you’ve been having a hard week with your studies, so hajime has taken it upon himself to lighten the load a bit, even if his actions are minimal.

genre. comfort + fluff

tw. discussion of bad eating habits, mentions of starvation and codependency.

for @melukonova <3

hajime iwaizumi x gn!reader.

⌗ the last thing hajime likes to see is you blue. it just hurts his soul to see you distressed and under pressure like you have been as of late.

⌗ so when you’re not taking care of yourself, that’s his cue to step in and make sure you’re getting your daily needs fulfilled, that way they aren’t neglected in a way that can get you sick.. which is the last thing you need.

⌗ when he sees your water bottle or sippy cup empty ( i have a starbucks venti sized one bc ppl often say it encourages you to drink when a straw is in sight, so i use that even if i have to refill it a few times ), he’ll take it ( you probably won’t notice anyway ) and fill it back up for you.

⌗ haven’t been eating enough or depriving yourself until you finish that one assignment / problem you’ve been stuck on? this is your reminder to eat or he’s bringing you to the kitchen because he cooked you a gourmet meal with all the minerals you need to keep you going. do not deprive yourself of food! you need your energy.

⌗ can’t finish it? that’s okay. you eat what you can, even if it’s just a couple bites — so long as you eat, he’s happy! he made or brought it just for you with your needs in mind to be able to work as effectively as you can without forcing your body through it. and if you’re worried about wasting food if you didn’t finish, don’t worry, he’ll take them to stray cats and dogs.

⌗ tough time doing chores? that’s okay, he’s there through it all. even if he’s a voice on the phone or text messages, he’s there until you get through all of them.

⌗ words of encouragement? they might not be the usual ones you hear, but he’s got you covered.

⌗ if it gets too much and you really can’t handle the pressure, he’s rushing over to your doorstep, no questions asked.

⌗ when you open the door, he’s got his arms out already to hug you for as long as you need it.

⌗ and when you truly can’t take it anymore, he’s there to turn off the computer, close the textbooks and notes you left open, and takes you to the bathroom into a warm bath he prepared to wash your worries away before bed.

it’s after eight and you’re already brimming with anxiety. the last meal you had was that half-assed sandwich you threw together this morning before rushing out the door for school.

your stomach was growling, but you had to finish this assignment. it had been put off one too many times already — today was the due date, it had to be done if you wanted a good enough grade to satisfy yourself. even if that sadly meant denying yourself of your essential needs.

having had enough distractions for the day, you silenced your phone with do not disturb, in hopes of finishing your work faster.

unfortunately, you hadn’t considered the consequences of that.

headphones in, blaring your usual study playlists, you hadn’t noticed the knock on your door. hadn’t noticed the fresh air spill into your room from the crack in doorway, and hadn’t noticed your boyfriend in the doorframe.

a tupperware of takeout food in one hand and what looked to be a biodegradable dixie cup of tea in the other. yet he was still invisible.

it wasn’t until he placed the food down to squeeze your shoulders, that you finally acknowledged your his existence.

“oh- haji, i didn’t hear you come in..” you sighed in relief, relaxing your eyes as you removed your headphones to hear him properly. “what’re you doing home early? i thought you had work until late..”

the olive eyed male rose a brow before letting out a quiet hum. “they let me off early today so i got you your favorite and some peppermint tea.” he answered with a smile, averting his gaze to the screen before you. “still at it, i’m assuming?”

a small laugh left your lips. “still at it.” you confirmed, rubbing the building sleep out of your eyes. “got a lot due this week so i wanted to finish quickly to have more time for us this weekend.”

“of course,” he almost wanted to say, as it was expected — given it was your usual reasoning, and a decent argument. spare time was always good, however you deserved rest too, and it wasn’t like tomorrow wouldn’t be a possibility to finish the rest. “i get it.” he responded finally before kissing your temple. “although i think you’re due for a nice meal and some shuteye for working as hard as you have.” he finished tenderly, closing your notebook for you.

it made you whine a little when he did, as you were insistent on finishing, but the kisses and squeezes on your shoulders had you giving in.

you supposed a small change of plans wouldn’t hurt too much.

and so he pushed the container in front of you, sliding the tea closer before pulling up a stool you normally piled textbooks on. perhaps he emptied it while you weren’t looking.

with a soft exhale, and perhaps the growl of your stomach, you pried the lid off, basking in the tempered steam and smell. hajime just knew you too well.

your face heated a little at the thought as you leaned in close with your chopsticks, muttering a soft word of thanks before digging in.

iwaizumi, having eaten already, simply kept you company, rubbing your back gently before leaning in to whisper. “you did amazing today, i’m proud of you.” a warm smile. “don’t forget that.”

notes. hi sky, little late but i tried to write this as quick as i could for you since it felt like an emergency request by the time frame and wording</3 anyway i hope this helps and that you feel better mami, be sure to take care of yourself when you study or i’m sending BALD iwa. let this be your warning because it’s important to eat and drink water and have sufficient rest while studying, cuz how else are you gonna remember😐

↳ return to main masterlist . request rules . send an ask

[quinnysnursery]

How would the littles act if they weren't feeling well? Maybe a cold or a tummy bug, what do you think would help them?

-🎀

[🪄] how the littles would act when sick | preferences

people included : chris, matt, nick, nate, tara, jake & johnnie

divider credit : @yeribbon

a/n : DARLINGGG GUESS WHOS BACK FROM JAIL (how i feel bc my laptop is repaired again) (lower case intended !)

chris

🥤cuddle puddle

💫 usually a very hyper little but when he’s sick?

🤍 TRUST this man is attached to your hip

🥤 constantly whining about his "tummy 'urtin'"

💫 i feel like little!chris doesn't typically use a pacifier during regression but...

🤍 while sick? TRUST he's curling up on the couch with a paci

🥤 expect to watch a TON of movies on the couch

💫 "sweetheart, you need to take your medicine." "but maaa/daaa/baaa..."

🤍 ipad kid cough tbh 😞

matt

🩹 you think un-sick matt is sensitive? you got a STORM coming when little!matt catches a cold

🦈 plushie falls off bed? tears. his nose is stuffy? tears. his favorite bottle is in the dishwasher? tears.

🫧 poor thing is just so overstimulated from his stuffed-up nose and scratchy throat that everything feels 10x bigger than usual

🩹 "m-mama/d-dada/b-baba...." "i know angel, do you need a hug?" "mhm :("

🦈 TRUST he has a plushie tucked under his arm every moment

🫧 comfort foods on must be on DECK

🩹 lots of whining/pouting

🦈 "m' don't wanna be sick anymore!" (it's been less than a day)

🫧 lots of tears met with lots of gentle words and hugs 🫶

nick

🌟 definitely stays on the younger end of his range when sick

🗞️ absolutely GUTTED to find out he can't go to the playground for awhile

🎥 "we wouldn't wanna get other people sick, right?" "...but I wanna go :("

🌟 honestly just lots of soup and movies

🗞️ i imagine it would be really difficult for him to comfortably sleep

🎥 so....

🌟 FORTS !! with the star projector going around the ceiling !

🗞️ playing with his hair to help him settle down :(( /pos

🎥 plz send little!nick blurbs in my requests i love little!nick

nate

🏒 grabby. hands.

🌨 lots of nonverbal communication due to his scratchy throat

⛸ this marks the beginning of little!nates babbling era™️

🏒 "mmm.... >:(" "what is it baby? how can mama/dada/baba help?"

🌨 little!nate against icky medicine

⛸ "pretty please angel?" "nuh uh!"

🏒 absolute BABY™️

🌨 sippy cups of warm tea with honey !!

⛸ live laugh love little nate

tara

❤️ since tara is immunocompromised,

🎞️ i definitely think that she's kinda use to being sick for longer periods of time

🎵 but that does NOT mean she doesn't hate it

❤️ kinda similar to matt in the since that i feel like theres a ton of mini-tantrums due to overstimulation

🎞️ all the elevated symptoms just piling up on her? yeah she's entitled to a mini-tantrum

🎵 holding her face in your hands as she calms down :((

❤️ "i'm here sweet girl, just take a deep breath." ":("

🎞️ cuddling sugar on the couch to a disney princess movie <3

🎵 extra hugs 🫶

jake

♣️ similar to chris, jake is a VERY hyper little

🍒 opposite to chris though, instead of the sickness being what calms him down...

♠️ it's his caregiver.

♣️ "munchkin, you need to let your body relax. it won't do you any good too be bouncing off the walls." "but mama/dada/baba....i wanna plaaay..."

🍒 very pouty to be contained to a couch

♠️ "do you wanna color a picture while mama/dada/baba cooks?" ">:c...yes...>:c"

♣️ lots of mac 'n cheese AND ipad games

🍒 "i'm not *sneeze* sick!"

♠️ first time writing little!jake so be nice 😭

johnnie

🦇 similar too jake with, "i'm not *sneeze* sick!"

🌒 unlike jake though, johnnie has no problem curling up with his caregiver and having a movie marathon

🐈‍⬛ how many scooby doo movies can a little and their cg get through in a day? you'll find out soon enough!

🦇 somehow becomes even MORE of a picky eater

🌒 "johns, you love chicken nuggets." "i wanted dino nuggets...."

🐈‍⬛ LONG naps

🦇 wearing his CG's sweater when they can't cuddle

🌒 you guys remember that oogie boogie plush he liked in the spirit halloween video? TRUST that's his favorite plushie in littlespace

🐈‍⬛ save me little!johnnie save me

[asher-agere]

BSD agere headcanons (Part 1)

Like I promised I have more agere headcanons! This time BSD! I’m doing BSD separated by groups since there’s so many characters, part 1 is the Armed Detective Agency! Please enjoy!

༉‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. ADA ༉‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

Atsushi is definitely a regressor. That boy had no childhood. Maybe regresses to like 4-6? I feel he’d be a big kid. He always likes helping out, wants to feel useful. Also gets really attached to things. Like if you give him a blanket once, he’ll demand that exact blanket every single time. Loves loves loves milk. He can use a cup like a big kid! Sometimes needs a sippy cup but he doesn’t like bottles much. He loves teether’s and just generally carrying things in his mouth. Like he’ll crawl around holding a stuffed animal like a momma cat with her kitten. Also he definitely crawls even though he’s a big kid

Fukuzawa is the best father figure, but is he a good caregiver? The answer is yes of course! Fukuzawa always has some kid friendly snacks and supplies in his office. He isn’t an official caregiver (He was for Ranpo at one point and enjoyed it, just not a full time thing for him), but he loves to babysit. When everyone else is busy they’re always safe to leave a little one with then president, he’ll take care of them. He’d really good at a comfortable silence and sense of normalcy. He’ll give the little one some paper and crayons to draw while he does paperwork. He’ll make himself a cup of tea alongside the babies milk. His soothing voice is perfect for bedtime stories but he isn’t very good at doing fun voices

Yosano I can see either way. I feel like she’d mainly be a caregiver. Always plays doctor. She’s really good at spotting an overwhelmed or sick baby. One symptom and she’s onto them. Her office is a lovely place to destress. Quiet and away from everything overwhelming. When she does drop she’s a pretty big kid like 4-6. Loves loves loves candy, which only increases her relationship with Ranpo. She can be a brat, always thinks she knows what’s best. But when she isn’t bratty she’s pretty polite

Kunikida is definitely a caregiver. He’s very strict with everything. Lots of rules. Bedtime, mandatory naps, limits on snacks, no bad words. If needed he will use a time out, but he much prefers giving rewards when his little one behaves themselves. He’s good at finding solutions, for example if his baby is scared of being alone they can take a stuffie friend to time out, or he’ll go hold their hand. He doesn’t mind. He makes them a regression schedule, nice and consistent, how often depends on the little one. He handles all worry factors so they have nothing to stress over

Tanizaki is a baby, 2-4. He loves oversized clothes making him feel even smaller than he actually is. He isn’t very clingy, gets overwhelmed quickly. He loves being taken care of but sometimes less is more. He loves babbling, he wants to talk even if he doesn’t make any sense. He just wants someone to coexist with, watch cartoons together, compare next to each other, he wants the simple life. He’d very easy to fluster too, the simplest nickname had this baby red in the face

Kenji I feel like is a caregiver? But like he isn’t fully trusted alone with a little. Kenji is like a big brother more so than a parent role or something. Kenji easily gives in, no argument needed. Baby wants a puppy? Sure thing! Someone must watch him. As long as someone’s in the same room he’s good to take over though! He’ll take the little one to his farm if they feel comfortable with that and show them all the cute animals! Maybe even have them help with farming! (Picking fruit and vegetables, no hard work)

Kyouka I can see regressing really young, like 1-3. She loves to color and draw, specifically bunnies. Also loves stuffed animals, bunnies nice again. She loves clothes that feel soft and fluffy, gentle pastel colors. She doesn’t want anything bright and colorful, no catch phrases or characters on her shirts. Just a gentle pattern for her. She’s almost completely non verbal but she’s very compliant. She’s good at hand gestures or drawing pictures to show what she needs

Dazai is a regressor. That man is so messed up in the head- He desperately needs it. I feel like he regressed from 2-5, fairly young? But he can still be a big kid! He’s the biggest brat you’ve ever seen. Fake crying is a perfected art. He loved making deals. His caregiver wants him to eat? Fine, but he expects a stuffed animal in return. He has a sweet tooth, it’s an easy way to get him to eat when he’s trying stubborn. The less effort he has to put in the better, but he also gets bored easy. His caregiver has to be prepared to keep him entertained or they’ll have a meltdown on their hands. Suicide attempts do not stop, he’s just more unreasonable. He knows it won’t kill him, but he still wants to try. He also feels uncomfortable regressing around Atsushi, he’s supposed to be the boys role model, how can he do that while acting like a baby?

Ranpo is absolutely a regressor, around 3-6. Poor boy had a miserable childhood. Sweets are the golden ticket. For everything. He knows how to get what he wants though. He can easily deduce if there’s a way to make his caregiver budge. If he throws a tantrum it’s beside he knows it’ll work. Gets overwhelmed easily. NEVER insult his intelligence. It doesn’t matter if it’s a light insult like calling him “dummy” he hates it. Loves puzzles and Rubik’s cubes and anything of the sort. He’d intelligent enough to easily solve things, however his motor skills decrease. So like he knows how to solve the Rubik’s cube, his hands just won’t do it

Naomi I can see either way? As a regressor she’d have a wide range, like 2-6. Very very clingy, always wants her brother. She gets easily attached to items, overall she’d just a giggly happy little baby. Loves playing with her caregivers hair, doing makeovers, silly girly things. As a caregiver she’d be very dotting, always praising her little and giving them affection, meeting their every possible need. Loves dressing them up in cute clothes and she has a picture folder dedicated to cute pictures of them (With there permission only of course)

I hope you enjoyed reading my thoughts! Next up I’ll be doing the Mafia I believe, but not completely sure yet. Have a wonderful day all of you!

[littlespacereader]

Hiii!!! If requests are open I was wondering if you'd be willing to write some Caregiver Frank Castle Headcannons or a fic.

Completely fine if not!!! <333

Have an amazing day/afternoon/night!!!

@aew-kun-age-regression !! YES!!! It would be my honor and pleasure to write Caregiver Frank Castle!! After writing the Matt Murdock Headcannons and adding the small section at the end with Frank, I couldn’t help but want to write more about Frank as a Caregiver! He’s just so tough and broken that I feel like a Little would be just the thing to heal and help him🥹 It was such a hard choice but I decided to do Frank Castle Headcannons. But if you find some inspiration from this please send me another request and I’d happily write a fic around Frank! So here is Caregiver Frank Castle Headcannons! Please enjoy!!🥹💞

Caregiver Frank Castle Headcannons

Tw- violence, mentions of trauma and death.

Frank never expected to be your Caregiver. After everything that happened with his family, he thought he would just be alone for the rest of his life. That was until Y/N came into his life. You sort of adopted Frank and not vice versa.

Y/N was looking into some shady business going down in Hell’s Kitchen when they got wrapped into it and badly hurt. Frank saved them and brought them back to his home to tend to their injuries. But the injuries scared them so badly that they regressed once they felt safe and cared for in Frank’s home.

Frank, being no stranger to trauma responses and coping mechanisms, immediately understood what was happening. At first he was nervous, taking care of you as if you were made of glass, but then as the night went on he started to return to his old fatherly Caregiver self and he started to enjoy it.

After that night you asked Frank to be your Caregiver. He refused at first, not because of you but because of himself. He is so afraid he will hurt you or you’ll get hurt because of him. It’s not that he doesn’t want you, trust that he hasn’t felt as calm or at peace then when he was taking care of you, it’s because he’s traumatized.

But after asking, and asking, and asking over and over again, he finally breaks down and agrees. Now not only is Y/N happier and safer than ever but Frank is healing and becoming his old self again. He truly relaxes when he’s around his Little one. You see slowly but surely the old father side of him that was once locked away coming back to him in full swing.

Nickname wise he starts out with the standard kid or kiddo for Y/N as he start to get used to being a Caregiver again. But as time go on he really gets into the use of nicknames such as: Prince/Princess/Royalty (depending on your gender), his personal favorite troublemaker, sweet one and pumpkin.

Frank is a girldad for sure. What I mean by this is not that he is only for Femm little, no no no, what I mean is he isn’t one of those overly masculine men that’s afraid of showing his feminine side.

You want to have a tea party with him? He’s the guest of honor! Want to paint his nails? He hands you his hand. Want to play dress up? He’ll gladly wear a dress or a fancy tux. The point is, there isn’t much he wouldn’t do for his little one. Even if it isn’t “something a manly man would do.” He could care less. For him it’s all about his little ones happiness.

Speaking of that, like most Caregivers he is completely open to his Littles needs. Diaper, pull-up, sippy cup, bottles, pacifiers, stuffies, ect. Whatever you want/need for your regression. He is all for it!

He keeps his life as the Punisher far away from his life with his little one. That’s the last thing he wants you tangled up in.

Y/N has to be patient with him because at times he can be very overprotective of them.

They rarely go out to the park, or beach or anything public. Not that he is afraid to be seen with you, he used to not be a bragger but now he is when it come to you. The fear of being out in public comes from his fear of someone hurting you while the two of you are out…just like what happened to his family.

Because of this you guys are homebodies. But Frank makes it fun! He makes elaborate pillow forts, special movie nights, drawing contest and crazy games of hide and seek in their home so that his little one is always entertained.

Frank LOVES art work from his Little one. Every photo to him is a work of art. It’s gotten so bad that the fridge is just a pile of papers now. “What’s this? Oh WOW! Look at this!! You did such a great job! I love it! It’s a masterpiece that deserves it’s time on the fridge don’t you think?”

Frank is on the stricter side when it comes to rules and such. He isn’t easily a pushover so it’s hard to convince him when he’s made his mind up…but that doesn’t stop you from trying though!

“Can I have another cookie?” “How many have you had already?” “Two.” “Yeah, two too many. You’re not having another before dinner. You just have to wait.” “But two isn’t a good number! Three is! See, two is even which is good but then the one extra cookie is good luck.” Frank just gives them a look. “I’ll wait till after dinner.” They sigh. “That’s what I thought.”

Frank…IS A CUDDLER! There’s nothing he enjoys more than to snuggle up on the couch, little one in his lap, and watch tv together. He loves the security of having them close to him at all times, but he also loves to cuddle.

At night, if they’re comfortable with it, he holds them close and they fall asleep resting their head in his chest. This helps ground him and allow him to fall asleep without the fears and anxiety that used to keep him awake. When he does have a nightmare, his little one helps him through it.

Aft first he was embarrassed and ashamed of himself for being so vulnerable after a nightmare. But he quickly learned that for as much as he does for his Little, they do the same if not more for him. He’s slowly working through his trauma and it’s because of Y/N.

When it comes to Frank’s friends…he doesn’t have many. He doesn’t trust most of the people in his life besides his little one. But there are a few he can trust and who he introduces Y/N too.

Karen is the first and she’s super kind and gentle. She’s extremely happy Frank has Y/N as she quickly sees a change in him, a very good change. She helps out when Y/N’s regressed and he needs to go out on a business call.

Matt was a bit of a shock to Frank as they started out enemies. But once Matt gained Frank’s trust, he became a close ally to Frank and his Little. Matt is also extremely kind and gentle. He loves to play with Y/N and is always sneaking them sweets behind Frank’s back.

Now if it wasn’t the reader being Frank’s Little, Matt or Karen would definitely his Littles. Karen is a bit older than Matt headspace wise but the two get along well! Matt is always snuggling next to Frank while he reads and Karen paints his nails. Again, he didn’t ask to be their Caregiver, but they just adopt him. And who was he to refuse?