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pathologicalreid · 6 months

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buried alive | S.R.

in which the BAU races against the clock to rescue you from a killer team

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: angsty

content warnings: kidnapping, case stuff (murder yk), suffocation, being buried alive, hospitals, blood, nausea, CPR, funerals, use of pet names, guns, and drugs. i think that's all.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: okay, so i've been reading so much spencer fanfic and i started writing it and yesterday i realized i have 20 fics written and they're doing no one any good just sitting on my computer. i decided to finally try posting one. i wrote fanfic in high school (so like seven years ago) but this is my first time writing for a TV show. i've also never really posted on tumblr so please bear with me while i try to figure out formatting. tysm for checking out my post.

part two part three

You walked into the conference room and dropped the file on the table, allowing it to land on the wood with a satisfying splat. “The unsub’s burying them alive,” you said, letting the rest of the team know the conclusion you had come to with the medical examiner. “The M.E. found metal shavings and satin threads under the nails of our last victim. The most common materials to make up a casket.”

“There’s no way someone could bury someone alive in a casket alone, we’ve got to be dealing with a team, at least three people,” Emily concluded, standing in front of the evidence board.

It was the team’s third day on a case in Nebraska, four women had been discovered dead. Asphyxiation by hypoxia. Carbon dioxide poisoning.

“Approximately 420 people in the United States die from accidental carbon dioxide poisoning every year,” Spencer said, grabbing the file off of the table and flipping through it, taking a few seconds to read through it.

Rossi looked over Reid’s shoulder to look at the file, “but there’s nothing accidental about these deaths. Who would have access to these caskets?”

You shook your head, placing a hand on the back of Spencer’s chair, “A funeral director seems most likely.” You looked around at the Omaha field office, different agents running about in an attempt to solve these very murders. “They’d have the most access, write it off as displays. It could be hard to match the materials since they’re so common.”

Hotch leaned over the table and pressed the conference phone, “What can I do you for?” Garcia’s bright voice rang through the speaker.

“Garcia, I need you to look into funeral homes within the comfort zone. Look for a director who’s ordered more caskets than they’ve had funerals. Find anything, nothing is too small.” He told her.

“Absolutely, I’ll hit you back when I’ve got something,” she said, hanging up the phone.

There ended up being four funeral homes in the unsub’s comfort zone, so the team split up. You went with two locals to a family-owned business, Garcia had sent you all of the files you’d need on the location. “It looks like the Varn family has been in the funeral business since the seventeenth century,” you read aloud to the two agents you were in the car with.

“Does it mean they’re more or less likely to be the killers if they’ve been in business for so long?” One of the agents asked you, a younger man named Harrison.

You pursed your lips as you continued to look over the files, “I’m not seeing any glaringly obvious stressors before the murders started, but over the years I’ve learned that’s no reason to write someone off. Psychopaths can be tipped off by the slightest thing. Things none of us would bat an eye at.”

Harrison nodded in the passenger seat, looking over to his partner Jimmy, “You and your guy sure do make an interesting pair.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, so thank you.” You and Spencer never explicitly stated to the field office that you were dating, but you walked into the precinct this morning holding hands. The agents must have drawn their own conclusions.

The younger officer cleared his throat, “It is a compliment, ma’am. The two of you are very impressive, your whole team is.”

You smiled, “Thank you, Harrison.”

The funeral home was run by a mother and her two sons, you held up your credentials for the mother when you knocked on the door. “Are you Sheila Varn?” You asked her, raising your eyebrows.

“Yes, what’s this about?” She inquired. She didn’t really look the part of a serial killer, a middle-aged woman who was running her family business.

Pocketing your credentials, you spoke, “We’re investigating the recent murders in the area and we were wondering if you had samples of the materials your caskets are made out of. Might we be able to come in?” You asked, adding a charming smile for effect.

Something flashed across her face before she returned your smile, opening the door and welcoming the three of you inside. “Hold on, let me get my boys up here. They’re so much more versed in the goings on of the town than I am,” she said, opening the door and calling for her sons. Felix and Joss came up the stairs from the basement, now they definitely had the physique to load dead women into caskets and bury them alive.

“Why don’t you two men come with me? I’ll get you those samples,” Sheila said, motioning for the agents you were with to follow her. To your horror, they followed her around the corner. “Felix, Joss, show this young lady what you know,” she instructed.

You took a deep breath before you looked up at the two men.

They were tall, maybe Spencer’s height, but they were built like wrestlers. There was no way you could physically subdue them on your own.

You passed out before you even had the chance to pull your gun.

Hotch was in full Unit Chief mode, Spencer watched from the corner of the room as he separated people into groups and gave them specific instructions. JJ and Morgan walked into the precinct, “What’s going on?” JJ asked looking around the room.

“The Varn Family is the team; two agents were found drugged on the side of the road and when we went to the funeral home Y/N was missing. Her badge, gun, and phone were all there, covered in blood,” Spencer said morosely, watching as Hotch finished giving orders and called the rest of the team over.

Your picture was up on the evidence board with the word “missing” written in bold letters beneath it. All of your belongings had been put into evidence for the time being. “Reid?” Hotch said his name, causing his head to snap up. “Are you okay to keep working?”

Spencer nodded affirmatively, “Yes.”

“Good, I need you to estimate how much time we have, I want a clock on these screens,” he ordered.

Morgan turned to Reid, “What do you think she has, kid?”

“The tidal volume for the average adult is point five at rest. That ends up being about six liters per minute. The average casket is approximately 886 liters in total volume and the average volume of the human body is 66 liters, leaving 820 liters to be filled with air for her to breathe. If she’s been gone for half an hour already, I’d estimate she has less than five hours of breathable air left.” Spencer explained, doing all of the math in his head while Emily put a timer on the screen next to the evidence board.

After a moment, Hotch continued, “Rossi, JJ, go back to the funeral home. Tear it apart, there has to be something there we haven’t found yet. The rest of us will split the list of cemeteries in the comfort zone and search them.”

“That’s a lot of ground to cover, we don’t have anything else to go on?” Morgan asked, looking at the list of burial sites he had been handed.

Hotch looked at Spencer, but Spencer stayed silent. “That’s all we have right now,” Hotch responded, “hopefully we’ll come across leads as we go.”

It smelled like a garden around you. The memory reminded you of spring with your mother, tending to the vegetable garden.

The only difference was that instead of the sun beaming down on you, it was pitch black. The space surrounding you was so dark that you weren’t totally sure your eyes were open.

Your head was throbbing just above your right temple, and you observed your surroundings. Slowly, you lifted your arm until it hit a ceiling.

Not a ceiling. A lid. You were in a casket. You pressed one hand to your chest and tried to slow your breathing. Chances were that the casket was already buried beneath the surface of the earth, trying to open it could be catastrophic. You patted the pockets of your jeans, only to find your phone missing, so the team wouldn’t be able to trace the location.

Even if you had it, there likely wouldn’t be service six feet under.

Your team would find you. They had to find you.

They found Spencer, they found Emily, and they would find you.

Spencer shifted in the passenger seat of the SUV, “You know, carbon dioxide poisoning is a rather peaceful way to die.”

“Reid,” Morgan said, turning the vehicle onto the main road, they had just finished scouring over another cemetery with still no sign of you.

He sighed and stared at his hands, “No, it’s good. We see so many people killed in so many different ways that it’s good that she won’t be in pain when she runs out of air.” He tried to convince himself.

Morgan cleared his throat, “We aren’t out of time yet, kid. We can still find her. Y/N’s smart, I’m sure she found a way to make more air or something.”

But they were running out of time, less than an hour remained on the timer set on all of their phones.

They pulled into the next cemetery, “There’s some fresh dirt over there, what are the names on the graves of people who were actually recently buried?”

Spencer starts to recite the names, and the two of them start to comb through the cemetery.

You had done enough research on this case to understand what was going on. The light-headed feeling had started not long ago, but now you felt like you were spinning, despite the knowledge that you were stuck in place.

It was a high. Not unlike the good kids high. Except instead of trying to chase a feeling, you were dying.

The timer went off when they were still scouring graves, shovels in hand. Derek stopped in his tracks, but Spencer kept going.

“Wait,” Spencer called out, reading the name on the card next to the fresh grave he was standing at, he moved to start digging. “Essie Dunbar was a thirty-year-old woman who was mistakenly buried alive in 1915,” he said, digging. “This has to be it.”

Derek called Hotch, putting the call on speakerphone so he could help Spencer dig. “Hotch, we got her, but she’s buried.”

“We’re on our way, Omaha police have one of the brothers in custody,” Hotch told Emily to have an ambulance dispatched.

What Reid knew that Derek didn’t was that it could take four hours to dig a grave by hand. The soil had been overturned, so maybe call it three. Your odds were still negligible. He didn’t stop, he didn’t stop when a caretaker came running at them, and he didn’t stop when Derek told him to get his digging equipment out here now.

Derek flashed his FBI badge to get what they needed. He had to physically pull Spencer back from the grave so the backhoe could dig, only going until there was less than a foot between them and the casket.

Spencer crudely attached a chain to the casket and the caretaker's vehicle. Carefully, the caretaker dragged the white container out of the earth and up a slant they had dug. It was locked shut, “Reid, move,” Derek ordered.

He leaned back and Derek fired at the lock, taking it off and opening the casket. Spencer gasped, there was blood on the side of your head, dried and raked through your hair. He was vaguely aware of Hotch and Emily arriving as they pulled you out of your satin prison. You had no pulse, but you were still warm. Immediately, Spencer started CPR.

“Reid let me do it,” Derek insisted.

What he was trying to say is that he shouldn’t have to be the one to try to save your life.

Morgan repeated himself and Spencer pulled away, allowing the other agent to immediately take over. There was a siren in the background, an ambulance. More people showed up, Spencer heard their voices, but he just kept watching you. CPR was effective if it was done shortly after your heart stopped, and even then, permanent brain damage was likely.

It had been eight minutes since they pulled you out of the ground. Clinically, you were dead for eight minutes before you gasped.

Spencer smoothed your hair back, away from your face, while you desperately tried to catch your breath. You weren’t moving, and Spencer started running through symptoms of hypoxia. His biggest fear was brain damage, that they had done more harm to you in bringing you back than they would have had you died.

The EMTs came running over to where everyone had gathered, dispersing the crowd, and placing an oxygen mask over your face. As they were loading you on the stretcher, you started trying to talk, reaching your arm out to your side. “Wait, what’s she saying?” JJ asked.

“Sometimes it’s hard to talk after CPR,” the male EMT said as they moved you closer to the ambulance. He listened to what you were saying, “It’s not coherent.”

Spencer didn’t move, all of the adrenaline that had been coursing through his body all day was leaving.

Aphasia. They were saying the lack of oxygen to your brain was causing aphasia. “No,” Emily said, realization dawning on her features as she strained to listen to you. You were whispering, rasping the same word over and over again. “She’s saying ‘Spence.’”

He stood quickly and looked at you, sure enough, you were reaching out your hand and whispering, “Spence, Spence.” Your voice no more than a whisper.

Grabbing your hand, Spencer squeezed it, “I’m here,” he answered. “It’s okay, it’s over,” he told you, moving your hair out of your face. Spencer secured your oxygen mask over your face as you tried to take it off, “You have to keep this on, angel.”

To his relief, you squeezed his hand back.

You had been instructed to get some rest, but you couldn’t close your eyes. You asked Spencer to go back to the hotel and change his clothes because he smelled like dirt, and it made you nauseous. Your head had been bandaged, you’d been run through an MRI, and you did an EEG, so far, the only brain damage that had been incurred seemed temporary.

According to the doctors, the nausea and fatigue should wear off, but they hadn’t been able to fully assess if any permanent damage was done. At this point, the worst of your injuries had been caused by being given CPR, resulting in cracked ribs.

Despite your headache, you kept most of the lights on in your hospital room, not quite ready to be left in the darkness again. “Hey,” a voice called from your doorway, Spencer stood, waiting to be invited in. He was wearing different clothes, a button-up with a green cardigan thrown over it, and clean pants. “How are you feeling?”

A nasal cannula slightly restricted your movement, but you were sat up in the hospital bed, “Better than I was, but not perfect.”

He shook his head, walking in and taking a seat next to you, “No one expects you to be perfect right now.” Gently, he reached out and took your hand, skimming the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “They found the mother and the other son, and all three of them are going to go away for a long time,” he told you, speaking in the kind of hushed, reverent tones that are reserved for hospitals.

You sighed and tilted your head back, “Good,” you maundered. “That’s uh, good,” your voice was barely audible.

“So why do you look so worried?” He asked, leaning in closer to you.

In an attempt to dismiss his concern, you joked, “I think I owe Morgan some sort of life debt now.”

Spencer offered you a soft smile, “The two of you tend to trade those off, I’m sure you’ll find some way to make it up to him.” He inclined his head towards you as if to silently say, So what is it really?

You swallowed thickly, “I’m scared to close my eyes, Spence.”

His shoulders dropped, “oh, Angel,” he breathed. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, looping a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “Wait, what are you doing?” He asked, watching you as you lifted yourself, so you were on one side of the bed.

Shyly, you patted the new empty half of the bed, inviting him to sit next to you.

He had no choice but to comply, he had the hardest time saying no to you. Leaning the bed back slightly, Spencer kicked off his shoes before he laid down next to you, wrapping an arm around you as you set your cheek on his shoulder.

Your body relaxed into his and you sighed, “Spence?” You murmured.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, “Yes, angel?” He whispered back to you.

“Thanks for coming to save me,” you mumbled, slowly relaxing enough to fall asleep.

Spencer exhaled, “I’m always going to come to save you.”

part two

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #derek morgan #penelope garcia #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid x you #h writes (hypothetically)

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nyaagolor · 4 months

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Ranking the Ace Attorney main cast on whether or not I think they'd be a narc

I was making a more coherent, serious post about the different approaches to justice each of the characters have and how that is shaped by their backstory... and then I realized a funnier question is what they would do if they saw you eating a weed brownie so I made this post instead

Phoenix: In the trilogy era, yes. He trusts people, but believes that trust has to be built on pursuing justice and always accepting the harsh reality. He'd be sad about it, but a narc nonetheless. In his Beanix era he's making his money through "totally legal gambling" and on the hunt for questionably legal evidence so I have no doubt in my mind there's a pot farm under the WAA for supplemental income. He gives up his narc ways and for that I salute him

Apollo: If I were to pick a single member of this cast who is NOT invited to the rotation it would be him. He had zero hesitation throwing Kristoph to the wolves after working for him for years so I know he has absolutely zero qualms about ratting out his friends or coworkers. Loyalty means nothing in the eyes of justice and it means nothing to him. He's a narc.

Athena: She's gonna lecture you and look all sad about it, but she's no snitch. She's been through the rounds with Simon so she gets it. Having to know you hurt her feelings is enough of a punishment in her eyes

Edgeworth: He's not a narc but he IS obsessed with being right, so if you don't immediately fess up with exactly what you're doing he's going to send your stoned ass to the chess dimension and honestly I think that's worse

Franziska: Unfortunately she is a cop. Narc.

Godot: Diego-era yeah he's a narc, but after the coma? I feel like he has better things to worry about, he would just ignore you. He has some soul searching to do and some grief complexes to unlearn he doesn't have the time to be a lil snitch. Post prison I think he's stoned somewhere in Kurain and chillaxing, as is his right

Klavier: Don't let his rockstar attitude fool you he's a narc and extremely annoying about it. The gavinners tour bus is dry as hell and it's all Klavier's fault. Daryan offers him a line and he gets all uppity and says "the only LINE i want you doing is the third line in the prechorus, you keep messing up the syncopation" and that's the end of that discussion

Simon: He's been in prison so he knows what's up. Not a narc. Might glare at you until you share though

Nahyuta: He's a narc and will lecture you so long about it you're tempted to turn yourself in to get out of earshot. He also never forgets and never forgives. Datz is trying to reform him but it isn't going well

Sebastian: Yes, but I think the idea of him having to turn in someone for it would make him cry so they end up comforting him instead. Kay thinks he needs to try a weed brownie

Maya: I want you to look at me and tell me she doesn't smoke weed. Not a narc

Pearl: I think if she found out that her big sister figure smoked weed she would have a heart attack. Def a narc

Trucy: I can say with absolute certainty that if you really wanted weed she could find you a dealer faster than anyone in the cast. Trucy is a magician and has grown up around a variety of people involved with some seedier institutions, she knows better than to snitch. Has not been and will never be a narc

Kay: Will help you shoplift. Not a narc

Gumshoe: A narc on principle, but would feel really bad about it and would probably let you off with a warning if you started crying or acting upset because I think he's a softie. He's not unreasonable

Ema: If you think she has even the tiniest sliver of respect for cops you're lying to yourself. Not a narc and will actively help you evade police out of principle. A homie, honestly

Fulbright: Not only is he a narc but he definitely runs the DARE program at the local highschool and is printed on half the posters they put up in the precinct. I'm also like 80% sure he doesn't actually know how weed works

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prettyboytsum · 4 months

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˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ day off I nanami kento pairing: nanami x reader tags: slice of life (maybe part of the series?), fluff, (no beta, we die like men) wc: 1,005

nanami kento doesn’t have days off.

ever.

in fact, nanami is the ideal employee, as per his (less than empathetic) bosses. he’s always punctual—clocking in at the exact time or ensuring he’s five minutes early to meetings. he’s reliable—even if the assignment was given the night before, rest assured he’ll have it done without working overtime. nanami has never requested for a day off—not for his birthday, not for meet-ups with friends, and not for special dates with you. he delivers the results necessary but rarely lacks or goes above and beyond.

it helps that he has a schedule. up at the crack of dawn—with only one alarm to wake him from his restful slumber. breakfast, a shower, and coffee all in an hour before he’s giving you your usual morning kiss and a reminder about your date that evening.

so, on one of the rare days that you aren’t needed in the office, and the chirping of birds or the slow sway of the sunlight doesn’t wake you up—an unusually warm body beside you does. you almost jump, this couldn’t possibly be your beloved. you half-expected to be able to spread yourself all over the bed for the morning, only to be denied when a lean body hits against your arm.

you groggily open one eye but your brain quickly works overdrive.

”don’t—don’t kidnap me,” you slur, sitting up quickly as you realize that there’s an arm around you. you rub your eyes, tripping over your words before you can muster up a more intimidating way to threaten this intruder. which, in retrospect, you don’t imagine to be very intimidating with your morning hair and nanami’s shirt as your pajamas dressing you. “’s not nice—i know a cop.”

”you do?” a voice responds, awfully familiar but you don’t let yourself get too comfortable. your eyes squint at the sunlight when you hear a gruff continuation. “i didn’t know any of our friends worked for the precinct.”

our friends? what type of friends could you even share with a—

you blink once. twice. before a realization dawns on you—one that swirls confusion, which seems to be a pre-requisite to the budding hope spreading throughout your chest.

”kento?” you ask, sitting a little straighter as you look at the space beside you. alas, your fiancé, in all his glory. nanami’s blonde hair sprawled over the white pillows, a mess before the usual pristine styling. his posture is relaxed, an arm resting behind his head as he looks at you with an amused expression, one that sits behind morning sleepiness that you haven’t been familiar with. not when he’s always the one to wake up. it doesn’t help that he’s topless. you find it a little unfair that he’s this attractive right after waking up.

”g’morning, darling.”

”good—good morning?! do you know what time it is?!” you splutter, looking at the bedside clock. of all your years of knowing him, nanami has never been late. you can’t help but think that tonight might be the first time he’s broken a global record.

you might have to start celebrating this milestone yearly.

”ten thirty-nine?” he muses, the amusement no longer hidden behind the usual morning grogginess. you look at him like he’s grown a third head.

”ten—ten?! kento, it’s way past your hours—”

”i know.”

”you know?! but you’re sitting here like you have a calvin klein shoot—”

”i took the day off.”

”you did what?!” you exclaim, almost as if you’ve heard the most absurd news of your life. to an extent, you kind of just did. “are you sick?”

”not that i know of, no, love,” nanami asks, now genuinely confused at your reaction. any other lover would celebrate a day where they could spend time together; a cafe, a slow day in, anything really. he finds your reaction amusing—and slightly disheartening. “is there a problem?”

there’s a silence as you soak it all in. a day. where nanami kento has willingly decided to not go to work. you can’t possibly fathom a reason why he isn’t clocking in his office with the most uncomfortable chair known to man. surely, there’s paperwork that nanami can’t miss out on—or so he claims every time you grumble about him leaving so early in the morning.

”problem? no. irregularity? yes.” you respond, finally shifting in the bed to turn to properly face him. he’s propped up by his arm—looking far too handsome for a man who just left his company in shambles (he didn’t). “you’ve never taken a day off.”

a pause as nanami thinks before he shrugs. “i guess i haven’t. there’s never been an urgent reason to file for one.”

"oh, and my—”

”yes, darling, your morning pouting is not categorized as urgent.” he responds, biting back an amused smile as you immediately let a huff out. the familiar jut of your lips only entertaining him further. “but it did do a number on me. i thought to take a day off so we could spend time together.”

you squint your eyes in response—almost accusingly as you cross your arms. he lets out a chuckle—a little rough with morning sleepiness but it’s attractive nonetheless. there’s a set of arms that wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him until you’re practically on his lap. nanami’s chin rests on your shoulder, your back to his chest as he keeps his arm around your middle.

”so suspicious? just cause of my day off?” he whispers into your ear, planting a kiss on your shoulder. your heart stutters. “had the whole day planned out, princess.”

there’s a familiar giddy feeling that spreads through your chest—a familiar sensation when it comes to being around nanami. one of his hands interlocks with your left, his fingers playing with the stone he bought you a couple of weeks ago. a promise for a lifetime together—and an unforgettable wedding, he assures you.

”i’m marrying you after all, it’s only right that i want to spoil my wife.”

✩ author's note: i need him in ways that are concerning to feminism. i need him with me. ⓒ prettyboytsum 2024. all works are posted under this account on tumblr.com and are protected by copyright laws. do not plagiarise these works on any other platform or account.

#₊˚⊹♡₊ luna writes #jjk #jjk hcs #nanami kento x reader #jjk nanami #nanami x reader #jjk x reader #jjk scenarios #nanami kento #jjk fic #kento nanami x reader #nanami x you

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nevertheless-moving · 3 months

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unable to stop dwelling on the discworld trouser leg of time where, in the penultimate fight scene in Nightwatch, Carcer manages to kill teenage Sam Vimes.

Which means that the future that Duke Vimes came from can no longer exist, which means he can’t go home. Meanwhile you’ve got a bunch of history monks with stored up temporal energy, a prepared space outside of time, and the need to do some desperate damage control before the Auditors get involved. Death shows up, reality is unweaving, Sam is reading Carcer his discworld miranda rights because what else is he supposed to do.

and finally, with little other option, the monks de-age Sam so he fits the time period and send him back out into the fray.

(they didn't call it deageing of course. His memory is hazy, splintered during that terrible in between moment, They....took the time out of him? Sanded away the edges of his self for a terrible, workable fit? It...wasn't a good feeling.)

Just—damn. Sam Vimes having to live his whole crapsack life over again, but this time as his disillusioned-reillusioned, unwillingly-character-developed, noir-epic, Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes self.

Younger (Older? He's never felt so Old, His steps so Childlike, reality twisting in his gut like one of Dibbler's pies) Sam Vimes walking around in a haze after the revolution. Desperate to go home, knowing he can’t. Wanting to drink. Knowing he can’t.

The whole precinct feels pity, he really took Keel’s death hard, hardly speaks except to do his job. Eventually he has to grit his teeth and start being present, because what else is there to do?

Resists the urge to drink until Colon takes the whole watch out to celebrate because -he’s going to be a father!

Come on Sammy, one drink won’t kill you— and after the first drink he’s cracking jokes and after the second hes smiling and after the third hes honestly the life of the party and sometime after that he’s crying about how he was going to be a father and my wife would be ashamed if she saw me drinking like this and—

Oh shit, Did anyone else know he had a wife?? A PREGNANT wife??? What—aren’t you like 12—no you're 17 now aren't you but when did—

You guys n’ver met ’er—oh gods none if you ev’n know ‘er, is jus’ me...

What—when did you lose—

I lost her the same damn day I los’ ev’rythin else, whadya think...bleeding Carcer...the fuckin revolution...

So! That! Sam only vaguely remembers the night, but rumors travel faster than light on the disc, so by the next day the whole damn city knows about poor Sam brung low by the loss of his poor, tragic, pregnant wife, so young to be a widower, and the Seamstresses nod because they already knew, don’t ask them how, somethings you just have to know in that trade.

And his mother—I don’t know, sue me, I’m a time travel fiend but there’s something deeply intriguing about a man meeting his dead parent, who is somewhat younger than him, and stepping into the old relationship like a badly fitting thing that's supposed to fit well. She would know, right? How would she deal with her son’s impossible grief? Maybe she wouldn’t know—he spent most of the time out of the house, running with different street gangs, maybe he avoids her until she dies and lives with the guilt twice over. God, we don’t even know her name. There’s just so much narrative and emotional potential that I don’t even know where to start.

When he’s on duty, which is most time - it’s agonizing because at first he remembers cases, saves lives that would have been lost. But the more time passes, the hazier his memory because in the original timeline he was becoming an alcoholic. Fuck! A kid dies and he could have saved her if he hadn’t been such a drunk, if he had just remembered where the asshole lived, but it’s all a haze, and he wants to drown out his guilt, but that’s what caused this in the first place.

Good young Sammy, who spends his rare off-time in dusty libraries (and yes, the irony that he’s apparently Carrot now is not lost on him) reading gods-only-know.

It’s not like he can ask the wizards for help, cutthroat and vicious as they are now in the not-so-distant-past.

Good young Sam, who...talks to the Broken Drum’s pet Bouncer like he’s a real person and not a dumb rock? That’s a bit weird, but he’s a bit of a funny guy.

Good old Sam, who believed the testimony of the dwarf who said the humans were trying to rob him and let the dwarf go??

the PROBLEMS this man would cause, good grief. Can you imagine a moderately progressive middle aged man with some degree of begrudging diversity and equity training that he did, for all his sins, pay attention to, suddenly going back to like, 1990, going back just 30 years, and going...oh damn this is kind of fucked up, no man you can’t say that, holy shit.

Except Sam’s lived through even more rapidly shifting social moroes! There’s no seamstress guild, there’s no women allowed inside the university, there’s no black ribboner’s society. People hunted trolls for their teeth! But Sam can’t just unlearn everything, and he can’t shut up, and he has no real luck and anyway he would absolutely get himself (temporarily) fired.

FUCK. Sam has no idea what to do with that. None. Zero clue. Wanders around in a haze until that dwarf he saved from police brutality finds him and insists on repaying the debt. No, he insists, do you have any idea what debt means to a dwarf?

“Sort-of?” he replies hesitantly, and that honest admission of incomplete knowledge shows a hell of a lot more respect and understanding than any self proclaimed dwarf-expert ever did.

Gets a job as a surface man, hauling rocks into the city. It’s backbreaking work, but, in true Discworld fashion, it’s also one hell of a workout (again the irony of being Carrot is not lost him. he freezes for a minute while hauling a rock cart, when he remembers he's technically Lost Nobility too, in a strict sense, but someone curses at him in the street and he's comfortingly grounded)

And here is where this au slides into a SPECTACULAR romantic comedy, BEAR WITH ME. Because in his time on the Watch he’s already done noir, action adventure, war story, detective who dunnit, psychological horror, but guards guards only allowed him to be a romance protagonist in an extremely limited context.

Give me righteous, twenty-something-looking, can’t-say-he-doesn’t-have-style, young Sam Vimes, not an alcoholic, being fed three square meals a day by his dwarven forced found family, hauling rocks. He is startled to find him bumping his head on a low hanging bar that he doesn’t think used to be there, eventually realizing that he’s an inch or two taller than he remembers. Huh. Guess all that bearhuggers really did stunt his growth.

Still doesn’t get what some of the looks from women he’s getting are about, sure, he’s dirty but so is everyone else. Fine, he took his shirt off, but it’s hot out, there’s far wrinklier than him hauling heavy loads, get a life.

Happens to glance in the Ankh one day when it’s particularly slow and shiny and is startled to realize that he might be turning heads for a different reason. Oh. Right, not that he was ever a heartbreaker, but he did alright for himself... when he was a younger and his face hadn’t been broken so many times. Which...it isn't now.

Is mildly disturbed by the revelation.

Especially once things blow over at the precinct and what with high mortality rates, he ends up with getting hired again. The boys are delighted to have him back, nevermind that he’s an odd one, noone is ever quite in your corner like Vimsey, absence makes the heart fonder, no one else works that hard, and he’s not even competition for promotion. All around great guy, we should set him up with somebody and just, no.

It just keeps getting worse! He’s literate! He’s a feminist! He believes abuse victims! He’s got a tragic backstory! He’s unreasonably good in a fistfight! He’s kind to animals! Word gets around that there’s a good man on the watch and he’s just waiting for a good woman to come snap him up. The widower excuse doesn’t hold people off completely, and for some it’s its own sort-of appeal.

Things REALLY become stressful after he rescues that carriage full of noblewoman.

What’s he supposed to do? Let them get robbed? Or worse? Chasing down and beating up 10 goons is as easy as beating up one, when they’re that stupid, getting separated like that, drunk and distracted, and he knows these streets better than anyone, really it’s nothing. And oh lord he’s Modest too.

I mean, they were genuinely greatful, as genuine as people like that are capable of being, the skill having grown rusty. And then there is something...magnetic about the man. An air of command.

So, soon enough you get Lady Marigold of Marigrave calling on Treckle Road for that gallant young officer who rescued them, she really needs to thank him. And Viscountess Elanor Thitzferal specifically requesting that he guard her at her next soiree. And Baroness Julieta van Shoeholten insisting that he come to her home while her husband’s away, for... manly protection.

Aaaah just zero sympathy from the guys. None. 'It’s become a competition, they’re just trying to see who can get me into bed first, it’s like I’m a piece of meat, you can’t send me sir, the Marquess greeted me in a nightee last time you made me go to—' and 'small gods Vimes are you even listening to yourself, shut the hell up'.

Simultaneous to this, (again this is several years into the timeline) swamp dragon accessories come into style. Which means abandoned swamp dragons scrounging on the street. Vimes takes one back to his apartment, blows his paycheck on dragon medicine, and eventually, heart in his chest, brings it to the Ramkin estate. The sunshine orphanage doesn’t even exist yet and he’s just standing outside the gates like an idiot, what is he thinking. Turns around, but her carriage is pulling up and—

well. they meet. it's cute. he's never felt so young. he's never felt so old, too old for her, too poor—

and certainly her thoughts linger too long on the awkward, kindly, handsome young commoner, but is it any wonder she doesn't quite connect it to the stern, dangerous, sexy young guard the ladies seem to be in some quiet, cuthroat competition over?

i have this gorgeous, absurd scene in my head in which Vimes is strong armed into standing guard at some high society soiree and one of the pushiest ladies insists he dance with here, or, if he prefers, if he's not confident about his skills, he can dance with her in-private at her home and he’s like [grinding teeth, looking for a way out, seeinf one] “I would be honored to dance with you.”

Steps right into some ultra-complex dance with multiple partner swaps (she never thought he'd pick this one, devilishly intimidating to one not strictly trained, and you barely spend anytime with your first partner).

But he does alright. Better than alright, for a common man, sometimes misstepping but his hands and feet always end up where they need to be. Raises several eyebrows part way into the song because he's throuwing in some slightly scandalous, no innovative, extra lifts and twirls that wouldn't become fashionable for another decade or two. Who even is that guy? Some out of towner? No, no he's in a guards uniform...how very strange.

Gets to Sybll and she's used to embarrassment during these dances, she tries to get out of them when she can... but can't always. Men awkwardly skipping the lifts, or worse, trying and failing. But him — oh it's him, the one who helped little Erold, and looked at her like—like—well like she was someone beautiful. And he's doing it again, and he's strong and there's a quiet moment where she's in the air, they lock eyes, and the rest of the room melts away.

And then the partners change again, the moment ended.

Just...living throught it all again. To the left, a dance he almost knows the steps to, throwing others off balance with erratic moves , honest mistakes, and delibrate stepping on toes. Improvising. Ruining. Improving. Getting far, far too much attention.

Hes almost excited when the first assassains start coming after him. It's like a hobby.

Everyone tells him he should get a hobby.

Interactions with young vetinari...I don't have the energy to write it all down, the slow circling in on each other, both burning with the need to fix the city, save it, their city.

needless to say he ends up fired again, life under real threat after offending some high lord.

Conveniently enough he has an employment opportunity- bodyguard to fucking Vetinari on his 'grand sneer.' The bastard knows vimes isn't what he seems, though sam is pretty sure that he doesnt know the exacts.

Vetinari hypothesis:(the ghost of keel? Keels son, with some hereditary curse? Or a larger spirit of justice possessing a string of unrelated souls? He knows things he shouldn't- mind reader? Fortune teller? Havelock once arranged for a wizard to bump into him on the street, the magical fool gave an odd double look and then muttered something about destiny looping in on itself giving him a headache. Destiny? Lost noble? And hes far too familiar with sybyl, one of the few bearable noblewomen in this city. And his thoughts on guilds, when havelock can trip him into speaking... Most of all, if hes reading him at all correctly (for all the mystery hes not that hard to read, unless thats a very clever cover) then it seems that behind those dark haunted eyes is Respect. Loyalty. For vetinari. What an interesting man. A puzzling asset. An intriguing threat. )

Did I mention the timeline is changing, healing slowly around the place where it was torn? Healing enough around scars to perhaps get some flexibility back, with some painful stretches and...massaging of said scar tissue?

And hes heading to unresting uberwald, a place where a werewolf pack still hunts humans and, truely unrelated but perhaps equally exhausting, an eldritch spirit of vengeance just might be looking to stretch its legs in a hapless vessel?

Opening drabble Vimes Vetinari Meta (Unwell)

#discworld #sam vimes #discworld au #nightwatch au #i literally drafted this post in December 2021 #and i know it was living in my head for years already at that point #i have more somewhere aging like cheese in the back of my mind #discworld fanfic #night watch #Let this be free from my mind #Perhaps someone else will write it #BE FREE ANCIENT AU OF MY SOUL #For all my obsession with discworld I have but this one (1) AU though it tears at me like the seam of a pair of pants #The songs I have permanently associated with this au are slightly bonkers by the way #My au #Seriously there's like two full novels worth of content up here. Sybyll running away from home and living as a commoner #To mirror Sam joining upper class in original timeline you see?#Some early discworld murder Wizard nonsense when they try to poke at the temporal anomaly and the universe goes brrrr #Eventually catching up with color of Magic city burning bs and vimes is mad as fuck #Weird year that never was protecting people during sourcery #And when we start catching up with where he left #Oh ho ho you can't to forward to something that doesn't exist but maybe you can go sideways to a place that's got a tear in it #A sam vimes shaped tear #And his pregnant wife from 30 years ago in the other trouser leg #AND that's not even mentioning how carcers trial got taken to a...higher court

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thegreateyeofsauron · 4 months

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i wonder if harry ever tried to explain copotypes to the others at precinct 41 and tried to assign one to them

Imagine you're a rookie who shows up for your first day at work and suddenly some guy who looks like a homeless version of kraz mazov walks up to you and then stares at you, you stare back, and you see your own bewildered eyes reflected in his baggy bloodshot ones. This continues for a full minute. You can't hear the 10+ person argument going on between the voices in his head, which is good for you because it's really intense and you don't want to hear what Half-Light just said about you after Espirit de Corps chimed in.

Suddenly he says the words "Sorry Cop", and walks away. You try to follow him as you say things like "What?", "Excuse me?", "What does that mean?", and most damning of all; "Sorry?". But you can't keep up with the Jamrock Shuffle, by your third step he's already on the other side of Revachol sniffing out taré and discarded clothing like a truffle hog.

He is a lieutenant double-yifferator-who-gives-a-fuck, and he's your superior now. Better get started on tongue washing those filthy shoes of his, Officer.

#disco elysium #copotypes

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chaddavisphotography · 2 months

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Posters hang from the former Minneapolis police third precinct. The precinct was bandoned after it was burned in May 2020 following the murder of George Floyd. It has sat untouched ever since.

#Art #Ceasefire #Minneapolis #Minneapolis Police #Protest #Sign #South #Third Precinct

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 1 year

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spencer reid x bau!reader where they are married and it always confuses them the people they help at precincts/other offices because now there is a doctor reid and an agent reid. it leads to funny confusions and people cant seem to figure it out

a/n: hehehe omg yeeees! they eventually just give up and start only referring to them by their nicknames. now Spencer gets called pretty boy in serious meetings by more than just Morgan lol

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

“Hey, Reid!” Anderson’s voice stopped your speedy stride as he passed you in the hallway, “Garcia wants you.”

“Oh, okay,” you redirected your steps to move in the direction of her lair, “thanks.”

Creaking the door open, you didn’t receive the cheerful greeting you might have hoped for from your sunny co-worker, “what are you doing here?”

“What do you mean what am I doing here?” you found a corner of her desk not cluttered with figurines and sat down, “you’re the one who just send Anderson to go get me.”

“Oh, not you!” the blonde exclaimed, clutching her pink feather-topped pen so tightly it might snap, “I told him to go get Reid!”

“Oh my god, Penelope,” you sighed, letting your eyes roll till they were completely shut, “this is the third time this week!”

#literally wrote this in five seconds so sorry if that shows lol #lea’s writing #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid scenario #penelope garcia #penelope garcia fanfiction #penelope garcia imagine #penelope garcia fluff

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mediocre-daydreams · 2 years

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𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐬

📌 jen's favs 📎 drabbles 🔒angst 🌷fluff 🗯 18+

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

under oath @ugh-supersoldiers

(series) the world needs someone to blame for the deaths that hydra facilitated for decades, and the target is on the back of the former winter soldier. the case is going to trial, and seemingly the guilt ridden bucky barnes can’t care less about the verdict.🌷🔒📌📌

café crema @wonderlandmind4

(series) the first time was an accident. the second time was coincidence. the third time is just unlucky. the fourth time is getting out of hand and the fifth may or may not be with intent. otherwise known as The One Where He Spills Her Coffee. (modern! au) 🌷

guiding light @wkemeup

(series) it was supposed to be a simple mission. get the intel and go home. until everything goes wrong and you’re taken captive by hydra. while you struggle to stay alive and hold your sanity, bucky begins to lose himself to a darkness and gives into the soldier because he doesn’t know how to breathe without you. not until he brings you home. if he even can. 🌷🔒🔒📌📌

two sides of the same coin @anonymityisfunwriter

(series) you've been in hydra isolation your entire life, and sam is tasked to watch over you. bucky can't understand how you came out of hydra so optimistic and decides he hates you because of it. as you integrate into society, the avengers team, and SHIELD politics, bucky ends up being your biggest supporter. (inspired by taylor swift songs) 🌷🔒📌

snow @delaber

(series) tired of your constant bickering, sam sends you and bucky on a mission alone. when the worst possible outcome happens and you’re forced to spend several days together in a small cabin, you finally get to see a different, more pleasurable side to the man whose flesh you’ve always had a thorn in. 🌷🔒🗯📌📌

not happening @notimetoblog

(series) an online dating site clearly makes a mistake when it matches you with the one person you cannot stand. 🌷📌

tell me which one is worse (living or dying first) @nightowlwriting

(11k) you are in love with bucky barnes. for a long time, the both of you were joined at the hip but then your team stops being paired with his on missions. he stops inviting you over for movie nights. when it finally looks like things are looking up, you hear bucky talking with steve and... it's not good. 🌷🔒📌

safe with me @bitsandbobsandstuff

(series) when an unknown threat enters your life, protection is offered at the highest level. as bucky barnes comes into your life, the game changes, and you realize falling for the man tasked with keeping you safe is the last thing you expected. (bodyguard! bucky x journalist! reader) 🔒📌

the lengths i'd go to @real-jane

(3.3k) detective barnes and his partner are the star team at precinct 75. one threat could tear it all apart. 🔒🌷📌

heart of steel @invisibleanonymousmonsters

(series) sir james is known throughout the lands as the most fearsome and honorable warrior. ballads have been written about him. men fear him. he is the most trusted knight of the king henry. so why has he given up the glories of war and pledged his loyalty to princess y/n? 🌷🔒

just one kiss @sarahwroteathing

(series) bucky barnes has been chasing after you since he was ten years old, but you’re determined not to give in. how long can you hold out when all he’s asking for is just one kiss? (40′s happy ending AU) 🌷🔒📌

pin it @buckysbabygorl

(1.6k) reader will fight barnes until she wins. bucky isn’t complaining, problem is he can’t resist pinning her to the floor. 🌷

better @captainscanadian

(series) dr. james barnes has it all: a loving family, caring best friends, and a successful career as one of the best heart surgeons in new york. he has everything he ever wanted his whole life… well, almost everything. one thing he never thought he could ever have was y/n y/l/n. she may have been a lot of things, but he loved her because she made him better. (modern! au) 🌷🔒

looped @softlybarnes

(15.2k) you are inadvertently trapped in a time loop without any memory of the last five years, including your relationship with bucky. but bucky would stay in the loop forever, explain everything again each day, if it meant getting to stay by your side. 🔒📌

the push and the pull @delaber

(9.8k) there’s nothing bucky wants more than to be with you - and for that reason alone, he has to break both your hearts. 🔒📌

in the right hands @loving-bucky-is-easier

(5.5k) bucky couldn’t tear his eyes from her lips, from the frost melting into teardrops on her eyelashes, from her slack face that seemed like the life was being drawn straight out of it with every wavering breath.” 🌷🔒

you’re a what now? @floatingpetals

(1.6k) sometimes bucky’s girl is just a little, tiny tiny oblivious and doesn’t realize who she’s talking to. and sometimes she can say the darndest things. 🌷

i need him like water @pellucid-constellations

(3.1k) you think bucky’s having an affair. he thinks… well you aren’t sure what he thinks. but he must notice the living room light is left on. every night. 🔒📌

perfect @thesnowsoldierwrites

(3.5k) in which you and bucky have slowly become inseparable, and someone mistakes you for a married couple. 🌷

torture @just-dreaming-marvel

(5.6k) a miscommunication happens between you and bucky, and it all comes tumbling down from there. 🌷🔒📌

part ii: (9.1k) you and bucky get captured, and it’s definitely not an easy time. 🔒

i’ll be there for you @aries-writingblog

(4.8k) even though they’re best friends, bucky can’t seem to trust himself enough to move in with y/n. 🌷

to build a home @fanficimagery

(5.7k) imaging being rescued from a djinn and having a hard time readjusting to reality after living a lifetime of an almost perfect life. 🔒

awake my soul @foreverindreamlandd

(series) (78k) it’s been five years since zombies first started walking the earth. when you stumble across two young, scared boys lost and being chased by walkers, you go against your better judgment and help them to safety. little did you know that helping them would lead you to bucky - an angry, grumpy, distrusting member of the camp shield. 🌷🔒📌

goodbye @lovelybarnes

(4k) enemies to lovers 🔒📌

completely @rassvetsky

(1k) being one of the few people bucky barnes trusted meant having to babysit alpine when he's away. 🌷

pt ii: (5.6k) 🌷🗯

oh baby, oh baby @tooearlyforthis

(6.2k) as a new recruit, y/n isn’t allowed to go on all the missions yet. to make matters worse, they left behind another, someone that she had despised ever since she first stepped foot in the compound - james buchanan barnes. 🌷

remember me @starryevermore

(14.5k) they sold you out to hydra. but little did they know, they had been tricked by one of their own. too little too late, or can they get you back before you’re too far gone? 🔒🔒

harmless @shurisneakers

(series) bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. 🌷🌷

cute @buckyalpine

(1.3k) bucky being offended he looks cute. he’s a tough beefy muscly super soldier so how. dare. you. 🌷

my girlfriend, the worm @vivwritesfics

(1.2k) y/n asks bucky the worm question. like the old man he is, he answers wrong. 🌷📎

yours @jadedvibes

(8.7k) you broke up with bucky right before college to pursue your career goals across the country. you didn’t think the first time you’d see him again years later would be in your office after he was arrested for a crime you know he didn’t commit. 🌷🗯

there's been a misunderstanding @touchstarvedirl

(5.3k) you’ve been distant with bucky, and he just wants to fix whatever it is that’s keeping you away from him. little does he know, it has everything to do with your encounter with a nosy red-headed assassin you’ve gotten the wrong idea about. 🌷🔒

through the year @/punani

(10.8k) bucky barnes is a sight for sore eyes and he doesn’t know it. she is a sunflower in a sea of roses. just give it another year, and a flurry of 11 soft moments and 1 heartbreaking one. 🌷🔒📌

sunflower @mollygetssherlockcoffee

(21k) when y/n joins the team, bucky isn’t fond of her but as time goes on, she begins to form bond with the team and with him. 🌷🔒📌

for as long as you need me @whatthetumblfck

(6k+) a recent mission turns out some unexpected results, and you end up a little (a lot) worse for wear.🔒📌

not for me @kinanabinks

(1.6k) your best friend, steve, has good intentions. he's just really bad with words. 🌷📌

who are you trying to fool? @notimetoblog

(1.5k) a perfect chance at messing with new recruits presents itself to bucky. can he pull it off or will you foil his plan? 🌷

all that glitters is gold @printedpeterparker

(4.7k) the one where y/n takes a chance on the mobster.🌷

poppy fields @buckysfaveplum

(3.7k) hiding your feelings for your best friend always seemed like the best idea, until you start coughing up flowers. (hanahaki au) 🔒🌷

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader series #bucky barnes x reader fluff #jenny's recs

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gaysindistress · 5 months

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Связи (n.) connections - one

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest

pairings: mob!bucky x reader

Summary: “Did you think you could hide from us? That’s adorable, little one. There’s no where on this planet where you could hide from the Shostakov Bratva and even if you did manage to evade us, the Barnes Bratva would find you. Your связи, your connections, will always come back to haunt you, Y/N.”

Warnings: cursing

Word count: 2.5k

series masterlist | gaysindistress masterlist

Taglist: @unaxv @identity2212

Dreykov.

The only man who has ever gotten close to destroying my family.

Ironic considering that he was the Sovietnik to my father but that was before he took it upon himself to ensure that my sisters and I wouldn’t be able to secure a familial line for the Shostakov Bratva.

He believed that only blood could produce blood. In other words, since we were all adopted, we did not have true Shostakov blood and could not carry on the Shostakov bloodline. My father did away with that outdated rule the moment Natasha came into his life but Dreykov refused to let it go.

Frankly I don’t remember anything from that night aside from a needle stabbing me in the neck and waking up in a hospital room. My father held my mother as she sobbed over the three of us all laying perfectly still in our beds. From what Alexei told me, I’m grateful I don’t remember being given an involuntary hysterectomy. If he hadn't already, I would’ve hunted Dreykov down myself and killed him for what he did to us.

Shortly after the three of us were discharged, Alexei sent us along with our mother, Melina, to live in Russia. He claimed it was safer that way but I could see the doubt in his eyes as he lied through his teeth. I think we made it two months before there was an attack. A trio of masked men broke in at night and had grabbed Yelena and I before my father’s men got there. The one that grabbed me was shot as he carried me through the foyer but another quickly grabbed me and yet again I was drugged. I remember the muffled screams of Yelena as the third dragged her away from the banister but then nothing.

I woke up in a small cabin filled to the brim with jars and bottles of various things. Some looked like herbs while others looked like body parts. The woman who was puttering around in the kitchen turned at the sound of me moving and I swore under my breath. Before me was the woman who ran the orphanage I’d lived in for 7 years before my parents adopted me.

She explained that Natasha had arranged for me to live with her until I was of age. “For your own sake,” she’d said and I knew once again I was being lied to by the people I’d trusted the most.

After I turned 17, I found the first US embassy I could and demanded they give me refuge. I made up some story but they all knew I was lying. Even though Alexei may not have been my birth father, I was always told I was a spitting image of him. Whether or not it was the looks or the personality, I’ll never know but the embassy staff immediately jumped on the chance to bring back Oksana Alexeyevna Shostakova-Vostokova.

As I was loaded onto the plane, I asked that they call me Y/N instead. Oksana felt too close to home and I wanted…no needed a fresh start. Y/N had been a nickname Melina gave me and even though I might never see her again, I would always have her near with y/n.

I was all but dropped in NYC with some falsified documents and $5,000 in cash as well as a promise to assist the government in any way I could. The military reached out to me while the FBI pounded on my door. NYPD cops tailed me everywhere and after 3 months of a shit waitressing job, I took up their offer. Within a matter of a few months, I was working as a personal assistant to the police captain of the 99th precinct.

When I turned 21, I was sent to the academy and came back as a fully fledged police officer. Thanks to the falsified documents, everyone knows me as Y/N Polastri and I’ve been able to forget about my life as Oksana Shostakova-Vostokova. My captain, Tony Stark, is aware of my past but only because I had called him one night when I first started, scared shitless because I thought I was being followed. I ended up spilling everything to him and begged him to keep it a secret. He, of course, honored that and from there, we grew closer. His husband, Steve, jokes that I’m the daughter they couldn’t have and even had us take family pictures together. At first Tony said it was ridiculous but he can’t say no to his husband and now his office is covered in various family portraits of us.

Not a day goes by where I don’t think of my sisters or even my parents but I’ve tried looking for them. The only thing I’ve been able to find is an old Russian news article that claims several unnamed Shostakov Bratva members died in a house fire the night I was kidnapped. Aside from that, nothing.

My father, however, hasn’t shied from the limelight. His name is plastered on every police board imaginable as one of the most wanted men in America. Tony does what he can to limit it at our precinct but it would draw attention if he completely got rid of any trace of Alexei. It wasn’t until two FBI agents, SSA Wanda Maximoff and SA Carol Danvers requested our help that I realized how much trouble he’s gotten into.

SSA maximoff laid out her impressive file on him, spreading the papers across the entire conference table as she explained how he’s the largest arms dealer on the East Coast.

“We’ve been able to connect him to not only the Barnes Bratva but also to the Widows,” she’d said while still admiring her work.

I decided then to keep myself busy and do what I could to stay clear of the feds.

I’d failed my own mission miserably but how is a person expected to avoid two people that have made it their mission to find me? A part of me wondered if they knew who I was but it became clear that they didn’t when SA Danvers began flirting with me. It was subtle at first, small smiles and touches which led to brief conversations and daily compliments. She reminded me of Morgan from Criminals Minds with special attention she paid me. It took maybe three months for her to wear me down enough that I finally said yes when she asked me out.

Tony only ever asked once if I planned on telling Carol about my family and the answer was a resounding “no. They’re dead to me.”

My plan to move on and forget worked well for years. I was able to live the way I only thought possible in dreams.

That is until I see a red envelope sitting on my desk. Everything around me starts to move in slow motion as I stare at the offending object so casually sitting among my things. The usually loud precinct drowns out to nothingness and the officers mill around become blurred streaks of blue.

I approach my desk with caution and inspect the letter as much as I can without touching it. I already know who it’s from, I don’t need to look at the black wax seal or the symbol stamped into it. Taking a seat, I pick up the letter and hold it in my lap. The implications of it are swirling around my head.

He knows.

He knows who I’ve become, where I am, and I have no idea for how long.

The letter feels disgusting and heavy in my hands. I have no idea what the contents are and I’m half tempted to throw it away without a second thought but I can’t. Not when he knows my cover and I need to know why.

I peel it open and pull out the black invitation neatly tucked inside. It’s entirely in Russian and I struggle at first after choosing to never use my native tongue but one sentence is clear.

“The Shostakov family regretfully announces the death of their daughter, Natasha Shostakova-Vostokova.”

The death of their daughter, Natasha Shostakova-Vostokova.

Death.

Natasha.

Natasha is dead.

My sister is dead.

And this is how my piece of shit father decides to tell me?

A fucking letter on my work desk in the middle of a busy precinct after years of no contact?

I keep reading.

The next line is a date, time, and address. Her funeral is going to be held at the family’s estate three days from now on Friday.

I wrinkle my nose, hoping to push away the tears that burn my eyes.

She’s gone.

Nat is gone and the last thing I ever said to her was “fuck off”. Well it was the last thing I screamed at her the night Yelena and I were kidnapped. We’d gotten into a fight about stealing socks and being the rage filled kid I was, I screamed at her to leave me alone. When she didn’t, I screamed at her to “fuck off” and she did. I never raised my voice or cursed at her so I knew it would get her attention and it worked. I half expected her to knock on my door later to make up but there was only the sound of raining gunfire and Yelena’s screams.

A light knock on my desk jolts me back to reality and I frantically look around before seeing Tony peering down at me.

“You okay?” He murmurs, throwing a glance to the letter in my lap. I look between it and him before offering it up.

He makes quick work of reading it and sharply inhales as he hands it back.

“Go home,” he tells me, “pack a bag and go home to the cabin. I’ll have Steve meet you there, okay?”

I stare up at the man I’ve come to love as a father and consider his offer of safety.

“No.”

He furrows his brows at me, “no?”

“No,” I say again, “I can’t leave. If he was able to send this to me, he’ll know about the cabin and have men waiting there. Besides, it'll look suspicious.”

Tony crosses his arms, “to who?”

I throw a loom to the redhead fed who’s walking in, “use your brain, captain.”

“She doesn’t know.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s not smart enough to figure it out. News will spread fast and I don’t want to connect the dots for her.”

He rolls his eyes and lets out a loud sigh, “Jesus Christ, Y/N. You need to stop being so paranoid.”

Carol drops herself onto my desk and saves me from having to listen to any more of his lectures about my paranoia.

“Everything okay over here?” She asks as she takes a sip of her coffee and hands me one too.

“Just peachy,” Tony snarks and sends me a pointed look before walking away. He’s never really liked her but it’s gotten worse since we started dating. He claimed it was because he didn’t approve of office romances even though his own marriage had been the result of one.

“What’s his problem?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I lie and shove the letter into my bag. She makes a move to grab the envelope but I’m faster.

She goes to ask another question, presumably about my jumpy attitude but I cut her off with a quick peck and tell her that I have a lot of work to do. She looks upset with me telling her to get lost although in a nicer way but leaves nonetheless. I want to feel bad, I do, I really do but I don’t. Nat is weighing too heavily on my mind to care if I’ve upset anyone, let alone Carol.

Nat consumes my every thought. She becomes all that I can think about as I mindlessly finish paperwork and reports.

All that occupies my mind is nat.

Nat.

I should’ve known better than to show up to a Shostakov event in black. My father’s signature color is red and my eyes are burning from the way the color drips from every inch of his house. The flowers, the banners, the signs, even the gravel are all the same shade of vibrant red. It reminds me of a crayon with how bright and primary it is.

The guests are all dressed in various styles of the same primary red but I’m the only one dressed in only black. I know I stick out for the moment but as soon as I step inside, I’ll blend into the surroundings. Even out of practice, I still remember how to merge into a crowd with ease.

As I walk up the polished steps of my father’s home, I search for any familiar faces amongst the crowd but I see no one. For a brief second, I think I spot Yelena’s blonde hair but it’s gone when I look again. A man dressed in a simple black suit with a rose pinned to his lapel appears at my side, asking to take my coat. I nearly jump from his unexpected closeness but smile and hand it to him. He’s wearing an uncanny smile and it sends a shiver down my spine as he clutches my coat to his chest. I make a mental note to “forget” it when I leave out of concern he might do something to it.

A loud call sounds before me and my eyes dart to the origins. The person who made the noise can’t be seen but I know who it is thanks to his booming voice.

“Welcome,” my father’s voice ricochets off the barren walls, “my wife and I want to thank all of you for coming to celebrate the life of our daughter Natasha. Her death is a great tragedy for our family but we are Shostakovs! We are strong and resilient! We will avenge her and make her proud as she watches over us!”

Men cheer while women wipe their eyes and nod in agreement around me. My eyes threaten to roll right out of their sockets at their performative sadness. Russians aren’t known for their sensitivity and Bratvas are even worse. When Dreykov was murdered, albeit by my father’s hand, no one mourned. His daughter was whisked away to live with her mother in England but other than that, the world continued as it had before.

My father has one thick arm wrapped around a dark haired woman and the other around a younger blonde. I squint to make out their families and I gasp when I recognize them as my mother and sister. Melina looks almost exactly as she had all those years ago and Yelena…. She looks like a completely different person. Granted it’s been almost a decade since I last saw her but there’s a fundamental change in her that I can’t describe.

Her sharp eyes seem to find mine and they narrow before moving to survey the rest of the crowd. A hand brushes against my back and I snap my head to the side, getting ready to curse at whoever touched me.

The hand shifts to my hip and pulls me subtly into their side but they don’t bother to look at me. Instead they lean down and a chilling air caresses me as I recognize their baritone voice.

“Welcome home, Oksana.”

So much for going unnoticed.

#Связи (n.) connections #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #marvel imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #mob au #mob!bucky barnes imagine #Связи (n.) connections Bucky x reader #bucky barnes reader insert #mob!bucky #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes and reader #marvel #mob bucky barnes #mob bucky x reader

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hawnks · 5 months

Text

Cat’s Cradle: 2

Gojo/reader, soulmate au

The Gojo clan is known for two things: excessive wealth, and indomitable strength. What couldn’t be fixed with one would be crushed by the other.

Their trade is demon slaying. A deadly job, as brutal as it is lucrative. They’re good at it, evidently. You catch word of their exploits through gossip, newspapers discarded by your charge. Satoru Gojo, clan head, is a force of nature, they say. A demon himself.

You wouldn’t know, having never laid eyes on him in all your years working here. Hidden in apex of a demon infested forest, the estate is vast. So many buildings it takes dozens of maids to keep them clean.

It’s better to keep your distance. Nobles are callous and fickle. Who knows what attracting the attention of one of them might bring you.

You keep your head down, do your work, get paid. You dream of moving far, far away. Out of the precinct. The country. Where demons are few, or maybe even extinct, and every moment of your life isn’t spent in the shadow of uncertain death.

And it’s fine. Until one day a demon attack turns the entire outer annex to rubble.

They’re of middling strength, but their number makes them fierce. The sorcerers, honed and nimble creatures, emerged from the dust unfazed.

But you’re not a sorcerer. And you don’t walk away at all.

Your medical care is the best you could ask for. A healer, all to yourself — as a low ranking servant, it’s almost unheard of. The attention you get, the comfort. They set you up in the main house, not even in the servants quarters, but a lavish guest room. It’s almost worth the excruciating pain.

By the third day, you’re mostly mended. Visitors are less frequent. The healer tells you this will be his last session with you.

The sun is setting when you hear voices rumbling just outside your door. An attendant, explaining your situation, your background, your job here.

Life-threatening injuries, but now in stable condition. Joined the staff straight out of school. A laundress, with the dry, cracked hands to prove it.

The attendant lingers over the particulars of your pedigree. Two sorceri parents, and yet absolutely no aptitude for it yourself. Barely any cursed energy at all. They reach some sort of accord, but you don’t catch it, too taken aback by Lord Gojo ducking through the doorway.

He’s just as dazzling and unsettling as you’d imagined. The other servants gossiped often about him enough that you had some semblance of what he looked like, but seeing him like this — it’s almost unreal. He looks like the kind of half-imagined entity you would see in a dream.

He smiles at you in greeting, hands folded behind his back, every inch the cocky clan head. He inspects you. Your face, your stress-broken fingernails, the places on your body that are still obscured by thick bandages.

Demarcation of weakness.

“You can take the evening to pack your things,” he tells you. “Be gone by tomorrow.”

You take a deep breath. Let it go. “Yes, My Lord.”

He peers at you for a long moment. Waiting for any reaction, a sign that the magnitude of this exchange has occurred to you.

You grit your teeth and refuse to meet his eye. You bite back tears — you won’t let him see you cry.

Your face betrays nothing of the shock and horror you feel. You’ve been prepared for this your whole life — the dismissal of your soulmate.

The beginning and end.

#:3c

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ladamedusoif · 5 months

Text

Silvered

(Tim Rockford x f!reader)

Pairing: Tim Rockford x f!reader

Word count: ~ 800 words

Rating: Explicit (18+; MDNI)

Content/warnings: oral (f receiving); established relationship; PiV sex; voice kink; Tim is a smooth talker; this is literally just smut; but it’s got some sweetness

Summary: Tim Rockford’s talented silver tongue has a reputation, in more ways than one.

Notes: It started as some horny group chat thots based on that Tim gifset and then my perennial menaces enablers, @julesonrecord and @agentjackdaniels, told me I should post it. So I did.

When you first started dating Tim, you learned quickly that his “silver tongue” was something of a running joke at the precinct. He could charm anyone, his colleagues said - suspect, witness, informant, fellow officers. It was one of the reasons, they said, that he’d been able to rise so successfully through the ranks. Over beers at their favourite bar, you smiled as they good-naturedly teased him about his way with words.

“No need for ‘good cop, bad cop’ with Rockford,” one of the other detectives had said, shaking her head as she swigged her beer. “Just breaks out that voice, and bam - information secured. Silver tongue strikes again.”

That was the first time Tim spent the night. Stretched out on your bed later, you swiftly came to know just how much more that silver tongue could do, beyond winning over informants and cracking cases. How many times did he make you come with his mouth alone, that first night? Three? Four?

No matter the number. It was enough to leave you boneless, yielding, entirely and wholly under his spell. Enough to have you ready and willing to tell him everything, anything, to give him the lot - just as long as he would keep those soft, pink lips sealed tightly around your pussy, and that silver tongue plotting new courses over and around your clit.

He went about the business of eating you out just as he did any case. Lay the evidence out in front of him, study it, and work it methodically, carefully, precisely. He held himself back from getting too excited until he knew when he was on the right track - usually one or two orgasms in, when the wetness was pooling at the tops of your legs and your hips started to buck against his face as he pulled another from you.

Tonight, he’s building you up to a third, languidly swirling his tongue over that sensitive, swollen bud with just the right amount of pressure. He hums contentedly against you, the vibrations reverberating through your centre and enhancing the pleasure all the more. “One more, baby,” Tim mutters, pulling back slightly to survey the mess he was making of you. He slips his fingers into your cunt as he looks up at you, dark eyes glittering and nose still nudging at your mound.

And then he’s back, tongue lapping and swirling and dipping into the wet heat of your pussy like there’s no tomorrow.

The pressure mounts beautifully deep within you - exquisite torment, glorious ache, as you know you’re nearing the edge. Instinctively, you reach down just before you succumb, winding your fingers tightly through Tim’s dark, silver-streaked curls. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but he purrs delightedly at the sensation.

You hold him there for another moment or two, and then pull his head back firmly so that you can see him - and he can see you - as you fall apart on his skilled, clever tongue. His eyes sparkle as they gaze into yours, sharing a moment so erotic, so lewd, and so intimate and soft.

Tim groans with pleasure as he helps you ride out the last waves of your orgasm, revelling in the taste and feel and smell of your sex. You’ve never seen him move up the bed, unzip his pants, and take you so quickly. He cages you with his arms, bends forward to kiss you, and lets you taste yourself on his mouth as he fucks you.

You know he isn’t going to last. Most of the time he’s an expert in that department, always making sure you come first while sustaining your mutual pleasure. He’s gentlemanly like that. Won’t finish until you do.

Tonight, though, the combination of your taste, your wetness soaking his face, moustache, and beard, and above all the way you jerked his head back so you could look deep into his eyes as you came hard against his mouth is just too much. Frankly, Tim thought later, you were lucky he didn’t ruin his freshly dry-cleaned dress pants there and then.

A couple of hard thrusts and he’s coming inside you, moaning loudly as he finds his own release and reward deep within your body. He collapses onto your chest, shifting down to rest his head against the soft, sweat-veiled skin of your breasts.

Tim drifts into the kind of deep, restorative sleep he’s only ever experienced since he started dating you. His breath is warm against your body and you hold him close. Idly, you play with his damp curls, and trace a gentle caress with your thumb along his plush lower lip.

#tim rockford #tim rockford fanfiction #tim rockford smut #tim rockford x f!reader #tim rockford x you #tim rockford one shot #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #silvered fic #merge mansion

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callsign-dexter · 7 months

Text

Gossip and Glances

Request: Oh wait !

How about a little sequel to the previous Antonio imagine where they arrive together in the office and also during the day everyone makes conclusions about the marks on your neck or how Tonio hisses when he leans back on his chair due to the scratches? 🤭🤭 you also don't need to do this, it was just a little funny thinking in my head 😊

Pairings: Antonio Dawson x Reader

Warnings: mentioned smut, fluff

Masterlist

Prolog: From Colleagues to Lovers

Sequel: Gossip and Glances

Third Installment: Flirting with Risk

The next morning you both woke up together and when you two looked at each other both of you couldn’t help but smile. You both had sweet passionate sex and finally confessed your feelings for one another and you couldn’t be happier. Now that you all had officially confessed and officially became a couple. As you were laying there looking at each other and enjoying the moment the sudden realization of having to go to work you both were like a freight train. You sighed and he looked at you. “Is there something wrong?” He asked as he put a piece of untamed hair behind your ear.

“We have to start getting ready for work.” You said and he nodded but then you remembered that you didn’t have any of your clothing here and that made your face fall, Antonio noticed this.

“What’s up with the frown?” He asked

“I don’t have any of my clothing here or necessities here.” You said and he chuckled.

“I’m sure we can make something work. I also have an extra toothbrush.” He said and then as much as you didn’t want to you both rolled out of bed. It was a good thing you didn’t wear any makeup. As Antonio stood up you looked at his back and giggled and that made him turn around with a raised eyebrow. “What’s so funny?” He asked you.

“I really did a number on your back.” You said and he went into the bathroom and you followed him. He looked into the mirror and shook his head.

“These just show that I made you feel good and I will wear them proudly.” He said turning around and kissing you and then you got your reflection in the mirror and saw the deep bruising on your neck and gasped, you pulled away from him.

“How am I supposed to cover these up?” You asked him and he shook his head and came up behind you wrapping his arms around you.

“Don’t. It shows that you’re mine and only mine.” He said and you shook your head.

“Antonio.” You said in a warning tone and he looked at you.

“One of the girls might have something to cover them up so you don’t get in trouble.” He said and you nodded. You both got ready for work and this included a shower which you could hear him hiss as the water touched the marks going down his back and that just made you smirk. When it came down to clothing you grabbed one of his shirts and made it work and then threw on your jeans and tucked the shirt into it creating a cute and decent outfit if you must say.

You both ate a little bit of something and then you both were on your way to work. You had also opted for one of his hoodies that was just big enough that it was comfortable. The drive to work was a comfortable silence and he held your hand over the center console. When you arrived at the precinct, he parked right next to your car that was still sitting there. Having to grab something from it you both were heading inside afterwards. As you both walked hand in hand into the building, Trudy looked at you with a raised eyebrow. Antonio just smirked and you hang your head smiling and a blush creeping up on you. She didn’t say a word but you could tell she was thinking by the smirk on her face.

You thought you were in the clear when you didn’t see anyone in the bullpen but you luck had run out when everyone started to filter in from different places one by one. Everyone greeted each other and when Adam went to pat Antonio on the back he hissed and tensed up. Adam, thinking something he did wrong, pulled back and raised his hands “You ok man? It wasn’t that hard of a pat.” He said and Antonio shook his head.

“No, it wasn’t your pat.” He said not wanting to out your relationship quite yet. He said and your face heated up and you wouldn’t look anyone in the eye. “Let’s get to work. Yeah?” He asked as you both scurried away to your desks, thankfully his sweatshirt was covering up your hickeys and they hadn't noticed you wearing his clothing.

It wasn’t a very busy day, just a lot of paperwork that had to be filled out and occasionally everyone would hear Atonio hiss out or grunt in pain and it was concerning a lot of your coworkers. Each time your face would become beat red and you would bury your head into you work. It was starting to get a little warm so you took his hoodie off without thinking and then you heard a gasp and you looked up at Kevin. “Did you get in a fight with an octopus?” He asked and that had everyone coming over to look at you, especially the girls.

“No, Kevin. I just had a very fun eventful night.” You said and then Erin spoke up.

“I bet you did with your neck looking like that. Is that Antonio’s shirt?” She asked and you looked down.

“Is it?” You asked and then Jay was coming over to inspect it.

“That is totally his shirt.” Jay said and you were quiet and so was Antonio. He sat back into his chair and let out a painful hiss and everyone looked at him and they were slowly putting the dots together.

“Wait….” Kim said and everyone looked up at her “Did you two finally confess and sleep together?” She asked and you both kept quiet. You looked at him and they caught that.

“OMG! You did!” Erin said loud enough for everyone in the building to hear.

“Shhhhhhh.” You and Antonio said at the same time. “Keep your voice down.” You both said at the same time again.

“Oh, you’re going to tell us more while Erin and I help you cover this up before Hank sees.” Kim said and grabbed your hand and you 3 girls headed into the locker room. You and Antonio looked at each other and it was a silent cry for help but you both knew you both weren’t going to get out of this so you both let it happen. The boys circled Antonio and the telling began just as the girls sat you down on the bench in the locker room and began the operation of covering up the hickeys.

“How was it?” Erin asked and you smirked and blushed.

“It was great and perfect. He was gentle and the sex was great. I really love him.” You said and they squealed. You told them more but all you could think about was about how Antonio was getting grilled and questioned.

**********************************************

“How was she?” Kevin asked and was met with a hit to the chest and an ‘oof’ was heard from him.

“She was great. I really love her. Those nails of hers can do some damage but it felt great.” He said with a smile thinking of how your night went.

“Man, if she’s leaving scratches down your back that is making you hiss then you’re doing something right.” Adam said and Jay nodded in agreement.

This went on for about 20 minutes until you were walking about out a shade of red and he got up and met you before walking into the bullpen and he grabbed your face and kissed you and you returned it. Oh, yea you love this man with all your heart and he felt the same way. You were both glad you went from colleagues to lovers. In your mind and his you both were the best thing to happen to each other.

Tag list:

@kmc1989

@els-marvelvsp

@atarmychick007

@nyx2021

@grandstrangerphantom

#antonio dawson x reader fandom #antonio dawson x reader fic #antonio dawson x reader fanfic #antonio dawson x reader #antonio dawson x reader fanfiction #antonio dawson imagines #antonio dawson imagine #antonio dawson fanfic #antonio dawson fanfiction #chicago pd fanfiction #chicago pd fic #chicago pd fanfic #chicago pd x reader #chicago pd imagine #one chicago imagines #one chicago x reader #one chicago fanfiction #one chicago imagine #one chicago fanfic

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devilfic · 7 months

Text

❝nocturnal animal❞

plot: okay, maybe the caped crusader is a vampire. and maybe you just want to know what it would feel like for him to sink his teeth into you. it's not weird. pairing: vampire!battinson!bruce wayne x detective!gn!reader. cw: vampires (duh), vampire-typical erotic descriptions of blood drinking, vampire hypnotism/compulsion, teasing martinez (lovingly). words: 2.6k.

a/n: I had a rough month last month and writer's block was the icing on the cake, but I picked up a vampire encyclopedia at the library and found out batman has been turned into a vampire... several times. more times than I thought, actually. this is what came of it. happy halloween month!!

"How does it feel?"

Gordon cuts his eyes to you for a moment, still thumbing through rows of manila folders. You sort of do the same just to appear a little less eager. "How does what feel?"

"The... well, you know." You awkwardly gesture to his wrist where the sleeve had fallen back a hair.

Your lieutenant flicks back his coat sleeve as if he were checking the time, but the watch face is laid flush against the inside of his wrist. He tugs at it. Frowns. Shrugs. "Feels like nothin'."

"Oh, do not bullshit me."

Gordon looks at you again. Then he glances around the storage room, quieter and emptier than every other room in the precinct right now. It's just the two of you here. You'd made sure of that before you decided to ask.

He props his arm on the box of cold cases and gives you a hard, judging stare. "I'm not describing what it feels like to have a grown man sucking..." He glances around again just to be sure no one had slipped in all of a sudden, "...if you wanna know, go ask him to bite you."

You... hadn't considered that. "He'd be okay with that?"

"I don't know, probably. It's not like he has a preference."

"I thought he didn't like Martinez."

"Well, you've seen Martinez. He eats like a high schooler."

You press your thumb into your own wrist, clenching and unclenching your fist until the veins show. You're possessed with a shiver as the draft from the vent above cools the skin. "So I... what? I just go up and ask?"

"Yeah, sure. Worst he can say is no."

"Detective."

About a third of your coffee goes flying, splattering milky brown onto concrete. You're lucky it had gone cold on your way up here or else it would've singed the skin off your ankles, but you're still not happy.

"Christ- get down from there. I'm not talking to you like that."

The Bat is perched comfortably above the doorway, looking down on you from above, but makes no move to get down. He keeps himself crouched, "Where's Lieutenant Gordon?"

“Night off with Barb. He’s been overworking lately, you know how he is. I told him I’d take care of you.” You stare up into the darkness and feel your heartbeat pick up a bit. You force yourself to still it, keep it tamped down under the years of poker face your career had honed for you. “I’m serious. Come down and talk to me or I’m making Martinez do this.”

You usually negotiated with people on the other side of a table, and none of them could ever hear your heart going ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump… so this was fairly new to you.

He drops down in front of you, cape fluttering gracefully. The first time you met him, Gordon had warned you to keep your cool. I mean, six foot something unknown, dressed in all black armor with innumerable resources and connections, endlessly prowling the night sky, whose intentions were murky and who was only on your side until he decided he wasn’t? Everyone thought Gordon was crazy. You were the first to give him a chance.

You noticed the little things. You rarely saw him during the day, never could get him to come out of the shadows when you did, always skulking about and never seeming to slow down. Weekdays, weekends, holidays. At one point, you’d wondered if he was even human. You’d wondered it out loud, in front of Gordon, expecting him to rip off the cowl to reveal a labyrinth of wires and then-

And then you’d realized you’d been paying an awful lot of attention to the Batman, and absolutely not enough to Jim Gordon.

He doesn’t sway or make faces like other people, doesn’t give away his thoughts like you’re used to. Instead, you’ve noticed very minute ticks: prolonged staring (even worse than his normal staring), not bothering to take a breath, the stillness of him and around him. The cityscape in the background might as well be a wide, empty plain when you’re standing next to him. Eventually, he lies, “Martinez is fine.”

"Worst he can say is no," your ass.

You try not to be offended by that. “You don’t like Martinez.” You sound pretty offended, against your best efforts.

“That’s not true.”

“I- you know what I meant. You said it yourself. Gordon told me.”

“It's fine."

You squint, “Am I not good enough for you?” A rare look of surprise flickers in his eyes. "You just said you’d prefer the guy whose blood you don’t even like.”

“I said he’s fine.” You hear a little edge to his voice that gives you pause. You’ve heard it before, coiling around the margins of his words. A tell-tale sign, Gordon had said, that you were trekking into dangerous territory.

You press your lips into a firm line but stand your ground, “I already made my choice. If you really want Martinez, say so. Clearly. Use your words and mean it.”

The Bat stares, unreadable.

You know how this goes with Gordon. It’s nothing intimate. The wrist most of the time, other times the neck when it’s closest. Or when Gordon’s busy on his computer. It’s always quick. You don’t even see Gordon flinch.

But with you? You don’t know how it’ll go with you. You don’t know where to start, only that you’d been thinking about it all day after you’d finally called Gordon and promised “I can take care of him.”

Batman takes your wrist, brings it to his nose, and flinches away. You panic at the thought that it might really be he prefers Martinez to you until he plucks the coffee out of your hand and sets it down on the ledge. His eyes follow yours as his mouth falls to the inner wrist and you feel wet, cool breath against it. It tingles all the way up to your ears. Those eyes flicker away a millisecond later, inspecting your arm in its entirety.

His leather-gloved thumb caressing your skin should make you something other than what you’re currently feeling, that’s for sure.

“Thank you,” Batman starts, sounding reluctant. His eyes quickly flicker to your throat and then away again, “Do you have a preference? Anywhere I should avoid?”

"Avoid?"

"Anywhere someone might look. A friend... or partner, perhaps."

Your lips part, sucking in a breath, “No, uh- no. No one like that. Wrist is fine. O-Or neck. Whichever is… easier.”

He doesn't say anything more. His lips curl up. Two pointed fangs reveal themselves behind the parting of his mouth, fangs that weren’t there before when he spoke. You ruminate on that, a reminder that the man under the mask could be anyone if he could hide so easily like that.

You watch—transfixed, barely registering the pain—when those fangs pierce skin. Blood beads where his teeth push in slow, and the icy sting you're expecting is no more than a needle prick at best. But the strangeness of a mouth pressed there, suckling at the wound as blood dribbled out of it… you stretch your fingers and stiffen. It was all you could do not to scare yourself and rip that hand back, tearing a vein in the process.

His tongue unmistakably presses to the flat of your inner wrist and before you can question it, he’s got his eyes on you. All of it goes quiet after that.

You no longer feel the sting, nor his lips pillowing around his teeth, nor the grip of his hands holding your wrist to his mouth. All you see is blue. Endless, reeling pools of blue. Not red like they were in the movies, or yellow, or black all over. Blue. Human blue. Wondrously beautiful blue. Had you ever liked blue eyes this much before? It felt like this was your first time truly seeing them. They were just so… radiant. And here he was, swathed in night, with pale skin peeking out like a waning crescent. Had you ever seen skin so pale? It felt like this was the first time truly seeing it. It was just so...

Your train of thought wanes. Sweeping over you is a dizzy spell so abrupt that you think you gasp. Or whimper.

Feeling returns to you as soon as he breaks your gaze. All at once, your skin is flush, your breathing concernedly slow, your knees weak. It’s so shocking that you buckle at the slightest gust of wind.

Just as quickly, the Bat clings to your wrist and pulls you flush to his chest, holding your bleeding arm in between the both of you while he holds you in a half-dip (like a pause in a waltz), suspended over you. Your eyes catch on the darkness staining his bottom lip where his fangs are still poking out, and you watch as a drop of blood gathers, swells, and falls… right onto your cheek. It’s still warm.

You feel a subconscious warning thrum through you. Perhaps it was because you were so close now, that the blue looked more hypnotic than radiant and his skin looked more undead than celestial. You understand in one sweeping, chilling second, what you’ve just let sink its teeth into you. “What the fuck was that?”

“You were starting to panic,” he explains, low, using no effort at all to hold you, “I calmed you down.”

“How? It’s like… it’s like you hypnotized me. Did you hypnotize me? Do you do that to Gordon?”

You don’t mean for it all to come out like an accusation, but the feeling had been akin to walking on a cloud, only to wake up the minute your foot falls through. In the time that you’d been lost in his eyes, waxing poetic about his otherworldliness, he could’ve… well, he could’ve… he could’ve done anything.

The feeling was untethered. Wild. Alien.

When he’s sure you won’t hurt yourself, the Bat lets your hand fall back to your side, straightens you up but never pulls away. Your eyes keep glancing between his and the points right above his brow, unsure that he wouldn’t draw you right back into that place if you looked directly at him again. “Gordon doesn’t panic.” He simply answers.

You go to defend yourself but you had felt it; the mounting pressure of it, the strange pain toggling on the instinct to get away, get away, get away. Your heartbeat was so slow when you came back to, like he'd damn near put a stop to it. “I panicked?”

The Bat doesn’t laugh at you, even when the answer is so obvious. “It's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's a common phobia.”

You're struck by his implication, “Are you seriously trying to say I’m scared of blood?”

“Maybe just your own.”

“I'm a detective. I see blood all the time. Maybe it's because you're a fucking vampire and my ooga booga brain is rightfully terrified.”

“You offered.”

Your ears burn, “As a favor to Gordon.”

“I can hear you lying.”

The sureness of his statement stops you quick. You feel yourself choke on nothing, sounding strangled as you respond, “Excuse me?”

“I could hear it,” your heartbeat thrums in your ears as the Bat continues to hold you, less waltz now and more hostage situation, “I heard it when you lied just now. I heard it earlier, on your way here. And I heard Gordon on the phone… not with Barbara.” He's blocking the wind sweeping over the ledge, making your flush feel hotter than before. “I don't prefer Martinez to you, but I know why you offered.”

You swallow, exposed. He'd make a damn good detective. "And?"

Your offended wrist is seized once more, and he studies the small holes there, as well as the teeny-tiny drops of blood still lightly flowing from the wound. It looks like it'll stop soon.

Achingly slow, Batman brings it to his mouth and licks away the last of you.

You have no choice but to watch, of sound mind and body, because he refuses to look you in the eye. You're forced to see him in his entirety. Forced to keep down that mounting pressure. A test, to see if you're just a little bit better than Martinez.

You steady your breathing and stare, trying to make this unnatural thing feel natural. Trying to not like it so much.

When he peels away, your skin is clean, and you can tell your blood is beginning to coagulate. "If you come back to me, I won't stop you. But if we're going to do this, I'd prefer somewhere with less concrete. In case you faint."

Your eyes narrow in on the slight pursing of his lips. Almost as if he were trying not to laugh. "I'm not scared of blood." You can’t tell if it’s because he’s so good at his poker face or if he really just doesn’t want to tease you further, but something about the clearness in his expression convinces you to speak up for yourself, “It’s probably because I missed dinner. That's all."

For one single moment, his face shifts. Then it smooths out again. You watch him climb onto the ledge, next to your long-forgotten excuse of a coffee, and turn back to you, "Will you be alright?"

You want to be annoyed about it, you really do, but the concern in his voice is true. As a compromise, you take a seat on the ledge, "Well, if you see the signal in the sky tonight, just assume I ate shit going downstairs."

As one final surprise, he smiles at you. Then he's disappearing into the darkness below.

You can hear Gordon in your head as you slip a bag of chips out of Martinez' upper drawer. After the vending machine had eaten six of your dollars, you'd given up just short of kicking a hole in the glass. You didn't want to think about what kind of hell Chief Bock would put you through for that one.

After the Bat left, you'd stumbled your way down several flights of stairs with the hopes of ending your shift only a little past midnight. There were still cops around, most unusually idle for a night in Gotham, and you supposed they had Batman to thank for that. Not that they ever would.

The very thought of him flashes images of his tongue on your skin, lapping at your blood, and you immediately force yourself to think of anything else. That was going to be a long-lasting memory.

If you were lucky, you at least wouldn't see him until tomorrow night, and that might give you time to get some sense into you. And food, too. The chips in your hand are no Michelin star dinner, but they'd hold you over until you made it home.

Just as you turn the corner to your office, you notice that something isn't quite how you left it. The door, for starters, is cracked where it was once closed.

You take a beat, then two. You listen for movement in your office, careful not to cast a shadow under the door and give yourself away, but hear nothing.

You push the door open in a rush, staring into the dimly lit room searching for the barrel of a gun staring back at you. Or, considerably worse, a person.

Instead, on your desk where it definitely wasn't before, is a bag of something that smells suspiciously like good food. You approach cautiously. Sure enough, you recognize it from Gordon's favorite lunch spot... your go-to, as only Gordon would know it.

A note is stuck to the side of the bag, a message written in neat curves and lines. The penmanship of a steady hand, not at all like your lieutenant's fast-moving scrawl. You read the note and feel a phantom sting where your wrist is patched up in band-aids.

Thanks for dinner.

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