#agent 4 appreciation day

[daddy-dotcom]

Bang My Line

Summary: You're Penelope Garcia's first intern, and you learn a lot more from her than just her technical skills.

Rating: M

Words:4, 357

Warnings: Fluff, typical canon violence mentions, smut ;)

*reblogs or comments r much appreciated*

Read my newest fic Scents and Sensibility out now 🤭

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The first day was a blur. It was scary enough to completely change career paths, but working for the FBI was an entirely different beast. Between what seemed like hundreds of background checks and interviews, I finally made it to my first day. Granted, I would just be an intern for now, but hopefully this would lead to a permanent position as a technical analyst. I waited in the lobby for Penelope Garcia, the woman who would be my mentor for the duration of my time with the BAU. We had spoken over the phone and even texted back and forth a bit, but this would be my first time meeting in person.

“There she is! My shiny new intern.”

“Hi you must be Agent Garcia,” I replied with my arm outstretched. She took it and gave what was the most enthusiastic hand shake I’ve ever seen.

“Oh honey, I’m way too fun for you to call me agent. Call me Penelope.” I shook my head in agreement and she led me towards the elevator.

“I know I gave you a rundown of the team via our text messages, but be prepared for them to ask you a million questions. You’re my first ever intern and they’re dying to meet the newest member of the team.”

“Duly noted, just know I’m going to be doing the same to you Penn because I’m a little out of my element here.”

“hmm Penn, I like the sound of that.”

As the elevator doors opened, I could see the rest of the team gathered around a desk, too focused on their own conversation to notice me and Penelope.

“Everyone, please welcome my first and only intern (Y/N).”

The man in the crisp black suit stood up first to greet me and introduced himself as Agent Aaron Hotchner.

“Penelope has not shut up about her new intern so it’s nice to finally put a pretty face to the name. I’m SSA Derek Morgan.”

I let out a bashful chuckle as I shook Morgan’s hand. Penelope did warn me that he could be a bit of a flirt. I was then greeted by a blonde woman who goes by JJ and an older man named Agent Rossi.

“Don’t tell me you write in pink sparkly gel pen too?” he jokingly asked.

I smiled and shook my head no, before being greeted by Agent Emily Prentiss.

“Don’t mind Rossi, it’s always nice to have another woman on the team to keep these boys in check.”

She gestured towards Morgan and the other agent beside her, who I can only assume is none other than Dr. Spencer Reid.

Penelope had described him as quote “Steven Hawking trapped in a young Bill Nye’s body.” What I didn’t expect was for him to actually be attractive. Sure, Agent Morgan and even Agent Hotchner were easy on the eyes, but Spencer Reid was strikingly handsome in the most unassuming way. The soft golden waves that covered the top of his head combined with those puppy dog eyes were enough to remind me how nervous I was to be joining the team.

“Nice to meet you (Y/N)” he said as he took my hand. My palms were beginning to sweat, but the steadiness of his firm grasp eased my nerves.

“Likewise,” was all I could manage to say. He held my gaze for what felt like both a moment and an eternity, before releasing my hand.

“Well, (Y/N), let’s get you briefed on your first case,” said Penelope.

I followed Penelope into the briefing room and decided to sit in the seat closest to the screen so that I could take notes on her presentation. To my surprise, Spencer took the seat next to me. As if I wasn't already a nervous wreck, his close proximity to me was going to make my writing even more illegible than usual. Still, I could get used to sitting next to the most handsome member of the team.

As Penelope wrapped up her presentation and the rest of the team departed on the jet, the bubbly blonde gave me a little tour of her office. Rossi wasn't joking about Penelope's love of glitter gel pens, and her desk was adorned with unicorn paperweights and mermaid statues.

"This is your workspace over here, (Y/N), although you'll mostly be assisting me for the first couple of weeks. Feel free to decorate your desk with as many unicorns as you please," she said.

The first hour or so of work was mostly getting situated in my new workspace, but we soon got our first call from the team, and it was from the man himself, Derek Morgan. Penelope pressed the button to answer the phone and his voice immediately came through the speaker for both of us to hear.

"It's your babygirl and her babygirl in training, what do ya need hot stuff?" said Penelope.

"Hey mama, I need you to look into Walter Price's bank activity for the last few months, see if there were any suspicious withdrawals or transfers."

"Anything for you gorgeous"

"Thanks babygirl, I'll be expecting your call back soon."

I sat with my mouth slightly ajar, looking over at Penelope dumbfounded.

"Do you talk to everyone on the phone that way?" you asked.

"Nope, just my sweet lover Derek Morgan."

I paused for a second before asking my follow up question, "so are you two like...in a relationship?"

"Only in my dreams," Penelope said with a wink. I let out a laugh because this whole situation surprisingly made me more at ease in my new job.

"As your intern, I guess it's my job to learn how to answer the phone like you?" I said with a wicked smile.

"Oh no my dear, at least, not yet. We've got a long way to go before you get to my level. And of course you'll have to find your own gorgeous man to talk dirty to, Morgan is already taken."

That definitely wouldn't be a problem, I already had the most gorgeous man on the team in mind.

I spent the next few weeks listening in on Penelope's phone calls and looking up information for her. I even got to help her present a new case to the team. After my first week, the team took me out to celebrate surviving my first case with the BAU. Even though I had become more comfortable around everyone on the team, I couldn't shake the butterflies Reid gave me whenever we interacted. However, I did notice that I was much more confident over the phone than in person. I tried to conceal my blossoming crush on Spencer as best I could, but I couldn't help but be the slightest bit sweeter to him whenever he was the one who called us.

During my second month of internship, we had a particularly hard time tracking down an unsub. Penelope was getting way too many names and she called Spencer to help her narrow down the list.

"There were traces of chlorine and calcium hypochlorite on the body which are chemicals commonly used in pool maintenance, Garcia narrow it down to men over 40 in the area who own pools or work in pool maintenance," he said.

"One name! It's Michael Dunlop, he works as a freelance pool maintenance man and, ooh get this, he hasn't responded to any jobs since the first murder on June 11th."

"Sending the address to your phones right now!" I interjected.

"Thanks (Y/N),"

"Anything for you, cutie" I said, with a sudden burst of confidence.

As I hung up with a satisfied look on my face, Penelope glanced over at me looking smug as ever.

"Cutie huh? That's a new one," Penelope said, "I knew I'd rub off on you sooner or later." And she was right. I started incorporating more color into my work wardrobe and I even brought my tiny stuffed cow to sit at my desk.

"You said I had to find my own gorgeous man to flirt with on the phone...so I did."

"I knew it! You have a crush on our genius boy-wonder!" She was positively giddy just by the thought of it. "I mean he's always sitting next to you and looking over at you when he thinks no one is noticing. You would think in a room full of profilers that I wouldn't be the only one to notice, and yet here we are."

It never occurred to me that my little crush might actually be reciprocated. Spencer was always a bit socially awkward, so I just assumed that he was the same way with me. I never once thought that he was actually as nervous to talk to me as I was to him. This fact somehow boosted my confidence even more, and I decided to have some fun with Spencer over the phone.

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"Cutie huh?" Morgan asked the blushing boy. Spencer was used to Penelope teasing him, but this was different. He had been harboring a small crush on their newest intern for the past month, and when she flirted with him over speakerphone for Morgan, of all people, to hear, Spencer couldn't help but turn as red as a tomato.

Of course, being a profiler, Morgan took notice of Reid's crimson cheeks. "Call me crazy but I think she likes you, pretty boy."

"O-of course not, she's just copying the way Garcia talks to you," Spencer stuttered.

"That may be true, the only difference is that you have a little crush yourself."

Spencer didn't bother trying to lie since he knew Morgan would see right through him, so he just mumbled something about Prentiss and Hotch needing them at the location (Y/N) sent.

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It was a lot easier to flirt with Spencer when he wasn't physically in front of me. When we were in the office together, we'd shoot each other smiles from across the room or he'd bring me an extra coffee in the morning. But when he was out in the field and I was back at my desk at the BAU, it was a whole different game. I tried my hardest to make him blush over the phone any chance I got, and it seemed to be working. After Penelope found out about my little crush, she decided to play matchmaker and slip Spencer my work phone number to call me instead for information. For the first time, I heard my phone ring instead of Penelope's and I immediately answered.

“Give it to me good baby, what do you need from me?” I replied. I knew it was Spencer since he was the only one who had my number.

"Hey (Y/N)" he said, and I swear I could hear him smiling through the phone. I could tell he had become more comfortable with our one-sided phone flirting over the past month. "I need you to look up all of Dr. Gupta's patients at the psychiatric clinic for the past 3 months, see if any of them drive a black van."

"You got it, gorgeous. If you need anything you know you can always bang my line."

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“You have (Y/N)’s number?” JJ asked.

Spencer looked puzzled, “Yea.. don’t we all?”

“I think it’s just you pretty boy” Morgan quipped, as he chuckled and gave him a pat on the back.

Spencer had grown fond of (Y/N)'s phone flirtation, but he was too embarrassed to return the favor in front of his colleagues. He loved watching her walk around the office in her high heels, trying to keep up with Penelope's fast pace. He knew brief glances and morning coffees weren't going to cut it anymore, he had to do something before her internship was over. So he decided to call her on his way home from working the case.

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The team had just finished a case and were on the plane headed back to Quantico. Penelope had plans so she left me to wrap things up in the office. Just as I was making my way towards the door, my phone began to ring. Confused, I picked up the phone and listened to see if it was a misdial.

"Hey babygirl."

I nearly choked when I realized who was speaking. My body involuntarily shivered and my heart quickened its pace. This "babygirl" hadn't come from Morgan, it was Spencer on the other line.

"Hi Spencer! What's up I thought you guys wrapped up the case?" I asked in a confused tone.

"We did, but I thought I'd call you without everyone else around." His voice sounded sultry and silky smooth, unlike his usual rapid rambling, and it made it so much harder for me to speak. "We should be landing in about twenty minutes, stay in your office and I'll meet you there."

"Okay, I'll be waiting here, handsome."

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Those twenty minutes were the longest twenty minutes of my life. I knew Spencer had a crush on me as well, but what could he possibly want to meet with me for? Was he going to ask me to stop flirting with him on the phone? Was he going to ask me out? Was he trying to make out with me? God I secretly hoped it was the latter...

Just as I had been getting lost in my own thoughts, I heard the familiar voices of the rest of the team down the hall. I knew Spencer would be walking into my office any minute, so I nervously fixed my hair and applied the lipgloss Penelope gave me.

"Hey babygirl," said the tall man standing in the door frame.

"Hi Spencie," I said with a smile as I called him the nickname I lovingly gave him, which I'm sure he secretly hates. I couldn’t help but grin since the word “baby girl” still seemed so foreign coming from his mouth. I stood up to meet his gaze as he slowly made his way over to my desk.

"I know you've been teasing me these past couple weeks," he said as we closed the gap between our bodies. I would say our faces were inches from each other, but he was impossibly tall and my face didn't reach past his chest, "but now its my turn to tease you," he said as he brought his hands behind my ears and pressed his lips onto mine. He was gentle and tentative at first, but I passionately pressed my lips back against his to deepen the kiss. I ran my hands through his gorgeous locks and began to tug. We quickly became a breathless mess and I couldn't help the feeling building in the pit of my stomach. His hands traveled down to my waist and he gingerly pulled me closer. He was both hesitant and passionate, not quite sure if he should act on his instincts. He pulled back for just a second to speak:

"I know you only have a few weeks left with us, but would you like to get coffee sometime?" he asked with those same puppy dog eyes that made me fall for him in the first place.

"Oh Spencie, we're a bit past coffee don't you think?" I said with blushy cheeks. "Let's get dinner sometime, I'm free any night except Tuesday, I have Zumba class with Penelope."

"She really has influenced you a lot hasn't she?" he said, making a mental note of the pink scrunchie in my hair.

"In more ways than one hot stuff."

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Over the next few weeks, I spent my days phone flirting with Spencer at work and my nights making out with him in my office or eating Chinese take-out in his apartment. No one on the team, not even Penelope, knew about our brewing workplace romance, and we intended to keep it that way until I was hired permanently. However, that didn't stop him from flirting back on our calls. I was on my last week of internship and I was now the only one who Spencer called when he needed information. Spencer and I had agreed to take it slow, but our most recent calls had me desperate to find out what else he was packing besides the gun strapped to his hip. Just then, a call interrupted my wandering thoughts and I immediately picked up knowing it was him.

“Dayton Ohio you're on the air" I answered in my sexiest voice possible.

"I'd like to make a request," Spencer replied.

"You can request anything you want, doctor" I could hear him chuckle behind the phone before telling me what he actually needed.

"I need you to look up a marketing firm by the name of Firsthand Media and see if they have any connections to the colleges of the first set of victims."

"I'm on it, sugar" I answered.

"Oh and one more favor, look up the words beautiful and brilliant and see what you can find."

"Look at that, it's me"

"You're the best (Y/N)"

I could feel Penelope's eyes on me before she turned around and said

"I've never been more proud."

The rest of the day was filled with calls from the other agents to Penelope, mostly Morgan, until that evening when I got one last call from Spencer. He asked me to see if there were any men who had been admitted to the hospital in the last 6 months for brain injuries, but no one came up.

"Couldn't find anything, looks like you're going to have to punish me Spencie," I replied.

"You'll just have to wait til I get back for that"

He hung up, and I couldn't believe what I just heard. Penelope and I were in shock that Spencer Reid could be so dirty. For once, I was the one blushing on the other end.

"(Y/N) I swear to god if you don't let that man make sweet love to you I am personally writing your letter of resignation"

"Penn! We just flirt is all, like you and Morgan, I could never actually be with him"

"So you two haven't been using my sacred office space to make-out between cases?" she asked with raised eyebrows. I stood there, with my mouth open and eyes wide, looking guilty as ever.

"You do know there's a camera in this office right?" I was mortified. Thank God we'd never done anything more than kiss in this office.

"You knew this whole time? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Oh Morgan knows, but everybody else is still in the dark because I didn't want to risk you not getting hired. And I hacked into the security computers and deleted the footage."

"Thank you so much Penn, and I promise I won't have anymore heated makeout sessions in this office, or anywhere in this building for that matter."

"Anything for my little protege. But in all seriousness, you should definitely ride boy-wonder off into the sunset and make it official once you're hired."

"Penelope!" I hit her in the arm, only half jokingly because I knew deep down that that's exactly what I should do.

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As usual, I waited in my office for Spencer to meet me. But this time, I was determined to go back to his apartment and finish what we started over the phone.

"Hello beautiful" he said as he made his way over to me. He greeted me with a hungry kiss and it took every ounce of strength I had not to pin him down and ride him in this office.

"Spencer listen, we can't makeout in this office anymore. Garcia and Morgan know about us already and she had to delete the footage off of the security cameras."

"Morgan knows? That present he gave me actually makes a lot of sense now."

"Nevermind that," I said before moving closer to whisper in his ear, "what I need now is for you to punish me like you said you would."

I could feel his heart beating out of his chest, his eyes went wide but faintest hint of a smile appeared on his deliciously soft lips.

"well then what are we waiting for" he said as he grabbed my hand and practically pulled me out of the office.

We wasted no time getting back to his apartment. Reid was always such a cautious driver, but this time he was driving like his life depended on it. Once in the building, he wouldn't let go of my hand and we were practically sprinting towards his door. He fumbled with the key for a moment before the door sprang open and I pushed him inside with the force of my lips on his. His hands had become quite comfortable exploring my body, and tonight was no exception. I tugged on his tie without breaking the kiss and he let out a heavy sigh as I led him towards his bedroom. I pushed him once again, this time down onto the bed, and I practically jumped on top of him to straddle his waist. As I let my weight rest on the growing bulge in his pants, he let out the sexiest groan and I could feel the wetness pooling in my panties. I continued to grind on him as we completely devoured each other. This wasn't the first time we'd done this, but this time it was different, we both wanted more.

"Spence please," I whined, "I need you."

"You can have me baby," he replied, looking up at me with those puppy dog eyes that I adore so much.

We quickly undressed and I raced to climb back on top of him.

"You really are beautiful," he said while tucking a loose strand of hair back behind my ear. I smiled back at him and gently kissed his lips before going back to grinding over his now bare cock.

His groans were like music to my ears and I couldn't help but sighing at the feeling of him gliding across my exposed cunt.

"Baby please, I want to be inside you," he pleaded.

"Do you have a, uh, condom?" I asked, somewhat sheepishly.

"I do...that was actually the 'gift' that Morgan got me," he said followed by a nervous chuckle. He reached into the drawer on the bedside table and, slightly trembling, opened the package.

"I-I just want you to know that I haven't done this in a while, (Y/N)," he began, "I don't know if I'll be any good." He was just as nervous as I was. I gave him a sympathetic nod before replying.

"It's okay Spence, it's been a while for me too. I guess you could say we get pretty caught up in our work."

"Agreed," he said, slightly more at ease.

As soon as he finished up rolling on the condom, I wasted no time lining him up with my entrance and sinking onto his length.

"Fuck, baby" he moaned with his eyes screwed shut "you feel so good." It was insanely hot to hear such foul language come out of Spencer Reid's mouth.

"You want me to ride you baby?" I asked teasingly.

"Yes please..."

I began to bounce rapidly on his dick, feeling every inch of him come in and out of me. I had a feeling he wasn't going to last long, but I didn't care, I was beyond happy to just watch the pleasure that I was bringing him. I took his hands and placed them on my breasts, which caused a simultaneous moan to come from the both of us.

"God (Y/N) you're going to make me cum" he said, nearly out of breath.

I knew he was close, but I was slowing down as my legs began to give out on me. He sensed the slowing of my pace, so he took one hand from my breast, wrapped it around my waist, and began to pump into me from below.

“Consider this your punishment babygirl”

This new angle was heaven to me and I couldn't help but cry out. He was fucking me so hard I swear I could see stars.

"Oh god Spence," I moaned. For someone who has been out of the game for a while, he was making me feel so good.

"I'm gonna...I'm..." he muttered.

"Let it out Spence, cum for me baby."

And with that, he spilled his load inside the condom. He just kept coming and coming inside of me until there was nothing left. Spencer Reid was utterly and completely spent.

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“Well Dr. Reid, you sure know how to please a woman,” you said poking him in the rib.

“What can I say, I’m an overachiever,” he replied with a cocky smile plastered on his face.

As I was about to go in for a kiss on his cheek, my cellphone rang, and it was a call from Penelope.

“Hello my pretty! Sorry in advance that I’m probably interrupting your sexy times with boy-wonder but I just couldn’t wait to tell you. You got the job!”

“Oh my goodness! That’s great news, thanks Penn! What department am I in?”

“You’re going to be working in the international intelligence department, aaaaand that means you’ll probably have to report your little romance directly to human resources.”

“Sounds good Garcia, we’ll take care of that first thing in the morning,” Reid interjected.

“Ah, so boy-wonder is there with you! Looks like you took my advice after all (Y/N),” Penelope replied.

I rolled my eyes and said “Goodnight Penelopeeee” in a sing-songy voice.

“Goodnight you two, be safe and don’t stay up tooooo late.”

“Aww, what ever happened to the fun Penelope Garcia?”

“She’s not here right now but leave a message, bye!” And with that our conversation was over.

“Guess it’s time to tell the rest of the team about us”

“I guess so Spence, good luck handling all the teasing on your own baby,” I said with a giggle and planted a kiss on his cheek before drifting off to sleep. Tomorrow was surely going to be an interesting day at the office.

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AN: Thanks for all the love, shameless plug for my newest oneshot The Visit

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#criminal minds #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #penelope garcia #matthew gray gubler #mgg #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jennifer jareau #david rossi

[sapphosclosefriend]

- Money, Power, Glory pt 1 -

Pairing: CEO! Silverfox! Natasha Romanoff x Escort! Fem! Reader

Genre: suggestive

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, successful and rich CEO, books an urgent meeting with someone who she might be able to finally destress with. Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: top! Natasha x bottom! R, Natasha has a penis, BIG age gap (N=56, R=24), suggestive themes.

A/N: this story contains mature topics so anyone who isn’t 18+ DNI. Just as an introduction hehe don't worry, their first time is in the next one, I won't leave it out! Thanks sooo much to @rt--link and @supercorpdanbeau for being the kindest and both helping me out ❤️ As usual, likes, reblogs and comments are very appreciated! Enjoy ♡

Masterlist

You still remember clearly the day you received the call from your agent. You honestly thought it was a cruel joke of hers at first, but the serious, yet excited, tone in her voice easily reassured you of the realness of the situation. The fact that she was calling you in the first place, and not quickly messaging you, was clear proof of just how important and urgent the matter was. Not only were you requested for that same night, meaning that the trusted woman deemed the new customer as important enough to ditch the advance days you usually demanded, but the house you needed to get to was of no regular person.

You were a high end escort, pleasing la creme de la creme only, well, at least in terms of monetary assets. You, and the agency you worked with, were known for your discretion, professionalism and skills, an overall level of competence that simply tended to attract clients of a certain status. And that's how you met her, the Natasha Romanoff herself, CEO of a multi-billion company she had created from the ground up in her decades-long career. But why was she so important? She would've been the richest one of your clients, it was as simple as that. Pretty much every single one of them were at the head of, if not close to, big and different companies, all with the highest power of the twenty-first century in their hands, money. You had actually thought about dipping your toes in the world of politics once, which was not so surprisingly filled with countless requests interested in your realm of expertise, but thanks to long consideration and much advice, you had decided to avoid its risks, settling on who you knew, after all, had what you wanted, filthy rich assholes. And gosh, wasn't she the richest one of them all.

Aside from her status, the thought of such a woman, so idolized she seemed unattainable, who could and probably had everything in the world, asking for your company, intrigued you immensely. That day, during every single hour you had spent to thoroughly take care of your appearance just for her, anticipation completely took over you. You knew she was beautiful and you genuinely thought she was fucking hot, which wasn't necessarily to be taken for granted in your line of work, but what you found yourself needing to know, and consequently making your interest in her grow even more, was how she was going to be in private. Was she going to be just like one of those countless naggingly cocky know-it-all's who thought of themselves as some sex gods, and gods in general, but really couldn't even figure out if you had cum yet? You found yourself almost wanting her to be different than everybody else, because deep down you felt like, even if she was the most annoying, full of herself bitch ever, you would’ve gladly tried to satisfy every single one of her needs and taken anything from her with a smile on your face. Ok, maybe scrolling for an hour through the internet looking up information about her and consequently ending up lost through any picture of her you could find wasn’t the best idea, but what could you say, you had a bit of a sweet spot for powerful women.

What you gathered from your innocent stalking session, though, was mainly about her countless successes in life but also concerning some gossip regarding her not so successful marriage life. It didn’t bother you, barely anything about your clients did at that point, but it only intrigued you more about why she wanted someone like you. She could’ve had anybody, she was a walking goddess with her pockets more than full and ladies most definitely falling at her feet left and right, yet there she was, in her car, getting back home after one of the longest and most tiring weeks of the past few months to wait for a girl she’d only seen a couple pictures of to take her mind off of everything. Her driver immediately knew not to even greet her by her frustrated sigh and the pinching of the bridge of her own nose as soon as she got in the car and immediately took off to her desired destination, making Natasha thank any and all gods for the nice relief after such displays of incompetence she had to endure from basically her whole staff. She was right at her limit and all the pent up anger and irritation from the week was finally starting to crack her composed facade at the prospect of the imminent weekend slowly reaching her. She didn’t even want to have dinner, she just needed to be at home, everyone out of her goddamn house and a pussy to unload some stress into. If she had to be honest, in that specific moment, she even missed her disastrous married life and the perk of having a wife always waiting for her at home, ready to meet her needs at the end of the day.

She, unfortunately, never felt the symptoms of "true love" with any of her ex wives, but the thought of how badly it had gone wrong with all of them still pained her a little every time her mind drifted to that phase of her life. During her successful yet busy life she'd been through her fair share of failed marriages, all with beautiful women she'd deeply cared for, but all eventually focused on one thing only, her absence. The first thing she'd always made sure to make very, very clear was just how little time she had to dedicate to anything outside of her company, which unfortunately included her personal life. Her best guess was that the haziness coming from a brand new love must've made it hard to get a grasp on her words…every single time, apparently.

It didn't matter anymore, though, because what she had to focus on now seemed to be much more important than any matter ever had. The quick, warm shower she had just enough time to take as soon as she got home was thankfully able to wash away the surface level anger that was starting to make her temple throb, preventing her from being a rude prick for the rest of the night. She was aware, after all, of the favor you were doing to her by working the night without any notice and all she wanted to do was be respectful for your kind availability. Being her perfectionist self, and deep down maybe even wanting you to like her, she knew she had to focus on not losing her mind on minor things like her outfit, so she decided to try to at least appear to be careless about her appearance and only focus the last bits of mental strength she had on the more relaxing, pleasurable parts of the night. Of course she still couldn't help but fix her hair just a little and change her sweatshirt for a still casual but more put together beige, cashmere sweater. She'd had it for years and, despite its condition not being the best, she couldn't bring herself to get rid of it, it just reminded her too much of- nevermind. A few small holes and pulled threads on her top would certainly be the last thought on your mind anyway.

She didn't even realize she was starting to zone out while still looking at herself in the mirror, when the sudden, distant ring of the front door slightly startled her, effectively making her get herself back together. What was minutes away from happening truly dawned on her as she descended the stairs to the first floor and, for a brief moment, as she walked through the entrance corridor and saw the blurry outline of your figure through the frosted glass of the tall door, time seemed to slow down and for the first time in years she felt a small twinge of anxiety creeping up on her the closer she got to you. She was really doing it, she was really about to follow the advice of her idiot Stark friend and didn't mind it too much. Maybe she was really getting old, maybe age was starting to actually play some tricks on her, because, as her hand pushed the cold handle of the entrance door and started to pull it open, the snippets of hair she could start to see of you lit a confident fire in her that only burned more vividly as your form was finally fully displayed to her, making it impossible for her to suppress the excitement she suddenly felt at the sight of you in person, looking at her through your lashes with subtle faux innocence she could see right through.

"Good evening, Ms Romanoff"

.

.

Part 2

.

.

Tags: @fxckmiup @natashasilverfox

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff smut #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader #black widow smut #marvel #mcu

[antiquarianfics]

Marry me? Nah. Marry me? Yeah.

4 times Bucky Barnes asks you to marry him and you refuse. 1 time Bucky Barnes asks you to marry him and you accept.

A/N: I have been working on this for the last day, so enjoy. HOWEVER, I wrote it on my phone and refuse to proof it. Warning(s): Some canon level violence, swearing. Note: I do not own Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.

You do not have permission to steal or repost my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.

—

Proposal 1

The first time Bucky Barnes proposes to you, you aren’t even dating. The two of you are paired on a mission to dismantle a HYDRA base hidden deep in the Appalachian Mountains in Kentucky. You had met before but never shared more than polite conversation. Steve had assured Bucky you weren’t scared of him, but that you wouldn’t push him to speak with you. Bucky never quite believed him, so he never attempted to converse with you either.

However, when you’re paired on this mission, you take that as the go-ahead to finally speak to him.

“So, Barnes,” you say, nudging his shoulder with your own, “guess we’ve got to come up with more conversation topics than the weather.”

“Guess so,” he replies.

It is during the mission he proposes. There are more HYDRA agents active than expected, and they come at the two of you guns blazing while you’re distracted setting up an explosive at a structural point of the complex.

“Y/L/N,” Bucky says to grab your attention, “we’ve got company.”

You bite your lip, finishing your task before standing and pulling your rifle from your back, preparing yourself for a fight.

“Don’t worry, honey, I’ve got this one,” you tease, shooting him a wink before unleashing precise kill shots before Bucky even thinks to pull his own trigger. After taking out a dozen soldiers, a few manage to get close to you, and you hit one in the head with the butt of your gun and then quickly pull a knife from a thigh holster while pivoting on your foot to slit another’s throat. You shoot the unconscious soldier in the head for good measure before wiping your knife on your pants.

With your knife returned to its home on your thigh, you look up at Bucky who is staring at you with a dumbfounded, albeit impressed, look on his face. You had taken out 14 men on your own. He was in love.

The words “marry me” slipped past his lips before he could stop them, and you laugh.

“Maybe buy me dinner first, Sarge.”

Proposal 2

The second time Bucky Barnes proposes to you, you’re comforting him after a nightmare. It is late at night, at the point it was really morning, and you happen to hear his screams through his bedroom door.

You stop at his door, letting a frown set on your face before reaching out for his doorknob. You hesitate before opening it, wondering if he’ll appreciate you barging in on him in such a vulnerable state. Then, he screams again—louder—and you turn the doorknob, letting yourself in.

The sight you’re met with is heartbreaking. Bucky is tossing and turning, his sheets bunched at his feet, comforter on the ground. He’s sweating buckets and whimpering what sounds like, “Please, no. Not the chair. Please!” over and over again. You choke back a sob before crossing over to him, gently lying a comforting hand on his shoulder and calling out his name.

“Bucky, honey, wake up. It’s just a dream, hun.”

The touch and sudden sound wake him up from what is truly a light sleep. Bucky shoots up into a sitting position, right hand shooting out to grab the hand touching him, and eyes darting around the room until they land on you.

“Shh,” you coo, “you’re okay, Bucky. It’s me, Y/N. It was just a dream. You’re safe.”

Bucky’s heart rate slows to a normal pace, and he lets out a shaky breath.

“Y/N?” He asks hesitantly. “W-what are you doing here?” His voice is small, like a terrified child’s, and you can’t help but frown at the thought.

You let your hand move to cup his face, noting that he relaxes at the gentle touch, leaning his face ever so slightly into your touch.

“I was headed to the kitchen and I heard you scream. I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

He nods, eyes searching yours for some sort of anger or resentment for bothering you. He doesn’t find any.

“Can I do anything to make you feel better?” You ask kindly.

“Um,” Bucky says, voice shaky. “Would you mind—you don’t have to—but would you mind staying with me? Only if you want.”

You smile kindly, pressing a comforting kiss to his cheek before climbing into his bed with him, pulling his head close to your chest.

“When I was little, I lived in a house in the woods for a while,” you say randomly, catching Bucky’s attention. His eyebrows scrunch together in some sort of confusion, but he says nothing. “At dinner one night, I look out the glass door onto the porch. Wanna know what I saw?”

Bucky hums his agreement as your hand works it’s way into his hair and your fingers begin to massage his scalp.

“4 raccoons!” You exclaim. “3 babies and a mama. We had a toddler slide on the porch at the time,” you continue, “and the baby raccoons kept climbing the little ladder and sliding down. The mama just sat a little bit away and watched and stole cat food occasionally.”

Bucky chuckles, finding your story cute but also recognizing your attempt to distract and soothe him after his nightmare. He appreciates it more than he himself understands; he is comforted by your voice more than he feels he should be. He lets the proposal slip a second time: “Marry me?”

You grin and press a kiss to his head.

“Not yet, hun.”

Proposal 3

The third proposal comes after the two of you begin dating.

Bucky takes you out on a date to a little coffee shop in Brooklyn you both had become fond of. You’re standing to the side of the café, out of the way, waiting on your order. Bucky has his right arm around your shoulders while you lean into him; his left hand stuck in his jacket pocket.

“So Natasha’s screaming at Clint to show himself so that she can kill him, right? Like, she was so fucking pissed at him. And Clint is in the fucking air vents—like those big ones people crawl through in action movies—hiding from her. Over a remote, Bucky!” You excitedly recount one of the most ridiculous encounters you’ve ever had with the Avengers to your boyfriend who is quietly listening with a fond smile.

“Like, ‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes’ my ass,” you scoff. You’re about to add another thought to the discussion when you hear someone else’s conversation from a few feet away.

Bucky tenses. You tense.

“Personally, I think they should’ve carted him off to the South, or somethin’, and put him in the chair,” a younger man—college age—says. “The death penalty, y’know? An eye for an eye, and all that. I mean, the guy killed a lot of people.”

“Fuck, man,” his companion, another college aged man, says. “Don’t you think that’s a little harsh? I mean, he’s also like a war hero and a prisoner of war.”

“He killed innocent people, man. Like, people’s kids and shit.”

“I guess.”

Bucky clenches his jaw, and he also tightens his grip on your waist when he feels you start to move away from him.

“It’s fine, doll,” he assures you, but he doesn’t seem fine to you.

The barista calls out “Barnes” and Bucky kisses the top of your head before moving to grab your drinks. You, however, take the opportunity to address the disrespectful boys while your boyfriend isn’t holding you back.

“Excuse me,” you say, walking up to them.

“Fuck!” One says, jumping a little. “You’re an Avenger.”

“Mhmm,” you agree. “So is Sergeant Barnes who you so innocently suggested deserves the chair.” You jam a finger into his chest.

“You have absolutely no fucking right to talk about him that way. He gave his life for this fucking country; fought alongside your grandparents. The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry. Shit. It’s not like my opinion is gonna change anything.”

Before you can say anything else, you feel Bucky’s hand wrap around your bicep, pulling you away from the college kids and into his side. He leans close to your ear to whisper, “Doll, it’s fine. Come on.”

He pulls you out of the coffee shop before you have time to protest.

Walking down the street, you’re ranting, letting your arms flail around angrily.

“What the actual fuck is their problem?! You can have your obviously wrong opinions, but why would you express them so loudly in front of the person you’re talking about? You’re a fucking Avenger. You’re a good man. Why would they pardon you if you weren’t? Why would the Avengers adopt you as one of our own if you weren’t? Pieces of shit! Hateful, fascist, brain dead, ungrateful, military-hating, assholes!”

Bucky can’t help but laugh at your insults, and he can’t help but feel flattered that you care enough to defend him.

“Sweetheart, it’s really fine. I’m used to it,” he assures you, finally handing you your coffee he’d been balancing in his hand.

You take it, but shoot him an incredulous look.

“Like hell it’s okay! You deserve better than that bullshit, Bucky. You deserve to go out on a date with your girlfriend without being fucking harassed.”

Bucky pulls you into his side, kissing your head like he had earlier, and murmurs into your hair his third proposal.

“Marry me.”

You smile softly.

“Nah,” you say, leaning into his hold. He laughs.

Proposal 4

The fourth time Bucky proposes to you, it’s less direct.

In fact, you’re in the field, lying on your back in Bucky’s arms while he frantically puts pressure on a bullet wound in your gut.

“Steve,” he says into the coms, “Y/N’s down. She got shot. I’ve got to get her back to the jet.”

“Go,” Steve responds quickly, “I’ll cover you.”

Bucky’s attention falls to you, grimacing at the blood covering his hands.

“Hold on, baby. I’ve got you,” he says, lifting you into his arms as gently as you can.

“I’m fiiinnneee,” you slur, unsteadily and awkwardly reaching to pat his face. Your action, meant to be comforting, only adds to your boyfriend’s anxiety.

“Doll, you’ve been shot, and it isn’t a clean wound.”

“That’s nothin’!”

Bucky grunts indignantly in response.

Finally, he gets you back to the jet, moving through the aircraft quickly to get you to a stretcher to triage you best he can. When there is nothing more he can do, he holds your hand, doing his best not to cry or show how scared he is.

“Y/N, stay awake for me, alright?” He pleads, squeezing your hand.

Your eyes flutter open and you smile goofily.

“No worries, Doll,” you giggle as you call him by the pet name he reserves for you. “I’m A-Okay.”

Bucky scoffs.

“You’re bleeding out.”

“You fixed me.”

“Not fully; I put a bandaid on you really.”

“Silly. Bandaids fix you!” You try to comfort, but you fall into a laughing fit.

“Doll, I need you to take this seriously so you make it. You’ve gotta marry me.”

“You didn’t ask me to!” You say, narrowing your eyes and pointing accusingly.

Bucky smiles at your antics.

“Marry me, Doll?”

You smile fondly as you stare up at Bucky.

“Ask me again when I’m not bleeding out.”

Proposal 5

The fifth time Bucky Barnes proposes to you is the last time.

You convince the super soldier to go hiking with you; you argue he deserves to sit and watch a waterfall with his girlfriend. He gives in easily because you’re not easy for him to say no to.

The two of you find a local hiking trail that leads to a decent sized waterfall, and you’re pleased to find the trail is mostly deserted. You only run into a few stray hikers along the trail.

Bucky smiles as you hike, watching as you excitedly stop to watch centipedes cross the path, or point out woodpeckers, or smell flowers. Finally, the two of you reach the waterfall and you squeal in excitement, running a few paces ahead of Bucky and jumping to let out some excited energy.

“Buck, look! It’s gorgeous!”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, slowing to a stop behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin in the crook of your neck.

The two of you stand like that, in each other’s embrace, for a few minutes, watching the waterfall, listening to nature around you.

“Thank you for coming up here with with me,” you say, turning around to place a grateful kiss on Bucky’s lips. He gently returns the kiss before pulling away.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

You peck his lips again before turning back to the waterfall.

“Look!” You say upon turning around. “Bucky, a rainbow!” The spray of the water and the beams of sunlight meet to display a rainbow in front of you.

When Bucky doesn’t respond, you curiously turn around.

“Bucky? Oh!”

Bucky is on one knee, a ring box open in his hands, held out to you.

“Y/N, will you marry me?”

There is no speech, there is no absurd gesture. There is just Bucky, and there is just a question.

It’s perfect.

“Yes.”

“Finally.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader fluff #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky x g!n reader

[mulligans-tavern]

https://www.tumblr.com/doomed-to-wanda/747617028751474688?source=share

Inspiration above

TW death, grief

---

Five Funerals

They lose Fig first.

Comes with the territory when you're an archdevil - somebody's always looking to take your spot. "Don't worry about it," she says, opening a Planeshift to the recording studio. "It's just the usual rebellious fiends. Icythorz and Bolhondrus and the rest. I'll be back before you know it." She looks resplendent in black leather, the Unfaithable Bass slung across her back, riding the fiery Daymare surrounded in jagged red shards.

Adaine knows before everyone else, but can't believe the vision to be true until she learns that Ayda is gone, too. She scratched every memory of Fig out of her notes before starting over - it was too much pain to bear. The five of them know how it feels.

---5---

It's a few years before they take another hit. Another mission to the Mountains of Chaos, another world-ending calamity to be stopped because Who Else Is Going To Save The World? A small misstep, a miscalculation (six where there should be five, they're only five now) and suddenly the routine becomes deadly.

Riz takes the fall. "It's easier this way," he says, in his last moments. "I'll still see you." And he does. Agent Gukgak Jr., now, with some extra responsibility. But he still comes by. Sometimes. Every so often. Often enough.

---4---

Kristen is next. Only one thing could bring down the most gifted cleric of the age - sacrificing herself for her friends. Third time's the charm when it comes to death, it turns out.

Gorgug is the most hopeful that she'll come back, that she'll find a way again, like in the Nightmare Forest. But Adaine knows this is the end. Even Arthur Aguefort agrees. He quotes Alanis Morissette at her funeral. The followers of Cassandra pull out all the stops.

Adaine, Fabian, and Gorgug have their own ceremony at Ashgrove, next to the Gukgak family plot. It's quiet. Bucky cries into Ragh's shoulder. Aelwyn, Jawbone, and Gertie collect flowers. Tracker stays for a few minutes to say goodbye.

---3---

They quit adventuring after Kristen's funeral. And they don't lose anyone else for a long time. Riz still visits, every few years. They talk about the good old days, how silly it was that Baron was so terrifying when at the end of the day it was an honest conversation that finally did him in. There's rumours that Kristen has ascended to goddesshood herself - Adaine doesn't buy it. She's not the type to be revered.

They come out of retirement for the only reason they would - to bring back one of their own. They finally found Fig's soul, trapped in a ruby in the darkest levels of the Abyss. They can't ask anyone to come with them - it's too dangerous, it's too personal. It's missions like this that kill people.

And when it's all over, when Adaine carries Fabian's burnt, unconscious body back to Morded Manor, they have another funeral to plan.

Gorbag and Roz have already passed, and Wilma and Digby are too old to make preparations, so it falls to Jawbone to organize it. He knows they don't want a lot of fanfare. It's at Ashgrove again, just Adaine and Fabian and the Thistlesprings, and Aelwyn and Ragh. Sandra-Lynn is back in Solace - she sends Adaine a heartfelt text saying she appreciates the invitation, but she can't bring herself to come.

Riz doesn't show for the ceremony - he's desperately scouring the heavenly realms, trying to make sure Gorgug ended up somewhere he wasn't afraid of. Orcish heaven doesn't have him, he reports, and neither does Cassandra.

If he's trapped in the Abyss with Fig, at least they have each other.

---2---

Adaine sees Fabian's death the night of Gorgug's funeral. She needs to prepare, she tells herself. She knows it's going to be hard. She needs all the time she can get, and she needs to know which goodbye will be their last.

They grow old together. Not romantically, although some speculate. Fabian becomes a multiclass advisor at the Aguefort Adventuring Academy. Adaine works in Bastion City as an archivist, with occasional trips to Fallinel for Oracle services. They go for vacations sometimes, but never for too long. The memories find them no matter where they go. Sometimes Adaine wishes she could be Ayda, scrape off the old wounds and start fresh. Arthur talks about her sometimes. She's never had the same spark as that one lifetime, he says.

Adaine watches the wrinkles grow beside Fabian's eye, watches his hair turn grey, watches the Future of Dance become its Mentor. He trades his Battlesheet for a cane-sword, then a regular cane. He takes to wearing the Gregorian necktie to classes, no matter how much it clashes with his outfit. They both wonder how many of their own teachers lost party members.

Adaine holds Fabian's wrinkled hand on his deathbed, in his old room at Seacaster Manor. He grins, flashes the same perfect teeth as on the first day of Freshman Year. "Bet you didn't see this one coming, did you?"

"I did," she whispers, tears streaming down her young elven face. "I knew it would end like this. But I always hoped it would last forever."

They're the last words he hears.

It's not the first funeral Adaine organizes. All the Bad Kids held one for Buddy Dawn, back in high school. She and Fabian worked together on the services for Jawbone, Ragh, and Chungledown Bim - who finally caught up to Fabian in both of their old ages. It is the first funeral she has to organize alone.

Some of Fabian's students attend. Arthur Aguefort gives a short speech, and a few students hear the story of Kalvaxus' return for the first time. Adaine sits with Aelwyn in the front row, a few seats down from Hallariel. Gilear records the service to show Telemaine later. Riz is somewhere deep undercover - he maybe hasn't even heard yet.

She always knew she'd be the last. She didn't expect it to hurt so much.

---1---

Adaine stumbles through a few years before she finds herself again. They pass so fast without a mortal lifespan to hold up against them. She drifts between Fallinel and Bastion City for the most part, with occasional return trips to Elmville. Aelwyn always has a place for her to stay. Seacaster Manor was turned into a dormitory for Aguefort students who needed a place to study, or sleep, or stay away from home for a while. Tracker converted Morded Manor into a temple/bed-and-breakfast for worshipers of Galicaea. Strongtower Luxury Apartments was demolished soon after Fabian started teaching at Aguefort. It seems like everything is different now.

Adaine visits Leviathan once, on a whim. The Compass Points hasn't changed a bit. On a chance meeting in the stacks, Ayda looks at her with a spark of familiarity.

"Adaine Abernant?"

"Yes... you remember me?"

Ayda shakes her head. "There are mentions of you in my journals. I leave journals for when I regenerate-"

"I know. I remember."

Ayda looks intrigued. "I wrote that you were a great wizard, and a good friend. I hear from other sources that you are the Elven Oracle. Perhaps you can shed some light on why the pages around yours are torn to shreds or redacted to the point of unreadability?"

Adaine places a gentle hand on Ayda's shoulder. "I don't know if you'd want that. You lost someone you cared about, so much that you thought it was better to forget her than to bear the pain of losing her."

Ayda considers this. "Is it better to forget?" she asks. "Would you give up the memories of those you lost, in order to keep a logical mind?"

"No. Not for anything."

"Then we should talk."

Adaine smiles. "I'd like that."

---2---

*end

Thanks for reading all the way through! I wrote most of this at 2am and the conclusion the next morning. Please take a reblog to share with your friends or drop a like to let me know you enjoyed - or hated - the story!

Ask me anything about it, please, I love discussing these kinds of theories!!!

#writing #my writing #d20 #d20 edit #fantasy high #junior year #junior year spoilers #fhjy #adaine abernant #fabian seacaster #gorgug thistlespring #kristen applebees #riz gukgak #fig faeth #ayda aguefort #dimension 20 #d20 fanart #tw death #tw grief #tw loss #long post

[antidesire]

2:32 antidesire

bodyguard!leon x afab socialite!reader

disclaimer.. 18+ only. knifeplay, blood, licking.. blood mentions/paranoia of drugging but i promise no drugging happens. brat reader, p in v, creampie, dirty talk, fucking against a wall? in an alley? don’t pay too close attention to the lore i try and establish please hhh it’s so jumbled + i wrote this when it was super late and i haven’t double checked everything.. heh. cr to original owners of the pictures. reblogging, interacting and sending feedback is always much appreciated !! ♡

you had been to hell and back, seen the strongest of men turn into frail cowering children, knees buckled by utter fear as the flesh was torn from their bones by the rotting dead that kept walking.

raccoon city should've been your end of the line, dying alongside your prestigious family. onlookers of the media at the time treated it as a miracle but you saw it as it was, cruel, how do they expect one person to keep up appearances and high morals being the last standing of your perished family line? it was so tiring..

one man you had met those faithful 6 years ago had saved your life, leon s kennedy, just a rookie cop at the time- not only once had he saved your life but then a further time, putting his own life on the line with an agreement to become an agent and vouch that you and himself would stay silent about raccoon city upon taking this deal and if all else fails, he would be executed with you.

things had gone well for a good chunk of time, give or take about 4 years but word had gotten back to some more important people that you were quite the partygoer and quite the gossip when intoxicated, not a swell combination for your dangerous predicament and prying ears.

thus much to your surprise you had been assigned a bodyguard, one to help keep your mouth shut for the sake of the government and for the sake of your own safety, unbeknownst of the length powerful people would go to for even a slither of knowledge on what you saw that hellish night.

to leon kennedy, this was one of his easier jobs, babysitting some rich bigwig? pft, he'd take that any day over undead corpses or diseased cultists.

when he was informed it was you he felt all the waves of emotions hit him in the face, that night whirling through his head like a fresh wound, seeping behind his eyes to remind him of the horrors he'd seen.

suddenly it was all the more serious now, this was your life and his own on the line.

at first, you had been ecstatic to reunite with leon once again, barely recognizing him when you first opened the door, what was once his youthful puppy-dog-like features had become much less soft, his brows had furrowed, jaw much sharper and his eyes looked much more sunken, what you remembered him as, a once fresh-faced young man, cute and hopeful as ever he had become much more hardened, though he had seemed to lose that glow, it was unmistakenly leon, long eyelashes, plump lips and that faint dimple indented into his chin. leon now exuded confidence to the point of cockiness. he was handsome, oh so very handsome and his physique was so firm, you had to many a time drag your attention away from his arms, you never knew you had such a thing for bulky arms until leon was around.

with leon around you weren't afraid to admit you were having the time of your life pushing the limits.

life for you had been a whirlwind, to the public (though things had much cooled off) that knew of your family business and prestige, they had been told lies, that you weren't even in the city with your family that disastrous night which is how you survived.

your days were the same, with countless 0's in your bank account and fake friends to encourage you, you spent most of your nights under those same electronic lights, the bass of the music booming in your chest and burning alcohol slipping down your throat.

maybe you had been a little oversharing with some locals, you didn't recall, far too heavy on the bottle of champagne some man would attempt to win you over with.

tonight was no different, other than the bar you were visiting- leon had convinced you that if you wanted to be drinking it could not be so locally anymore- and this time leon kennedy was in tow, your handsome chaperon, or more accurately, your muzzle from here on out.

“shall we make this fun?” you proposed to the man, “make up a story, maybe you’re my long lost lover? my secret affair? or do you want me to pretend i hate your guts, are you into that?” you giggled, amused at your own antics, seemingly only making leon chuff out a chuckle, arms folded over his chest with a solemn expression.

“mmh, what sucked the fun out of little leon, huh?” you jabbed your finger against his chest.

leon’s head titled at that, eyebrow raised and an expression that insinuated you knew exactly what happened after that night and why he consequently carried himself as such, so professional, or dull, that's what you'd call it.

with the sickly sweet aroma of your perfume in the air and the glistening twinkles of your outfit invading every ounce of his senses, the two of you walked one by one into the bar, quite the opulent one, hefty diamanté chandeliers alongside mirrors upon mirrors framed with the most delicate gold casings.

"y'know you're getting paid to live lavish right now, leon?" you cooed out, heels of your shoes tapping against the marble flooring, hearing his boots following behind.

"it's an easier job as an agent but i'm not being paid to indulge like you do." he corrected you, voice hushed with the assumption and guard that prying ears could never be far.

"am i boring you already, handsome?" you twirled around, the agent halting in his tracks, craning his head down to meet your gaze, eyes as big as cherry pies, tempting and permissive.

"i was hoping we could celebrate this reunion, despite circumstances." your hands reached up, flattening down the collars of his crisp grey dress shirt, the black blazer on top fit so snug on him, arms as though they were bulging or maybe your brain was just getting ahead of itself.

"with your mouth we're dead men walking, what's there to celebrate?" he referenced why he was called out here for you, breath hot, fresh from that pack of gum he stuffed in the back of his pocket.

"then even more so, that's what i say." you patted your palms to his shoulders, feeling the plush material of the suit jacket, turning on your heel, and pushing past the lush double door entrance past the hallway and into the bar.

the live music was in full swing and the tabletop of the bar was well occupied, having to push your way past, your hand coming up to gesture over the bartender, "give me your most expensive, delicious cocktail.." you whipped your head around, eyes clearly looking leon up and down, "you look like a whiskey guy," you thought aloud, turning back, "and a whiskey."

leon didn't even attempt to stop you, it was futile and he knew you were just doing it for the fun of it, "so ya gonna sit there and stare down at me all night like a creep?" you sat on one of the chairs at the bar, you leaned in to whisper- though ultimately just as loud, "you're not being very agent-like."

"c'mon, i told you, we need a cover story, who knows how long you'll be stuck with me till i'm in the all clear." you pulled his arm in an attempt to move him closer, luckily he obliged, taking up a seat next to you.

"being in the clear is not being stubborn and quitting visiting these bars, drinking every night, and running your mouth." he mumbled, glancing around.

"nu-uh, you heard what they said, they've always been worried about certain people in the area being a threat to those with information on racco-" your words morphed into a yelp, a sharp sting arising in your leg, blinking at the two fingers pinching the flesh of your thigh.

"did you just-" your outrage was cut off once again by the bartender placing two drinks in front of the both of you, leon nodding towards the worker and wording out a thank you, his palm now engulfing your thigh and rubbing the irritated skin.

your lips parted to speak but no words came out, leon seemed to have noticed this, fingers clutching around your glass and gesturing for you to take a sip, and you did, sugary syrup mixed with a double shot of liquor sliding down your throat.

“i thought you were going to encourage me to not drink.” your eyes squinted slightly, tongue darting out to taste more of the cocktail staining your lips.

“one won’t hurt.” with that he tapped the glass of the whiskey on the table of the bar before swigging down the contents in one gulp.

you burst out into laughter, your hand encouragingly squeezing his own further up your thigh, amusement only cooling down so you could take another taste of your cocktail.

"you're funny." your voice was light and airy already, palm pushed against your cheek as you watched him, as though you had been drinking much more than the one, maybe it came off too strongly but you weren't embarrassed, nothing could embarrass you.

"lovers quarrel." he spoke aloud and your confusion was apparent, even more so as his fingers took a hold of your hand, switching a slim ring decorated with diamonds onto your ring finger, "we hate each other but can't quit it." he murmured and you caught on, a giggle hid behind your other hand.

"you bought me this nice expensive ring, you're handsome, so charming.. of course there's a catch, why couldn't i see it." you sighed dramatically earning a scoff from leon.

"and you're beautifully cruel, impulsive, and a relentless pleasure-seeker, i was dealt quite the deck of cards." he spoke as though it was matter of factly, quite the actor.

"mmh, why thank you." you fluttered your eyelashes, leaning in to squeeze the bulky muscle of his arm, nudging yourself against him.

leon was good, a natural at, well just that, being natural. he was on guard as he was with any assigned job, just less flashy than the others, no visible weapons and a demeanor that needed to be cool but nonetheless, he was alert.

alert but here he was, doing exactly as he said he wouldn’t, indulging, finding away around things to do so, so he could feel your fingertips press into his skin again, so he could smell your fragrance every time you leant in and so he could hear those giddy little laughs at something stupid he said in the name of a silly cover story for the both of you.

oh leon kennedy..

you felt tipsy already without even touching another cocktail, infatuated with the man beside you all too suddenly, your heart desiring for something much sweeter than anything that could be offered from the shelves behind the bar.

relentless pleasure-seeker, you’d sure live up to that.

but first, you had a whole night ahead of you. your feet were quick, feeling compelled towards the crowd of dancing bodies, joining them, amongst the couples and men with no personal space.

you were hypnotic, anyone could see that, your hips swayed, dipping just enough and hands roaming from your thighs upwards to your chest, drawing in attention everywhere you wanted it.

leon stayed where he first sat, leaning further into the bar so he could comfortably rest, watching you closely, as though you were a film, like he was there to capture you on video.

“isn’t that the raccoon city survivor?” leon heard hushed voices and he was smacked in the face with the reality of it all, a surge of genuine worry in his gut, “why is she on this side of town? you think that whole conspiracy is true?”

how had you been safe for this long? leon took a moment of his attention away from you and suddenly every other persons eyes that were on you felt threatening, call it what you will, paranoia, overdramatic- he was there for a reason, the raccoon city terrors were real, to you and him, the government wasn’t on either of your sides, he knew that for a fact, but the unknown was scarier, at least in this situation.

leon exhaled before standing up on his feet, hanging his head down and walking over to seemingly join you, “you come to dance?” your arms reached up and out but his hand grasped your arm tightly instead.

your eyes rolled, “you can skip to the part of the lovers quarrel where we have a little fun amidst the hatred and sexual tension.” you jested.

“we’re leaving.” his head nodded in a gesture towards the door, arm tugging you towards him but you weren’t having any of it.

“uhh, no, no we’re not?” you scoffed, digging your heels into the ground, scowling at the man, “i just got here and i’d like to remind you, i don’t have a curfew, you’re not actually babysitting!” you slapped his arm.

“shut your mouth!” he whispered out harshly, another tug of your arm and this one hurt.

“you fucking dick, let me go.” you punched at his arm with your other hand this time but no budge, “i swear to god, i will scream, kick, punch, i will cause the biggest scene to get you off of me then you can kiss your job goodbye- oh no, you can kiss your life goodbye, since this is currently your only purpose.” you spat out.

leon dropped your arm, his tongue poked against the inside of his cheek, clearly seething internally but the last thing he needed was to draw anymore attention to the both of you.

“outside. now.” his arms came up to cross folded against his chest.

you didn’t speak another word, pushing past the man, shoulders harshly bumping into his. reaching the bar, with a sulk in your demeanour getting the attention of the bartender once again and ordering another cocktail.

you tensed when leon’s arm wrapped snuggly around your waist, “i’m serious, this isn’t safe. i have other means of getting you out of here but i’d much rather keep things peaceful and conscious.” his arm squeezed your hip, threateningly.

you looked down at your drink and felt your stomach drop, pushing the glass away from your body, “oh, so you’re crazy, that’s the catch.” you referred to your earlier quip.

“how is it suddenly not safe? why did you even let me come.” you gritted through your teeth, glancing around the room.

“came to my senses. it’s that simple, i’m not trying to lose my life because of how reckless you are with yours, no thanks.” you laughed at that, nodding and he couldn’t tell whether it was out of agreement or something else.

“i think i’m worth it.” you turned to face him and the look on his face was of disbelief at your attitude, it only egged you on further to push his buttons.

“newsflash sweetheart, you aren’t going to be the death of me.” he muttered, and that same burning grip he had on you returned and you were being whisked from the bar, swiftly out of the doors and through the hallway, all too fast, feeling like you were lagging behind, as though your brain was still at the bar- shit, your throat was so dry, maybe he slipped something in the first drink.. but there was no way.

the cold air bit harshly at your bare skin, coming to your senses suddenly all too quickly, feet stomping on the floor in a tantrum, fists coming up to hit his chest, “what is wrong with you?!” you screeched and suddenly you were being dragged further into the street, harshly turning a corner into some backstreet alley.

“you’ll get over it, stop acting like a spoilt brat. i got tired of that as soon as i saw your face again.” leon pushed you back against the brick wall and you rubbed over your arm where he had been gripping.

“you’re so sad!” you spat out, pushing him further away from you, “sad and desperate, you think you’re such a big hero from that day don’t you? gonna ruin my life? make me miserable as some sick payback because you resent me?” you laughed, directly in his face, “you want me to repay you, that it?” you walk closer to him, in some way to gain leverage over him, but it was futile, pathetic honestly.

his push his hair back with his fingers, the normal lightness to it looked darker thanks to the shadows, expression unreadable as he let you go off on a tangent.

“back up.” he spoke out, almost inaudibly but he knew you heard him because you only inched closer, noticing your eyes dart down to his waist when you felt the prod of something against your skin.

before your arm could even reach out to grab the item under his clothing, he unsheathed it suddenly, brandishing a knife, black handle, indented with a line every inch or so, the blade was quite tall, sloped either side and an engraving stamped below the hilt.

you didn’t get to see much of it though, within a blink of an eye it was pressed to your throat along with the familiar feeling of the gritty bricks against your back.

“don’t do something stupid now..” he was calm, despite the manoeuvre he had you in.

your breathing hitched, hands clutching his grey coloured suit tie amidst the panic, he kept you there for what felt like minutes but was only a few seconds, relaxing only slightly but he never stuffed the knife back in its sheathe, it kept firmly gripped in his hand which was pressed in between your clavicle, as a warning.

in some sick and twisted way it was thrilling, you couldn’t shake that feeling and it felt disgustingly good.

you blinked a couple times, eyes darting out towards his arm, which somehow was on display, where he managed to find the time to roll up his sleeves was beyond you.

“eyes up here.” he tapped the blunt side of the knife to your chin, a all too cocky smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when you complied.

“see how easy it is to listen?” he sighed, dragging the cool metal across your jawline, tracing the outline of your ear and downwards to the top hem of your clothing.

you should’ve been terrified, but it felt different, unexplainable, you wanted him to keep going, you had never felt your head so empty and airy, it was euphoric.

maybe raccoon city screwed you up more than you thought..

you didn’t dwell much on it, attention undivided on the agent in front of you, his lips were moving but you couldn’t make out what he was saying, so dazed in the moment.

“should i keep going?” he repeated, tapping the tip of the knife to your chest and you nodded, squeezing the material of his tie, knocking his body closer towards you and you hissed out when the blade nipped your skin, a droplet of blood seeping into your clothes.

“shit-“ leon looked as though he panicked for a moment, but you weren’t about to let him, hands pushing up to cup his face and demand his full attention on what you wanted.

your lips meshed with his and for the first time of the night, leon kennedy was caught fully off guard. he relaxed after a few seconds, moulding his plush lips to yours and catching you in a sloppy shared kiss, your arms resting past his shoulders, one of your hands pushing his head further against yours to chase his mouth.

you only pulled away when you heard a rip of fabric, his nimble hands shredding it with the knife, a puddle of your clothes soon beneath your feet, delicate undergarments coming in to his view.

you didn’t get a second to regain composure as his mouth was once again on you, this time his tongue darted out, lapping up the droplet of blood from where the knife had broken your skin.

it was vile in the most sinful way possible, all the blood felt like it rushed straight to your throbbing cunt.

“i might actually go crazy if you tease me..” you voiced out, which caught him by surprise since you had been rather breathless.

“i can be nice.” he murmured out, voice muffled in between open mouthed kisses, knife cutting open your bra so his tongue could latch on to your nipple, his thumb toying with the other.

“mmh, you threaten me, make me bleed, and destroy all my clothes, but you can be nice?” you breathily giggled, distracted by the way the tip of his tongue- which had been previously licking up your blood, swirled and flicked against your nipple, sending pulses of electricity throughout your body.

“i’ll make it up to you.” he kissed back up from your chest, reaching your lips again to catch you in a kiss, you could taste the metallically tang from your blood and it only urged you further.

“fuck..” you gasped when he pulled away, looking between your bodies to watch the way he sliced off your panties next, wasting to time in running the pads of his fingers between your sloppy folds, “mmhn, didn’t i just tell you not to tease?” you mewled.

“you’re that worked up?” he chuckled out and your arm flew out to hit his chest, only earning another laugh.

“just fuck me already, i want your dick so badly.” you begged so pretty, you knew you did because his demeanour changed quickly, rough hands settling at your waist to manhandle you until you faced the wall.

“stay like that, arch your ba- mhm, like that.” he hummed, barely having to mention it and you were bending and obeying as though it was your only function.

leon had unbuttoned his blazer to relax a little better, though he lazily pushed his slacks down along with his underwear, far too eager to feel how heavenly you’d be on his cock.

he pumped his self a couple times, a firm hand pushing you back against him, helping him slowly push himself inside your pussy, “ouhh- fuck, that’s—“ he hissed out, halting his movements to revel in the way you were squeezing and fluttering around him relentlessly, “that’s so tight, m’ gonna fuck this little pussy open.” he grunted through his teeth, pushing against you until he was flush with you.

you were already finding it extremely hard to keep it together, mind so foggy with lust and the way he kept pushing and pushing for what felt like endlessly, he was so big, he pushed and prodded up against every delicious nerve inside of you and he hadn’t even started moving at a consistent pace yet, oh you were a goner.

a squeal left your lips when he pulled back only to push back much quicker and with force, your arms flying out until he grabbed one to pull behind your back, stabilising you and also getting more leverage on your movements.

“fuck, you’re so pretty, stuffed full of this cock, mmh, you like that?” he groaned out shamefully.

you didn’t answer though, far too preoccupied with how delicious he was stretching your walls, soon distracted by that familiar feeling of stinging cold metal to your throat, his other hand had come round to press it against your skin.

your eyes flew open and you felt him jerk you closer with his grip still on your other hand, “don’t fall now that would be real dangerous sweetheart, hold on, yeah?” he laughed out, it was evil, taunting but you were on another cloud of bliss.

“l-leon! ah mhhnmm!” you chanted out breathless incoherent moans and noises, feeling like a rag doll being constantly pulled against leon, you were so limp without his grip and the knife he pressed against your throat, you might’ve been in real trouble without him, ironically considering he was the one putting you between between him and the knife.

“i know, i know baby, feels s’good, don’t it?” he rasped out, bruises already forming on your wrists as he used you like his own little personal fucktoy.

“m’ really— oh, really close!” you squeaked, all too suddenly being dragged from your impending high, your back stabilising against the wall and you cried out.

“shh, shuuush.” he cooed at your displeased reaction, “i got you, i just wanna see that pretty face when you cum.” he paired his soothing voice with a firm kiss on your forehead, hiking your leg above his waist and slipping his cock inside your weeping pussy again.

the high bubbled so quickly in your tummy again all you could do was reach out for his arms, desperate to feel the metal to your skin again and he obliged, pushing it onto your neck once more as he pounding into you, wet sloppy sounds making it evident how close you were.

“you look so fucking cute like this, my knife against your throat, fucked stupid by my fat cock.” he grunted in between strained moans, clearly chasing his own high.

your vision went completely blurred as that burning hot coil in your tummy finally snapped, head knocked back against the wall as you sobbed out in pure pleasure, mantras of yes, yes, yes! and leon’s name falling from your lips.

“oh my fucking god, you’re so fucking sick, y’know that baby? yeah..” leon relaxed the knife from your throat, the blade dropping somewhere forgotten by your feet so he could push his head against your neck where the metal once occupied, licking and kisses the delicate skin, thrusts sloppy and inconsistent, broken and hoarse moans coaxed out with every further movement of his hips.

“fuck! fuck, a—ah!” his cock twitched and fluttered inside you as hot spurts of thick cum filled your walls, warming every inch of your body.

he pushed you further into the wall as he stood there, breathing in and out against your neck, slowly coming down from his high, the both of you dazed and pleasure-struck.

your head knocked against his and he seemed to come to, leaning back and blinking a couple of times before seemingly examining your body, “you hurt?” he breathed out.

“only my legs..” you laughed quietly, watching him gently set your leg down once he slipped out of you, grabbing your shredded clothing to wipe you off with.

“let’s get you somewhere warm.” he shrugged off his blazer jacket, pushing your arms through the holes and doing it up fully.

“leon, i feel okay, i’m good.” you assured him, stepping closer once again to return the same kiss he placed on your head, “that was crazy.. but fun.” you admitted, feeling the back of your neck burn from the realisation of what just happened.

“i shouldn’t of come on to you like that though.” he laughed nervously and you shook your head.

“i’m in one piece no?” you poked his chest, “i’m serious, i liked it- i like you, a lot.” you told the agent before shaking your head again, “you don’t have to say anything though, it’s not like that.” you didn’t exactly know what you meant because it was exactly as you said, having been smitten with the man all night, maybe you just didn’t want to deal with what you were insinuating, at least not tonight.

“take me home, somewhere warm.”

#leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon smut #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #resident evil #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

1:37AM | Park Seonghwa

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Reader

Request: No.

Synopsis: Y/N isn't able to be with her boyfriend on his birthday.

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 344

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©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings. No one has permission to copy, translate and/or repost my fics on here or any other site.

Y/N awoke to the sound of her phone ringing. Rolling over she grabs her phone from her bedside table having every intention to ignore it until she sees Seonghwa's name, number and a photo of them his birthday last year is illuminated on the screen. 

She quickly answers the video call before it ends. "Hi baby, Happy Birthday." 

"Thank you, my love," he replies, looking and sounding tired. "Did I wake you up? I'm sorry, I didn't even consider the time difference." 

"It's okay," she assures him. "I was in between sleep. How is your day going?" 

"It’s going nicely. We few other schedules this morning, but the guys and I went out to a nice restaurant for lunch. I got even more gifts from them," he explains. "Now I'm just sitting in my hotel room, waiting for rehearsals, with a large bouquet of flowers and all my favourite snacks half eaten." He switches the camera to the snacks and flowers to show her that he received them. "I'm surprised some of them could be found here." 

"Did you like them?" She asks, a soft smile on her face, though a part of her felt disappointed that she couldn't be there with him for his birthday and couldn't give them to him in person. You're thankful to Hongjoong and Yunho for helping you with it. 

"I love them, Jagiya," he smiles. "Almost as much as I love you." 

"I have more for when you get back home," she tells him.  

"I don't need anymore, I have enough already," he says, looking at her with heart eyes through the phone. "You're all I need." 

"I'll just take that Lego set you've been dying to get your hands on back to the store then," you tease him. 

“You and the Lego set is all I need,” he says with a chuckle. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too,” she replies. Her heart fills with love and happiness, seeing his smile and hearing his laugh. It overtakes the disappointment of not being able to be with him.  

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#author: woojoongstreasure #park seonghwa #park seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa x y/n #seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x y/n #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #park seonghwa fics #park seonghwa imagines #park seonghwa scenarios #ateez fics #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #park seonghwa x female!reader #park seonghwa x fem!reader #park seonghwa x female reader #seonghwa x female!reader #seonghwa x fem!reader #seonghwa x female reader #ateez x fem!reader #ateez x female reader #atz #atz x reader #atz imagines #ateez seonghwa #ateez seonghwa x reader #ateez seonghwa x y/n

[aimportantdragoncollector]

For the ask game, AU where Izuku is low key embarrassed of his uncle because he is so beautiful he keeps accidentally seducing everyone he meets, please. (Yoichi reserves the not accidental seduction for his husbands.)

Heh I love this one:

1. Hisashi and Inko are business partners who often travel for work, so they leave Izuku to stay with his three uncles: Yoichi, Second (Kaiji), and Third (Sanzou). Izuku doesn't mind because he loves his uncles, but man does he ever hate going outside with Uncle Yoichi. Because it's nothing but trouble! Every time they go out, Yoichi gets approached by modeling agents, every shop gives them discounts, and people take pictures in public. To Izuku's great annoyance, people keep mistaking his uncle for his older brother. Furthermore, Yoichi attracts every train molester, flasher, stalker, and kidnapper. Izuku carries a taser to handle all of them. He's appointed himself as bodyguard because he believes that his air-headed, beautiful uncle is way too clueless, defenseless, and prone to giving people the benefit of the doubt.

2. Over the years, Izuku has developed an itchy trigger finger with the taser and a policy of preemptive strikes towards anyone who looks at Yoichi wrong. Izuku has been capturing perverts and taking them to the police since elementary school. In middle school he tasered Re-Destro from behind for trying to kidnap his uncle (without knowing who he was). Izuku got a medal for taking down such a dangerous villain.

3. Izuku also dislikes how everyone treats him differently after meeting his uncle. He's dealt with bullying issues in the past because of his quirklessness. But as soon as they lay eyes on his uncle, his teachers rush to favor him and even the other kids try to befriend him to have an excuse to come over to his house and gawk. Izuku hates the fakeness even more than the bullying.

4. Katsuki Bakugo is the first person Izuku ever met who didn't go gah-gah over his uncle and Izuku really appreciates how Katsuki doesn't treat him any differently. (Katsuki is not immune, he's just too stubborn to show it. As a result, he tries to avoid Izuku and whatever weirdness is going on around him.) In this AU, Katsuki's bullying got cut off very early on because all of Izuku's teachers intensely favor him. In fact, Izuku's teachers make excuses to come over to his house for frequent parent-teacher conferences specifically during the times when he lives with his uncles. It annoys Izuku that Yoichi does not seem to realize these conferences are unnecessary and can happily talk about his cute nephew all day.

5. Yoichi constantly causes gay/bisexual awakenings in everyone he meets, including women who discover they like women after meeting him. Don't question how that works.

6. Izuku also hates how when he goes out in public with all three of his uncles, people whisper behind their backs about how Kaiji and Sanzou aren't handsome enough for Yoichi. Strangers are disrespectful enough to hit on Yoichi in front of his partners and tell him that he could do better. Kaiji and Sanzou are very secure and just laugh it off. Izuku "accidentally" tasers the rudest ones.

7. Izuku's also embarrassed because Uncle Yoichi dotes on him in public, which attracts attention to him. A lot of suitors see playing nice with Izuku as their "in" with Yoichi or think they will impress Yoichi by showing off how good they are with kids.

8. On the bright side, Yoichi gets lots of hero autographs for Izuku. (Any autograph Izuku wants, including villain autographs.) Izuku assumes that this is because even people in the hero industry can't resist his uncle's smile. He's right, but he doesn't know the whole story.

9. Yoichi is a famous villain. All the heroes and villains alike are infatuated with his alter ego. In this AU, Izuku's entire family is full of villains: Inko is a villain and All for One's business partner, which is why she goes away with her husband on business trips frequently. Kaiji and Sanzou are also villains. Izuku has no idea.

10. Izuku also doesn't know that his uncles ruined lives of everyone who bullied him in past. The perverts who get tasered by Izuku are the lucky ones. You don’t want to know what Yoichi does to perverts who harass him when he’s out alone.

#5 headcanons game #closed ask game #Yoichi Shigaraki #Dad for One

[plantsjustwannahavefun]

I keep seeing so many people here getting angry that this season is "vilifying Ed", and it's depressingly fascinating to see how others can watch the same show and somehow see something completely different. Is it simply the lack of media literacy? Is it the inability to appreciate and enjoy complex, nuanced, morally grey characters without willfully blocking out anything even slightly unpalatable about them to the point where the character they think they love isn't really that character anymore?

Because, uh... Season 1 already "vilified" Ed plenty. Except "vilify" is the wrong word, of course. It wasn't in any way malicious or mean-spirited, quite the contrary, it was often played as comedic (until the end of episode 10 when it was anything but) - Ed was always meant to be a sympathetic character, he's a protagonist after all, and the show's portrayal of him is very compassionate. It merely refused to sugarcoat or shy away from his darker side. He's literally history's most famous pirate, you don't become one by being nice and treating everyone gently. He ambushed and strangled his own father to death when he was like 9 years old (100% deserved and justifiable ofc, but it still bears saying it out loud like this just to comprehend how unhinged this actually was). He loves torturing and maiming people for fun, and sometimes even animals (that scene with forcing a turtle to fight a crab). He didn't give a fuck about his crew members dying to satisfy his whim to meet Stede. He entirely failed in his role as a captain in ep 4. He effectively played a double agent with Izzy and Stede for a while before changing his mind. He attempted to murder Lucius. And while you could try to argue his punishment of Izzy was at least to some degree deserved, not only cutting Izzy's toe off but forcing him to eat went beyond punishment, it was sadistic torture.

So, yeah, please just read all that and take it in. And then remember once again that Ed is also a traumatised, lonely, depressed, sensitive, creative, curious, deeply passionate person yearning for true love and for something different in life... just like Stede. He loves music and can play the piano. He wrote a very vulnerable song and sand his heart out. He likes his tea with seven sugars. He enjoys fashion and dressing up. He has such a limitless sense of wonder for the world. He went on a trek with Stede just to make him happy, even though he hated nature and was in a shit mood that day. He wants to host a talent show. He wants to become free. He's clever and funny and fascinating. I love Ed.

Yes, it's possible to reconcile those two sides of him and accept both sides as the "real" Ed. You have to reconcile the two sides if you want to enjoy him as a character, because if you don't, you're going to either detest him to the core (which would make enjoying the show practically impossible since he's sort of a main character...), or you'll only be able to enjoy a diminished, crippled, cardboard cutout version of his character, which would be such a pity and a massive disservice to the creators of this show who worked hard to create interesting, multidimensional characters.

Not to mention you'd be missing one of the core messages of the show - the idea that people still deserve love and can be loved even if they're imperfect, or not necessarily good people. Because love is a human condition. It's not a sole dominion of "good" people. "Bad" people can fall in love too - even if, just like them, that love isn't exactly "nice" or "pure", and neither are the relationships that stem from it. They can be messy and exasperating. But "bad" people can also grow and change because of it. That's what OFMD is ultimately about - growth and change, learning to accept yourself but also become better. That can't happen if the character is already 100% perfect the way they are.Ed is far from that. So is Izzy. They can both become better, and they both still deserve compassion and understanding, because that's the environment people need to become better.

So, if you're mad that at the start of S2 the crew are sympathetic to Izzy's suffering and want to help him instead of kicking him when he's down, and what Ed did to him is being acknowledged as cruel and wrong... congratulations, you have completely missed what OFMD is all about.

#normally I hate fandom drama and hate getting involved but I've seen too many of those posts #so unfortunately it needs saying #and tbh there seem to be a few Izzy fans out there who are unreasonably hateful and unsympathetic towards Ed too #so they need to hear this as well #izzy hands #blackbeard #ofmd ed teach #ofmd #our flag means death #our flag means death s2 #ofmd s2 spoilers

[literaryavenger]

Broken - bonus part

Summary: It's been a year since Bucky moved in and now it's his turn to help you, only problem is you won't let him.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: No use of Y/N. Language. A lot of fluff. Eating disorder. Angst.

Word Count: 7.8K

A/N: I made this bonus part to explore more about the eating disorder that was hinted in the first couple of chapters. I had plans to incorporated in the story when I was planning on making it longer, but with how it went it didn't feel like there was a place for it. I'd like to thank @ordelixx for giving me the idea for this additional part. Hope you enjoy it, I'm always open to more ideas so feel free to spam in my inbox or messages, know I always appreciate it! also sorry it took me so long to finish this but I started it and then kind of lost inspiration :(

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Masterlist

It’s been a year since Bucky arrived at the tower and about 11 months since his hearing.

As conditioned by his pardon he’s been going to therapy, he’s been training with the team and has been doing more and more missions, on probation, but still he’s been doing better than ever.

Even Tony had to admit that the more time he spent with Bucky the more the super soldier grew on him.

If a few months ago he begrudgingly spent time with the super soldier at your request, if anything to spend time with you too since you’re still inseparable, now Tony actively seeks him out; wanting to study his new vibranium arm, testing his gadgets since he got hurt less easily than the others. Or sometimes simply to talk about things like astronomy after Tony found out about Bucky’s interest in the subject.

They’ve even had a few conversations on Howard and his friendship with the sergeant back in the 40s.

You're proud of all the progress Bucky’s made, and you appreciate the fact that getting more comfortable in the 21st century and becoming more confident didn’t make him pull away from you.

It's a fear you had, that maybe Bucky stuck to you because you were the first person after Steve that made him feel safe, that the more people he got familiar with the more he was gonna pull away from you, not needing you as much anymore.

But, to your delight, Bucky’s still as touchy and clingy towards you as ever, if anything he's grown even more affectionate.

He never lets a day go by without telling you how much he loves you and appreciates you, kissing you any chance he gets and holding you tight every night in the room the two of you have been officially sharing the last few weeks since you’ve all moved to the new Avengers Compound upstate.

You love Bucky’s attention and you’re just as affectionate towards him as he is towards you. Everything was going great.

Until it wasn’t.

You’re on your way to your room, looking forward to seeing Bucky after a full morning of mission reports with Steve and then training with Natasha.

She obviously kicked your ass and you're exhausted, wanting nothing more than to be in his warm embrace for the rest of the day.

Thankfully, it’s friday afternoon and you have no new missions which means your weekend is wide open.

You stop on your tracks when you hear your name being mentioned in a conversation right around the corner.

You recognize one of the voices as Sharon Carter, one of the agents of Shield that lives and works at the compound the Avengers now reside in.

You don’t know why you stop to listen in on the conversation, you’re not really one to eavesdrop, but something about her tone makes your legs refuse to move towards her direction. Which just so happens to be the way towards the Avengers only part of the building.

Your stomach drops when you hear the other girl’s next sentence.

"And can you believe she got Sergeant Barnes to date her?" Sharon groans before answering.

"Of course she did, he was all broken and vulnerable and she was like the first person he met at the tower. He obviously got attached to the first person that was nice to him, otherwise how do you think a girl like her could ever have a chance with him?" she says matter-of-factly. 

"You’re right, I mean he’s probably still with her just out of habit. He’s too nice to hurt her feelings." the other girl says, giggling.

"Exactly." Sharon agrees, laughing with her friend. "I mean, he’d never go for her if he met her today. He’d probably be flirting his way through the actually pretty girls that live around here, like you and me."

You can hear their laughter growing louder as they get closer to where you are frozen on your spot and feel yourself starting to panic.

You can’t face them right now, the only thing on your mind is finding a place to hide in.

You see a door behind you and you sprint to it, reaching it, running inside and closing the door softly in record time. You press your ear up against it and can hear the muffled laughter and some more comments on you and Bucky.

When they’re finally far enough that you can’t hear them, you let yourself relax, pressing your back against the door and looking into the dark closet you’re hiding in while you let their words really sink in, your brain working overtime to make sure you didn’t misheard or misinterpreted anything.

Once you’re sure you indeed heard everything correctly, tears start to form in your eyes.

Is that really what people think? That Bucky’s just with you because he pities you?

You’ve always known Bucky was beautiful, definitely the hottest guy you’ve ever seen in your life, and you’ve always known he was out of your league.

You know you’re by no means thin, but you also don’t consider yourself fat, especially not after all the work that it took you to get to a place where you have a healthy relationship with your body.

Yes, you still have your doubts and insecurities, but that’s just in your head.

Although here you are, hiding in a supply closet, tears streaming down your face, because there are actual people outside of your head that see your flaws too.

One thing is to wonder about this stuff in the middle of the night when you can’t sleep, the voices in your head taking over, but to hear those same thoughts coming out of someone else’s mouth hit you hard.

You don’t even know how long you stay hidden, but at some point you snap out of it and dry your tears, opening the door and making the way to your room.

It feels like only a second passes and then you’re opening the door of yours and Bucky’s room. You make a beeline for the bathroom, barely acknowledging your boyfriend when he greets you as you lock the bathroom door behind you.

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow at your cold shoulder, immediately getting worried. He gets up from the bed and knocks on the door of the bathroom calling out for you. "Everything okay?"

You can hear the concern in his voice and it only makes you feel worse as you find yourself wondering if he’s actually worried or just that good at pretending.

You look at your reflection in the mirror and all of a sudden you feel nauseous but you barely have time to realize it’s not just in your head when you’re suddenly throwing up in the toilet.

Bucky’s more worried than ever as he hears you be sick from the other side of the door. "Doll, I need you to talk to me or I will break down the door."

He knows it may not be the ideal thing to say, but his concern outweighs his rational thinking when you stop making sounds as he still hasn't heard your voice and is worried you might’ve passed out.

"I’m okay." your voice is quiet, but at least you’re conscious. 

"Can you open the door for me, doll?" He can hear you sigh and shuffle a bit, probably getting up. Then he hears the faucet of the sink being turned on as you splash some water on your face.

He’s a little calmer now, patiently waiting for you and he lets out a little breath of relief when he hears the lock click.

You open it reluctantly, trying your best to look normal, but Bucky can see right through you.

"What’s wrong, baby?" he brings his hands to your cheeks and you can’t help but lean into them for a second before you grab his wrists and gently lower his hands, his face more worried than before.

"I’m fine, Bucky." you say, your voice almost emotionless.

"You were just throwing up. You’re not fine." it takes all of him not to reach for you again, not wanting to cross your boundaries.

"It’s nothing. Maybe I’m just sick. I’ll take a shower, it’ll make me feel better." You don’t give him time to respond as you close the door and lock it again, starting the shower.

Bucky feels like he can barely breathe, your behavior making him more worried than he’s been since the 40s and he had to take care of sickly little Steve.

Youìve never acted like this with him, when you were sick or even grumpy from your period you usually became clingy and wanted him around even more than you usually do. But he gives you the benefit of the doubt.

If you were sick this wasn’t the moment to think about himself. He has to take care of you first and he can ask more later you when you're feeling better.

With new resolve he heads towards the kitchen, determined to get everything you might need to make you feel better.

You stay in the shower for over an hour, trying to avoid Bucky as much as you can, but you know you had to get out and face him eventually.

When you come out of the bathroom you find him sitting in the desk chair, the desk full of things you’re pretty sure weren’t there when you entered the room.

Bucky's on his feet and coming towards you in a second, your favorite pair of pajamas in his hand.

"Are you feeling better?" he asks you softly, worry still present on his features.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, taking the clothes and changing as fast as you can, a small ‘I’m fine’ leaving your lips. 

"What's all of this?" you ask, stepping around him and walking towards the desk.

"Oh, I just brought you some things to make you feel better." He can't help himself as he wraps his arms around you from behind while you look through the things he brought you.

He got you all sorts of pain meds, your favorite snacks and drinks, your heating pad and your favorite comfort book.

You want to cry at the sight, but part of you can't help but doubt Bucky, even with how sweet he’s being.

You snap out of it when you feel Bucky give you a kiss on the shoulder and, suddenly, it all feels fake and it’s too much for you. 

You place your hands on his and move his arms away from you, then start heading towards the bed.

"I’m not hungry. I just want to sleep for a bit." That's all you say as you lay down and turn your back on him, tears threatening to fall down again.

You hear him sigh behind you. Then he moves around and you feel him lay a kiss on your head before he walks out the room shutting the lights on his way, wanting to give you the space you clearly want.

You aren't sure if you're glad you can cry yourself to sleep freely or worried that him walking out solidifies the voices in your head that are telling you that maybe Bucky really doesn’t love you.

When you wake up the next morning Bucky’s arms were wrapped around you from behind.

Usually being in his hold makes you feel safe but right now all you can concentrate on is the feeling of his hands on your belly and how disgusted he would be if he woke up and realized the position you were in, no matter how many times you've been like this.

You slip away from his embrace and go to change into work out clothes. You went to sleep pretty early yesterday so it was still early in the morning when you woke up.

You aren’t expecting to meet anyone yet but, once again, you're proven wrong by the shuffling coming from the kitchen as you make your way to grab a bottle of water.

You approach carefully without making a sound and when you peak around the corner you see Steve, probably back from a morning run, in front of the counter with his back to you and a water bottle in his hand.

You try to move as quietly as possible, even with enhanced hearing your skills have gotten so good you're able to sneak around the super soldiers when needed.

You decide to use the stairs to get to the gym, the door leading to them squeaking lightly. Steve turns around at the sound but seems to decide it was nothing as he shrugs and makes his way to his room.

You’ve been at the gym for a couple of hours, stopping only to grab water from the mini fridge, when the door opens and you hear Bucky’s voice.

"Hey doll, I’ve been looking for you everywhere." His voice sounds genuinely concerned. You have to give him props on his acting skills.

"Yeah, couldn’t sleep." You say without looking at him, barely stopping your punching of the bag in front of you.

"I thought you were sick." he’s slowly getting closer, you’d almost think he was trying to corner a scared animal.

"Clearly I feel better." you shrug, trying to end this conversation as fast as possible.

You feel his hand on your shoulder and finally stop, taking a deep breath before turning to face him.

His face looks more worried than you’ve ever seen it and it almost makes you forget your own concerns about the reality of your relationship.

Almost. 

"Maybe you should go visit Bruce, make sure everything’s okay." his eyes never leave your face and you try your best to hide any emotion but it’s always been too easy for him to read you so you shrug his hand from your shoulder, trying to put a little distance between you.

He looks genuinely hurt, but, again, what would you expect from a trained assassin? Pretending comes as naturally to him as breathing. 

"I’m fine, Bucky." you turn back to the bag and resume your punching. You’re so lost in your own thoughts you don’t even notice him walking out of the gym.

You work out some more before deciding it’s enough and go back to your room, thankful for the first time that Bucky’s not there.

After you shower and change again you find yourself with nothing to do and, for once, you wish you had paperwork to keep you occupied and give you an excuse to avoid everybody.

You grab your purse and make your way out, mumbling something about having errands to run in the city when you come across some people in the living room, basically running out of there so fast you can’t even tell who’s actually there watching tv.

You spend the whole day running around the city, not really having a destination but when the sun starts coming down you decide to head back.

When you enter the living room you can see everyone sitting at the kitchen table.

"Finally, you’re here! We can eat now." Sam shouts happily and you know you can’t escape this.

"Sorry, didn’t realize you were waiting on me." You say quietly while sitting down in the only free chair that’s unfortunately next to Bucky.

"It’s okay, koala bear." Steve smiles from your other side. "Bucky said you weren’t feeling great, so Wanda made your favorite."

You try to look excited while smiling and thanking Wanda as she and Vision place the food on the table. If she notices something is off, she doesn't say anything, just giving you a smile of her own in return.

"Where were you all day?" Tony asks you.

"The city." you simply say, trying to sound as casual as possible while making no attempt to look at him, or make eye contact with anyone else for that matter.

But Tony seems satisfied with your answer, taking your lack of conversation for tiredness and going back to talking to Clint.

You manage to avoid all conversations with nods and hums and you can feel Bucky’s gaze on you almost as it burns but you can’t find it in yourself to look back at him.

When you feel his hand coming to rest on top of yours on the table you feel like something inside you snaps and you get up abruptly, making everybody stop as they give you confused looks.

"Excuse me, I still don’t feel well. I think I’m gonna go to my room and rest." and, without giving anyone the chance to say anything, you walk away.

There’s a second of silence before the team seems to dismiss your behavior as grumpiness from feeling sick, after all the rare times that you do get sick you get very irritable.

Bucky seems to be the only one to notice your untouched food. 

After less than five minutes the door to your room opens and Bucky comes in, finding you sitting on the bed staring at nothing while being clearly lost in your head.

He makes his way to you and kneels down in front of you.

"What’s going on, doll?" He tries his luck again, putting a hand on your knee. He hopes that giving space all day allowed you to come around and now you’ll talk to him.

You prove him wrong by getting up, not even sparing him a glance, and making your way to the closet to try and busy yourself so you won’t have to look at him.

"Nothing." You offer nothing more and Bucky starts getting frustrated with you. 

"What is wrong with you today?" He knows something’s wrong. He knows you better than anyone, and he’s trying to be patient with you but you’ve never acted this cold towards him and it scares him.

"Nothing is wrong." You know you’re pushing it. You know you’re doing nothing to alleviate his worries, but you can’t help the feeling that he’s the one in the wrong.

He’s the one out of line, he’s the one that betrayed your trust and hurt you and toyed with your feelings and lied to you about his own. You had every right to be short with him.

Right?

"Something is obviously wrong, why won’t you just talk to me?!" He almost whines and you roll your eyes, your own unjustified irritation coming out.

"Oh, for the love of God, just give it a rest!" you almost yell, and the surprise you find in yourself is nothing compared to the one on Bucky’s face.

"What?" he’s almost whispering and the hurt in his voice for some reason just infuriates you more.

"Stop treating me like I’m made of glass! Not everyone is as needy as you, you know. I’m a grown ass adult and I don’t need you!" You can’t stop shouting, knowing full well you don’t mean a word you’re saying. But you want to hurt him as much as you’re hurting, as wrong as that is.

"Don’t you think I know that you don’t need me?!" He’s yelling too now, and you know you pushed the right button "I know damn well how strong you are, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still worry about you!"

"I don’t need you to worry about me!"

"Well, that’s too damn bad for you, because I love you and I want you to be okay!" God, even shouting he’s still being nice to you.

"Well, that’s too damn bad for you, because it’s none of your business if I’m okay!" Not the best response, but at this point you honestly have no idea of even control of what’s coming out of your mouth anymore.

"God, why are you being such a child about this?!" Bucky barely understands what’s going on right.

The two of you have never fought before, not so much as an argument, and now here you are in a yelling match that started because he's concerned about you.

"Oh boo freaking hoo, poor Bucky having to deal with a child! If you don’t like me just say so!"

"What the hell are you talking about?!" He’s beyond confused now.

"If you don’t want this," you gesture between the two of you "just leave! Go and find someone you actually like! Don’t stay with me just because you feel like you have to!"

"When did I ever say that? Are you out of your mind?!"

"Yes, I’m crazy! Now just leave me the fuck alone!" you yell at the top of your lungs and Bucky seems to freeze in his spot.

Assuming this is over, you turn around and climb into bed, your back to Bucky once again.

When you hear him sigh and start moving you feel like you’re reliving yesterday, except this time you don’t expect him to kiss you but just leave.

He turns off the lights, but you frown when you don’t hear the door, instead you feel the bed dip behind you. You tense up when Bucky’s arms wrap around you from behind, bringing you closer to him with your back pressed against his chest.

"I will choose you over everyone. Even on the days where we don’t understand each other." He whispers in your ear after a moment of silence and you can’t do anything to stop the tears that start coming out as you feel Bucky holding you tighter without saying another word.

You want to believe him, you really do. But Sharon’s voice in your head is like a net, not allowing you to fall fully into Bucky, not being able to accept that someone like him truly loves you.

So you start spending your days by yourself, avoiding people as much as possible.

Everytime you're in a room with someone all you can think about is how they're probably judging you, making just want to run away and hide.

But isolating yourself does nothing to ease your worries as you now spend all your time overthinking and hating on yourself.

You start pulling away from Bucky too and it's killing him.

You still won't talk to him, everytime you're together you pretend that everything's fine.

You put on a smile he knows is fake, really doing the bare minimum to keep a conversation going and when he touches you he always gets the feeling that you wanted nothing more than to slap his hands away.

But you always try to be discreet as you inch away from him with any excuse that comes to mind.

It's the change in your relationship with Bucky that starts to clue the team in on your behavior.

As much as they have fun giving you shit for it, they all admire your closeness and were happy that you found each other.

So they start paying more attention to you. Everybody can see something's wrong, but if you wouldn’t talk to Bucky about it, really what chance do they have?

It doesn't stop them from worrying though, seeing how you seem to waste away.

You spend too much time in the gym, losing weight at an alarming rate and not getting enough sleep to function, sometimes resulting in you falling asleep during meetings or on the mat at the gym.

But you refuse to let Bruce look at you. You refuse any help really, your temper shorter than ever as you end up snapping at people more often than not.

You try to keep it together, but it's obviously not working. The only thing you manage to do is avoiding meals without anyone noticing.

After weeks on end of this, the team decides to do something to try and cheer you up, taking the opportunity of your birthday coming up.

Steve manages to convince Tony to have a small party, just the team and agents of Shield, instead of one of his big parties full of strangers.

They're careful when they approach you with the subject, having taken to walking on eggshells around you. You can’t help feeling bad for the way you’ve been treating them, so you decide to be cool about the party, even knowing deep down you’ll regret it.

Natasha and Wanda offer to go shopping with you for a new dress for the occasion, but you decline their invitation.

You know they're trying to be nice, but just the thought of going from store to store, seeing all those beautiful, skinny women trying on pretty dresses you’d never be able to fit into, together with the two gorgeous redheads, it sounds like hell to you.

Which is why you ask the team to have a more informal dress code than usual, allowing you to dress as comfortable as you can be at the moment with loose fitting pants and a large hoodie.

You arrive at the party in the ballroom of the compound that Tony just had to have and are thankful to see everyone dress casually, most of the girls not even wearing dresses.

But you still try not to linger too long on their looks, not wanting to feel worse than you already do about your own appearance.

Arms wrap around your body and you hear Bucky wish you a happy birthday.

You give him a few seconds before you wiggle away from the embrace and turn around. You give Bucky your best fake smile and thank him before kissing him quickly on the cheek and walking away towards the bar to get some water.

You don't need to be getting drunk and throwing up more than you already do every time your stomach forces you to eat anything.

You spend the whole night going from person to person, trying not to talk to anyone too long and making sure to always keep moving to avoid too many questions.

You know it's only a matter of time before they start coming. Even Fury is present, worried about you ever since he had to take you off missions for passing out on the field.

Soon came the moment you’d been dreading most: Wanda comes toward you with your favorite cake with candles lit and everybody starts singing.

You know that with being the center of attention you won't be able to get away with not eating and the team would piece things together if you try, having already gone through this years ago.

Honestly, you're a little disappointed nobody had figured it out yet, but not entirely surprised as you told yourself everyone just didn’t care enough.

And why should they when you look the way you do?

Everyone cheers as you blow on the candles, fake smile still going strong. The cake is cut and everyone is enjoying Wanda’s culinary talent. You even manage to eat yours and keep it down without looking disgusted with yourself.

Everything was going great.

You're behind the bar now taking another water bottle from the mini fridge when you accidentally knock over a glass full of straws that was thankfully made of plastic so it didn’t break.

While you're picking up straws you hear footsteps getting close to the bar that hid your kneeling figure and stop what you're doing when you hear Sharon talking about you. Again.

"And did you see how she’s dressed to her own party? No wonder Bucky’s been staying as far away as possible all night." she's basically whispering, but it's still loud enough for you to hear.

"I know, he’s probably ashamed of her. Wouldn’t surprise me if he dumped her tonight." the two girls giggle the sound seems to snap you out of your trance.

You get up so fast you scare Sharon and the other girl, their startled squeals drawing the attention of the rest of the party as everybody prepares for any danger.

But there is no danger, all everybody can see is two mortified looking agents and you with tears in your eyes that you don't even feel starting to fall.

The whole team is worried sick, everybody getting closer to the bar, but Bucky is the one that's at your side before you can even think about blinking the tears away.

"What’s wrong, baby?" he looks so worried, almost like he himself is about to cry at the mere thought of you being in pain.

But that can't be it, that's not what you're seeing.

He's probably just embarrassed you're being overly emotional for no apparent reason, and that look in his eyes is him getting ready to break up with you right here and now.

At that thought you can literally feel the cake you just ate coming back up and all you can do is run as fast as you could towards the nearest bathroom with a very concerned Bucky running after you after silently agreeing with Steve with a single look that he’ll be the one to check on you.

You make it to the toilet just in time to unload, barely registering two hands taking your hair and holding it away from your face.

You finish vomiting and clean your mouth with some toilet paper before throwing it in and flushing it, shuffling your body backwards until your back hits the tub and you close your eyes while resting your head back against it.

You feel your hair falling back down on your shoulders and can make out the sound of the faucet running for a few seconds before you feel a wet towel gently brushing your cheeks and mouth.

You open your eyes and are met with Bucky kneeling in front of you, seemingly examining every inch of your face to try and understand what’s going on.

Before he can ask you for what felt like the thousandth time though, you can't hold yourself back anymore.

"Please don’t leave me." your voice is weak enough already from all the vomiting and the sobs that start coming in certainly don't help.

Tears start to fall like waterfalls but you don't let any of that stop you from going on. "I know I said I didn’t need you, but I do. I need you so much more than you could ever know."

Bucky wraps his arms around you and he's more than relieved when you don't pull away for the first time in weeks.

Instead, you cling to him as you keep pleading with him not to leave you in between broken sobs while he moves you to sit curling on his lap.

Bucky’s heart breaks for you and he wonders if this was how you felt everytime you comforted him, feeling even more in awe of you now that he knows how hard it was to see the person you love like this.

All he wants is to make you feel better and take away all your pain, but he had no idea how.

When you show no signs of calming down after several minutes he decides to try to talk you down, hoping not to make things worse.

"Doll, I need you to calm down." he tries to pull away just enough to look you in the eyes, but you just hug him tighter, almost terrified that he's just gonna get up and leave forever if you let go and you start getting more agitated by the second. 

!Baby, please try to take deep breaths." he's trying really hard not to panic himself now. "I’m not leaving, I promise. I’m staying right here with you, but you need to calm down, please."

Maybe it's because he's basically begging you, maybe it's because of the panic and concern you think you can hear in his voice or maybe it's his grip getting impossibly tight on you that grounds you, but your brain seems to clear just enough to give your body the command and you start trying to take deep breaths.

When you loosen your hold on Bucky he grabs one of your hands and puts it on his chest right over his heart, the steady beating giving you something to concentrate on as you try your best to copy his breathing. 

It takes a few more minutes but you calm down, tears still falling silently down your cheeks while Bucky rubs your back with his metal hand, his other warm hand still over yours on his chest.

"I’m sorry I’m such a mess…" Your voice sounds foreign to your own ears, quiet, full of sadness and desperation.

This isn’t you.

This isn’t the confident, strong woman that kicked ass and defended Bucky even to your own family from day one.

What happened to you?

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky's asking himself the same question.

What happened to the sweet, bright girl that offered him a hug after five seconds of knowing him? The girl that calmed him down from a panic attack and kept him company through the night even after knowing about his past?

The girl that let him hang onto her like a koala and allowed him to let it all out? The girl that was patient with him, understanding and never once judged him, no matter how broken she’d seen him?

He really can't think of anything that could've happened to break you this much, to bring you to basically have a meltdown on a bathroom floor.

But whatever it was he needs to know now, and he's more determined than ever to find out.

"Doll, you’re not a mess. You’re hurting, I can see it. We all can. And I know you’re strong, but everybody needs help once in a while. Whatever’s been happening, you don’t have to go through it alone. Just like you didn’t let me go through anything alone. You were always there for me, you’re always there for everybody." he pauses and you take the moment to spiral further.

This is the only reason why he’s still with you. You were there for him, you cared and comforted him. So he feels the need to stay with you because Bucky’s loyal, no matter what his feelings actually are.

But he’s gonna fall in love one day with someone, and what is that gonna mean for you? He’s gonna leave you to be with the person he actually wants, loyalty or not. Your fall down the rabbit hole is stopped by Bucky’s voice.

"Please let me be there for you. This is killing me, watching you do this to yourself. Please tell me what’s going on, baby, because you’re scaring me so fucking much. Please." he finishes in a whisper.

Before you can even properly process his words, you feel a tear that's not yours fall on your cheek, making your eyes widen and you look up to see Bucky already looking down at you with tears rolling down his cheeks.

Your hand goes up to his face automatically and you feel him lean into it. You sit up straighter on his lap, leaning in to rest your forehead against his and closing your eyes while willing yourself to stop the tears long enough so you can talk.

Bucky doesn't push you, finding comfort in your touch after having missed it for what, in his opinion, is too damn long.

"I’m sorry… I just…" you don't even know how to start to explain it.

Bucky can see you're having a hard time finding the words, so he tries to help by saying "You don’t need to rush it, doll. I don’t want to push you to talk about something you clearly don’t want to... But I’ve just been so worried. You’ve been pushing everyone away, and you don’t sleep and stay at the gym until you almost pass out. You think that I don’t hear you throwing up, but I do. And, even with all your oversized clothes, I can see how much weight you’ve been losing. It’s killing me, baby, I hate to see you like this. I just want to know why." he kisses the side of your head and you're on the verge of tears again.

Trying hard to hold them back, you force yourself to speak. "I heard some people talking about me…" you start, your voice still quiet, and you go on to tell him everything.

The conversation you overheard, the insecurities that it brought to the surface, the issues you had in the past and the struggle you’ve been having the last few weeks.

By the end of it Bucky he doesn't know what to feel. He's enraged, worried sick, sad at how miserable you’ve been. Just to name a few.

But more than anything he's heartbroken at how much you’ve been questioning your relationship with him and his love for you. He's devastated to think that everytime he told you how much he loves you, you doubted him and convinced yourself he was lying.

And the worst part is he has no idea how to change your mind.

Is there anything he can say that you won’t doubt? Anything he can do to show you how much you mean to him? Probably not, but he has to try and make you understand.

Your eyes are still closed, not daring to see the disappointment in Bucky’s face.

"Baby, look at me." he says firmly but gently enough to not make you think he was in any way mad at you.

He waits patiently until you look at him which, after taking a deep breath, you do and only then he continues while taking your face in his hands "There are so many things I want to tell you right now... but I’ll start with I love you, doll. I love you so much it actually hurts. Maybe we got close because you were nice and patient with me, but that’s not why I love you. I love you because you’re kind and smart and strong and dedicated. You can kick ass like no one else and you’re still the sweetest person I’ve ever met. And I’m almost 100, I’ve met a lot of people." he smiles when he finally gets you to giggle, the first real laugh he’s heard from you in weeks.

"You’re compassionate and understanding and loyal and beautiful beyond compare. I fell in love with you because of who you are, not what you look like. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re pretty, I think you’re gorgeous and I love your body. I love everything about you. Every. Single. Thing." he punctuates every word with a kiss to each of your cheeks and then your nose, making you giggle more. "You think I’d ever leave you? I could never even consider being with someone else. God, you were never even supposed to mean this much to me! I was never supposed to fall so hard... But you know what? I did and that’s the truth, and that’s what keeps me holding on because it hurts like hell to let you go."

You're obviously in tears, not being able to look away from Bucky’s eyes even if you wanted because of his hold on your face, not that you're trying that hard to get away.

You have no words to describe the way you feel, not even being sure if you fully believe him. The look on his face, though, makes you want to believe. Makes you want to tell all the voices in your head to fuck off until the only one left is Bucky’s saying all the things he just said, over and over again.

But can you really let go of them that easily?

"You don’t have to carry this by yourself, doll." Bucky can see your internal struggle. "Lean on me. Let me help you make this easier."

There's nothing but sincerity in his eyes, he can't possibly be that good of an actor to be faking it, right?

So you decide to trust him.

You trust him with your life, why can’t you believe that he really loves you? 

You can. You do.

You will...

"Okay…" You’re basically whispering, still a little worried he’s just pretending and is gonna rip the rug from under you any second now. "I love you, so much. And I want to believe you love me… but it may take me a little while to accept that completely. I’m sorry…"

"You don’t need to apologize, baby. It doesn’t matter how much time it takes, I’m here for all of it. I want nothing more than to help you feel better, starting with helping you love yourself as much as I love you." he wipes your tears with his thumbs before he gives you a soft kiss on the lips. "And not worrying what jealous, unimportant, random people think of you. You’re beautiful inside AND out, don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise. Not even this." He taps the side of your head.

You wrap your arms around his neck and hug him tightly, neither one of you needing to say more at the moment. After a few minutes like this, you’re both done crying and you let go just enough to look at each other.

"Can we go to our room?" you ask him and he nods, letting you get off his lap and then getting up with you.

He doesn’t let you get too far from him while you go to the sink to try and make yourself look decent as he follows you so closely you might think you’re glued to each other.

Your eyes meet in the mirror and he smiles at you, wrapping his arms around your waist, he gives you a kiss on the shoulder before resting his head on it.

You successfully wash off all the makeup you put on for the party, your efforts now ruined by all the crying.

"You’re so pretty." Bucky tells you, his eyes never leaving yours and you smile a real smile this time, turning your head to give him a kiss on the cheek that makes him smile even more.

You get out of the bathroom and you tense up seeing everybody still at the party, your breath hitching in your throat as embarrassment crawls up on you.

You can see the team’s worried looks and the last thing you want right now is to go through the last 40 minutes all over again, in front of everybody.

You just want to go to your room and cuddle up with Bucky, but the super soldier had other plans.

"Can I have everybody’s attention?" you look at him with a frown, but he simply smiled at you and keeps going once the whole room is looking at you two. "It’s been brought to my attention that some of you have some misconceptions about our relationship."

You didn’t tell Bucky who you heard the conversation from, only that it was two agents just in case he might think it was someone on the team, and it almost looks like he's scanning every agent’s face to try and figure out who it was, but he continues nonetheless.

"I’d just like to make it clear for everyone that not only I love this woman more than life itself, but I, and everyone who knows her for that matter, think she’s the best, most caring person I’ve ever met. Not to mention the most attractive, in my ever so humble opinion." he wraps his metal arm around your waist and brings you closer as your face gets redder, and you can see the team chuckling and grinning at Bucky’s possessiveness and your flustered form. "And it’s also absolutely none of your business what happens in our relationship. But, since you’re all here I might as well give you something real to gossip about."

To say you're confused is an understatement. You turn back to him when Bucky’s arm disappear from around you just in time to see him reach into his back pocket, pulling out a ring box and getting down on one knee.

You hear gasps around the room, your own being muffled by your hand in front of your mouth as your eyes grow wide.

"Bucky..." It's barely a whisper to begin with, your hand almost not letting it escape at all.

"Baby, I meant every single thing I’ve said today. I love you so much. I’ve been carrying this around for a couple of months, looking for the right time to do this. But when you started pushing me away I thought maybe you were changing your mind about me. I was terrified and decided to wait, but I realize now if I had done this when I first wanted to, the last few weeks probably wouldn’t have happened. I could’ve saved you so much pain... I don’t know if this is the right time, but I do know that I’ve been ready for a while and right now I honestly can’t think of a better way to show you just how much you really mean to me. So…" he opens the box to reveal a rose gold ring with one big diamond at the center and two smaller ones on each side of it, then he takes your free hand on his. "Doll, will you marry me?"

He can feel you trembling, tears forming in your eyes once more as the whole room seems to hold their breath.

"Yes!" you're finally able to get out and Bucky feels like he can breathe again, happiness spreading throughout his whole body.

You basically throw yourself on him and he catches you with ease, getting up on his feet while you wraps your legs around his waist like a koala.

There's a chorus of cheers, the team immediately gathering around you to congratulate you both.

It feels like too little time when you finally detach from Bucky as he gently put you on the ground before slipping the ring on your finger and kissing it, his eyes never leaving yours, silently telling you he belongs to you and only you.

You’re about to lean in for a kiss when two strong arms pick you up making you squeal, Steve’s laughter in your ear as he says something about finally having a sister-in-law and making everybody laugh.

After a good 15 minutes of hugs left and right, Bucky intervenes.

"Okay, okay, can you please not smother my future wife?" your heart skips a beat when he says that and you're sure you're smiling like an idiot as he makes his way through the team to get to you.

"You know, he actually asked me for my blessing. I told you he cares very much about you." Tony whispers to you while he passes, giving you one last squeeze and a wink before everybody gives you and Bucky a moment.

He wraps his arms around your waist and finally kisses you.

When you pull away you both have big, goofy grins, never wanting this moment to end.

There's no separating you, and now everybody knows it.

Requested taglist: @aesthetic0cherryblossom @buchi91 @sapphirebarnes

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan #marvel fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x f!reader #avengers x reader #avengers x platonic reader #avengers x platonic!reader

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 17, Unanswered - Pt. 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, Anxiety

Word Count: 612

Previously On...: Bucky missed his your check-in call.

A/N: ::Ominous music plays::

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when I update, please enable notifications from my Blog page!

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

Tumblr will not let me directly tag the following: @marcswife21 @erelierraceala @jupiter-107 @doublejeon @hiqhkey @unaxv @brookeleclerc

You found Steve lifting weights in the training room, a group of agents, both male and female, pretending not to be transfixed with the way his muscles glistened under the strain of more weight than any normal man should be able to bench. You ignored the whispers that built up as you walked toward him, no doubt dumb gossip continuing to spread after the release of those fucking idiotic articles. You wondered briefly if you could sue the publications for slander. Or was it libel? You never remembered the difference. 

This was America, right? you thought. Wasn’t litigation one of your inalienable rights under God and the Constitution and Santa Claus, or something? You made a note to talk to Legal.

Steve looked surprised to see you when you called out his name to get his attention, no doubt expecting you to avoid him like the plague, all things considered. “Hey, Pocket,” he said, a little too nonchalantly as he set down his barbell and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Don’t tell me you’ve come to ogle me, too.” He nodded toward the not-so-subtle group of agents. “I’m beginning to feel a little objectified.”

“Have you heard from Bucky?” you asked, wanting to get straight to the point. Steve looked at you for a few moments, just blinking, before you went on, your voice growing faster and more high pitched as you spoke: “I haven’t heard from him since last night, and I’ve been calling and texting him all day, but he’s not getting back to me. I never heard from him after the raid, and then after the articles… He missed our regular check-in, and I’ve been worried sick. What if something happened to him? What if–”

“Whoa, Pocket,” Steve put an arm on your shoulder, shutting you up and steadying you. “Calm down, okay? Take a breath for me.” He waited on you to do just that before he continued. “Buck’s just fine. He and Jade were successful in their objective, and they’re on their way home now. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

His words took you by surprise. He was on his way home? “But… Why didn’t he call me back, Steve? All day, I’ve been thinking he either hates my guts because he saw those damned articles, or that he’s lying dead in some godforsaken Russian forest. And he’s just been completely fucking fine this entire time?”

“Hey,” Steve said, rubbing a hand comfortingly along your upper arm, “I’m sure he’s got a perfectly good explanation for not getting in touch,” he told you. “He radioed Communications from the Quinjet so, maybe something’s up with his phone. Don’t get worked up until you’ve talked to him, alright?”

You nodded, wanting to believe Steve’s words, wanting to let them give you comfort. “Did he say anything?” you asked him. “About the articles? Or give you a message to give to me?”

Steve shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, Pocket. He just said they’d successfully cleared their objective and they were on their way home. That’s it.”

You blinked repeatedly, not sure what to make of what Steve had just told you. The only positive thing you could take away from it was that Bucky was safe. He was safe and he was coming home. All other answers would have to wait.

“Yeah, okay,” you nodded dumbly, “thanks Steve. I appreciate it.” You turned to head back to your room, thoughts spiraling until the only thing you could coherently think was: If Bucky had been able to get in touch with Steve, it wasn’t that he was out of contact; he simply hadn’t wanted to contact you.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

[austinshotbutlers]

Take a hint

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!BAU!Reader

Summary: husband!Hotch making sure he shows his ring while being hit on (requested by my babe @jayxox)

Word count: 690

A/N: I have so many headcanon and blurb requests which I'm so happy to finally be able to get around to answering!! I wanted to start with this one because I'm OBSESSED with this idea.

"Ugh! Look at her..." you huffed as you looked across the police station to where your husband was filling in the lead detective of the case. "She is practically drooling over him."

Emily's eyes followed your eye line to where you were looking and began to laugh.

"It's not funny Em! we've been here for 4 days and she's spent more time with Aaron than I have in our whole marriage!" you exclaimed.

"I think that's a bit of an overreaction Mrs H." Derek laughed from his place at the evidence board with Reid.

"Look! She can't keep her hands off of him!" you said exasperatedly. "Can't she see he's wearing a wedding ring? Not to mention we've walked in together everyday since we've been here."

"Y/N, I wouldn't worry." Emily chuckled. "Hotch isn't going to drop 2 years of marriage away for some detective he's known for 5 minutes."

"I know that! I just can't stand to see someone hitting on him. He's my husband." you frowned which caused the whole team to laugh.

_____

"Honey?" Aaron's voice came from beside you in the tiny bed you were sharing in the hotel. "Have I done something to upset you? You seem.... mad at me."

The worry in his voice caused instant guilt to settle in your stomach. You weren't annoyed at him, you hated that he thought he had done something. You were just fed up with seeing Detective Cassey flirting with him all day.

You sat up in the bed and looked at him. "No baby... I'm not mad at you..." you paused.

"I feel a but coming..." Aaron replied.

"It's just... Detective Cassey." you pout.

"What about Detective Cassey?" Aaron asked with a confused tone.

"You can't tell me you haven't noticed she's been all over you since we got to Boston!" You say. "You're meant to be the world's best profiler!"

"Honey... are you jealous?" Aaron asked, an amused look on his face.

"This isn't funny! Don't act like you don't get jealous. Remember that police officer in California? You practically had steam blowing from your ears if he even so much as walked past me!"

"Y/N... you're my wife. A detective on a case casually flirting with me is nothing to worry about. I love you and nothing is going to change that." he smiled before placing a soft kiss on your temple.

_____

Two days later, there was a breakthrough and the case was wrapped up - the killer had been arrested and put behind bars. Aaron was relieved the case was over, he just wanted the two of you to get home and see Jack.

"Agent Hotchner!" called a voice from behind him, he quickly finished his discussion with Dave before turning to face Detective Cassey.

"Thank you again for coming to help us out! It really is appreciated." she smiled brightly, leaning a hand out to lay on his arm.

Aaron began twisting the wedding ring on his finger in the hope she noticed it and took the hint but Detective Cassey just kept her eyes on his face.

"Agent... Aaron, can I call you that?" before Hotch could respond, she carried on. "If you ever found yourself back in Boston or maybe if I am ever in DC, would you want to meet up?" She asked boldy.

Aaron paused before reaching his hand up to run his finger through his hair - this time, Detective Cassey finally noticed the bold silver band that sat snuggly on his ring finger. Her face dropped as she knew she had been given an answer without Aaron even muttering a word.

"Er... yes. Perhaps my wife and I, Agent L/N, could stop for a chat if we ever cross paths again." Aaron replied, ensuring he put emphasis on the 'wife' part.

Detective Cassey stammered. "Um... Er, yes. thank you again." she quickly shook Aaron's hand before walking off to her office.

From that moment on, Aaron made it very clear he was married, the silver wedding band always being on show for people to see and take the hint.

#aaron hotchner fic #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner x bau!reader #criminal minds #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotch imagine

[uselesssomebody]

𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲'𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 (18+)

the do's (rules & information):

readers must be over 18 reading these drabbles

all works will be under or roughly a thousand words

thirty-one days of smut drabbles

ten days are open to requests for the kinks

ten days will include dark content (will be properly tagged)

five will include a dominant reader

the don'ts (what i am not interested in writing):

i only write fem!readers, with all involved characters being over 18

the kinks i'd appreciate you don't request are anything to do with anal penetration, bodily fluids (besides blood and cum), and certain dom/sub dynamics like age play or ddlg

otherwise, ask away, and i'll see if i'm comfortable writing your request!

the kinks and the characters

october 1: shower sex w/ frankie morales

october 2: ball worship (dom!reader) w/ eddie munson

october 3: sex pollen (dark) w/ din djarin

october 4: consensual non-consent (dark) w/ miguel o'hara

october 5: threesome (ffm) w/ marc spector & layla el-faouly

october 6: requested kink & character

october 7: breeding kink (dark) w/ duke leto

october 8: somnophilia (dark) w/ eddie munson

october 9: mutual masturbation (dom!reader) w/ steven grant

october 10: threesome (mmf) + double penetration (in one hole) w/ frankie morales and santiago garcia

october 11: titfucking w/ javier peña

october 12: requested kink & character

october 13: exhibitionism w/ poe dameron

october 14: dacryphilia (dark) w/ joel miller

october 15: temperature play (dom!reader) w/ din djarin

october 16: phone sex w/ jack daniels

october 17: corruption kink (dark) w/ dio morrissey

october 18: requested kink & character

october 19: edging (dark!dom!reader) w/ basil stitt

october 20: recording/blackmail (dark) w/ jonathan levy

october 21: mask + glove kink w/ jake lockley

october 22: hate + mirror sex w/ javier peña

october 23: cockwarming (dom!reader) w/ steven grant

october 24: requested kink & character

october 25: overstimulation w/ jake lockley

october 26: size difference w/ miguel o'hara

october 27: knife kink (dark) w/ bucky barnes

october 28: free use (dark) w/ joel miller

october 29: sex toys w/ natasha romanoff

october 30: requested kink & character

october 31: period sex/blood kink w/ santiago garcia

the characters (you guys can request)

from stranger things, i write for eddie munson, robin buckley, billy hargrove or steve harrington

from marvel, i write for bucky barnes, steve rogers, natasha romanoff, jake lockley, marc spector, steven grant, layla el-faouly and miguel o'hara

from star wars, i write for poe dameron, or din djarin (the mandalorian)

from triple frontier, i write for frankie morales and santiago garcia

miscellaneous oscar isaac characters i write for include basil stitt, jonathan levy, duke leto, kane and orestes (agora)

miscellaneous pedro pascal characters i write for include joel miller, javier peña, jack daniels (agent whiskey), dio morrissey

if you want to request another character, don't hesitate! i will see what i can do.

notes

guys i know i haven't written in like 1200 months but i wanna get back into the mood with the short smutty stuff

besides, i've never done kinktober and every other one i've seen bangs so hard i simply couldn't resist

side note - dark fics will be only available on my adjacent dark blog: @darkuselesssomebody, but will be linked on this masterlist. if you wanna read the dark drabbles and future dark work, give it a follow!

i am also willing to take non-kinky & halloween themed requests, so if you have any, let me know!

𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲!

#uselesssomebody #kinktober 2023 masterlist #dark! din djarin #dark!miguel o'hara #dark!duke leto #dark!eddie munson #dark!joel miller #dark!dio morrissey #dark!jonathan levy #dark!bucky barnes #eddie munson smut #bucky barnes smut #natasha romanoff smut #jake lockley smut #marc spector smut #layla el faouly smut #marc spector x reader x layla el faouly #steven grant smut #miguel o'hara smut #poe dameron smut #din djarin smut #frankie morales smut #santiago garcia smut #basil stitt smut #duke leto atreides smut #jonathan levy smut #joel miller smut #javier peña smut #jack daniels smut #agent whiskey smut

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

ñuhus prūmӯs (my heart) │Chapter 8: Missive

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 │Chapter 11 │Chapter 12 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Childbirth is the duty and dismay of all highborn women. Together, you and Daemon experience the trials, tribulations and triumphs of expectant parenthood. Daemon solves a problem.

(Set post-episode 7, though Daemon never married Laena or Rhaenyra.)

Thank you to @angelqueen04​​​, @ewanmitchellcrumbs​ and @ajthefujoshi​ for holding my hand throughout the drafting, teehee!

Triggers: incest, age gap, purity culture, detailed depictions of pregnancy, violence.

Fucking useless, he thinks. Then again, what was I expecting?

The High Septon is a rambling, tedious man of fourscore and one summers, closer to the grave than he is to the land of the living. Daemon’s surprised that he’s still functioning. It had taken some time for the lackwit to sink himself into the chair opposite him, so brittle are his bones in his dotage, and fix his milk-glazed eyes in his direction. Even longer for him to finally dispense with the pleasantries and focus on the goal at hand.

Questioning him had taken every iota of his sparing patience. The man had repeated the exact same avowal as he had to the others: that he was “praying night and day for the Princess in the wake of such an abominable event”, that he “knew not” who the now-dead men emblazoned with his fucking Seven-Pointed Star are, that they could not be agents of the Seven, that the Faith Militant “are extinct as they have been since the reign of your grandsire, the blessed King Jaehaerys”.

Yes, he snorts, because men who fuck their sisters are ‘blessed’. As long as a cleric speaks and waves a bit of ribbon in front of them first.

The dullard had fainted away when he’d unveiled the proof of his claims, the rather excellent pickling he’d had the healer woman perform on the head of one of the two remaining bodies in your old chambers. He supposes the sight would have been rather garish.

The dead man’s eyes are wide open from the shock of Mallery’s sudden impalement, alert and startling from within the eerie discoloured liquid. And, most importantly, the carving of the star is on full display to all who may cast their gaze upon it. He’d had to get the servants to take the damned jar away, the severed head bobbing about comically as they’d departed, and wait for the old man’s attendants to rouse him.

At any rate, he’s come to appreciate that no answers will spring from this avenue of interrogation. He departs the High Septon’s chambers—in the Tower of the Hand, of all places—with as much information as he had possessed prior to his visit.

Fuck all, that is.

Daemon finds Largent and Breakbones standing around in the middle bailey, clearly trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Their respective sizes rather prevent the accomplishment of that objective. Even with faces carefully blank and posture forbidding, the two attract many a curious eye from passers-by.

“Anything?” the Strong lad asks when he nears, shifting away from the wall with a grave disposition.

He offers a cynical half-laugh in response, striding onward. The pair fall into step on either side of him, a singular unit marching onward to the Holdfast.

He’d been taken aback by the sudden appearance of Harwin Strong earlier this morning. It transpired that Rhaenyra was alerted to the attack—and he is chagrined to admit that he’d entirely forgotten to alert her himself—and had been making ready to fly to King’s Landing. Naturally, Viserys had issued summary directives that would bar his eldest daughter access to any means of transportation off Dragonstone.

Thinking of that row still gives Daemon the urge to hit something.

“I’ll not have my heir caught up in this contemptible plot, Daemon,” his brother says between weak coughs, groaning as the fit abates. He slumps forward into the chair while the Maesters coax leeches to latch upon the mutilated skin of his back. “What if Rhaenyra is to be the next target? Allowing her into the city would only make that easier, would it not? Nay, it is best she stays on the isle, away from all this mess.”

“So, you acknowledge that your city isn’t safe, do you?” He paces in Viserys’s line of sight. “If security’s such a concern for you, then do something about it! Double—triple the guards! Recruit more men for the City Watch! Rally troops from the fucking Crownlands—”

“And what good would that do other than engender panic?” Viserys sighs. “No. I’ll not bring upheaval to the capital to allay your rage, brother. There’s been no new attempts, and you’re managing well enough on the search.”

Well enough? He’s man enough to admit he’s floundering, though he’ll never admit to such a thing before the sycophants from Oldtown. They’ll probably go running to old Otto to crow about Lord Flea Bottom’s failures while they clamber to lick the shit from his arsehole. No. Whoever this cunt is, he’s an apparition, a ghost in the wind.

Daemon is impressed by his own ability to refrain from yelling at the King and getting himself thrown out. He takes a breath and tries again. “My wife could do with her elder sister’s comfort. Would you not provide her with that?”

He tries not to think upon how tearful and reticent you have been as of late, a return to the you that had filled his waking hours in the days immediately following the threat on your life. Something is wrong, and he knows not what—only that you need as much soothing as he can garner.

“She has her siblings and stepmother here,” Viserys says. He cannot help but to scoff at the pronouncement. The only ones you willingly spend time with are your half-sister and youngest brother, and it’s unlikely you’ll find succour in the ramblings of a witchling or a child. “She has you. Will Rhaenyra really make much of a difference? I think not.”

This time, he almost follows through on the urge to strike the King. It is not uncommon for Kings to favour their heirs above all else—who better than he to know that truth?—but he’d thought for one foolish moment that perhaps you might be exempt from it this time.

He is wrong.

“Fine, then,” he just barely grits out from between clenched teeth. “I’ll take my leave, Your Grace. I have a hunt to continue.”

Breakbones’s voice interrupts. “What exactly have you learned thus far, my Prince?”

Daemon glances dubiously at him. He admires the enthusiasm with which the man has readily proffered assistance in the task of searching out the primary conspirator—no doubt the very reason Rhaenyra elected to send him, being among those of her confidants with the soundest pretext for paying visit to King’s Landing—but it seems foolish to speak of details out here. Ordinarily, he’d take the man to task for it. But the steps traversing down to the royal residences are perhaps the most private he is like to get until safely in your rooms once more, dotted with the occasional guard along the way. Moreover, he is not overeager to remind you of the attack in your condition.

“Nothing of note,” he says, taking the next several steps onward to ensure he’s firmly out of earshot of the last watchman before he continues. “An alias and a pin. Rumours, but nothing concrete.”

Withdrawing his sole piece of evidence from the pouch at his belt, he rolls the brass insect between thumb and finger consideringly, feeling the crevices and sharp edges that make up its metalwork anatomy. The piss-coloured stone defining the last segments of its abdomen—he suspects it’s more likely glass than anything of real value—appears amber in the daylight. He watches as it passes from his own hand to Strong’s, the man holding it aloft and squinting.

To the unenlightened, the trinket may bear the likeness of a bee or a beetle. If not for the pseudonym extracted from that scum in the brothel, he too would have assumed as such. He’d confirmed it by spending evenings after you had fallen asleep poring over dusty old illustrations from stained old tomes on entomology from scholars long since dead. Hadn’t that been an exciting venture.

The man is taking far longer to examine it than is the norm. Daemon’s heartbeat quickens. “Do you recognise it?” he asks.

“Yes,” Strong murmurs finally, frowning and turning the pin over in overlarge fingers. “I… I’ve seen it before. ‘Tis a firefly, is it not?”

“That it is.” A sick, swooping excitement curdles in his gut. This is what he has been waiting for. Finally, someone has recognised this blasted thing. Finally, someone knows it by name. “How do you know that?”

Breakbones appears to stare at some fixed point beyond him, lost in his own thoughts. “My brother, Larys.”

Clubfoot.

Larys Strong is an unsettling being—Daemon hesitates to call him a man—who always seems as though he can discern every last secret a person is concealing with a mere glance. He’s the worst sort of creature. One who hides himself behind oily amiability and glib half-speak, each and every encounter ringing with some unknown threat.

The lad before him looks back down to study the item in his grasp.  “As a youth,” he continues, “he was fascinated by them. Used to capture them in jars and shake them until they were stunned, then—pull them apart with Mother’s needles. He wanted to know how they made their light. He’d… pin the pieces to shavings of wood and present them to Mother as a gift.” The memory seems to disconcert him, for his face twitches with the effort of suppressing some unknown emotion.

Ice trickles down Daemon’s spine.

Viserys had ignored his incredulity after he’d discovered that Clubfoot had been named Master of Whisperers. “He has a talent for gathering intelligence, and his House is loyal,’” the King had said.

His House is loyal—but what of him?

“That”—Daemon jerks his chin toward the pin—“was found on one of the attackers.” He stares at Breakbones assessingly. “Would you say your brother still has his… fascination?”

“Wait—you think Larys is behind this?”

Before he has the opportunity to respond to Strong’s obvious perturbation, Largent grunts. Fuck. Daemon had forgotten he had been standing there.

“Seen ‘im around the city at night,” the knight says, the bass notes thrumming through the rock beneath his feet. Hells, but the man’s a fucking giant. “In some of the more crooked places, too. Could be doing ‘is job. Could be up to no good.”

That sounds about right. The Master of Whisperers is a position that brings with it a necessity to lurk about in unsavoury alleys and disreputable establishments, a spider spinning its web of informants across King’s Landing. It could be used to disguise dealings that have little to do with the Realm.

In this moment, he is almost certain.

“The mastermind calls himself ‘the Firefly’.” Daemon’s legs are already itching with the urge to bolt back up the steps and to the middle gate, through, past, onward to the outer yard, to the Great Hall, to the Small Council chamber, where he is no doubt sitting, watching, waiting— “Tell me he’s not capable of it,” he demands of Strong. “Swear it, and I’ll be merciful.”

Breakbones’s jaw works for what seems like hours, face flushing with the strain of the conflict he is like to be wrestling with, a brother made to decide if he can live with the consequences of standing aside so that justice might prevail upon his own blood. Daemon might have found it somewhere in himself to be sympathetic, perhaps any other time, but not here, not now, not at the prospect of finally coming face-to-face with the scum who is responsible for the way you had looked that night, covered in gore and trembling and so fucking terrified—

“I… I cannot,” the man finally says, defeated. It is all the acceptance he needs.

As Daemon strides back along the path he has just traversed, he allows the conviction to fill his body like smoke and ash fills the sky after a conflagration.

Larys Strong is privy to the movements of the royal family, he thinks, mind whirling. The Master of Whisperers knows everything that occurs in his city of employ. It’s the point of the fucking job. He’d have known that Daemon was away, that you were alone, that few would hear you in chambers so far from—

How difficult would it have been for scum like him—someone with a network of spies that spans an entire city—to pass the order to strike along to the cutthroats?

The pieces fall conveniently into place—or perhaps he is making them fit. Truthfully, he cares little about seeking proof of the matter from the mouth of Larys Strong. For the crime of association alone, Daemon is willing to see him pay. And, if nothing else, his death will send a message that the Rogue Prince is cleansing the city piece by wretched piece.

The thud of boots on stone pound in tandem with the drum of his beating heart, the rhythm of bloodlust kindling the fuel in his veins to living flame. Someone will die today. He feels this settle with assurance into the very hollows of his bones, as sure as he had been standing before you in the great winds of Dragonstone with blood dripping from your hand and your lip in consecration of a pledge made before the gods of Old Valyria.

Avy amīsilun. I will protect you. The vows had been struck, and they must now be defended.

Daemon only vaguely notes the scattering of the court like ants as he marches through the main walkways, to the empty Great Hall and onward, flanked by Breakbones and Largent.

The Kingsguard manning the doors to the Small Council chamber make their usual racket at being ordered to step aside—“the King and his Council are within, you cannot enter!”—but they are no match for him when his blood is up. He watches dispassionately as Largent forces them to step aside for their Prince, shoving them bodily to the floor with an almighty clang of plate armour. The heavy oak doors burst open from the power behind his shove, and the occupants within erupt.

“Your Highness!”

“My Prince, really—”

“Prince Daemon—”

“What is the meaning of this?” Viserys’s voice just barely cuts over the din. He looks especially ghastly in the light pouring in behind him, creating a halo of brightness that ought to accentuate something of grandeur—of beauty—but instead only serves to highlight the decay of the man who calls himself King. “Brother—”

There he is. Daemon doesn’t give a fuck about his brother’s outrage, not when Larys Strong sits at the end of the table right in front of him. It’s almost surprising that he’s not hanging off the Queen’s leg. Or worse, the Hand’s. Though he’s done well to craft something of concerned impassivity from his features, there is a smug little almost-smile that plays at the very corner of his mouth.

He knows. He knows and he’s mocking me—

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Daemon says. “But your Master of Whisperers has just been implicated in the plot against my wife’s life. Largent”—he jerks his head toward the finely-garbed form of Clubfoot—“take him.”

Several things occur at once: Otto and his bitch of a daughter spring from their seats, yelling orders at the Kingsguard within the chamber; said guards advance with blades extended, barring the way forward; the remaining milksops at the table begin squawking as they are wont to do, contributing little other than pointless noise.

And, in the midst of all of it, Larys Strong is calm, an immovable stone object with lips carved into a smile.

“Stay your hand!”

“My Prince, this is all too—”

“Preposterous!” Alicent says, seeming so wroth that Daemon would not be surprised if her heart were to suddenly give out from the strain of forcing so much blood to her face. She makes a grandiose sweeping gesture with her arm. Supercilious bitch. “Lord Strong is a member of the Small Council and a loyal servant to the King! You cannot cast aspersions upon his name without—”

Larys himself interrupts.  “Might I enquire as to the charges against me, my Prince?”

A chill creeps across Daemon’s neck. The man sounds as nonchalant as a noblewoman at high tea, tone casual and polite.

“Why?” he asks, automatically stepping forward. The Kingsguard block his way, but he cannot look away from the man before him. “So you can make sure to dispose of any tangible proof? Shut the fuck up.”

More squawking. Perhaps I should have directed that last part to the entire room.

The King appears apoplectic, though the colour casts an almost healthy sheen across his waxy, grey-sheened visage. “You will explain yourself, Daemon, or I will have you thrown out of this chamber!”

How typical of his brother to side with anyone—anyone—other than him. Daemon wonders for a moment if he could get away with shoving the guards aside, striding over to Viserys and throttling him, punishing him for the negligence he has paid to his family, to you.

Instead, he scoffs, hand falling to rest upon the pommel of Dark Sister. “The Lord of Harrenhal himself has traced a vital piece of evidence back to Strong, here.” The deliberate phrasing lands as intended. The others glance uncomfortably at each other, no doubt concerned by the prospect of contending with another nobleman’s accusation against one of their own. “I’ll be remanding him for questioning.”

“If you will not divulge this supposed ‘evidence’, then there is no further reason for your presence,” Hightower says. He gestures at the Kingsguard. “Guards!”

A true weakling, relying on the steel of other men to enforce his will. The guards lock blades, hindering the way.

“Why, Otto”—Daemon glares at the Hand—“one might find it suspect that you are so keenly interested in obstructing the Princess’s justice. Is there anything you ought to be hiding?”

The Hand is a craven, but there is nothing tying him to this plot. He would know—he’d wasted far too much time in corroborating this. Nonetheless, it is thoroughly enjoyable to watch the man squirm like an enemy soldier pinned to the ground through the ribcage, twitching and writhing in place.

“Absolutely ridiculous—”

“Enough!” Viserys exclaims. Otto falls silent immediately, sitting down in a pathetic display of deference to the half-withered man at his left. “Daemon,” the King says, “you will obey the directives of this Council or you will be removed.”

“Fine.” Daemon turns to face the target of his wrath. “Tell me, Strong. What does ‘the Firefly’ mean to you?”

Breakbones shifts uncomfortably at his back. Larys Strong affects affability, though it rings obsequious and sinister.

“It is an insect,” the man says in a tone that is almost crooning. It is fucking eerie. His head tilts and his eyes grow hazy, staring far-off as though in a daydream. That same unnerving half-smile lingers still. “I quite enjoyed studying them as a boy—”

Daemon has had enough of the prevaricating. “Someone who calls himself ‘the Firefly’ ordered the attack on my wife,” he snarls, straining at the steel barrier, “and that someone is you!”

He is pushed back once more, and he is about ready to throw a fist or two at the exposed slivers of jugular peeking out from all that gold in front of him. It mightn’t incapacitate the guards, but it will certainly delay them long enough for him to rearrange Clubfoot’s insides with Dark Sister.

“My Prince!” Larys’s hand flutters over his chest like a maiden, the very picture of overdramatised surprise. It boggles him that he is the only one to see this act for what it is. “I have never been anything but loyal to the Princess. What cause would I have to commit such an atrocity?”

Words. They’re all just words. Daemon is about to snap a demand for Larys Strong’s arrest when he takes notice of a gem glittering golden in the sunlight streaming from the window. A gem that is nestled upon the man’s cane.

Surely not—

He relaxes against the guards’ hold on him, stepping back with hands raised. As he had expected, it prompts an ever-so-slight lowering of their blades, a sure sign that they perceive the immediate danger to be over.

They are wrong.

Daemon strikes quickly, throwing his weight at the guard closest to him so as to knock him off balance. The man topples like a tower during a siege. Largent and Breakbones surge into the fray behind him, fending off the rest. It is all the opening he needs. He is able to snatch the cane from its resting place propped against the table and stare for a scant few seconds. Though he dimly registers the occupants of the table scrambling away—all save for Larys Strong, sitting so still it is as though he intends to blend into the chair—he cannot care, so fixated is he upon the metalwork adorning the handhold.

Wings warped out to reveal the inner body. Three ridges demarcating the abdomen. Antennae curving downwards from the head. And that fucking gem, warmer in colour than the pin, but so similar in cut that they can only have been made for the same purpose.

“You fucking liar—” he might whisper, might shout. As he brings the cane down over the cowering form of Larys Strong, the wood breaks apart on impact with the man’s head. It splinters into two sharply pointed parts. How fitting would it be for him to meet his end impaled by the proof of his involvement in your attack? “You will die for this!”

Daemon raises his arm high, preparing to pierce the jagged end of the cane through flesh. Larys Strong’s watery blue eyes are wide, reflective and crystalline in a way that belies true shock, horror, unadulterated emotion. Blood streams from the point of impact atop his scalp, matting his hair bloody and striping rivulets of crimson along the pale of his temples. He is nestled as far down into the seat as is possible, arms lifted to shield his skull from further assault, and it is the first sign of fear he’s shown since Daemon walked in.

“Enough! Guards!” the King roars.

He revels in it, in the fact that this man knows he is about to perish at his hand, is about to meet whatever gods he believes in for daring to harm his wife and children, for daring to harm what is his. He brings the makeshift lance down with all his might—

A harsh blow to his gut preludes the unyielding grip of whichever of Viserys’s dogs have managed to bypass Largent and Breakbones. He can do naught but wheeze as he is seized firm and hauled back, struggling against the guards’ hold to no avail. He growls like a beast dragged from its meal, frantic and feverish, unhinged in a way he has never felt before.

Maegor the Cruel reborn, Daemon thinks wildly. Let them see the horror that lurks within the blood of the dragon—

“Viserys—” he tries to say, but it takes on a decidedly inhuman cadence, brutish and bellowing.

“How have you the audacity to enter this place in such a manner? I do not recall granting you leave to slaughter members of my Council on a whim!” The sound of his brother’s voice shatters the spell of madness, and he finally absorbs the scene before him.

The Small Council members are huddled in the corner of the chamber, ashen-faced and trembling. The Queen cringes behind her father, eyes tear-bright and fearful. Otto looks upon him with alarm and revulsion in equal measure, and he is sure there is a moue of satisfaction twisting the very edges of his expression. Cunt.

The sheer disappointment contorting Viserys’s expression would have once been enough to bring up stinging bile in the back of his throat. But this—this rotting creature before him, pockmarked and deformed, elicits nothing but contempt and the faint taste of regret, bitter and stale from things left unsaid.

Defend your daughter. Defend my wife.

Defend me, brother.

“If there is truth to your accusations, let there be a trial,” the King says. “There will be nothing further from you this day, Daemon. Begone from my sight.”

His brother dismisses him with a scoff and flick of his remaining hand, turning away from him as he always does. Daemon jostles the guards away from him when they release their punitive grasp on his arms, sneering at the way they immediately grip the pommels of their sheathed blades in silent warning.

“Are you well, my Lord?” the Hightower bitch asks, standing over Larys Strong with a finger gingerly tipping his head this way and that, taking stock of the injury.

The man looks past the Queen and stares directly into Daemon’s glare, cool and calculating. Though he is clearly shaken, there is something distinctly unsettling about the notes of impassivity that reveal themselves in the subtle arch of his brow, the bluntness of his regard, the flare of his nostrils. His gaze shifts to somewhere behind Daemon, smirking. The creak and slam of the door heralds Harwin’s intemperate departure. Whatever the man had seen in his younger brother’s eyes had clearly been enough to rattle him.

Clubfoot smiles up at Alicent. It is an unfriendly thing. “The Prince has… much rage in him over the harm done to his lady wife. Perhaps I would be free of it if he were only present at the outset of the attack,” he says mournfully, so obviously mocking in nature that even Otto himself glances uncertainly at the man. “But I do not take offence, Your Grace.”

Daemon seethes. How dare he—bastard—

His feet carry him forward without thinking, only to be grabbed firmly at the shoulders by the guards. He shrugs them off with a huff. “Make no mistake, you cunt,” he hisses. “You might have been shielded by these useless fucks today. But you cannot hide behind them forever. One day soon, you’ll be alone. And one day soon, I’ll have my revenge. Bisir kīvio Jaehossi Uēpossi Arlȳssī sēten.” This I vow by the Old Gods and the New.

“Daemon!”

“And you,” he says, turning to the King. “Long have I watched your weakness rule you. Long have I stood by as you’ve run this family into ruin. This man”—he points to Larys—“is responsible for the harm done to your daughter. My wife. And so, I also promise this: if you do nothing… you are no brother of mine.”

Silence reigns for a beat; two; three. All he can hear is the sound of his own breath being forced from bruised lungs, heavy and gasping.

“Guards,” Viserys says finally. For a moment, Daemon is hopeful. He looks triumphantly to Larys Strong, ready to see the man taken up and borne forth from the room. Then, the King sighs and looks down. “Remove my brother from this chamber.”

His hope turns to ash.

The first thing he does after Viserys’s lackeys all but throw him from the room is find some parchment. In truth, it’s a simple matter of venturing to the storeroom adjoined to the Council chambers—he ignores the faint pulse of interest at the recollection of the last time he had been in here, the taste of your slick and the clench of your cunt as he’d fucked you into the wall to the sound of those droning lackwits mumbling to each other—and retrieving what he needs.

“… gone too far, Your Grace. He cannot be allowed…”

“… assault a member of the King’s Council is unheard of! He must be…”

“… will be dealt with, I assure you, my Lords…”

Daemon bites his tongue so hard that the taste of iron fills his mouth, fingers flexing at the trails of dialogue that can be heard from within the meeting itself. Of course they’re more concerned with the fact that he’d struck Larys Strong than the discovery that had provoked such a thing. He grits his teeth and leaves, not wishing to hear further proof of Viserys’s disloyalty.

Every test, every obstacle, every affliction brought to life by my desire to see my brother finally choose me. Viserys had failed me in all, and he has failed me now. No more.

He doesn’t bother to venture forth from the hall. Instead, he retraces a path from long ago, ascending the dais upon which rests the greatest emblem of the Conqueror’s victory over Westeros.

Needs must.

The throne is an uncomfortable seat, but serviceable enough for this particular purpose, he supposes. He sets the open inkwell and pounce pot on the misshapen armrest, laying the parchment over his knee and dipping the quill lightly.

“Milord—”

“What?” He does not bother to look down at Largent, loitering at the base of the pulpit uncertainly, the hulking giant having followed him unerringly throughout his self-appointed task. As he speaks, he scrawls his message black upon blanched paper. It lacks refinement, but perhaps that’s for the best. “What will they do—mount the steps and drag me off?”

The Kingsguard, newly returned to their station at the Council doors, can hear him. He’s sure of it. They do not react, do not even move, but he knows his jibe meets its mark. Snorting at his own question, Daemon discards the quill carelessly and sprinkles powder over the wet ink, tapping the excess all over the floor.

He rolls the parchment up and holds it out, wiggling it jauntily in the City Watch captain’s line of sight to coax him forth. When the scroll is in his palm, Daemon leans forward. “Take this to the madam of The Gilded Doll,” he murmurs. The chill of menace pinches at the flesh around his eyes. “No other. If this falls into the wrong hands, I’ll gut you. Understood?”

“Yessir.” If he’s confused by the order, it does not show on his face. Largent abruptly revolves and marches his way out of the room, the beating of leather soles on hard stone fading with every advancing step.

Daemon slouches upon the Iron Throne. There is a sense of deep weariness slithering through his veins like poison, drawing the vitality from his limbs with every pulse of his blood. It is different, this sensation, so unlike the pent-up explosivity that threatens to obliterate everything in his path whenever he loses in a row with Viserys.

Against a prince turned heir turned king, I lose always. Always.

All the weight of his thirty-six years of existence seems to bear down upon his shoulders. He imagines it is what a brother’s warm embrace might feel like, heavy and overbearing. Pinching at the bridge of his nose, he tries to relieve the sudden ache. Tension presses insistently behind his eyes, forcing him to shut his lids.

He takes stock of what he knows.

Larys Strong tried to engineer the deaths of his unborn babes. By extension, your own. He used an alias to recruit three assassins of little repute, waiting until he was sure Daemon would be away to strike against you. And, when confronted, he’d had the audacity to make bold pretence of innocence before the King and his stooges, covertly deriding Daemon’s powerlessness before the governors of the Seven Kingdoms.

But why? Why? He cannot think of the motive. What would a creature like Larys Strong have to gain from this depravity?

Harwin’s words from earlier spark an intriguing thought. “He’d… pin the pieces to shavings of wood and present them to Mother as a gift.”

The man has no allies at court save for Alicent and Otto. Though Daemon despises them, even he cannot accuse the Queen and her father of encouraging such a plot. They’re too grasping, too arrogant, too soft to risk discovery of such a thing, even if they have the most to gain from it. That Larys has taken it upon himself to gift the Hightowers with the elimination of the greatest threats to their claim on the Throne seems quite possible. He’s like a barn cat proudly presenting a kill at the feet of its master, oblivious to the disgust and disdain.

Either way, Clubfoot has made himself an enemy. Fuck Viserys, and fuck his Council, too. Daemon doesn’t care what they have ordered of him. Clubfoot will not live long enough to regret what he has done.

He leaves the pilfered instruments on the Throne—let the King dispose of them himself, the useless cunt—and makes his way back to you, seized by the need to see you safe, to reassure himself that no other has sought to harm you during his pursuit of justice. As they had before, the promenading nobles and bustling servants give him a wide berth, ogling him with wary eyes and whispering to each other. He takes the opportunity to glare at a select few, to sneer at their flinching reactions when he passes them along the way to the royal wing of the Holdfast.

You are exactly where he left you that morning.

Daemon lingers in the doorway, ignoring Marbrand’s presence in the entry beside him, and watches the scene within your chambers. He observes young Daeron chattering to the healer at the table as he fiddles with the various flasks, pots and implements strewn across the surface. He sees the grin on Ūlla’s face at the excitement in the boy’s voice, nodding and contributing her own conversation in hushed volume while she passes instruments to him. He surveys the cheerful dispositions of Jeyne Cressey and Bethany Follard, your newly-appointed ladies-in-waiting—girls whose presence had been given little explanation or fanfare—as they sit on the chaise with their stitching, gossiping idly among themselves.

He watches you.

You are propped up against the headboard with legs curled under you, heavy-lidded and focused on some minute detail on the sleeve of your gown, or perhaps the mattress beneath you, or maybe even the stone floor further away. He does not know. Your fingers stroke listlessly, absently at the taut flesh of your belly, arms pressed to the bulk of your own self as though you are afraid your babes will disappear from your womb should you let go. There is something ethereal about the picture you make; immensely swelled, distant, turned so deeply within yourself that you seem content to let the world move on without you.

“Nuncle!” Daeron waves, sparing but a glance before preoccupying himself once more with the woman’s trinkets.

He offers a nod of acknowledgement to his nephew as he makes his way to where you sit. Daemon is careful to lower himself slowly, hand outstretched and ghosting featherlight along the back of your hand in greeting.

You lift your gaze, a look of vague question twisting the arch of your brow. The fog clears from your eyes when you realise who has come to disturb your trance. “Kepus.” It is sighing, dreamy, as though it had taken a great effort to expel the sound from your chest, almost a question and yet not.

Something is wrong. The words replay themselves like snatches of long-forgotten melodies ringing in his mind, the warning bells sounding for a cause unknown. It has been days now. This is more than the fear or despondency that had characterised your behaviour in the aftermath of the attack. He is no closer to determining the cause.

“Dōnītsos.” Sweetling. His voice remains low and calm despite the turmoil swarming within like hatchlings through their first flame, loud and squawking and chaotic. He is wary of these strangers, these new ladies of yours, mousy and guileless though they seem, and so he keeps to his mother tongue to avoid prying ears.

“Mirros avy ivestragon eman. Vīlībāzmo bē issa.”I have to tell you something. It’s about the attack.

“Skorion massitas?” you ask, blinking in unhurried revolutions as though you are batting cobwebs of disuse from your lashes. What has happened?

He takes hold of your hand, light and cool to touch, squeezing it in his grasp to moor you back to reality. You stare blankly as he imparts the barest of details. The pin. The whorehouse. The long list of those he’d interrogated—and not kindly, at that—from the cooks to the pageboys to the maids who had dared venture near your rooms that night. The High Septon. Breakbones. And, finally, the threatening smile of Larys Strong as the knights of the Kingsguard had hauled him from the Small Council chamber.

Your bottom lip trembles in the way it did when you were a babe squalling for comfort, throat working in tandem with your reflexive swallows. It is tempting to feed his thumb into that rosebud mouth, let you suckle your anguish away with the salt of his skin as your infant self had done, hot wet tongue and spit and tears, in need of something only he can provide.

“Skorio syt…” Why…

Your breath escapes with a shudder, palm flying low upon your belly, and he brings his free hand up to join yours at the locus of activity stirred up by the twins. A flurry of movement greets him, firm thumps and hard kicks that curve the corners of his lips up despite the gravity of the conversation. Their motions seem to ground you. Trust my little dragons to settle their muña where I cannot.

You take a deep inhale and try again. “Skorio syt ziry kesir non gōntoks? Zijomy vēttīlaksir emon daor.” Why would he have done such a thing? I have no quarrel with him.

“Gīmion daor,” he says softly. I don’t know. There is no need to frighten you with tales of butchered insects and a young boy’s obsession.

You shiver like a baby bird left out in the cold as he slides further onto the bed, helping you shuffle close enough that you may latch onto the parts of him within your reach and press your face into his neck, huffing against his skin. This is where you prefer to be as of late, swaddled tight and held close, trembling waif of a girl curled under the wing of your beloved uncle.

“Papa. Yne mīstos daor.” It is muffled, muted, but he hears it all the same. He did not stand for me.

Your voice is high, mournful, so startlingly young. For a moment, he is twenty-five summers and you are seven and you have just split flesh after tripping over Caraxes’s tail. For a moment, he is hushing you as you sob with the Maester’s every stitch, streaming nose snuffling while he cups your eggshell skull to his chest to shield you from the blood and pain and fear as best he can.

He does the same now, only your bones are steel rather than glass and you smell of rose oil and the swell of your breasts and belly push against his body in triplicate, a woman grown and his wife, his wife. “Gīmin,” he says gently, hand to your middle and hand through your hair. I know.

“Ziry otāpton.” I thought he would. You nuzzle into him like a cat seeking the warmth of a fire. “Skorio syt yne amīsagon… olvī jorrāelos daor?” you ask, voice breaking. Why doesn’t he… love me enough to protect me?

“Ziry ajorrāelō daor,” Daemon replies resolutely. You don’t need him. “Yne aemā.” You have me. He strokes your middle. “Īlōn aemā.” You have us.

‘I’ll be your father,’ he wants to say. Why not? What is a father but his daughter’s guiding star, the one man to map her journey from first breath to last? Father, uncle, husband… all of them words to denote pride of place in your life, a standing he has alone claimed since his return from the East. You are his small fey princess, his baby full of his babes; he is your disciplinarian and confidant and comforter and lover. A distinction of title means little. If it is the firm hand of a father—a papa—that you need… well, does he not already provide it?

He will be your papa, your kepa, your husband. The man who corrects you and instructs you and fucks you, the man who raises you up even as he raises the children who slumber still in the safety of your womb. He’ll be all that Viserys has failed to be and more.

You sniffle, teary poppet with lilac-bloom eyes staring up at him. “Kesīr buqan.” I hate it here. And, though the capital is arguably the greatest spectacle of Targaryen strength, your confession is a sentiment he shares. Your little hand holds tighter to his shirt as you continue. “Henujagon jaelan. Mazumbille jagon jaelan. Ñuhe rūhossa Zaldrīzdōrot sikagon jaelan, luon ȳghon issa. Jagon kosti, kostilus—”

I want to leave. I want to go home. I want to have my babes on Dragonstone, where it’s safe. Can we go, please—

“Sh.” As he smooths the stray hairs from your forehead, you arch into the touch like one who is starved of love. He tries not to think of the ways his brother has failed you. “Aōle qūvyrzy iqighō daor. Hembīli.” Don’t make yourself upset. We’ll leave.

There is nothing left for you here. There is nothing left for him here. It is all too easy to agree to your desperate pleas. How amusing it is to think that Dragonstone—the fortress he had once associated so strongly with emptiness and exile—is where his heart and yours now lie. For the first time in days, he can see the trace of a smile warm the curve of your lips, and the sparkle in your eyes can almost be mistaken for happiness.

Daemon sits with you in the stillness of the afternoon, surrounded by your ladies and your young brother and your healer—the last vestiges of familiarity left to this place, this home turned battleground—and indulges in the simple joy of those pulsing movements emanating out from within your belly, the sound of Daeron’s laughter, the beat of your heart against his skin and the feel of you real and whole in his arms.

This is the family I’ve made for myself, he thinks. You and he and the lad and his babes, something tangible and ever-growing and precious. This is mine.

In Daemon’s practised opinion, the Crafty Fox is one of the capital’s finest taverns. Situated on the corner between Eel Alley and the Street of Steel, it is often a loud and boisterous environment, easily accessible through entrances along both street-facing walls and constantly filled with patrons from various stations in life. It is a rare sort of place, one where the divide between noble and lowborn blurs in a haze of ale and laughter and smoke. Popular, cheap and long-standing, it is the worst sort of establishment for conducting meetings of a clandestine nature.

Which is precisely why it is also the perfect location.

The shadier locales will undoubtedly be manned by Clubfoot’s little informants, and so he has chosen to meet his quarry in a location few would guess or expect. With his hair pulled back and his hood keeping his face from the view of inebriated passers-by—he’s even wearing a fucking hat for good measure! The shame of it—Daemon knows from experience that no one here will notice that they stand in the presence of the Rogue Prince. It is the best camouflage for the enterprise he intends to conduct this night.

Where the fuck are they? he thinks to himself, pressing along the perimeter and scanning around the open hall, searching for a familiar face. What did her missive say? Ah, yes—I’ll recognise one of them.

He casts about for the former serjeant of the City Watch, the one he’d had to let go after that unfortunate business with the whore in the brothel some ten summers back. But try as he might, he cannot see anything. Too many soldiers and apprentices and shop owners and youths are in his way.

One of the drunkards blocking his view sidles along, opening a path directly to the two men seated in a rare quiet corner, a looming beast hunched over his rickety table and all but squashing the slim form beside him into the wall.

There.

Daemon does his best to affect the casual, ambling gait of a man in his cups, navigating a meandering trail through raucous clusters of bodies, sweaty and stinking of drink. It is a familiar scent, one that evokes the memory of years past.

Sidling along, he finds himself standing before his intended targets. “The air’s cold tonight,” he says loudly, deliberately, echoing the agreed-upon phrase from the message and drawing the attention of the two men.

They look up from the wood-grain surface of the table. “This is true,” the smaller one replies, slow and equally careful to pronounce the words. The correct response.

His speech is coarse, utterly typical of the lower classes in Flea Bottom. Satisfied that he’s found the individuals he has come to meet, he slides onto the stool opposite them, glancing this way and that.

“Evenin’, ser,” the man adds.

He looks like a rat, Daemon thinks. With a pinched face and tawny sprouted hairs on his jowls that look more like the whiskers of a rodent than the beginnings of a beard, the observation is apt. The man ogles him from behind his prominently pointed snout, grinning a strange little half-smile that unsettles him greatly.

“The White Wyrm?” he asks, just to confirm. Fucking ridiculous name. It seems her years as his paramour served for more than coin and pleasure if her new epithet is anything to go by.

This time, the former serjeant responds, shifting in his seat. His knees knock against Daemon’s below the table. Gods above. There is an audible creak, the sound of wood threatening to snap under immense weight.

“Yep,” he grunts, bass cadence thrumming through the floor. He could be Largent’s kin. He takes a swig of the tankard before him. “She said you was lookin’ for a couple good ones.”

“Are you good?” is Daemon’s immediate counter. He cannot keep the notes of scepticism from his voice.

The man sneers. “You tell me, Rogue.”

Ah. He’s not forgotten the dismissal, then.

“Not here,” Daemon hisses, eyes tracking to those nearby. There is no reaction from anyone within range, no suggestion that they have been overheard. He turns furiously back to the man before him. “I’ve been assured that you are worthwhile prospects. If that is no longer the case, I’m happy to let her know—”

“Hey, now, we was only jokin’, wasn’t we?” the smaller man says, glancing rebukingly at his partner. The larger man shrugs, leaning back. The chair groans again.

“Good man.” Cheers and laughter begin to erupt across the room. Daemon leans forward, voice dropping to a hush. The two men crowd in closer so as to hear him. “I have a task for you,” he murmurs, looking about furtively. “It’s—risky. If you get caught, there are no gods nor men that will save you.”

“Sounds fun.” The smaller man beams as he gestures to the man beside him. His parted lips reveal the gaping holes in his mouth, bloodied gums speckled with grey. Daemon cannot tell if the teeth have been knocked out or if they’ve fallen out.

“You’ll do it?” he asks. I haven’t even discussed the particulars.

The larger man stares assessingly at him, brow raised. “We’ll do anyfing, if the coin’s good enough.”

A buxom wench appears at his shoulder, tits half-out and practically staring at him by their own power. She smiles in what he supposes must be her idea of enticement, the pockmarks of a long-healed sickness or injury stretching unflatteringly with the contortion of her skin. When she opens her mouth as if to speak, Daemon waves her off with a stern glare and a shake of the head. He has no need to get soused tonight. The woman makes an offended noise and trounces off.

He turns back to his audience of two. Daemon tips his chin in acknowledgement, continuing the exchange as if no interruption had occurred.  “If you’re successful, I’ll pay whatever price you deem necessary.” The larger man nods, clearly satisfied. “Now. Before we get to the details—what should I call you two?”

The pair look to each other for a moment.

“He goes by Blood, these days,” the smaller man finally answers, something dark and sinister crossing over his expression. “Me? You can call me Cheese.”

Read it on AO3: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44058132/chapters/115715053

Taglist (😭 thank you!):

Now in the comments!

#terms of endearment │ daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x you #matt smith #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd #hotd fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #got #got fanfiction #a song of ice and fire #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #asoiaf #asoiaf fanfiction #house targaryen #targaryen

[jordiebun]

Agent 4 & Marie 🦑

Reblogs appreciated! Have a wonderful day ♥︎

#jordie’s art 🖌️🐇 #splatoon #splatoon 2 #splatoon agent 4 #splatoon marie #fanart

[cherry-holmes]

Glimpse of a life with Javier Peña (series)

Chapter 4

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: Past incidents have brought you closer to Javier than you thought. And he’s determined to not ruin it again.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Previous chapter

Pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Mention of violence typical of the serie.

A/N: Chapter 4 is here! Stay tuned for more updates❤️ Thank you SO MUCH for your support and your interaction with this story🫶🏻

I’m taking requests! Javi Peña, Joel Miller, Din Djarin, BBC Sherlock Holmes, Supernatural…

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Next morning, your hands were sweaty as you sat at Messina's desk after everything that happened last night. She appeared exhausted about, well, everything about drug cartels, set raids, violence and stubborn DEA agents. And now she is dealing with a gender violence case of one of her agents and her only translator.

She sighed and reached for a stack of papers, which you instantly recognized as administrative reports. You had translated hundreds of them in your time working here.

"Agent Ibarra reports himself sick this morning," she said as she filled some of the blank spaces, "I'll call him in as soon as possible, and we'll start an investigation."

"There's nothing to be investigated," exclaimed Javier, who had been standing behind you and supporting all your narrative. "I was there, he pointed a gun at us," he explained, sounding totally mad.

"I believe you both, but there's a procedure that we must follow," she answered, as she passed you the paper, "You have my word that there will be disciplinary actions against agent Ibarra for his behavior," she promised, meeting your gaze. You believed in her.

You completed the rest of the report with your personal information and details about the incident. Javier did the same since he was involved as a witness.

As you and Javier left Messina's office, you couldn't help but feel very nervous. You had never been involved in any kind of problem at work, let alone something related to this kind of issue with a colleague. And, to make matters worse, you had dragged Javier into all of this.

It was Sunday morning, so almost all the agents and secretaries were on their day off. In a job as demanding as the top of the Medellín Cartel empire in the early 90's, any day of rest was treasured. Most weeks, agents and officers worked from Monday to Sunday with no opportunity to rest.

The fact that Javier was willing to come back to the Embassy to support you on his first day off in three weeks made you feel guilty.

"Are you okay?" He asked as you approached his desk.

"Yeah," you answered, but you didn't sound too convinced.

Javier leaned over his desk, watching you attentively. "You know, it's normal to feel a bit shaken after what happened," he said, his voice gentle.

You nodded, appreciating his understanding. "I just never expected to be in a situation like this," you admitted. "Thank you so much for agreeing to come with me, I know it's your day off. I almost regretted and hung up the phone before you answered..." You lost count of how many times you had said "thank you" to Javier in the last few hours.

"I already told you there's no problem, bonita," he said, calling you that for the second time. But now that you were back in your regular work setting, it seemed a little too much. Well, that's what Javier thought as soon as he said it. On your side, the affectionate name made you feel blush on your cheeks and butterflies in your belly. "I'm sorry, I can't help to call you that... I'll stop if it makes you feel uncomfortable," he added, attempting to downplay it.

"No, it's okay," you replied quickly, making him smiled warmly.

"Listen, how about we grab a coffee together outside the base? You know, to unwind a bit from all this mess."

You considered his offer for a moment, your nerves slowly settling. A coffee sounded like a good idea, and you appreciated his company. "Sure, that sounds nice," you replied, feeling a bit more at ease.

He took you to a coffee shop downtown. The aroma of freshly baked goods welcomed you, including sweet pastries mingled with the scent of coffee, creating a delightful combination of aromas. You ordered your usual: chocolate-infused coffee with milk and an empanada de arequipe, while Javier opted for his usual black coffee. He lit up a cigarette.

"So," he began as you both waited for your orders, "You told me that you're Mexican," he recalled, and you nodded. "Which part of Mexico?"

"Monterrey," you replied.

"Ah, norteña," he exclaimed. It was unusual to hear him speak in Spanish since it wasn't his first language, and he sometimes had struggled with it. "Deberías invitarnos a todos en la oficina a una carnita asada," he joked, making you genuinely smile and forgetting the events of the previous night.

The waitress arrived with your orders, placing the plates and cups on the table. Javier couldn't help but steal glances at you when you weren't looking, admiring your delicate features, soft lips, and radiant complexion. You were the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid his eyes on.

You noticed his gaze lingering on you, and when you caught him looking, you couldn't help but blush slightly. The atmosphere was cozy, with the warm aroma of coffee filling the air and the soft chatter of other diners creating a pleasant background noise.

As you both sipped your coffee and enjoyed your empanadas, the conversation flowed easily.

"Tell me, what brought you here to Colombia?" He wanted to know. "There are places closer to your city to be a translator for this type of matters than Colombia."

"I was a translator in El Paso DEA Base before they sent me here," you explained, and he raised his eyebrows.

"No way! I was in there too, also before they assigned me here," he conveyed. "Why is it that I didn't know you back there?" he wondered.

"When I came there, you were gone," you explained, and he furrowed his brow.

"How do you know that?" he asked.

"Because I translated your last report in El Paso," you said, "That was my first day, I remember it because my department colleague didn't want to make the translation herself."

"Why?" He was so concentrated on your response. You flushed and, at this point, there's nothing more you can do than laugh shyly.

"You slept with her the night before you left and didn't tell her. She was very pissed."

Javier burst into laughter, shaking his head. "Ah, that makes sense now. I should've been more considerate."

"Yeah, you should have," you agreed.

"What a coincidence," he said, more to himself than to you. "How is it that we ended up working in the same places almost at the same time on the first one?"

On the tip of both your tongues hung the word "destiny," but neither of you dared to say it.

"How old are you?" He inquired instead, "You look pretty young to have such work experience."

"I am," you responded, "I'll turn twenty-six next month," you said.

"Oh, my," he laughed, leaning back in his chair, "You're making me feel old, sweetheart."

"How old are you?" You wanted to know.

"I'm turning thirty-six in June," he said.

"Oh, you look younger," you said because it was true, "I thought you were thirty."

"Well, thank you, bonita," you swear you would blush for the rest of your life as long as he kept calling you that.

As the coffee shop's ambiance embraced you, the hours passed unnoticed. It was only when you noticed the sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow over your table, that you realized how much time had passed.

You glanced at your wristwatch and then at Javier. "Wow, I didn't realize it was so late," you said, feeling a bit embarrassed.

Javier smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Time flies when you're enjoying good company," he replied.

Although you insisted on paying your own bill, the agent didn't let you. He drove you home, where he accompanied you to the doors of the building.

"Call me again if you need anything, anytime," he assured, and you nodded with appreciation.

"Promise I will, Javi," now it was his turn to feel his chest beating fast. Many people called him "Javi," but you pronounced it in a way he had never heard before.

"See you tomorrow at the office," he waved as he crossed the street and got into his truck.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Turns out, you weren't the only one who had such an experience with Diego Ibarra. The gossip about your report to Messina spread very quickly all over the office and had encouraged two more women to stand up and tell their stories. So the agent was immediately removed from his duties.

The first time you saw him after your report was Monday morning. He looked so furious when he came out from your boss' office; his face was so reddened that you thought it would explode, his breath was irregular, and he opened and closed his fists like he was about to fight a dragon. And kind of he could, since Javi was guarding your office like a dragon in a tower. He tried not to make it that evident, but he failed. He was concerned that Diego would enter to confront you as he went from side to side of the office, gathering his things to leave the building and kept looking at your door with furious eyes.

It was almost noon, as you were reviewing some documents at your desk, you overheard raised voices coming from the hallway. It was Javier and Diego. You couldn't make out the exact words, but it was clear that their confrontation had taken a heated turn.

"Oh, no," you muttered panicked, as you rushed out of your office, your heart pounding. When you reached the hallway, you found Javier and Diego standing face to face, their voices raised in a furious argument. Their clenched fists and tense postures indicated that a physical altercation was imminent.

Murphy, recognizing the dangerous situation, stepped between them, pushing Diego away from his friend. "That's enough!" he yelled, his usually calm demeanor shattered. "We don't need this kind of behavior here."

The other officers and secretaries in the office had gathered, trying to diffuse the situation. Diego's face was contorted with rage, but the combined efforts of his colleagues ensured that he didn't escalate the confrontation any further.

You also wanted to come closer and tried to do something, feeling guilty for all of this mess. It wasn't your fault, of course, but you just couldn't help it. However, as you attempted to move, Marta held your arm, stopping you. You looked at her and Ana, who was standing next to her, and you read their gazes, "don't make this more dramatic." They were right.

Murphy, his voice stern, addressed Diego, "You're done here, Ibarra. You need to leave."

Diego, though seething with anger, knew he had no choice. He turned and walked toward the exit, but not before leveling a chilling threat at Javier. "You're gonna regret messing with me, Peña."

Javier remained remarkably composed, his only response a tight-lipped, determined look in his eyes. He watched as Diego was escorted out by other officers, his threat lingering in the tense atmosphere.

Diego's  furious eyes had locked onto you for a brief, chilling moment as he was escorted out of the office.

You couldn't help but feel a mixture of worry and relief. The confrontation had been intense, but Javier had managed to maintain control, avoiding a physical fight. You turned to look at him, who had been talking with Murphy and thanking him for intercede.

"Javi, are you okay?" you asked, concern lacing your voice.

He turned to face you, his expression softening. "I'm fine, bonita. Don't worry about me." He promised.

As the day progressed, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease. The tension in the office was palpable, and it was clear that Diego's departure had left a mark. You wondered if there might be more repercussions in the days to come.

As the week went by, Javier's role as your unofficial protector didn't go unnoticed, and, as is natural, people talked. Rumors circulated that Diego had acted that way because you had cheated on him with Javier. Some others suggested that you had used him to make Javier jealous. Many even dared to say that Javier had manipulated you into making a false accusation against Diego because he couldn't stand seeing you together. Neither of their versions were true, of course.

But the last one had some kind of truth: Javier couldn't stand seeing you with Diego. It made his blood boil, and despite the circumstances, he was relieved that Diego was gone and far from you. Also, he knew his threat to him had been empty. He was used to receiving hundreds of threats from real drug lords and their thugs; the ones from a damn abusive drunk ex-officer le hacían lo que el viento a Juárez.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Every day that passed was torture for Javier. He was constantly eager to see you, talk to you, and make you smile. He began bringing coffee to your office in the morning, inviting you for lunch in the evenings, and offering to take you home at night.

You also started to get used to his presence, and you felt a heavy weight in your chest every time he was outside of the base on a raid, feeling even worse if you found out that he had been involved in a chase or a shooting. Javier never told you the ugly details of the hunts, but you ended up finding out anyway through his reports. The Medellín Cartel was a violent and cruel organization, and you were well aware that Javier risked his life every day.

But in the cutest part, you wore your best dresses for work, paying extra attention to your hair and makeup in the morning. You used the same perfume he told you he loved and kept your nails painted red, knowing he liked them that way. You also noticed that he continued using the same cologne you had mentioned you liked.

You didn't know it, of course, but Javier hadn't had sex with anyone for days. He didn't invite any secretaries to his apartment, and he limited his interactions to receiving information from his informants and letting them go with nothing more than their due payment. Not even Helena slept in his bed or sat on his couch the two times a week she visited him. Javier didn't want to be with anyone because every time he tried, you crept into his thoughts, and he couldn't stand to keep doing that to you. He jerked himself off thinking of you, of course. He wasn’t proud of it, but it was definitely better than use someone else just to pretend she was you.

Javier was deeply conflicted. He cared about you more than he wanted to admit, and it scared him. He didn't want to put you in harm's way or drag you into his dangerous world. As long as he was still working to take down Pablo Escobar and the Medellín Cartel, he would be a target for the enemy.

However, he knew that working as a DEA translator, you understood exactly what, why, and how his world worked. He was a former DEA agent, familiar with the stress, hard work, and the constant need to watch his back. So far, you had chosen to spend your days with him, but it had been as friends. He couldn't deny the growing attraction and connection between you two. Deeply, he knew that he wanted something more than just friends.

There had been years since his last formal relationship, which ended with a bride in tears at the altar. Javier knew that he had been young and a dick back then. It didn't justify his actions, but it had been a painful lesson.

He didn't want to break your heart. He knew he would never forgive himself if he hurt you for being an indecisive son of a bitch. If he was going to ask you to be with him, he needed to be sure.

One week before your birthday, as he parked his truck outside your building, Javier cleared his throat, attempting to say something. You had noticed that he had been acting nervous all day, but you couldn't quite figure out what had him in that state. You didn't say anything as you waited for him to speak first.

Javier said your name softly, "I was wondering if you had any plans for your birthday this weekend," he said. His big, dark-brown puppy eyes shone in the dark with the reflection of the streetlights.

"Umm, no," you said, "I usually get dinner with the girls from work, but I haven't mentioned anything to them yet."

"Oh, that's fine," he said, looking a bit more relaxed. But really, just a bit, because you swore that you could almost hear his heart beating from the passenger seat. "I mean, because I was thinking that maybe you would like to go to the fair with me. I would like to take you for a birthday dinner first, of course. Then spend the night at the fair."

He looked so adorable. You had never seen him that nervous before, and it was actually very cute.

"Javi, be honest with me," you said, and he went pale as a sheet of paper. He nodded, though. "Are you asking me for a date?"

You could see the color creeping up his face, now reddening his cheeks. He started mumbling, too nervous to notice that you were just teasing him.

"Javi, it's okay," you laughed, and his gaze returned to you as a smile formed on his beautiful lips, "That would be nice," you finally accepted.

His smile widened as his shoulders relaxed.

"It's a birthday date, then," he said.

As you headed into your building, Javier called out to you from the truck, "See you tomorrow, bonita," he said with a warm smile.

You couldn't help but smile back, your heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. "Goodnight, Javi."

As you entered your apartment, you couldn't contain your excitement. It had been a long time since someone had made such an effort to celebrate your birthday. Javier's nervousness and sincerity had touched your heart deeply, and you were looking forward to your birthday date with him.

NEXT PART

#pedro pascal #fanfic #narcos #pedro pascal x reader #javier peña fic #javier peña smut #javier peña x reader #javierpeña #javier pena imagine #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fic #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x y/n #javier peña fluff #javier peña x female reader #javier pena smut #javierpeña x reader #javier peña #javier pena narcos #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you

[fortheloveofwonderland]

No Distance Left to Run | Part 4 | S.R

Previous Part | Next Part

Chapter Summary - As you prepare to return to the BAU you find yourself hot water and this time Spencer might not be able to save you. As the BAU work to find you, your secrets come to light.

A/N - some canon elements of Date Night used but I mostly rewrote it.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / BAU Fem! Reader

Category - friends to lovers | mutual pining | angst with happy ending | smut minors DNI

Warnings - spoilers for 14.15 Truth or Dare and for 15.06 Date Night, abusive relationship, kidnapping, guns, hostage situations, Cat Adams, panic attacks, tears, swearing.

WC - 9.1k

Part 4 - Dominoes

Present Day

After fifteen days off work, you were more than ready to get back to the BAU tomorrow. 

You loved the extra time you got to spend with your children but it was anything but a relaxing vacation time. 

Between meeting with lawyers in regards to your marriage and your husband who remained in jail pending trial, and trying to be super mom, you were more drained than you would be from a normal case load. 

It had been nearly three weeks since Jared’s arrest and two weeks since the hostage situation in which you’d confessed your love for your best friend. Your best friend who hadn’t once tried to contact you since Rossi’s wedding.

You’d told him you needed time apart but Spencer was stubborn and you were sure he would try to call, maybe even show up at the house, but he never did. 

You’d missed him, missed how things used to be. For the past seven months since Varnville things hadn’t been the same between you. 

They’d just started to get better, the iciness starting to thaw when you’d made your confession. Time had begun to heal the wounds you caused Spencer by falling into bed with him and you’d been amicable again, friendly even. 

Right before you’d been called out to LA where two murders had been committed in two days with similar MO’s, the case which would lead to you being held hostage, you’d been having a game of poker as a team. 

“You guys, you should have seen Reid. He shot a one hundred.” Luke spoke as he and Spencer entered the round table room. The rest of you gasped and made appreciative sounds. “Yeah, he qualified to shoot a possum.” 

“That’s like a perfect score. What, like, two hundred agents have made the wall of glory?” Matt sounded rightfully impressed.

“He hit everything, I mean at one point I thought he must have two guns.” Luke shook his head as he slid into one of the vacant chairs. 

“Maybe I did.” Spencer smiled knowingly, sitting in the space opposite you. 

You looked at him with curiosity and he simply smiled at you. 

You’d gone two days without a case which was a nice reprieve but it left you all a little on edge. You’d worked your way through a backlog of reports until Garcia suggested a round of poker with jelly beans for chips. 

Rossi was the only one not in attendance as he was helping Krystall with last minute wedding preparations. 

The game began, slowly one by one the team members folded, finally leaving only you, Spencer and Luke still in. 

You glanced at your cards before placing them back face down on the table. You cupped your pile of jelly beans you’d procured and pushed them all to the centre of the table, looking Spencer dead in the eye. 

“Do you think the lady is bluffing?” Luke looked between the two of you. 

“I know the lady is bluffing because she has a tell.” He gave you that knowing smile once more. 

“No I don’t.” You shook your head but Spencer continued to smile and pushed his own pile of candy towards the centre. 

“I’m gonna go all in.” He sat back in his chair. 

“Oh I like it.” Luke smirked. “Live by the sword, die by the sword. I call.” 

“Alright, lets see ‘em.” Tara encouraged.

Luke turned his card over and placed them on the table top. 

“Three of a kind, king high.”

“Perfectly respectable but not getting it done.” Tara shook her head. 

Spencer opened his hand, placing his cards down with a smug smile gracing his lips. 

“Pair of kings, pair of sevens. Oh I’m sorry, uh, three sevens.” His smile grew. 

“Oh, a full boat from the sassy Doctor Reid.” Tara chuckled. 

Spencer focused on you, his smile in full bloom. You felt your own tugging at your lips as you placed your own cards down for them to see. 

A four, five, six, seven and eight of spades. Spencer's face fell, his smile vanishing in an instant. 

“A straight flush, that has to hurt.” Tara chuckled. 

“I think Doctor Reid is speechless.” Matt laughed too. 

You shrugged, reaching out to collect your winnings. 

“Guess I’m a better liar than you thought.”

Spencer had continued to stare at you in disbelief until Emily announced you had a case which was taking you to LA. At that moment, high from your win, you never could have foreseen where that case would lead. 

Unpredictability was unfortunately a part of life. Thirteen years ago you never would have anticipated the nice man you met in a bar on your birthday would go on to abuse you. 

Fifteen years ago when you’d first been introduced to the dorky Doctor Spencer Reid, you had no way to know you would still harbour feelings for him all these years later. 

“Yo, pretty boy?” 

“Huh?” 

“Let’s not make the new girl feel uncomfortable on her very first day.” 

“I wasn’t…I wasn’t…” 

“Don’t mind him, he doesn’t get out much.” 

“Everyone this is our new agent Y/N Y/L/N, please can you all make her feel welcome. Not too welcome though, ok, Reid?” 

“Got it.”

He’d changed so much since then, it was only really now you realised that. When you saw someone every day it was hard to notice those little changes they went through until you took a step back and saw how big those changes really were.

You’d both gone from being in your early twenties, innocent and green to now somehow circling forty, much less naive than you had been back then. A whole lifetime had passed in those years. You’d gotten married, had two children and you and Spencer had both suffered your share of trauma. 

You and Spencer were long overdue for a painful conversation. It would make or break your relationship, it would dictate where the two of your futures were headed and if they were entwined with one another's. 

It was only a matter of time before he would ask you again, and you had to decide if you were willing to be honest with him or lie to him. 

“Y/N?” He rolled his lip between his teeth. “Truth or dare?” 

You sucked in a breath, closing your eyes for a fraction of a second before opening them and looking at him again.

“Truth.” You croaked. 

“Did you mean it?” 

Your eyes flit down to your bracelet, eyeing the inscription for a moment or two before you looked back at Spencer. There was a simple answer and a complicated one, neither of which you wanted to get into right now.

“Spencer I-”

What had you planned on saying before Adie interrupted you? You weren’t even sure of that yourself. Because you had meant it, but being in love with Spencer Reid was far too complicated for words. 

You wanted to keep those thoughts at bay, at least for one more day. You had one last day off work before you had to see Spencer again and you needed to not burden yourself with any unnecessary stress.

You dropped the kids at school before running some errands. You did the grocery shopping for the week, knowing it was likely you would be pulled in on a case once you went back and wouldn’t have time to do it otherwise. 

You’d arranged for your cousin Olivia to sit the kids while you worked, after explaining to her why Jared suddenly wasn’t around. She was more than happy to stay at the house with your children while you were off fighting crime. 

You picked up extra ice cream and a bottle of nice wine for Olivia as a thank you, dropped off your dry cleaning and drove back home where you planned to clean the house until it was time to pick your kids up from school. 

You parked on the drive and exited the car, going over to the house and opening the door before getting the bags out of the trunk so you didn’t have to try and wrestle it open with your hands full.

Heading back to your SUV, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention. You slowed your steps, honing your senses onto your surroundings. Something felt off, but you didn’t know why. But your instincts were telling you something was amiss. 

Your hand instinctively went to your firearm but of course it wasn’t there, it was tucked away in the safe in the house. 

You cautiously continued back to the car, eyes rapidly searching the street, your front yard and the front yards of your neighbours houses. You kept your footsteps soft and quiet so you could pick up on any little noise. 

You reached the SUV and popped the trunk, feeling your nerves start to fade a little. You were paranoid, that’s all it was. You tried to shake it off but you couldn’t quite let it go, the hairs on your neck refusing to go down. 

You collected up the paper bags in your arms, cradling them on one hip so you could close the trunk with the other. You turned and tried to rebalance the bags but found yourself looking down the barrel of a revolver. 

You fumbled with the bags and dropped them all on the ground, partially conscious of hearing the wine bottle smash as it hit the concrete. You swallowed, trying to focus yourself on the long dark hair of the woman pointing the gun at you. 

“What do you want?” You croaked. “I have money, I have connections. I’m an FBI Agent, you don’t want to do this.” 

“Oh, I know exactly who you are.” The woman chuckled. “Jared says hello.” 

You whimpered, taking a step back to your car but then you were taking a blow to the head from the muzzle of the gun and soon the world went dark.

Life was certainly unpredictable. 

***

When Penelope Garcia initially received the call from a friendly woman named Linda at the Hyde-Addison Elementary School, she was confused to say the least. Her confusion turned into panic when Linda informed her that two students, Adleine and Finley Haines had not been collected from school.

Linda, the school’s administrator had tried calling their mother several times when she didn’t come to pick up her kids but kept getting her voicemail. The school had been informed that Jared Haines was not reachable at present.

The school required pre-approval for anyone to collect kids from the school who weren’t the children’s legal carers. As godparents to Adie and Fin, Penelope and Spencer along with your cousin Olivia were the only people pre-approved.

Garcia had been the first person called and she’d been sitting at her desk in her bat cave when she’d received the call. The rest of the team were in the bullpen working on paperwork as they didn’t have an active case. 

Before Penelope allowed herself to spiral into fear, she called Olivia and asked if she could pick the kids up from school, trying not to say too much to alarm the young girl. Penelope needed to be at the BAU, because she knew if you hadn’t picked up the kids, there was a sinister reason for it. 

She tried to remain calm while she headed through to the bullpen, head down and focused solely on Emily Prentiss’ office. She knocked on the door but didn’t wait for an answer before she tottered inside.

“We’ve got a case?” Emily looked up from her paperwork.

“Uh, yes and no.” Garcia closed the door behind her. “I just had an interesting call from Hyde-Addison.”

Emily’s eyebrows furrowed as she turned that name over in her head a few times. 

“Adie and Fin’s school?” 

“Yes.”

Emily’s back straightened in her chair, knowing whatever Garcia was going to say wouldn’t be good.

“Should I be worried?” The raven haired Unit Chief’s heart was already pounding.

“Maybe,” Garcia nodded. “Y/N wasn’t there to collect the kids today. She would never forget to pick the kids up. I’ve called Liv, she’s going to get them. But I think something has happened to Y/N.” 

“Why didn’t they call Jared?” Emily narrowed her eyes on the blonde. 

“I…uh, it's complicated?” 

“Has something happened between them? She didn’t really give me much detail of why she needed time off.” 

“I think that’s going to be a story I can only tell once.”

Emily was out of her seat and heading to the door before Penelope even finished her sentence. She swung the door open so forcefully it caused all the agents in the bullpen to look up at her.

Garcia pushed open Rossi’s door, motioning him out. The old man got up from his desk and padded outside. 

“What’s going on?” He spoke, looking between Emily and Garcia. 

“A bad one?” JJ spoke up from her desk. 

Emily let out a shaky breath, ready to deliver the news to her waiting team and wishing things like this didn’t always fall on her shoulders. 

“Garcia received a call just now from Adeline and Finley’s school when Y/N failed to show up to collect them.” Emily spoke, trying to keep her voice measured. 

Spencer immediately shot out of his chair, glaring at Emily.

“What?” His face was drained of colour. “Why?”

“We don’t know, that’s what we need to find out.” Emily nodded sternly.

“Why did they call you?” Luke asked, directing his question to Garcia. “Where’s their dad?”

Penelope looked at Spencer, her expression pleading him to help her. She didn’t want to have to relay this story for you, not that Spencer did either. He huffed out a breath and slowly headed up the stairs to join Garcia, Emily and Rossi while they all looked at him in slight confusion.

“A few weeks ago Penelope discovered that Jared Haines had been arrested.” Spencer began, his voice cracking as he spoke. “For a domestic disturbance turned attempted murder.” 

The rest of the team gasped at his words, exchanging looks and silently asking each other if anyone knew. Penelope was on her phone, tapping at the keys.

“He was abusing her?” Emily looked at Spencer, her expression one of sorrow.

“For a long time.” He nodded sadly. “I knew he was hurting her, I tried to help her but she refused me every time. Adeline called the cops when Jared got hold of Y/N’s gun. He shot the wall, not Y/N. When DC Metro showed up, he had his hand around her throat.” 

“Jeez,” Rossi shook his head. “That poor girl.” 

“I had no idea.” JJ pouted, her eyes filling with tears.

“You think this has something to do with him?” Luke asked, his nostrils flared in anger.

“He’s still in jail, I just checked.” Garcia waved her phone. 

“What is this about then?” Tara frowned. “Do we really think something has happened to her?”

“She would never leave the kids like that. No way.” Spencer shook his head. 

“This might not be a case, there may be a reasonable explanation.” Emily didn’t look as though she believed that herself. 

“Can I go and check on her?” Spencer begged. 

“Ok.” Emily nodded. “You have your car?” 

“No,” he raked his fingers through his hair. 

“I’ll take you kid,” Rossi nodded at him. 

“I’ll try and ping her cell phone.” Garcia hurriedly started back towards the stairs, Rossi and Spencer in tow. 

“Just in case something has happened, tell Y/N’s cousin to keep the kids away from her house.” Emily instructed. 

“Aye aye boss.” Penelope spoke as she carried on walking. 

Spencer was soon over taking her, walking as fast as he could towards the elevators while Rossi struggled to keep up. 

He was blinded by his emotions and he knew it. And he also knew if anything had happened to you he would never be the same. 

***

“Why are you doing this?” You asked once you finally came to, tied to a chair in a nondescript room. 

The dark haired woman sat on an old desk, twirling her revolver in her hand. 

“I already told you, for your husband.” She clucked.

“I don’t buy it.” You shook your hazy head. “He’s too controlling to let someone else do his dirty work.” 

“But he’s in prison, so he can’t do his own dirty work.” 

“Fine, let’s pretend I believe you. How do you know my husband?” You sighed. 

“We were lovers.” She smirked dangerously at you but you simply rolled your eyes. 

“Sweetheart, we both know that’s not true. My husband is forty two years old, you can’t be more than late twenties. We’ve been together for thirteen years, so if you’re telling me you were together before I met him, that would have made you, at most, sixteen years old. I highly doubt that he would have dated a sixteen year old when he was almost thirty.” You argued. 

“Who said it was before you met him?” 

“So you’re proposing that my husband cheated on me with you?” You cocked an eyebrow at her. “Ok, let’s say that happened. Why would you be willing to do his dirty work for him? What is he offering you in return for killing me? Let me guess, with me dead he has no one to testify against him and he goes free? And then what? The two of you run off into the sunset together with two kids?” 

You saw something flicker in her eyes. 

“Something like that.” She shrugged. 

You knew what you’d seen. She hadn’t given your kids a second thought. You decided to take a leaf from Spencer’s book. When he’d faced off with Cat Adams after prison he’d tricked her by giving the wrong name of Morgan’s son, proving she didn’t know as much about him as she thought.

“You think you’re equipped to look after Sammy and Kylie?” You scoffed. 

“I can be surprisingly maternal.” She smirked at you.

That cleared that up. This was most certainly not about Jared. If she was really his lover or whatever she claimed to be, surely she would know about his kids and this woman certainly did not. 

It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. 

“Where are my kids now?” You asked. 

“How should I know? I’m not interested in them, I’m interested in you.” The woman pushed herself up from the desk suddenly and you held your breath as she came closer to you. It was then you noticed the camera set up on a table top tripod, pointing your way.

She came behind you and you flinched when she wrapped her arm around your neck, gun dangling by your chest.

“Say cheese,” the woman chirruped, seconds before a camera flash went off.

***

Upon arrival at 184 Calvert Street it was immediately clear there had been a struggle. 

Several bags of groceries were on the drive, a smashed bottle of wine, cracked eggs and a partially split box of cereal. Your car was unlocked and your front door was wide open. 

Spencer drew his weapon, as did Rossi, as they headed towards the house. Without a word, Spencer took the ground floor and Rossi the first. A few minutes later Rossi called out, “clear.” 

“Clear here too.” Spencer holstered his weapon.

Nothing in the house appeared to be out of place, it looked the same as it usually did. He moved some books aside on the bookshelf to reveal the safe hidden behind. He heard Rossi’s footsteps on the stairs as he input the code.

He popped the safe door and reached inside, locating your gun with ease. He turned and held it up to Rossi who was looking at him with a frown. 

“You know her combination?” The older man asked. 

“It’s Adie’s birthday.” Spencer shrugged. “Makes sense she wouldn’t have had her gun, she wasn’t working.”

He put the firearm back in the safe as the two of them headed back outside. 

“It looks like she opened the door before getting the groceries. She had a lot to carry and I guess she figured it was easier to open the door first.” Rossi mused.

“She gets the door open, heads back to the car and grabs the bags, but someone waits until after she’s got them and closes the trunk to strike.” Spencer added. “There’s no other signs of a struggle or a fight. She’s startled and drops the bags and then what?”

“First blush? If it were me, a gun in my face would startle me enough to drop my bags.” Rossi speculated. 

Spencer roughly rubbed his palm across his jaw, shaking his head.

“This can’t be happening, Rossi. Not after everything she’s been through.” 

“Kid, take a breath.” Rossi put his hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “What’s going on here?”

“Clearly someone has stalked her, learnt her patterns and-”

“Not what I mean.” Rossi cut him off. 

“I can’t let anything else bad happen to her, Dave. Not after I sat by for years and did nothing while her jerk husband beat her.” Spencer spat. 

“Reid, you can’t blame yourself for that.”

“Yet I do.” 

“We’re going to get to the bottom of this and we’re gonna find her.” Rossi looked determined. “And when we do, maybe the two of you will finally stop playing this exhausting little game and finally admit you’re crazy about each other.” 

Rossi strolled away towards his car and Spencer watched him go. He couldn’t help the dry chuckle that left his lips at the old man’s words.

If only you knew, Rossi. If only you knew.

***

Two Weeks Ago

“Garcia, any luck with Judge Hamilton?” Spencer leant forward in the chair, speaking into the car’s microphone while you drove. 

Judge Melissa Hamilton was one of the people who the team suspected might be their unsub, Casey Allen Pinkner’s next target. But so far Garcia hadn’t been able to get hold of her. 

“No, we’ve reached everyone else involved she won’t pick up. I’ve pinged her phone, you guys are close.” Garcia informed you both. 

“She’s gotta be his end game, he knows we’re onto him and time is limited.” You huffed, continuing down the street and keeping your eyes peeled for Melissa Hamilton’s car.

“During sentencing she wanted to throw the book at him, she said that he needed to take responsibility for his actions.” Spencer spoke.

“That would have incensed him.” You sighed.

“Oh! she just pulled over.” Garcia’s voice came through the speakers again. 

You and Spencer both glanced around the busy LA street. Up ahead Spencer noticed a car stopped, frowning he leant further forward. 

“That’s her, that’s Judge Hamilton. Turn around.” He quickly told you. 

He held on tight while you made a sharp and somewhat precarious U-turn in the middle of a busy intersection. As you closed in on the vehicle it started moving again. 

You were hot on its tail, Spencer keeping a close eye on the sedan weaving in and out of traffic. Suddenly a tanker pulled out of a side road and Hamilton’s car came to an abrupt stop before they collided.

You pulled in behind it as the doors were opening on the other vehicle. Casey Allen Pinkner slid out of the back seat and instantly fired his gun in Spencer’s direction. Spencer was quick to duck behind the open door and narrowly avoided the bullet that hit the side of the SUV. 

You drew your own weapon but didn’t return fire given the amount of people on the street. Instead the two of you hurried after where he ran off with Judge Hamilton in tow. He’d run inside a jewellery store and you both followed him in, weapons pointed in his direction. 

“Everybody out!” Spencer yelled as he entered, waving the customers towards the door. 

Pinkner aimed his gun at the ceiling and pulled the trigger, making the store clerk who he held by the shoulder scream.

“Go, get out.” You motioned to the other customers before turning to Pinkner. “FBI!” 

“Put them down.” Pinkner growled. “On the ground.” 

You and Spencer exchanged a look, lowering your gun just a little. 

“It’s ok,” Spencer whispered, lowering his also and tossing it on the floor before you followed suit.

Pinkner made the clerk close the shutters while he had Hamilton force you and Spencer to the floor and tape your wrists behind your back. She was shaking as she taped up Spencer’s arms. 

“Don’t worry, it's going to be ok.” He whispered to her. 

What ensued was the two of you sitting back and witnessing Pinkner try and force Hamiliton to play his sick game of truth or dare whilst threatening if she didn’t play, he would kill her daughter. 

His dare for Hamilton entailed her shooting Spencer. But to his credit, Spencer didn’t even flinch with the gun pointing at him.

“Casey…” You spoke up, sensing the judge’s hesitancy whilst trying to push yourself to your feet.. “Uh, if Melissa won’t play, I will. Truth or dare? That’s your game right? I’ll play.” 

“Casey, I know what it's like, to be wrongly accused, sent to prison for a crime you didn’t commit.” Spencer spoke now, obviously trying to buy you all some time. 

“Yeah right, you went to jail?” Pinkner scoffed but Spencer simply nodded. “Yeah, I’d like to see that pretty boy.” 

Meanwhile behind his back Spencer had located a shard of glass from a broken display. He had it between his fingers as he attempted to cut through his tape. It was tricky at this angle and could feel the glass cutting into his palm but he powered through. 

“Ok, agent…” Casey turned to you with the gun, trailing off when he realised he didn’t know your name. 

“Y/L/N.”

“Agent Y/L/N, truth or dare?” He spat. 

“Truth.” You sucked in a breath. 

“If I think you’re lying, or stretching the truth in the slightest, I’ll kill him.” He turned the gun on Spencer briefly before pointing it back at you. “You ever shoot anybody before?” 

“Yes I have.” You nodded. 

“You enjoy it?” Pinkner smirked at you. 

“No.”

“LIAR!” He yelled, turning the gun back to Spencer and pulling the trigger.

You screamed at the sound, your heart instantly pounding. But soon enough you realised the bullet hadn’t hit him, not quite. 

“No, no I’m not lying!” You were quick to say, tears now flooding your vision. “The people I shot, I had no choice. But I did not enjoy it, I didn’t. You asked, and I told the truth ok? So, uh, now it's my turn? That’s how this game’s played. We take turns. Truth or dare?”

You tried to keep your tears at bay but if he shot at Spencer like that again they would certainly fall. You glanced at him, he looked a little shell shocked from the ordeal, no doubt he’d heard the bullet whirring past his head. But at least he was unscathed. 

“Truth.” Casey replied and you looked back at him. 

“What’s it going to take for all of us to walk out of here alive? For this to end peacefully?” You pleaded with him. 

“I ain’t going back to prison. My turn. Truth or dare?” 

“Truth.” You clenched your jaw. 

In your peripheral vision you could see Spencer moving ever so slightly. Hopefully you were buying you both enough time for him to come up with a way out of here. 

“I want you to say something you’re afraid to say. That you’d never tell anybody and you better make it good because if it's not it's gonna be the last thing you ever say. What’s it gonna be?” Pinkner spat, proffering the gun closer to you. 

“There are only four people I trust in this world.” You swallowed. 

“Boring.” Pinkner turned and quickly fired a bullet into Judge Hamilton's leg. She screamed and fell to the floor. “Next.” 

Your heart was thumping against your chest. You knew you had to say something good and this was certainly something you didn’t want to say. 

“My, uh…my husband…he uh…he hits me. He’s abusive.” You choked as tears started streaming down your face. 

“Wrong. Come on, you can do better than that.” Pinkner scoffed. 

“Casey,” Spencer spoke now, the pain in his voice evident. 

He’d know about what Jared did to you but you’d never said it out loud in quite as many words. He hated the way he felt so powerless against what your husband had done to you. 

“Shut up!” Casey screamed at him, grabbing you by the shoulder and forcing you back to the floor. 

“Ok, ok.” You cried. 

“Last chance. Something you would never say aloud, not even to your partner here. Your deepest, darkest secret. Impress me or I kill him.” He turned the gun back on Spencer. 

You looked at your best friend through watery eyes. There was only one thing left to say. A secret you never thought you’d say out loud, especially to Spencer. 

But it would certainly be enough to get Casey’s attention and with any luck it would save your lives. 

“Come on!” Casey screamed.

You kept your eyes on Spencer, tears getting heavier. His brow furrowed at you, sensing the weight of what you were about to say. 

“Spence, uh…” you swallowed. “I have always loved you. I was too scared to say it before... and now things are just really too complicated to say it now. I'm sorry, but you should know.”

The look that washed over him could only be described as pure heart break as the world seemed to freeze around you. He’d wanted to hear those words for so many years but not here, not like this. 

For five seconds the two of you stared at each other, five gut wrenching, life altering seconds. This was going to change everything, life would never be the same again. 

***

Present Day

Upon receiving the email from the anonymous server, things started to make a little more sense. 

It didn’t make the situation any less terrifying, but it did at least point the team in the right direction.

Your phone had been found in a dumpster a few blocks from your house and hadn’t rendered anything useful. It was the email that had landed in Garcia’s inbox a few minutes after Spencer and Rossi returned from your home which was interesting. 

It was a photograph of you with your abductor's arm around your shoulder. The woman next to you wasn’t trying to obscure her face telling the team she wasn’t scared of being identified. You had dried blood on the side of your face but other than that you looked to be unscathed. 

But the most alarming part was the demand in the email. 

Release Catherine Adams in twenty four hours. 

And that was how Spencer found himself behind the glass in the little room next to the interrogation room in which Cat Adams currently occupied. 

“You sure you can do this?” JJ was at his side, much like she had been last time he’d had to face off with his nemesis. 

“I don’t have a choice, Jennifer.” He wouldn’t look at her, keeping his eyes on Cat in her bright orange jumpsuit. “She’s made it personal. Again. If I don’t go in there she’s going to have Y/N killed.” 

“I’ll be right here.” JJ tried to calm him. 

“I don’t need you to wait for me. This is something I need to do alone. Go and help the team.” He didn’t look at her as he headed for the door and violently swung it open. 

He slammed it behind him, glaring manically at Cat. 

She was relaxed back in the chair, arms folded across her chest, jumpsuit sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her dark hair was stringy and lifeless, tied back off of her face. 

Those infectious eyes he remembered having so much spark when they played their little game in the restaurant, even after his release from prison with his hand around her throat, were dull like someone had switched a light off. 

He’d seen that look mirrored on his own eyes when he was incarcerated. Day by day prison stripped him of life, and his eyes had slowly lost their sparkle. 

She’d been inside much longer than him, he wasn’t exactly surprised to see the effects she wore. But even when she looked at him they remained dark and cold. 

He could see the resignation. She’d given up. It happened in prison, when you stopped believing there was a way out. He’d reached that point too, he’d gotten himself into solitary for his own protection, but he’d been so sure he’d die there. 

She stared at him, waiting for him to speak. If he didn’t know any better he would have been sure she didn’t have anything to do with this. She didn’t seem as though she had the energy for these kinds of games anymore. 

“Where is she?” He spat at her, not wanting to waste any time. 

“Because I’m going to make it that easy on you?” Cat scoffed, lifeless eyes rolling in her head. 

“The demand of releasing you from prison is never going to happen, so why don’t we save ourselves both some time and tell me what this is really about.” He moved closer to the metal table but didn’t sit down. 

“You haven’t heard,” her lips turned up at the corner. 

“Heard?” He cocked an eyebrow at her. 

“I stopped fighting. The state versus Catherine Adams.” She unfolded her arms, exhaled heavily. 

“You’ve grown a conscience? Unlikely.” He rolled his eyes. 

“I’m bored.” She huffed. “Death has got to be more interesting.” 

“Why am I here, Cat? And where is Y/N?” He tried to keep his voice levelled but he knew it was only a matter of time before he lost his cool. “I’m not playing your games this time, tell me where she is.” 

“You know that’s not how this works, Spencie.” She offered him a sweet smile. Her eyes were still void of emotion. 

“Tell me what you want.” He folded his arms across his chest. 

“My final request,” she sat back in her chair leisurely. “Before I’m put to death. I want to go on a date. With you.” 

Spencer felt his stomach turn violently. Of course there was always something. But she did really think she would get her own way, be released from prison so he could take her out? 

He supposed having an FBI Agent kidnapped was one way to ensure she got what she wanted. 

He unfolded his arms before kneeling in front of her. He moved close to her ear. 

“The only date I will be there for is the one where they stick a needle in your vein.” He spat before pushing himself back up. 

“I hear you have a thing for damaged women, I thought I was just your type.” She smirked wildly at him. 

His teeth ground together furiously, but he tried not to let her see he was coming unravelled. He couldn’t give anything away. She was the master of reading people, him specifically. In another life she would have made a great profiler. 

“I have no idea what you mean.” He sucked in a breath, desperate not to let her see she’d hit a nerve. 

Cat chuckled, an evil and maniacal sound that made Spencer’s stomach lurch. 

“After all this time? Always.” She quoted with a wide smile on her face. 

Spencer’s nostrils flared and he felt his heart leap into his throat. 

How did she know about that? How could she possibly know? 

The only conceivable way would be from your bracelet. The bracelet you’d handed him back at Rossi’s wedding which he’d come to discover when he got home he no longer had in his possession. 

He’d assumed it had fallen out of his pocket, even called the venue the next day but as of yet no one had found it. Even if he’d lost it, it was out of the question that she could have gotten her hands on it. 

“Did you hear me?” Cat spoke again, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

“Yes.” He nodded.

“You’re going to take me on a date or I will have her killed.” She spoke in a sickly sweet tone that made Spencer want to throw up. “I want to look pretty! I wanna have fun! And I won’t even get physical. Unless you want me to.” 

He felt dizzy out of nowhere, his vision starting to blur. The walls of the interrogation room seemed like they were getting closer. He suddenly felt as though he couldn’t breath, like a heavy weight was pressing down on his chest. 

I’m having a panic attack. 

Before he could let Cat see his devolution, he threw open the door and fled the small room. He crossed the corridor in two strides, letting himself into a disused office. 

He fought to loosen his tie which felt like it was strangling him. He managed to get it over his head and tossed it aside while trying to focus on his breathing. 

A large scream ripped through him, involuntarily erupting from his throat and he reached out and swiped a pile of books and papers off the desk in his rage. 

He collapsed to the floor soon after that, hot tears streaming down his face. He sobbed loudly, not caring if anyone was to hear him. He didn’t even care if Cat heard him, even though that was unlikely through the reinforced glass.

He’d had so many emotions pent up for so many years and it was finally all coming to surface. Cat having you kidnapped was the straw that broke the camel's back. The thin piece of thread holding him together all these years snapped. 

You’d told him you loved him and he hadn’t said it back. What if he never got to say it back? You were finally free of the clutches of your abusive husband but now you might die because of Cat’s vendetta against him. 

He’d allow himself this moment. One moment in which he crumbled. Then he would push it all down and focus everything he had on finding you. 

And if he didn’t find you? That didn’t bear thinking about it. 

***

Hours ticked by. Slow, painful hours. There was something familiar about this room but you couldn’t quite place it, couldn’t quite see the bigger picture. 

The room was small, barely larger than your en-suite bathroom at home. The walls were painted white, chipped and peeling at the corners. 

The floor was damp and dusty, clearly having gone unused for years. The table in the corner which your kidnapped sat on was more like a counter than an actual table. 

Behind the counter was a set of thick red velvet curtains which were moth eared and mouldy. You swore you could see a sliver of light behind the thick fabric but maybe that was just wishful thinking. 

A window maybe? 

There was one door, to the left of the counter but it didn’t offer any clues. 

Debris was littered on the floor, torn sheets of paper for which you couldn’t quite piece together to work out what was on them. Small brown beads of something scattered between the paper but you couldn’t ascertain what they were. 

You probably had a concussion. If the blow to the head hadn’t done it you were sure the fall to the ground after you’d been rendered unconscious had. Your brain was foggy, you knew you were missing something right in front of you but you couldn’t work out what. 

The woman didn’t speak much, she mostly sat in silence on her cell phone. None of this made sense. Surely if she’d kidnapped you she wanted something from you? But she was yet to make any demands. 

By now you were sure the team must be looking for you. When you failed to pick up the kids from school either Liv, Penelope or Spencer would have been called. By now they must realise something had happened to you. 

The profiler in you couldn’t stop trying to run through it all in your head despite how much it hurt to do so. 

If this was somehow about Jared, even though you doubted that, where would their paths have crossed? Jared liked to drink, he frequented a lot of bars in the district. She could have been a bartender that he spilled his life to over one too many beers. 

But if that were true wouldn’t she know your kids names? 

She could have gotten hold of your FBI file. It would tell her your husband's name and the fact you had two kids but not their names. But that would open up the very real and very terrifying idea she was working for someone on the inside. 

She could have simply stalked you. If she’d been following you she would know about your husband, your kids, but not necessarily their names. 

But then it just came back to the why. Why was she doing this? Who had she taken that photo for? What did she want from you? 

You swallowed, your mouth was so dry and your throat was scratchy. You wiggled a little against your binds, this whole being held hostage thing was becoming too much of a regular occurance. 

“Look, seeing as we’re going to be here a while, why don’t you tell me what this is about.” You barely recognised your own voice.

The woman’s eyes snapped away from her phone and she looked at you, regarding you curiously. She put down the device and pushed herself to her feet. 

She had a slightly crazed smile on her lips as she approached you. There was something vaguely familiar about her, like you’d seen her somewhere before. Had you noticed her watching you? Somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind did you recognise her? 

“You need to see what he’s really like.” She told you, rummaging around in her pocket. 

“Jared? I already know what he’s really like.” You scoffed, with a frown. 

“Not Jared.” She chucked, fishing something out of her pocket and holding it up in front of your eyes. 

Your poor and tired eyes took a moment to focus on the silver item dangling from her fingers. But when you did, you felt your whole world stop turning. 

***

Spencer collected himself, pushed down his emotions and washed his face so the team wouldn’t know he’d been crying. When he walked into the round table room, all eyes were on him.

“How did it go, kid?” Rossi asked.

“About as well as you would expect.” He croaked. 

“We’ve run the woman through facial recognition but so far we haven’t got anything.” Garcia told him sadly. 

“I’ve seen her before.” Spencer focused on the photograph of you and your captor on the big screen. “I know I have, I just can’t figure out where.” 

“It makes sense for her to use a partner again, but her victimology is off. Cat is a black widow, she targets abusive men who remind her of her father.” JJ spoke now. 

“Could this be about Jared? Maybe she thinks in some kind of warped way, she’s saving Y/N?” Luke frowned as he spoke. 

“She doesn’t need saving, he’s already in jail.” Emily shook her head. 

“It’s not about Jared.” Spencer heaved a sigh. “I know exactly what this is about. This is about me.” 

“Well yeah it’s always been about you. But with Cat there is always the presenting agenda and the hidden one. If she sticks to pattern this isn’t just about going on a date with Spence.” JJ shook her head. 

So she was listening, at least to part of it. 

“No, this is about me. Me and Y/N.” Spencer closed his eyes, his gut churning. 

“What do you mean?” Tara asked with a hint of confusion in her tone. 

He opened his eyes again and looked at her, trying to find some kind of solace in her soft brown eyes. This was the last thing he wanted to open about right now but it was inevitable he would have to. 

If this was really about you and him, the team needed all the facts. 

“A few weeks ago on the case in LA, the guy who liked to play truth or dare. When he held us hostage, Y/N agreed to play.” Spencer looked away from Tara, focused his vision on your image on the big screen. 

“Ok?” Rossi frowned. 

“What does that have to do with anything? I read your report.” Emily frowned too. 

“I left something out of my report. Something she said that I didn’t think was pertinent. Not to the case anyway.” 

“But you think it’s relevant now?” Matt gave him an equally confused look. 

“I think somehow, and I don’t know how, Cat found out. Or she guessed, maybe, I’m not sure. But I think it’s why she took Y/N and how I know this about me and nothing else.” Spencer raked his fingers through his hair, a similar dizziness to that he’d experienced in the interrogation room washing over him. 

He needed to get this out before he had another panic attack. 

“Are you gonna tell us what she said or do we have to drag it out of you?” Luke was the one to ask. 

“She said…” he closed his eyes, taking himself back to the jewellery store. “Spence, uh…I have always loved you. I was too scared to say it before... and now things are just really too complicated to say it now. I'm sorry, but you should know.”

He kept his eyes closed as he quoted you verbatim. He could feel all the eyes of his team members on him, watching, waiting. 

When he opened his eyes he looked straight back at your photograph. There were a couple of exchanged glances but to their credit they didn’t seem all that surprised. 

“But you said it yourself, you left that out of the report.” Emily’s brows furrowed. 

“And the security camera from the store didn’t have audio. So even if she has someone on the inside working for her again, how would she know about that?” JJ looked at him quizzically.

“I have no idea.” He shrugged. 

“Did you tell anyone about it? Anyone at all?” Tara asked now.

“No,” Spencer shook his head. 

“Then how can this be about that?” Garcia questioned him. 

“I don’t know!” He sounded exasperated. “But I’m sure that it is, I know that it is.” 

“You’re sure you didn’t tell anyone?” JJ spoke calmly. “Even if it doesn’t seem relevant. Are you sure you didn’t-”

“Shit,” he cut her off. “I did tell someone.” 

“Who?” Emily was quick to ask. 

He looked from your photograph to his Unit Chief. 

“Max. I told Max.” 

“I’ve been in love with her for so long it’s just become a part of who I am.” He confessed. “I never let myself get close to anyone on the off chance she might have one day decided she felt the same. Just before I met you we…we, uh, slept together and she just up and left while I was asleep and never mentioned it again. It told me everything I needed to know, and so I made the decision to finally move on. I opened myself up to being with someone else and there you were. 

I really like you Max, I think we could have had something really amazing. But I can’t lie to you and tell you that I’m not always going to have feelings for Y/N, because at this point I’m sure they will never go away. And that’s not fair on you.” 

“No, it's not.” She shook her head. 

“I got held hostage yesterday, Y/N and I did.” He sighed, scratching at the back of his neck. “The unsub liked to play truth or dare. He had a gun pointed at her and made her confess to a secret she would never admit outloud.” 

Max narrowed her eyes on him, despite not being a profiler she could easily read between the lines.

“She told you she has feelings for you?” 

“She did.” Spencer nodded. “I still don’t know if she meant it or not, or if she was just trying to shock the guy.”

“You think she could be a part of this?” Luke leaned forward on the table. 

“No, no way.” Spencer shook his head frantically. 

“How can you be so sure? You only dated a few months, did you really know her?” JJ sounded somewhat accusatory. 

“I knew her.” He spat at his friend. “There is no way she is part of this.”

“Ok, ok kid calm down.” Rossi held his hands up. “If Max isn’t a part of this, we have to assume this woman who’s holding Y/N hostage overheard what you said to her. Where were you when you talked to Max?” 

Spencer’s eyes snapped onto the older man, frantic and wild. His heart pounded in his chest as his blood turned to ice. 

“At your wedding.” Spencer croaked. “I told Max that at your wedding.” 

In his peripheral vision he noticed someone pass by, dressed in a caterer's uniform. He waited for them to leave before he spoke again.

His eyes quickly found the image on the screen again only this time he didn’t look at you, he looked at the woman with her arm around your neck. 

“Fuck,” Spencer choked on his breath. “She was there! She was dressed as a freaking caterer!” 

All eyes turned to the screen while the others tried to deduce if they recognised her. 

“You’re sure?” Luke was the one to ask. 

“Yes.” Spencer nodded defiantly. “I saw her throughout the day, didn’t really pay her much attention. But she was there when I was talking to Max. I saw her. I thought she walked off but it’s safe to say I wasn’t exactly focused on her. She could have just been out of view, listening while I told Max what happened.” 

“Her name is Juliette Weaver.” Penelope suddenly looked up from her laptop. “I just got over the prison visitor records. She’s visited Cat five times in the last two weeks. And before that, she was an inmate at the same correctional facility. She was released a little over a month ago.” 

“Ok, I’ll bite. If this woman was really at my wedding, watching you and listening to your conversations, I’m still not sure what Cat has to gain by kidnapping Y/N.” Rossi pulled a face. 

“She got back at me for arresting her by having me arrested.” Spencer started to pace as he let the thoughts flow. “Then we destroyed her relationship with Lindsey, exposed her affair with Wilkins, to the one person who ever loved her. We proved playing the game with me was more important than being faithful to Lindsey.” 

“So you think she wants to kill Y/N, take away the one person who loves you just like you did to her?” JJ mused. 

Spencer suddenly stopped pacing, eyes landed on JJ. 

“No,” he shook his head. “She doesn’t want her dead.” 

“So what does she want?” Matt frowned. 

“Last time she wanted to prove that we’re the same. Me and Cat. This time she wants to prove I’m like him.” 

“Him?” Garcia questioned. 

“Jared.” Spencer exhaled. “At the wedding you told me how Y/N had been found with Jared’s hand around her throat. I bet Juliette overhead that too.” 

“So?” Garcia shrugged. 

“She was found being strangled, just like when I had Cat up against the wall in the interrogation room by her throat.” Spencer clenched his jaw. 

He saw some confused eyes, the whole team had not been privy to that part of his encounter with Cat. Emily hadn’t let the others see the video footage, thinking the fewer people knew of it the better. 

“Cat wants to prove to Y/N that I am no better than her husband. She doesn’t want to kill her, it would be too easy. It would be worse for me for Y/N to live and never be able to look at me the same.” Spencer’s whole body deflated. 

“Or let you live knowing you couldn’t save her.” Luke spoke, his tone morose. 

“Either way we need to find her.” Emily turned stern. “And the best way to do that would be…”

“No,” Spencer shook his head, whining. “Please? There must be another way.” 

“If we give her what she wants she could slip up. We can profile what she says on the date. She’d be out of her comfort zone.” Emily shrugged as if there was no other way. 

Maybe there wasn’t. 

“Fucking hell,” Spencer groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine.” 

“Alvez and Simmons, you'll go with them.” Emily instructed. “Garcia, see if you can find any more on Juliette Weaver.”

Soon the five of them, Spencer, Luke, Matt, Emily and Garcia exited the room, the others staying behind to continue pursuing other leads. As they passed by Emily’s office, the Unit Chief spoke again. 

“Reid, a word?” 

Spencer halted in his tracks, inhaling deeply before slowly following her into her office. 

She closed the door behind him, moved over to her desk which she leant back against.

“You sure you can do this?” She folded her arms across her chest. 

Spencer took a beat, thought about that question for a moment or two before he responded with a simple, “no.” 

“If there was another way…”

“I know.” He nodded stiffly. “I just need a minute to compose myself. If I have to see Cat right now I will undoubtedly kill her.” 

The gumption to his tone frightened Emily for a second. She knew he wasn’t exaggerating, he would most certainly kill her. 

“If you kill her we may never find Y/N. Just try and remember that.” Emily spoke softly, trying to calm him.

“If we don’t find her,” he clenched his jaw. “If she dies, I will murder Cat Adams with my bare hands. And rest assured I will sleep well afterwards.” 

With that he turned and forced the door open, fleeing the room before Emily could even so much as blink. 

And she knew more than ever that they had to bring you back unharmed, or she would inevitably lose two members from her team. 

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