#Fears As Consistent Gunshots Are Heard

[writerslittlelibrary]

I'm your mother now, chapter 7

masterlist series masterlist

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8

summary: Yelena is there to save you, but isn't it them you needed saving from?

pairing: Dark!Natasha x teen reader, 

warnings: yelling, a lot of swearing, dark themes, kinda evil Natasha, translated Russian

genre: angst

words: 1961

a/n: chapter 7 is finally here!!! I really need to get more consistent in writing… anyway, I hope you enjoy🫶

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

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You had been sitting in that room for hours, the phone call with Yelena long forgotten as you waited patiently. Yelena said she would come fix it, and you trusted her. 

It was exactly 18.00 (6 pm), or so the clock on the phone said when you heard yelling outside the room. You heard a few gunshots, and you ducked under the table as you held your hands over your ears. Your entire body shook with fear as the gunshots drew closer, and soon enough the door to the room you were in opened. 

There stood Natasha, gun in hand and a smile on her face. She ran towards you, getting on her knees next to the table and loving the fact you scrambled towards her, throwing yourself in her arms as you sobbed. 

Natasha smiled as she hugged you closer, rubbing her hand over your back soothingly. “I love you,” you sobbed out, and Natasha simply beamed with joy. 

This day has been incredibly stressful for you, and turns out Yelena was right. Something as simple as having a woman recognise you, would make you realize that leaving was not at all what you wanted. You were loved and safe, and Natasha would always protect you. 

Their plan had worked, and you were finally able to admit to Natasha, and yourself, that you didn't want to leave. 

Natasha would keep you safe. Natasha would love you. Natasha would protect you.

After sobbing in her arms for a few minutes, Natasha made a move to get up, but you wouldn't let her go. “Please don't leave again,” you begged, and Natasha smiled as you cried.

"I am never leaving you again, Malysh,” Natasha told you, and you nodded the best you could. "Promise?” you asked her in a quiet voice. "I promise,” Natasha confirmed.

"Now come on, time to go. We should leave this police station before reinforcements come,” Natasha explained, standing up and dragging you along with her. You kept your arms tightly around her waist, and Natasha rubbed your back with one hand while she used her other to operate her gun.

Outside of the room it was all a blur. You could hear screaming and gunfire as Natasha led you rough the hall. 

When you finally made it outside, a car was already there. Natasha opened the back door for you and helped you get in, she herself joined you on the backseat. There was a woman already in the car, and she sat behind the wheel, waiting for Natasha to close the door. 

The moment Natasha closed the door, the woman stepped on the gas, driving away from all the gunfire and commotion. 

It didn't take long before you fell asleep, Natasha holding you close as your eyes shut and sleep consumed you. Everything that happened exhausted you, and now you were finally safe and cared for you could finally fall asleep. 

After arriving back at the house, something you didn't even notice, Natasha carried you up to your room, the woman who drove the car following her.

After you were settled in bed, Natasha kissed your forehead before going with the woman to the kitchen, planning some things out for the upcoming weeks. Natasha wanted to do so many things with you, but she knew that even though this arrest had been an act, people were actually looking for you, and taking you around could cause suspicion.

And so, together with the woman, she planned it out, transferring your identity over to a girl that already passed. The girl looked similar to you enough, and all Natasha had to do was transfer your DNA to hers, so if she got tested, it would seem as though it was you.

This was all online however, and involved a lot of hacking of medical files and information, hence why she had invited her friend.

Eventually, everything was settled, and the DNA in your medical files matched the DNA of the dead girl. When the girl would be found, they'd test her DNA, compare it with your already existing medical information and draw the conclusion that the dead girl, is indeed, you.

If that was all over, Natasha would finally be able to take you outside without people suspecting her. She could take you anywhere in the world.

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The next morning, when you woke up, you were confused to say the least. You were pretty much out of it, and it took you a while to remember the events of yesterday. 

Natasha came for you. Natasha had brought you home…

After a few minutes, your drowsy state left and you got up, surprised to not have been wollen by Natasha. What about your bath? After brushing your teeth you went downstairs, determined to find Natasha and the reason for your lonely awakening. 

When you got downstairs, you found Natasha in the kitchen, the woman from yesterday sitting at the counter chatting with her. The moment you got spotted, the woman closed her laptop quickly, obviously hiding something from you. You didn't really care, instead walking to Natasha and hugging. 

"Good morning malysh. Did you sleep well?” You nodded and hugged her tighter. After yesterday, You never wanted to let her go again.

Natasha smiled at your actions, giving you a tight squeeze before letting go. 

"Sit down, I have breakfast for you,” Natasha stated as she reached for a plate on the counter. It was filled with eggs and toast, and after you sat down she put it in front of you. 

"We'll do bath time tonight,” she simply said as she sat down as well. 

"Y/n, I'd like you to meet Maria,” Natasha then said as she gestured for the other woman at the kitchen counter. "Maria is here to help me with some business. We don't want what happened Yesterday to happen again,” Natasha explained, and you nodded as you gave Maria a smile.

Maria smiled back, before getting up and walking to the couches, grabbing the large bag on top of it. 

"I heard you liked gifts,” she simply said as she walked back, putting the large bag on the counter.  Your eyes lit up, and your breakfast was almost forgotten, until Natasha reminded you. 

"Finish your breakfast first. Then you can open the gifts,” Natasha ordered, and you nodded with a smile as you continued eating. You were quick to finish your breakfast, eager to open the gifts Maria had brought. 

Once you were done, Natasha took your plate away as Maria pushed the bay of gifts your way. 

You took the bag and thanked her, looking at Natasha as you waited for permission to open the bag. Natasha gave you a little nod with a smile, and you took the gifts from the bag. Each of them were wrapped in wrapping paper of your favourite colour.

There were three boxes total. One was heavy and big, while the other two looked more like cd's. You opened the biggest gift first, your mouth falling open as you noticed the Nintendo switch console. 

You smiled widely and quickly got rid of the excess wrapping paper, setting the box down on the counter. 

"Oh my god,” you exclaimed, giving Maria a huge smile as you went to take the Nintendo switch out of the box. "I can't believe it, thank you,” you told Maria.

After you'd unpacked the console, you grabbed the two smaller presents, opening them to find your favorite game and Mario Kart. .

'Thank you, thank you, thank you,” You exclaimed excitedly as you got the games out of the box, putting them in a case that was provided with the Switch. "Can I please go play mama?” you asked Natasha, giving her the best puppy dog eyes you could. 

"Of course you can, my love,” Natasha told you, stroking your hair. "Go sit in the living room.”

You happily took your place in the living room, plopping down on one of the couches and starting your game. You had no idea how long you played for, and eventually Maria came to wish you goodbye, and you told her yet again how grateful you were. 

Natasha had brought you lunch, and surprisingly she had not told you once to put your game away. Instead, she just sat down next to you, reading a book while you leaned against her.

When it was time for dinner, Natasha had told you to go sit at the kitchen counter, something you happily did after playing your game for so long. 

After dinner, Natasha had told you no more games, as she claimed it would be harder for you to fall asleep. You didn't mind, content with the idea Natasha presented of finally giving you your bath. 

You two went upstairs and you picked out your pajamas as Natasha set up your bath. 

Once you were in, Natasha carefully washed your hair as she hummed a song. You were quiet and contently listened to her humming as you ran your hand through the bubbles and played with them a little. 

"Thank you for coming to get me,” You suddenly said, and Natasha stopped rinsing your hair for a second before continuing. 

"I will always come to safe my baby,” Natasha told you as she leaned forward, giving you a kiss on your cheek. 

"I love you mama,” you told her, and it was impossible for Natasha to fight off the smile that was forming on her face. "I love you too, Malysh.”

After your bath, Natasha put you to bed, tucking you in with your two stuffed animals as she gently stroked your hair. "Goodnight my little love,” Natasha told you with a smile, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. 

"What if they come to get me?” you asked Natasha scared, yet Natasha just smiled reassuringly. 

"No one will come to get you. Mama will fight them all off for you,” Natasha told you, and even though you nodded, you weren't convinced. 

"Will you stay with me mama?” you asked her oh so sweetly, how could Natasha ever deny. She got herself ready for bed quickly before crawling next to you, allowing you to snuggle close to her. 

Once you were all nice and comfy, Natasha started stroking your back, hoping for you to fall asleep faster.  

"I never want to leave you mama…” you told her, your voice laced with sleep.  

"You never will…”

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Together with Maria, Natasha had made sure the body of a dead girl would be found closely to where you had gone missing. 

Police had quickly moved in, fishing the body from the river and getting it to a hospital. It was clear the girl had been dead for days, and when a doctor took some DNA samples and typed them into the system, your file showed up.

You were dead. You had been murdered.

As the body was cleaned and an autopsy had been performed, the cause of death had been a stab wound, which afterwards ‘you’ were thrown into the river. 

‘You’ had been death before ‘your’ body hit the water, and ‘you’ hadn't suffered. 

After ‘your’ funeral, the discovery of ‘your’ body had made the news, and every news channel was talking about it. 

Natasha got an alert on her phone, opening the news article and reading about ‘your’ death. She smiled to herself. She had won. Natasha had finally won. You were hers. You were her child, her daughter, and no one would ever be able to take you away from her ever again. 

Natasha pulled you closer, kissing your forehead and stroking your hair. 

“You’re my little daughter, my little child. I’ll love you forever,” she promised, as she soon joined your peaceful slumber.

chapter 8

tag list: @carol-romanoff @natsxwife @simp-erformarvelwomen @clintsbigtoe @olsenmyolsen @leenasayeed @naslt @dvrkhcld @nova-kyle @wandanatsbaby @alphalesbianwolffoxdragontribrid @cherlenovix @mrsromanovaa @wandanatsgirl @screechcat @a-spes

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0

[leonw4nter]

This Whiskey or Your Love?

Vendetta!Leon x F!Reader

TW ! graphic mention of getting stabbed, blood

Relationships in this line of work are always bound to be tragic, whether the relationships formed were that of friendships or ones that were more than that. You and Leon knew this too well so you two never gave a label for whatever was between you two. Even something as simple as sharing a whiskey flask after a long day was intimate, your lips connecting to where his was just moments ago. Or those late night sparring sessions, urging the other to come at them with a practice blade and engage in a tango consisting of lunges and blades; you observed that there is a sense of familiarity with these sessions, both of you familiar with the manner of how the other gripped their knives or what side the other preferred when it came to offenses, an interesting sense of familiarity with your partner. Most of all, you loved when you always took the chance to protect Leon. You are familiar with your partner and his tendency to throw away his life for the sake of preserving that of others’ so the opportunity for you to cover for him and protect him when he couldn’t always felt rewarding; he always made sure others were fine and never took time to check if he was fine so being the one to ensure his safety made you feel at ease.

The pursuit of that feeling at ease and eagerness to protect Leon is what led to your demise, your body skewered with several spikes of an Anubis BOW. Your partner was preoccupied with several other infected, he barely registered an Anubis behind him. The damn thing was right behind him, its sharp and bony wings about to dive straight into him. You were near him yet you were in pain, your rib having been shattered and you could bet that one of your bones were probably poking against a lung yet your legs still worked so you ran. You ran to be the barrier between Leon and the BOW, arms extended to your sides for maximum coverage for Leon. You closed your eyes and for a quick second, you felt fear. This was not how you imagined you’d die, you wished you’d die of old age and be surrounded by loved ones but here you are: death by impalement in front of the man whom you love but never called a “boyfriend”. You were afraid not just because you were going to die but because you’re probably going to leave him alone in this ruthless world. Last minute, you decided to shove Leon out of the way before moving yourself away from the monster too but it seemed that fate had already decided long ago for you. Leon managed to finish off the last of the zombies before he turned to you, his back to the ground but his gun trained on the thing behind you when he heard a gasp. You were facing him, body caging him but he noticed spikes– 3 of them protruding from your abdomen and chest. With a sickening squelch, the Anubis retracted its spikes before diving them back inside your body, carmine blood spilling forth from your mouth and dripping down your chin. You could not even keep a proper grip on your gun, the overwhelming pain of everything taking your consciousness away from you. Your eyes closed and your hearing was dulling but you swear you felt the most painful jab to your heart not because that stupid thing stabbed you again but because of the sheer sadness Leon had in his voice when he called your name. You heard the sound of gunshots and screaming next, the spikes retracting from your body before you fell to the ground and lay in a pool of your own blood. You forced yourself awake when you felt Leon gently shift your body, applying pressure to two of the three stab wounds. You rubbed your eyes, trying to get them to focus on Leon but then you regret that you did; his face is all red and covered with the muck of the Anubis, a bad bruise forming right under his eye but most of all he’s crying. He’s cried in front of you many times but never as hard as this.

“Don’t talk,” Leon says with a shaky voice. “You’re losing a lot of blood but you’ll be fine, I promise.”

He continues to apply pressure with shaky hands but stops when he feels you groan, realizing that he accidentally pressed on a cracked rib. There is nothing he can do but cradle you and cry harder, your body beaten and snapped beyond saving. To keep you alive in this condition as you wait for back-up would be pure torture for you, pain overriding every single thing you can feel. To let you die in this situation is the kindest act Leon can do for you.

“Yeah, I’ll… be fine.” You softly whisper as you raise your arm, a bloodied hand coming up to cradle his cheek. He nuzzles into your touch, not caring if he’s smearing your blood on his face. He doesn’t even smell the strawberry perfume you always wear now, the metallic scent of your blood filling his nostrils instead.

“Why did you do that?” Leon asks.

“You… you do so much for the world, Leon… It’s my… t-turn to… do some…thing for you…” You barely choke out.

You two stay silent for a bit, Leon brushing the matted hair away from your face and tucking a strand behind your ear.

“I’m not used to being without you, Y/N. I don’t think I’ll ever be used to being without you.”

Oh, Leon. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the world.

“I’m… sorry… Leon,” you inaudibly apologize. Each breath was becoming increasingly difficult, causing a rattling noise to emit from your throat.

“I love… you. Always… have… I’ve got… so many words for you… but I can’t right now… because… I’m feeling a… little tired…,” you plaintively whisper to him.

“I love you too, Y/N. I regret not telling you sooner, I hate how I have to tell you this right now but I wished I had mustered up the courage to ask you to be mine. I should have tried instead of being afraid.”

“You can… always… wait for me… in the next… life… you know,” you sigh with a small smile. Leon never exactly believed in anything after death; if it’s the end then it’s the end, he thought but for you, he wished that there is something after death just so he could be with you.

“How long will I wait for you until we can be together again?” Leon quietly asks.

“Live… live… your life… while waiting for… me… make use… of it.”

Your hand relaxes but your eyes stay fixed on him, the lids not draping over lifeless irises. He takes your hand again, only for it to limply fall back down. He gently closes your lids with a blood-stained thumb, holding you close to him and gently swaying you back and forth as he cries into the leather jacket he gave to you, still wrapped around your lifeless body. He felt many different things at this moment: agony, resentment, desolation, and many others that he had no names for. Such a lively person didn’t have to die this way, he did– him and his vice of turning to alcohol, him and his vice of never letting people into his life. You were his greatest love and the center of his most impossible dreams.

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“Y/N wouldn’t want you to live like this!” Chris exclaims as he sees Leon passed out on his dining table, surrounded by several tall bottles of whiskey and empty packets of hangover relief pills. Claire had also come over, cleaning up around Leon’s apartment; when the siblings had come in, the apartment was dark and the smell of booze lingered heavily in the air. Claire turned the light switch on and saw Leon asleep on his table, head resting on his arm whilst his right hand was still curled against a heavy-bottomed glass filled with the amber drink. Immediately, Chris gently shook Leon awake which earned him a displeased look. Chris was more concerned by how Leon looked than the glare he received– his hair was matted and messy, his stubble unshaven for several weeks, with the heavy purple eye bags that hung on his eyes. His lips were dry and crusty and the wounds that Leon was instructed to bandage were not covered up with gauze, the stitches slightly red.

“Forget about Y/N,” Leon slurs. “She’s not around to see me look fucking pathetic.”

Chris stayed silent for a moment, Leon’s reliance on alcohol to deal with his grief reminding him of himself from years ago.

“Leon, you’re going to kill yourself soon if you don’t stop this.”

“Sounds real nice.”

He takes a deep breath before he takes the glass from Leon’s hand and pours the drink in the sink, setting the glassware on the counter.

“Y/N told you to do something with your life. Are you seriously going to stay in this cycle of getting drinking and getting drunk until we find you dead? Because I’m sure as hell that Y/N doesn’t want that!”

Leon stays silent, gaze fixed on the empty bottles in front of him. Chris’ words sobered him up real fast but he still itches for the relief of the burning sensation the whiskey gives to him as he takes a swig. He doesn’t even realize that a tear has wet his cheek before dropping down into the wooden table beneath him, Chris getting up from his chair and engulfing him in a hug. Before he could even think of stopping it, his tears stream down endlessly as he sobs into his shoulder. This is all Leon’s done ever since your funeral: drink, get drunk, and cry but to cry in the company of a friend makes him feel a lot less alone. He feels another figure hug behind him, realizing that it’s Claire. The comfort of her touch causes his breathing to slow down, his body becoming less tense with her soothing words.

“Leon,” Claire says in a firm but gentle voice. “We’ll get you to therapy and stay away from alcohol for a bit. You need help.”

Before Leon could protest,  Chris faces him and gives him a nod.

“Yeah. It’s for your own good and trust me, I’ve been here before.”

With a sigh, Leon decides to get his life together. It won’t be easy and sure as hell won’t be smooth but for you he’ll try. Helping the Redfields clean up, he takes a trash bag and takes all the garbage before starting a shower in what feels like ages while the siblings start on a decent meal for him.

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It’s been months since he’s started seeing a therapist and he feels a lot less shitty than he did. Occasionally, he feels the urge to go get himself a bottle of alcohol but he fights the urges and gradually, those urges have gotten less strong and he feels proud of himself for overcoming this. Of course, he still misses you and he sometimes cries himself to the thought of you, your lifeless body still appearing in his dreams but therapy has been helping him cope with your loss a lot better than he previously assumed. He’s already got a dinner reservation with Chris and Claire to thank them for the help they’ve given him, along with the patience to listen to him every time he talks about you.

Leon finally finishes fixing his hair, fixing his suit and making sure he looks presentable before finishing up the look with a small spritz of cologne. Leon looks at himself in the mirror, looking better than he has in a long time. He smiles at his reflection, feeling a lot more confident than he has. His gaze falls to your dog tags on his bedside table, a painful memory resurfacing in his mind but he sets that painful feeling aside because he’s going to see you today. Even better, he’s got a basket ready with candles, your favorite sweets, lunch, flowers, and a Valentine’s Day letter (with songs listed down that he thinks you’d love).

“Looking good,” he tells himself as he admires his suit from different sides.

Taking the basket, he makes his way out of his apartment and into his car. Setting his radio to a station that plays sappy romantic songs, he pulls out of the parking lot and makes his way to the cemetery you’re buried in. As much as he wants to stay in and feel a little sad, he decides to celebrate Valentine’s Day since it’s one of your favorite holidays.

After a nice 30-minute drive he finally arrives at the cemetery. Taking a pink teddy bear and his picnic basket out of the passenger seat, he makes his walk to your grave that is buried in a more private corner of the entire place. He finally spots your grave and sets his picnic blanket down before taking out pink candles, lighting them up before he takes the contents out of the basket.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other,” he softly tells you. “I miss you. Everyday.”

It’s true; each passing day, his love for you doesn’t change and instead grows and extends to places he didn’t know love could touch.

“I got you sweets and a bear, though I’ll have to bring the bear home after this. No alcohol since I’m on a sobriety journey so you’ll have to bear with me on this one.”

He sets your bouquet of flowers down and lines up the sweets around your grave.

“Hope your ghost stays full with these.”

He suddenly remembers the letter he wrote the night before, fishing it out of the bottom of the basket. Much to his confusion, he can’t find it anywhere though he’s sworn that he placed it inside before leaving. He looks back at your headstone before he looks around, making sure that no one’s around to possibly take from your grave.

“I’ll be back, I just have to find something.”

He walks back to his car and looks around, looking for the letter. After a few moments, he nudges against something and the letter falls out along with an old picture of you and him from several years ago. You and him are wearing sleek suits, smiling brightly at the camera during the portrait awarding ceremony; the President decided to award a portrait for you and him as his token of gratitude for saving his daughter a while back. He remembers how you walked up to the photographer and asked him for a casual picture with you; Leon had a small smile on with his arms crossed while you were beaming bright, your body slightly leaned against his. The sight of you being so full of life caused tears to brim at his waterline, wiping them away before they could ruin the photo or his letter.

“You’ve still got some tricks up your sleeve I guess,” he quietly mumbles to himself. He takes the letter and the photo along with him, keeping the picture in the inside pocket of his blazer as he walks back. He looks up and sees a butterfly, fluttering right above him before disappearing and flying off into the wide open sky.

NOTE - I was literally rushing to get this done but I think this turned out pretty well. I tried to make chewy rice balls with my friend at his house yesterday and it turned out rock-hard 😭 We threw it to the wall and it literally bounced off and it sounded like we threw a pebble 😭😭What's worse is that this is a project and the teacher in charge for this subject is a culinary major... sir I hope you won't be disappointed 💀 Anyways, that's all for my fic and thanks for reading it!!!!!! Also thanks for 201 followers, this means so much to me, I <3333333 UUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!

The dividers are from @plutism , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[that-irrelevant-ricecakeaddict]

SIC PARVIS MAGNA ~[MASTERLIST]~

DC Birds Of Prey x ATEEZ

An au by @that-irrelevant-ricecakeaddict & @seventhcallisto

Character profiles: (Pt. 1) (Pt.2)

{Prologue}

With the only way to make it there by bridges and ferries, a towering city lies on a series of islands connected by bridges. Full of vibrant colors and skyscrapers that make the view even more impressive. The most beautiful glance of the moon rising over the ocean and plenty of places to sightsee. Dreamy, right? Who wouldn't want to live in the darkest and most dangerous place in the world? Notoriously known for being just that. There's an asylum not far away, remote, but still incredibly dangerous. And you have to watch your back every corner you turn. The alleys are full of criminals, which makes the locals fearful. And when the police do nothing to stop it, those same locals will decide to take things into their own hands. Vigilantes roam to protect as well as they can, despite balancing their lives on their fingertips. And then there are those who take it a step farther, anti heros, villains, thieves, and then your heros. All of it, in the City of Seoultham.

With the consistent activity of terrible occurrences in your life- you're really just trying to get by. College is your peak and you're using all of your energy on it. Your job takes up most of your free time, along with the amount of effort it takes to not tell the next set of persistent robbers to stop robbing the same store over and over. And luckily enough, you've got two rowdy best friends that have managed to keep you sane and a brother who supports you with anything you need. Despite their constant worry for your safety in the shady apartment complex you live in. Hey, rent's cheap! Plus, you're not safe anywhere in Seoultham…or anywhere, really. You know that from experience. So it's no big deal. Well.. that is until you're pressed into a corner, hidden behind the bar as gunshots and landed blows are heard over the intense music. The screaming of the party goers file out the door but the sound of shattered glass and knuckles hitting skin doesn't. Tonight, everything will change. All thanks to a series of events that lead to you crouched behind the bar counter and trail you further into something you weren't exactly prepared for.

MAIN STORY

Pt. 1:"Streets"

Pt. 2:"Who??" (COMING SOON)

[jasmines-library]

14 years

WHUMPTOBER DAY 16: Prompt: Experiment. Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Torn from your parents at a young age, you were experimented on. Your body and your mind were altered until you no longer recognised yourself in the mirror. During your time with HYDRA, your only solace came in the form of Bucky Barnes' voice on the other side of the wall. That was, until he left. Now, years later you have the chance to meet him again.

Warnings: Human Experimentation, pain, minor mentions of blood and gunshot wounds, brain surgery? kinda.

Word count: 2.2K

Note: I don’t own the art work in the header. This has not mention of skin colour despite the image on the right, I was using it for the cybernetics. My work is for everyone to enjoy :)

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

Darkness. It was all you had known since you were young and torn from your family’s arms. But that was years ago and you had long forgotten that touch could be tender. Since that fateful day, you lived in constant fear of the men who would drag you away from the little relief of sleep you got at night, although it consisted of curling up on a small mattress on the floor. You lived with the fear of waking up again and being forced through another day of poking and prodding in your mind. There was one voice that offered solace. You heard it drift through the vents many times, offering words of comfort. He had been there when you had arrived, soothing you of your nightmares when you woke up in a cold sweat. The voice would disappear for months at a time, until one day it never came back. Your blood ran cold whenever you began to think about what he had done. Part of you was certain that Hydra had done something to him - you knew he was defiant, and more stubborn than you, but all of you hoped that he had gotten himself out of this hellhole. Soon after his absence, without those gentle words drifting from the vents you began to feel less and began to gain control over your abilities. They had told you that emotions clouded your judgement and you had begun to listen without the defiance of your friend. But you supposed, that still wasn’t enough for them. You were never enough. 

As part of your daily routine, you were forced awake at the crack of dawn. This time it was a bucket of icy water. Spluttering, and sitting up abruptly, you groaned when you realised the situation. You hated water; it messed with your cybernetics if it got in the wrong places and wasn’t dried properly, and a malfunctioning cybernetic caused you extreme discomfort; migraines and sharp pains where the metal was connected to your body and to your brain. Sometimes, in extreme cases they could cause seizures or body shut down. One thing you were certain of was that although Hydra were technical geniuses, they had no care about the effects their experiments had on their patients as long as they functioned enough to benefit them. 

Dripping wet and shivering, you pushed yourself up onto your feet and were gripped harshly by the two guards. As they walked you forwards, your bare feet padded across the tiles. They were cold and bit at your skin. You were dragged through the corridors quickly and you tried to figure out where you were going, but everything looked the same in this facility; sickeningly pristine. When you saw the golden doorway, your chest constricted and you tried to push away, but they forced you into the room and towards the chair which sat in the centre of the square room. There were a number of unfamiliar faces dotted around the room, each tending to a laptop. It was the cart of tools next to the chair that caught you by surprise. It was lined with rows of screwdrivers and odd shaped instruments. 

Shoved down unsympathetically you fell into the chair, and the blinds closed seamlessly around your arms. You furrowed your brow when the halo of machinery that sat aloft didn't descend into your face to cause you more pain. Instead a man slid in front of you on a chair. He spoke to you about your cybernetics. You had one that ran around your right temple and down your cheek, it was the one that connected to your eyes and allowed extreme accuracy, as well as the ability to identify anyone in the database- and that was a whole lot of people. You had two more; one which made up the entirety of your knee- that one was accidental. You had sustained it after a gunshot to the knee on a mission. The second was your largest. It was from just above the nape of your neck and down your spine. Many of the nerves in your spine here had been replaced by cybernetics, allowing for complete motor precision and effortlessness when moving. It also ran directly into your brain, altering its pathways to create an advanced way of thinking. Supposedly, this one was a problem. The man told you that when they had created this cybernetic, they had allowed you to feel too much, and this compromised you in missions. They said it was how you ended up with the machinery in your knee. 

“You have to learn to comply.” The man told you bluntly. “And to do that, you must not let pests like the winter soldier interfere. He does not care about you, child. The only people who care about you are Hydra. Remember that. If you cannot learn that on your own then we must teach you a lesson.” 

He reached slowly towards the tools, picking up a screwdriver and a small hand held object that sparked. 

“No…No.” You shook your head. 

He only moved closer, swivelling on the chair until he was positioned behind you. Then, with one swift movement, he began to fiddle with the machinery in the back of your head. You shrieked as the pain shot through your head as the screws were removed, unsettling skin and bone, but then came the agony of the machine as it sparked away, allowing pieces of the cybernetic to be shifted or removed. You clenched your jaw, grinding your teeth together to try and bite away some of the pain. The man continued to work, inching deeper into your brain. It hurt; a thousand agonies at once all trailing through your body. Your muscles twitched as he worked around your brain, alternating your wavelengths and your feelings. Soon, your body began to feel numb. The stabbing dulled down into throbbing and shortly after, you felt nothing at all. 

~~~

Get in without being seen, take out the enemy, get the data, get out. That was the mission. A simple routine mission that hopefully didn’t require you to ambush your way out. You didn’t like to pull the trigger. It was messy and there was an odd feeling that twinged in your stomach when you watched the bodies drop to the floor like a sack of flour. You couldn’t place it, you just knew that it felt wrong. Especially when they were innocent people. They were usually innocent, your cybernetic told you that much. But your programing stated that they were in the wrong place at the wrong time and would therefore compromise the mission and Hydra. 

Sometimes, your mind would think that what you were doing was wrong. Sometimes you stopped what you were doing completely as you fought to keep a grip on a sanity that seemed more natural to you, though wherever you disobeyed, you were strapped to that chair again and experimented with until they made progress in a way that could get you to comply without fault. 

You moved stealthily towards the door; it was heavy and made of metal. You could hear voices behind it, muffled by the thickness of the steel. You could place around three or four, and the sound of keyboards clattering away. 

Reaching into the pocket of your suit, you pulled out a small device. It was round and attached onto the electronic mechanism of the door. Stepping back, you allowed it to work, listening to it whirr away and raising your dual pistols. When the device let out a burst of electricity and the door flung open, a set of heads turned towards you. You saw their names flash across your vision. Names, aliases, records, articles, all sorts of information that you processed and stored within your brain in seconds. It was the dark haired man who’s name failed to show up on your database that made you frown. If he was an avenger, surely Hydra would have something on him. You contemplated for a split second, before remembering your objective. 

Before they had a chance to move, you had released a round or bullets into the room. Most, although accurately placed, ricocheted off of the trained soldiers armour or shields. One however found itself within the shoulder of a redheaded woman. Gunting in discomfort, she dropped, manoeuvring herself around the room to cut you off from the data. You tried to turn, only to collide with a tall blond. You ducked, rolling across the floor to escape his swing. You fired at him, but it was blocked by his circular shield. Turning to move, you came face to face with the woman again, blood dribbling from her shoulder. You backed away, trying to find a gap between the circle they had created around you. And that was when you realised you were trapped. Then, something blunt hit the back of your head.

~~

The first thing you noticed when you awoke was that you weren’t lying on the cold floor. Instead you were chained to a hospital bed by a tight cuff secured just above the hydra insignia they had messily branded into your skin. There were tiny sicker-like pads pressed to your temples, monitoring your brain activity. They made you feel like a child again; helpless with no control. 

 The man who wouldn’t show up on your database was watching you from afar, leaning against the doorway with his metal arm folded over his other. You could see the angry scarring around it under the top he was wearing. It was similar to the ones on your face and your spine. His dark hair fell in front of his eyes and he tilted his head, studying your movements. You tried searching the database again for him, assuming that in the action your cybernetic scanners had failed to pick anything up, but once again his profile came up blank. 

“Who are you?! You asked, furrowing your brow. Too many thoughts raced across your mind. If you were the enemy, why hadn’t they killed you?

The man frowned, inching hesitantly into the room. His moments were precarious as though he was trying not to frighten you. “You don’t remember me?”

That voice… you knew that voice. He had spoken to you before, a long, long time ago. 

“Bucky..?” You queried. There was a name you hadn’t heard in a while. A name you unknowingly had yearned for everyday since he left you.

He smiled at you gently. You weren’t sure how you had really pictured him from the other side of the wall, but you weren’t disappointed. He had this gentle look about him as he watched you, though hidden behind it was a haunted look that only someone who had seen the worst could have. “Yeah Doll. It’s me.”

“You left.”

“I know, doll. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave without you but I had no choice.”

You sighed. “Why am I here, Buck? Why didn’t they just shoot me when they had the chance.”

“Because, Barnes is one annoying man.” Another voice chimed in from the doorway. He was an older man with tired eyes. He had a small beard too which sat below the hair above his upper lip. “He thinks that we can help you, like we helped him. Although, I don’t know if you deserve that considering you broke into our home, shot one of our agents and tried to take all of our data. Nat should make a full recovery, by the way.” He added just to jest. 

“Stark-”

“You know I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to get torn apart and pit back together over and over and turned into some weapon. I didn’t ask to be one of their little toys.”

Tony pursed his lips. Hot tears streamed down your face as years of your life replayed on loop in your mind. This feeling was something so foreign to you. You didn’t know how to comprehend it. Bucky faltered as he watched your mind fight itself, as you fought between what felt right and what you were told was right.

“Fourteen years. Fourteen years of pain and loneliness. Fourteen years of my life that I will never get back because they were spent being forced to do things that I never asked to do.”

Tony pondered for a moment, gaze lingering on Bucky. He saw how tender he was with you. He knew that Barnes could sympathise with you better than anyone could. They had given him a chance, so why were you any different?

“Call T'Challa.Tell him we need his help.”

Bucky beamed. After quickly reassuring you that he would be back shortly after your protests, he began to make his way down the hall, with a skip in his step. He couldn’t help but smile at the fact that you were going to get help. They were going to remove your programming, and you would be stripped of the confinement that Hydra had wrapped tightly around you like a boa constrictor. He knew that it would take time and effort, pain and trust, but he was willing to stand beside you for it all because he knew that slowly but surely, you would realise that you were safe. Slowly but surely, you would become you again. 

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY 15 ⛤ DAY 17 ->

Taglist:

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

@amaryllis23

Note: I was listening to the song 14 years but guns n roses whilst I wrote this :)

[conradscrime]

The Unsolved Murder of Jason MacCullough

June 21, 2023

On August 28, 1999, in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia, Canada, Jason MacCullough and a group of his friends attended a house party on Joseph Young Street. After 1am, Jason, who had just turned 19 years old the month before, left the party by himself. 

It was a short walk to his parents home, just over 1km. Jason took a shortcut through Highfield Park, which today is known as a not so nice part of Dartmouth. Jason knew this shortcut well, having used it before and it consisted of walking through a playground that connects Joseph Young to Pinecrest Dr. 

At 1:30 am when Jason was walking home he was shot in the back of the head. The shot was obviously loud, and neighbours that lived near the park heard the gunshot as well as footsteps running away. The police were then called. 

At 2:30 am, an hour later, Jason’s body was found between 100-104 Pinecrest Dr. He was less than 6 blocks away from his parents home. 

Jason’s death was surprising, as he had no history of being involved in any kind of criminal activity, he was not involved in drugs, the hit seemed random. Police stated there was no motive for someone to shoot Jason, even to this day, the crime appears to be a random act of violence. It was like he was just at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Dartmouth, Nova Scotia is known for areas of violence, drug activity, shootings and it makes sense that no one involved in any of that would come forward and talk to the police. No one wants to be a “snitch.” 

Jason was described as a wonderful person, he would often help neighbours, he would shovel snow for his elderly neighbours. Jason was a Chief Scout for Scouts Canada and volunteered at the Boys and Girls Club. 

Jason had graduated from Dartmouth High School in 1998, and had been accepted to both of the universities in the area: Saint Mary’s and Dalhousie. Jason had thought about joining the Navy and he worked at a gas station, being known to have excellent customer service. 

The following day, August 29, 1999, Allan and Carolyn, Jason’s parents, pleaded for any information on their son’s seemingly random death. Jason had not been robbed, which would have been the main motive for a random attack. 

There was actually a decrease in violent crimes in Canada throughout the 1990′s, but Nova Scotia was the only province that had an increase by the end of the decade (Statistics Canada). 

It is believed that people do have information about Jason’s death and there is probably witnesses to it that refuse to come forward. Again, no one wants to be known as a “snitch” and have that reputation for fear of their own life. 

Though there is no main suspect, the police did eventually release 5 sketches of men who were seen in the area and considered “persons of interest.” In 2000, 4 of the alleged suspects names were published. 

A few hours before Jason’s murder, three of the alleged suspects broke into a home on Pinecrest, close by to where the path would use to walk home. The men demanded money and one pointed a gun. They ended up stealing hundreds of dollars in cash and were arrested. The men lived in the area and all of them plead guilty to the robbery, though none were charged in connection to Jason’s murder.

In April of 2005, police confirmed they had new information and were searching for a woman believed to be at Highfield Park on the night Jason was murdered. Nothing else was released and no one knows if the woman was ever located. 

In 2014, one of the investigators, who had since retired, said that they had been very close to laying charges, so it does appear that the police probably have a good indication of who did this, but I wonder if they do not have any concrete proof linking the person or persons to actually be charged. 

On August 28, 2019, the 20th anniversary of Jason’s senseless murder, the Halifax Regional Police stated that they are aware of several people in the area at the time of the murder and encourage them to come forward with any information they have. Witnesses will not be charged for coming forward, police just need any information anyone has. 

The relationship between Dartmouth residents and police has been very strained, and Jason’s family has actually commented that they believe the case would of been solved by now if it wasn’t for a poor communicative relationship people have with police. 

The park was renamed the Jason MacCullough Memorial Park. On October 17, 2018, the annual Walk Against Violence was held, which honours Jason and other victims. Every year, Darmouth High School awards a student the Jason MacCullough Memorial Scholarship. 

There is an up to $150,000 reward for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the person or persons responsible for Jason MacCullough’s death. Anyone with any information, big or small, should call the Rewards for Major Unsolved Crimes Program at 1-888-710-9090. Any annonymous tips can be reported to Crime Stoppers, toll-free at 1-800-222-TIPS (8477). You can also submit a tip online at www.crimstoppers.ns.ca 

It will be 24 years this August since the senseless murder of Jason MacCullough. This case hits me hard as it happened just about 25 minutes from where I live. Please report a tip if you or anyone you know remembers anything about this case/day. 

Source: canadaunsolved.com 

[truetellsnigeria1]

Fears As Consistent Gunshots Are Heard In Abule Egba, Lagos

Fears As Consistent Gunshots Are Heard In Abule Egba, Lagos

Residents of the Abule Taylor community in the Abule Egba area of Lagos State have urged the government and security agents to take necessary moves over consistent gunshots always heard in the area at late hours, Naija News reports. The citizens during an interaction with journalists lamented incessant gunshots heard every midnight in the area. Residents of the Abule Taylor community in the…

[the-winter-spider]

If I Could Fly | B.Barnes

Warnings: Small bit of fluff, Buckys a d!ck, angst

Word count: 3.8k

Revised Version

Masterlist

The air on the quinjet was so thick with tension, it felt like even a freshly sharpened katana couldn’t cut through it. The mission team consisted of Steve, Bucky, Sam, Natasha, and you—the five of you always seemed to get paired together, whether it was all five or just three of you at a time. Usually, missions were gruelling but manageable, thanks to the camaraderie you shared. The playful banter over comms, the sassy comebacks, and Steve’s out-of-time jokes always managed to balance out the bruises, exhaustion, and chaos.

But this time, everything was different.

Natasha was hurt—seriously hurt. A gunshot wound to the back, and she had been bleeding out just moments ago on the table in front of you. It wasn’t the kind of wound she could shrug off, not something she could just stitch up herself in the bathroom and pretend it didn’t happen. And it was your fault.

You were supposed to be watching her back. You were supposed to make sure she was safe. But you slipped up, just for a second. You hadn’t checked if the man you took down was dead—a rookie mistake. The kind of mistake that got people killed. And in that split second, he had come out of nowhere, his pistol aimed right at Natasha, and he had pulled the trigger.

Everything after that was a blur.

The panic that surged through you, the screams, the blood pooling around Natasha as she lay there. Steve’s orders barely registering in your mind. The cold, metallic taste of fear gripping your throat. But what you remembered most was the ringing in your ears—so loud and constant that you weren’t sure if it was from the gunshot you had fired to finish the job or from the sound of Bucky’s voice, raw and furious, screaming at you.

He had been right there, just a few feet away, but his voice had cut through the chaos like a knife. The words were a jumbled mess in your mind now, something about failure, about how you should have known better. But it was the look on his face that haunted you. The pure, unfiltered anger mixed with something else—fear, desperation, maybe even disappointment.

Now, as you sat on the quinjet, your hands still stained with Natasha’s blood, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. The silence was suffocating, pressing down on you from all sides. Steve sat in the cockpit, his eyes focused straight ahead, but you could feel the tension radiating off of him. Sam was at the other end, his usual lighthearted demeanor completely gone, replaced with a grim expression as he occasionally glanced over at Natasha, who lay strapped to a gurney, unconscious but stable.

Bucky was seated across from you, his eyes trained on the floor, jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might break. You wanted to say something—anything—to explain, to apologize, but the words caught in your throat like shards of glass. Every time you opened your mouth, the image of Natasha bleeding out on the cold, hard ground flashed before your eyes, and you couldn’t make a sound.

Natasha’s injury wasn’t just a wound on her body; it was a chasm that had opened up between all of you. You felt it widening with every passing second, a gulf of guilt, blame, and fear. And the worst part was that you didn’t know if it could be bridged.

—

Steve was rushing Natasha into the quinjet, his face a mask of urgency, her limp form barely holding on as he laid her on the table. You could hear her faintly saying your name, but the words seemed muffled, distant. You heard her trying to say your name, but it was like your mind wasn’t processing anything. Everything around you felt distant, surreal, like you were watching it all happen from behind a thick pane of glass.

Your mind was in a fog, struggling to grasp the situation. You handed Sam the first aid kit automatically, your hands trembling slightly as you did. When did you even grab it? You didn’t remember. Everything was a blur.

Natasha’s blood-slicked hand reached for yours, her grip weak but insistent. She tried to speak, but instead of words, a wet, gurgling cough escaped her lips, spraying blood onto the front of her suit. Panic clawed at your chest, but before you could react, you felt a strong hand grab you from behind and slam you against the cold metal wall of the quinjet.

“What the hell were you thinking, Y/N?!” Bucky’s voice was a mixture of rage and disbelief as he shoved your shoulder hard enough to make your vision blur. “I’ll tell you—you weren’t!”

“Bucky,” Steve’s voice cut through the tension like a knife, sharp and commanding. “Now’s not the time.”

Bucky scoffed, the sound bitter and full of anger. “Now’s not the time? Then when, Steve? When she gets someone else killed?”

“No one’s getting killed because no one’s dying,” Steve retorted, but the conviction in his voice was shaky, like he was trying to convince himself as much as Bucky.

Bucky’s hand shot out, pointing at Natasha’s limp form on the table. “That looks like someone dying to me!”

“This is Nat we’re talking about,” Steve tried again, his voice softer but still firm. “She’s a fighter.”

“She’s out there because of her,” Bucky spat, his eyes never leaving yours. “She shouldn’t have to be in here, bleeding out!”

You tried to speak, to say something, anything, but the words lodged in your throat. It felt like your airway was closing up, like the walls of the quinjet were closing in on you. “I-I…”

Bucky’s gaze snapped back to you, his eyes burning with an intensity that made you want to shrink away. “You what? You’re sorry? I’m sorry you’re so reckless and only think about yourself. You shouldn’t even be on this team. You’re nothing but a burden.”

His words cut deeper than any wound, and you didn’t even realize how close he had gotten until Steve had to physically pull him back. “Enough, Buck!” Steve’s voice was a low growl, filled with authority.

But Bucky wasn’t done. He shrugged off Steve’s grip and leaned in, his eyes locking onto yours, cold and unforgiving. “I wish it was you,” he said, his voice so low and venomous that it felt like a knife twisting in your gut.

The words hung in the air, suffocating and final. All you could do was stare at him, the weight of his words pressing down on you until it was almost unbearable. In that moment, you knew that nothing would ever be the same.

—

You were at the back of the quinjet, clutching the edge of your seat, counting down the minutes until you could get off. Each bump and jolt as the quinjet sped through the air made your heart race, but not from fear of the flight—it was the tension, the weight of Bucky’s words still hanging heavy over you. Steve had insisted on seating you far away from Bucky, giving him space to cool down, but the distance did nothing to ease the storm brewing in your mind.

Why was he so mad? You knew you’d screwed up—badly—but there was something more in the way he’d lashed out at you. The raw anger, the venom in his voice, it was different, more personal. Your thoughts spiralled, dragging you down a dark path you’d tried to avoid and you had for awhile, ever since getting close with him.

You’d always known that Bucky had a past, one full of shadows and secrets, but this was different. You’d been naive to think that what you had with him was special, that the stolen moments, the whispered confessions, and the soft touches meant something more. But maybe it had all been a lie, just another fleeting thing in his long, complicated life.

Your mind kept drifting to Natasha. You knew she and Bucky were close—everyone on the team was—but now, you couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to their relationship than just friendship. The way he had shouted at you, the rage in his eyes, made you question everything. Were you just a passing fancy, a distraction, while he harboured feelings for someone else?

The thought of it made your stomach churn. How could you have been so stupid to think you were the only one he cared about like that? Of course, he’d choose someone like Natasha—beautiful, deadly, perfect Natasha—over you. What did you have to offer compared to her? The more you thought about it, the more it made sense. You were just a burden, an annoyance that had finally pushed him too far.

As the quinjet started its descent, you swallowed back the lump in your throat. The tears you had been holding back blurred your vision, but you refused to let them fall. Not here, not now. You couldn’t afford to fall apart, not when you were already hanging by a thread.

—

"Isn't it crazy that these were the same stars that were there back when you were a young man?"

Bucky chuckled, a soft sound that carried through the quiet night. "You always find a way to bring my age up, don't you?"

You rolled over onto your stomach, propping your head up on your arms, your eyes locking onto his. "Well, it's not every day I have a fossil laying out under the stars with me."

He smirked, shaking his head slightly. "That's how it's gonna be?"

"That's how it is, Barnes," you teased, your voice playful.

He reached out, patting the space beside him. "C’mere."

You didn’t hesitate, shifting so you were lying on your side, facing him. His right arm moved to rest on your side, his fingers tracing small circles on your exposed skin. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, but it was the way he was looking at you that truly took your breath away—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

The two of you stayed like that, eyes locked, the night air cool around you but the space between you warm and comforting. For a while, neither of you spoke, content just to be in each other’s presence. But then Bucky broke the silence, his voice low and hesitant.

"How does it feel, doll?" he mumbled, almost as if he were afraid of your answer.

You frowned slightly, confused. "How does what feel?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes searching yours for something, though you weren’t sure what. "I... I had all these walls up, you know? I let my guard down with you. How does it feel to know that this side of me is for your eyes only?"

The vulnerability in his voice, the way he looked at you as if you held the power to either save or destroy him, left you speechless. Bucky was always so strong, so composed, but in this moment, he was raw, exposed, and it hit you just how much he trusted you—how much he cared.

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. You tried again, struggling to find the right thing to say, but the emotion in your chest was too overwhelming. Seeing you struggle, he gave you a small, reassuring smile, his hand moving from your side to gently cup your cheek.

"I hope you don't run from me," he whispered, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin.

His words were soft, but they carried the weight of a thousand unsaid fears. He’d let you in, shown you the parts of himself that he kept hidden from the rest of the world, and now he was scared—scared that you’d see him for what he believed he truly was and decide he wasn’t worth the trouble.

But the truth was, you weren’t going anywhere. Bucky wasn’t just the soldier with a past full of pain and regret—he was the man who made you laugh, who held you close when the world felt too big and scary, who looked at you like you were the most important person in his universe.

You finally found your voice, though it was barely above a whisper. "Bucky, I'm not going anywhere. I could never run from you."

His eyes softened, and for a moment, you saw the fear and uncertainty in them begin to fade, replaced by something warmer, something that looked a lot like hope. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, and you both stayed like that for a while, the stars above you and the steady beat of his heart beneath your hand.

In that moment, everything felt right. The past, the future, none of it mattered as long as you had each other. And as you lay there under the same stars that had witnessed Bucky's life so long ago, you knew that this was where you were meant to be—by his side, for as long as he would have you.

—

You were hot and clammy, but cold at the same time. Weakness and dizziness washed over you in waves, your vision blurring at the edges. As you stood up, your legs buckled beneath you, and you nearly collapsed, but a pair of strong hands caught you just in time.

“Woah, Y/N/N, you okay?” Sam whispered, concern lacing his voice.

You forced a nod, swallowing hard against the nausea. “M-my legs fell a-asleep.” The lie was weak, but it was all you could manage. Sam gave you a worried look, his brow furrowed with concern, but he reluctantly let go once you steadied yourself.

You stayed close to the walls of the jet, every step feeling like a monumental effort. The bathroom at the back of the jet felt like it was miles away, but you forced yourself to keep moving, your hand trailing along the wall for support.

Suddenly, a sharp, excruciating pain stabbed through your stomach, nearly doubling you over. You bit back a cry, lifting your shirt to inspect the source of the agony. There, beneath the fabric, was a stab wound. Blood oozed slowly from the gash, and for a moment, you just stared at it in shock.

When did you get stabbed?

It was almost ironic how you hadn’t noticed in the chaos of everything else. Your mind reeled, trying to pinpoint the exact moment, but it all blurred together. The pain was getting worse, spreading like fire through your abdomen.

You grabbed a hand towel from the sink, pressing it against the wound to staunch the bleeding. The fabric quickly soaked through, but you didn’t have the energy to care. You splashed some cold water on your face, your hands trembling so badly that it barely did any good. For a moment, you considered calling for help, but the thought of being a burden, of making the situation worse, stopped you.

You’d just deal with it when you got back to your room.

Sucking in a shaky breath, you listened for the scattered voices outside the bathroom. Sliding the door open, you peered out, making sure everyone had disembarked before you stumbled down the platform. You stuck to the shadows, hugging the walls as you made your way to your room, each step more difficult than the last.

Finally, you reached your door. You punched in the code with trembling fingers, the effort almost too much. The door slid open with a soft hiss, and you slipped inside, gently shutting it behind you.

As soon as you were alone, the dizziness intensified, the room spinning wildly around you. You stumbled against your dresser, knocking over a few things. “Shit,” you muttered under your breath, the sound barely registering over the ringing in your ears.

You peeled off your clothes with shaking hands, each movement sending fresh waves of pain through your body. The stab wound throbbed angrily, blood still seeping from the gash. You managed to disinfect and wrap it as best as you could with what little strength you had left, though the bandage was sloppy and hastily done.

Stitches would have to wait until morning. Right now, you just needed to sleep.

Your eyelids were already drooping, heavy with exhaustion. You fell onto your bed, the soft mattress cradling your aching body. As the adrenaline that had been keeping you upright finally drained away, your body surrendered to the darkness. Your last thought before sleep claimed you was that you hoped no one would find you like this.

Because you weren’t sure you’d wake up.

—

Tony rounded the corner before entering the kitchen, finding exactly the group he was looking for.

“Morning, Tony,” Steve greeted, glancing up from his coffee.

“Cap, question for you,” Tony began, leaning against the end of the table, arms crossed as he stared at the group. “You three plus Y/N and Natasha were all on that mission yesterday, right?”

“Yes,” Steve replied, setting his cup down, sensing the underlying tension in Tony's tone.

“So, wanna tell me why I only have three mission reports? Romanoff, of course, is waved off, but you’re in charge of your team. Where’s Y/N’s report?”

Sam furrowed his brow, exchanging a look with Steve. “She didn’t hand it in?”

“Obviously not, that’s why I’m here,” Tony said, a note of impatience creeping into his voice. “Where is she?”

Steve frowned, his concern growing. “I haven’t seen her since we got back,” he admitted, his eyes flicking over to Bucky.

Tony turned his attention to Bucky, his expression sharp. “Tin Man, you two are practically attached at the hip. Where is she?”

Bucky grunted, clearly not in the mood for Tony’s interrogation. “How the hell should I know?” he muttered, staring at the table, his thoughts elsewhere.

Sam tried to diffuse the situation, “She’s probably sleeping. She looked exhausted after everything that happened.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Can’t keep track of your team, huh? Friday, where’s Y/N?”

“She's in her room, sir,” Friday responded almost instantly.

“Tell her to come here, please,” Tony said, sitting down and grabbing a piece of Sam’s toast. “This is good, by the way,” he added, trying to lighten the mood but not succeeding.

“Sir, she’s not responding,” Friday informed him.

“She’s really going to make me go get her,” Tony muttered, pushing his chair back as he stood.

“I’ll come with you,” Steve said, immediately rising to his feet. “She’s part of my team.”

As they made their way down the hall, Steve’s concern deepened. Something wasn’t right, and his instincts were screaming at him. They reached your room, and Steve knocked firmly on the door, but there was no response.

“Y/N?” Steve called out, his voice calm but commanding. Still, there was no answer. He exchanged a worried look with Tony before trying the door handle, finding it locked.

“Y/N, it’s almost 10 a.m. I need your mission report,” Tony called out, knocking firmly on your door. “Come on, kid, I know you’re in there.”

Steve stood beside him, a growing sense of unease gnawing at him. “I don’t hear anything,” he said, his voice tinged with worry.

Tony’s expression shifted from impatience to concern. “Friday, override the lock.”

“Yes, sir,” Friday responded.

A soft whirring sound followed, and the keypad on your door glowed green, indicating it was unlocked. Tony hesitated for a split second before gripping the handle and pushing the door open slightly. “We’re coming in, Y/N—fair warning.”

When there was still no response, Tony pushed the door open fully, bracing himself for what might be on the other side.

The room was dark, curtains drawn tight against the morning light. Steve’s eyes adjusted quickly to the dimness, and he immediately noticed the disarray—clothes strewn on the floor, the faint scent of antiseptic in the air.

Then his gaze landed on you.

You were sprawled on the bed, half-covered by a blanket, your skin unnaturally pale, almost as white as the sheets. Blood had seeped through a poorly wrapped bandage on your abdomen, staining the fabric dark red. Your breathing was shallow, laboured, as if each breath was a struggle.

“Shit,” Steve cursed under his breath as he rushed to your side, his heart pounding in his chest.

Tony was right behind him, immediately assessing the situation. “Friday, get medical up here, now!” he barked, his voice tight with urgency.

Steve carefully lifted the blanket, exposing the makeshift bandage. His hands shook slightly as he pressed his fingers to your neck, checking for a pulse. It was there, but weak, fluttering under his fingertips like a bird about to take flight.

“Hang on, Y/N,” Steve murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Help is on the way.”

You stirred slightly at the sound of his voice, your eyelids fluttering but not quite opening. A small, pained noise escaped your lips, and Steve’s heart ached at the sound.

“What the hell happened?” Tony muttered, more to himself than to Steve, as he began tearing through the room, searching for anything that could tell them how you ended up like this.

Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, couldn’t stop the flood of guilt washing over him. How had he not noticed? How had they all missed the signs? He gently took your hand in his, squeezing it as if his grip alone could anchor you to this world.

“We’ve got to get her to medical,” Tony said, his voice strained as he straightened up, having found nothing to explain the wound. “The med team will be here in a minute.”

Steve nodded, scooping you up into his arms as gently as he could. Your head lolled against his chest, and he held you close, his face set in grim determination. He wasn’t going to lose you—not like this, not on his watch.

As they hurried out of the room, Steve felt a surge of anger and fear unlike anything he’d felt before. If he had to carry you all the way to the medical wing himself, he would. But no matter what, he wasn’t going to let you slip away.

The minutes that followed felt like an eternity. The sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway, and Steve looked up to see the medical team coming around the corner, their expressions grim as they took in the scene of Steve carrying your almost lifeless body, covered in blood, Steve carefully placed you on the stretcher.

“Out of the way, Cap,” one of the medics instructed, gently but firmly moving Steve aside. He reluctantly stepped back, watching with a mix of fear and helplessness as the team rushed back to med bay.

Tony, who had been pacing by the doorway, followed closely behind, his face set in a hard line. “She’s going to be okay, Cap,” he said, though it sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Steve.

But Steve couldn’t shake the dread settling in the pit of his stomach. He had been in countless battles, faced enemies with powers far beyond his own, but nothing had ever terrified him as much as the thought of losing you.

[rendevousz]

freak

avengers x teen!fem!reader

summary: you get captured during a mission and the team saves you.

warnings: language, violence, brief misogyny, torture, **NO sexual assault (because as i was proofreading, i only implied most of the torture scenes because i didn't want to write it in graphic detail and i realised the vague wordings might be misinterpreted as sexual assault which IT IS NOT, just clearing it up), and also again, my inability to write good endings

word count: 4589

notes: i just rewatched iron man 2 so that explains justin hammer LMAO also ooc justin hammer because even tho mans evil, he gets extremely um.. cruel here but anyways i hope you enjoy this!!

you were 13 when you first met the avengers and 16 when you officially joined. you grew up as one of HYDRA's experimented children and the team had found you when they raided the base that you were in.

a small, sickly-looking kid you were, sat against your cell wall, hugging your knees. 13 but you could probably pass off as a 10 year old due to how malnourished and miserable you were. burying your head in between your knees, you covered your ears as the loud gunshot noises filled the whole place. the metal door of your cell slamming open against the wall had you whimpering, hands above your head in fear.

every time the door slammed open, guards would come drag you out for more experiments so it was an instinct for you to cower in fear at the sound.

"last room in the west hall, i found a little girl."

you heard nothing because you were covering your ears, preparing yourself to be forcefully dragged by the guards to the experiment room. but it never came.

"hey," a soft voice called. you were violently shaking at this point, breathing heavily as you tried to calm down. "hey, it's okay." the voice called out again and you felt them touch your shoulders.

your head immediately jolted up, flinching away from the stranger's touch. your eyes met a blue pair as you backed away into the corner in fear. "i'm sorry! i'm sorry, i didn't mean to." the man apologised. you slowly looked up at him, observing him. he had on a full black outfit, a quiver of arrows slinging on his shoulder and he was holding onto a bow.

"don't be scared. i'm here to help," he states with his hands out, as if to calm you down. "that's what they all say." you hissed through gritted teeth and a tear-stained face, glaring at him even though that could've been a very wrong move had it been with an actual HYDRA guard.

despite the strange feeling of being safe around this man, you didn't let your guard down. that's exactly what those scientists said seven years ago. trusting kind-looking men got you into this hell you never thought you would ever escape from and you weren't going to make the same mistake again.

"clint," a red-headed female, also in all black, entered through the open door of your cell with her pistol up. at the sight of the weapon, you broke your glare towards the man. your breathing quickened and you went back to your original position before the archer came; body pressed up against your knees and covering your ears with your palms.

"i'm sorry! i'm sorry! i'll come! please don't use that on me again," you whimpered, voice muffled as your face was hidden against your knees. the woman freezes mid-walk, looking at her friend with a bewildered expression.

"nat! put that away!" clint whispered harshly, eyes glaring at the pistol in nat's hands. nat's jaw dropped in realisation, a small gasp leaving her lips as she immediately put away her weapon.

she slowly makes her way to you and clint puts his arm out before she could get closer. he looks at her with a worried expression as he shook his head, as if telling her that she can't get too close to you. nat nods understandingly, crouching down a distance from you.

"hey," she spoke softly. "i promise you that we're not here to hurt you." you kept your face hidden from her, still hugging your legs tightly. nat sighs before sitting down.

"here, let's introduce ourselves. i'm nat and this right here is clint." you hear her speak and when you slowly lifted up your head, you saw the both of them sitting down in front of you, seeming to have made themselves at home in your pathetic cell. "what's your name?"

name? you had never been able to use your name before. you always kept your own name deep in your heart despite no one ever using it, afraid you would forget it if you stopped thinking of it. the only name they ever called you here was 'number five'.

"y/n," you whispered, still doubtful about these people's intentions. you almost burst out crying when you said your name out loud. that was the first time you introduced yourself with your actual name and not the number you were given ever since you were captured.

nat must have noticed this because she immediately spoke up, trying to distract you from your consuming thoughts. "y/n...that's a pretty name for a pretty girl like you. how old are you, y/n?" she asks again.

you contemplated once more but decided it was fine. you knew you were probably going to regret trusting these two strangers but what could be worse than what HYDRA has been doing to you for years?

"13," you muttered, looking down at your lap. you were now timidly seated cross-legged, playing with the tattered hem of your shorts. you heard a small gasp from one of them and looked up to see clint with his jaw dropped.

the two adults were both thinking of the same thing. how could you be 13? you were so small and sickly-looking, they didn't even think you were older than ten, let alone an early teen.

"i know you're scared and you have all the reasons in the world to be, but i promise you, we're here to help. we'll get you out of here, only if you trust us. will you trust us?" nat says. your mind was conflicted. you were either going to finally get out of this hellhole or you were going to be taken somewhere even worse than here. but could anywhere really be worse than here?

you decided to take a leap of faith and trust these two strangers. that decision had to have been the best decision you've ever made in your life.

you were now 18, an official avenger and you had the most amazing family you could've ever asked for. they were a bit on the crazier side but could you really have a normal family when said family consisted of superheroes? but you weren't complaining. you loved these people.

they were the ones who took care of you when you thought you had no one. having been a HYDRA experiment, you had abilities the normal human didn't. said ability being shapeshifting and healing. that's why you became an avenger. your shapeshifting ability was essential during missions where you had to sneak in and you being able to heal others was crucial when medic wasn't able to be there on time.

you pretty much came along to every mission despite the adults saying you don't have to. you knew they were only doing that to protect you from dangers of all those missions but how could you not when you had such abilities? they'd be much better with you helping.

that was why you were here, in bulgaria, fighting alongside the team. well, just steve, nat, clint, bucky and tony.

justin hammer had managed to get his hands on a type of out-of-this-planet weapon that tony was also trying to retrieve, and he had big plans with it. hence why the avengers had to come where hammer had wrecked havoc in; sofia, bulgaria. he had upgraded his robots with the tech used for the stolen weapon.

with evil robots attacking the whole city, it felt like you were living the story that wanda told you of what happened in sokovia before you met the avengers.

an hour passed before all of the robots had finally been taken down and you all knew you had to get to hammer before he activates more robots to distract you guys and uses the weapon for bad things.

"tony, have you located hammer?" steve's voice sounded in your ear through the comms. you had just finished healing the nasty gash on clint's side, nat's cut on her forehead and the bruises all over bucky. you were feeling significantly weaker now, from the amount of healing you did. you stumbled slightly when you walked and bucky immediately held onto your arm. "doll, are you okay?"

"i'm fine, buck. nothing i haven't dealt with before," you told him, gently removing his grip on your arm, walking back to the quinjet.

-

"no, absolutely not. we are not sending y/n right into a death trap. she's not even strong enough right now, she just finished healing us."

you were all back at the compound now and planning a second attack on justin hammer.

"it's not a death trap, buck. and i know you're worried but she's the only choice we got. y/n, all you gotta do is sneak in as one of his henchmen and provide entrance for us. once we get in, we'll take all his guards down and get that weapon from hammer and we won't have to worry about his world domination plans anymore. it'll be over as soon as it starts and she'll be back safe with us. sound good, y/n/n?"

"yeah, sure." you agreed, already having a person in mind that you were going to change yourself to.

-

the plan had gone just as steve wanted and they managed to raid justin hammer's building, tony stealing the very item that could've aided in the massacre of millions. justin and his henchmen managed to escape the building before the avengers could catch them.

"well, that was anticlimactic," tony scoffs, already making his way to the quinjet. "but good job, y/n. you saved the day once again."

he expected to hear a laugh from you, like you usually did, being the only one who ever responds to him after missions. but instead he was met with silence. "kid?" still no answer.

"y/n, where are you?" steve panicked, finally realising that you were the only one who hasn't responded in a hot minute. "y/n/n, this isn't funny." he breathed out.

"she's...she's gone."

-

"well, well, well," a voice spoke right as you woke up from your slumber. you squinted, noticing that you were in some sort of dark room with only one light bulb right above you. "what do we have here?"

a figure walks right in the light and you could barely make out justin hammer's ugly face with how dizzy you felt. "if it isn't the little freak." he states condescendingly, smirking down at your helpless position, both wrists and ankles cuffed onto the metal chair you were sat on. you struggled against the restraints, trying to get free but to no avail.

your breathing quickened, your current vulnerable state reminding you of your later years in HYDRA. they had started off experimenting on you on a metal gurney but as you grew older, you realised that what they were doing to you was bad so you started fighting back. that ended you up on a metal restraint chair instead of the gurney, strapped to the chair with cuffs on your wrists and ankles.

this felt like deja vu. the same panic you felt, the same breathing difficulties, the same amount of effort put into trying to get out of the restraints. "you should know, princess, that that doesn't work." hammer chuckled, a fake pout on his lips as he crouched in front of you, a rough hand on your cheek. you instinctively jerked away from his touch, to which he paid no mind to because he had expected that. he then grabbed your chin harshly, turning your head up towards him. you glared at him.

"you think i didn't know what you did? snuck in as one of my men using your freaky powers? not to mention useless. imagine having powers but not being able to use them to even escape from mere humans," he laughs in your face, harshly letting go of your chin, throwing your head backwards. "you tell me where stark planned to bring the weapon and i'll let you pretty little thing go."

"no."

before you could even comprehend, his fist came flying at your face and your head dropped to the side at the impact. your left cheekbone was throbbing and you could already tell you were gonna have a black eye. despite the pain, it wasn't something you weren't used to. you were an avenger, after all. getting decked in the face was practically in the contract.

he grabbed your chin once again, pulling your head upwards to face him. "you're gonna tell me where it is or i'm gonna make you regret it."

you looked up at him with a bored look. he punched you again. and again. and again. until you could taste the blood on your tongue. "think you wanna tell me now, sweetheart?"

"never. not to someone like you."

the man seemed to get a kick out of beating you up because he punched you again in the face. your whole face was pretty much numb now and the metallic taste in your mouth intensified. you smirked at the man before you, chuckling darkly.

"sure, beat up the helpless girl. that's the only way you can beat me, right? when i'm all tied up? what a man,"

his hand was around your throat within a second and he forced you to look him in the eyes again. "sweetheart, you're a girl. tied or not, you're still weak. not even with that useless power of yours."

taking advantage of how close his face was to yours, you gathered as much bloody saliva in your mouth before spitting it in his face.

it was very much the wrong thing to do because after he wiped off his face, he left the room and two men came in, various tools in hand for their fun with you.

-

"stark! my buddy! how's it going?" justin hammer's face appeared on the screen in the conference room, where the avengers were having a meeting about your possible whereabouts.

"where is she?!" wanda growled, standing up abruptly.

"what ever do you mean?" hammer smirked, feigning innocence. "you know what we mean. where is she?" steve spoke authoritatively, trying to control his anger at the sight of the man's face.

"i'll tell you where your thing is if you tell me where my thing is." he smiled wickedly. this caused wanda to get angrier. "y/n is not a thing! and the weapon was never yours in the first place!" vision held onto her to calm her down and it worked because she sat back down, though still glaring at the screen.

"oh she's not a thing? seems like it to me, though." he smirked and the team frowned, not understanding what he meant until they heard screams and justin's smirk widening at the sound. what a sick bastard. "what are you doing to her?!" bucky screamed, knocking his chair back as he stood up.

"i don't know, you tell me." he chuckles, and the screen changes to the live footage of you in the restraint chair with the two men in the room.

you were no longer fighting back now, just sat limply with your head dropped to the side. the first hour with them, you had been fighting back like you did with justin, despite the restraints, but now entering the second hour, you were too exhausted for anything.

your left eye had been swollen shut, you could barely breathe through your nose, your cheeks were throbbing like hell and your bottom lip was busted. your head was the only thing that moved freely when hit so the men seemed to find satisfaction the most when they punched you in the face. though that didn't stop them from inflicting pain on other parts of you.

"let her go, she's just a kid!" sam exclaimed, his grip on the edge of the table tightening to control his anger. peter and wanda were crying looking at the awful state you were in, clint, tony and bruce were silent in shock, steve and bucky were getting increasingly angry as the abuse continued.

"are you going to tell us where stark is keeping the weapon or have you not gotten enough?" one of the two men was heard asking, pulling your hair back to make you look up at him. you look at with your half-opened right eye, breathing heavily. "my answer's never gonna change no matter how many times you ask."

he scoffs, stepping back before the other man swings a bat right at your stomach. the air was immediately knocked out of your lung. the men laughed as you coughed up blood profusely. this caused wanda to get more hysterical.

"well, looks like she wants more. i'll call back when she's had enough. toodles," he waves his fingers at the camera with a sinister smirk before abruptly ending the call.

the room went silent after the call, save for bucky and sam breathing heavily from the anger they felt. bucky then turned to steve, pain could be seen on his face. "you said she would be safe."

"i–i'm sorry, buck. i didn't know he was gonna take her with him." steve was still frozen in shock, the image of you on the chair now permanently ingrained in his brain. in everyone's brains actually.

"guys, gear up, he's in colorado."

all heads turned towards natasha and she looked back at them with a 'what?' expression. "you were tracking him down the whole time?"

"um, duh? now come on, gotta save our girl."

-

you awoke to a stinging sensation on your inner forearm. after your bloody coughing fit, they proceeded to beat you up again and you were knocked out then. now you were slowly regaining consciousness but you were starting to prefer being passed out. your whole body was in pain and the fact that you couldn't even move made it even worse.

"oh, lookie here. sleeping beauty is up." you were met once again with justin hammer's ugly face. he was sitting on a chair perpendicular to your left side. you couldn't wait to get out of here so you didn't have to keep seeing his face every time you woke up. your inner forearm was stinging even more now so you looked down at it. you gasped at the sight.

"how'd you like my artwork?" he chuckled at your reaction. there on your arm, obviously carved out with the bloody knife that the asshole was so proudly holding on to, was 'FREAK'. carved out big and bold. on your skin. "pretty fitting, eh? freak? because, you know, that's what you are."

the blood was seeping out through the cuts and it stung even more now that it had been exposed to the air. the asshole moved his chair to your other side. "what should i write on this arm?" he feigns a thinking expression, looking up thoughtfully with his thumb and pointer finger on his chin.

"please, i–i don't know where tony put it. i really don't." you cried, tears now flowing freely down your face without a shame.

he looks at you with amusement. "what is this? are you...are you giving up already? can't take anymore?" he smirks and you sigh, closing your eyes. you just awoke but you were exhausted. so, so exhausted.

he takes out his phone, the smirk now permanent on his ugly face. "stark! kid's finally had enough. wanna tell me where the weapon is now or do you want to find her body at the bottom of the ocean?"

you couldn't even be bothered to react to his statement. the pain all finally registered and you were tired. tired and in excruciating pain.

"kinda busy right now, can you call back later?" you could hear tony's voice sound from justin's phone and the man beside you laughed. "i see you don't care for the girl. what could possibly be more important than saving her?"

"i don't know, you tell me." a voice said from behind you two and before you knew it, hammer was knocked off the chair he was on. you weakly turned your head just in time to see a metal arm force hammer up onto his feet before wrapping around his neck. "don't you fucking touch her again."

"y/n!" you heard wanda's voice as she entered the room with peter. more tears flowed down your face at the sight of them, stinging when they rolled past the cuts on your face but that didn't matter. your family was finally here to save you.

you saw the red mist of wanda's powers surround your cuffs before they clicked open. "oh, bubs, i'm so sorry." she cried, both hands hovering around your face, hesitating to touch you in fear of hurting you. her eyes fell onto the words carved out onto your skin and her mouth fell open before covering it with her hand. "i'm so sorry we couldn't get to you sooner." peter's voice cracked and you could tell he was emotional.

"it's okay," you told them, giving them a small smile, the biggest one you could give in your current state.

tony, sam and steve entered the room to see bucky relentlessly beating up your captor and wanda and peter standing by you as you cried.

"cupcake, we're here now. don't cry, you're safe now." tony came closer and despite knowing that you were because your family was finally here, you couldn't help but let out all the pent up emotions you've kept throughout your time of captivity.

sam had a go at justin once bucky was done and steve had to physically pry them both off of the sick bastard so that nat could cuff him and bring him back to the jet.

"y/n/n, i'm so sorry. if i hadn't–"

"it's okay, stevie." you cut him off. truthfully, you only did so because you knew he was going to giving a long-winded explanation justifying his actions and your headache couldn't bear to hear lengthy sentences. but you also didn't think it was in any way his fault so he didn't deserve to be beating himself up for this. shit happens, anyway.

"let's get you out of here, doll." bucky says, cringing when he sees the blood on the floor of your chair, as well as on your clothes. he quickly reaches to lift you off the chair but stops when you let out an ear-piercing scream of pain. "doll, i'm so sorry! did i hurt you?!" bucky questions in panic.

"y–you didn't, they did. it...it hurts everywhere," you cried, feeling hopeless that you couldn't even bear being carried by someone, let alone get up by yourself. their hearts broke when you said that. you never really cried much in front of them and you were known to withstand pain well because of how much shit HYDRA put you in as well as your powers being healing, meaning you had a higher pain tolerance than most people.

"it's okay, bubs. i got you. let's get you home, alright?" wanda's calming voice broke you out of your breakdown and red mist surrounded your whole body, wanda moving you with her powers. you were thankful of that because it didn't cause any more pain to your body.

maybe hammer was right. maybe you are just a freak with useless powers. wanda floated you into the jet and she set you down on the bed. "y/n, oh my god!" clint cried out once he sees you. you looked much worse than you did on hammer's camera footage during the call an hour ago. "kid, i'm so sorry."

"clint, take the wheel. bruce doesn't have all the resources needed. she needs to be treated ASAP." nat tells her best friend and he nods, taking the wheel and immediately taking off once everyone had boarded.

you were laid on the bed, right eye slightly open as bruce examined you. exhaustion hit you like a truck and before you knew it, you blacked out.

-

"how is she, doc?"

"pretty banged up but y/n, as i already knew, is a strong girl. lots of internal bleeding, broken bones, bruises and scars but she'll be fine. you can check her file later if you want," doctor cho tells tony outside of your room. "it's fine, can we see her?" he asks on behalf of the whole team standing behind him.

"yeah, of course! she woke up five minutes ago. i'll be off now, call me or my team if you need anything." she bids goodbye and left the group of superheroes.

steve slowly opens the door and there you were in bed, staring up at the ceiling. "hey, y/n/n," he greets sheepishly, feeling as though he had interrupted your alone time of blankly staring at the ceiling. the team trailed in behind him and soon your bed was surrounded by the avengers.

"hi, cupcake."

you looked away from the ceiling and turned your head towards tony. "oh, hey tones." you smile as sam helps you sit up while the rest sat on chairs all around you. "how you feeling, bub?" nat asks, eyes flickering down to the bold scarring of letters on your forearm.

"as okay as i can be." you answered truthfully, pressing your inner forearm closer to your body so the team doesn't see the letters carved onto your skin. you already know what you are, you didn't need the rest thinking so too.

"you're not a freak, bubs."

you look up at wanda. "i'm sorry, i didn't mean to read your mind. but they were awfully loud. you're not a freak, y/n. and you're not useless too. that bastard may have carved out that word onto your skin but the scar will fade. it's not permanent. you know why? because that's not what you are." she tells you, taking off her jacket to wrap it around you because you felt self conscious of the scars all over your arms where the team could see.

"yeah, doll. you're an amazing person and your powers help us so much. i mean, you saved millions just helping us get the weapon back from justin hammer. if you hadn't, well, who knows what could've been happening right now?" he places a gentle hand at the side of your head, stroking your hair.

"yeah and who heals us when we get really hurt during missions, huh? i mean, if you hadn't healed that stab wound i got during that mission in new mexico, i probably wouldn't even be here at this moment." clint tells you and you roll your eyes at him. "you're exaggerating."

"i am not!" he laughed and you playfully rolled your eyes once again.

"y/n/n, i'm really sorry for—"

"i don't wanna hear it, stevie."

"but–"

"no. it's not your fault. shit happens." you brush him off. "lang–"

"you say language to me, i'll blame this shit on you even when it's not your fault. try me, rogers." you glare at the blond super soldier. he raises his arms in surrender, leaning back on his chair as the team laughs.

the team continue to entertain you and you couldn't help but smile at the sight in front of you. these were the people who would drop anything for you and were willing to dropkick any asshole in the face for hurting you. justin hammer never had a chance against your family to begin with.

taglist <3

@amourtentiaa @rqmanoff @abitofeverythinggg

[thefanficmonster]

Few Too Many

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, In-game violence and death, Suggestive comments

Genre: Protective fluff, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Jealousy is a dangerous thing, especially when the jealous person is armed with a gun....in a game of Counter Strike. At least Y/N’s friend will now know not to mess around and flirt with her, especially not with Corpse around.

Requested by 🐐 Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your request! Sorry it’s taken me so long to complete and post your request but here it finally is! I didn’t want to make it IRL violence to avoid triggering anyone while I also felt it’d be very ooc for Corpse to beat someone up but I still hope you enjoy the fic if you come across it and read it! Love, Vy ❤

“Hey everyone!“ Y/N greets her squad as they all customize their characters while I sit there, observing and unknowing of what I’m supposed to do. “I invited Corpse to play with us today, hope y’all don’t mind.”

“Of course not! Nice to finally meet you, Corpse. We’ve heard a ton about you from Y/N, thanks for making our girl the happiest she’s ever been.“ One of her friends says, the tone of his voice suggesting he’s only half-joking with the dad like comment he made.

“Nice to meet you too, man. Glad I’m the one she gave the chance of making her happy. That’s all I ever wanna do.“ Though it may sound cheesy, as guys, her friends can probably read into how genuinely I mean what I’ve said.

Dating a girl with only guy friends has it’s pros and cons. Which outweigh which is still up for debate since I’m still researching, but so far so good in my opinion. This is the first time I’m interacting with them directly so I’ve still got a long way to go in terms of getting to know them and the details of their relationship with Y/N better. Regardless, I at least know they can easily understand me and put themselves in my shoes if I ever ‘mess things up’ with Y/N and she goes to complain to them - something that will most likely never happen. I’d never dare make this girl upset. Chances are, if I do, her friends won’t get to me on time - I would deliver my own punishment just the way I think I deserve it. However, there’s also the chance of them getting super protective of her and ganging up on me over something as small as a fight. By the many things and stories Y/N’s shared with me about them, I believe they wouldn’t think twice about kicking someone’s ass for her. They’re not massive dudes - I’ve seen pictures of them - but I for one don’t ever wanna see em angry.

“Ay bro, what’d you do to score our best girl? You must know what she likes. If so please, by all means, do tell.“ One of them, not the one who was previously talking, speaks up, his words making me furrow my brows in both confusion and irritation.

I open my mouth to complain as I slowly start cracking my knuckles when Y/N and her friends beat me to it. Thing is, Y/N’s friend group consists of three guys and her and yet four voices scolded the guy that made that suggestive comment. That being said, this guy probably isn’t considered to be one of her friends, at least not one that’s a permanent part of her friend group.

“Seth, cut it out!“ The guy I was previously speaking to says sharply before softening his tone to refer to me, “Sorry about my brother, excuse his lack of brain cells, please.“

Just then, I also receive a message from someone. Checking my phone, turns out it’s Y/N who by the way is currently in the living room while I’m in the recording room. Her text reads:

Y/N ~ Ignore Seth. I told Leo to not invite him but he’s still here somehow

I send her back a quick reassuring text before answering the guy I now know is named Leo, “No worries, it’s fine.”

“See? The guy can take a joke, you’re all just freaking out over nothing!“ Seth laughs, reminding me and the others of how loud he is compared to us.

Despite acting like it’s no big deal, I can’t help but admit to myself that this behavior of Seth’s has awoken a deeply buried suspicion of mine that’s not only mine but also arises in every guy whose girlfriend hangs out with a lot of guys. It’s not that I don’t trust Y/N - she could literally blindfold me and tell me to walk through a pool of lava, promising it wouldn’t hurt and I’d do it - but we all know about that saying that every guy in a group with one girl has liked said girl at least once.

Disturbing to think these four, including Seth five, dudes could’ve possibly been my competition at some point. It’s nice that they’re all super chill about it, mostly cause some of them have girlfriends as I was told.

Nevertheless, we get over that hiccup and carry on with the small talk and preparations for the game. Since it’s my first time playing CSGO, Y/N, Leo and her other friend Clancy explain the mechanics to me in detail to avoid me getting confused mid-game and getting myself killed. When they finish, we start the round and wait for the game’s algorithm to separate us into two teams which Y/N jokingly refers to as cops and robbers. Unfortunately, the end result of that separation ends up being me getting put in the terrorists’ force with Leo and Clancy while Y/N’s with the FBI, partnered with Seth and her other friend Evan.

“Alright, team, we shall now disperse. Corpse, remember, if you see more than one of them, radio in and lay low, we’ll be with you as soon as possible.“ Leo informs me as he runs off in one direction, Clancy going in the opposite. I confirm I understand and go along my way too, heading for this ancient looking structure that looks like it could belong in an old-timey movie. 

Walking in, I realize the place is way bigger than it appeared on the outside. A quick look up confirms that there are three fucking floors above, not to mention that the ground floor is huge. Luckily, there are many crates and barrels to hide behind if I come across an FBI agent. I sure as hell hope it’s Y/N, I could maybe even try talking her into giving me a second chance at life and pretend she never saw me. Come to think of it though, I’d probably prefer getting killed by her rather than her friends - especially Seth.

Given that we’re in a Discord call, I can hear all the conversation going on. They are all quiet though, I can just periodically hear the mumbles of someone muttering to themselves as they navigate the map cautiously out of fear of running into their opponent unprepared. The silence is put to an end though when Seth speaks up, addressing Y/N.

“Yo, your boyfriend’s with the terrorists, ain’t he? That’s like the universe giving you a sign that y’all shouldn’t be together.“ The fucker laughs at his own joke while I can literally hear Y/N rolling her eyes.

“Have you heard of Romeo and Juliet, Seth?“ She asks sarcastically, almost getting a chuckle out of me but I suppress it to avoid getting caught listening in.

“Yeah, they both die at the end. Fucking boooriiinngg.“ Just then, I spot two silhouettes entering the building. Aiming my gun at them reveals their names - just the people I’m currently involuntarily eavesdropping on. Seth and Y/N don’t notice me though so I quickly duck behind a crate and prepare to radio in when Seth continues verbally torturing Y/N and dancing on my last nerves, “I personally think the friends-to-lovers trope is far more interesting...“

Did this guy just- no, he’s gotta be fucking kidding me

I’m left with my jaw hanging in disbelief at this guy’s audacity. I have no doubt Y/N’s about to put him in his place herself but I just gotta have my own chat with this guy. And by ‘chat’ I mean I mindlessly rush out from behind the crate towards where I saw him and Y/N and open fire on him.  I hear his startled and upset screams with Y/N’s laughter in the background. She doesn’t try to stop me as a teammate of his should and would, instead she just observes the scene unfold, laughing her ass off.

“Yo man what the fuck was that for?!“ I hear Seth’s yell but only faintly since the sound of gunshots is still echoing through my headphones. Yeah, I’m not done shooting this fucker.

“Corpse...Corpse, buddy...“ Y/N manages through fits of laughter she cannot tame, “That’s a few too many bullets, he’s already dead.”

“And that was a few too many comments for him to be let off the hook.” I answer as sharply as I can with the new-formed smile on my face. What can I say, her happiness is contagious.

“Well, you got your first kill in CSGO. Good job, babe! I’m super proud of you!” She cheers for me, clapping her hands excitedly. 

“Nah that was my first overkill.“ I quickly add, with a more threatening tone: “And it won’t be my last.”

“Let’s just hope there aren’t few too many of these overkills either.“ She snickers.

“That doesn’t depend on me, babe.“ I say smugly, suggestively enough for Seth to pick up the dropped hint. Mother fucker’s officially been put in his place and I couldn’t possibly be happier - with the added bonus of getting a ton of laughter out of Y/N who also decides to walk away, leaving me unharmed but promising to shoot to kill next time she sees me.

I’m ok with that. She could kill me anyday.

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[kpoptwitches]

could you do a bts reaction to their so fainting for being so nervous/stressed?

|| Yes, darling! Because of how long the reactions are, I decided to split this up. I wrote this for the vocal line, but I’ll be writing the rap line soon. I hope that’s okay! 🌻 ||

Mafia!BTS Reaction: You Faint Due To Being Nervous/Stressed (Vocal Line)

Kim Seokjin

You’ll be okay.

Jin’s words kept echoing through your head with each step and spin you took on the dance floor.

All you have to do is distract him.

You kept your eyes staring at the floor, not wanting to make eye contact with the rival in front of you. His arm was wrapped around your waist while the held your hand.

Just a couple more minutes, you thought. You could feel your heart pounding against your ribcage. No matter how hard you tried to focus on Jin’s words, your mind kept drifting towards everything that could go wrong at this very moment. Each scenario playing through your head made you woozy, which only got worse when the man dancing with you finally spoke up.

“You’re such a pretty little distraction.”

Your eyes snapped up from the floor, scanning over his features. You noticed the dark glint in his eyes. The twisted smirk firmly planted on his lips. The pounding of your heart became more erratic. Your head began to feel light.

“What,” you replied, your voice becoming hoarse and shaky.

His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you suffocatingly closer to his body.

His lips grazed over your ear before he finally whispered, “I know what your doing here with me, sweetheart. Tell your boyfriend I said hi.”

Nausea flooded through your body. You stopped dancing, only to feel yourself rocking from side to side.

“I-I don’t ..” your voice trailed off.

Your eyes fluttered shut and your body dropped down onto the dance floor.

Jin watched the scene unfold through the cameras. His jaw clenched tight. He shouldn’t have put you in this situation. He grabbed his gun, shoving it into the waistband of his pants, before heading out of the security room.

“You’re going to be okay, princess. I’m coming to get you. Just hang tight.”

Park Jimin

Although you hated violence, you wanted to go support your boyfriend during one of his fighting matches.

You just never expected that the first time you went would be the time the police decided to raid the building.

You stood in horror while the police broke down the door, barging in with full riot gear. Their guns held firmly in their hands. They began shouting and shoving people down to the ground. You felt a hand gently hold onto yours before being tugged in the direction of an emergency exit.

“Jimin, where are we-”

Your whispering was cut off by the sound of an officer shouting at the two of you to freeze. Instead of listening, your boyfriend gripped your hand tighter and broke off into a sprint, bursting through the exit.

You were pulled along by Jimin, running down the street, taking random twists and turns. Anything just to lose the officer that was tailing you. When the footsteps behind you could no longer be heard, Jimin pulled you into a park, hiding in a series of bushes and shrubs.

“Fucking pigs,” Jimin spat, glaring off in the direction of the street.

You never realized how woozy you felt until you finally stopped moving. Your muscles felt weak. Your eyes had a hard time staying open. The world around you was spinning.

“Jimin..” you tried speaking again, only to be interrupted by your body falling to the ground. Limp.

He quickly turned his focus from the street to you. Jimin wasted no time wrapping his arms around you, lifting you off the ground.

“Hey hey, wake up, darling. Fuck! I should have paid more attention .. Let’s get you out of here.”

Kim Taehyung

You couldn’t stop yourself from biting the skin off your bottom lip. Your leg bounced anxiously up down. Your hands gripped the wrinkly sleeves of your sweater.

You needed to know if they found him. You needed to know if they found the man targeting you.

The doors to the office swung open revealing your fiancé and a few of his comrades. He immediately walked up to you, an apologetic look swirling in his eyes.

Your heart sank. More panic swelled up in your chest, causing it to become painfully tight. He hasn’t said those dreadful words yet, but you knew it was coming.

“We didn’t find him,” Taehyung’s voice broke the silence as he knelt down in front of you.

Those 4 words were your worst nightmare. Although you knew they were heading your way, you weren’t prepared for the crushing weight that followed.

“We are going to find him, sweetheart. I won’t let him get anywhere near you. He can’t stay off our radar for long ..”

Taehyung’s voice trailed off, sounding more and more in the far off distance. You could feel yourself beginning to hyperventilate. Your mouth ran dry. Everything around you became blurry. You could feel yourself shifting from side to side, before your body finally went limp, collapsing back into the leather chair.

Taehyung instantly stood back up, checking your pulse. Relief flooded through his body when he could feel the consistent pattering against his finger tips. He turned towards his men, eyes growing dark.

“You! Go get the doctor and be quick. As for the rest, I want everyone out searching for that bastard. Now. If he’s not found within the next 24 hours, things are going to start getting ugly.”

Jeon Jungkook

The music in the club was blaring, vibrations and lights bounced off the surrounding walls. Your hips swayed to the beat of the music, feeling utterly happy and relaxed.

All you wanted was one night to be able to let loose..

Your good time was interrupted by Jungkook wrapping an arm firmly around your waist, hastily dragging you off the dance floor.

“Hey, what are you-”

You tried to question your fiancé, but the sound of a gunshot rang through your ears. Your heart began to beat rapidly, overwhelming amounts of anxiety quickly swooped in.

In a matter of seconds, the club turned into a frenzy. People ran screaming in all directions. More and more gunshots continued to echo throughout the building.

Jungkook immediately pushed you down behind a row of booths, using them to shield you from the violence. He pulled out his gun from the waistband of his jeans and started firing into the crowd.

Your head began to feel light, the world around seemed as if it was spinning. Small black dots scattered themselves around your vision. You blinked rapidly, hoping to erase the darkness that was quickly creeping in.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you heard Jungkook’s voice mutter, “Are you doing okay?”

You let out a yelp, hearing a bullet ricocheting off the back of the booths.

“E.. Everything is spinning, Kook,” you mumbled, gripping onto your head.

You could fear a panicked ‘fuck’ leave his lips. Even though he was right beside you, his voice sounded far away. You could feel his arms wrap around your waist, hoisting you up off the ground.

“We are going to get you out of here, just hold on for me, okay?”

You tried to nod, but the moment you stood up, everything hit you. Your knees buckled, your eyes fell shut and you collapsed into Jungkook’s arms.

Jungkook could feel panic rise up in his chest the moment you became unresponsive.

“Shit, c’mon, wake up, babygirl. Now is really not a good time for you to be passing out on me.”

[candlewaxandp0lar0ids]

if I can never give you peace — one || Jungkook

Pairing: Jungkook x reader // Word count (chapter): 6k // Genre: Mafia AU, Hybrid AU, enemies to lovers // Ao3

↳ It starts like quite a few stories do, in your world. Girl meets boy, who happens to be a hybrid, girl buys him at an auction where hybrids are sold, boy falls in love with her, girl gets bored of him. Then it’s not so typical anymore, when the boy ends up forced into illegal fighting rings, until he makes a wrong move and the girl’s father decides he needs to be killed.

Where does that leave you? Well, you’re the one who handled Jungkook’s fight and generally organized his life, and, when the girl’s father, your boss and mafia leader, tells you he wants him ‘put down’, you’re the one who has to get it done. Except, instead, you let him escape, and everything turns out fine.

Until he comes back.

Warnings and tags (chapter): Descriptions of violence, Minor Character Death, Guns, kind of dark in general

Previous · Next

The first gunshot takes everyone by surprise. Unsure glances are exchanged all around, “did you guys hear that”, and disbelief is clear as day on people’s faces. There’s no way this would happen here, right? People are mostly aware of the fact that they’re technically working for a mafia leader, but this is the legal side of the business, and this building is in the middle of the town’s business centre. This cannot be happening.

You stay perfectly still, immobile where you were standing. Out of all the people here, you’re the one who is the most involved in the questionable parts of the family’s activities. In fact, you were just about to go up to Mr. X’s floor to discuss said questionable things — in this case, the smuggling of a large cargo of weapons.

The gunshot is still ringing in your ears when it is followed by another one, and then possibly more, but you can’t hear them because chaos erupts all around you.

People get up, start running around, some towards the elevators, some towards the stairs. Your brain tells you those choices are probably bad. If those gunshots are for the Family — and who are you kidding, they are — then whoever is firing them is coming up.

“Don’t use the stairs,” you order, and some people stop to look at you, unsure of what to do. They trust your decisions, to a degree, but you doubt it’s enough in this situation. “They’re probably coming,” you explain, even if three of the employees have already slipped through the door and left, “and I don’t think you should be in front of the elevator when the door opens.”

Blood drains from people’s faces. Downstairs, there are more shots fired. A woman starts to cry. Your brain is going in overdrive, processing everything, trying to come up with the best decision, and yet it doesn’t feel like anything is actually registering.

“You should barricade yourself in a room,” you say. Your voice is eerily calm, even to your ears, and it feels strange to hear it. It’s like a curtain has fallen between you and the world around you. You understand that this situation is terrifying, that you should have a reaction that is not apathy. You just don’t. “I don’t think you’re the main targets here. I’ll be going up to see Mr. X.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” a man shouts. “You just want to leave us here to be canon fodder! You—”

He’s shut up by your bodyguard pulling out a gun of his own.

“I suggest you do what she’s saying,” he orders, voice deep and gravelly.

On top of being armed, Hector is a bear hybrid you hired about a year ago. He’s tall and large, very impressive physically, which is generally enough to discourage any kind of altercation. He’s also a calm and gentle person most of the time. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him hold the gun he carries.

“You should stay here with them,” you tell him. He send you a disconcerted look.

“Are you sure? Even if they’re not the target, you might be.”

The statement shouldn’t take you by surprise. It’s something you should have considered immediately, and it takes you a second to figure out why you haven’t. If you are a target, that means the attacker knows about the workings of the organization. That would mean that they’ve been planning this for a while, and that they’ve simply gone completely under your radar all this time. Which is a lot more worrying to you than anything else.

“Stay,” you insist. When this is over, it will be better if people here think you had their best interest at heart.

If you make it out, that is.

Hector ushers people inside a conference room, and you walk towards the stairs. From there, you hear gunshots better than you did earlier, and you wince at the sound. You’re not used to it. It’s strange, since you’ve been working for the Family for years now, but you’ve very rarely heard people firing guns. You’ve never even had a gun pulled on you. You’d like to think it’s because you’re too careful, or too smart to find yourself in those situations, but the truth is you’ve just never been in situations where that sort of things would happen.

Sure, someone could send a killer for you — they have, actually — and then the carefully crafted net of precautions you’ve woven around yourself would — did — stop them, but you don’t participate in drug deals and you’re rarely out in the street, and that’s where those things happen most of the time.

You glance down. You’re on the fifteenth floor, so you doubt the employees who ignored your warning have made it out yet. You doubt they will, to be honest.

Glancing up, you wonder if you’ll make it to the twentieth before someone catches up with you and, since it’s a useless thing to think about, you begin your ascension. You’re not the most in shape, most of your daily exercise consisting in walking from places to places. That is a lot of walking, and you can do it without getting breathless, but you never take the stairs. Soon, you’re panting, and you’re about to take a break after three floors when you hear new gunshots that make you freeze.

These were in the stairwell. They echo deafeningly, and, for the first time since this all started, fear actually grips you. You swallow, heart beating loudly, and you keep going. You hear some screams, down there, and the horrible sound of flesh — bodies — hitting the floor, and then nothing. You’re sure someone must be climbing up those stairs, but you can’t hear them at all, and that terrifies you. You have no idea how fast they are, how soon they’ll catch up with you, how—

You slam open the door to the last floor. The time is not to discretion, and anyway, whoever is down there is probably coming for the twentieth floor.

The second you walk out, three guns are pointed towards you, and someone is screaming at you to stay where you are. You obey, until Mr. X’s bodyguards identify you. You had told him that hiring hybrids would be a good idea, since they rely more on their heightened senses and tend to have better reflexes, but you’d been ignored, so you had just shrugged it off and followed your own advice.

“Mr. X is inside,” one of the men tells you, pointing at the door, but not moving to take you there. You walk by him, and they all keep their eyes firmly on the stairwell’s door. That makes you assume the elevators don’t work, otherwise they’d have part of their focus on there.

“Mr. X, do we have any idea what— Miss Xanders, I apologize, I hadn’t seen you there.”

“It’s fine, (Y/N),” Anna says. “We really have more important things to concern ourselves with.”

“Do we know who’s attacking us?” you ask, giving your attention back to Mr. Xanders.

Mr. Xanders is an old man, you feel that he was already an old man when you’d joined. He had Anna quite late, when he was nearing his fifties, and he recently celebrated his seventieth birthday. You would know, you organized the party.

He’s looked old for as long as you’ve worked for him, using a walking stick, small eyes hidden behind large glasses, skin marked with wrinkles. But there was always something sharp and smart, cunning, in his eyes. Despite everything, he felt dangerous, and you had never doubted that he was not a man to underestimate.

Right now, though, he looks tired. Exhausted. He’s staring at his laptop screen and shaking his head, utterly confused.

“I can’t recognize anyone,” he says, and your heart misses a beat. Not good, that’s not good at all. “Can you?”

You walk around the desk quickly, examining the view you get from various cameras placed all around the building, and your hands involuntarily clench into fists as you see how dire everything is. On several different floors, men with machine guns are walking around, and you know for a fact they’re not working for you. You can’t see what’s happened to your people in the low-resolution, but you can guess, and your stomach tightens at the thought.

“How is that possible?” you whisper. “How has no one intervened yet?”

You know the police isn’t too keen on coming here, but this is genuinely insane. The only explanation you can think of is that they’ve been paid-off, and again, you don’t know how you wouldn’t have heard about that.

“That’s not what I asked you,” Mr. X says harshly, and you wince, focusing again on the men on the screen. You scan the men again, quickly. Some are wearing masks, but a lot of them are brazenly showing their faces, and that is one more thing that is not good. They should want to make sure no one would recognize them. If they’re confident enough to do that…

“I don’t know them,” you whisper. Some look vaguely familiar, but you just can’t place it, so you’re sure they aren’t big names. You have definitely not been on the look-out for them.

“Dad, we should really go up to the helicopter,” Anna says urgently.

Mr. Xanders hesitates, then nods, getting up in a movement that is slow and clearly painful. You help him out without thinking much about it, holding his arm and giving him his walking stick.

“How will you do that? The elevators aren’t working and the stairs don’t go to the roof.”

“We’ll reactivate the elevators,” Anna explains with a shrug, and you stare at her in disbelief.

“That will mean those people will be able to move freely in the building. I don’t think—”

“They are already moving freely,” Mr. Xanders barks.

“Still—”

Then, a lot of things happen at the same time. You were standing in front of the elevator, Anna calling it with a special key, the bodyguards surrounding you, eyes and weapons still directed at the stairwell door.

The elevator opens with a ding. And the door slams open.

There are gunshots everywhere. You dive to the ground, or maybe you’re pushed down, you’re not too sure. You look up to see two men falling down around you, the third guard ushering Anna and her father in. You try to push yourself to your feet, but the door is already closing. You call out, you can’t hear your own voice, ears ringing from all the noise.

You meet Anna’s eyes, filled with indifference and a complete lack of remorse, and then the door is closed, and you know they’re gone.

And someone, someone who wanted them dead and just killed two men, is in this room with you.

Slowly, oh so slowly, you turn around. As you do, you feel your lower lip starting to tremble, and you sink your teeth into the flesh to stop it. You push yourself on your elbows, and your eyes fall on a man with bleached blonde hair pushed back with a bandana, a round face that makes him look younger than you suspect he is, and a mocking smirk. Once more, you’re struck by the fact that you don’t know him. He’s alone and he took out two trained guards, not to mention the people he must have killed to get there, and you have no clue who he is.

His eyes confuse you, at first, and then you realize it’s their color that is throwing you off, an unnatural yellow, and the slit of his pupils. He’s a hybrid, you understand, and you curse yourself for how slow your brain is at the moment. You don’t have time to wonder if he’s part cat or part snake before he takes a step towards you. Fear grips you, and you consider crawling back, but you force yourself to stay unmoving. You don’t let emotions control you. That’s not who you are.

Instead, you stare at him straight in the eyes, even as you feel tears well up in yours. You’ve never been afraid of death, and yet it seems that you can’t stop your body’s reaction as you understand that this is it. This is how you die, where you die, this is who kills you.

The man crouches down in front of you, and lifts his gun to press the barrel against your forehead. He looks at you like an animal playing with its food. The situation seems to be amusing to him, and you think he is waiting for you to beg. You have no intention of doing that.

“Just make it quick,” you say.

You don’t recognize your own voice. The man’s smile widens, revealing pearly white teeth and a set of fangs. Tears start to roll down your cheeks, and you’re completely unable to stop them. You don’t feel sad or afraid, you just feel empty, but the tears keep falling. Still, you hold the man’s gaze. You won’t beg for your life.

“What if I let you go?” he drawls, and you can’t help the way your eyes widen at the possibility. Then, he laughs, pleased by your reaction, and you’re horrified to find out that this had an effect on you. The treacherous hope you’d just felt makes the reality of your imminent death crushing. A sob escapes you before you can get yourself under control again.

“Please,” you whisper. “Just get it over with.”

A pout forms on his face, and he shrugs. Then, to your surprise, he removes the gun from your forehead. The next thing you feel is the grip of the weapon, violently connecting with your temple, and then you don’t feel anything at all, not even the floor when your head hits it in your fall.

You wake up to the sound of soft, muffled sobs. It takes you a few seconds to piece things together, your head throbbing painfully and your mind in shambles. You lift your head with a groan, trying to take in your surroundings. Your thoughts are slow and you hate it. It makes you feel so vulnerable and defenseless.

Of course, that gets worse when you realize your hands are tied behind your back. That sends a jolt of adrenaline through your body, and you manage to look around you. It seems like you are in some warehouse, which, in your experience, is not a good thing. That’s where executions happen. They’re places that are accident prone, so the presence of blood could be explained easily, and they aren’t inspected that often anyway.

There's another sob beside you, and when you turn to look where it’s coming from, you find Anna, not just tied up but gagged, tears streaming down her cheeks. You assume that means her and her father were caught before they made it to the helicopter. On the other side of her is Mr. X, who seems to be in the same situation as her.

I’m here to be killed, you think. You can’t see another explanation. Mr. X and Anna are definitely here for that reason, so if you’re there with them— it means you’re here to die. You hope it will be quick, like you had asked that man, but you doubt it. If they took you here, it’s probably because they intend to make an example out of you. Intellectually, you don’t blame them. If this is a takeover of the family, they’ll probably need all the intimidation power they can get to keep the situation under control. It’s a ballsy move, certainly, and you would be at least a little impressed if you weren’t thinking about the creative and painful ways they can choose to get rid of you.

“Is she awake?” a voice asks. You turn your head quickly, too quickly, and another groan escapes you as your head painfully reminds you of the blow you just took.

You meet the mocking eyes of the man who knocked you out, before he looks away from you, at a large man you don’t think you’ve seen before.

“He wants to see her.”

The man nods, and then he’s on you in just a few steps, roughly forcing you up, his grip tight around your arm. You groan again as he drags you through the warehouse, to a large black car. You have just the time to think that someone must not want to be seen, if they’re in that, before you’re pushed into it. You lose your balance and land on your knees, and that’s when legs appear in your field of vision. They’re clad in black suit trousers.

You slowly look up. First, you discover elbows resting on spread knees, tattooed hands joined between them. Then there’s an elegant white shirt, unbuttoned at the top, muscular shoulders, a strong jaw, an amused, mocking smile and—

Your mouth drops open. Today is definitely proving to be a trying day for your reputation of never expressing your emotions, no matter the situation.

“Jungkook?” you ask, in disbelief.

Because it’s him. There’s something harsher in his eyes, his hair is longer, dark locks falling down to his jaw, and he’s lost any remaining softness he still had two years ago, when you last saw him, but it’s definitely him. He looks confident, and he’s more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him, clearly knowing that he’s in full control of the situation.

“Hey,” he says. “Wanna take a seat?”

He watches you struggle to get to your feet, something that turns out not to be that easy when your hands are tied behind your back, and doesn’t make a movement to help you. When you manage to sit opposite him, you’re still watching him like you’ve seen a ghost.

“What are you doing here?”

You know you should be able to piece things together to get an answer now. The deferential tone the man had when he talked about him earlier, everything that happened since these first gunshots… In another situation, it would be obvious to you. But because it’s Jungkook, you can’t bring yourself to come to the natural conclusion.

Jungkook had an out. He could have left this world behind altogether. So why wouldn’t he?

“Come on, you’re supposed to be smart,” he says, mocking, and his smile is harsh and condescending. “I’m taking over for the Xanders family. I think that should have been pretty clear.”

There’s a moment of silence, a long moment, as he waits for it to sink in. He’s in no hurry.

“But why?”

He shrugs, lean back against the leather seat.

“Because I can. Don’t you wanna why you’re here?”

That… would be a good idea, actually, and you’re bothered by how long it took you to think about it. You’re also bothered by how you lost track of that the second you saw Jungkook. You blame it on the surprise and on the fact that you’ve known him since before you became as— you’d like to say ‘efficient’, but the right word is probably ‘emotionless’. Empty.

“Why am I here?” you ask, frowning. If he wanted to kill you, he would have done it outside. It could be that he just wants to gloat, but something tell you he has—

“I have an offer for you,” he says, and then he grins and reveals his teeth. “It’s my way of saying thanks for how generous you were when you gave me five minutes to save my life.”

His tone is so abrasive it almost makes you wince, but you’re already falling back into your normal self. ‘Offer’ is a good thing, it means negotiation, conversation, things you can do, things you’re good at, things you can focus on to block out everything else, like the pain in your head or the guilt that settles in when he describes your actions.

“What offer?”

The grin disappears. He doesn’t seem happy he didn’t get a reaction from you.

“Work for me.”

That… makes sense, you suppose.

“I’m taking over for Mr. X. You know everything around here, and some people say you’re the best there is at what you do.” Then he shrugs, and casually pulls out a gun that you think was tucked in his back pocket. “That, or join him out there. I’m not sure you’ll like the outcome for that though.”

Despite the obvious threat, you can’t help but seriously consider the offer. If there’s one thing you’re sure of, it’s that it’s not a good one. Even if he manages to replace Mr. X, you doubt all the people who work for him will obey him. Stabilizing the whole thing will be a titanic task, but that’s not even what worries you — you can appreciate a challenge. No, the issue is that if you switch your allegiance, people will remember it. You will make a lot of enemies, and that doesn’t even include the people who simply will not trust you because you used to work for someone else. It’s a poisoned gift, really, and you’re sure Jungkook knows it.

“How do you plan on making the families follow suit?” you ask with a frown.

He rolls his eyes.

“Do people ever tell you how boring you are?”

They do, actually.

“This is not the only coup happening today. Some people who have already agreed to work for me will get in power. And the others… will take some convincing, but I’m sure they’ll come around.” He gives you a joyless, aggressive smile.

You’re still focused on his first words. You were already so puzzled that you wouldn’t have heard about what’s going on today — about how Jungkook is back in town, about how he’s been planning an entire takeover — but this is on a whole other level.

“How did you do that?” you ask, and when he lifts an eyebrow, you know you didn’t manage to keep your surprise out of your voice.

“Which part?”

“How did I not hear about that? I mean, Mr. X could sneeze and I would have known about it. People couldn’t open speakeasies without getting approved by me first — and they tried more than once.”

Jungkook looks at you, and disbelief passes on his face. This is what gets you? You couldn’t be bothered to give a shit about anything earlier, now you seem barely affected by the fact that he was threatening to kill you, but that caught your interest. Not just that, but you almost look impressed.

Okay, maybe you’re not as boring as he’d said, but you sure are fucking weird.

“We can smell you,” he says, tapping his nose. “It’s not too hard to figure out who you’re in contact with. Just had to make sure to avoid them. There were a few close calls, but we took care of it.” Then he shrugs. “It wasn’t as hard as you think it was. You’re not as cautious around hybrids.”

You stare at him for a while. He starts picking at his suit, looking annoyed by the turn the situation has taken, and you think about what he said. He’s right, you realize. You fucked up here — badly. You should have taken hybrids’ senses into consideration. You’d like to tell yourself that you didn’t think about it because there were no hybrids in high places, in the organization, but that’s not a good excuse. You file the information in your brain. You’ll do better.

“I’ll do it,” you say, and Jungkook glances at you.

“What changed your mind?”

“I’m— curious, I suppose. I’d like to see where this thing is going.”

Jungkook considers taking back his offer. He didn’t know what he thought would happen, but he expected it to be more interesting than this. Instead, you sat there, face as stiff as ever, and now you’re talking about being curious, which sounds wildly out of character, if you ask him. Yoongi’s told him you cried when you thought he was about to kill him, but he doubts it right now. It doesn’t look like anything can get through that thick shell of yours — and even if it did, he doesn’t think there would be a lot underneath it.

But the thing is, he was telling the truth earlier, when he said you were rumored to be the best there was at your job, and Jungkook is nothing if not a perfectionist. He likes to surround himself with the best. Which, unfortunately, means you.

“Suga!” he shouts, opening the door.

The man with the slit pupils jumps in easily, and looks at you with a disapproving twist of his lips.

“I’m not killing her, am I?”

He sounds disappointed.

Jungkook shakes his head in response.

“That’s Suga,” he tells you, pointing at the man. “He’ll explain how we work to you.”

You nod.

“I think he should kill you,” Suga informs you off-handedly, dropping on the seat next to you. “I think you’ll betray us.”

“If she does, I’ll kill her, if she fucks up her job, I’ll kill her, ” Jungkook says, and you have no doubt he means it. “Consider this your five minutes. Let them go, and you won’t have another shot.”

“That’s fine by me,” you say evenly. Betrayal has never been an option for you. You had no loyalty towards Mr. X, but the threat over your family was too big to risk it. And now, with Jungkook— you guess you’ll have to wait and see. You don’t think you’ll betray him, but if things turn sour… You suppose you’re not above it.

Maybe it should worry you, how little you value your own life, but you brush it off quickly. Thinking about it too much could compromise the way you do your job, and you can’t have that.

“So,” Jungkook says, leaning back, eyes watching you carefully. “What do you suggest we do with the Xanders?”

Suga opens his mouth, but Jungkook lifts a hand, signaling that he wants your answer. You wonder if this is some kind of test.

“Killing them would be the best decision,” you say, somewhat reluctantly. You know your decisions in the past, your suggestions, have lead to the death of people, but you’ve rarely been so direct about it. Then again, death is part of the game, when you work this kind of job. Mr. Xanders is about as close to an actual monster as it gets. And Anna… Well, maybe Anna isn’t. You don’t like her, and you absolutely believe that she was happy to enjoy everything that came with what her father did, but she’s not him. Which is a low bar to clear.

“She’s not wrong,” Suga echoes, sounding annoyed.

“Letting them live would be seen as a proof of weakness and they would try to come back. It’s just— a bad idea.”

You can see Jungkook’s jaw tensing. Next to you, Suga starts to make his leg shake. You suppose he has the same kind of bad feeling you do.

“What if we kill Mr. X but not Anna?” he asks, and Suga groans. Jungkook rolls his eyes and develops. “Yoongi, we’re not taking over the legal part of the business. We can just— leave that to her, and not bother about it.”

“We’ll have to figure out something else to launder money,” you say, because that was the main point of that side of things, legal just in name really. That is not your biggest concern, though. “But if you kill her father and not her—”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Yoongi snaps. “She needs to die.”

He’s right. It’s just the smart thing to do.

“People here aren’t impressed by mercy,” you insist, and that’s when you realize you’ve lost that fight already. Jungkook knows it. There’s no way he doesn’t. He’s made his decision, even if it’s a bad one, and trying to change his mind is useless. So you’re quick to jump to the things that need to be done if he lets Anna live. “You need to get her to sign emancipation papers.”

Jungkook tenses suddenly at the suggestion and a low growl comes from his throat as he bares his teeth at you threateningly. Yoongi barely moves, but you see his hand settling on his hip, near his gun, which you guess serves as a reassuring gesture. The car fills with tension, and you swallow. You feel small and defenseless. It’s not that rare a sentiment, but you suddenly become extremely aware of the fact that you’re alone with them, hands still fucking tied behind your back, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do.

“Anna doesn’t own me,” Jungkook snarls.

“Legally she does,” you explain. You’re choosing your words carefully, making sure not to anger him any more, but you’re still staring right at him. “You may have forged an ID or something, but if she lives and she can prove she hasn’t freed you— the consequences will be bad.”

There is a second that feels like an eternity, Jungkook just staring at you, lips now in a tight line, before he shrugs and you can breathe again.

“Okay. Let’s do that.”

Yoongi groans and sends you a furious glare that you don’t understand. You agreed with him. What did you do to deserve that?

“I’ll take care of Xanders,” Jungkook adds. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

“Can someone— Can someone untie me?” you ask as they’re moving towards the door.

Jungkook glances at you.

“We’ll see when we come back.”

A grin flashes on his lips when your lips twist into an offended expression, and then he jumps out of the car, followed by Yoongi, and leaves you alone in there.

Fuck.

What an asshole.

Jungkook walks towards his captives with long, confident strides. Yoongi is right behind him, of course, his shadow, the perfect killer. He may disapprove of Jungkook’s plan, if you can even call it that, and he sure doesn’t like how easily you dropped the topic, but he’s still loyal to him. If he fucks up, he’ll clean up after him.

Jungkook savors the moment when Anna’s eyes fall on him. He can tell she recognizes him immediately by the way they widen and how she tries to speak through her gag. It’s been years since the last time he saw her. Much longer than the last time he saw you, which leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He’s thought about this so much. A long time ago, he dreamt of her telling him she wanted him back, but over the years, it mostly turned into him finally taking revenge, and he intends to fully savor it now that it’s happening.

He removes the gag from her mouth, and takes an unhealthy pleasure from the way she sobs out, loud and desperate.

“Jungkook, Jungkook, baby, please, please…”

Jungkook only needs to glance at Yoongi for him to set her free, albeit after an annoyed roll of his eyes. The second he does, Anna falls from the chair, right into his arms. Jungkook knows that she’s only trying to save her life, doubts she’s thought of him for more than a split second since he’s disappeared, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to enjoy it.

“Hey baby,” he grins, and he watches as she winces when she sees his sharp teeth. Right, she didn’t see him after that.

Fuck. It’s been a long, long time. She really didn’t give a fuck about him, huh?

And yet he can’t kill her. And yet he knows her bright, pleading eyes, the light weight of her body, the curve of her neck by heart.

“I’m going to need you to do something for me,” he says, voice deep and eyes boring into hers.

She blinks.

“And if I do you won’t— you won’t kill me?”

Jungkook’s opinion of Anna is far less charitable than yours. He thinks she’s an opportunist, will do anything to preserve herself and, sure, she’s not personally involved in her father’s business, but she wouldn’t bat an eye if she was. She likes to play the innocent girl who’s horrified by what’s going on with her family, but she just isn’t. As simple as that.

“Nah. I won’t.”

It doesn’t take long before Anna is kneeling on the floor, writing down what Yoongi is dictating to her, reading from his phone. Jungkook could do it, knows the text by heart, learned it a long time ago when he still hoped for it, but he just stays there immobile instead, watching her at his mercy.

It’s not as nice as he’d imagined.

Finally, she hands him the piece of paper with trembling hands, a small smile forming on her lips as she thinks that her nightmare is over.

Jungkook takes it, reads it over, and nods. Then he pulls his gun out, and Anna’s smile vanishes. Jungkook thrives on her reaction, on the idea that he has complete power over her in that moment. It feels dark and twisted, but fuck, it also feels good.

“But I—”

He shoots and Anna yelps, protecting her ears in reflex.

It takes her a second to realize he wasn’t aiming at her, and relief washes over her, before she understands what it means. She turns around, slowly. And screams.

A clean shot, Jungkook decides, looking at Mr. X. The man had been glaring at him the entire time, and he doubts he would have groveled like Anna had. Now, his blood is splattered on the floor, head thrown back, mouth open, staring at the ceiling with empty, dead eyes. Jungkook doesn’t care when Anna runs to him, sobbing, calling for him, trying to shake him awake.

“We’re going,” Jungkook announces to Yoongi, who finally seems a little less angry with him.

He doesn’t look back at Anna as he walks away.

You rub your wrists, then your shoulders after Yoongi has cut you free. Jungkook doesn’t say anything about it, just sits back in the luxurious car. You thought he would look content, happy with himself. He doesn’t.

When the car stops in front of your building, you’re not sure what to do. Part of you still can’t believe he’s letting you live.

“We’ll come and get you tomorrow to get things started,” Jungkook informs you while staring out the window. “You know, you probably should have moved two years ago,” he adds, and for some reason, that really rubs you the wrong way.

“I changed the locks,” you answer, and he grins.

“You still haven’t figured out how I did it, right?”

You frown. You haven’t.

He looks genuinely pleased by that.

“What should I call you?” you ask. “Do you want to be the new Mr. X?”

He growls at the suggestion, but seriously thinks about your question.

“Call me— Call me Mr. Jeon,” he decides spontaneously, without explaining his decision, and you nod. This should help make things more professional, isn’t if this isn’t actually a professional setting.

“Fine, Mr. Jeon. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You’re pleased to find that your voice is back to normal, calm and even, not letting anyone know of whatever you’re feeling.

Except Jungkook and Yoongi can probably hear how fast your heart is still beating, but that’s a problem you’ll have to deal with some other time.

You step out, and linger there a second too long, the door open. Finally, you gather the courage to turn around and look at Jungkook.

“Why are you back?”

You mean a lot by that. In the city, sure, but also in that setting. You’d always thought— you’d always thought Jungkook was better than that. You’d always thought he should get the opportunity to get away and he’d be fine. That’s something you can’t shake away, can’t push under the rug.

He couldn’t escape.

He stares at you blankly.

“Where else am I supposed to go?”

Then he leans in and closes the door, and you’re left alone on the pavement.

Tagging list: @chaiwivluv​ @mintyrae​

[ahopelessromantic]

No Grave ➳ S. Reid

Pairing: Spencer x Reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: mentions of blood, surgery, a gun wound, quite some angst, Spencer and Reader are next level whipped for each other

Is there truly nothing that can get in-between true love? Spencer and you are forced to find out in the most painful way. 

(A/N: I kind of let myself get away with this one, it’s dramatic af lmao. But I listened to Hozier’s Work Song while writing it, so can you really blame me?)

Derek Morgan normally prided himself in having fairly quick reflexes. He had played college football, his rifle scores had always been consistently good, he was able to take down an unsub in less than a minute. But none of that had helped him when a psychotic suspect had shot down his best friend. He had to watch it happen as if it was in slow motion, his voice failing him and not even allowing him to yell out a warning. Spencer had sunken to the floor with a surprised look, blood already beginning to seep through the fabric of his shirt. He coughed weakly and immediately all of Morgan’s attention was on him. Full of worry, he barely even noticed Hotch arriving on the scene and taking down the suspect. “(Y/N).” Spencer spluttered out; his voice hoarse. Now, all of a sudden, everything was happening way too quickly. Morgan frowned in confusion at his friend’s words. “Is that the Unsub’s accomplice? Come on, Reid, stay with me.”, he growled, applying pressure to the gun wound. But he could feel Reid’s body growing limp. “Call (Y/N).” Was the last thing Spencer weakly whispered before passing out.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Emily hummed calmly, placing her arm around Morgan’s shoulders. He took a deep, shaky breath and shook his head. “Then why am I here and he isn’t? Why wasn’t he wearing his goddamn vest?!” He made a move to get up in agitation, but Prentiss pressed down on his shoulder, effectively stopping him. “You know Spencer would have taken it off to negotiate with or without your blessing. And blaming yourself isn’t going to help anyone right now. We’ll know more soon, okay?” He nodded, burying his face in his hands. It had been three hours of surgery already, and it wasn’t looking good for Reid. “Has Garcia found anyone with the name (Y/N) in the unsub’s life yet?” JJ shook her head, watching Morgan and Prentiss with a worried look on her face. “Nothing. Are you sure he said that name?” Morgan was about to snap at her, mad that she dared to criticize his memory at that moment, but then a nurse headed their way. They must have made up an odd group, just a bunch of tired-looking agents draped over various chairs and even the floor. “You’re with Doctor Reid?” This time there was no way for Prentiss to stop Morgan, he jumped up from his seat and towered over the unsuspecting nurse. “Finally, we see someone from your staff! Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve gotten any updates?” The nurse flinched, then regained her composure and straightened up to meet Morgan’s glare head-on. “If you’ve been here for so long already, you probably know that we’re not allowed to give you any information on the patient.” Morgan visibly deflated. “Can you at least tell us if he’s alive?” The nurse sighed, a conflicted look on her face. “Listen, his emergency contact is on its way. Maybe they can tell you more.” With that she disappeared down the hallway, leaving behind a clueless team. “Reid has an emergency contact?” Rossi asked but only got confused faces as an answer. After that, it was back to waiting. Just when Morgan thought he was going to lose his mind; someone came their way again.

You were sure you looked like an absolute mess. You had woken up from a terrible nightmare, and ten minutes later the hospital had called you. Before the staff member had even begun to speak you had already known that something was wrong. Like a madman, you had bolted through your apartment and carelessly gotten dressed. You were sure you had forgotten about half your purse’s usual contents back in your apartment. With some spare clothes and a hot to-go cup of coffee, you had gotten into your car and driven as fast as never before in your life. At some point, you had either switched on autopilot or gone into shock, or maybe even both. It was only in the hospital’s garage that you tuned back in, wondering how you had even gotten there in one piece. Upon seeing your reflection in the elevator up to the ICU you became painfully aware of the fact that you were wearing Spencer’s sweater. And with that, your emotions overcame you, threatened to pull you under like a deathly avalanche. With tears streaming down your face you made your way to the front desk, stating your name as calmly as possible. Your whole body was shaking and after the first whiff of hospital air you threw up into the nearest trash bin. One of the nurses had been so kind as to lead you to a waiting area and explain that Spencer was still in surgery. The people sitting there matched the descriptions of his team members and you weakly smiled at them. “You’re with Spence, right?” One of them jumped up from his seat and nodded, looking at you expectantly. “He’s- They told me he’s still in surgery.” Was all you were able to bring out before you broke down sobbing. A woman with dark hair pulled you into a much-needed hug, and if had you been less worried about your loved one’s wellbeing you would have felt bad about ruining her shirt with your tears. “I’m sorry if it seems insensitive, but I think we all have to ask.” A serious-looking man spoke up once you had slightly calmed down, now sitting next to the kind woman in one of the hospital’s dingy chairs. “Who… are you?” You were still so deep in thought that you hadn’t even heard the question, absently playing with the ring on your left hand. It was a habit Spencer normally called you out on, taking your hand whenever he spotted you doing it. It was also how the team’s glances landed on your ring, their breaths catching in their throats. “I’m Spencer’s wife.” You said with a heavy voice, swallowing down a sob. The team looked like they were about to bombard you with questions, but then a serious-looking nurse made her way over to you. You felt every single muscle in your body tense up. “Doctor Reid is out of Surgery.” For a moment you felt as if you were floating, ready for more good news, but upon seeing the expression on her face you could swear your heart stopped for a moment. “Would you please come with me?” You nodded and got up, your legs feeling like jelly. The nurse led you to the front of a hospital room. “You can go in and see him now, but I have to warn you. Your husband suffered a gunshot to his heart, and although the surgery has been successful, he’s still in a critical condition. He’ll only be somewhat safe once he makes it through the night.” You nodded, and without stopping to think for a moment you stepped into the room. If your heart hadn’t been broken before by the mere prospect of never looking into Spencer’s beautiful eyes again, it would have surely shattered into pieces now. Seeing his lifeless body on the hospital bed filled you with an indescribable ache like someone was physically trying to claw their way through your chest on the search for your now cold heart. The hot tears on your cheeks were the last reminder of warmth in your body, and you quietly whimpered. You sank into the chair next to his bed and felt yourself completely break, burying your head in the hard mattress. The eerie beeping of the heart monitor and the sound of the oxygen tank posed the soundtrack of your demise and for a while, you completely lost all track of time. You had known that his work was dangerous, and you had always been somewhat prepared for something bad to happen one day. You set up as his emergency contact was proof of that, of a partnership whose very essence it was to constantly fear losing each other. But nothing could have ever prepared you for this, sitting next to his pale form and feeling like you had been shot just as bad as him. It didn’t quite want to fit into your head, that this could be it. This could be the last breaths you would ever witness him take and it made you want to scream in pain. If everything had gone according to you, your life with Spencer had been nowhere near to being over. Hell, it had only just started. You gripped his hand, more to anchor yourself than anything. “Spence, baby. Do you remember the day we got married?”, you whispered in a last fit of broken hope. Maybe talking to him would bring him back to the land of the living, bring him back to you. Your wedding had been such a spontaneous decision, and yet, somehow, it had been the best day of your life. You had been speaking about the concept of marriage over breakfast, how commercialised weddings had become over the years, and then suddenly he had looked at you over the rim of his coffee mug and asked you if you wanted to get married today. There hadn’t even been any nervousness in his voice, he had been so certain that this was the way for you two to go. You had laughed at first, asked him if he was crazy, to which he had just retorted that he was crazy about you. “Nothing is going to change anyway. I’m yours and you’re mine for the rest of our lives, right? Might as well save some taxes while being together.” His words had been so profound that you hadn’t even had the chance to say no. So, that day, you in your prettiest sundress and Spencer in his best suit, the two of you had gotten rings from the jeweller around the corner and then driven to the courthouse where you had signed your lives away to each other. Now, sitting next to him in the glum hospital room, all of that seemed like a far-off memory. A sunlit moment of joy in a now so dull seeming world. “Your life is mine, and my life is yours, remember?” You whispered with an aching soul. “My life is going to end with yours and I’m not ready for that yet, okay?” Your voice broke. “I’m not ready to say goodbye to you yet.” You started sobbing again, and at this point, you were surprised you even still had tears in your body left to cry. All night long you weren’t able to get a minute of sleep, your gaze continuously fixed on the rise of his chest. If he was going to stop breathing, you had to be there. A doctor came by to check on Spencer in the early morning hours, looking somewhat hopeful. “He’s made it through the night, that’s good. Your husband is a fighter, Mrs Reid.” You almost hugged the poor guy, so grateful to finally have received good news again. “He should be waking up slowly, once he’s awake we can transfer him to a regular care room.” You nodded and looked back to Spencer, hooked up on various machines and tubes. The shadows under his eyes were dark, and although you wanted nothing more than to see his face full of life again you wished he would just take his time waking up. Normally you always had to force him to go to sleep. The team had been a huge help in keeping you sane, all of them had been camping out in the waiting area, waiting for any kind of news. Of course, you had wished to meet them under different circumstances, but nothing to bring you together like your husband almost dying, right?

Spencer woke up around noon. At first, you hadn’t even noticed it, but then his hand had twitched next to yours and your brain had immediately switched back into hyper-focus. He scrunched up his face, and then with the faintest morning voice ever he mumbled out a quiet “Ow.”. You started laughing and crying at the same time, pressing kisses all over his hand. “Why does my chest hurt?” He grumbled; his eyes still closed. “You were shot in the heart, honey.”, you reminded him, your voice almost matching his. It was then that he opened his eyes and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. You were never again going to forget how beautiful they looked. He weakly gripped your hand in his, his expression still more confused than anything else. “Is that why everything hurts?” You laughed and nodded, leaning your forehead against your joined hands. “I’ll go get the doctor in a minute. But do you even know how much you scared me?” Spencer lifted your chin and looked at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes. “How does that song you like so much go again? No grave can hold my body down, I’ll crawl home to her? You’re not getting rid of me that easily my love.” You breathed out in relief, leaning into his touch. “I love you so much, Spencer.” For a whole moment you got lost in his eyes, and it was there you knew that you were never going to take another moment with him by your side for granted. You were going to hoard them like a greedy madman and hold onto them until age or death would have to pry them from your hands. But then life picked up its normal speed again, doctors came swarming into the room to check on Spencer and you were filled with nothing but gratefulness to the universe for giving you more time with him, more time to make memories for your collection.

With a smile on your face, you watched the team spill into the room, all of them looking more than happy to see your husband alive. It had been two days since the surgery, and the nurses had only now given Spencer the clear for visitors again. Morgan sat down across from you, punching Spencer in the shoulder as gently as possible. “That’s for almost dying on me, and for not telling us that you’re married! We could have notified her much sooner, man.” Spencer had half a heart to look guilty, distracting himself by playing with your wedding ring. “You guys know how dangerously close Unsubs sometimes get to us. (Y/N) is all I have; I couldn’t risk her ever getting hurt. It’s got nothing to do with you, I promise.” Emily crossed her arms, looking down on Spencer in feigned anger. “Well, that’s good because we really happen to like your wife. She forced us all to sleep while she was waiting for you to make it through the night.” Spencer’s eyes met yours and you basked in the warmth flowing through you. He already had a cheeky grin on his tired face again. “Why does that sound so familiar?” You chuckled and rolled your eyes, gripping his hand even tighter. There was no way in hell you were going to remove yourself from his side during the next few weeks. After a few days he was cleared to return home, and you couldn’t wait to have your home feel like just that again. Home just wasn’t the same without him.

“Sir, you have absolutely no business still looking this good after getting shot in the heart.” Spencer laughed in surprise, shoving his wet hair out of his face. He had taken his first shower by himself today, finally able to fully move his arms again without ripping the stitches open. “Honey, I haven’t worn anything but hoodies and sweatshirts since getting back from the hospital.” You could see the familiar blush on his cheeks he got whenever you complimented him, and it filled your chest with warm honey to see him like that again. “Still. Being alive suits you.” He rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless, getting into bed and patting the empty spot beside him. “I know it’s early, but come sleep with me?” His painkillers made him constantly tired, but you’d prefer a sleepy cuddly Spencer over a Spencer in pain any day. “Like you even have to ask.” You giggled, turning off the lights and cuddling up next to him. “I know it’s a weird question.” You spoke into the darkness after listening to your husband’s calm breathing for a while. “But when you were on the other side… did you see anything?” You could feel his chest vibrate with a half-hearted chuckle next to you. “Go to sleep, (Y/N).” You shook your head and further curled up into his size. “I’m gonna need to hear you breathing for at least thirty minutes more before I’m able to fall asleep.” He took a deep breath and started drawing circles on your skin through the fabric of the ratty old MIT t-shirt of his that you always slept in. “It was just… lonely. And cold. So cold. For some reason, I knew you weren’t there. So I decided not to stay.” You tried to wipe away the tear that had snuck down your cheek as discreetly as possible. You had expected many answers, but nothing quite like this. “God, I love you.” You whispered with a trembling voice. Spencer turned to fully face you and caressed the side of your face. “I love you too. More than you can even imagine. But you should sleep now. I’ll still be here tomorrow, I promise. I’m never letting go of you again.” You nodded and snuggled into your pillow, a hand on Spencer’s chest. “Are you… checking for my heartbeat?” Eyes already closed, you giggled. “Shhh. I’m not letting go of you again, either.” With that, the two of you fell asleep. Spencer hadn’t lied to you. He was still there the next morning, and every morning after that as well for many more years. No matter how dangerous life became, he was always going to crawl back to you and you to him. No graves could hold your bodies down.

[spencersstrawberryjello]

Shitty Slasher Film (Spencer Reid + gn!MC - platonic)

Summary: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 8 (and minor season 7 spoilers but I figure if you’ve seen season 8 you’ve probably seen season 7 already lmao) MC and Spencer decide to go see a slasher film, but it takes a turn for the worse when the killer begins to stalk his victim. 

Content: Hurt/Comfort (because literally what else do I write at this point)

Warnings: Descriptions of violence, depressive thoughts, and swearing

MC’s name and pronouns: Neither explicitly mentioned

Word Count: 2285

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The plan was simple.

We were going to see a new horror movie in the theaters - it seemed similar to a slasher film that Morgan, Garcia, Reid and I had seen like six or seven months ago, so I didn’t think anything of it when we booked the tickets. Morgan and Garcia couldn’t make it tonight, unfortunately, but we still elected to go on our own, thinking it would be a fun little outing. That was, until the film started.

The lights came up on a woman, walking through a back alley alone, at night. Typical. I even glanced over at Spencer and rolled my eyes a bit, and he grinned at the stereotypical horror movie trope.

She died, of course, and for the first half of the movie I genuinely thought it was going to be exactly what we assumed. We were laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, with the stupid special effects and the subpar acting. But everything went off the rails after the first half of the movie.

The killer had revealed his primary target, his endgame, and - much to my horror - he had begun to stalk her.

Scenes of her creating a disguise, moving houses, throwing away her phone, spun a dark web that I didn’t ever want to think about. But I had more pressing things to worry about than my fear at a movie that was literally intended to make you scared.

I glanced over at Spencer, and I could tell that his breathing had picked up. His hands were gripping the arms of the chair, knuckles as white as his face had turned. I put a hand over his, and his attention snapped to me.

“Hey, are you alright?” I asked him. It was a stupid question, and one I already knew the answer to, but it was the first thing I could think to say. He looked like he was weighing his options for a moment before he shook his head.

“Do you want to leave?” I followed. He nodded, eyes wild, and we quickly grabbed our bags and left, just as the stalker had pulled a gun on his victim. Spencer took one last look at the screen, watching with wide eyes as the victim begged for her life. It was like a trainwreck; he couldn’t take his eyes off the movie, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him as the stalker pulled the trigger, and the woman crumpled to the ground. He practically jumped out of his skin when the gunshots fired, and I grabbed his arm to usher him out.

I didn’t realize the full extent of his panic until we made it out of the theater, bursting through the doors into the significantly brighter lights of the hallway. He immediately sat down on the couch near the doors, head in his hands, breathing rapidly.

“Ok, you’ve gotta breathe, Reid. You’ve gotta breathe, alright? In through your nose, out through your mouth, can you do that?” I adjusted my breathing to fit the pattern, and saw that he had started to slow his as well. “Good, ok… we can sit here for as long as you need to, just focus on your breathing.”

He gave me an almost imperceptible nod, continuing to breathe slowly before lifting his head from his hands. His eyes were red, and it was clear he’d been trying to fight off tears.

“Reid, I’m so sorry -”

It was at that moment that he cut me off with a hug, tucking his head in the crook of my neck as I felt his body lightly shake with sobs. After a second I hugged him back, not used to physical affection from him, but not opposed as long as he was ok with it.

“It reminded you too much of Maeve, didn’t it?” I asked, trying to ensure that the story I had in my head was correct. He nodded, his breath coming in short gasps again, and I hugged him a bit tighter. “Reid, I’m so sorry, I never would’ve suggested this movie if I’d known the turn the story was going to take.”

He shook his head, sucking in deep breaths before finally attempting to speak. “No, no, it’s ok, I know that you wouldn’t have done this on purpose. It’s just…”

He trailed off, but I knew what he was trying to say. “I was there that day, Reid. I know how much she meant to you.”

“The girl in the movie kind of looked like her. You know? Same hair, same face shape… when I saw the fear in her eyes, all I could imagine was Maeve, terrified, with a gun to her head. The woman I love - loved. The woman I loved. Scared, and alone.”

“Oh, Reid… you know it’s not your fault, right? You did everything you could to save her.”

“No. No, I didn’t. I should’ve closed my eyes, I should’ve tackled Diane - hell, I should’ve shot that bitch the minute I walked into the room! Instead I stood there. I stood there while the woman I loved died in front of me, and I didn’t do anything to stop it.”

“Spencer.” I put my hands on his shoulders, pulling back from the hug to look into his eyes. “You absolutely cannot blame yourself for this. What happened to Maeve was horrible, but it was not your fault. And you can’t live your life with that on your conscience.”

“Maybe I deserve to.” His voice was soft as he tucked his head back into the crook of my neck, and I put my arms around him, one hand lightly rubbing his back. My heart broke for the man in my arms - my best friend - as he sniffled, a few stray tears still trickling down his face.

“You don’t deserve to live with that kind of guilt, Spencer. Guilt for something you didn’t even do. And I’m so, so sorry that you feel that way. And I’m so sorry about what happened.”

“Sorry doesn’t make it go away,” He argued, his voice muffled by the fabric of my t-shirt, “Sorry doesn’t bring her back.”

I heard his voice hitch when he said it, and I held him a bit tighter. “I know it doesn’t.”

He was silent for a moment before he spoke again, his voice thick with tears begging to be released. “I just wish I could bring her back.”

It was as if saying it broke something in him, and I felt his body shake as he cried again, consumed by grief and guilt unlike anything I could ever imagine. He was usually so closed off about his emotions that having him crying in my arms was a rare occurrence, even after years of friendship. The last time he was like this was after Emily’s… “death,” and even that wasn’t near as intense.

I wasn’t sure how long we sat on that bench, the orange lights of the movie theater hallway creating a strange liminal sensation as I held Spencer, finally releasing the emotions he’d clearly been pushing away since Maeve’s death.

Eventually, he stopped crying, his breathing returning to something close to normal, and he pulled away from me, his eyes red from tears.

“I’m sor -”

“Nope, do not even start to apologize. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

He closed his mouth, contemplating saying something else for a second before nodding, hugging me again.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Reid. Do you want to go back to my place? We can order a pizza, and watch a movie - something we know this time. If you need to be alone, I understand, but -”

He shook his head. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” I sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady my own breathing after everything that just happened, “Good. Are you ok to walk to the car?”

“Yeah… I’m not sure how talkative I’m going to be tonight though…” He kind of trailed off, clearly drained, but not wanting to be alone.

“I understand; you know there’s no expectations with me, Reid. If you want to just wrap yourself up in a blanket and eat junk food, I get it. I just want to be there, to make sure that you’re ok.”

He gave me a small smile, and I grinned, grabbing his hand to help him off the bench. We made our way out to my car, and I climbed in, starting it before turning on the radio.

Spencer was pretty much silent the entire drive back to my apartment, the noise in the car mostly consisting of the music and my less than stellar singing. When we finally pulled into the complex, we headed upstairs to my place.

“I’m gonna order the food. Do you wanna find something on Netflix you like?” I asked as I unlocked the door. He nodded, and I threw my keys on the kitchen counter, putting in the pizza order on my computer. I saw him grab a blanket from the basket in the living room, wrapping it around his shoulders and plopping down on my couch.

I expected to return to the living room to see whatever movie we were watching cued up on the TV. Instead, I saw Spencer, staring at the wall across from him, remote untouched on the coffee table.

“Hey,” I sat down next to him, gently putting one hand on his shoulder, “Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

He was silent for a moment, and I could see the mental battle he was fighting. Eventually, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m afraid… I’m afraid that if I allow myself to grieve, if I allow myself to think about what happened, I won’t be able to stop. It’s been almost four months, I thought the pain would be gone by now. But it isn’t, it’s… I just miss her. I miss her so much.”

“I know, Reid. I know.”

He leaned into me, and I didn’t hesitate to wrap my arms around him, the thoughts of pizza and a movie completely abandoned in my mind. Instead, all of my attention was on Spencer as he spoke again.

“On the last case, Rossi talked to me. I told him that I wasn’t sleeping because whenever I did, I would dream of her. Of Maeve. And everytime I saw her, I felt nothing but relief flooding my mind. I told him how she would always ask me to dance, and how I always said no. I never even got to hold her when she was alive, and I was scared that if I gave into the fantasy, I would be lost forever,” He took in a shaky breath before he continued, “And he said I should. He said, ‘just let it happen, Spencer.’ So I did. I danced with her, I held her, and when I woke up, she was all I could think about. The way it felt to wrap my arms around her, the way her head fit perfectly into the crook of my neck while we danced. It took another day before I could think about anything but her, before I could stop wallowing in my grief enough to function. And since that night, I haven’t allowed myself to give into the fantasy again, the fantasy of having her back. I think… I think that if I let it happen again, I won’t be able to come back from it. It’ll just consume me.”

“Spencer…” I trailed off, unsure of what to say. He just shook his head, telling me I didn’t need to say anything as we sat there on my couch in silence. He wasn’t crying, he hadn’t cried since we left the theater. He was just… hollow. Everything that he’d been trying to repress - to compartmentalize - had finally caught up to him, in the form of a shitty slasher movie that we’d gotten cheap tickets to see.

I held him tighter, wishing that I could figure out something to say to comfort him, to take away his pain. But I knew there was nothing I could do. Nothing I could do but just be there.

“Have you ever considered talking to someone? Like, not someone from the team - a professional?” I asked.

“I’ve thought about it. But… we’re experts in human behavior, you know? What’s a therapist going to be able to tell me that I can’t already profile myself?”

“Well, it might be helpful to have a licensed professional to talk to about this stuff. Someone who can actually give you advice on how to handle your emotions. Because as much as I am absolutely here for you no matter what, I’m afraid I’m not great at mental health advice.”

“Yeah… maybe.” He sounded dubious about the idea, and while I wanted to encourage him further, I didn’t want to push him today. So I settled for just gently rubbing his back as he laid in my arms, staring at the wall. Eventually, the doorbell rang, and I got up to get the pizza, bringing it back into the living room and setting it down on the coffee table. By now, he’d sat up, the blanket still pulled around his shoulders, but at least a bit more present.

“Thank you,” He said, for the second time that day. I just smiled at him.

“Of course. I love you, Reid. And I’m always here, whatever you need.”

“I love you too,” He gave me a small smile back before turning his attention to the coffee table, “But I also love food - I’m starving.”

I laughed as I handed him a plate, joining him on the couch as we both dug in.  

[skeezsbbygirl]

on track + seo changbin

hello lovelies! ｡◕‿◕｡ this is for anon who requested for a racer!changbin scenario. i hope you like it!

REQUEST BOX IS STILL OPEN. KEEP STREAMING  AND VOTING STAYS. LET’S GIVE THE BOYS THEIR WELL-DESERVED WIN. 

"Hyung, can you stop pacing back and forth?" Hyunjin whined as he threaded a hand through his golden locks. "I'm getting cross-eyed," the younger added, finally opting to stand up and hold the older male by his shoulders, steadying him for a second and sitting him down on the couch. "What if she can't make it?" Changbin faltered as he sat down, hands fiddling with each other as he needed something to occupy his senses.

Today was Changbin's race, one more win and SKZ was on their way to the finals, with Chan next in line to compete and finish off the tournament, that is, if Changbin wins today. He felt the pressure for his group as he first handedly witnessed the boys' struggles and hardships before making a name for themselves within the racing industry. Chan and Minho started off as a duo, but later on discovered the rest of the team through months of scouting within tournaments. Changbin has been training for months for this opportunity and you had been there since day one -- cheering them on in the background, providing connections, and witnessing their moments of triumph and uncertainty.

Although everybody claims that Changbin is one of the team's strongest player, he still needed to be reminded of that fact from time to time. He was scared, more than he would ever admit, but when faced with consoling glances, he'd just shrug it off and act smug about it, but you knew Changbin has his own battles.

"Bin, you have to get ready," Chan said, tapping the younger lad's right knee in the process. "Race starts in an hour and we need to double check everything before you go on track," he urged. The race was about to start and he could hear the commentators voice booming over the speakers, calling on the teams to assemble and do last minute checks, but Changbin resisted Chan's order, he didn't want to go down to their shed unless he saw you first. Chan shot Hyunjin a confused look and the younger mouthed your name in response, Chan nodded in understanding. "Alright, I'll head down first," he offered.

A few minutes later, Jisung and Felix's cheers jolted Changbin from his seat as they entered the room with you. Hyunjin took this as a cue to stand from his seat and join the other two in order to give you two some needed privacy.

"Where's my champion?" you announced as you scanned the room for Changbin. The said man broke into a sweet smile, a relieved sigh escaping his lips as he took in your presence. "You made it!" He cheered, hurriedly walking towards you with his arms wide open. As you neared him, you wrapped your arms around him and planted a kiss on his forehead. "Hi, baby," you gushed, tightening your hold on him. Changbin pulled away first, revealing the troubled expression that masked his sharp features, "I was starting to get worried."

You were staggered at his response, "Aw, baby. I'm always going to be here, you hear me?"

As if on cue, Changbin's lips formed a small smile as he heard your voice -- laced with nothing, but love and comfort. "I know, but this is the first time that we were given an opportunity to participate in the finals," he explained as he dropped his hands to intertwine his fingers with yours. "You guys earned it after all you've been through and I know for sure, that your name will be written as the victor a few hours from now," you reassured which earned you a kiss from him. "I love you, (y/n). I know I haven't been the best boyfriend lately but-," you shushed him, shooting him a playful glare as he attempted to insist and continue.

"No," you shook your head. "You're the best boyfriend and I appreciate everything that you do. Nobody can convince me otherwise, not even you, mister," you added. Changbin sighed in defeat, "How did I get so lucky?"

You lifted your shoulders in a half shrug. "I must've saved the country in my past life," you joked to which Changbin responded with a hearty laugh. "There you go," you paused, noting his now relaxed demeanour, "You have nothing to be worried about," you continued. He nodded and as he was about to lean in, a knock interrupted his advances.

Minho appeared from the doorway. "Time's up, lovebirds," he announced, "Chan-hyung wants you in the station now," he said as his gaze landed on Changbin.  "Got it, hyung," the younger male nodded, giving you a quick kiss before pulling away from your hold and grabbing his gear. "I'll see you out there, champion," you said as you bid Changbin goodbye.

Soon after, gunshots were fired, which signalled the start of the race. The cars' engine roared to life as the contestants continuously drove laps, each of them eager  to grab a winning slot which would allow them to advance into the finals. You fiddled in your seat as you witnessed Chan with the other boys moving in a hurried pace -- their muscles tensed and their facial expressions tinted with a slight hint of nervousness. It was the last lap and Changbin was leading but their biggest rival, GT7, was not too far behind, they were merely seconds away from Changbin's time.

"You can do this boys," you muttered as you bit your lip, a mannerism you adopted whenever you were feeling nervous or anxious.

You watched in fear as the cars neared the last lap.

S. Changbin [SKZ] - 3.28.43 W. Jackson [GT7] - 3.29.12 C. San [ATZ] - 3.31.10

"And there you have it ladies and gentlemen, SKZ's Changbin leads the race with GT7's Jackson and ATZ's San in second and third place, respectively. Congratulations to all participants!" the announcer concluded which earned loud cheers and applauses from the audience, including yourself.

You made your way towards the field, a smile plastered on your face.

"(Y/n)!" the boys called out for you as you approached them. Soon, you were engulfed in a group hug. "I'm so proud of you guys!" you exclaimed. Praises and words of thanks were exchanged, but you guys were interrupted by SKZ's manager calling for Chan and Changbin. "The press wants a word with the two of you."

The two men nodded and followed the elder. It was a routine during tournaments, the press would interview the victors in hopes of getting a story, asking them how they felt at the moment and plans for their team's next move. You watched in awe as Changbin stood there, a gold medal around his neck and Chan's arm around his shoulder with a proud smile.

"I'd never get to where I am today without this man beside me and my team," Changbin answered, gesturing towards where you and the other members stood. "Now, let's be honest. Not only are agencies lining up to make you take their offers, I'm sure the ladies are also taking an interest towards you guys, considering the number spectators today," the reporter noted as she pointed towards the audience, which earned her loud cheers from the crowd that mostly consisted of girls around the guys' age.

Chan chuckled, shooting a wink towards a group of girls, who screamed even louder. "We appreciate the love and support," he answered, unbothered by the ruckus he caused just a few seconds ago. "However, this guy right there is off the market," Chan teasingly nudged Changbin to which the younger lad smirked in response.

"Oh, and who is this lucky lady?" the reporter asked as she scanned the field, finally landing her eyes on you as the boys behind you cheered and hollered. "If anybody gets to be called lucky, that's me. I'm the one who's lucky to have someone as lovely and patient as her. She's been with us since day one," Changbin expressed, voice laced with affection as he shot you a wink.

A few minutes later, the boys concluded their interview and bid the reporter goodbye.

Changbin and Chan sauntered towards your group, politely bowing to the people that congratulated them on their way. "We'll be in the waiting room," Minho announced, gathering the other members, leaving you and Changbin alone.

"Congratulations, baby," you beamed at Changbin, who only pulled you in his embrace as a response. "I'm so proud of you," you added, rubbing his back in attempt to relax his tensed stature. "Thank you, (y/n)," he whispered, snuggling his face into your neck, making you giggle. "Alright, save it for tonight," you blushed as you pulled away and led him towards the waiting room.

"But what about my congratulatory kiss?' he whined.

"I'll give it to you later, I don't want to create a scene in front of your new admirers," you chuckled, referring to the comment that the reporter made a while ago.

"But, baby."

"Keep walking, Changbin."

[sodone-withlife]

human

@yourlocalheartbreaker thanks so much for your post about Nelson’s Sparrow. I had already started a blurb exploring Hotch’s response to Gideon’s death, but you brought up the fact that he very likely had to ID the body, and I just had to include that in this blurb. 

I’ll be honest: I have done little to no proofreading, and it doesn’t flow as smoothly as I’d like, but I just needed to get this out. 

warning: canonical character death

word count: 2.08k words

“Where did Hotch go?”

Rossi looked up at Morgan leaning against the doorway. “He’s taking some personal time.”

Morgan raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Now? It’s barely after lunch, what does he need it for?”

Rossi shook his head. “Didn’t ask.”

“And you aren’t at least a little concerned?” Morgan asked skeptically. “Has he ever up and left in the middle of the workday?”

“Well, I’d ask, but he said that he’s cutting communication and that if he is needed he’s only answering Penelope or Jessica’s call.”

“Jack’s not with him?” Morgan asked, taken aback at yet another out-of-character decision. He couldn’t remember if Hotch had ever taken a personal day without Jack.

Rossi shrugged, though his concern was also obvious. “Even Hotch needs a break sometimes.”

The crisp winter air of the Virginia wilderness was filled with silence, only cut by the sounds of nature. Hotch stood in front of the cabin, staring blankly and letting the ambiance of the place that had been Gideon’s chosen safe haven wash over him. It was a far cry from his once-daily forays into the mind of the scourge of humanity. 

Only now it was tainted with blood, with the murder of the man who had found a refuge in the peace of this forest. 

Is there really a place on the planet that hasn’t seen the vileness of man?

How could he possibly articulate the sheer depth of the grief and resentment that he felt towards the man who had once been one of his mentors, who had left him floundering in the dust to clean up the mess that was left behind?

Insomnia had been keeping Hotch up way past midnight and he was going through paperwork with the hope that it would bore him to sleep when he got the call. Years of getting cases in the middle of the night had left its mark, as the sound of his ringtone cleared his head as it had done so many times in the past. Reaching for his phone, he anticipated the multiple trips to the coffee machine that had replaced the old, faithfully crappy machine that had been there when he first joined the unit.

And he was right—he wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night. 

Or the next night, for that matter.

Hotch remembered feeling strangely detached from his person as he put on a coat and, on a whim, pulled out his service weapons from the safe, grabbing his work bag as he left the apartment and headed towards his car. 

In any other situation, he would have worried about falling asleep at the wheel during the long drive.

In any other situation, he would have called the team to assemble.

But this was not any other situation. Seeing the flashing red and blue lights from an emergency vehicle illuminating the cabin and the surrounding clearing proved that something was wrong, and when he approached one of the EMTs, he knew this was something he had to do for the sake of the team. As he always does.

For the sake of the team.

They had gone through too much.

It was a surprise to see his contact flashing on his phone screen after over seven years of no contact, but it was alarming when he heard pained groans and then a series of gunshots from the other end. 

And that was when the terrible thought came into his mind.

And even though Hotch knew what he was going to see when the EMTs exchanged a look and let him into the cabin, it certainly wasn’t less of a shock, wasn’t less of a punch to the gut to see the body, crumpled on the ground with blood pooling around it like a grotesque puppet with its strings cut. 

Hotch remembered staring blankly at the man who had left the job that killed his fire in search of himself, but whose fire was now extinguished. Permanently. 

For the sake of the team.

He remembered snapping back to himself to find that he had knelt down with his own hand near the neck, having just checked for a pulse in hopes that it would make it—real? fake? He cleared his throat before standing up and turning to the waiting EMTs. At the sympathetic looks he was getting, he felt a faint annoyance rising through the ice that froze through his being.

He wasn’t the floundering, young, ambitious agent that probably would have been giving some indication that he was barely holding himself together at the seams

He wasn’t the friend—were they really friends, though?—who hadn’t seen or talked to him in years and would probably be giving some indication that he was grieving.

His name is—

His name was Jason Gideon, he’s a former FBI agent. I will be calling in federal law enforcement to investigate this, please make yourselves available in the next few days to give your statements… 

He had to be the uptight hardass that didn’t let anything affect him. He had to retreat into the cold mechanical mindset that protected him, for the team.

It didn’t feel right, however. How could he put on such a facade in a place that was supposed to be safe? How could he, in the place where Gideon could be totally himself without fear of the demons that haunted him?

How could he treat this like any other crime scene?

For the sake of the team.

The first call he made was to Stephen. It wasn’t the first time he had made a notification of death to family members, and he didn’t let it be any different this time. 

(oh, it was so different.)

It’s Aaron Hotchner, I worked with your dad in the FBI. I apologize for calling so late… 

And then calls were made to the team. They were short—there was no way Hotch could possibly tell them about the murder over the phone, but the team was smart. They all knew something was wrong.

I need you to come to Gideon’s cabin as soon as you can. I texted you the address.

The same thirteen words, repeated six times to six different people, with his same detached, precise tone of voice.

Emily. I, uh, just wanted to let you know that Gideon was murdered. In his cabin a few hours ago. I’m there now, I’ve called the rest of the team, and… Yeah, I just wanted to let you know. I hope everything is going well in London.

Emily hadn't picked up, but she called Hotch back a few hours later. It doesn’t feel real, he had said when she asked after him. He was never really able to lie to her, the woman who he found was just as broken and yet fiercely protective as him, and he knew that as he changed the subject and started updating her on the status of the investigation.

I’m not sure if you’re even going to listen to this, but I thought it would be better if you heard it from me than from an email, or text, or… yeah. 

I just wanted to let you know that Gideon was found shot multiple times in his cabin early this morning; he was murdered. The team worked the case and solved it, the unsub was killed along the way, so… there’s going to be a funeral, and though I’m not sure who his son is planning on inviting, I'll tell you where he is buried when that happens, and… yeah. Just thought I should let you know. Hope you and your family are doing well.

The words had come surprisingly easy to him when he left a message for Elle. Their correspondence over the years was never constant and never for long periods of time, mainly consisting of pictures that kept the other updated on their lives, and they never called.

Now, he wondered how she reacted to getting the message. Did she curse him out for calling for the first time in years only to tell her that her old colleague had been murdered? Did she confide in her partner?

Dave had been the first to get to the cabin, and Kate and JJ followed closely behind. Reid, Morgan, and Garcia came shortly thereafter. Hotch watched as all of them took in the state of the cabin and the sheet-covered body he was standing sentinel over, and no one said anything until Garcia took the first step.

It’s Gideon.

Grief was a terrible feeling, and it cut right through people’s masks and shone a light on the good and the ugly that was within a person. It was a feeling Hotch was intimately familiar with, many times over now, but the team had only seen him ripped open once. He was well aware that he didn’t make for a pretty sight when they got to the house he had lived in with Haley. They had walked in on a fit of explosive, murderous anger that had been immediately followed by pure, unadulterated grief.

He was well aware that the shattering of his infamous control had scared the team.

And so, just like a few years ago with Emily, Hotch watched over his team as they rushed to solve the murder, all driven by the pain of loss. 

He watched as Rossi gave everyone an insight into how the BAU started when it was just him and Gideon before Max Ryan had taken them under his wing.

He watched over them over the next few days and weeks as they all grieved in their own ways, keeping an eye out for red flags.

But now, when he wasn't even trying to keep up the facade, he still felt numb. For how could he articulate the so many complicated feelings he had regarding the man who had guided him, who had taught him to be sure of himself, who had abandoned him without a word?

Hotch looked around, faintly surprised to find that he had walked into the cabin and was simply standing in the middle of the living room. He had only been to the cabin once prior that night, and there was a palpable difference in the air.

Tainted.

A few weeks has gone by since this cabin had actually been lived in. Everything was still in its place, perfectly preserved like a museum exhibit.

Like a crime scene.

Unable to remain any longer, he turned to walk back outside when something on the wall caught his attention. He walked over, only to stop dead a few feet away.

There were multiple photos and drawings of birds pinned to the wall, and near the edge of the collection was a single picture of the team that had been when he had left. Peeking out from under it was a single slightly yellowed envelope.

It was with caution and slight guilt that he moved forward and carefully unpinned the photo to get the envelope. As he walked over to the nearby dining table and sat, he carefully pulled out the contents of the envelope—a single, folded sheet of paper.

When his eyes landed on the first line of that painfully familiar handwriting, he could only be glad that he was sitting, else his legs would have given out from under him at the sight of his first name.

This was written years ago, he thought with startling clarity, why didn’t he send it to me?

If anything, he felt even more numb as he read through the letter. And when he finished, there was still nothing. 

He wanted to scream, he wanted to hit something, he wanted to feel—anything. 

But he felt nothing—nothing but exhaustion. 

You’re going to go weeks—months, even—feeling fine. And then you’re going to have a bad day.

He’s had many bad days before. He never wants to have one again.

He’s spent years chasing after unsubs—psychopaths, rapists, terrorists. He’s spent years trying not to lose himself along with the people who’ve left because the darkness of this job finally caught up to them.

Elle, Erin, Alex, Gideon, Emily… Haley.

But maybe he did lose himself. Why else can’t he bring himself to feel anything, even after finding out that Gideon still remembered that young ambitious agent that shadowed him and Rossi like an eager puppy? 

And if he did indeed lose himself, maybe it’s for the best. 

The alternative is too painful to imagine. And despite outward appearances, Aaron Hotchner is fragile.

He is human. 

[arandompostarchive]

Inure - Ch. 3

SAVED WORK

Summary: To some, The Specter is a serial killer. To some, a hero. But to everyone, you were entirely a mystery. You had no history, just a list of victims a mile long. No matter how many people searched your name, they could find anything. If only they had the spelling right. Now, you’ve come across some unfortunate information that drives you out of your usual shadows and into the path of the Avengers. Including two of the more reclusive members of the team. And it’s hard to pick only one of them.

***

You had finally showed up on the doorstep of a long awaited target. You had gotten the tip from a morally questionable FBI agent who really needed a break. Apparently, this target had been leading quite the operation.

Managing drug rings, human trafficking, and murder. Not to mention the amount of people she had killed on her own. Even that sounded like your usual case. A major criminal who you got to take out. Just your average job. Until you looked into her a bit more.

She didn’t just murder. She tortured. All of her victims had gone through days of torture, maybe even weeks. Apparently, even forensics investigators weren’t sure exactly how long these people had to suffer. It made you sick.

“Violet.” You said, rounding the corner. Unlike most of your targets, she had an office of her own. You had caught her at work late, one of the last people there. You didn’t mind people being in the building. There wouldn’t be any gunshots to hear. Maybe a scream or two.

“Yes? Can I help you?” You walked into the room. It was neatly decorated. The token and artifacts around the room were no doubt extremely expensive and probably stolen. Her accent stood out. It was heavy, though her words were still clear. She was certainly European, though you couldn’t remember what country and couldn’t place it from sound alone. “I have things to do so if you wouldn’t mind hurrying?” You walked a bit quicker, trying to avoid her yelling. You didn’t want her making that much noise just yet, it might attract unwanted attention.

You stepped into her office, walking toward her desk. The room smelled like lavender, a candle or two rested on side tables around the room. The smell was heavy, almost nauseating.

“What sort of outfit is that supposed to be? Are you one dressing up?” She gestured to your suit. It was less fancy than most suits you’d seen. Black with a few red accents. It made it easier to blend in and the hood and mask over your mouth helped keep your identity secret. There was a small filter on the side of the mask though, to help you breathe and disguise your voice when you spoke. Not that anyone would recognise you. In fact, you didn’t care much about people knowing your name, but if your face was plastered everywhere you’d never be able to be in public again.

“That’s not important. What is important is you, Ms. Wagner.” You said, your eyes focused on her. Your eyes were clear under the hood as you looked up at her. You were calm. You’d done jobs like this a million times, she wasn’t special. Though, you always appreciated time to exercise your powers. They were destructive and dangerous, so you only used them on the worst of the worst. Those people got locked up in a prison or mental institution, but as long as you were alive, they couldn’t be helped.

“What the hell do you want? Say it quick then get out.” She was short tempered, that was for sure.

“Alright then. You used to work for Hydra, then you got too much for them to handle. You torture and kill, you did this in your old home too. And now, you’ve moved countries to start all over. Not to mention the drug rings you’re tied to,” You said, your voice calm and steady. That was always the most terrifying part for them. You were so collected, sure of yourself. You knew they weren’t going anywhere. And the second they heard your mellow voice, they knew it too.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?! Accusing me of things like that.” She remarked, standing from the large leather chair she sat on. She was clearly nervous though, the slight shake in her voice gave it away. “Get the hell out. Now.” She pointed toward the door. You didn’t move. “I said now. Can’t you hear, bitch?” She said, this time crossing her arms. “I’ll call security.” She said. It wasn’t an empty threat, you could tell, but you weren’t worried.

They wouldn’t get here in time anyway.

You focused on her. Her mind. What she was thinking, what she felt, anything about her. Then you heard it.

“Who does she think she is? March in here like she owns the place. Pathetic.”

Her thoughts. You focused harder. This time on her fears. Everything she regretted, everything she hated, things she was scared of. You found every last one of the monsters in her closet. And then you made them real.

She looked left and right, probably hallucinating something awful. You could never completely see what you created, unless it was an illusion, but you could usually guess what was happening based on what they said.

“Mother?” She asked. She was only staring at a wall, a painting of flowers hung on it along with other paintings she had collected. The look on her face was horrified. You wondered what the story was there.

It was an ability you’d had since you were young, though it was much weaker before you ‘died’. Now, it was one of your most useful skills.

“Stop! Dear god, stop, please. Fuck. Please!” She said. There were tears forming in her eyes already and her voice was cracking. She looked up at you. “You! What did you do to me? What the hell did you do?!” She continued yelling at you but eventually her words became jumbled, the occasional scream cutting in. She’d glance from side to side occasionally before squeezing her eyes shut and looking down. They always acted like that. Strong, determined to stop you, then reduced to nothing but mumbling husks.

You focused on yourself now, this time disguising yourself with an illusion. Another woman walked into the office. Her skirt was short, though professional and you could see a red collared sweater tied around her hips. You’d left the door half open, her screams could be heard down the hallway, so it wasn’t a huge surprise to see someone else come in.

“Miss Wagner?” The woman said. She looked like a college intern, twenty years old at maximum. “Oh my god.” She walked toward the desk until she spotted the broken woman. Violet’s artificial tan didn’t help how pale her face had become. Her legs had given out and now her arms were struggling to support her as she sat on the ground, tears running down her face. She was mumbling things about her mother, father, and ‘the children’, which you suspected were the ones she tortured. Hm. Maybe she did feel some guilt about that. She’d glance back to where you stood. You made sure she could see you, though the intern was oblivious to your presence.

“Miss Wagner? Miss Wagner? Are you alright?” The girl asked, clearly unsure what to do. Violet didn’t respond. She continued staring down at the floor, mumbling and sweating. “Violet?” The girl tried using the woman’s first name instead. She flinched back like she was expecting some huge outburst. Her employees must be treated poorly as well.

“I-I…” the girl paused. It seemed like she didn’t want to help the crying woman on the floor. You figured Violet wasn’t a very nice boss. The girl shook her head a bit, standing up. She took a deep breath before speaking with confidence, “I’m going to call an ambulance. I’ll be back, I promise.” She ran off, back to her desk presumably to make the call. You nodded, appreciating her morals to do the right thing for an awful person. Sadly, you didn’t live by the same rules. You could hear her talking to someone as you made your way over to Violet.

“Awe, darling.” You lifted up her chin with your fingers. You met her eyes. They were filled with pure terror and they kept glancing over your shoulder. You laughed at her. The ways her eyes seemed unable to focus and how clammy her face felt.

“Please…” She started. “I can’t live like this, at least kill me. I understand. I’ve learned. Is that what you want? Learning?” You shook your head. Of course she tries now. Now that you’re torturing her like she once did to others and now she wants to ‘learn her lesson’?

“No. That’s not what I want. I want you to rot somewhere. And maybe someone out there, someone much nicer than me, will take pity. And kill you.” Your hand left her chin and she was left, crying out for as long as the strain in her voice would let her.

***

The next few days consisted of mostly theorizing with the team. Besides that, you and Loki had your own two person ‘book club’ and you learned about some new weapons with Bucky. He had an appreciation for the development in weaponry over the past decades and you didn’t mind learning with him. It also turned out the two of them were friends, so the three of you sometimes had lunch together, though you preferred having one on one time with either of them.

The rest of the team was anxious to find the new SPECTR machine as soon as possible and get you out of their house, not that you could blame them. A very small part of you didn’t want it to end that quickly though. You hadn’t had a real home since the 40’s and before you died you spent all your time in a military camp or in a science lab. That, and you had real friends, well, as close to ‘real friends’ as you’d had in decades. Of course, it helped that they were both extremely attractive, but hey. No one could blame you for that train of thought.

Most of the team still wasn’t happy to have you with them. Though it felt bad to be on the outside, you were used to it. If you had it your way, you never would’ve come there at all, but there were lives on the line and you really needed immunity.

“Everything alright?” Bucky asked as he adjusted the tape over his hands. The two of you had tried out sparing since you could take one hell of a hit so he was free to use his metal arm on you. He had even consented to letting you study it for an hour or two. The two of you got along well and both he and Loki had moved up from the position of ‘not-enemy’ to ‘associate’, though it wasn’t much of a leap. You were hardly ready to trust them, it had only been a few days.

“Just fine. Whenever you’re ready, Barnes.” You said, tossing aside your sweatshirt as you stood across from Bucky. You readied your stance and waited for him to say the word.

“Go.” You took a step forward but Bucky rushed toward you, taking a swing with his metal arm. You knew he appreciated an opponent who could take a hit from a weapon like that, though it took some convincing for him to go all out. You were certain he still wasn’t using 100% of his strength, but it was a start. You ducked, sliding next to him before getting up on one knee and taking a jab at his leg. He stumbled a bit, but stayed standing. Although it wasn’t as effective as you hoped, it gave you time to stand without interruption.

The second he turned to face you, you punched him in the chest, sending him back a bit. He stepped forward and swung his leg into your side, making you stumble too. You kept your hand out to help you balance. You lowered yourself and swiped under his legs. He tripped, but caught himself with his flesh arm. You stood up, jumping back.

He stood again, rushing toward you, metal fist raised. You caught his punch and you could feel the sting against your hand. You were definitely going to have a bruise or two after this. You threw his hand aside, setting him off balance and kicked into his side. He landed on his stomach with a small thud and you kept your foot against his back and kneeled down, arm held against the back of his neck.

“Not bad.” He said, you stood and helped him up.

“Same to you.” You nodded as a small sign of respect. “I’m going to take a shower, I’ll need it before the rest of your group calls some sort of meeting.” You rolled your eyes and Bucky nodded. You could tell he didn’t really like you making fun of his ‘team’, but he never said much. It made you feel a bit bad, but on the other hand, the do-gooders were about as annoying as it gets.

The elevator felt slower than normal, though it was probably just the uncomfortable feeling of sweat on your skin. You stepped out onto your floor. You shared it with Clint and Natasha, probably so they could keep an eye on you. You didn’t mind too much, Clint wasn’t too bad and you had a certain amount of respect for Natasha. She used to have a similar career to you after all. She’d made her way onto your radar for a while, though there were bigger fish to fry and SHIELD was already on her tail. Still, you’d much rather be alone.

You were about to open the door leading to your room when you sensed something was off. Your abilities were helpful in your line of work. Sensing other people had become a skill of yours and right now, something was wrong.

You were on high alert, though you knew it was probably just a team member. You opened the door slowly, prepared to fight if need be. Instead, Natasha sat on your couch, cleaning some of her guns.

The weapons didn’t bother you too much. They were all disassembled for cleaning, the magazines sitting on the table, completely empty. You were sure she’d done that part on purpose, just so you’d know she wasn’t here for a fight, but she’d fight back if need be.

You walked often to your makeshift kitchen and pulled out a bottle of vodka. Whiskey was more your thing, but you’d make do with what you had. You poured a full glass, not caring much for how you were ‘supposed’ to pour it, Natasha was silent the whole time, waiting for you to come over to her.

You moved toward the couch and sat next to her, waiting for her to talk.

“Good to see you again.” She said, not looking away from her weapons. You smiled, taking a large sip of your drink. It burned a bit in your throat, though it wasn’t anything new.

“I’m glad you cleaned up your act.” You said, not offering her any greeting. You could see her smile.

“Why did you let me go that day?” She asked, this time looking up at you. She looked genuinely curious. She didn’t waste any time getting to the point, huh?

“You were finally on the right path. After spending so long killing who you were told to, Clint got you where you were supposed to be.”

She shook her head, not quite understanding. “I was about to kill him. That target, I was going to kill him, I did kill him, and you walked away and left him with me. Why.”

You relaxed against the couch, realizing your shower would have to wait a little longer. “He deserved it. SHIELD was right to send you after him, his death saved lives. I was just making sure you were staying on task. And staying on the right side of the tracks. So to speak.” You took another long sip, hoping you’d feel the effects sooner rather than later.

“You were watching me?” She asked. You were a bit surprised. Natasha was a talented assassin, someone capable and good at protecting herself. Though you doubted that she would know it was you, you did think she’d figure out that someone was watching her. It gave you a small confidence boost.

“I watch a lot of people, Natasha. I like making sure that people in powerful positions really want what’s best for society. Sometimes, they become a target.” You took another gulp of your drink, slightly anxious to finish it as quickly as possible. “Like that Stark.” Natasha began putting a few of her guns back together and into a small black bag next to her.

“Stark was a target?”

You shook your head. “No, but he was on my watch list. His dad wasn’t my favorite guy and for a while he made some rather destructive weapons. I had to make sure he wouldn’t turn into some power-crazed nut job.”

Natasha laughed a bit, “Yeah, pretty sure he did that anyway.” You laughed. Making fun of a Stark was something you did with Peggy. It felt familiar. Sitting down with ‘the other woman on the team’ and having a chat about your friends. Familiar, but not the same.

“Tell me, if I hadn’t been doing the right thing, if I had let him go or left him alive, would you have killed me?” You didn’t pause, you knew your answer.

“Without a second thought.” You took another sip, this one longer than your previous ones. Natasha nodded, understanding. Of all the people in the tower, she was probably the one who would understand most.

She finished up cleaning another gun before Friday’s voice was heard in your room. Great.

“Spectr, Miss Romanoff, you’re wanted in the meeting room. There’s been a robbery.”

You downed the rest of your drink, ignoring the burn in your throat. Natasha gave you a slight side glance, probably worried for your health. Not that it was a real concern for you anymore.

“Uh… do you guys usually answer robberies?” You asked, setting down the glass. Natasha grabbed her bag, bringing it with her out of the room.

“No, there’s something else to this.” You nodded, accepting her answer. You internally groaned at the feeling of sweat still on you. At this point, you’d even settle for a five minute shower. You ran to your room quickly, pulling off the tank top you were wearing and grabbing a t-shirt. At least you wouldn’t have to wear a soaked shirt. It was just you and Natasha in the elevator in silence. It wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t a situation you wanted to be in.

The room was almost completely full, though Wanda and Vision were right behind you. You took a seat toward the end of the table next to Steve. You were sure they put you there just in case someone needed to knock you out in a worst case scenario, though you didn’t care.

Steve set down a few papers just as Wanda sat down.

“Alright, everyone’s here.” He pulled his seat closer to the table. “There was a robbery earlier today.”

“What, did some kid swipe a candy bar? How is this our problem.” Tony asked. He was wearing sunglasses despite being indoors. Though the normal assumption would be that he just came inside, you somehow doubted that.

“Not exactly. The focus is what was stolen. It was at a nearby museum, the owners themselves weren’t sure what it was since it didn’t have any sort of identification. Just that it was World War II memorabilia.”

“Oh I see, someone took your old helmet?” Tony said, interrupting again. Your eyes narrowed. You were getting annoyed with his constant comments, though the rest of the group seemed unbothered. That, or they had grown used to his obnoxious personality. You saw Loki’s face shift though, so he was probably feeling similar emotions to yours.

“The owners said it was part of an unfinished project, we think it might be a piece of Project SPECTR.” A few eyes turned toward you, including Steve’s. “Do you recognize this?” He asked, setting a photo down in front of you. It was most certainly a piece of your machinery.

“It’s what we used to stabilize our core. I built it forever ago just tinkering with supplies, no blueprints. It’s one of a kind. I doubt I could remake it myself.”

“Well, that explains why it was robbed.” Natasha said, just loud enough for the few people around her to hear. You were seated next to Loki on the end of the table. Bucky was across from you and avoiding your eye-contact, which is what he usually did during meetings.

“So, what now?” A man asked. You now knew him as Sam, or ‘The Falcon’, the other bird-themed hero.

“We find anything else we can.” You said, choosing to look at Steve. It felt odd talking to a room, so you tried to focus on one person instead. You were used to creating plans by yourself, not brainstorming with a group. “I left plenty of materials and blueprints behind. I never got a chance to examine why it malfunctioned, but I’m sure a good percent of the original machine is usable.”

“So, where is it?” Clint asked, contributing to the discussion.

“Well, it’s been almost 70 years so I have no idea. Didn’t have a reason to keep track of all that junk.” Steve nodded, though some of the group sighed out loud.

“Let’s check the site and see what else turns up. We hardly need the whole group for this, though.”

***

Steve had sent a group of only a few people. Natasha, who was acting as the temporary leader. Loki, who could use magic to help track down people with any evidence left behind. Steve had been against sending Loki since he was technically still confined to the compound with the exception of missions. Natasha however argued that this was a mission and that Loki would be a useful team member. Of course, she was right, so he was along with the group.

He had also sent Clint and Bucky along, more to act as guards while you, Loki, and Nat looked around the area. The police had done their job and found any evidence left behind, though Loki was trying to use magic to find anything else. So far, no luck.

The group of you were talking to one of Fury’s remaining agents at the site. SHIELD may have disbanded, but Fury still had quite a few people on his side. Some of which apparently still helped him out now and then. It was like a much smaller version of SHIELD.

“Best we got is some DNA evidence. We matched it in our system, according to the evidence, he was one of us, back when we were active.”

You were a bit confused. “An agent?” Natasha asked, sharing your confusion. You masked it better than her though, it was probably because she was more familiar with the former agent in front of you than you were.

The woman nodded, showing you her screen, a picture of an average looking 30-something year old guy looking rather bored in the picture.. “Jackson Hastings. Odd thing is, he went missing on a mission a while ago. Hasn’t been seen since.” Natasha took the tablet screen from her and you looked over her shoulder.

“Holy shit.” The group looked at you.

“You know him?” Natasha asked curiously.

“He was one of my targets.” You said, sure of yourself. He was a corrupt member of SHIELD. It was before SHIELD completely dismantled. You couldn’t prove that he was connected to Hydra in any way, though you had your suspicions.

“You’re sure?” She asked and you nodded in response. “Let’s head back, I think this is about as much evidence as we’re getting.” The group agreed and you thanked the woman on your way out.

***

“And you’re positive you targeted this man?” Steve asked, staring you down.

“Very. I don’t forget targets.” Besides, Hastings was a case you would remember. Fury had sent you a file or two himself, not that he’d admit it, including this one. He couldn’t prove Hastings was guilty. He knew you’d kill him if he was, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Hastings had access to files that could end important operations and expose several undercover agents. So, you just ‘happened’ to run into Hastings’ file. Sure enough, he was more than guilty.

“Some of your targets are still alive, right?” Clint asked and you nodded.

“Wait, so you just let some of these guys go? What, were they suddenly innocent?” Tony asked. Though his tone was sarcastic, the question was genuine so you decided to answer.

“Innocent? Hardly. But life holds things much worse than death. Much worse.” The group tried to ignore that statement, though you could see curiosity written over their faces.

“Is he one of them? The alive targets, I mean.” Steve asked, getting back to the topic at hand.

“No, he didn’t deserve punishment that bad. He’s only dead.” Hastings was one of the more straightforward cases. In any court, the way you got your proof wouldn’t be admissible. In fact, you’d probably get arrested too. That’s why you’d turned into judge, jury, and executioner.

“Alright. So, a dead man walks into a museum. Sounds like the set up to a shitty joke.” Tony remarked under his breath, though most of the table was able to hear the comment.

“If you killed him when he went on that mission, then he’s been dead for years. Now, he’s able to steal a highly guarded museum item but leaves behind blood?” Natasha said, posing the question to the group.

“Clearly, it’s not impossible for people to come back from the dead. I mean…” Tony gestured to you, Bucky, Steve, and Loki on your side of the table. Though your situations were wildly different, Stark did have a point. All of you had been labelled ‘dead’ at one point or another.

“Well, our cases are different, don’t you think?” Loki asked, actually contributing to the conversation. You were certain that was the first time you had heard him speak in a meeting. “The Sergeant, the Captain and I were never really dead in the first place.” You heard Thor grumble something on Loki’s other side, though you were unable to make out his words.

“I’m definitely an exception,” You continued, “but it took me about 50 years and a huge malfunctioning healing machine. Considering the fact that he’s trying to build SPECTR, I doubt he died the same way.” You concluded landing the group, once again, on ground zero.

“Okay, so no more zombies. What’s going on then? You sure you killed him?” Tony said, the last part directed at you.

“Certain. His head was very much detached.” You didn’t share too many of the details since the group never seemed to like that, but you had to slip in the occasional dark joke. Ask a psychopathic serial killer to join your team and you’re inviting in murder-based comedy.

“Alright. Any other ideas?” Tony asked, slightly disturbed.

“What if we have a shapeshifter? A dead man is a good disguise for a robbery, no?” Wanda asked in her accent. Her voice was pretty and the accent certainly helped. You wanted her to read something to you while you intently listened on, enjoying the sound. You did your best to stay focused though and thought over her question. The other scientists of the room looked like they were doing the same. Finally, you found a bit of a flaw.

“Down to the molecular level? Even after the material has left his body? Is that possible?” You questioned. A shapeshifting person was incredible on it’s own, now they can manipulate their form even when not connected to the DNA. A fascinating person indeed. In any other situation, you’d be itching to meet them. Maybe study them for a few hours. But this didn’t seem like the kind of guy who just wanted to have a chat.

Clint shrugged. “I’ve seen weirder.”

He did have a point. After all, you were sitting between a superhuman soldier who had supposedly died 70 years ago and a Norse god, things had changed since the 40s. Not to mention the fact that you were essentially a psychic zombie.

“So, what do we do now? Wait for the next robbery? If it is a shapeshifter, which is only a theory by the way, we have no way of finding anyone.”

Steve looked around, seeing if anyone had any ideas. When no one spoke up, he sighed. “Then I guess we wait.”

***

You walked out of the meeting with way more questions than you’d hoped to have. You made your way upstairs and finally took a decent shower and sat down with a proper glass of whiskey. You weren’t even sure if you’d drank water while you were at the tower. Not that you really needed it.

The TV was playing some new show you weren’t familiar with. You didn’t get any of the ‘comedic’ references, nor did you understand the plot, but you were too lazy to search for something else.

There was a soft knock on your door. You groaned a bit, not wanting to answer.

“What do you want?” You yelled, loud enough so the person on the other side could hear you from your couch.

“It’s me.” You recognized the accent and sighed, getting up without bothering to pause the TV. You opened the door, waving the person in and sitting back down, taking another long sip of your drink.

“I’m fairly certain drinking that much is bad for you.” Loki said in a joking manner. He didn’t get to do that too often. Everyone assumed there was some malintent behind the joke.

“It’s not exactly gonna kill me.” You sat back, finally grabbing the remote to find something more interesting.

“Still, I can’t imagine it being good for you. Maybe try something else?” He suggested calmly.

You rolled your eyes a bit. He may have been more fun than the other caped crusaders, but he was hardly close enough to give you health advice.

“What do you want.” You didn’t look at him.

He sighed, accepting that he wasn’t going to get a better answer than that. “You said that life holds things worse than death.”

When he didn’t continue, you responded. “Yeah. And?”

“What did you mean?”

You didn’t really want to have this conversation. The team already thought you were horrifying, talking about your abilities certainly wouldn’t help.

“Sometimes it’s better to just die than live in torture, that’s what I mean.” It wasn’t exactly an answer, but it was sort of true. That’s close enough, right?

He considered this. “So the people you leave alive, they’re worse than the dead ones?” You nodded.

“Yup. Are we done with this conversation now? I’ve got 70 years worth of movies to watch.” You flipped through more channels to find something tolerable.

Loki looked like he had something else to say, you were certain there was something else. “Yes, that’s fine.” He stood up, walking slowly. Though you were sure why, you thought it was because he was having some sort of inner debate.

He turned around and opened his mouth, but you spoke first. “Yes, you can stay. Grab some chips while you’re up though, I’ll find something decent.” He smiled a bit. He never really asked to stay, he just waited to be invited. You didn’t really mind, he was good company. And quiet for the most part.

For once, you didn’t mind spending extra time with someone.