#and it will only become serious when it affects them directly

[2amriize]

˚⟡˖ RIIZE when you tell them you wanna break up

ᡣ𐭩 masterlist genre angst, fluff pairing bf!riize x reader

ᯓ★ SHOTARO

You had never seen Shotaro so serious in your life. For a few days, you'd been feeling like Shotaro wasn’t giving you the attention you needed, as he had become too obsessed with a song he had to choreograph. Even though you knew it might be temporary, you had been having a rough week, and despite knowing that, you hadn’t received his support.

Shotaro immediately regretted the way he had acted. When he heard you asking to break up, he grabbed your hands, shaking his head several times.

“Y/n, I’m really sorry… I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you these past few days, but please, let me make it up to you. Please, don’t leave me…”

ᯓ★ EUNSEOK

“Are you serious?”

Eunseok couldn’t believe you were asking to break up. He couldn’t understand why; what had happened? Had he done something wrong? Just a few days ago, everything seemed perfect, so why were you asking to end it now?

You didn’t really have an answer for him either. It wasn’t something he had done, but more that you were feeling bad about yourself and didn’t want that to affect him. You were surprised to see tears falling down his cheeks. Eunseok, who was always joking around, had started to cry.

“You don’t have to leave me because of this, y/n. I can help you… You don’t know how much I love you. You can’t leave me like this…”

ᯓ★ SUNGCHAN

He couldn’t stop his eyes from filling with tears, but he still tried not to cry. What mattered most to him in that moment was you, and the first thing he wanted was to understand why you were acting this way. Why were you asking to break up when he thought everything was going well between the two of you?

It’s true that you had small fights from time to time, but you always managed to find a solution. Even though it hurt, you felt like you needed some time alone, but seeing Sungchan kneel before you, begging you not to leave him, made you feel terrible.

“Is it really necessary? I don’t want to let you go, y/n…”

ᯓ★ WONBIN

“Did I do something wrong? I know I mess up sometimes, y/n, but I can fix it…”

Wonbin was looking at you with his big eyes, that puppy-like gaze that always made you weak, so you decided to look away from him. You knew Wonbin would think that if you broke up, it was because of something he did, when in reality, it wasn’t about him—it was about you.

You hated how people compared you to other girls and how, even if they didn’t say it to your face, everyone seemed to think you weren’t good enough for Wonbin. You couldn’t help but feel bad, knowing that’s how people viewed you as Wonbin’s girlfriend.

“Babe, you know you don’t really want to break up, so why are you doing this to me? I want to be with you, and only you.”

ᯓ★ SEUNGHAN

At first, he would think you were joking, so he’d laugh a little. But when he saw how serious you were, his smile would vanish completely. He’d sit down next to you, looking directly into your eyes, trying to get you to look back at him.

He couldn’t believe you were asking to break up, especially after just a few weeks ago, you had bought matching rings and cried together about how much you loved each other. So, what had changed?

When you explained that you would likely have to move to another city a few hours away for work, Seunghan let out a sigh, feeling a bit relieved.

“That’s why…? You know I’d be with you even if you lived on another planet, y/n. Please, don’t leave me because of this…”

ᯓ★ SOHEE

“Is that what you really want? For us to break up?”

Sohee was confused. Your relationship was going well, and even though you’d only been together for a few weeks, he felt really comfortable with you. So why did you suddenly want to end things? Had you changed your mind?

What Sohee couldn’t understand was why you were the one crying when you were the one asking to break up.

He obviously didn’t want to end things with you, but he couldn’t force you to stay in a relationship you didn’t feel comfortable in. So, gently stroking your back, he said;

“Y/n, you know I want to keep this going, right? I can’t stop you from leaving me, but I just want you to know… I really love you.”

ᯓ★ ANTON

“No… I… Why?”

Anton’s voice trembled, and it didn’t take long before tears began streaming down his cheeks. You hated seeing him like this—it hurt you too much. But it hurt even more to know that your family didn’t have a good opinion of him.

For some reason, your parents thought Anton was a bad influence on you, simply because you had been spending less time studying and more time with him. At first, you decided to ignore it, thinking other people’s opinions shouldn’t affect your relationship, but eventually, it got to you. Anton knew how this was making you feel, but he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go, so he practically begged you not to leave him.

“Please, y/n, don’t do this… I want to stay by your side.”

ᡣ𐭩 masterlist taglist: @regularsuh @gacktsa @totheseok @kkumistars @taroddori

[snzluv3r]

i actually feel so incredibly uncomfortable and isolated in this space right now and i know that’s silly because of how many people there are just like me who share the same feelings but idk…the fact that people even think this is defensible behavior is making me feel sick

[januaryembrs]

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

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

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

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

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

series masterlist | next chapter

[this] means its spoken in another language.

—

‘trouble on my left, trouble on my right,

I’ve been facing trouble almost all my life’

1. the one where you become a translator.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer gulped quietly. 

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

–

Those were the famous last words of Derek Morgan. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was something glaringly obvious about his story missing. 

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

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

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

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

So why lie?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe she should have taken that walk home after all. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+1. The one where you get arrested.

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

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

Yet so was Emily. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

+2. The one where you graduate

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bug-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t even,” 

+3. The one where you’re taken hostage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was when the shooting started. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She could only hope Emily was safe. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so they did. 

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

This was not good. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s me,” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

2:53 stared back at her. 

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

2:54.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And she saw why. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You saved mine,” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She stayed with Emily for a month after that. 

+4. The one where you leave the altar. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

[ponderingmoonlight]

Kokushibo meeting another moon breather and falling hard

Pairing: Kokushibo x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,1k

Synopsis: You were supposed to be another killed demon slayer on his list, nothing but a girl he stumbled upon in the woods at night. But something about you is different. Something stops him from ending your life.

Warnings: Honestly none, a little bit of violence, a little bit of HEAT, this will get a Part 2 if you guys are interested so feel free to interact with that fic! <3

„Leaving again?“

You tilt your head to the side ever so slightly, your katana already lying heavy in your rough hands.

“I have no choice. The order comes from Ubuyashiki-sama himself”, you reply with low voice.

Out of instinct, your eyes wander to the shining orb above, the most faithful companion of your life. Countless innocent nights, you just sat on the grass and took in its beauty inch by inch. But at times like these, the moon being out also means that demons wander on free foot.

“Lucky bastard”, Sanemi mumbles under his breath.

You wouldn’t consider yourself lucky. Not when you know painfully well that all those demons where once humans with dreams, hopes and love filling their hearts. Not when your whole family drowned you with love and affection only a few years ago.

Until Muzan Kibitsuji decided to turn their heads against you by turning them into demons.

“I’ll be back before training starts.”

“You better live up to that.”

 Without looking back one last time, you begin your journey to the other side of this haunted land. If Ubuyashiki-sama called for a hashira, the matter has to be serious-minded. And while his crow didn’t deliver a lot of information about details apart from the place being a small village in the south, you know all too well what that means.

A strong demon, maybe one of the upper moons, even. And you, a hashira who was chosen to kill it.

Your eyes roam around the peaceful area, take in how beautifully the full moon lights up the trees around you. A truly remarkable scenery you try to enjoy as often as possible, even though working as a pillar keeps your mind and body occupied most of the time.

But you aren’t alone. An unsettling feeling starts spreading inside of your chest, the instinct of being watched out of the darkness becoming more and more urgent in your mind.

“Are you the one who is responsible for the destruction of the village nearby?”, you question into the dusk.

Destruction? Kokushibo can’t help but shake his head ever so slightly. As if he’d waste his time with something this minor.

The real question is, who are you? The way you walk and talk tells him more than urgently that you aren’t one of those average demon slayers, that you have to be someone special. A pillar, probably. He can’t help but take in your graceful sight, the way you almost float over the wet grass, your eyes lit by the moon oh so perfectly while your hands are tightly grabbing your katana in contrast.

You are beautiful.  Enigmatic, powerful, and captivating... truly mesmerizing. In his long-lasting life, Kokushibo stumbled upon countless of women.

But they never caught his attention like you.

“I came here to end your suffering”, you continue calmly, not even your hands shaking by the sensation of meeting a demon.

You must sense it, that he’s far above the average demons you’ve encountered before.  You have to feel his presence by the way you tilt your head towards his direction ever so slightly. And still, you don’t waver. Not even a little bit.

“Even if your skill level proceeds mine by miles.”

His eyes widen for a brief moment.

“Why don’t you show yourself, upper moon?”

It’s an instinct, an act out of trance. Kokushibo follows your word and emerges out of the darkness he found comfort in, his gleaming eyes now meeting yours directly.

The upper moon one.

You don’t allow your heart to skip a beat, force your mind to keep its focus. This must be the head of Muzan Kibutsuji’s army, the mightiest of them all apart from himself. The upper moon Kyojuro lost his life to was number 3. Weaker than the man standing in front of you, less dangerous than the man standing in front of you.

And you? You wouldn’t consider yourself stronger than Kyojuro was.

“I am forced to end your life right here and now”, you declare with a calm demeanor.

“You are too weak to even reach me”, Kokushibo replies automatically.

“I have no other choice but to try.”

He tilts his head to the side, watches like in slow motion how the neutral expression on your face hardens ever so slightly while you lift up your sword.

“Moon breathing, third form: celestial silence.”

You release a wave of soundless crescent blades like you always do, emerge him into confusion and darkness to prepare for your next attack.

“Moon breathing. You use moon breathing?”

You are barely able to escape the grasp of his arm that shouldn’t even be able to reach you by letting yourself fall onto the ground. Not even Sanemi is able to see through that curtain of silence, how was he able to react so fast?

A faint layer of cold sweat starts forming on your forehead, your fingers now grabbing the handle of your sword tighter. What did you expect from the upper moon one?

“Fourth form: Lunar precision.”

You can’t allow your thoughts to wander, need to focus on the way your sword feels inside your hands and the series of rapid, precise slashes that crush against his blade without mercy. Each strike is executed with meticulous accuracy, searing for any weaknesses.

But the man in front of you has none.

All it takes him is one minor slash to disarm you. With his other hand, he grabs your wrist tightly. Is he about to kill you? Will this be your last moment walking on earth? You can’t rip your now glossy eyes away from him, can’t even force yourself to look at the moon one last time.

“Who taught you that breathing technique?”

Your mind starts racing, brows furrowing ever so slightly. What is he talking about? And why are you not dead already?

“What?”, you breathe out.

With a swift motion, he puts his sword back in its sheath and grabs your other arm as well, now holding you so close that you can feel his breath dance across your face.

“Who taught you how to use moon breathing?”, he continues visibly aroused.

“I taught myself.”

Confusion, anger and shock roll over his face like a wave while his hands still keep you in place.

Impossible. This means that you mastered sun breathing as well. You, nothing but an average girl with eyes that make it easy to get lost in them. You with that basic sword that doesn’t show a single hint of your abilities.

Do you know what you’re capable of, that you might be a worthy opponent?

Or a mighty demon.

“You need to come with me.”

“Coming with you?”

Your heart now almost pounds out of your chest, arms instinctively fighting for what is dear life. If you go with him, you’ll die. What is his plan? Does he want to torture you, eat you alive? Your usual so collected mind starts falling apart bit by bit with every passing second.

“Stop attacking me”, he warns you.

You fight against his grasp even harder, desperately try to free you from the prison of his arms. You promised Sanemi that you’ll be back before the next training session starts, you promised Mitsuri to braid her hair in the morning. You made so many promises.

And now you might not be able to live up to a single one of them.

“Enough”, the man in front of you grumbles.

One well-placed hit. Then everything goes black.

Kokushibo’s heavy breath hangs in the air, eyes staring at your unconscious figure lying on the floor. He lifts your body off the ground as gently as possible, allows his eyes to regard your face up-close. You look so peaceful while lying in his arms, your features not showing a single sign of your fight earlier on. Apart from a single tear at the corner of your eye, you look flawless. He wipes it away with his index finger, watches how the moonlight reflects so beautifully in your perfect little teardrop. If he’d be able to caress your cheek one time, feel the softness of your hair only once-

He shakes his head ever so slightly. No, he needs to focus on what’s in front of him, needs to find out what lend you that power. Are you just like him? Are you maybe the only person on this planet who understands his silent suffering?

The second you open your eyes again, everything is still black. What happened? Are you at home? The demon…

Your eyes widen in an instant, dart around the poor-lit area in a haste. Where is the upper moon one?

“It took you quite some time to regain consciousness.”

His cold voice cuts through your bones with ease. There he sits, only a few meters away to your opposite. You swallow hard, scan your body for any injuries.

But you aren’t injured. Not even a single scratch decorates your skin.

“Why did you allow me to stay alive?”

To be honest, he doesn’t know. Muzan Kibitsuji made it more than clear that all demons are forced to kill every single demon slayer who crosses their path. Especially pillars like you. He stares at you without saying a single word.

“Are you going to kill me now?”

It is his responsibility to do so. Not even the fact that you use moon breathing should be enough to change that fate of yours, not when you’re a hashira, a dirty demon slayer. Again, he keeps his mouth shut.

When you open your mouth again, not a single sound escapes your dry lips. The countless questions that linger through your mind make it hard to form a logical thought. What are you supposed to do? Is there any way out of this? You need to fight, need to stay strong until you die.

“What do you know about moon breathing?”

“More than you”, he gives back.

He’s beautiful. Despite the unpromising gleam in his orbs and that number one than reminds you oh so urgently that this man is the highest ranked upper moon, you can’t help but let that thought sink in. There’s no doubt in the fact that he was once a truly handsome man.

The two of you sit opposite of each other, plainly staring in your faces without saying another word. You never felt anything apart from sorrow for those creatures, never allowed yourself to get lost in their features or to ponder about what they might have become. But this man…

“Did you use this breathing technique when you were still human?”

In the blink of an eye, the upper moon one draws his sword. Sparks fly, the air around you suddenly so hot that you almost feel like choking. What is that immense power of his? Are those…moons?  Out of instinct, you grab his arm. For support, to stop him? You don’t know anymore.

“Stop”, you cough out.

“Please…stop.”

He lowers his blade, his free hand now grabbing your back and pulling you towards his chest.

“I was the only user of moon breathing for countless centuries. Until you showed up”, he clarifies distantly.

“Tell me how you conquered sun breathing. Tell me how you taught yourself this technique.”

His face is only inches away from yours, forces your breath to get stuck in your throat all over again.

“It just happened.”

“You will come with me.”

He starts dragging you along with him, the unusual flaming touch of his hand almost driving you insane. Just a few hours ago, you were on a mission to free a small village from the cruel hands of a demon. What about those innocent people? What about those poor souls who might get slaughtered at this very moment? You can’t just follow him like a lost puppy.

“Only under one condition.”

Slowly, the upper moon one turns his face towards you.

“You set conditions?”

“Free the village I was assigned to from those demons or otherwise…”

With a swift motion you draw your sword and press it firmly against your very own neck.

“Or otherwise, I’ll make sure I won’t be able to answer all of your questions.”

You find yourself devoured in his arms and pressed against a cool stone wall before you finished blinking once, now staring straight into his dangerous orbs.

“I don’t negotiate with something like that”, he presses out.

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine @laurencrsnt @virtual-202 @blunderland

@strawberry784

[valkyrieromanoff]

5 times you innocently sat on Hunter's lap (plus 1 you didn't)

warning: sexual content in the last part, most of it is just fluffy.

words: 3k

a/n: I hadn't written anything for a long time, but then this idea popped into my head and I couldn't help but try. I also posted it on ao3, I hope you like it ;)

1) Sitting on his lap when playing with his hair

Your fingers were entangled in Hunter's locks, gently playing with his hair. Seated on his lap, you had the perfect reach to those exact spots that brought him tranquility. His once tense muscles began to melt under the tender dance of your fingers across his scalp.

With a soft sigh, Hunter rested his head against your chest, the sound a low hum of satisfaction. As your fingers reached the nape of his neck, your nails gently scratched the sensitive spot before massaging it lightly.

Your touch was as light as a feather and as warm as the morning sun, leaving him utterly at ease. His hands rested lazily on your waist, a secure yet relaxed grip. His eyes closed, and his breathing slowed to a quiet, rhythmic pace as he relished the gentle movement of your fingers through his hair.

He loved it when your hands were on him, even cherishing the playful times you joined Omega in braiding his hair when he dozed off on the sofa. In this moment, surrounded by the comfort and shared affection, he felt completely at peace.

2) Being in a room with no other chairs for you to sit on, so you sit in his lap 

As a Jedi—if you could still call yourself one, having been only a Padawan when Order 66 struck—you never fully grasped the endless parties and celebrations that inundated the island. It left you wondering whether the residents of Pabu were extraordinarily festive, or if you were simply old-fashioned. Yet, when your gaze met Hunter’s, you allowed yourself to relax. The long-haired clone, bound by his characteristic red bandana, seemed almost as out of place as you.

He had sought refuge from the crowd, sitting on a wooden chair that faced the beach directly. The moon kissed the sea in an almost ethereal vision, the sound of waves dissolving into foam on the shore working wonders to drown out the loud music, laughter, and animated conversations of hundreds celebrating the arrival of summer.

“Running away from fun?” Hunter’s deep voice rang out on the night breeze, breaking your reverie. You hadn’t realized you were staring. Nothing went unnoticed by him, you reminded yourself, taking a step toward him. Your attempts at walking were more like stumbling, brief steps in a straight line due to the ridiculously high heels you’d borrowed from Phee, who insisted they’d go perfectly with your outfit.

“I don’t think I’ve gotten used to the concept yet—drinking, dancing, and celebrating for no reason. It’s different from what I’m used to,” you reflected thoughtfully, your eyes lost in the starry night as fireworks ripped across the horizon, exploding in a kaleidoscope of bright colors. You shifted uncomfortably, transferring your weight between your feet, having lost count of how many times your heels had sunk into the sand.

“Your ankle is swollen. You need to sit down if you don’t want it to become a dislocation,” Hunter pointed out, his voice serious yet filled with care.

“I’m not in the mood to sit on the sand,” you muttered softly.

Hunter snorted affectionately, pulling you by the wrist to sit sideways on his lap. “That’s not what I suggested,” he retorted, gently undoing the buckle of your high heels. The relief was immediate; kriffing, how you hated those heels. He repeated the gentle motion on your other foot, his fingers searching for any signs of swelling or twisting.

“You shouldn’t wear heels, mesh'la, if you can’t walk in them,” Hunter mused casually. You responded with a dramatic snort that soon turned into a sigh as he began to massage your feet tenderly, releasing the built-up tension.

As the moonlight danced on the waves and the fireworks painted the sky, you felt an overwhelming sense of comfort and belonging in Hunter’s arms. The world around you faded, leaving only the soothing rhythm of the sea and the warmth of his touch. In this serene moment, you both found solace in each other, embracing the rare peace and simple joys that life on Pabu offered.

3) Sitting on his lap while you softly apply lotion  

"You know, just applying sunscreen would have avoided this," you pondered calmly, opening the bottle of moisturizer. You poured some into your hand and began gently spreading it over Hunter's sunburned face. With each leg on either side of his lap as he sat patiently.

He let out a deep sigh at the sensation of the cool lotion meeting his warm,a natural response to his sunburn from a day at the beach. He had spent the entire day, diligently watching over Omega as she played in the shallow waves, his concern for her safety overriding his need for self-care. Hunter's heart nearly stopped with Wrecker's antics of tossing Omega into the water, despite Omega's giggles of delight.

The memory of falling asleep only to be buried in the sand by Crosshair and Omega, leaving just his head exposed, surfaced with a mix of amusement and regret. The sun in Pabu had been exceptionally harsh that morning, intensifying the burn on his face.

“Uhm,” Hunter huffed dramatically as your fingers carefully spread the moisturizer over his skin. The soothing aloe vera brought immediate relief, cooling the fiery sensation on his face. You smiled gently at him, a pang of sympathy in your heart. He had been so focused on protecting Omega — even buying her a giant hat that nearly her view of her feet— that he had neglected his own needs.

"Don't worry, darling, I'll take care of you," you assured him softly, giving his nose a gentle kiss, careful not to cause any more pain than the sun already had. Hunter sighed deeply under your tender care, a profound sense of love and relaxation.

In your attentive hands, he felt cherished, his discomfort melting away as he basked in the warmth of your affection.

4) Take a seat on his lap as you read something from your datapad.

It was dusk in Pabu, the sun setting in a symphony of colors—yellow, orange, and red—tinting the sky like a masterful painting. The soft, calm sound of waves breaking on the long stretch of sand surrounding the island, accompanied by the fresh, salty scent of the sea breeze, painted a picture of serene domesticity. This tranquility and warmth, a solid change from his days as a soldier, filled Hunter with a thoughtful, almost wistful sense of gratitude. He pondered the sacrifices he had made to achieve such peace, his reverie only broken by the sound of your voice filling the silence.

“I don’t know how Shep got those meilooruns. I didn’t think they grew around here. I mean, technically, we’re in the Outer Rim, but the climate isn’t identical to Tatooine or Ryloth, for example,” you mused curiously, your eyes scanning the datapad in your hands. Seated on Hunter’s lap, your back rested against his chest, while he nestled his chin in the curve of your neck, trying to read along. “It’s not only rare, but it’s also incredibly sought after because of its unique flavor. Plus, it stays fresh for a long time, which is a big plus for traders,” you added, your finger trailing down the screen filled with highlighted snippets of trivia about the exotic fruit.

“Uhm, I bet it must be worth quite a bit on the market if it’s that valuable,” Hunter reflected casually, his hands resting on your waist, fingers gently caressing your exposed skin. “Well, now I understand why there was such a huge queue just to get a piece.”

You hummed in agreement, snuggling deeper into his arms. Every now and then, you’d bring up another interesting fact or detail that had caught your attention. Hunter, meanwhile, occupied himself with the simple pleasure of relaxing, savoring the mundane routine that now defined his life. The prospect of worrying about the rising price of fruit was far more appealing than the constant threat of the Empire. In these moments, wrapped in your presence, he found a profound sense of contentment, cherishing the peace he had fought so hard to attain.

5) Sit on his lap when applying some makeup on him.

“Darling, it's no big deal, just a little pressure. You won't even feel it,” you murmured softly, trying —and failing spectacularly— to apply the eye pencil to Hunter's eye. Despite your reassurances and his best efforts, he couldn’t stop fidgeting. Even small reflexes like wiggling his leg or shifting his thigh made you feel like you were dancing in his lap.

"It's not your eye that's being poked," Hunter grumbled quietly, pouting as  he struggled to keep his eyes open without blinking. The sensation of the eye pencil gliding along his waterline was uncomfortable, heightened by his keen senses.

You gently held his chin, your thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped his eye. You hadn’t realized just how intense the sensation might be for him. With a slightly guilty pout, you let the eye pencil drop from your fingers onto the bed.

“I managed to apply it to just one eye,” you pondered softly, leaning to the side to pick up the small mirror so Hunter could see your work. He stared at his reflection in surprise. He wouldn't have expected it, but the layer of black pencil under his eye looked surprisingly nice, though he wasn’t about to admit it out loud.

“Maybe I could be persuaded to let you do the other eye,” he suggested mischievously, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of amusement and affection. His hands traveled to your waist, pulling you closer.

“Uhm, I can think of a few ways,” you whispered back, your lips hovering over his before closing the distance. You pressed a passionate kiss to his lips, your hands already pushing against his shoulders, guiding him to lie back on the bed. His heart swelled with love and ease, the discomfort of the eye pencil forgotten as he melted into your embrace. The sensation of your lips against his, soft and insistent, he felt cherished and deeply connected, the shared affection enveloping him in a cocoon of warmth and security.

6) Plus one time you didn’t 

The days in Pabu seemed to awaken earlier, as Tech had once explained, because the sun rose a few hours ahead of the neighboring planets. The warm rays of dawn gently invaded the room, casting a golden glow over the figures nestled in bed. A gentle breeze swayed the curtains, creating a delicate dance in the morning light.

"It's not even seven in the morning," you mumbled sleepily, your voice a soft whisper against the dawn. Rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand, you tried to adjust to the tender light of a new day.

"Is there ever a wrong time to be affectionate with you, mesh'la?" Hunter's voice was a gentle caress, his eyebrow arched in a playful query. His hand, warm and tender, brushed against your cheek, sending shivers of love and comfort through your drowsy form.

"Well, when I'm still half asleep, maybe?" you replied with a teasing smile, leaning into his touch. "But I suppose for you, there's never a wrong time." You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "What's got you so affectionate this early, hmm?"

"Nothing, I just wanted affection from my girlfriend. Is that a crime?" Hunter murmured softly, his nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he breathed in your scent deeply. Your curls tickled his nose, but he didn't mind; all he wanted was to have you in his arms.

"Well, of course not," you replied gently, your fingers absentmindedly playing with his hair. Lowering your eyes to meet his, you added, "But I don't believe that's all. I know you, Hunter. Spill it."

Hunter chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin. "Alright, you caught me, mesh'la. I must admit, seeing you in that dress last night... it's been on my mind." His hands, strong yet gentle, held your hips, guiding you to sit on his lap. "I've been longing to feel you close like this again," he whispered, his voice a tender caress, conveying the depth of his desire and affection.

"Oh, is that it, my love?" you teased softly, wrapping your arms around his neck as you nestled into his lap. "I'll be sure to remember to wear that dress more often," you murmured, your voice a playful whisper. The closeness brought a warmth that filled the space between you, each touch and word deepening the bond you cherished so dearly.

Hunter’s eyes gleamed with desire, his grip tightening slightly on your hips. "Do that, and you'll find yourself in quite a few compromising situations, mesh’la," he warned playfully, his voice a velvety whisper. His lips met yours in a tender, passionate kiss, conveying a depth of emotion that words could not capture. "I promise to make it worth your while," he murmured, his breath mingling with yours as the promise hung in the air, full of longing and affection.

You smiled affectionately against his lips, moving your hips over his lap in a sensual dance, your fingers clinging to his bare shoulders to intensify your painfully lascivious movement. ''I'll remember, huh"

Hunter groaned softly, his body responding to your tantalizing movements. "You're playing with fire, mesh'la," he murmured, his hands wandering up your thighs, pushing the hem of your nightgown higher. "And you know I love every second of it." His lips found your neck, leaving a trail of warm kisses as his hands explored your curves.

You bit your lip, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as you caught Hunter staring at you, his gaze lingering on the hem of your nightgown, the fabric clinging to your curves in all the right places.

''You couldn't keep your eyes off me last night," you whispered, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth. You slowly began to trace patterns on his chest, feeling his muscles tense under your touch. His breath hitched as you leaned in, your breasts pressing against him, your lips brushing against his ear.

"And now, I can't keep my hands off you," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. You let your fingers dance down his stomach, feeling him shiver under your touch. You hooked your finger into the waistband of his boxers, pulling him closer, grinding against him. He was already hard, and you could feel him throbbing against your center.

Hunter's grip on your hips tightened, his breath coming in ragged gasps as your words and touch ignited a fire within him that threatened to consume him whole. His heart pounded in his chest, echoing the primal hunger that coursed through his veins. "Mesh'la," he groaned, his voice a desperate plea, "you're killing me."

He captured your lips in a searing kiss, pouring all his pent-up emotions into it. His tongue danced with yours, claiming your mouth, tasting the sweetness of your desire. His hands roamed your body, tracing the curve of your neck, the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, before finally finding the damp lace of your panties. He groaned at the evidence of your arousal, his cock throbbing painfully against his boxers. He wanted nothing more than to tear off your clothes, to bury himself deep inside you, to feel you pulse around him as you came undone.

A soft moan escaped your lips as you lifted your hips, allowing Hunter to slowly peel your soaked panties down your legs, his knuckles brushing against your sensitive skin, sending shivers of anticipation coursing through you. Your heart raced in your chest, your breaths coming in short, shallow gasps as you eagerly awaited what was to come.

Your fingers fumbled with his boxers, your hands shaking with anticipation as you finally freed him from the confines of his clothing. You marveled at the sight of him, thick and hard, a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip. You longed to taste him, to feel him pulse in your mouth, but your desire to have him inside you was too great.

You guided him to your entrance, your fingers wrapping around his shaft, stroking him gently as you positioned him at your core. You could feel the heat radiating from you, your body aching with need. Hunter's hands gripped your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he held you open, his gaze locked on where you were about to join.

"Please, Hunter," you begged, your voice barely a whisper. "I need you inside me. Now." Your hips bucked, trying to impale yourself on him, but he held you firm, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Not yet, mesh'la," he teased, his voice low and husky. "I want to watch you take me in. Slowly." And with that, he began to push into you, inch by torturous inch, filling you completely, stretching you deliciously. You gasped, your head falling back as you savored the sensation, your body trembling with pleasure.

When Hunter finally sheathed himself completely inside you, you let out a cry of ecstasy, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body adjusted to his size. He gave you a moment to settle in, his hands stroking your hair, his breath warm on your neck as he murmured soothing words in your ear.

But soon, the need for movement became too great. You began to rock your hips, sliding up and down his length, taking him deeper with each thrust. Hunter groaned, his hands moving to grip your ass, helping to guide your movements, setting a rhythm that had you both gasping for air.

You could feel the tension building inside you, your body coiling like a spring ready to snap. Hunter must have sensed it too, because he suddenly flipped you onto your back, his hands pinning your wrists above your head as he began to pound into you, his pace frantic, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Come for me, mesh'la," he growled, his voice laced with desperation. "Let me feel you squeeze my cock as you come apart."

His words sent you spiraling over the edge. Your orgasm crashed into you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as you screamed his name. Hunter followed soon after, his body tensing as he spilled himself inside you, his own cries of pleasure mingling with yours.

In the aftermath, he collapsed on top of you, his body heavy and spent. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, your hearts beating in sync as you both struggled to catch your breath. 

[heroesriseandfall]

Jason Todd & Chronic Pain

I scrounged for the panels I know from Rebirth about Jason still having lingering pain and injuries from when the Joker killed him. We know Jason had substantial injuries and brain damage when he was resurrected, and Talia healed that with the Lazarus pit. But here’s some I know of being mentioned even after Talia healed him with the Lazarus pit.

The first I know of is when evil future Batman Tim targeted Jason’s hip because of a Joker-related injury that he claimed would eventually become debilitating for Jason. This move does take Jason out of the fight so it definitely seems like evil Tim successfully aggravated the injury.

Detective Comics #968 (Jan 2018) — earlier in #966 Batman Tim also mentioned future Jason would eventually lose an eye and a leg while fighting assassins.

More recently, regular, not-evil Tim referenced it while evaluating how to fight a Clayface Jason mimic:

Tim Drake: Robin #3 (Jan 2023) — Tim says the pit brought Jason back, which has sometimes been a thing. Originally Jason was only healed by the pit after he’d already been resurrected by something else.

This next one was black label, so it may or may not be canon (the creative team claims “it’s up to reader interpretation” and disagree on whether they personally think it is canon). I’m not a fan of the comic but it did pretty clearly indicate Jason had chronic pain from the Joker:

Batman: Three Jokers #2 (Nov 2020)

(There might be more than these—my reading of post flashpoint comics is kinda random and incomplete compared to my reading of post-Crisis. In post-Crisis though I think they mainly put emphasis on Jason’s destabilized mental health and didn’t really bring up physical aspects IIRC. His brain damage seemed healed and yet he seemed more affected after the pit than other one-time-in-the-pit characters like Dinah Lance or Cass Cain were.)

They haven’t bothered explaining how the pit didn’t heal them so far as I know (the pits kinda work to authorial convenience anyway). My route is usually to blame any weird Jason stuff on the strange, multiversal circumstances of his resurrection, but versions of his origin where he’s only brought back by the pit might not jive with that (which includes some Rebirth IIRC).

In any case, I do hope more writers pick up on this more and I love to see when it’s expanded upon a bit in fandom. I would already consider Jason’s mental health to be a disabling issue for him but it’s neat sometimes to have writers recognize chronic pain-related issues among DC characters. (I’d love to also see more expansion of Bruce mentioning he experienced chronic pain…it pops up every so often but rarely if ever in depth.)

Alt text is copied and expanded upon under read more below.

ID 1: Two panels from Detective Comics #968 showing Jason Todd as Red Hood leaping to fight evil future Batman Tim Drake. Jason says, “Sorry, Timmy, I don’t believe in Santa Claus.” Batman Tim slams his staff directly into Jason’s right hip joint, sending him flying back, and says, “Jason. In a few years you were going to learn that one of your bones never set right after the Joker killed you. There’s a growing debilitating bone spur in your hip joint. There, I found it for you you’re welcome.” They’re both in the batcave.

ID 2: A cropped panel from Tim Drake: Robin #3 showing a red narration box for Tim Drake which says: “The Lazarus Pit may have brought Jason back from the dead, but he’s still sensitive where The Joker killed him.”

ID 3: A comic page from Batman: Three Jokers #2. A Joker leans in Jason Todd’s face, looking intense and serious. The Joker says, “Who is the Joker, really? We’re going to find out.” The word “out” is written in an extended sing-songy way. The Jokers put Jason’s Red Hood helmet over his head but they’ve decorated it with a wide Joker-style grin. The two Jokers laugh, then one says, “We’ve spent considerable time trying to best answer that question: who is the Joker? We found that judge. A serial killer. A surgeon. All rather predictable and uninspiring. And then there’s you. Tell me something. Why would you put on that helmet and call yourself Red Hood after what we did?” Jason, who is sitting naked tied to the wooden chair, says, “Come on. Is every one of you copycats gonna ask me the same thing? It’s a joke.” One of the Jokers holds up a crowbar as the other says, “A joke? We left you with brain damage and permanent nerve pain. Physical and emotional trauma so severe that the only relief you ever find is when you inflict pain on others.” The Joker holds the crowbar by Jason’s head. “You and me, boy…..We’re more alike than you’d care to admit.”

ID 4: A comic page from Batman: Three Jokers #2 showing Jason Todd with no shirt on and small bandages on various parts of his arms and face. He looks at a calendar on a wall and reads the crossed out days that have physical therapy sessions written on them. He sees a stack of various healing and exercise books. The top book is titled Chronic Pain Management by Dr. D. Kresan. He picks it up. Barbara Gordon as Batgirl enters a different, dark room through a window.

ID 5: A comic page from Batman: Three Jokers #2 showing Barbara Gordon as Batgirl entering her own bedroom. She says, “Jason?” She sees a book on her bed titled “Chronic Pain Management” by Dr. D. Kresan. Jason says, “Barbara?” and walks out of the attached bathroom with only a towel around his waist. Babs says, “I figured you’d left.” Jason says, “I hope it’s okay I used the shower and I…I didn’t mean to go through your things. The closet door was open and that book looked…useful.” Babs says, “It was. Are you okay?” Jason has small bandages and bruises on his face as he says, “I don’t think I’ve ever been okay.” Babs looks concerned. Jason continues saying, “What the Joker said…about how I’ve been on the path to being like them for years…they’re not wrong. I don’t want to be like them though. I really don’t. You believe that, right?” Babs says, “I’m willing to.” Then Jason says, “Can I ask you something?”

[waffowo]

I cannot stop thinking about how Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain ironically fits as the missing link of the Metal Gear Solid franchise by being this ambivalent and spiteful text that could only be possible because it exists after Metal Gear Solid 4: Guns Of The Patriots.

Like think about it. MGS4 is Kojima’s perfect farewell in how it encapsulates his complex relationship towards his own series, his own cynical but still very much hopeful take on The Irishman (2019) if you will. The game simultaneously reveals Kojima’s hope and affection by pulling every known idiosyncracy to a hyperbolic degree but also his exhaustion and suspicion through Snake being not a hero but an old killer and his reflections on his role as a pioneer of the military-stealth genre within the gaming industry. It even seeks to tackle the behemoth of closing at least the majority of the loose narrative threads. As a consequence, any future game is attacked with the question of purpose since Kojima has already said what he needed to say. 

Through this question is how MGSV can even be allowed to exist because it affirms that the question is rhetorical. The game chronologically exists in a liminal space in the middle, neither here nor there. It even narratively exists as a structural ouroboros, a almost completely closed system which begins and ends on a mirror. Kojima elevates this sentiment to an extreme level by denying any kind of player satisfaction (or nostalgia) by still being an encapsulation of a lot of overarching themes now filtered through a lens of condemnation. 

 There is at least this sense of valour found in the main cast of MGS4. There might not be any heroes but you can tell that at the end of the game, there is a sense of dignity. MGSV works completely opposite to that. The central cast of MGSV is so pathetic that the game plays like a tragicomedy as they aimlessly wander about, overdosing on some serious fucking copium that taking revenge will bring peace. A particular venture you know that’s doomed but can’t help but watch. Phantom Paz expresses this so unsubtly yet so perfectly in her final cassette tape. Peace Day is always going to be a mirage and has been even since the Peace Walker days, it’s just that Kojima doesn’t always focus on the other reality that these people are all still terrorists and war criminals. 

People who expected Big Boss instead got a confused, empty and depressed war criminal who can be found roleplaying as a cowboy. His other hobbies include non-stop vaping and managing war criminal spreadsheets. Mission 43 doesn’t feel like a descent into evil because Venom is already kind of evil but instead works by acting in perfect opposition to Chapter 1 where you sort through your digital files to identify patterns and promptly send them to death in the quarantine ward. He’s so high up the military hierarchy that of course he can’t help but have a crisis when he is directly confronted with the physical reality he used to be able to meet with mechanical detachment. 

Venom Snake also serves as a perfect way to comment on the overarching theme of agency. However, there’s no final monologue to tell you to think for yourself, no Raiden throwing away the dog tags, no Naked Snake refusing to shake an official’s hand. Instead all these typical moments are denied in every way possible to the point it’s very funny. Venom is not only a castrated protagonist but is also basically a preprogrammed AI with no hope to break free because he’s narratively doomed. Your actions don’t really matter. Even funnier, the ending is perfect by hitting you with the “you, the player, were the war criminal all along” that heightens the tragicomic beats through recontextualisation. What is more mortifyingly funny than realising that you’ve just been playing as Raiden AGAIN but instead of someone that exists beyond the player you have become canonised as an in-world character complicit in perpetuating imperialism. This works so well with how if you listen to the tapes and mission briefings closely, you realise that there are so many contradictions that no one are bringing up. Everyone is lying to you and everyone is telling the truth but it doesn’t matter. Venom just captures the disorientated position of the player, caught in this Pynchonesque paranoid labyrinth that it leaves you confused and speechless. What other choice do you have but to smoke a fat one, it’s not like you can actually resist the game if you’re completely out of the loop. 

Aside from Venom, there is of course Huey who has descended into full on pathological lying and delusion. Even if he didn’t cause the second outbreak, he’s so overwhelmed by guilt and paranoia by his other crimes he’s most likely guilty of that he’s able to beat the truth serum. When you’re rescuing Huey, he literally blames you for the destruction of the MSF. Like literally as you’re hauling ass to get him out. Even more pathetic is Kaz who makes these grand statements alongside Venom about taking revenge that you know doesn’t mean shit. His monologues are so passionate and are so depressing and yet he is met with awkward silence constantly that it’s depressingly funny. 

There’s this amazing usage of comedic timing, after you rescue Kaz and bring him back to Mother Base, where he monologues and says, “Dogs of war for nine whole years…that ends today. Now you’re not sleeping, and we’re not junkyard hounds. We’re Diamond Dogs.” The swelling of the music at the last moment is instantly followed by Kaz being shut the fuck up by a medic who puts an oxygen mask on him and lies him down. No one responds to the speech. Ocelot merely only talks to stop the medic and allow Kaz to get a few more words in out of pure pity. Likewise, Kaz’s extreme cognitive dissonance as he believes he can return to the good old days is so pitiful and poignant you can’t help but to stare with sympathy. 

The end of Chapter 1 shows how far gone he is with a very clever cut as Venom turns away from a vision of Skullface where Skullface is replaced by Kaz himself. Chapter 2 then logically shows him becoming full on paranoid, going full on 1984 Minister of Truth because what else does he have left if he doesn’t have an object of revenge anymore? I remember a moment, where he’s calling you, with this sense of manic fanaticism as he rambles to Venom that it’s time to dig up dirt on Huey and finally get him out for good. It becomes so absurd that even OCELOT tells him to shut the hell up. 

Ocelot is maybe the only normal person on board but that title means nothing in-universe. He’s thriving because he’s happily going along with War On Terror 2. He’s normal because he flat out embraces this and even goes out with his crush dressed as a cowboy. Of course there won’t be those moments where he’s of central dramatic focus here, he is simply here for the ride, his true goal to win the game of 8D chess for the man he’s down bad for. 

This band of losers are completely devoid of real purpose and are so…beta and it works because of how it both confronts an equally important reality of the characters not usually as overt and how MGS4 already closing off the franchise sets up how MGSV’s narrative and characters are already and should be dead. Peace is only possible in the case of war criminals when they’ve been buried. Evoking dissatisfaction might not always be intentional and is sometimes accidental but it works because there is no real satisfaction in beating a dead horse just to see your faves perform one more song. Especially if they already aren’t good people.

[a-polite-melody]

I’m not going to do this directly on the post that inspired this one, because there is some legitimate venting about how difficult a situation it becomes to live in and whatnot and I guarantee bringing this up there would only go negatively for me instead of actually helping people to dismantle internalized ableist mentalities they have, so here’s its own post:

It is definitely necessary to bring up the issues that arise from allowing lack-of-cleaning to get to having health hazards around.

What’s not necessary is saying that anyone who is in a state where they are unable to clean and have black mold now acting as a health hazard is just “people so deep into the online buzzword salad of ‘the leftism leaving people’s bodies when mental illness affects your hygiene’ that they’re simply choosing not to care about cleaning and should just get off their lazy asses and actually clean because it’s okay to skip brushing your teeth or showering once in a while but it’s not okay to live with black mold because that makes your quality of life worse.”

Like… I mean first of all, how do you manage to acknowledge that black mold is a health hazard and not understand that the symptoms of black mold actively make it then even harder to deal with that black mold, and then just say “just clean” as the answer and not understand there’s some ableism you’re holding onto.

No, I don’t think it’s okay to be living in filth. But the answer isn’t to lecture people on why it’s bad to be living in filth. And that—the mentality on display—is hilariously exactly the leftism leaving you because you personally can Just Push Yourself to clean and not end up in conditions with mold and so Everyone Else in that situation is being Lazy or Making Excuses and not actually in need of Serious Aid.

I’m not saying you personally need to be that aid. If you have a roommate, for example, who is not cleaning, it’s not even your job to find out why. You don’t have to personally live with someone who cannot clean or chip in to clean the living space. But the solution isn’t to say that Everyone Can clean their living space fine actually and some people are just Choosing Not To because they’re lazy lefties using their mood disorders as excuses.

There are people who require full-time carers who currently do not have them, just for a start, and they will look pretty indistinguishable from someone ~simply choosing~ to not clean their living spaces if all you’re looking at is the fact they’ve let the space get that gross and saying “this is the whole ‘the leftism leaving people’s bodies when mental illness affects your hygiene’ taken Too Far!!”

(The fact you think there’s a Too Far there is literally the problem. And the fact that the solution is shunning someone out of laziness instead of looking for what caused the problem to get so bad and figuring out ways to prevent that.)

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Fateful Love in Motion

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

2024 General Election (JP)

ღ Prologue

That night, upon arriving at Ōoku.

Mai: "Nngh, come on!"

I was desperately trying to climb the mansion wall.

Kanetsugu: "What are you doing up there? Get down."

Mai: "Kanetsugu? Whoa!"

Kanetsugu caught me as I lost my footing.

Kanetsugu: "If you're going to fall in a panic, don't climb in the first place."

Mai: "S-Sorry."

Kanetsugu: "So, who gave you this idea?"

Mai: "Huh?"

Kanetsugu: "Who helped you?"

Mai: "No one! I just wanted to get out of here."

Kanetsugu: "You mean you were trying to escape without any plan? That's a sloppy move for a princess."

Mai: "But I couldn't stand it! I understand my responsibility to take over the family, but it's only possible with the right partner."

Mai: "It's not okay to get close to someone you don't respect or date multiple people simultaneously!"

Kanetsugu: "You're right. Your point is valid."

Mai: "Really?"

Kanetsugu: "But if you're dissatisfied, don't act impulsively. Plan your moves and outsmart those around you."

Kanetsugu: "If you're that determined, I can at least help you become wiser."

Mai: "You're not going to tell my father?"

Kanetsugu: "Your methods are wrong, but I agree with your stance."

Kanetsugu: "Even if you're a princess, your dignity as a person should come first."

Mai: "………"

(He respects me not just as a princess but as a human being.)

It was from this moment that I started to like him.

The very next day, his lessons began.

Kanetsugu: "Your father has instructed me to educate you through Chinese poetry."

Kanetsugu: "However, the essence of poetry and songs is not merely their beauty; it lies in their spirit and passion."

Kanetsugu: "Understand the thoughts and emotions of the poet, and make them your own."

Mai: "Got it!"

A few days later一

Kanetsugu: "Are you an idiot? You can't even distinguish between Mencius and Confucius."

Mai: "Ugh. Please, one more time!"

Kanetsugu: "You seem to have more guts than I thought."

Mai: "It's because you're serious about teaching me. I want to give it my all in response."

Kanetsugu: "That's the only thing I'll praise you for."

(He smiled for the first time.)

I immersed myself in studying, wanting to see him smile again.

Sometime later一

Father: "Enough is enough. If you have time to read books, choose a husband!"

Mai: "With all due respect, Father, this is for our family's sake."

Mai: "If I lack education, I won't be able to pick a good husband. The quality of the husband directly affects the quality of the heir. It's a serious matter, you know?"

Father: "Kuh. You've become unusually clever!"

I let out a sigh of relief as his footsteps faded away.

Kanetsugu: "I see. That was a good comeback."

Mai: "It's the first time I've outwitted my father! Although, it seems like it'll be the first and last."

Kanetsugu: "Is your escape plan ready?"

Mai: "Yes. I'll leave for the port tonight and set sail."

Mai: "That's why you should escape with me!"

Kanetsugu: "What?"

Mai: "I love you. I've made preparations so we can be together."

Kanetsugu: "What are you saying?"

Mai: "I'll become even smarter to avoid being caught. I'll do anything to live with you."

Mai: "I love you."

Kanetsugu: "........."

Kanetsugu: "I have no right to be with you."

Mai: "Huh?"

Kanetsugu: "If you leave the palace, you will lose everything. Initially, I intended to dissuade you from escaping."

Kanetsugu: "But I grew attracted to you and became selfish, not wanting to give you to another man."

Kanetsugu: "So I taught you how to survive. Someone as insincere as I am doesn't deserve your love. And yet..."

Kanetsugu: "I don't want to give you to anyone else. I want you in my arms."

Mai: "Please, love me!"

Unable to hold back, I hugged him, and a sweet scent filled the air.

Mai: "I don't think you're insincere. The fact that you helped me when I was about to flee without a plan remains unchanged."

Mai: "So please, live with me."

We kissed over and over again, pledging our love to each other.

ღ Collection Events Masterlist

[trans-luis-serra-navarro]

Ok I’ll be totally completely honest I’ve been WEIRDLY nervous about posting this and I DONT KNOW WHY

But here is FINALLY. FINALLY the long awaited somewhat joke somewhat serious analysis/theory that Bitores Méndez and Luis’ Grandfather had something going on between them

Again just take this post with a grain of salt, I’m just here to have a little bit of fun but ANYWAYS

My first point; It’s canon that Luis grew up with and almost treated Bitores Méndez as somewhat of a father figure; this was apparently true for most if not all of the children in the village, but Mendéz seemed to have had a particular fondness of Luis, even going as far as to encourage his love for science and fictional literature from a very very young age. Which by itself is definitely worth noting- Valdelobos was a very very devout Catholic village before Saddler arrived (as stated by the design team as well as through visual clues such as rosaries and bibles being scattered around, Luis signing the cross after he kills a villager, the location of the village itself etc etc) which I IMAGINE wouldn’t be very fond of their youth engaging in fantasy and science as that goes against a lot of super hardcore Catholic beliefs. But not only does Méndez encourage it; so does Luis’ Grandfather. Why else would Méndez be so willing to excuse Luis’ interests if it weren’t for a fondness of his Grandfather???

And circling back to Méndez’ relationship with Luis- we get told that Luis would be told by his grandfather to stay behind and, presumably, be taken care of by Méndez while he went away on hunting trips. Who knows if Méndez did this for ALL the children in the village, or JUST Luis, but we know from the fact that (again, presumably) the only reason Luis’ Grandfather was attacked by wolves was because he was distracted by Luis’ presence that Méndez most likely kept a pretty close eye on him on behalf of his Grandfather. Plus!! Méndez was the village chief!!!!! The fact that he took the time out of his day to specifically take care of Luis AND engage and foster his interests is very telling!! He clearly had a lot of respect and/or fondness for his Grandfather on SOME level to do that for him.

And then of course we get to the infamous fire; Luis’ Grandfathers notes describing his slowly worsening state is just devastating and culminates in him telling Méndez; ‘You know what to do.’ He trusted and knew the man well enough to know that HE’D know what to do when worst came to worst. He didn’t even have to SAY, ‘light the house on fire’, he just knew Méndez would understand instinctually. Luis’ Grandfather even explicitly asks Méndez to take care of Luis after he’s gone!!! That’s so telling in my extremely humble opinion!!!!!! Like yes, sure, absolutely you could just assume that it’s his natural trust in the village chief, but Luis is all he had left- and I personally think it’s very poignant of him to pick Méndez specifically to take care of him.

Again, could this all be just regular old fondness of Méndez being the village chief and/or just them being good friends?? Well sure absolutely!!!! This is all just my personal interpretation!!!!! But I think it’s very interesting that Luis himself is a somewhat queer-coded character as well the fact that him being raised by healthy father figures in his childhood affects who he becomes when he’s an adult. He’s a gentleman at heart and is always always putting others first before himself- again, his childhood directly affects how he acts when he’s older and I just think it’s super fascinating to see a character having grown up with father figures that were there and active in their life their ENCOURAGED their interests carry that along with them and have that encourage the actions they make. It’s little things like that that make Luis such a beautifully crafted character to me at least.

And also I think it’d be funny if being gay ran in the family HDNWNENDJ

AGAIN. Again. Don’t take this post too seriously. You don’t have to agree with it I’m just having a bit of fun and I hope you had some fun too

[outsideratheart]

Unstoppable (Leah Williamson x reader)

Based off this request. 

A/N: I really wasn’t in the writing mood but then i got this request and I wanted to celebrate today’s win. I hope you guys like it.

You had never doubted yourself more than you had in the past few weeks. You came back from an serious ankle injury the same game Beth tore her ACL and then Viv injured hers too. It lead to you been put back into the starting 11 ahead of plan and the pressure that the both you and the fans put on you was incredibly high. 

The international break was when things changed. The Arnold cup was a place to have fun and try new things. Sarina gave you the freedom to play how you liked and it payed off. You won top goal scorer and player of the tournament. You were proud of your performances and awards but it failed in comparison to the proudness your girlfriend felt. 

When Arsenal played Chelsea in the FA cup you felt like you were the only attacker that showed up, still you tried everything but AKB managed to save every single one of your shots. You left that game back to your old self doubting ways and it left only one option, brutal honesty. The next day you spent hours reviewing game tape and ignoring your girlfriend so when you arrived at Coloney the following morning Leah was not only in a mood with you but the rest of the forwards too because you gave them all your attention instead of her. After you explained what you’d learned from the tapes you worked with Stina, Caitlyn and a few of the coaching staff on ways you need to improve if you stand a chance against Chelsea in the Conti cup final. 

“You ready baby” Leah stood in between your legs after the team had emptied the locker room. 

“What if I can’t do it? You’ve seen the way I’ve been playing. What if I’ll never be the same as I was before the injury” 

The lack in confidence wasn’t something Leah could prepare herself for. You oozed the stuff when you played and it why you were the WSL’s top goal scorer. Lately she had seen the way you let people’s opinions get in your head whether it was from the media or reading fan comments on social media. Your head, which was once like Fort Knox, had become free entry for anyone who pleased. 

“Look at me” Leah uses her index finger to tilt your chin upwards. The forced movement meaning that you were now looking directly into the blue eyes you loved so much “I need you to go out there and have the same amount of faith in you as I do. We know how to beat Chelsea, you obsessed over the footage for hours, nobody knows more about this team than you. You are going to go out there and be unstoppable” 

Leah bends down slightly and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. An act which until this point never happen on game day but Leah knew you needed the reassurance which comes with the act of affection.

“Unstoppable” you mumble to yourself.

“That’s right baby and whilst you’re at it try to score a goal for me” She pulls you to your feet and together you enter the tunnel. As you walk out onto the pitch you have extra motivation to perform. Besides when your girlfriend asks for a goal you never disappoint and you wasn’t go to start today.

When Chelsea score within the first two minutes you feel the doubt and insecurities begin to rise but you ignore them and move on. It works because within ten minutes the ball finds its way into the back of the Chelsea net after you sent a rocket from outside the box. The goal itself was beautiful and your confident side is on full display. Leah is somehow the first one to you, whether that is because she was the closest or because your team mates knew how much this moment meant to you and Leah would be the person you wanted to celebrate with most.

The final whistle blows and you cannot believe you did it. Most of the world had written you and your team off for this game but you all proved them wrong and the look of the Chelsea player’s faces was the icing on the cake. You had a brief moment with Leah on the pitch but you knew better than to get to handsy with this many eyes watching. Jen passes you and Katie a small bottle of champagne, you being the responsible adult you are refused the drink but the Scottish defender tells you it was alcohol free. It passes the smell test so the three of the of you down most of the bottle then you read the label, you should have known better.

“We’re champions” Leah jumps on your back causes you to stumble a little “Are you drunk?” 

You never stumbled, not this much, so it was a giveaway that you had started the celebrations without her.

“I thought it was alcohol free” you reminded her of an innocent child and it was adorable. 

“Come on, we’ve got media to do with Alex” Leah grabbed your hand and together you walked towards the BBC stand.

The spotlight never came easy to you and once the final whistle was blown it didn’t take long for you to go back to your shy self. It was naive of you to think Alex and Farrah would only ask Leah questions seen as through you scored and won player of the match. After the first question, Katie comes out of nowhere and hands you another bottle of champagne, the two of your cheers and you drink more of it. The buzz you felt led to your first stage of intoxication, touchy. Leah answers her set of questions the best she could but you were out to make things more difficult. Your hand, which started by your side, found its way to the small of her back then ventured lower and lower until it rested comfortably on her bum. Alex chuckles when she catches you but you only raise your eyebrows in response, she had seen this side of you before and knew there was no stopping you.

You prove this point by pulling Leah to the locker room as soon as the interview is finished. 

“Whoah, what’s the rush?” Leah giggles as you quickly shut the locker room door.

“I don’t know how long i’ll have” you grab her hips her pull her close to you.

“For what?” 

“This” you crash your lips in Leah’s with passion. The way your body reacted when her lips were on yours amazed you. She had so much power over you and she didn’t even realise it. Your lips move in sync and with every kiss Leah take one step forward towards your locker. The back of you knees hit the seat making you sit down and Leah wastes no time in sitting on your lap with her legs either side of you. You hadn’t kissed her like this in weeks and your girlfriend was savouring every second. For a brief moment you forget about where you are. You let your hands roam her body before pulling her shirt over her head, she in suit does the same thing. She moves her attention to your neck, more specifically the spot she knows drives you wild.

“Eww” Beth says as she enters the locker room.

“This is a family event girls, we have kids present” Jen jokingly covers Gio’s eyes.

Leah, who is clearly more embarrassed than you, quickly gets up off your lap and makes herself presentable. You meanwhile sit back in frustration, only getting dressed when Leah throws a shirt at you.

With the two of you dressed the celebrations begin in the locker room. Jen passes you another bottle of champagne honestly stating that this one has alcohol in but given your new found frustrations down a few mouthfuls. 

Even though you won you still have notes on your performance and how you could have been better so you begin talking with a member of the coaching staff, diagrams are drawn on the board and the conversation gains the attention of Jonas who is intrigued by your strategies. He agrees to work on them when the team returns to training in two days time.

“This is great Y/N and today you proved everybody wrong” he hugged you and the praise was like music to your ears.

“Thanks gaffa” 

“Nice touch. Let me guess, it was Leah’s idea? she wanted the player of the matches shirt”

In a rush it seems Leah put your shirt on, leaving you to wear hers.

“Oh this” you pull at the shirt “Yes, you know how big of a fan she is” 

“Sure” It was clear he didn’t believe you but you didn’t care. 

You had waited 4 years for this moment. It had been a long silverware drought for Arsenal and you hoped that this win gave the team the confidence it needs to return to league football and challenge for the top spot. You were certainly ready for it and even though you were missing your injured team mates you know the team has what it takes to win.

“You two look good together”

Leah takes a quick photo of you with the trophy before taking a photo with both of you. She sends it to her mum followed by a message saying you’ll meet up with them soon.

The closeness in which Leah is sitting gives you the perfect opportunity to continue your mission from earlier. You pepper kisses on the back and side of her neck, smiling smugly when her head dips back in pleasure.

“I can’t wait till we are back in at the hotel” Leah turns and kiss you quickly.

“I don’t plan of waiting that long. You better tell your mum we will be late”

[mercedesvince]

If your requests are still open, The losers club x male reader who’s popular and doesn’t care if talking to them ruins his reputation.

Losers Club x Popular Male Reader

“Arcade”

[F.N]-Friend’s name

[N.N]- nickname

You doubled over in laughter, putting your hands in your lap, holding up your head. “Oh dude, you gotta be kidding me?” you said looking up, still hunched over. [F.N.] just continued laughing, “No [name] i’m being serious! He really did that! I was standing right next to her!”

You were both laughing at the story [F.N] had said. It involved a guy, who you both new was kind of a douche, asking your friend out. She had obviously rejected him, but if the reason hadn’t been for his reputation, it would’ve definitely been for his very corny and embarrassing pick up line.

“Man, all the good stuff always happens when i’m gone,” you said finally sitting back up, leaning against the bench. [F.N] looked at you, a smiling still adorning their face. “Yeah man, but you were the one who ditched us to go hang out with that losers club”. You looked at your friend, before your smile slightly fell. Rolling your eyes, you responded with “Whatever, they’re super cool once you get to know them, actually, I think you’d get along with Richie”. Your friend just raised an eyebrow, “[Name your like one of my closest friends, but if you keep hanging out with those kids you’re gonna end up being grouped in as a loser,” they sighed. “Yeah, yeah whatever man,” you had not a single care in your tone. You would say that you were pretty popular, nothing you did on purpose though. You just happened to know and get along with a lot people. Probably your charisma, but all that popularity didn’t matter to you. So what if hanging out with the ‘losers club’ ruined your ‘reputation’. You’ll hang out with whoever you want, not because of the benefits they bring, but because you like being around them.

——————————————————————————

You made your way out of the school, waving goodbye to your friend who was staying for an after school club. You were technically also supposed to be at that meeting, but you had promised you would hangout with Stan, Eddie, Richie, and Bill at the arcade. [F.N] said he would cover for you, tell them you weren’t feeling well, but you know he was starting to become annoyed with you.

Whatever, he’s not the one hanging out with your friends, this affects him in no way possible so he has no reason to be upset.

With your backpack slung over your shoulder, you spot your friends near their bikes. Smiling you begin to make your way over, until you see Bowers and his little gang beat you to them. He has that cocky smile on his face, clearly saying something insulting to them. Immediately picking up your pace you decide to interrupt whatever Henry was planning.

“Hey guys, what’s up ?” you ask, pretending to not take into account Henry and his little group first. You look directly at your friends, only then do you take a glance at Henry. “Bowers,” you greet. “[Last Name]” he returns. You see his smirk fall, turning into a glare directed at you.

“[N.N]!” Bill greets. “W-What’s up man?” he says. “Nothing much, you guys ready to head out?” Henry watched the whole interaction, he and his two friends started distancing away from the group. “I’ll talk to you later [last name],” he said, still holding a hostile gaze towards you. “Yeah,”you replied watching him and his little group walk off.

There was a moment of awkward silence, before broken by Richie ”Wow thank god for our Knight in shining armour”. A smirk grew on your face as you playful punched Richie on the arm. “I’m gonna start charging you if you keep making me your bodyguard”.

“Oh [N.N], we invited Bev, Ben and Mike to join us. Mike said he’d meet us there. We’re just waiting on Bev and Ben.” Stan said.

“Alright, Cool”.

Once Beverley and Ben joined you guys outside the school, you all headed towards the arcade. You mainly talked to Eddie on the way there as you guys rode your bikes next to each other.

“It’s just so unsanitary of her, I mean we’re dissecting frogs! Why does she think it’s ok if we just do it without gloves!” You listened to Eddie ramble on and complain about his science teacher and the classes new lab. “Yeah man, I mean usually I tell you you’re overreacting, but that’s actually disgusting and probably a safety hazard,” you said, what a gross teacher. “Well at least you’re lucky [name] you got the only good science teacher”. You laughed at Eddie’s comment continuing to make you way to the arcade with the group.

Once at the arcade, Eddie parted ways with Richie, something about Street Fighter. You had previously tried to beat Richie’s record. Thinking you had a chance as you considered yourself pretty good at the game. But you learned that day that no one compares to Richie.

Although you were all still hanging out together, you mainly stuck with Stan at the beginning, the two of you played a few rounds of [favorite arcade game], before trailing off to his favorite machine. At one point you two went to take a turn on Street Fighter with Eddie and Richie, but you moved on after a few rounds.

Bill was mostly playing air hockey with Beverly. You didn’t bother those two too much, and instead went and joined Mike and Ben at Pop-a-Shot, as Stan had left to go play at the Price is Right machine.

You, Mike and Eddie ended up playing Skee-ball at one point. You got the highest score 4/7 times, with Mike getting 3, and Eddie ending up with none, as he was skeptical about touching the plastic balls, saying that his looked “chewed on”. He ended up rolling one or two at least.

Eventually you made your way over to Ben and Bev, who had ended up sitting facing each other in a booth, talking about music. “Alright but have you listened to ‘Covergirl’? Has to be the best one on the album,” you said. “I have to agree Ben, ‘Please don’t Go Girl’ is good, but ‘Covergirl’ is just better”. “You guys are crazy,” ben said smiling. You were all sitting at a small booth, discussing witch song was the best off ‘Hangin’ Tough’.

“Well well what are you nerds talking about?” Richie said walking up to your guys table, taking the empty seat next to you and Bev. You saw Stan slide in next to Ben, followed by Mike. Bill and Eddie soon made their way over, sitting down as well, the booth ended being able to fit all of you somehow. As your guys day came to an end, you ordered a pizza and some mozzarella sticks, laughing and joking with each other. As you sat with your friends laughing, you couldn’t believe you ever considered staying after school and passing up such a good time.

[lolahauri]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ when you touch me i die just a little inside

My brain is completely flooded with jumbled scenarios of Ian, so let me just ramble and get this out here before I explode 😩 no proof reading and no warnings btw, someday soon ill rewrite this better, but for now this is what yall get 🥴(MDNI)

-

Just imagine him being your mathematics professor. he's in his early forties, you're in your early-mid twenties. you've always had a thing for older men, and them being an authority figure only made the fantasies more exciting.

you noticed after some months of being in his class, he seemed to start eyeing you more. lingering gazes cast in your direction were becoming increasingly noticeable. he always asked your thoughts on the subject being taught first. he praised your papers and projects much more than the other students.

you wondered if you were being delusional, or if maybe you actually had a chance...

you wanted to test him and see if your suspicions were correct, but without being too obvious, of course. so to start, you began wearing short skirts more often, maybe with a sweater on top so it didn't seem so clear you were trying to show some skin. you took note of how he looked directly at your legs every time you strolled into class with a miniskirt. you couldn't see after you turned your back, but man he couldn't take his eyes off of them until you got to your seat.

after a couple weeks, you moved your spot to the front row, closer to his main desk. occasionally, when he was up at the board, looking out to the class, you'd switch your crossed legs to the other side. spreading them just enough that he could catch a glimpse of your lace panties. you knew you caught him in the act when he began to clear his throat profusely afterwards, refusing to look you in the eyes for the rest of the day.

you continued to amp up your little game until you were sure you could make a move. but before you could, he did.

-

class was out for the day, you were the last student to get your things packed and ready to leave. before you could head out the door though, Dr. Malcolm called out to you.

"Uh, Ms. [L/N]?" you turned to look at him, his face was serious. your stomach dropped, shit, what if the teasing wasn't affecting him the way you thought it was?

"Oh- um. yes, professor?" you were trying to play it cool, maybe he'd buy the 'i had no idea' act if you pitched it well enough.

"would you, uh, mind seeing me in my office for a sec?"

"of course! yes..." you walked with him to a door near the corner of his room, hands beginning to tremble a bit. as you entered, he walked in behind you and... locked the door?

before you could ask what this was about, he roughly grabbed your cheeks in one hand, tilting your head up to force eye contact with you.

"do you have something you wanna tell me, Ms. [L/N]" heat pooled in your stomach immediately as his deep brown eyes pierced into yours "you wanna explain this - this little game you've playing? huh?" he squeezed your soft face a little harder, lips slowly inching towards you.

"Sir, i-"

"what? you- you think I didn't notice what you were doing? wearing these little, uh, short skirts, spreadin' your legs right in front me everyday." his voice raised a bit, but oddly enough, he didn't exactly sound angry. it must be the sexual frustration coming out.

and maybe this wasn't the time to be bold, but you couldn't hold back anymore, you needed him now.

"maybe I wanted you to notice, professor."

he smirked down at you, wrapping a strong arm around your back "oh, really? well, uh, you got my attention now sweetheart."

oh, it's game on.

both of you leaned forward to quickly close the gap between your mouths. your lips fit together like puzzle pieces, your head was spinning as you reached up to snake your arms around his neck. he's so tall...

a surprised noise came out of you as he leaned down to pick you up, one arm under your ass, the other still on your back, pressing you into his body firmly. the kiss quickly deepened, he slid his tongue past your lips, swirling it around your own as you moaned into his mouth.

ian stumbles forward a bit, carefully finding the table in the room and lying you down on it, pulling away from the kiss briefly.

"you, uh, wanna take this further sweetheart?" he grinned down at you, his arms caging your head in.

"god, yes" you breathed out, wrapping your legs around his hips and bringing him into another kiss.

he chuckled against your lips, not wasting any time to run a large hand up both your top and skirt. one hand was grabbing your breast as the other worked to pull your panties down. usually he'd prep a woman more before fucking her, but you've worked him up so much he can't wait any longer.

ian pulled back once again, hastily undoing his belt. you watched in awe as he pulled his pants down, just far enough to let his long cock spring out. he let out a breathy laugh, "like what you see?"

under normal circumstances you'd be embarrassed, but you were so turned on and dazed all you could do was nod, slowly lifting your gaze back to his eyes.

he stepped forward and bent down slightly to align his hips with yours, grabbing your legs and wrapping them around his waist. you were breathing heavily as his tip grazed your hole, dripping wet and ready to be fucked.

"are you, um, are you sure you wanna do this? i can stop-"

"just fuck me already, please" you interrupted, you weren't trying to be rude, but you're getting seriously desperate right now.

"shit..." he mutters under his breathe, quickly following your orders and slipping himself in. he was big, but there was no resistance at all from your slick pussy.

ian set a quick, but gentle pace, not wanting to be too rough too fast. you were both filling the small space with moans and groans, getting dangerously loud considering the building you're in. but neither of you could honestly care right now, this felt way too good to hold back.

you gripped onto his biceps tightly, trying to keep yourself stable and grounded. with every thrust he was hitting that spot inside you that made your knees weak, you let out a couple broken whines after he hit your sweet spot particularly hard.

he groaned at the feeling your nails digging into his arms, he loved seeing the affect he had on you. ian picked up the intensity, brutally shoving his hips forward and pounding into you at an almost painful degree.

you were practically screaming his name now, steadily building up to your climax. you could tell he was getting close too, his breathing was heavy and ragged, droplets of sweat running down his forehead.

"Ian, -fuck- please cum in me, please." you sobbed out the sentence, moaning after every thrust. your pussy clenched around him as your orgasm began to erupt. the feeling spread over your entire body, sending jolts of electricity through your nervous system, thighs quivering around his torso as your juices coated his cock.

"oh shit-" ian threw his head back at the sensation, following right behind you as his thrusts became sloppy and irregular, filling you to the brim with his cum as he groaned loudly. he fucked into you a few more times, riding out your orgasms until you were both on the verge of overstimulation.

he stayed inside you for a moment, catching his breath and letting you calm down from the high. soon though, you both sighed as he pulled out, letting his fresh load pour out of you and onto the table, making a complete mess. the sight was truly obscene, but in the best way possible.

you two might need to make a habit of this...

[paraliveimaginesblog]

Hi! Can I pls request crushing and dating headcanons for GokuLuck? Thank you ❤️😊

Kenta Mikoshiba:

Kenta is like a small dog who gets so excited it bites, nipping at you when he doesn’t mean to just because he doesn’t know what to do with the odd amount of energy coursing through his veins when you’re around. He’s nothing if not painfully honest in regards to the things he dislikes, but when it comes to discerning his true emotions, you think the like and hate line have a very hastily drawn border. He has some contempt for the way you make him feel, and the fact he has a hard time trusting in others, but there’s the giddy side of him that genuinely enjoyed your company and looked forward to talking to you every day.

Not much changed when Kenta was actually your boyfriend. He didn’t like to flex the title unless unnecessary because it was embarrassing to admit he liked someone enough to actually want to be their boyfriend, but you didn’t take it offensively. Seeing the way he dunked on people online who told him to touch grass by mentioning he had a significant other, and that was more than said other person would ever experience, made you giggle. He has a lot of growing to do but you hoped to do it together, knowing that his heart (and his trust) were much more fragile than he might admit.

Ryoga Tosa:

Ryoga is very awkward around you when he has a crush. His stutter gets worse, and he seemed even quieter than usual; the serious look on his face always left you wondering if you rubbed him the wrong way, which directly opposed how he actually felt. He knew being honest was the best idea, but he didn’t exactly see himself as a viable partner, not knowing what he could even offer you in a relationship. He’s content being friendly, but he feels his anger building at the concept of you being with another person romantically.

Ryoga is a protective boyfriend. He doesn’t want you to suffer for his sins, nor does he want you to get a poor reputation because of him, so anyone who has anything nasty to say about you would have to get through him first. He almost doesn’t tell you when insults fly or when he gets into arguments because he doesn’t want you to worry about them or he thinks he should just handle it himself, but you are the person who gets to see the gentler side of this mad dog.

Shion Kaida:

Shion is a smooth operator, flirting with you like it was his second-nature (because it was). He’d become almost too charming for his own good, especially when he saw interest reflected in your eyes; he couldn’t help but launch an attack, wanting to wrap you around his pretty little finger just for all the fun you might bring to his life. Having genuine feelings beyond his normal lust and desire for fulfillment causes him to put a temporary pause on flirting, almost treating you like any other person on the street that he wasn’t attracted to or attempting to sleep with. It’s a defense mechanism more than anything, but he needed time to mull over the feelings in his head and see how you reacted to him pulling back so drastically before he attempted to pursue you seriously.

Shion is a loyal boyfriend. While he remained a little flirty out of habit, he didn’t have eyes for anyone but you. The only person who could satisfy him was you, which was a big responsibility in your eyes but Shion thought you had him handled just fine. He might crave your attention, or demand it depending on his mood, but he returned the affection tenfold. He’d never leave you with a doubt in your mind that he’d love you for an eternity, though he would have to tease you if you were to get jealous of his surface-level interactions with others.

Yuto Inukai:

Yuto considered it a very strong admiration for who you were as a person. He couldn’t help the electricity that shot through him when he saw you, the excitement clear on his face as he tried to think of any excuse he could to talk to you. He felt more at ease talking to you than anyone, trying to ignore the worry that he complained too much and you might think he was a person who only knew how to complain. The romantic feelings aren’t quite obvious until Kenta started dramatically gagging at your interactions, cursing and ordering the two of you to get a room (even though you were simply having a conversation).  

Yuto is a boyfriend who always tried his best. He’s late to dates, he can look a mess when he does show up, but finding that work/life balance is difficult for him. But you’ll have him one hundred percent, even when he’s exhausted to the point of fighting his eyelids despite the sun being high in the sky. He appreciated that you were patient with him, trying to navigate the new relationship by spending as much of his free time with you as possible. He doesn’t expect you to put up with him forever but he hoped to grow into the man you deserved, with a better grasp on his chaotic life.

[avaetin]

"All it took was one impulsive kiss. But that's another story."

@haiseiscute333 @sunshines-child

“Wait. Is this serious?” Nico asked, those beautiful brown eyes looking up at Aeon with a hopeful and excited expression.

“It’s not for their local show though. It’s for their performance in Melbourne, Australia. If you’re fine with that, I already have flight tickets and a hotel booked. I also checked with your manager to make sure that it doesn’t have any conflict with your schedule,” Aeon explained, passing to him printed documents of all that he booked.

As if it were possible, Nico’s eyes widened further in shock as he looked through them. VIP tickets to the concert, first class seats on the plane and an executive suite? Holy-! Nico didn’t need to see any receipts to know how much all of these cost.

“I’ll pay you back,” Nico said.

Aeon shook his head, reaching forward to gently push Nico’s hair back. “This is my gift to you. The concert is happening on your birthday week.”

It was? Nico looked down at the concert ticket details. It was! And… Aeon wanted to celebrate it with him.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” Aeon murmured, genuinely concerned as Nico suddenly stopped breathing, looking overwhelmed suddenly.

Nico wasn’t sure what came over him, his body moving before his mind could process his actions. By the time his rationality caught up with him, he had already leaned over, his lips firmly pressed against Aeon’s. His hands that were cupping Aeon’s cheeks at that moment could feel the man trembling slightly in his arms, prompting Nico to let him go with a flustered look.

“You… You didn’t have to do that,” Aeon said slowly, one of his arms slipping around Nico’s waist, preventing him from completely pulling away. “I wasn’t expecting anything when I gifted these to you. I just wanted to make you happy.”

“And I am,” Nico said.

With a shuddered breath, he pressed himself closer to the older male, Aeon’s arm reflexively tightening around him. He looked directly into those gorgeous emerald green eyes, and shuddered at what he saw. They had always been filled with affection and adoration when they looked at him, but at that moment, there was hunger in their depths. Raw desire. Warmth pooled in his stomach as he saw his own desire being reflected in them.

“I just wanted to kiss you too,” Nico admitted, ripping out a guttural moan from Aeon’s throat at the admission. “I still want to. Real bad. Can-”

Soft lips captured Nico’s lips in a searing kiss before he could finish his statement. For the record, Nico was by no means a virgin. He had been intimate with his partners in the past, so he knew what to do with his mouth. Or so he thought. For a virgin, Aeon didn’t kiss like one. He devoured Nico’s lips like he was on a mission to mark it as his. He took away Nico’s breath, as if it was his own. As if he was a dying man and the breath from Nico’s lips were his only salvation. He kissed… with the raw desire of a man who was finally being granted to act on his innermost desire.

“I’ve wanted this for years,” Aeon breathed raggedly against his lips, out of breath. Nico was surprised to find out that he was too. “Wanted you for years.”

Nico gulped. “Then why did you stop?” He asked.

Before Aeon could reply, he connected their lips once more, matching the other’s earlier passion. One of his hands slipped to the back of his partner’s head, clutching onto a fistful of hair while his free hand cupped the back of Aeon’s neck, pulling him closer. His lips parted open, his tongue slipping out to tentatively caress Aeon’s plush lips, coaxing them to part for him. He didn’t even register Aeon pulling him close, or himself straddling Aeon on the couch, his attention entirely on the movement of their lips, of the tentative caresses of their tongues that was becoming bolder by the second. Nico didn’t think he had ever wanted anyone so much as he wanted the man before him right now. He wanted Aeon. Entirely.

“Stop pulling away,” Nico complained when Aeon pulled back a second time. He chased after him, lightly biting down on his lower lip.

“We have to stop.” Nico shuddered at the tone of Aeon’s voice. “You’re… provoking me.”

Nico blinked, opening his eyes that he didn’t even realize he closed at some point. The desire in Aeon’s eyes were much prominent now, his hands gripping Nico’s thin waist to the point of bruising. Nico flushed slightly as he realized what Aeon meant as, when he leaned back, he felt something against his thighs.

With a playful smile, he shifted slightly in his lap, pressing their bodies closer together.

“I’m doing it with that intention in mind,” Nico whispered, brushing his lips gently against Aeon’s. “Please. Can I have you? Will you have me?”

“You don’t know what you’re asking, Nico,” Aeon replied, taking his lower lip between his teeth, tugging lightly. “Once I have you, I have no intention to let you go.”

“Then don’t.” Nico himself was tired of letting go. He wanted to keep. He wanted to be kept. “Have me.”

A low growl was his only response before Aeon swept him into his arms, carrying him towards the man’s - their shared - bedroom.

[bloomeng]

It’s so strange to me how people who loathe Izzy love to claim that he only wanted Blackbeard then turn around and shit on Jack because they don’t like who Ed becomes around him.

THE HYPOCRISY!!!

And I mean that's sort of the point of Stede in that episode. He’s encouraging Ed to be “himself” but also refuses to acknowledge any of Ed’s past violence. Just like Izzy (allegedly) wants him to be one facet so too does Stede and that’s equally as selfish. I feel like some people forget that Stede is flawed too. I mean he’s a rich white man who wanted to become a pirate— which is an occupation born out of desperation and poverty— for the aesthetic. Olu and Jim literally point this out to him in episode one. I don’t know if he truly gets that by the end of season 2. His aversion to violence is understandable and probably a good thing in the long run but ignoring these traits in Ed, especially when it directly affected his crew, isn’t about trying to make the world safer, it’s about ignoring and sanitizing his vision of Ed.

Now I don’t think this is the worst thing ever because Ed in s1 was helped by it however in the long run issues will arise. And I don’t even fully blame Stede because to me it’s the equivalent of having a crush and seeing them through rose-colored glasses versus actually dating someone/ getting to know them/ being in a more serious relationship. S2 unfortunately just had Stede double down on the bad behavior instead of recognizing it.