#this mental prison of mine ....sigh/j

[dobaara]

can't believe this :((

[my-emotional-self]

Toxic Love Chapter 2

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes

Summary: Finding out your soulmates were Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes was one thing.  But when someone from your past comes back to haunt you, you have to figure out if a relationship with two super soldiers is something you really want to pursue or if you’d rather go back to your comfortable single life.

Series Warnings:  18+, Swearing, Angst, Fluff, past mentions of rape, self-harm, attempted rape, domestic violence, stalking, death threats, possible Dark!Steve?, Steve will be an asshole a LOT in this series but I don’t know how dark it will get, explicit sexual content, mental health issues, kind of A/B/O dynamics but not really (no they are not actual wolves, more like the hierarchy)

A/N: There will be no taglist for this story!  I apologize in advance!

So it was true.  Confirmed.  Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes were your soulmates.  Not that it bothered you much, it just wasn’t something you were planning on happening.  Things didn’t end too good with your last, well, and only, boyfriend.  Not ending good meaning he was in prison, at the moment. You weren’t sure when he was going to be getting out.  

Looking down at your arm, you lightly traced your finger over Steve and Bucky’s mark.  Here is the thing about your soulmate marks. Everyone has soulmate marks, at least two; yours and your soulmates.  But sometimes there are more and everyone has an ‘order’ for their marks. Think of it as a hierarchy.  The mark in top is in charge, kind of like the ‘alpha’ of the relationship while the mark at the bottom is at the bottom of the hierarchy.  It would make sense that Steve’s mark was on the top.  Hell, he was Captain America after all.  It just was the way it was and nobody complained about it.

There was also another unique trait to finding your soulmates, at least what you’ve read about. Once you find your soulmate, or in your case, soulmates, slowly you can begin to feel each other, kind of like a sixth sense or intuition.  You’d never known anyone who could actually be able to do this and you didn’t know if there had to be somewhat of a strong bond between soulmates, but you always thought that was pretty cool.  Like if something ever bad happened to you, maybe you soulmates could sense your fear. But then again, maybe that was just a fairytale.  

Lost again in your own mind, like you always were when Steve’s rough voice brought you back to the present. “Let’s sit down and talk,” he bellowed.

On shaky feet you followed him towards the couches and sat down.  Steve stood on the other side of the coffee table, his thick arms crossed in front of his chest.  Your eyes roamed over his form, mouth going dry at the sight of him.  The scowl on his face nearly made you coil back, as if his look burned you.  You were unsure why he looked so pissed, so angry and you didn’t know if you wanted to figure it out or not.  The biggest thought weighing on your mind was if you wanted to go through with a relationship at all right now, even if they were your soulmates.  

The couch dipped next to you and you couldn’t help but return Bucky’s smile.  Something about his smile made him look innocent, angelic, but you knew he was far from that.  Oh yes, you heard all about the Winter Soldier and everything those Hydra bastards did to him.  But you also knew that he was better now, he was an Avenger, fighting for the right side.

“So,” you began to say, the silence and tension thick in the air as you stared down at the ground.  

“What’s your name?” Steve barked out, causing you to jump slightly.  

A rough yet gently hand was placed at your back and you quickly realized it was Bucky’s.  “Jesus Stevie, can you be any more of an asshole right now?” came Bucky’s reply as his hand soothed up and down your back.  

He was right, Steve was being an asshole, but it was nothing, absolutely nothing compared to your ex-boyfriend.  This was a cake walk compared to him.  “Y/N, my name is Y/N,” you replied as confidentially as you could, trying to show Steve that you weren’t afraid of him or scared of his intimidating tactics.  

“Well Y/N, I’m Steve and that’s Bucky but I’m guessing you already knew that,” he replied, letting out a huff of annoyance as he looked at his watch.  “Look, I don’t have a lot of time for this right now so let’s just get to the basics,” he began.  “This is mine and Bucky’s living quarters.  There is another bedroom down the hallway if you want to move in. There is a communal kitchen and living room a few floors down that we all share, including the other soulmates. Most of the time we all eat together when possible and do movie nights at least once a week in the communal area. If you want to move in, you will also have a hobby room on the communal floor just like everybody else.  So what do you say?”

Well, it wasn’t the best speech you’ve ever heard from someone trying to get you to move in with them. Hell, your ex-boyfriend wooed you with flowers and romance for months before you finally gave in.  But this wasn’t your ex-boyfriend.  This was your soulmate, both of them, but you were still unsure.  Your own apartment was calling your name, wanting you to come back to the safety and comfort that was your home.  Did you really want to just up and move in with your soulmates?  Most people did once they met their soulmates, but you were still teetering on the fence.  This was the Avengers Tower after all and what place could possibly be more safe than that?

“Umm, can I…can I think about it?” you questioned, eyes slowly glancing up to meet Steve’s.

His large hands were on his narrow hips, his mouth in a tight line.  “Fine.  Do what you need to do.  I have to get back to work.”  And with that being said, he marched over to the elevator and slammed the button.  

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding when Steve disappeared into the elevator, leaving you alone with Bucky.  

“Come on doll, I’ll bring you home,” he spoke with a soft voice.  

Looking to him, you smiled. “Thanks Bucky, but you don’t have to. I only live about a mile away.”

His whole body shook with a quiet laugh.  “I don’t think so.  No soulmate of mine is going to be walking the streets of New York at dark.”

~~~

The walk home was nice. Bucky was a gentleman as you asked him questions about his life growing up and being with Steve.  As it turns out, Steve and Bucky weren’t lovers, just best friends, more like brothers.  You felt embarrassed after you found that out, assuming they were together, but he reassured you it was fine and that it happens all the time.  You always assumed if there was more than one soulmate, everyone was together intimately, but now you knew that wasn’t the case.  Those with multiple soulmates didn’t mean everyone was intimate.  They could be a brother figure, a mother or father figure, or just best friends.  But you had a feeling that wasn’t going to be the case with you if you decided to give this relationship a try.  No, you could feel deep inside that things would be intimate with both men.  

“I don’t think Steve likes me very much,” you blurted out like word vomit.  

Bucky sighed next to you as the two of you stopped in front of your door.  “I know Steve wasn’t on his best behavior tonight and I apologize for that.  He’s been stressed because he keeps getting new leads about someone but it keeps falling through.  Steve can be an asshole, but he isn’t normally like that.  It was just bad timing is all.  Please be open minded about this and give it a few days.  Why don’t you come back to the tower on Friday night and we can discuss what you decide?”

Friday night was two days away.  Two days to think about everything.  “I think I can manage that,” you agreed with a small grin.  

Bucky smiled back, giving you a nod and wishing you a good night.  

In the safety of your apartment, the first thing you did was grab a glass of water and dig your medications out of your purse.  Placing the pills in your mouth, you swallowed a gulp of water and sighed in relief.

The next thing you did was take off your clothes and get into your comfies; a pair of shorts and a loose t-shirt, your favorite combination.  

Lastly, you dropped onto your bed and stared at the ceiling, contemplating what you were going to do. Yes, Steve was being a douche bag tonight, but you could handle that.  Words and attitude were easy to deal with as your ex-boyfriend was that way. But that wasn’t all.  He had turned into a violent monster and you were lucky to get out when you did; you knew for a fact you wouldn’t be alive today if you were still with him.  

So yes, you caught Steve at a bad time and he was a douchebag, but you would give him the benefit of the doubt.  Not the greatest first impression but you could get over it.  

At the same time, is a relationship, not just with one person but two, something you were really ready for?  You rather enjoyed your single life.  Going to bed when you wanted and staying up as late as you could.  There were usually rules that were enforced when it came to soulmates, especially if you were at the bottom.  Usually the ‘alpha’ of the relationship had rules they wanted their soulmate to oblige and you didn’t know how stern those rules could be.  But you hoped you could also compromise those rules if needed.  

Just then, a sheet of paper slid under your door and you rolled your eyes.  You knew what it was before you even got out of bed to grab it.

Taking the paper in your hands, you went back to your bed and opened the note.  

Payback is a bitch.  Just like you.  Ready or not, here I come babe.

-J

Rolling your eyes, you dug beneath your bed and pulled out a small box.  Inside the box sat 15 other notes just like the one you received.  It was from your ex.  John was still in prison, this much you knew, so it was a friend of his dropping it off.  But you knew you were safe, for the time being, as long as John was in prison.  He was too proud to let anyone else do the damage he had done to you.  Oh yes, he liked to do it himself and you knew he wouldn’t let anyone else hurt you, except for him.  

You had gone to the police about the notes, but because there was no actual evidence and he was still in prison, nothing could be done about it.  

As you looked over the multiple notes with the same kind of threats on each, you thought maybe perhaps it would be a good idea to move into the Avengers Tower.  At least you would stop getting these threats….right?

[maatryoshkaa]

young god | chapter 13

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 3.5k

warnings: foul language, implied sexual assault, mentions of trauma and mental illness

description: Yang Jeongin, the only living witness of the Miroh Heights Murders, is finally awake, casting a new shadow of possibilities onto the entire investigation. Han Jisung knows deep down there’s only one place left to go,  and takes his chances with a familiar blond detective -- but they find that where chances are given, lives may be taken away.

watch the trailer here!

13| give and take.

They say when you have a close brush with death, you see your life flash before your eyes.

Jeongin supposed there was some truth to that. One moment he had been squinting at the golden-haired boy in the darkness; the next he had found himself collapsed against the forest floor. The sky had spun above him like a broken kaleidoscope, until the unbearably hot throbbing in his head had finally forced his eyes shut. He had felt the strength seeping from his limbs, like blood being drained from livestock, and had let the numbness wash over him like an icy tidal wave.

That was when Jeongin’s life had flashed behind his closed eyelids — choppy flashes of memories and people’s voices, warped and dizzying. 

“Life in prison?” Jeongin’s own voice sounded tinny in his ears, and his father gave him a sad smile on the other side of the plexiglass. “B-but all you did was—”

“A man lost his life because of me,” his father spoke slowly, eyes steady on Jeongin’s distraught face. Slow, steady, careful. Kind. That was how Jeongin had always known his father — a gentle man who wouldn’t hurt a fly — yet now he was sitting across from him in an inmate’s uniform, handcuffs locked tight around his wrists. 

“But he—he hurt Mum first,” Jeongin whispered, barely able to push the words out of his throat. “He—you said he—”

“He did.” His father’s face had darkened, his normally soft jaw clenched. “I...lost it, and what happened to him was what that bastard deserved — but nothing changes the fact that I...killed him.” He let out a deep, weary sigh, and Jeongin was suddenly struck by how much older his father looked. “He got his punishment for his sins one way, and now I’m paying for mine. It’s as simple as that, my boy.”

The buzzer sounded and the door behind him clicked open, a stone-faced officer stepping into the room as his father stood. “Take good care of your mother, would you?”

“Dad, if—” Jeongin’s shaking voice made his father turn back around. The question was odd, but it had been burning at the back of his mind since the beginning of the visit. “If you—had the chance to go back. Would you still have...done it?”

Silence fell between father and son like a curtain. His father inhaled deeply, raising his eyebrows before meeting his son’s eyes again. “I don’t doubt it,” he finally replied, voice soft. “What could I do? It was for someone I loved.”

From then on, Jeongin’s mother had spent the better years of her life working whatever job she could find, and the two of them lived off minimum wage and money sent by estranged relatives — until the poor woman had finally fallen ill. No one would hire a sickly old woman — especially not one that had been involved in a sexual assault case, all those years ago.

That was why Jeongin worked with four different delivery companies at a time; that was what he could never bring himself to tell Hyunjin or you. Work four jobs, graduate, and make proper money to pay his mother’s hospital bills, to dig himself out of the poverty he’d known his entire life. Yang Jeongin’s one-way, masterplan. Until…

The coma.

He had become almost comfortably numb, like a body submerged in the middle of a pond — yet occasionally, something would pull him above the surface, even if just for a brief moment. A voice, a pressure, a light. It was almost always Hyunjin, the soft-hearted barista talking to him about his day as if Jeongin had simply sat down to chat in Glow Cafe, not rendered immobile and unresponsive by a concussion. Sometimes, though, the older boy would be crying, silent sobs shaking his lean frame until he was so exhausted he’d fall asleep by Jeongin’s side. And Jeongin wanted nothing more than to reach out to reassure him, to pull his friend into a hug, but he couldn’t will his body to move no matter how hard he tried.

Until now.

An incessant high-pitched beeping was growing louder and louder, the tips of his fingers prickling. Jeongin’s heartbeat surged into his temples, pounding against his eardrums like fists demanding entry. The darkness behind his eyelids was shifting, pinpricks of light poking their way in — and like a breath of air had been knocked straight into his lungs, Jeongin felt his entire body lurch forward and his eyes shot open.

For several seconds he could only take deep, gasping breaths, obsessed with just the feeling of it all, vaguely registering the inhaler pressed against his mouth. His eyes were still adjusting, flashes of white light and black stars painting his blurry vision. There were shouts from all around him, a deep rumbling as everything seemed to shake.

It was as if the entire sky was falling above him, he thought vaguely.

He blinked, hard, and his vision finally focused, the incongruous voices and sounds growing clearer. The incessant beeping had been the heart monitor by his cot, keeping in time with his gasping breathing. And the yelling was coming from none other than Hwang Hyunjin, whose dark hazel eyes were wide with disbelief and already brimming with tears of shock.

“J-Jeongin? He’s — he’s awake,” the taller boy nearly tripped getting to his feet, yanking aside the curtains and disappearing from Jeongin’s sight. “He’s awake!”

Jeongin winced, a throbbing pressure beginning to press at his skull. His fingers twitched twice and he flexed them gingerly. Suddenly remembering, his hands weakly scrabbled for his pockets, desperately feeling for a familiar metal box but coming back empty. 

His Walkman was gone.

The deep rumbling passed by him again and he realised it was the sound of carts full of medical equipment speeding across the halls — like there had been yet another emergency. Jeongin could only make out some of what the hospital staff were saying as they rushed past.

“Stab wound to the chest...brought her in...no sight of him.”

Jagged fragments of his memory were coming back to him, the empty feeling in his chest beginning to fill with a sinking sense of dread. The strange boy. A dismembered corpse.

What on earth happened while I was out?

━━━━━━━━ 

Run.

Jisung’s feet slammed into the pavement, puddles splashing cold rainwater onto his bloodstained jeans.

“He’s a runner, that’s what he is.”

His chest was burning, ribs feeling as if they were closing in on his lungs. He could still feel your warm body pressed against his, widened eyes fluttering shut as he could only watch in horror. With strength Jisung didn’t know he had left, he had carried you in his arms and bolted into the alley just as the police had turned into the diner’s back lot. The hospital was only a block away. He had burst into the lobby, nearly collapsing as he shouted for someone, anyone to help — and nearby, stunned doctors had loaded you onto an empty gurney before whisking you into the emergency room. Once they returned, Jisung was long gone.

“You ran away from her, too, yeah?”

The gang’s taunting voices echoed in his head, the sky rumbling above him — just like how his father’s voice had always rumbled, shaking the thin walls of his childhood home. And now, Jisung was ten years old all over again, clutching his camcorder in his bloodstained hands.

There had been a fine layer of dust coating the dented metal when Jisung had seized it from his dorm closet. Just touching the metal made his hands slippery with cold sweat, but he forced himself to grip it harder, counting the memory cards before he took off. Running, one last time.

“Try running now, Han.”

He wasn’t running away.

If he wanted to reverse the horrible things he’d done, there was only one place left to go.

“Han Jisung, always running away.”

“Not this time,” Jisung breathed through gritted teeth, almost welcoming the way the falling rain burned at his eyes and nostrils. “Not anymore.”

━━━━━━━━

Bang Chan didn’t realize how long he had been pacing the room until his feet began to ache in protest.

The detective hadn’t left the police precinct since Woojin had called him over, the pair pulling out files and chasing leads from dawn till dusk. Kim Seungmin had popped in for several hours before he had been called back to the law office. The moon had come and gone, until telltale sirens sounded not long after noon, and Woojin was called onto the scene of yet another emergency.

Another hour or so had passed since then, and Chan was replaying the same conversation with the police chief over and over in his head.

“I didn’t want to believe it, Chan, but from the beginning I had this—this feeling—”

“A hunch,” Chan finished, and when the police chief looked hesitant, Chan continued, “is almost always based on something more concrete, whether you know it or not. Something familiar, or strange. We’ve hit all the dead ends; a hunch is one of the better things we can hope for right now.”

Woojin exhaled, then spoke slowly. “The victims’ backgrounds, how they’ve all had pasts connected to abuse, or adultery. Not to mention the modus operandi that stood out the most — you remember the fire, and numerous counts of brute force.”

“I thought something was familiar, too,” Seungmin had interjected, his brow furrowing. “I studied this...case back in law school — a shotgun marriage, their young son growing up in an abusive household, until one day —”

“The house went up in flames,” Woojin finished, nodding. “It’s the same case, the most infamous amongst domestic abuse cases in Miroh Heights. The names were withheld for privacy reasons. Though the case was closed over a decade ago...the accuracy of the final verdict, and the true events that transpired that night, are still unknown.”

“Victims of cold cases often reappear as suspicious persons,” Chan muttered. “It’s a reach, but if you look at the similarities...”

“We’ve been blindsided this entire time,” Seungmin said slowly, his fingers raking through his hair. “Not a substance abuser, quite possibly not a cold-blooded killer.” He looked up at Woojin, whose brow was furrowed in deep thought. “So if your hunch is correct, then—”

“This is the aftereffect of a cold domestic violence case from over a decade ago,” the young police chief said firmly, eyes flickering up to Chan. “And we can’t afford to let it slip away again.”

Something had been pricking at the back of the detective’s head since Woojin had begun talking — no, far before he had even arrived at the police station. Chan had always been known for having a quick mind; it was one of the things that separated him from other, more mediocre detectives in his field — but this time, something was blocking him from reaching the final conclusion. He didn’t lack evidence; there were no flaws in his logic. It was the horrible feeling of familiarity that made him choke, that forced him to hesitate. Because he knew this case, he had seen it before.

“And it’s not a reach, Detective,” Woojin continued, voice gentle but eyes firm. “Because I believe you know the story yourself.”

Seungmin turned towards Chan, eyes questioning. The detective shook his empty coffee cup in his hands, eyes skirting over the countless case files and papers they had been sifting through for hours.

“The perpetrator is—”

A blond boy burst into the dimly lit room, breathing so hard Chan thought he was about to have a stroke. It didn’t take longer than a second for the detective to recognise him.

“Han Jisung,” Chan finished the flashback aloud, the name hanging in the tense air. His eyes scanned the shaking boy from head to toe, a cold feeling running down his spine. He wasn’t even trying to hide the blood soaking his clothes and skin, Chan thought numbly. This was his friend, someone he’d always looked at like a little brother—but he had seen, solved too many of these cases not to recognise the stricken look on Jisung’s pale face.

This was the shell of a man who had just lost everything.

“What brings you here?” Chan asked, watching him carefully. The same tousled golden hair, he noted, pushing down a pang in his chest; the same boyish round cheeks, although there was a smattering of bruises and cuts across them now. 

“You told me I—I could talk to you or Woojin. Anytime.” Jisung’s voice faltered, wiping at his face as if to clear away some of the muck, but the dried blood on his palms only smeared more across his jaw. He looked like a lost dog, a stray that had turned up on the nearest warm doorstep and was watching him with almost apologetic, apprehensive eyes.

Chan set down his notebook, nodding slowly. “That I did,” he finally replied, glancing back up at the younger boy before pulling out two chairs. “Woojin got called to a scene, though. You okay if I listen for now?”

Jisung felt a flood of indescribable emotions wash over him. The same twist in his gut he had felt back at the 3rd Eye, when the Chan had pulled him close and asked if he was okay. 

I’ll listen. 

That was more than anyone had ever offered him since the incident thirteen years ago. The therapists, the police, the social workers — all they had ever wanted was for him to listen to them, to heed their advice and bury his past behind him.

Other than you, of course. The memory of your fading eyes burning into his own shook him back to the present. 

“I think you know, Chan,” Jisung said softly, marking the way the detective was warily scanning the blood covering him from head to toe; the dishevelled look Jisung must have had on his face.

“I have a hunch,” was the detective’s reply. He sounded as if he were repeating someone else’s words, but his voice was steady as it had ever been. “But you’re going to need to help me on this one, kiddo.”

Jisung met the older boy’s eyes — Chan’s always tired but unfailingly kind eyes, always willing to give the benefit of the doubt. Maybe that was what made him such a meticulous detective, respected by criminals and citizens alike — never jumping to conclusions, always seeing a problem out till the end. The detective’s gaze dropped to the silver camcorder in Jisung’s hands. 

“You used to carry that around everywhere you went, I remember. Never showed anyone what you’d film, though.”

“Do you have...anything that can play memory cards?” Jisung swallowed a painful lump in his throat. “I need to—show you. Now.”

Wordlessly, Chan moved his laptop over on the table, and made the younger boy take a seat next to him.

Jisung had always thought his past was something to be kept buried — below the ashes of his childhood home, or six feet under his mother’s grave, or bottled deep within his chest. That no one would ever truly know — would want to know — what had happened that day, let alone what had been happening for the years leading up to that day. And yet, for the second time in two days, he was sat next to someone who, to his surprise, didn’t make him want to run. Someone he was willing to take the risk of revealing the darkest parts of himself with. 

For the next hour, Chan watched the footage in silence, from the very first Christmas to the day Jisung’s father’s mistress had pressed burning cigarettes into his bare skin. From the fateful day their entire home was brought to the ground with alcohol and fire at the hands of a ten year old boy, and to the choppy records from the years that followed. Jisung had taped his encounters with the incompetent officers and dismissive social workers at the police station, and the mandatory therapy sessions they had subjected him to. He had taped the kidnapping, and his years at the children’s home with Minho. 

He had not taped any of the killings.

Chan sat through it all, reliving Jisung’s nightmares the way the younger boy had every night for the past thirteen years, an ugly childhood told through the fisheye lens of an old camcorder. By the time the last tape had finished, the detective had not moved, but Jisung knew him well enough to catch the tension in his jaw, the shaken look in his normally bright eyes. 

“You were the cold case,” Chan finally said, a long exhale leaving his now-dry lips. “From thirteen years ago. The one they couldn’t solve, and swept under the rug.”

Jisung didn’t respond, too busy forcing every inch of his body to remain still — to not stand and sprint out of the room, out of the police station he had been avoiding his entire life.

“Why are you telling me this?” The detective asked, turning his body to face the younger boy.

“Because I—I killed—all those people,” Jisung wove his hand towards the files Chan had splayed onto the desk, the headshots of victims lying at the very top. The words were heavier than weights in his mouth, and and the truth of it all tasted more bitter than poison. “And then I—I couldn’t stop. I sound insane, I know I do. I know I p-probably am. They were—flashes at first. Triggers, seizures that went too far. And soon it became like--like an impulse, until I started blacking out completely—” Jisung’s breathing caught up to him and he choked, but he managed to force the last words out. “And today, I...hurt...y/n.” He saw the alarm flash across Chan’s eyes. “The last person who made me hope...made me want to hope that life was worth living, after all.”

He sounded insane.

He sounded like a serial killer trying to make excuses for something inexcusable.

He sounded like a monster.

“You sound like you’ve been through a lot.” Chan’s voice made Jisung look up from his shoes. The soft look in his eyes was back, and though a bit of the blood had drained from his face, the warmth in his voice had never left. “Thank you. For telling me.”

That was the final blow.

“S-stop. Don’t—say that,” Jisung could feel his voice breaking, the tears burning at his throat. “Chan, you have to turn me in, make them give me the death penalty, I-I—”

“Han Jisung.” The detective’s voice was stern, his normally gentle eyes narrowed. “You turned yourself in. The case from thirteen years ago needs to be reopened, and all the factors reinvestigated to be fairly taken into account. You do not deserve the death penalty.”

Jisung was shaking his head numbly, lips unable to form protests as the detective continued, a blazing look in his eyes Jisung had never seen before. “You’re not gonna be a martyr now, you hear? Han Jisung, you’ve been hurt by everyone else your whole damn life. I’m not about to let you hurt yourself.”

There it was again. That feeling of unfamiliar warmth aching deep in his chest, like an old bruise being pressed into. Before Jisung could speak, a slow, sarcastic clapping echoing through the room made both of them raise their heads and turn in alarm.

Prosecutor Kang pushed the door aside, eyebrows raised in amusement and mock sympathy. 

“What are—you can’t—” Chan leapt up from his seat, but Kang only looked more amused as he looked over his shoulder at the open doorway, where a huddle of prosecutors and police officers alike were gathered with expressions of horror. Seungmin was among them, his face white.

“You all heard him, didn’t you? Detain the murderer.” Kang smiled triumphantly as the officers surrounded Jisung, seizing his arms so roughly he felt like they were being pulled from their sockets. 

Chan looked livid, eyes darting wildly between the officers and Prosecutor Kang. “Let him go. Keep him in the precinct until Woojin comes back, Kang,” he protested, but the older prosecutor only sneered.

“Detective Bang, aren’t you overstepping your boundaries? Wait for Kim Woojin? Don’t forget—” Kang took a step closer to Chan, eyes narrowing. “Personal relations with the perpetrator cannot participate in the investigation.”

Chan felt his gut twist, scanning the whitened expressions on the surrounding staff’s faces. How much had they seen, overheard? Kang watched the detective’s eyes flicker momentarily, and laughed.

“Besides,” he continued, “I’d say it’s time the prosecution did its part.” He shot a meaningful glance at Seungmin, who had been glaring between Jisung, Chan, and Kang with his fists clenched. Kang clicked his tongue, sighing. “Kim Seungmin, Kim Seungmin — I can’t believe I have to do your dirty work.”

Chan’s mind was reeling, all options coming back blank. This was the District 9 Precinct, and as a homicidal detective, he had no power over Woojin’s men. In fact, after what Kang had said, Chan wasn’t even sure if Woojin had power over Woojin’s men anymore. You fucked up, Bang. You fucked up bad.

Chan risked a glance at Jisung’s face and immediately regretted it. What he saw had no traces of anger, no more hate, no signs of struggle. His eyes were wide and dark, as if the boy had shut down completely. Kang scoffed at the detective’s sudden silence, turning on his heel and motioning towards the officers. 

Chan could only watch helplessly as Jisung was dragged out of the room like a limp doll, his once-rounded cheeks still shining with blood and fresh tears.

[kurtty-drabbles]

Spy vs Spy au (part 2)

N/A: One Daredevil plotline really belongs to this H&J au of au as Ariel is here and God bless her heart as she´s dealing with these people. Some ocs will be used.

@djinmer4 @dannybagpipesarecalling @sailorstar9 @discordsworld @look-ma-no-hands336

Anne James is the second daughter of the James´s family, well, half-daughter, her mother had an affair and the father, the patriarch of the family, was furious with this illicit act and banish the woman, as for Anne, she´s in the shadow of her sister and learn how to get used to this type of life. Merida James is a woman beautiful as the word can allow. Beautiful red hair with perfect curls, skin without any blemish and she´s homemade, which, makes many men sought her company for marriage.

The  Marquis of Sussex sure think so and propose Merida in marriage, the wedding was as magnificent as someone of his status allowed. And the Marquis believes they would be terribly happy, instead, the Marquis is terribly sad. His dear wife was murder and the man wants to know who did it.

Enters Matt Murdock, a lawyer who change the lawyer firms forever, you see, Matt was born blind and a blind man couldn´t be a lawyer or anything else, yet, Matt created a system to read and write and soon becomes a great student in the university, the Marquis of Sussex, spot the young man a few years prior his marriage and became his patron as he believes Matt is a real Daredevil.

And now, the Marquis is asking for his help to solve the mystery, to see the person responsible for the crime in jail. His dear Merida. And Matt agrees in a heartbeat.

The Hudsons are throwing one of their famous parties, the Hudsons are mutants with a real pedigree and only the most important are invited, so, is a big shock to see Kitty Pryde or how some call, Ariel, in this party. True, the woman is the object of many gossips.

Many women would try to gather information about the elusive Miss Pryde. “Are you looking for a husband?” they asked many times in many different ways, yet, her answer never changes. “No, I´m not looking for a husband and I´m not married” her words are spoken with a bit of venom and this fuel the gossips even more.

Kitty Pryde is also from a noble house, a noble family in Poland that spread their wild family tree around the world, so, Kitty has the right house, the right name and is beautiful(many married women are noticing this fact with some reservation to their husband and with concern with their friends) so why is she single? Dr Darkholme is also the target of gossips. The man was married once, and that´s all people know, a Bavarian count that works in England as a good doctor and has a kind sister and a good mother. That´s really all they know about a man that lives in England for more than 10 years.

Ariel is chuckling once noticing their reactions and whisper to Kurt´s ear. “You know, if I didn´t know you, I would say you do this on purpose”

“Oh, I´ve fun in the simples things, Katzchen” Kurt Darkholme replied then looks at Kitty “and how is your project going? Any closer to catching Nightcrawler?”

“Of course, as soon all women, regardless of the colour of their skin, can enter in the school and be educated like all the boys” Kitty respond “France already did that and even put the first mutant as teacher for girls and boys, mutants and humans, so, they´ll do that…”

“Oh, but you know them…stubborn assholes, but, once you concluded your changes, what you´ll do? What if they are tired of waiting?” Kurt asked drinking his beverage and regretting, the Hudsons may throw good parties but their drinks aren´t the strongest point.

“Oh, there are many people I can look up and claim to be Nightcrawler, how can they know the difference? And if the real Nightcrawler attacks, well, how can they know is the real one and not a new killer?” She offers and Kurt is amused.

“Clever, but…I got to ask something, what you´ll do once this is over?” Kurt asked and is being way out of his element here.

“Well, Mr Shark, that´s in the future, let´s worry for the present, “ she offers with a smirk on her face and Kurt has to admit she does look beautiful, far too beautiful than the host of the party, but, maybe that´s only Kurt´s opinion.

Raven Darkholme is an old woman who raised a great gentleman, Kurt Darkholme, to be a good man and doctor. This is a story that moves people to tear, especially when she adds how Kurt´s father dies from disease and Kurt swear to be a doctor to prevent that from happening again.

(“Mutti, es is nicht toll” “Is not supposed to be cool, but, to stir people´s emotions”)

And as a poor old woman who did a good job in raising Kurt and Rogue, she is allowed to walk freely in the house, of course, such an old lady means no problem and can´t understand anything that is in front of her. A good cover that always works.

Right now, Anne James is alone, well, she was until Matt enters in the room, ignoring the poor old woman(he knows she´s here the smell of her perfume is a big given away) as he begins to walk directly to Anne.

“Anne, I need to talk with you” Matt speaks in a loud hissed, at least to Raven, “I need an answer why you don´t want to marry me”

“Matt, I told you, now is not the time, my sister´s death and …everything else” Anne trails off but Matt has none of this. “I know you´re lying, I asked you to marry me before the incident happen and I know we could be a great couple”

“Oh, Matt” there´s pity in her tone and she´s ready to be more direct with her decision, but, Matt has none of that. “Very well, if we can´t marry on the conventional way, then maybe you would like to know that I know what you did”

Anne James is pale as a ghost and gulps. “What are you talking about?”

“I know” Matt starts “you were the one who killed Merida” Matt concludes with finality and Anne is not bothering hiding the fact. “Ok, I did, but, please, believe me, it wasn´t my intention, Merida was crazy, she was always a bit unhinged and never liked me, I´m the reason for mother to be locked up in a mental house, one day, she just snap and was ready to stab me with the scissors but I ended up pushing her from the stair” she is crying now “her husband would gladly sent me to death and no one would mourn my dead, so, I forge a robbery gone wrong and I run…I pretend everything is normal…but, it isn´t it”

“I know, I know, Anne, if you marry me, the secret is still safe, now, if you still say no…I´ll have to tell the Marquis what really happened and the Marquis have a bloodlust…he killed people for much less” Matt concluded smiling. “What´s your decision?”

Anne nods and remembering he´s blind, feeling now stupid, speaks up. “I do. I´ll marry you” and adds a bit peeved. “even if I´m being forced to this marriage”

“It is, my dear, the god´s way to write and many couples have been together for worse reasons, all I want, my dear Anne, is to protect you, from your family, from the people around your family and finally, from yourself”

Raven has seeing this book before many, many times. And now, the poor old lady has to return to the main table as the Hudsons are ready to serve the food.

Raven is back and watches her son and the one called Ariel talking, far away from the norm the group(hive) is doing, yet, the old lady can´t help to feel a bit of joy. It has been a long time since her son ever shows any interest in a woman.

Matt and Anne are back and they make a great announced. One that makes Raven smirk, according to Matt, him and Anne are engaged and people cheer for that, even if they don´t like Anne very much, they do like Matt and that´s enough for them.

“Mother?” Kurt asked noticing her smirk.

“Kurt, change of plans, we won´t need Miss Pryde´s service for this mission, I get a better solution” Raven replied.

“I´m still here and I heard the talk, and I´m sure later my services will be required again” Kitty informed. Raven nods amused.

Matt is at his house. Is time to get his things ready for tomorrow, yet, as he is holding some special papers, designed to help him to read, he knows someone is here. Getting his weapon the man is trying to locate the source.

“Hi, darling” is Anne´s voice, but, that´s not her usual smell. “Who are you?” Matt asked angrily and Raven laughs.

“Me? I´m a friend, really, I know you´re engaged and I came here to say congratulations, you sure had a remarkable life. From blind to lawyer in one go, congratulations” Matt shoots but there are no bullets in his gun “Now, I just want to talk, what bad boy you´re” Mystique chided him “Well, I´m sure the Marquis of Sussex would love to know how you got to engage, blackmailing a woman who is responsible for the death of his late wife…you´re covering the case…The Marquis won´t be pleased”

“You have no proof” Matt replied and now Anne´s voice is talking back at him” Are you sure, Matt?”

Matt is now lowering his useless gun and taking a deep breath. “What do you want?”

“Well,” Raven smiles “you´re a great lawyer sure you can set free a couple of friends of mine, can you?”

Matt sighs and nods, his morals will be sent to question if people know about this little fact, yet, it was worth. Him and Anne are made to be.

Kurt Darkholme is in his lab as now Wade is back from prison, all thanks to one little blackmail. “Can you believe it? The good religious lawyer is into blackmailing woman to marry him, what plot twist”

“Wade, stop, is too early for your strange talk” Kurt commented.

“Says the man that is feeding a shark and is petting him like is a baby” Wade pipes in.

“One, Bruce is a baby, and two, if you don´t shut you, you´ll be his food” Kurt interjected and Wade only waves his hand in dismissive at Kurt. Yes, everything is normal again.

[agustdtoaspringday]

Beautiful Embers Pt. 3/?

Warnings: Blood, Violence, Kidnapping, Plague, Gangs, Illness, I love EXO I just needed someone to be that bad guys so please no hate, Probably a bunch of other stuff that I'm forgetting or will add in later.

Eventual JiminxReader

Jungkook is the youngest member of BANGTAN the larges gang in the region. In a world still recovering from the plague eight years ago, this is a big deal. Everyone wants a piece of that power. He had no idea, however, just what lengths they’re willing to go to.

Word Count:2234

AN: Ahh sorry you guys, back to school has me in a frenzy. Hopefully the wait for chapter four will be smaller. Also what do you guys think of Epiphany and twice’s new song? Jin is killing me with those visuals and  his voice. I’ve probably watched the video a hundred times, no joke. I definitely haven’t listened to BDZ ten times, nope. Also, I don't’ know why people are upset over the new comeback photos. Our boys are slaying those outfits and photos, just my thoughts. 

The days spent in my little cell blended together as time wore on.  My only way of telling time were the boys bringing two small meals a day, which were by no means enough to sustain a human being. As nine days bled into ten I could feel my muscle slowly being eaten away by my own body.  My cell neighbor hadn’t spoken a word to me since the first morning, not that I hadn’t tried. Any form of conversation I tried to begin was met by nothing but the steady sound of his breathing and the water slowly dripping from some corner in this basement that both drove me insane and kept me mentally stable.  

It was the tenth day when I saw my captors again. They slammed open my cell door, jarring me from sleep. There were two of them. One had the sides of his head shaved, and the other was sporting hair darker than ink. Both of them were dressed from nose to toe in black, including black boots, gloves, and scarves to conceal their faces.

The one with the shaved head marched over to where I sat in a daze on the floor. He used a gloved hand to grip my throat and pull me to my feet.  I was met with dark eyes as my lungs screamed for air before a harsh punch was delivered to my face.

“Now you’re gonna listen to us, little princeling,  and no one gets hurt,” the one still standing in at the cell door spoke calmly, as if he was explaining the rules to some game to a petulant child.

“The first question is easy,” He continued stalking closer as my eyes followed his every movement. Noticing this, he made sure I caught a glimpse of the wicked blade he held loosely in his hand.

“Who are the main members of BANGTAN?  Not all of them are as dumb as you and instead use code names, we can’t find their records or any information on them,” He demanded as though he was just asking what the weather was like.

I hadn’t thought of that. Although I had wondered why the hyungs used code names such as RM, V, Suga, and J-Hope, it had never occurred to me that it was yet another form of protection. It made sense.  Many of the major groups, including BANGTAN, would hack into files and find information on their enemies.  They would try and find weaknesses, what type of education they had, if they had any family still alive, ext.  If they couldn’t find the hyungs in the system, then they couldn’t find any information on them.

“What makes you think there is anything to tell?” I growled back at him with the little air allowed into my lungs.  His partner didn’t seem too happy with my answer. His hand around my throat tightened while he used his free one to deliver a punishing blow to my nose. I felt the hot liquid pour from my nose and down my face.  The telltale metallic taste of blood coated my tongue as he and I continued to glare at each other. I refused to struggle or let him see just how much strain the lack of oxygen was putting on my body.

“I’m gonna give you one more chance kid,” The man by the door said, fixing me with a look that chilled the blood still running through my veins.

“Give us the names, or my friend here will make you wish you had.”

A pregnant pause filled the cell as I held his gaze.

“Go fuck yourself,” I growled.  

The next moment I was being thrown to the ground. I tried to scramble to my feet only to be met with a steel toed boot to my ribcage. The next thing I knew my head was slamming into the cement floor and the man who had been holding me to the wall was on top of me.

I was barely to register as he pinned me beneath him with his weight. Once again he placed one hand around my throat and squeezed while the other battered my face. Sometime during my oxygen-deprived haze I felt him get off of me, only to be met with an onslaught of kicks thrown at my limp body. I tried to shield myself but my head was pounding too much from the collision with the ground and my lungs were still trying to take in air correctly. Eventually my body gave in and everything went black.

 ***

 I woke up with my eyes still closed. All I could feel was pain, I was in so much pain. Everything hurt from my head to my toes, but my neck, head, and abdomen were particularly sore. I hadn’t even moved yet. Slowly I peeled my eyes open wincing as the sensitive skin stretched and crinkled. Judging by the light in the makeshift prison area, it was sometime in the late afternoon or early evening. Had I been out that long?

I slowly sat up, groaning as pain burst through my protesting stomach.  There was a small tray of food sitting near the corner of the straw mattress I was on. For a moment I wondered how I had ended up on it when I had passed out on the other side of the cell. That thought was quickly extinguished by the hunger roaring through my entire being. I didn’t even look at the food as I devoured it, and stared longingly at the tray when it was empty.

“I was wondering when you’d wake up,” The mystery man from next door said, surprising me.

“Why,” I groaned.

“You didn’t wake up when they brought dinner yesterday or breakfast this morning, I thought maybe they’d killed you by accident, wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Wait,” I said my brain swirling, dinner, breakfast, “How long was I out?”

“They knocked you out yesterday morning before they brought me breakfast; it’s almost time for dinner today. Do the math yourself.” He sounded tired, but he always did.  I wondered if it was from being locked in this dungeon for five years

“What did you mean it wouldn’t be the first time they killed someone,” I asked, trying to hide my labored breathing. My whole body was screaming for relief I couldn’t provide.

“The brutes don’t know their own strength,” He replied sounding more and more exhausted with each word.

“They interrogate some poor kid who won’t talk, or maybe doesn’t even have the answers they’re looking for. They go too far, and the kid doesn’t wake up. The body usually has to start smelling before they clear it out.”

“God,” I gasped, unable to even imagine being trapped in a cell next to a dead body, “I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing to me, I’m not the one they killed,” He snapped.  I would have responded but the door suddenly opened.   I heard footsteps walk down the hallway and near the cell next to mine.  I  held my breath in anticipation, but a wave of relief came over me when I saw Junsu sliding the tray into my cell. I had begun to worry when another boy had delivered my meals for the past few days. My only reassurance was that his older brother had not seemed worried.

“Thank you,” I whispered when he purposely pushed the tray with more force than usual into the cell, causing it to slide further in, lessening the distance I would have to move to reach it. He nodded before running off.

Six days later…

“So how long until you’re brilliant plan works,” I huffed out into the humid air during the freezing afternoon of my seventeenth day in the small cell. I had mentally calculated how long it should take to get a message to BANGTAN and then how long it would take for them to find their way here. By my estimate it was about a week.

“Soon,” My neighbor sighed, not caring about my mental dilemma. He had seemingly become quieter over the last six days. If I didn’t know better I’d say it was as if I could hear the strength leaving his body.

“When is soon?”  I asked unable to keep the bite out of my voice. I was getting sick of sitting in the same cell day after day, getting woken up by those thugs demanding information only to be knocked out when I refused to give any. I would wake up later in the afternoon and force as much as the increasingly disgusting ‘breakfast’ down my throat before staring at the wall and watching the shadows move. Then dinner would come, I would ask how long until my neighbor’s plan should be fulfilled. Every day I would get the same answer he gave me yet again.

“Soon, you’ll see.”

I huffed, more than annoyed. I should have known better than to trust the shady kid in the cell next to mine. He probably was just enjoying my suffering and was using the promise of rescue to keep me from submitting. The anger and betrayal I had felt building in my chest burst out when I snapped.

“You can’t actually do anything to help me, can you?” I accused him, annoyance and venom slipping into my voice no matter how much I tried to control it.

“You’re probably just using me as some sick form of entertainment. He isn’t your brother, is he? You’ve probably just been here a few weeks more than me and got bored, so you decided to mess with the new guy. I give up. I’m done playing you’re game. You don’t get to mess with people’s lives anymore.”  

All of the anger I had built up during the last few weeks poured out. Some of it, most of it, should have been directed at my captors, but without them to lash out at he was the next best thing.   He angered me more when he just sighed and said,

“You’ll see.”  

“No,” I said raising my voice, “I’m sick of empty promises that I knew better than to trust. I trusted you. Do you realize that? I gave you my trust and you shattered it. You can’t help me; otherwise you would have helped yourself long ago.”

“Be quiet,” He barked back, surprising me.  

“No I’m sick of you, and you’re all-knowing attitude,” I continued only to be interrupted again.

“I’m serious Jungkook-ssi, shut up right not.”

“No, get it through you’re thick skull…” I started to yet again be cut off, this time by the door banging open.

“What are you two doing down here,” A man I had never seen bellowed as he stomped down the short stone hallway. I couldn’t clearly see his face, but merely from the sound of his voice I could tell he wasn’t someone I had met yet.  Judging by the small whimper from the cell next to me, however, my neighbor had.

“Are you causing trouble again little fox?” I heard him sneer at the boy in the neighboring cell. I could smell alcohol on his breath even from this distance.

“You know what happens when you cause trouble,” He continued and I heard the cell door creak open.

“Leave him alone. He’s just a little kid,” I heard the boy yell; voice surprisingly higher than it had been not even a minute ago. I heard the sounds of a scuffle and what sounded like a punch being thrown.  The next thing I knew the pair was walking past my cell. The guard was holding my neighbor by the back of his neck, nearly dragging him towards the door.  

For the first time in the two weeks I had been here I saw my neighbor. He was smaller than I had even expected and his clothes hung on him like wet towels on a drying line. Dirt smeared every inch of his body and clothes. His hair was covered by an equally dirty beanie that could have been any color but had since faded to a dull brown. His small feet were bare and callused and he was drug trough the small dungeon. I caught his line of sight just as the door was about to close. He was still struggling against the guard’s hold, hurling insults left and right, attempting to loosen his grip by clawing and flailing about.

“Get the runt,” The guard yelled just as the door closed.

Runt, that’s what I’d heard them refer to Junsu as multiple times. ‘Come on runt, quickly.’ ‘What are you waiting for runt?’  ‘Get movin’ runt.’

My heart sunk in my chest and my throat closed up when I realized what was about to happen. Junsu would be punished because I couldn’t keep my damn mouth shut.

Neither of them reappeared that night, and a different boy brought dinner. Only one the tray, I noticed and realized that I would be alone in the dungeon tonight.

***

It was the middle of the night, it must have been.  So why were people yelling?  I couldn’t make out voices, but there was obviously some type of serious verbal altercation happening just outside of the door.

For the second time that day, or was it now the next day now, the door slammed open and a yelling man walked into the dungeon…

[rainbowtransform]

Innocent

Enjoy the story. Read it on AO3

They find the Unsub outside a gas station. He’s just sitting there, eating peanuts and humming quietly to himself. He stares, uninterested and detached from reality as he looks on. Morgan pulls his gun out, and the rest of the team follows.

“Put your hands up!” Morgan barks, and the Unsub’s eyes catch on Morgan’s. “You are under arrest!” The Unsub seems calm, as he gets out of the car. The packet of peanuts are still in his hands. He is quiet for a moment, before sighing.

“You’re persistent,” he says before setting down the peanuts and putting up his hands. Emily immediately shoves him against the car and cuffs him. They lead him away, reading his rights.

They’re watching him as he watches the mirror. He’s sitting on top of the table, criss-cross style. The hand that is cuffed to the table is behind him, and it has to be hurting him but he’s just sitting there. His hazel eyes are wide and patient.

It’s Rossi who realized this Unsub will wait them out - before they can wait out him.

They decide to send JJ and Emily into the room. Them, together, seem to make him very uncomfortable. JJ watches Emily as she paces the floor next to the Unsub.

“Why’d you do it?” Emily asks suddenly. “Why, in the world, would you start this?”

The Unsub’s eyes narrow and his lips purse. “Henry said it was time.” He said.

“Henry?” JJ asks.

The Unsub’s eyes flick to the right, to the mirror, and then to the left, where the door is. He looks behind him, and seems to search for something.

He beckons JJ over, and leans down to whisper “Henry doesn’t like it when we talk about him when he’s not here.”

“Where is he, now?” Emily asks.

The Unsub’s eyes widen and he swallows, hard. He throws his head back, and lays down on the table. His eyes flicker to the mirror again and he swallows.

“JJ,” he says suddenly. “JJ has a son named Henry, doesn’t she?” He sits upward, and stares at JJ. “Don’t you?” He persists.

JJ doesn’t answer. Emily slams her fist down on the table, and the Unsub jumps. He stares at Emily.

JJ’s eyes widen. The unsub leans back against the table. “Emily ‘die-”

Emily’s face fell slack, and she flew out of the room. The door slammed behind her and the Unsub started. “I think I hit a nerve.” He said quietly. JJ’s hand raised, and moved forward just a half-inch before she, too, walked out of the room. The unsub just tilted his head, like a puppy, before beginning to hum again.

The air smells like fish. He feels like gagging. But he doesn’t. Instead, the person sitting in front of him tells him what it is. Fish hearts. Keeps out the demons.

He sees the camera sitting behind the walls and three computers behind a desk. He doesn’t want to see anything. He closes his eyes, and think of different times.

“Why does he keep looking at the mirror?” JJ asks. Hotch’s eyes narrow.

“It seems like he’s waiting for someone - or some thing .” Rossi says. He blinks, narrowing his eyes at the Unsub.

“Let’s go, Hotch. Me and you.”

He stares at the two men who come in. Brown hair flops downward. He seems to shrink into himself.

“He isn’t comfortable around Alpha males.” Morgan notes. The others nod.

“Well, that’s why he killed those boys, right? And those girls?” JJ says and the others look at each other.

“I mean, yeah,” Emily says. The others frown.

Hotch comes out of the room, ashen-faced and Rossi follows just a few short steps behind. “Hotch-” Rossi begins and Hotch cuts him off.

“He talked about Haley. How could he know?”

“The internet!”

“Okay, how’d he know your wife committed suicide?”

“The news.”

“Rossi. He talked about her disease; and how did he know you’re divorce vows? I didn’t even know you had divorce vows.”

Rossi’s lips pursed. “Hotch, you can’t let him get under your skin.”

“I want to know how he knows.”

“Fine,” Rossi says. “Find Garcia.”

Morgan’s eyes snap toward Hotch’s. “If he knows all of your guys’ stories, what’s to say he doesn’t know Garcia’s? Or mine?”

“Yours has been expunged. Garcia’s was never put out,” Hotch explained calmly. “If he found anything then it’s either on paper or computer. Garcia has been keeping track of everything, quietly, and she already recalled many papers on things that you’d done.” Hotch sighs.

“Let’s get her.” Rossi rubs his eyes.

The Unsub is actually sitting in the chair now, and Garcia and Derek walk in.

“Hey,” Garcia says. The unsub’s mouth turns up slightly. “Want some water?” She asks, holding out a cup. The unsub accepts it, and stares into the liquid.

He takes a tiny, tiny sip. Morgan watches him quietly. The unsub doesn’t look happy with the liquid. “Just water?” He asks, then smiles again.

“I’m being demanding. Sorry.” He takes another, tiny sip. “What do you guys want?” He blinks his large, hazel eyes again and his hair flops in his face.

Morgan pulls out a few crime scene photos. He shows them to the unsub. He blinks, tilts his head again, and just sighs. Leaning back, he takes another sip of water before setting it down.

“It’s bloody,” he says.

“It’s your work.”

“Nope.”

“Aren’t you proud?”

“It’s not my work.”

“Liar.”

“I don’t lie.”

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t.”

“You just did.”

“I think you are a liar.”

“We’re not talking about me.”

“How far did you have to dig?” His eyes turned to Garcia and she stammered.

“What?”

“How. Far. Did. You. Have. To. Dig?” He asked again, slowly.

“Very far,” she said softly.

Morgan leaned back against the chair. “How far did you?” He questioned.

The unsub blinked, looking over. “How far did I what?”

“Dig.”

“I didn’t.”

“You must’ve.”

“My mind supplied the answers.”

“You’re lying.”

The unsub’s eyes blinked. “My mind in complicated. Do you want brain scans? You can go search my apartment for them.”

“See, we’ve already done that.” Morgan leaned forward. “And the brain scan that you’ve got? They’ve all been forged.”

He frowned. “No. They haven’t.”

“You know the part where the brain separates reality from fantasy? It’s broken. Unconnected. You’re brain is gone. Done for.”

The unsub narrows his eyes again. “My brain is fine,” he says.

Morgan smiles. “No. You’re crazy.”

“I’m not.”

“You’ve gone mad.”

“I haven’t!”

“Just like…”

“Stop.”

“Diana Reid.”

Spencer Reid’s eyes lift and the corner of his mouth lifts up slightly before he suddenly screams, clasping his head into his hands. Garcia stumbles back, not expecting it. Morgan gets up quickly and turns to guide Garcia out.

“Garcia and Kevin, sittin’ in a tree,” Spencer sings out suddenly and Garcia stiffens. “Morgan tryin’ to fix the past.” Morgan’s eye twitched.

“Hotch doesn’t accept; Emily doesn’t trust; Rossi doesn’t let go; Morgan’s upset; JJ wants to go home; Will wants Henry to be happy; Henry wants JJ; Kevin wants Garcia; Garcia wants Kevin; Morgan wants the BAU; Hotch wants the BAU; Emily wants the BAU; Rossi wants the BAU; Garcia wants the BAU.”

Spencer frowned. “None of them need or want Spencer Reid.” He says quietly.

“Oh.” Spencer says.

“ Oh ,” he repeats.

“What are we doing with him?” Morgan asks.

“Send him to the mental institution.” Hotch replies. “He’s way too…”

“Crazy.” Emily said.

“To be in prison.”

Spencer goes quietly. He doesn’t make a scene; or scream. He just sits there and hums quietly. The BAU visits him time to time, tries to get him to speak with them. To tell them how he’d managed to kill those victims. Spencer doesn’t answer, except saying: “They don’t need you in this Universe. If they don’t need me, why am I here?” And he’s fiddling with a Rubix cube.

Morgan took it from him, once, and he blinked. “Four minutes, ten seconds, five point one millisecond.”

“What?”

“That’s how long it took me the last time.” Spencer says and then Morgan gives it back.

They stop visiting him. They talk about it every couple of days. Why did they go? Because of Spencer’s hazel eyes? Because of his baby-like expression? Because it suddenly felt wrongwhen Spencer went away? Why? When did the kid worm his way into their hearts? And how ?

Spencer doesn’t write to them - not anymore. Maybe it’s for the best.

Dear BAU Team,

This is my last letter. Don’t ask. I have to go away for a while. I don’t think I’m going to come back. I’ve… done a lot. But I’m going to tell you something: I didn’t kill those people. I didn’t. Orion Le Guiel did. But he’s gone now. Dead.

No I didn’t kill him. He overdosed on drugs. Too little, too late, right? Anyway, I’m going to stop writing now. It’s almost time for me to go.

See you in another place,

Spencer Reid

Spencer takes one more look at the place he’d called home for so many days.

“It’s time to go now.” The Universe says.

“Just a few more minutes?”

“Spencer.”

“I know.”

Spencer places six finished Rubix cubes on the desk. There’s a seventh one, hidden away, not finished. If they bother searching for it, maybe they’d finish it. Then, Spencer would know it’s time for him to go back. But right here - right now - the BAU team works well. They don’t need a seventh member; and Spencer’s happy to keep going with the plans.

“Come.” The Universe beckons him, quickly, and opens a small portal. Spencer steps through, his eyes closed and fingers lax on his messenger bag. He doesn’t know where he’ll end up. Maybe in an universe where they actually need Spencer. He doesn’t open his eyes for a long time, and when he does, he’s still falling.

They find the unfinished cube in the air ducts. Who knows how it ended up in there. But they find it, and they try to finish it. But it’s impossible. The colors change; and the Cube itself rotates by itself like it’s built for something else.

The closer they got to the finish, the more the Cube seemed to stop. But the next day, the cube would be back at its original condition. It’s something they try to do on days off; or when there isn’t any cases. Try to fix the Cube.

Then they retire.

The Cube is still there. Derek, Emily, Rossi, Hotch, Garcia, and JJ all moves on and retired. Grew old and died. But, somewhere along the line, something happened. Something wronghappened somewhere, and the “original” BAU team came back, just as they were before, only different now.

They are part of a show now. “Criminal Minds” is what they’re called. They finish the cube (somehow) and, before the first episode aired, they found Matthew (or Spencer). Emily and Rossi aren’t there for a while; they can’t be. They haven’t been hired yet. There’s still Gideon and Elle, and Spencer loves them because even though they haven’t stayed, they can’t. The Universe won’t allow it.

Spencer keeps their pictures in his wallet. He misses them sometimes. Misses Elle’s laugh and Gideon’s chess strategy. But he’s got the others now. (Though, he doesn’t think the Universe will be kind and leave them be. He knows one of them will leave, and another family member will take their place.)

He doesn’t tell them the truth. He can’t. He wishes he could but he can’t. Spencer hopes, beyond hope, he’ll have good memories from this place before he leaves. He thinks he would, but good memories sometimes fade over time.

Spencer will fight for his family. He will try to protect them as much as possible. Just until he has to leave - because then he’d have done what the Universe asked of him.

[atombooks]

Looking for your next read? Dip your toes into A Danger to Herself and Others, a gripping, heart-wrenching and powerful new novel from New York Times bestselling author Alyssa Sheinmel.  Enjoy. What follows is an extract from Alyssa Sheinmel's new novel, A Danger to Herself an Others. Out February 2019 ----------------------------------------------------------------- Too old for these games.Too old for these games.Too old for these games. I hear the words over and over, like a song I can’t get out of my head. It’s Agnes’s voice I hear, not my own. Like she’s in the room with me. I can practically see her flipping her long blond hair over one shoulder. Her hair is thinner than mine, but less unruly. Plus, mine is brown. So much more ordinary than Agnes’s hair. At least, that’s how Jonah must’ve seen it. On the other hand, Jonah said once that my brown hair paired with my light green eyes made me pretty in a striking sort of way. He didn’t say it like it was a good thing. More like it was merely he’d noticed. Too old for these games. You’re never really too old for games. The games just change. You’d think someone with a name as grown-up as Agnes would’ve understood that. Come on, Agnes. It’ll be fun. I’m not sure we have the same idea of fun, Agnes said. But she was smiling, so she must have been having at least a little fun. Light as a feather, stiff as a board. Light as a feather, stiff as a board. Light as a feather… When I say the words out loud, they echo off the ugly brick walls like a beacon, bringing Dr. Lightfoot along with them. That’s not her real name. Her real name is Priya Charan (she introduced herself to me when we met, obviously), but I call her Lightfoot because she wears ballet slippers, and they tap tap tap across the linoleum floor with every step she takes. And I don’t mean stylish ballet flats, the kind you can get at J. Crew, the sort that Audrey Hepburn made famous and fashionable. I mean, this doctor literally wears ballet shoes. They’re not even nice ballet shoes, like the kind professional dancers wear. These are the sort of plain slippers parents give to little kids taking their first ballet class. These slippers have no laces and no soles. They have no sharp or heavy parts. They can’t be used as weapons. Dr. Lightfoot wears them because they make her feel safe around girls like me. Which, I have to tell you, is absurd. Not because I wouldn’t try anything (I can’t make any promises—who knows what being trapped in a room could drive a person to do?), but because Dr. Lightfoot always brings a clipboard with my file clipped to it and a pen with her, just like the man who asked my name when I arrived here. Maybe it’s the same clipboard. I asked to see my file the first time she came to see me, and she held it out in front of her so I could only see the first page. Now those items—the clipboard, the pen, even the heavy file—could be useful, if you were interested in that sort of thing. Which is why Dr. Lightfoot never comes to see me alone. “Who’s that?” I asked on the first day. Or maybe it was the fifth day. Or the tenth. Like I said, I haven’t been keeping track. Anyway, it was the first time Dr. Lightfoot made an appearance, so I’m guessing it was at the beginning of all of this. “That’s my colleague Stephen,” she answered, gesturing to the enormous man standing in the doorway with his arms crossed like a bouncer at the hottest club back home in the city. When Dr. Lightfoot is here, the door stays open, but Stephen is so big that he blocks any light that might come in from the hallway, along with any chance of seeing my fellow inmates (patients? prisoners?) who might be walking in the hallway. Or any chance of them seeing me. “What’s he doing here?” “Observing,” Dr. Lightfoot answered. “He’s a student.” I sighed. It’s not like I thought they’d have the best doctors in the world at a place like this, but I’m surprised they put someone as incompetent as Lightfoot in charge of my case. It’s bad enough that she keeps me locked in this room all day, which definitely wouldn’t be good for my sanity if I were actually mentally ill. But even I know that doctors like her are supposed to gain their patients’ trust. Which is pretty hard to do when her answer to one of the first questions I ever asked was a bald-faced lie. It was true that Stephen was observing, but it was a lie that he was here to learn something. He was here to keep an eye on me. He was here so Dr. Lightfoot wouldn’t have to be alone with me. Because I’ve been labelled a danger to herself and others. Another phrase that floats through my head. Though not in Agnes’s voice. Agnes wouldn’t have said that because no one ever said that about me before they brought me here. And by the time they brought me here, Agnes had a tube stuck down her throat, so she couldn’t have said anything anyway. I don’t hear this particular phrase in anyone’s voice because I never heard it at all. I saw it written on the first page of my file when Lightfoot held it out to me. My name was typed at the top of the page: Hannah Gold. Beneath that was my date of birth, my address in New York, my medical history (strep throat at eleven, tonsillitis at thirteen). And beneath that were two bullet points: • Hold for observation. • Patient may pose a danger to herself and others. “So that’s why I’m stuck in this room?” I asked. “Because you think I’m dangerous?” “You’re in this room for your own safety.” I was already sick of Lightfoot’s dull, monotonous voice. “And the safety of others,” I added. Lightfoot didn’t respond. Patient may pose a danger to herself and others. I always hated when people said maybe, maybe not in answer to a question. What an absurdly redundant, completely unnecessary expression. Maybe is maybe not. There’s no reason to say both. Saying I may pose a danger to myself and others is also saying that I may not. I sigh and pace the room in perpendicular lines. Just because I’m stuck in here is no reason to forgo exercise. I will not get fat. My muscles will not atrophy down to nothing. These people will not keep me still and pump me full of food like they do to the girls with eating disorders down the hall. Or anyway, the girls I imagine are down the hall. I haven’t actually seen any other patients yet, but sometimes I hear doors opening and closing, hear muffled female voices rising and falling as they approach then pass the door. More than once, I’ve heard one girl or another yelling, though the walls are too thick for me to make out exactly what they’re yelling about. Maybe they don’t want to take their medication. Or maybe they’re complaining about the locks on the doors. (I assume all the doors have locks like mine.) Or maybe they’re protesting being here at all. They didn’t come here calmly and quietly like I did. Of course, the other patients are here because there’s actually something wrong with them. I’m only here because of a misunderstanding, so there’s no need for me to panic. Anyway, the sounds I hear make it clear that at least some of the other patients here (all girls, judging by their voices) aren’t left alone in their rooms like I am. I stand between the beds and do a few sun salutations. When I was little, Mom used to bring me to the yoga classes she frequented to help keep her belly flat. Maybe being stuck indoors will be good for my skin. Maybe when all this is over, I’ll emerge with a preternaturally youthful complexion, like those kidnapping victims who are kept in underground bunkers for half their lives and emerge with non-sun-damaged skin after their rescue. Maybe my perfect skin will be a sign of my survival, a show of solidarity with those kidnapped girls, like a uniform—we were all held indoors against our will. Not that I intend to be here that long. Like I said, this is all just a misunderstanding. Eight steps. Turn. Seven Steps. Turn. I’d prefer to keep to the walls and circle the room like it’s a tiny little track, but the beds get in the way. Dr. Lightfoot never uses the second bed. I don’t mean uses like sleeps in it or anything, but when she comes in here to talk, she brings a plastic folding chair with her and sits in the center of the room with her back to the vacant second bed while I sit on the first, the one in which I sleep. Maybe Lightfoot doesn’t sit on the bed because she doesn’t want to make our interactions feel too casual. After all, we’re not two friends catching up. We’re not roommates in a college dorm. She’s not my new Agnes. Agnes never knew that I was hooking up with Jonah. Don’t let the biblical name fool you. Two biblical names: Hannah and Jonah. We were doing some pretty non-biblical things. Or actually, completely biblical things, when you think about it. I gaze out the window. Dusk and dawn look the same here. The fog is rolling through. There are redwood trees as far as I can see, and when the fog gets thick, it condenses on the needlelike leaves and drips onto the roof. It sounds like rain, but it isn’t. It’s not true that I can only see a few plants from here. We’re actually in the middle of a forest. I was lying before.  ------------------------------------------------------------- Pre-order your copy today: http://fal.cn/rluC

[ssa-steverogers]

Memories   Avenger one-shot

Memories

Requested: Yes

Summary:  Alexandras Winchester joined the Avengers after her mother died during what was known as the New York Battle. She had never told anyone. Now, it’s been exactly seven years and she had never visited her mother, Lilly. Her father, Charles, and twin, Thomas, had died in a accident a long time ago. And after a long mission, she decides to visit her buried family.

“What do you want for dinner?” Pepper popped into the main room. 

“You can have dinner without me, I’m going out for a while.” I said reaching for my coat over the couch. Tony sat across from me on a recliner. He looked at his watch and frowned.

“Where you going out so late? It’s almost eight. Going to a pub? We got a whole bar that’s probably bigger than any of the pubs in town.” He said with that signature smirk of his. I gave him a look and so did Pepper.

“Where are you heading?” Loki asked the same time as Thor. They looked at me and I just stared back at them. They looked at me for a answer. I blinked a couple times and got up.

“Out.” I said smiling and putting on my coat.

“Where? You got yourself a boy?” Wanda asked with wide eyes. She’s been trying to set me up with people lately. I got ready and when I was about to walk to the elevator, I was stopped by a big boulder; well, a Loki Laufeyson. He looked suspicious as he asked me questions. 

 "Where. Are. You. Going.” He asked in more of a statement than a question. I sighed. 

 “Why? Who wants to know?” I smirked. I crossed my arms and leaned on one foot. 

 “Who? Me, Thor, Steve, Tony, Wanda, even Bruce! And you never leave this facility unless it’s for missions or the girls drag you out! You go out like every blue moon. You always stay in the lab!” He said with arms motions. 

 “Well, today, there happens to have a blue moon… So I will be on my way.” I said slipping around Loki and into the elevator. He held his hand up about to say something but the elevator doors closed and silenced him. I put on my beanie and the elevator door opened. I took a deep breath and walked out. I left a note saying I was gonna borrow Tony’s black matte Audi R8. It was new, actually. Which is why I didn’t tell him face to face. He installed J.A.R.V.I.S into the car and made it that it could drive by itself when needed. I got into the car and quickly drove out of the basement. I was driving to a cemetery where my mom, dad, and twin is buried.

“Where do you think she’s going?” That was almost the only question asked after everyone had found the note Alex had left.

“How are we supposed to know?” Now that, was a answer everyone gave. They were all in the basement, where all the cars and Tonys lab is. Thor was nearly dying because he was so bored. He dragged Vision back up to the main floor and tried to work, what he referred as ‘midgardian toys.’ Which were basically technology. 

“Hey J? Could you track Echo?” Tony asked J.A.R.V.I.S. Natasha raised a eyebrow at him as he stopped half way from eating a Pringle. He retracted his chip and gave her a weird look. After a couple of moments of blinking he understood why she was looking at him odd. His mouth formed a ‘O’ shape. “What? I name my cars.” He said casually as he continued with his Pringles. Nat just mentally face palmed silently. 

“It shows Echo is driving at a incredible speed and is headed a bit north.” J.A.R.V.I.S said in a monotone voice and projected a holo-screen and there was a black dot that stood out from the satellite behind it showing roads. In the corner of the black dot, there was a box that showed info about Echo.

Speed: Average. 185 MPH  Name: Echo Brand: Audi Type: R8 V10 plus Year: 2017

“Won’t she get a ticket or something?” Asked Clint as they gathered around the holo-screen. 

“Nah. She took MY car, darling. If the license plate has ‘Stark’ in it; she’ll be fine.” Tony said going through drawers trying to find keys for his other cars. Steve was basically frightened by her speed. His eyes wide open.

“She’s going 185 miles per hour and you’re caring about if she gets a ticket?!?! What if she gets in a crash or something?!?!” Steve yelled, if he went any louder, he would have broke everyones ear drums… even in china. 

“Yeah! What if she gets hurt? Or if she hurts someone else?!?” Loki yelled after Steve, grabbing peoples attention. Everyone went silent, realizing Steve and Loki didn’t know about Alex’s history.

“You really don’t know, don’t you?” Silence.

“Don’t know what?” Loki asked, his main concern at the moment is Alex’s safety; so was Steve’s. 

“About what she did before she was a S.H.I.E.L.D agent?” Nat asked, emphasizing on ‘before.’ The two boys were almost clueless. They shook their heads carefully. Bruce sighed and explained what had happened in Alex’s life.

“As a teen, she wasn’t always the… straight A’s type. She had always been the ‘badass’ in school.” Bruce explained, choosing his words carefully as he continued. “She… made some choices… Not very good choices, really. She had quit school when she was in high school. She… had raced. Had bet money, which is illegal. Her file wasn’t always clear, you know?” He said as he pulled up a file of Alex, which was clean. “This is her file now.” He said pointing to her file. 

“This used to be her file.” He said pulling up another file on another screen. It informed that she had been in prison quite often. It was probably like her second home. “It was only after the battle of New York when she had became a new person. And when she became a S.H.I.E.L.D agent. She improved so much; a new person she was. She forgot all about that life. So she became one of the top agents here.”   

 “And you don’t get to be one of the top agents without a couple scars and bruises.” 

 “It appears Alex and Echo has slowed down and come to a stop.” Everyone’s attention had returned to the other hologram which had Echo and Alex’s location. It had appeared that the black dot had stopped moving. 

 “Why is she at a cemetery?” Nat wondered out loud. 

 “I don’t know, but we gotta go there to see if she’s okay, preferably NOW.” 

 I had reached the cemetery within about twenty minutes. If I had driven at the speed of a turtle, I’d get there in a hour and a half. I got out of the car and stood in front of the gates, watching the gates as if they were going to come to life. I took a deep breath and slipped through the locked gates. 

 I walked around the cemetery looking at headstones. I remember exactly where my family was. The center. I walked along the path with my hand in the pockets of my hoodie, the other hand with roses. Staring at the ground in front of me, I came to a stop. I carefully looked to the headstones in front of me. I took a shaky breath and looked at the words engraved in them.

R.I.P Lilly Winchester June 11, 1945 - May 4, 2012 Here lies a beloved  Mother      Leader            Friend                  Wife                       Sister  R.I.P Thomas ‘Tommy’ Winchester December 28, 1991 - December 27, 2003 "I hate to leave you all one day, but I promise you, we’ll meet again someday.” 

R.I.P Charles Winchester June 26, 1944 - December 27, 2003 “If I could do life all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.” 

I sat down in front of my mothers headstone with my fathers and brothers headstone on either side. I sat criss cross, staring at the ground, picking on the grass in silence. I slowly looked up. 

 “Hey, mom.” I whispered weakly, my voice was breaking and it hasn’t been five minutes yet. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” I chuckled quietly. “I got you your favorite roses,” I started as I laid a couple roses in front of them. “I know your favorites are the dark red and white ones, I got you those.” I started to play with the roses, putting them dark red and white as a pattern. “I joined the Avengers, you know? The comics about those superheroes you liked as a child? Yeah, I’m with them. It’s overwhelming sometimes, you know? I live with the people who could have saved you, but couldn’t. I could’ve saved you, but I didn’t…” 

I rubbed a hand on my face and through my hair, a bad habit I have. “…Wow… I just… I honestly don’t know what to say. It’s been just so terribly long and I missed you guys so m-” I paused ranting when I felt my hand touch a hard surface. I was really sure that roses weren’t hard and the headstone didn’t have that texture. My hand was behind the headstone when I pulled out a MP3 player. My mom had always loved those even though I told her she could just download music now. It was old, and dusty. It was the type that didn’t need headphones, the speaker type. 

 I blew off some of the dust and coughed a bit from the dust going everywhere in the air. I glanced up at the headstone a bit confused where this was going. “What are you doing, mom?” I got rid of the access dust and read the small handwriting on the inside. 

 'For when my time is up' 

I could already feel my eyes tearing up. I gulped and with a shaky hand, pressed play. There was static and then there it was; her voice. Speaking. The one I had missed so much. 

"Hi, darling."  The first tear dropped. It was actually was her! I couldn't believe it. After seven years. It was her voice. I stared at the headstone in front of me intensely with a emotionless face, listening to the voice. 

"I already know it's going to be a long time after I die when you're going to get a chance to listen to this." It honestly felt as if someone was taking my heart and ripping it to pieces. 

"I know that you might blame yourself for all of this. That your brother and father... passed. But, honey, it isn't. No matter what, it was never your fault for any of our deaths." Her voice was smooth and gentle. She never yelled at me. It was always the gentle voice talking to me. 

"If you're listening to this, I would presume I'm dead. And I know you had a hard time getting over your siblings death and mine. You might’ve never told me that you weren’t ‘okay’... but I knew you weren’t.” I pursed my lips, trying my best to swallow the lump forming in my throat.

“I know you’re feeling lost, and everywhere you go is like a dark room. But you just gotta keep going, find the light; your light... God, this is so cheesy... Find that special someone, if you don’t already. Because i need someone to take care of you, the day I can’t.” I was staring at the MO3 player in my lap with tears dropping onto it.

“There will be things you don’t want to happen, but have to accept it. Things... we don’t want to know but have to learn, and people we can’t live without, but have to let go. Darling, I’ve been through all of that I came out just fine. I even earned you in the process. You haven’t let go us yet, haven’t you.” I nodded a silent reply as if she was there.

“Find that special someone, learn to let go of me. Learn to let go. Learn to love others when I can’t. Learn to find a light when others can’t... Okay? Just find your way in this world. Okay, honey?”  I nodded carefully, while sobbing.

“Mommy?” That was my voice...

“Yes, darling?”

“What are you doing?” She was always making something as I grew up.

“A creation you will see when you are older.”

All of a sudden the MP3 player bounced out of my hands and in front of me. It laid there making mechanical sounds. I wiped all the tears from my face. It unfolded and a small camera with a indent on the side; my initials. A 3D hologram formed from the bottom out of small virtual pixels.

It was my mom hugging me on her knees. She was facing the camera as I hugged her.

“I love you, Alex.” My mom whispered, looking directly at the camera, on the verge of tears. 

“i love you too, mom.” The small version of myself and I said at the same time. She looked directly in my eyes and whistled a tune from her favorite song. Both myself and the small version of me whistled it back. I chuckled as tears fell from my eyes. 

“Goodbye, Alex.” The camera whirred back into the MP3 player and the hologram was no more. The MP3 folded back into a normal MP3. I stared at the MP3, sobbing. 

“Bye, mom.” I said between sobs. There was a presence started sitting next to me, and another on my other side. We sat in silence for a while as I looked at my lap, sobbing my lungs out. When I recovered from crying and ended up sniffling, the presence on my left talked to me.

“I lost people too, you know. I know it isn’t easy.” 

“I know.” Of course he did. He was in ice for seventy years. 

“I had too... my... mom had died in Asgard, protecting my brothers lady.”

“I know.” He had told me that when we met for one of the first times. “When did you come?” I asked the two men sitting next to me.

“When you started playing the MP3.” A voice said from behind me. I looked behind me and saw most of the team standing. I stood up, along with Steve and Loki. I hugged Tony and sobbed into his shoulder. He tensed for a moment but hugged me back, anyways. It wasn’t a weird hug. It was the type of hug where a father would give a daughter, and I haven’t had one of those in a long time. 

“Let’s go home, okay?” Loki asked me as I pulled away from Tony. I nodded with red puffy eyes. He pulled me into his side and held onto my waist. His other hand was entangled with mine. We walked back to the cars and motorcycles. We all went on our vehicles and headed back home. 

But not without Wanda whispering, “I think she found her special someone.”

•UNEDITED•

Tag: @meatballevan