#They hold no mercy for the agents who took their baby

[gettingcomfyinyourwalls]

DP x DC prompt #188

A new villain duo has been attacking highly secure government building at every city that a major hero resides in. Batman set up a trap for when they finally came to Gotham. He was surprised to find the villains already out of the trap.

"Sorry Batman, but our baby's waiting for us."

#dpxdc #walls prompts #Maddie and Jack become villains in order to save Danny from the GIW #They hold no mercy for the agents who took their baby

[dfroza]

“Beloved, remember you don’t belong in this world. You are resident aliens living in exile, so resist those desires of the flesh that battle against the soul.”

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 2nd chapter of the letter of 1st Peter:

So get rid of hatefulness and deception, of insincerity and jealousy and slander. Be like newborn babies, crying out for spiritual milk that will help you grow into salvation if you have tasted and found the Lord to be good.

Come to Him—the living stone—who was rejected by people but accepted by God as chosen and precious. Like living stones, let yourselves be assembled into a spiritual house, a holy order of priests who offer up spiritual sacrifices that will be acceptable to God through Jesus the Anointed. For it says in the words of the prophet Isaiah,

See here—I am laying in Zion a stone,

a cornerstone, chosen and precious;

Whoever depends upon Him will never be disgraced.

To you who believe and depend on Him, He is precious; but to you who don’t, remember the words of the psalmist:

The stone that the builders rejected

has been laid as the cornerstone—the very stone that holds together the entire foundation,

and of Isaiah:

A stone that blocks their way,

a rock that trips them.

They stumble because they don’t follow the word of God, as they were destined to do.

But you are a chosen people, set aside to be a royal order of priests, a holy nation, God’s own; so that you may proclaim the wondrous acts of the One who called you out of inky darkness into shimmering light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received it.

Beloved, remember you don’t belong in this world. You are resident aliens living in exile, so resist those desires of the flesh that battle against the soul. Live honorably among the outsiders so that, even when some may be inclined to call you criminals, when they see your good works, they might give glory to God when He returns in judgment.

For the Lord’s sake, accept the decrees and laws of all the various human institutions, whether they come from the highest human ruler or agents he sends to punish those who do wrong and to reward those who do well. You see, it is God’s will that by doing what is right and good you should hush the gabbing ignorance of the foolish. Live as those who are free and not as those who use their freedom as a pretext for evil, but live as God’s servants. Respect everyone. Love the community of believers. Reverence God. Honor your ruler.

If you are a slave, submit yourself to the master who has authority over you, whether he is kind and gentle or harsh as he deals with you. For grace is clearly at work when a person accepts undeserved pain and suffering and does so because he is mindful of God. For what credit is there in enduring punishment you deserve? But if you do what is right and yet are punished and endure it patiently, God will be pleased with you. For you were called to this kind of life, as Isaiah said,

He did no wrong deed,

and no evil word came from His mouth.

The Anointed One suffered for us and left us His example so that we could follow in His steps. When He was verbally abused, He didn’t return the abuse; when He suffered, He didn’t make threats to cause suffering in return; instead, He trusted that all would be put right by the One who is just when He judges. He took on our sins in His body when He died on the cross so that we, being dead to sin, can live for righteousness. As the Scripture says, “Through His wounds, you were healed.” For there was a time when you were like sheep that wandered from the fold, but now you have returned to the Shepherd and Guardian of your lives.

The Letter of 1st Peter, Chapter 2 (The Voice)

A set of notes from The Voice translation:

The word “submission” evokes concerns about sexism, racism, and dehumanization. Unfortunately there have been good reasons to draw such conclusions. The true purpose of biblical submission, however, is not to sanction any type of inequality but to honor Jesus even in the most difficult circumstances. Offering an attitude of humility toward those who are undeserving of it mirrors the unmerited favor God graciously gives to us. When submission is modeled evenly by all believers—male and female, young and old—it is no longer enslaving, but liberating.

Many believers face intense persecution, but western Christians tend not to experience anything beyond social pressure. Are we merely pursuing comfort, or are we willing to swim against culture?

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 35th chapter of the book of Ezekiel:

The word of the Eternal came to me with a message for Edom.

Eternal One: Son of man, turn toward Mount Seir and preach against it. Tell the Edomites that this is what the Eternal Lord has to say:

Pay attention! I oppose you, Mount Seir!

I will raise My hand against you, strike you,

and leave you an empty wasteland.

I will turn your cities to rubble,

and you will lie desolate and deserted.

Then you will know that I am the Eternal One.

You held an old grudge against the Israelites, and you handed them over to death and defeat when they were in the midst of disaster, at a crucial moment of their final punishment.

Eternal One: As surely as I, the Eternal Lord, live, what you have given, you will receive! I will hand you over to bloodshed, and it will come after you. Because you have been quick to shed blood, I will make your blood flow! I will leave Mount Seir an empty wasteland and destroy any who come and go. I will spread your corpses upon the mountains; all those slaughtered in battle will fill the hills and valleys and riverbeds! I will turn you into an eternal wasteland; your cities and towns will lie empty and silent. Then you will know that I am the Eternal.

You keep saying, “We will take possession of these two countries and two nations—Israel and Judah. We will own them.” And you have the nerve to say this right in front of Me! Consequently, as surely as I, the Eternal Lord, live, the rage and jealousy you have shown as a result of your hatred of them will be returned to you. When I judge you, I will show them who I am and remind them they are still mine. When that day arrives, you will know that I, the Eternal One, have overheard all the despicable threats you made against Israel’s mountains: “They’re nothing but rubble! They’re as good as ours; let’s take what we want!” You said so many haughty things against Me, and I heard every word of it.

This is what the Eternal God has to say.

Eternal One: While everyone else in the world sings songs and has happy feasts, I will leave you empty and desolate. Since you celebrated the destruction of the land Israel was meant to inherit, I’m going to treat you the same way. O Mount Seir, you and the rest of Edom will be turned into an empty wasteland! Then you will know that I am the Eternal One.

The Book of Ezekiel, Chapter 35 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

Israel has no more implacable enemy than Edom. As the descendants of Esau, whose brother Jacob stole his birthright and his father’s blessing, the Edomites view the Israelites as illegitimate rulers and thieves. So shortly after Nebuchadnezzar razes Jerusalem in 586 b.c., Edom seizes its opportunity for revenge and swoops in to fill the political vacuum that results. The Edomites are not operating as God’s instruments. They attack Israel out of their own greed, thinking no one is left to oppose them. They are wrong. The land of Israel never belongs to the people themselves; it belongs to God. When the Edomites sneak in to pillage the land of Israel, they find the stewards of the land gone or severely weakened, but the true Owner is at home and is ready to prosecute them for their actions.

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for friday, december 1 of 2023 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about who are we?

Some people make it the business of theology to know God's Name, but God begins by first asking for our name instead. Recall that Jacob had disguised who he really was in the hope of obtaining the blessing (Gen. 27), though his duplicity forced him into an exile that lasted until he was finally willing to be honest with himself. And like Jacob, each of us must answer God's question: "What is your name?" (Gen. 32:27). When we “wrestle through” this question to face who we really are, we encounter God and find our blessing, that is, our true identity. Each of us has to go through the process of being renamed from "manipulator" (i.e., Yaakov) to "one in whom God rules" (i.e., Israel). But note the order: it is only when we "tell God our name," that is, own who we really are, that He meets with us "face to face" (Gen. 32:30). You will not be able to say, "I will not let you go unless you bless me," until you are willing tell God your name (Gen. 32:26-27).

Let me add that while “telling God your name” can be painful and even frightening, it is not the last word about who you really are. We are faced with an inner dualism as we struggle to take account of our lives. On the one hand, we need to confess the truth of our sinfulness, brokenness, and so on, while on the other we must endure ourselves and find faith that God’s blessing nevertheless belongs to us, despite the mess we've made of our lives.... We have to be willing to accept God’s new name for us and to believe that God will miraculously transform our inner nature for good. We are renamed from Yaakov to Israel, though we still know ourselves as both. Jacob was renamed “Israel” but afterward he walked with a limp, seeing both the new and the old natures within him. Jacob still struggled, though his struggle was now focused on walking as God’s beloved child in this world: the limp was given to help him lean on the Lord for support.

Part of spiritual growth involves learning to “endure yourself.” Many are able, it seems, to receive the hope that they are forgiven for their past sins, but they are subsequently scandalized by encountering their own inner struggles, and they eventually despair over their ongoing weakness... Tragically, some are even tempted to regard the warfare within the heart as a sign of being devoid of all saving grace! We must remember, however, that there is a real struggle between the desires of the flesh and the desires of the Spirit (Gal. 5:17). We must never move away from simple trust in the message of God's unconditional love demonstrated at the cross; we must never seek to legitimize our place in God's heart. When we walk by the Spirit, we are no longer under the law (Gal. 5:18), which is to say, we no longer need to justify ourselves but instead trust in God's power to transform us. Just as we are saved by the love of God, so are we changed, so do we grow.

[ Hebrew for Christians ]

========

Psalm 116:1-2 reading:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/psalm116-1-2-jjp.mp3

Hebrew page:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/psalm116-1-2-lesson.pdf

Podcast: Telling God your name:

https://hebrew4christians.com/training/telling-god-your-name-podcast/

11.30.23 • Facebook

from yesterday’s email by Israel 365:

Throughout our lives, we must continually balance both types of trust in God. The first is a hopeful trust, where we believe that with God’s support, things will turn out well. We believe that God is on our side. This trust gives us strength and optimism, especially in challenging situations. And yet, when things turn out differently than expected, when life doesn’t go as planned and when tragedy strikes, we must strengthen ourselves and our trust in God. In these moments, a different kind of trust, one of acceptance and steadfastness, becomes essential. This ‘loving trust’ means staying faithful to God’s will, even when we don’t understand it. We must remain on God’s side no matter what. To trust in God is not merely to anticipate His blessings in times of joy, but also to remain steadfast and loyal to Him and His divine will, even when the path is shrouded in darkness. Trust in God encompasses both hoping for the best and being at peace with whatever comes our way.

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

December 1, 2023

Making Life Count

“Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity.” (Ecclesiastes 1:2)

Solomon wrote Ecclesiastes through the lens of poor choices. “Vanity” expresses the futility of seeking satisfaction from living life “under the sun” apart from God. The panorama of earthly ambitions, when pursued as ends in themselves, produces emptiness.

Did God originally create this world in a state of “vanity”? Absolutely not! “And God saw everything that he had made, and, behold, it was very good” (Genesis 1:31). So, what happened? Adam disobeyed God’s command, and in response God said, “Cursed is the ground for thy sake; in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life” (Genesis 3:17). The apostle Paul underscored this consequence when he wrote, “For the creature was made subject to vanity, not willingly, but by reason of him who hath subjected the same in hope” (Romans 8:20).

Believers must live life balanced between two extremes. First, we acknowledge that God provides the gift of life for us to enjoy. “There is nothing better for a man, than that he should eat and drink, and that he should make his soul enjoy good in his labour” (Ecclesiastes 2:24). On the other hand, we should firmly acknowledge life’s limitations. “For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away” (James 4:14).

How are we to live in light of this reality? Solomon urges us to fear God, keep His commandments, and “remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh” (Ecclesiastes 12:1). Is this your worldview? CCM

A look at mountains formed by the global Flood:

#Youtube

[notanotherreidgirl]

Ruin Me

Summary: Spencer has been very needy and bratty so Reader teaches him a lesson

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, handjob, edging, degradation, exhibitionism/public sex, ruined orgasm, mommy kink

Word Count: 1220

A/N: I combined this request with this one. This is part of the Mommy Kink Collection

You were gripping your wine glass in your hand so tightly it was a miracle it didn’t shatter. Saying you were mad was an understatement. Furious would be more accurate or maybe livid. Spencer would have a thesaurus full of descriptors for your current mood but if anyone asked you would settle for pissed. 

You were absolutely pissed and it was taking everything in you not to grab Spencer and drag him out the door. But you were in Strauss’ home in heels with half the department milling about talking about recent cases and budget cuts so you plastered on a smile and did your best to make small talk. Spencer popped another hor d’oeuvre in his mouth and shot you a cheeky smile from across the room, turning back to the gaggle of female agents fawning over him. 

He was trying to get back at you for denying him all day. He had been insatiable - constantly touching your arm, your waist, your hand. When you left the BAU he had slipped into the elevator behind you, pulling you in close enough to feel his prominent arousal. But you were resolute in your denial, pointing out that you were already running late and reminding him of how Hotch had reacted the last time you had skipped a departmental mixer. 

But he wouldn’t stop. Trying to get in the shower with you, pawing at you while you got undressed, kissing you while you put on makeup (nearly ruining your eyeliner), and whining when you pulled his coat on and ushered him out the door. But Spencer, ever the magician, had a few tricks up his sleeve. As soon as you pulled in he produced his glasses from his jacket pocket, smirking a bit as he put them on and slid out the car. Those stupid, beautiful glasses that perfectly framed his doe eyes and turned your brain to mush. Strike 1

To make matters worse he stayed away from you for the entire party, suddenly becoming a social butterfly and talking up every impressionable agent in his vicinity. He regaled them with stories of cases, filled their drinks for them, stood much too close for comfort. He was even doing magic tricks for god’s sake!

Nonetheless you kept your cool, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a response. That was until one of them reached up and plucked his glasses from his face and put them on, striking a little pose and smiling up at him. His eyes darted over to you, knowing this was a step too far but he made no move to take them back. You held his gaze as you set your glass down and made your way to him. Despite his trepidation, you could make out the triumphant look in his eyes. The look that meant his plan had succeeded. Strike 2

You grabbed his arm harshly, pulling him to you and practically snatching the glasses from the poor agent’s face and tossing them in your purse. “I think Dr. Reid has forgotten something”

He stumbled a little. “Um I-I don’t think I forgot anything”

But you were already hauling him into an empty room and closing the door behind your back. “Really? Because it seems to me that you’ve forgotten who you belong to”

“And who’s fault is that?” he clamped his mouth shut as soon as he said it. Strike 3

You stalked forwards, forcing him to back up against a desk. “Watch yourself, baby. I will fuck that attitude right out of you” 

You expected him to launch into one of his well-practiced apologies but he only bit his lip, holding your gaze. It seemed your boy was committed to being a brat tonight. You gave him a sly, indecipherable smile as your hand drifted downwards. He whined, desperate to relieve the tightness in his pants and the ragged sigh he let out when you freed him lit a fire in the pit of your stomach. “Is this what you want? For me to stroke your little cock with the Director of the FBI in the other room?”

“Y-yes, Mommy. I want you so much. Wanted you all day” he squeezed his eyes shut, barely stifling the soft moans slipping out from his throat. There was no trace of his earlier arrogance in his voice now, just the desperate pleas of an exceptionally disobedient little boy. His hips bucked into your hand in anticipation of his growing release but you withdrew your hand at the last moment. He let out a low whine as his orgasm was extinguished. “No, no, no. Mommy please. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to be bad. I promise I’ll never do it again just please let me cum”

You pretended to consider his offer, tilting your head to the side. “Hmmm, you promise?”

He nodded his head emphatically. “I promise, Mommy!”

You grasped him once again, collecting the precum that gathered at the head and spreading it down his length. He threw his head back, knowing that his release would be doubly powerful as a result of your earlier denial. You pumped him faster bringing him closer and closer to the edge until he started to tremble underneath you. Then without warning you pulled away.

For an agonizing second, Spencer thought he had been denied once again but then reflex took over. The electricity running down his spine petered out at the very end for an inadequate finish, leaving him deeply unsatisfied and feeling completely wrong. His cock spasmed pathetically, devoid of any stimulation, and a weak stream of thick cum leaked out. His mouth fell open soundlessly, a whimper caught in the back of his throat. He was still hard. If anything his erection demanded more attention than before but he didn’t dare touch it, knowing that he was much too sensitive.

“You said I could come” His voice was thick with emotion. A spark of pity ignited in your chest but you were quick to recall the image of Spencer flirting with those agents earlier, effectively squelching any possibility of mercy. 

“And you did, didn’t you?” It wasn’t the same. You knew it wasn’t but you gestured to the cum on his boxers all the same. He wanted to protest further but he wasn’t willing to risk more punishment. Instead he watched wordlessly, wincing slightly as you tucked him into his pants and pulled him to his feet. He shifted uncomfortably, already feeling the cum soak his underwear and begin to run down his leg. He looked at you, face etched with worry. “Are we going home now?”

“Nope. Mommy’s got work to do.” Your earlier anger had prevented you from doing any networking but that wasn’t a problem anymore. You fished his glasses from your purse and slipped them back on his face. “Do you think you can be a good boy for me now?”

He glanced down at his pants and nervously twisted his hands together. His mind whirred, calculating how long it would take until his situation became noticeable while trying to deduce how long you were planning on making him walk around a house full of profilers and skilled FBI agents with his boxers full of cum. “Yes, I can be good”

“That’s what I like to hear”

Taglist: @thatsonezesty13 @rosienie @newyorkaqua @coldlilheart @spencerreider @newgirlinhell @ssa-natalya-reid @lauryn-need-help @spencerscumrag @gublerzwhore @beepbooptoop @stylesstreet @zoeygraygubler @deiondraaa​ @nct-nyny @optimisticcloudmoon @centiaaa​ @ifvckedurmom @6r4cie @dontcallmekittens​ @subbyspencereid​ @kuolonsyoja​ @goldengubler5 @reid-me-a-story​ @spencerreidsmommy @aharvey979​ @reidsbookclub​ @lunajoyce3​​

Click here to join a taglist and here to tell me what you thought of this one!

#mommy kink collection #my beloved sub!spence #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid #spencer x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #unsuitable for work

[mercy-burning]

Say You’re Sorry

Part of Mercy’s 1k Celebration: A collection of Spencer Reid x Reader requests to celebrate 1,000 followers.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: After a petty argument, Reader and Spencer spend weeks trying to get each other to say they’re sorry first Category: SMUT (18+) Warnings: Language, smut (fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, light choking) Word Count: 4.3k

Full Request: “...a smut about Like reader and spencer fight for something stupid, because both of them think are right, And maybe the fbi it has the annual gala of something and reader wears a *SUIT* with just a nice bra under the jacket, and spencer lost his mind.” —Anonymous

MASTERLIST | 1K MASTERLIST

NOTE: This one was so much fun to write! All of these requests have been, of course, but I just loved getting to write Spencer and Reader’s petty tactics and dialogue here 😂❤

***

It was stupid and they both knew it. Everyone in the office knew it, too.

But when two people who were always priding themselves on being right have been dating for years, stupid little arguments like that were bound to happen.

This time, though, Spencer and Y/N seemed to have taken it a little too far. For weeks now they haven't spoken unless it was bickering, and when it wasn't bickering, it was demanding the other person to admit they were sorry.

And now it was just a game.

The first round started when Y/N gave Spencer a cup of coffee as a gesture, a sign of good faith. She hadn't explicitly said sorry, though Spencer was willing to accept it as an apology anyway. The round ended, though, when he took a drink to find it completely bitter, not a grain of sugar to be found. She laughed, the sound somehow even more bitter than the coffee she'd given him, and left him with a prompt, "Gotcha."

Round two was a bit more evil, Spencer retaliating by changing all the settings in her car so that when she got in, everything would be the exact opposite of how she preferred it. She was always particular about how she had the air, the seats, the mirrors, and everything else set up in her car, and the day she got in it after work almost had her in tears of anger. First of all, her seat was set all the way back, which she found strange, but then after adjusting it she turned the car on, and the radio blasted intense techno music, which she always found annoying. She turned it all the way down after almost having a heart attack, suddenly very angry and confused, only to then notice that all the mirrors were adjusted as well.

But the tip of the iceberg was when she looked at the speedometer and noticed she was almost entirely out of gas. It certainly wouldn't be enough to get her home.

"What the actual fuck?" she yelled, only to jump again when Spencer knocked on her window.

"Looks like you're gonna have to take the train home with me."

It really was her only option, and she hated it. And he was so hopeful that it would get to her admit that she was sorry, that when they got to his apartment he would be able to convince her to come to bed with him and sleep it all off.

Turns out, he was sorely mistaken. She didn't talk to him the whole way there, and when they did manage to make it up to his apartment, Y/N locked him out of his bedroom and slept in his bed alone. No matter how many times he tried to convince her to let him in, she yelled back, "Say you're sorry, and we'll see if you deserve to sleep with me!"

But he wasn't going to give up that easily. So he gave up trying to reason with her, and stayed on the couch.

When he woke up, he was drenched in freezing cold water, cursing as Y/N stood over him with a smirk. "Mess with my car again, and it'll be something worse, Reid."

She never used his last name. She was doing it to taunt him, and it only made him angrier.

She left that morning, calling Emily for a ride and hoping she'd taught Spencer a lesson.

Unfortunately, no lessons had been learned. A few days later, he 'accidentally' bumped into her, spilling coffee all over her white blouse, and said 'oops,' in the least apologetic way ever.

Y/N scowled as she dabbed up the liquid, not even paying attention to him as she ranted about how pissed off she was and how childish her boyfriend was being.

"If you'd just man up and say you're sorry already, maybe I won't have to be such a bitch, but you're really getting on my fucking nerves..."

He was suspiciously quiet. So she looked up to catch him staring at her, a look in his eyes that she'd seen many a time. In fact, it had to be one of her favorite looks.

He was staring directly at her chest, where she'd unbuttoned a few buttons to get at more of the coffee that splashed on her shirt.

It was only a few seconds, and Spencer seemed to snap out of it rather quickly, giving her a wink before walking away completely.

She glared at him as he disappeared into another room, but in the back of her mind, a plan was already forming.

***

The Bureau was hosting a mandatory gala for a few agents who were retiring, and with the event coming up, Y/N knew it was the perfect opportunity to get Spencer's attention and maybe, just maybe, get him to finally apologize.

But that was all unbeknownst to him.

He knew she was going to show up on her own, because neither of them had stepped up to the plate to apologize, and truth be told, he wasn't sure how much more he could take. It had been about a week since he'd spilled his coffee all over her, and he couldn't stop thinking about her. Not that he never thought about her at all—she was his girlfriend, of course he thought about her—but after going weeks without getting to kiss her, touch her, or even just be around her when they weren't playing stupid, petty games with each other, Spencer was starting to think maybe they should just talk it out.

So that's what he decided. The gala would be a perfect opportunity to make a grand romantic gesture and admit that he missed her, that they were both being childish and he wanted to work it out.

All of that completely went out the window, though, the second she walked through the door.

The drink in his hand almost dropped to the floor. The only thing that even kept him standing upright was Derek's hold on him when he stumbled. And as if he didn't already know he was in trouble, Spencer heard his friend whistle lowly beside him.

"Kid, I think you better apologize, or I have a feeling you're gonna regret it..."

"No kidding," was all he responded with, his eyes still glued to his girlfriend from across the room.

She was wearing a pair of maroon suit pants and a matching jacket that held together at the middle by one button, exposing a lacy black bra underneath. Her hair was pulled back into an elegant updo, exposing more of her neck and chest as small pieces of hair framed the sides of her face. From far away he noticed her wearing some long silver earrings and a matching necklace that landed right above where curve of her breasts met her neck. She walked—no, glided—across the floor with heels that accented her every step with power.

She caught his eye, and though she was the most stunning, captivating woman he'd ever seen, the pure smugness that lit up her pretty features as she walked towards him made Spencer want to win. No romantic gestures, no giving in and talking it out... He wanted to see her beg for forgiveness.

It was a pretty hard task, though, considering the second she got closer and he searched her eyes, he almost crumbled beneath the sheer power they exuded. They gleamed at him as if to say, "You lose."

Everything was made even worse when she smiled at him like nothing was wrong, like they hadn't been playing childish pranks on each other all week. She leaned in and held onto his arms, giving him a sweet kiss on the jawline.

"Hi, babe," she chirped happily, and before she pulled away, she added into his ear with a whisper, "By the end of the night you're gonna be real sorry for last week..." It was low and seductive and pure evil. Spencer would have stumbled again had she not been holding onto his arm.

He wanted to think that Y/N surely wouldn't resort to using her seduction to get him to apologize, but that would be a flat-out lie. She knew exactly what she was doing.

But it wasn't going to work. He wouldn't let it. He couldn't let it.

He cleared his throat and led Y/N to the table they were staying at, trying his hardest to ignore the low burn that settled in his stomach.

But once again, that proved incredibly hard when she was sitting next to him all night, talking confidently with other agents and occasionally slipping her hand along his inner thigh to tease him. When no one was looking, she'd move it higher, lightly drawing circles along the inseam of his pants. And when he gripped her wrist under the table, leaning in to say lowly in her ear, "You better quit," she responded with a turn of the head and a kiss on the cheek, whispering right back, "Not until you say you're sorry."

She pulled back and they smiled at each other sweetly, right before she excused herself to go to the bathroom.

What she wasn't counting on was him following after her, catching her arm and pulling her into an empty storage closet before anyone could see. It all caught her completely by surprise, but even as the light switched on and she saw Spencer standing in front of her, a look of pure frustrated grief flashing across his features, she settled into another smug smile.

"Aw, what's wrong, babe?"

His eyes raked her up and down, and it was obvious how hungry he was for her. His hands reached out tentatively to touch her, and she let him. They settled on slipping under her suit jacket and practically burning handprints into the bare skin of her stomach.

"What's wrong?" he repeated, running his hands farther up her stomach and just below the bra. He could see his fingers peeking up through the jacket, and it made him absolutely feral. "You're a fucking tease, that's what's wrong."

Y/N cooed like she would at a crying baby. "Aw, and who's fault is that, hmm?"

"I'm not gonna say it." His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and still she was unwavering.

"I'm not gonna say it either."

"Well... Maybe I'll just have to fuck it out of you, then."

She would have been lying if she said she hadn't lost a little self control upon hearing those words come from his mouth. Which is why she challenged him yet again, silently hoping that he'd make true on his promise.

"I'd like to see you try..."

They stared at each other then, and for a moment Y/N thought he would actually do it. Her body shivered with excitement, especially when he pushed her into the door and ran his hands up to cup her breasts. He leaned in close and pressed gentle kisses to the side of her neck and down her collarbone, and eventually, he found his way back to her neck.

Right when his hands moved to her back to unclasp her bra, he suddenly removed them altogether, and placed them on either side of her head, trapping her between his body and the door.

And with five simple words hummed lowly into her ear, he'd managed to win this round.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Spencer opened the door and pushed past her, leaving her behind to catch her breath.

***

The night was nearly over, and she still hadn't managed to break him. And after the stunt he pulled in the storage closet, she was getting just as frustrated as he was. Since then, he'd practically dangled himself in front of her all night, making a point to play with his hands (which he knew she went crazy for), doing the same with his mouth (which she also had praised multiple times over), and occasionally resting his hand on her lower back, or on the inside of her thigh under the table.

And now, he had her cornered near the back of the room after she'd excused herself to collect her bearings.

But she wasn't having it.

Before he could say or do anything, she grabbed him by the tie and pulled him to her, sneering in his face. "Back off, baby, or I swear to God..."

She wasn't really sure what she was going to say, because no words could properly accentuate her frustration. All she could do was give vague threats and hope Spencer stepped up to the plate.

Unfortunately for her, he didn't.

"What? What are you gonna do?" he laughed, looking at her hungrily.

At this point they were just needlessly teasing themselves, and they both knew it. But the game had gone on for so long that one of them had to break eventually, right?

She couldn't answer him... There was absolutely nothing in her brain except for images of them, screwing each other to the ends of the earth. So, she looked back at him, silently hoping that he would just forget about the apologies and do something about the tension that had been building up for weeks now.

And truthfully, she thought he would have. He looked like he was ready to say fuck it and kiss her right there. He leaned in, and she gripped his tie even tighter.

But then someone cleared their throat beside them.

"Alright, you two." It was Rossi. "Get out of here, go kiss and make up. That's an order."

"But you're not our boss," Y/N pointed out, apparently still on the high of arguing.

"Tonight I am. Go on, get."

She turned away from them and left without another word.

***

One silent car ride later, the two of them walked up to Y/N's apartment. It wasn't until Spencer had closed the door behind him that either of them said something.

In fact, they both said something at the same time.

"Take your clothes off."

"Leave the suit on."

And then, silence.

For one second. Then two. Then three.

And then the only sound to be heard was Y/N's heels as she glided to Spencer in three large steps and crushed her mouth to his. The second it happened, it was like a rubber band snapped, all this pent up tension finally releasing and shooting across the air until it landed somewhere.

In this case, it landed on the kitchen table. She pushed off his jacket the second her butt landed on the cool wooden surface, and her mouth pulled away from his with a harsh smack. "I thought I told you to take off your clothes."

"So fucking impatient," he breathed, grabbing her face with his hands and kissing her again.

A second later, she pulled back and gripped his tie. "Then don't take so fucking long," she said lowly, and then pulled him forward by the tie, connecting their mouths once more.

He grunted in her mouth, releasing her face and working at the buttons of his shirt while she tried her hardest to get the tie. The second everything was loosened, she slid her hands under his shirt and pulled his body into hers by the waist, digging her nails into his skin.

"Lift your hips, baby," he breathed against her mouth, his hands already at the button. "Let me get these off."

"I thought you wanted me to keep the suit on?" she laughed.

"Well, I can't fuck you with your pants on, Y/N."

She lifted her hips then, using her hands on the table as leverage while he shimmied them off over her heels. "I know, genius, I was just fucking with you."

"Well, stop it," he got out with an exasperated sigh.

And before she could retort, his fingers were pushing her panties aside and slipping through the opening of her pussy, causing her words to get caught in her throat.

She choked on a moan and he laughed. "Yeah, I thought that'd shut you up."

"Fuck you," she gasped.

"I'd rather fuck you instead."

And with that final sentence, he started finger-fucking her, leaning forward and applying kisses and bites to her neck. Her hands reached out to grip his shoulders, pushing the rest of his shirt off and then clinging to him like a cat clinging to a tree.

"Who knew all this fighting would make you so wet for me," he said, punctuating his words with a nip to her neck. As if to prove his point, he worked his fingers in and out of her quicker and deeper, the both of them taking in and relishing the sounds it made. Meanwhile she rocked her hips against his hand and tried her hardest not to make much sound, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of hearing how much he was affecting her.

Though, it seemed he caught on to her scheme.

"What's the matter, baby? Cat got your tongue? I know you wanna let it out, so why don't you?"

"Not... until you say you're sorry," she managed to respond clearly, leaning back to look him in the eye.

The look he gave her radiated cockiness as his fingers worked even faster, and she squeezed her eyes shut to hold back any noises.

"Aw, not even one little moan for me, pretty girl? I know you've got one in you..."

"N—no," she pressed, obviously trying not to react at all. But it was getting harder when every second Spencer was curling his fingers inside her now, hitting that sweet spot and bringing her closer to the edge.

"Yes," he reiterated, bringing his other hand to her mouth and pushing her lips apart to press his thumb down onto her tongue, keeping her jaw open and forcing out all the sounds she'd tried so hard to hold in.

There was no getting out of it, but... right now she didn't care. Because she loved when he took control like this, seeing his face scrunch up with determination to get what he wanted, the raw, primal look in his eye that boiled her insides and broke her down every time...

Inevitably, she moaned out. Loudly. And when she was met with a smug, "Atta girl," she closed her mouth around his thumb and sucked on it, humming as her pussy clenched around his fingers. "That's a good fucking girl..."

As he worked her through her orgasm, the high subsiding, she thought, Alright... You win this round...

And then, as he pulled away from her and brought his fingers to his mouth and cleaned them off, Y/N slowly grew a smirk.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" Spencer asked, raising an eyebrow.

She took out her earrings, jumped off the table, and unbuttoned the suit jacket, letting it hang open as she dragged him with her to the bedroom in nothing but her bra, panties, jacket, and heels. "I'm gonna get you for that."

His heart raced as she all but threw him in the direction of the bed. He sat down and leaned back, breathless as she kicked the door shut with her foot and settled her hands on her bare hips. From the low angle he had, she very much radiated dominance and power, and God, if she wasn't the most stunning specimen he'd ever laid his eyes on...

He wanted in that moment so badly to submit to her, to give her everything she wanted, but... If he didn't, what would she do?

She took a few slow steps, and with every one Spencer sunk back, until he was laying down and she was standing at the edge of the bed, using her knee to push his legs apart.

"Sit up," she demanded softly, and he almost obliged. But he wanted to see what she'd do if he refused. So when he remained on his back, she stretched her arm out and grabbed his wrist, pulling him up and then gripping his chin in her other hand to make him look up at her.

In the dim light of the bedroom, he studied her, every curve and peak of her face and the way the shadows accented her prettiest features, the faint glimmer of the eyeshadow she was wearing, the way her tongue danced behind her lips as she figured out what to say next...

Likewise, she took him in completely, the way his eyes softened with each passing second as they roamed her face, and how his just settled in her hand, like he was completely submitting to and amazed by her. And truth be told, the feeling was mutual. Just looking into his eyes alone, Y/N could tell how much he loved her, and it made her heart swell.

Consequently, the electric buzz that had been between them all night and growing stronger for weeks was a dull hum, something more warm and... remorseful.

"I love you," Y/N breathed, loosening the grip on Spencer's chin. She let her fingers slide down his neck and over to his shoulder, where she gave him a light, loving squeeze. "And I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," he whispered back, bringing one of his hands up to cup her cheek. "And I love you."

She sat down on one of his legs, bringing them closer together and to eye-level. And with a smile, she said, "Truce?"

"Truce."

"Good. Now, fuck me?"

"Always."

Her body melted into his when he pulled her face to him and kissed her. His lips moved slowly against hers, yet with a burning passion and need that made it hard for her to breathe. It wasn't long before she starting rocking against him, butterflies swarming in her stomach when he noticed and used one of his hands to run up her thigh. Meanwhile their kisses grew stronger, deeper, and the little sighs and moans they produced together provided the cherry on top.

Y/N slid off of him, then reached down to take his pants off, head spinning and heart soaring. And Spencer felt the same, tugging at the hem of her panties.

She laughed, breaking away once his pants were off. "How do you want me, baby?"

"Just like this," he responded, not needing any time to think about it. "Ride me, do whatever you want to me. I just want you."

With another little laugh, she pushed him back lightly and took off her underweat and heels, then climbed over him to straddle his hips. "Careful what you wish for."

When she reached back her arms to remove the jacket, Spencer stopped her, gripping her thighs and saying in a low voice, "Don't you dare take that off."

She sounded satisfied. Triumphant. "I knew you'd like it."

And before he had a chance to elaborate on just how much he liked it, she shifted her hips and ground down on his bare, hard dick. All words escaped him at the feeling, and she seemed to know it, because she smiled down at him victoriously.

She leaned down and braced her hands on his chest as she continued to rock back and forth, slicking him up with her arousal. Soon after, she snuck one of her hands down to help herself onto him, and she sank down slowly, ever so slowly...

Spencer sighed out, long and drawn out, and the sound was like music to Y/N's ears. She started off slowly, but it wasn't long before she sat up and set a steady pace riding him. And once he found his bearings, getting used to the feeling of her around him after almost a whole month of missing it completely, his eyes opened and took her in once more, the sight before him almost shattering him to pieces.

As his hands flew out to grip her waist, Y/N sighed, reaching down and placing her hands on his stomach. "Fuck, I missed this, baby... Missed you..." Then she slid forward and settled her hands at his collarbone, slowing her hips and making sure to speak just as slowly. "Missed the feeling of your cock deep inside me..."

He lost it then. His grip tightened on her waist and he shifted his hips, repeatedly thrusting up into her with a force that elicited a deep moan from Y/N's throat. She gasped out as he continued this pace, the tension inside of her starting to stretch thin.

"Fuck, baby, please! Oh, right there!" she couldn't help but yell out. She sat up just a little so he had a better angle, and her hands gently wrapped around his throat, to which he rolled his eyes back and groaned out a soft, "Fuck, yes."

They were moving together now, meeting each others' hips with an urgency that could only be present through weeks of built up tension and depravation. It was like a thunderstorm, intense and filled to the brim with flashes of lightning that danced behind both of their eyes as they reached the pinnacle.

Their bodies slowed down naturally, and Y/N's hands were now combing through his hair as she slumped down over him and felt his release as it started to drip down her thigh, and Spencer basked in the feeling of her envelopment, her body weight over the top of him like a warm blanket. They both felt little aftershocks of pleasure as they slowed their breathing and just laid there, hands gently rubbing each others' skin and mouths exhaling soft whispers of 'I love you,' and 'I missed you.'

And then they fully came to their senses, the storm having rolled through completely and leaving them in a calm breeze. It was peaceful. Rehabilitating.

Y/N kissed Spencer's neck and lifted her head to look him in the eyes. "Babe, you know I love you, but I'm not sleeping in this thing tonight."

He laughed, tucking some of the hair behind her ear that had fallen from the updo and then running his thumb along her bottom lip. "That's fair. You should... wear suits more often, though. They're a good look for you."

She smiled and kissed him softly. "Duly noted."

PERMANENT TAGLIST:  @elldell1204 @muffin-cup @calm-and-doctor @slutforthegubes @takeyourleap-of-faith

If you would like to be added to the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment, and I’ll add you!

#mercy 1k celebration #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader smut #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanficiton

[teenyweenynightghost]

@superchrystaldrug

“Enjoying the view, beautiful?” X Damiano

Dream View

Y/n looked out the balcony and took in her surroundings. Right in front of their house was a long alley leading to a meadow, hidden deep in the woods. There were trees, plants and flowers everywhere and y/n thought she could never be more in love with a place.

What made it truly special is that it was hers. Hers and Damiano’s.

Their relationship had been long and rocky. To say the least.

With Damiano being an international rockstar and Y/n an achieved medic, work and stress brought them apart more often than they would have liked.

Oh how many nights could y/n think of in which she would cry herself to sleep, praying she hadn’t lost Damiano forever.

All her prayers must have been answered, because just today they had moved into their new house.

It was a large villa in the countryside. They both loved every single thing about it, especially the privacy and intimacy it offered them.

One month ago, when they had come to visit the house for the first time, both of them pointed out how large it was. Because of that single thought on their head, they brushed past it.

Once they went upstairs, the agent mentioned that there were plenty rooms for more than two people, a soft smile on his face. Damiano immediately dragged Y/n to a spare room and hugged her from behind, resting his hands on her stomach.

“Love, I think I want to spend the rest of our lives here.”

They were both grinning like love-struck teenagers when they exited the room, exploring the house once more, with a new-found interest.

The way y/n was currently prompted against the fence made it easy for Damiano to embrace her just as he did one month ago.

“Enjoying the view, beautiful?”

She hummed, her eyes lighting up at his presence.

“What are you thinking about?” He whispered in her ear, leaving countless kisses on her neck.

“You..” she purred, pleased at the contact. Damiano chuckled a little and turned her around, pushing her against the fence.

“Aren’t you always.” He said smiling, brushing a few strands of hair from her face.

“Im bored.” Y/n sighed, looking around the balcony.

A devilish grin appeared on Damiano’s face as he led her back inside.

“You know what we haven’t done yet?”

Y/n raised a quizzical eyebrow and hummed.

“Ikea. Furniture. Chaos. Let’s go babe!” He turned around, still holding her hand so she would follow him, a hand raised in the air as he gestured widely.

“Oh gods have mercy.” Y/n giggled, before she grabbed her purse and a water bottle.

***

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE Damiano! WE are NOT getting a NEON PINK glow in the dark couch!” She exaggerated each of her words, making sure all of them reached her incredibly stubborn boyfriend.

“Fuck yeah we are.” He said calmly, checking the price tag.

“I swear to fucking god, WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO WITH IT?”

“FUCK ON IT!” He screamed out so loudly, the whole store heard.

Y/n closed her eyes tightly and pursed her lips, hoping the ground would open and swallow her whole.

“Please tell me I had a hallucination and you did not scream that out.” She whispered, embarrassment creeping up her cheeks.

“You told me that honesty is key. Are you saying you were wrong?” He asked loud enough for the people around to hear, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“No fucking kisses for you, motherfucker.” She deadpanned, while brushing past a pouty, devastated, mess of a man.

***

“Y/n look!” He whispered excitedly in her ear, pointing to the baby section.

“I can see that, darling.” She answered softly, already grinning like a fool.

They made their way towards a small cradle, which was decorated with white stars and dark blue sheets.

“This one is so beautiful.” Damiano breathed out, brushing a finger along the wooden structure.

“It actually is!” Y/n responded, surprises at the creative decorations.

“Until now I think I’ve only seen clouds and princesses or bows. But not galaxies.” He commented, his gaze now fixated on the lamp above.

“So were you serious about wanting a baby?” Y/n asked reluctantly, afraid to hear his response.

“Are you kidding me? Did we really buy a fucking mansion for two people and two cats?” He faked an emotionless expression, but Y/n could tell he was amused.

“Okay, okay, I just wanted to make sure.” She blushed at the whole conversation and continued to look at the furniture.

“What would you want to call the baby?” He peeped in, magically appearing next to her.

Y/n hummed and thought of an answer, before speaking again.

“Well, If it’s a girl, I really like Calliope, we could call her Alia, and if it’s a boy, I’m kinda obsessed with Sebastian or Matteo.”

“Ew.”

Y/n frowned, confused, and turned to him.

“What?”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I have two names being repeated in my music and you don’t even bring them up. Rude.”

Y/n snorted and gave him a quick kiss.

“Oh, you baby. Of course I like Marlena and Coraline but I don’t want our child to be named after someone who keeps leaving or someone who always cries and has anxiety.” She joked, earning a dazzling laugh from Damiano.

“Fair enough. I really did like Alia though!” He commented, picking up a pair of baby shoes.

“Y/N!!!” He exclaimed, holding the little shoes in his large hands, while jumping up and down.

“THESE BARELY FIT ON MY FINGERS!!” His eyes were full of adoration and longing as he looked at them, a million possibilities speeding around through his mind.

“Can you imagine? Having a little munchkin who looks just like us and is this small?” Y/n giggled, holding one of the shoes delicately.

“Honey I think we should have children with separate people.”

Y/n was shocked at his words and pulled away instantly, insulted at his words as regret flashed over his face.

“WHAT?!” She all but screamed, already feeing a dreadful sensation in her stomach.

“Chill. I meant that we are both so hot out future child will probably anger Venus herself with their looks.” He replied wide eyed, mimicking his version of a goddess.

Y/n bursted out laughing as Damiano joined her, the couple becoming the centre of attention once more.

“We should really be more quiet.” Y/n whispered through giggles, as she pulled Damiano behind a wall.

He nodded and kissed her gently, before pulling away and continuing to look at clothing.

The couple spent hours at the shop, proud with their purchases, and returned home on the dark streets.

They were both seated on a swinging chair, y/n in Damiano’s lap, overlooking the woods.

“We’re gonna make great parents some day.” Damiano whispered, breaking the silence, as his hand wandered over her stomach.

Y/n had never felt happier, her heart filled with love and certainty, as she nodded and nuzzled further into Damiano.

Author’s note: I have baby fever part two (?) or maybe three. Anyway. I think it’s cute👏🥺😩

Taglist: @fuckim-so-gay @ginny-lily @messyhairday-me @cheese-toastie-11 @wannabemarlenabutiscoraline @simp-per-ethan @maneskinrollercoaster @juststalking @superchrystaldrug @immrbrightsideeee @shehaddreamstoo

#maneskin #damiano david #måneskin #damiano x reader #baby fever #fluff

[tenthgrove]

can i order a uhhhh... a hc scenario with la squadra members where s/o is kidnapped by a rival gang/syndicate no matter if s/o is a stand user or not? you don't have to do all the members if you don't want to c:

La Squadra rescues their beloved

La Squadra (separate) x Reader, Romantic, SFW

They left this morning with menial business. A hit, no complicating factors, minimal difficulty. There was no cause for concern in leaving you to watch the base. You relaxed on the sofa, content in the promise of a date that night and unaware of the figures creeping towards you from behind. Maybe if you had known what was happening, you could have saved yourself, but even the most powerful stand users in Passione are useless when knocked out. The intruders dragged your unconscious body out the window and into the trunk of the waiting car. If their intel on you was correct, the weight of your loss would immobilize the assassins for days. If only they knew the lengths your love would go to to bring you back.

Formaggio- There’s no way to beat around the bush. Formaggio panics. While he doesn’t doubt the capacity of his team to break you out, that relies on them actually knowing where you are. And that’s going to take hours of slow, excruciating investigation. Formaggio doesn’t have time for that! His baby’s life is on the line! But then, the young man bearing the conditions of your release arrives at the hideout, and Formaggio gets an idea. They aren’t going to comply with the terms, but they aren’t going to take Ghiaccio’s idea of just killing the agent and his escorts either. Instead, as Risotto is sending them on their way, Formaggio slips himself into the agent’s bag. How kind of the man to give him a ride all the way back to the enemy’s hideout! Once there, Formaggio shrinks himself further to the size of a keyhole, and slips his way through doors until he reaches the dingy room you’re being kept in. He crawls into your lap and nudges you to wake up. You’re amazed and overjoyed, and spare no delay in letting him shrink you down as well so you can sneak out together. Your captors will never know what happened! After a couple days of recuperation, the two of you will be sure to return with the rest of the team to give the group who took you their payback. Formaggio wants them to know what happens to anyone who hurts his beloved, and he’s going to make sure the two of you have fun doing it.

Illuso- Illuso’s first concern is to balance the dangers of busting in to save you without adequate planning, with the dangers of leaving you alone too long. Fortunately, Illuso’s stand is perfect for observation without risk of being spotted, so it’s easy for him to spy on the enemy syndicate’s associates and follow the right leads until he finds you. Taking a prisoner from La Squadra di Esecuzione has everyone in the syndicate talking, so it’s only a matter of hours until Illuso collects the information he needs to find you. With that sorted, Illuso seeks you out and pulls you into the safety of the mirror world immediately so you can’t be harmed, but then, he’s going to fuck with your captors. The doors are barred from the outside and they find their colleagues disappearing one by one until suddenly, the hallways start to look wrong. It’s as though the layout of the building has been flipped somehow. Then they see the laughing figure approach them, and they know it’s too late. You watch this all go down from the safety of behind Illuso, content to watch your captors cower like children as your boyfriend avenges your imprisonment.

Prosciutto- For a day, there is silence. The success of their plan is almost surprising to your captors, who fully expected at least one reprisal from La Squadra by now. They’re ready to present the terms of your safe return when, another shock, Prosciutto beats them to it. He phones them up. In exchange for your safety, he promises to switch sides. Your captors are floored. He’s actually willing to take their deal without them even needing to hurt you? Perhaps he won’t be worth much to them at all if he’s this spineless! Nonetheless, they agree to a meet up. Prosciutto can come, but he has to come alone and with no weapons. They’re fully aware his stand is indiscriminate, so if they bring you to the meet-up, the risk of hurting you would render him powerless. Surely. When the meet up begins it seems Prosciutto has kept to his word. He is alone, free of any weapons and carrying nothing but a suitcase of ransom money to smooth things over. Everything goes as expected and you find yourself staring dumbstruck as Prosciutto so willingly signs away his loyalty to Passione. Finally, Prosciutto hands the leader of the enemy suitcase the briefcase. A token of goodwill, he assures him. The leader unlocks the latch and opens the case, and is hit by a wave of cold air. The case is packed with nothing but bags of ice. Your heart leaps. “(Y/N)! CATCH!” Prosciutto yells, ripping the suitcase back from the mobster’s hands and tossing it at you. As the confused mobsters try to make sense of what is going on, Prosciutto summons his stand and begins its deadly effect. You hurriedly stuff the ice bags down your clothes to save yourself, but nobody around you is in any state to make the connection. One by one, they wither and fall. Grateful Dead snaps into nothingness and Prosciutto lends you a hand, helping you to your feet.

Pesci- You’d think he’d freeze up. You’d think he would become paralysed and indecisive with the fear of losing you. But no. When Pesci realises what has happened to you, all he can feel is anger. Anger and resolve. He sits down immediately and begins compiling everything that is known about the group that took you, having no qualms with ordering about anyone who volunteers to help him. Within a couple of hours he knows where you most likely are and has a concrete plan to get you out. And yes, it involves a lot of blood. Pesci will accept help in getting you back, as he knows it increases your chances, but he still wants to be the one to avenge the wrongs against you. Make no mistake that Risotto and Prosciutto are only there for support. The unprepared kidnappers have no chance against Beach Boy, when Pesci’s insecurities are completely buried under an overwhelming desire to be back in your arms. The battle is over in minutes and Pesci is holding you tight, muttering that he’ll never let anyone harm you again. Prosciutto is proud of him, as are you.

Melone- Now this is somewhat fortunate. With your permission, Melone collected some of your DNA a while ago in case you ever became useful as an emergency mother or father for his stand. He doesn’t make a habit of tracking you, but with your profile saved to Baby Face’s memory he can activate that ability whenever he wishes, and have your location in a matter of minutes. Deciding that with your life on the line, there isn’t time for him to take the lengthy route of creating a junior to attack your captors, he calls on the help of the rest of the team to break you out by force. But even with Risotto or Ghiaccio leading the attack, Melone will still ask to come along just to be reunited with you all the sooner. He’s going to be at his absolute best in taking care of you after you’re safe, making sure you’re unharmed and reassuring you with his attention. In terms of revenge, Melone would like to see you take your own against your captors. If any were taken alive, he wants to see you make them pay.

Ghiaccio- There’s no sense of hesitation as Ghiaccio speeds out the front door the second he realises what happened. It’s a good thing that La Squadra already has some knowledge of the group that took you, because Ghiaccio’s going to make up his plan as he goes along. All he can think about is having you safe and alive, and those thoughts possess him as he goes from place to place, tearing up every known haunt of the syndicate holding you captive until he finds you. When he finally arrives at the correct place, your capturers know to expect him. They’ve increased their security to the max until there’s a veritable army present to greet him at the door. But it’s no match for White Album. Nothing is. Ghiaccio doesn’t stop running when he gets to you. He carries you in his arms at full speed all the way home, terrified of any small injury you might have gained. Your close-call will leave him shaken, and he’ll guard you very closely for a long time. However, there won’t be any talks of revenge. After Ghiaccio’s rampage, there is nobody in the enemy syndicate left to pursue.

Risotto- A darkness falls over Risotto’s eyes when he finds you missing. His mind is filled with regret- regret for not following up on this new enemy sooner and regret for leaving you alone while the rest of them went out. But the time for remorse will come later. Now, he’s going to get you out. He scowers his contacts for clues as to your whereabouts, and he’s not afraid to threaten anyone he suspects of being compliant with your capture to find out what he needs to know. Anyone in the building when Risotto arrives might as well already be dead; he’s not showing mercy to any of them. After ensuring your safety, Risotto has no need to finish things quickly, so your captors will be subject to slow, agonising deaths courtesy of Metallica. Risotto believes strongly in principles of revenge, so he invites you to take the finishing blows if you so wish. Once the enemy hideout is coated wall to wall in crimson, Risotto wordlessly picks you up, regardless of whether you’re hurt, and carries you home. He takes you to your shared room and cradles you gently until morning comes.

Sorbet and Gelato- When the team discovers what has happened Sorbet and Gelato share a silent, all-telling look. They disappear to their room shortly after and anyone who passes can hear the distinct noise of weapons being moved around and loaded. They leave the information gathering to those more suited, but as soon as your location is known they emerge from their room armed to the teeth, announcing that they’ll be leaving right this second regardless of who will be joining them. They ram down the gates of the enemy hideout with a car, before bursting in, firing off their guns at whoever is unfortunate enough to be near. Gelato keeps everyone occupied at the front of the house, while Sorbet takes the mildly more stealthy route to seek you out. When they find you, you’re struck by the fact they seem almost gleeful to be presented with the opportunity for such bloodshed. But make no mistake, they’re absolutely furious. Never have either of them had to deal with one of their lovers threatened to this extent. Like Risotto, they’ll be looking to make your kidnappers suffer, but it won’t be over so quickly for them. They’ll be dragging the worst offenders home, to be subject to their torment for however long they please. The rest of La Squadra knows better than to ask questions. When they aren’t down in the basement getting revenge against those who hurt them, they’ll be sandwiching you between them on the bed or the sofa, whispering words of affection into your ear. You’ll be lucky if they let you get up any time this year.

#la squadra #formaggio #formaggio x reader #illuso #illuso x reader #prosciutto #prosciutto x reader #pesci #pesci x reader #melone #melone x reader #ghiaccio #ghiaccio x reader #risotto nero #risotto nero x reader #sorbet and gelato #sorbet and gelato x reader

[sunflowersteves]

meetings || s.r.

summary || steve had a meeting and you had a mission to ruin it. 

prompt || “Come here and sit on my lap.”

author’s note || I just realized I’m posting this on Sunday lmao oops? Congrats again to @aesthetical-bucky​ on 1K! That’s a huge milestone and I know you haven’t been as active but i hope you’re all good! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it!

warnings || smut with no plot (pls wear protection), daddy!kink, cockwarming, vaginal sex, public sex, daddy!steve, a bit of overstimulation, squirting, creampie, this is very filthy i ain’t going to lie to you guys

Masterlist

Steve pushed up the glasses that were falling off of the bridge of his nose. Warm, fresh coffee and vanilla flavored creamer lifted up into his nose. It smelled like pure bliss and he smiled just a bit as he knew who was making the batch. You were always the last one to wake up in the morning, most of the Avengers were morning people.

The smile spread wider across his face at the thought of you lurking around the kitchen with bedhead hair and one of his oversized t-shirts. He turned back to his stack of reports on the table and tried to concentrate on getting them done. In about twenty minutes, there was going to be an important meeting with everyone in his office and he wanted nothing to do afterward but spend the rest of the day with his girl.

His heart couldn’t help but palpitate as he could hear the soft pads of your feet hit the hardwood floors, trotting quietly over to his office. He tried to concentrate on the work in front of him but his mind couldn’t help his mind going into thoughts only about his infatuation with you.

You peaked over into his office and saw him intently working on some paperwork. You stood there for just a bit, contemplating going into the room further to bother him but before you could speak yourself, his gruff voice stood prominent in the spacious room. “Come here and sit on my lap.” You tipped a smile and slowly walked over to him, placing yourself into his lap.

His beard tickled your neck which made you slightly giggle. His strong arms wrapped around your torso and your back hit his chest. He tried to go back to his work, he could feel your eyes on his hands which made him silently chuckle. You had always loved his large calloused hands. You loved watching them flip the pages of books or grip an iced coffee or grip your neck.

The deep, warming smell of your arousal made his heart thump and stomach flip over. He could hear your fast, steady breaths, and rapid heartbeat that made his mind feel fuzzy. Before he could do anything your voice flooded through his ears. “Can you put your cock in me, daddy?” 

He practically groaned at the soft innocence caressing the squeak of your voice. He knew the little game, and you were very much not innocent. But he wanted this as much as you did. 

“Of course, babygirl.” He lifted you up for a second to take his cock out and then he sat you back down, opening your folds with the tip of his cock. The oversized t-shirt spilling all around his thighs, the two of you were groaning quietly.

He had filled you up so perfectly, his length and thickness had touched you in all the right places. The two of you just sat like that keeping each other warm and fuzzy. He continued doing his work, occasionally writing on the pieces of paper and putting them on another stack of papers.

You had whined into his neck a couple of times when he would shift his body a little bit. He chuckled and told you to wait which of course you obeyed. You had gotten punished last night, and the teasing was relentless so you were determined to behave. The feeling of his hard cock resting between your aching pussy made your heart swoon. Your daddy knew exactly how to take care of you and what you wanted. It was almost soothing, the teasing of his tip sometimes going into just the right place and your walls keeping him heated.

His eyes widened a bit as he looked at the clock on his desk and sighed. “What’s wrong, daddy?” He took the pair of glasses off of his face and placed it on the desk. “I have a meeting in two minutes-” 

“Oh, I’ll just-” You were about to stand up and get off of his lap but he grabbed your hips and pulled you back down. “Don’t, babydoll. There is no way in hell I’m letting those idiots take away our time.” You smiled and nodded, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

He shifted your body so that you were now facing him, your breasts pressing firmly against his broad chest. You placed your face into his neck, occasionally pressing some kisses. His body froze a bit as the first person arrived which was Sam, Bucky, and Wanda.

“Why is y/n here? Is she okay?” Steve’s heavily laced innocence made your eyes widen a bit. “No, she says she’s not feeling well. She thinks it may have been the food she ate yesterday. She wanted a bit of comfort.” His salty voice was tied with concern and sadness. Damn, he was good. You could practically picture his creased eyebrows and pouty lips.

The rest of the Avengers and some Agents had all arrived and the meeting began. He and the others started talking about some plan with destroying Hydra but you were barely listening. Your ears were ringing at Steve’s even harder cock pressing up against that savoring spot. You bit onto his neck, trying to restrain yourself from moaning for everyone to hear.

Your juices started running up and down his cock, making him slick and wet. He could hear your small, tiny whimpers that escaped your throat occasionally. He had to close his eyes for a second in fear that he would stop everything and take you right here. You wanted him so badly and he wasn’t even moving. You wanted him to the point of it sounding like you were in pain from the loss of friction.

You bit your lip as you just couldn’t take it anymore, your pussy was pulsating at this point for anything to happen. “We’ll have to infiltrate-” You started to move your hips slightly, making dure to get the grinding you needed but not enough to get caught. Your movements had made Steve completely stop his sentence and he had to cover it up with a cough.

“Oh, shit. Are you getting sick too, old man?” He shook his head as he took a deep breath and glared at Bucky’s knowing look. He could hear and smell the two of you, making him roll his eyes as he walked into the room.

“I’m okay, Sam. Thanks.” He continued to try as hard as he could to not make any movements to give away that you were slowly riding him. Your mouth pressed small kisses up and down his neck, it was agonizingly slow so the spit of your tongue wasn’t too loud. His hand moved slowly, moving your skirt up so he could fit his hand inside.

You had to bite your lip even harder at his hand circling your clit and folds. He groaned very loudly at your wetness covering his whole finger. He wanted to be proud, his babygirl was getting all riled up at just his cock being inside of you but then he froze at the realization. Everybody was staring at him, wide eyes at his groan almost sounding animalistic. Luckily though, Bucky was there to explain.

“I think even Steve may be getting sick. Maybe we should have a meeting another time.” Everybody packed up their things and left the office without another word. Bucky quickly mouthed ‘you owe me’ while smirking and walking out the door, shutting the door behind him.

Steve halted your movements, making you gasp. He harshly grabbed your cheeks, pulling your face towards him. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you? You wanted Daddy to take you in front of everyone, want them to know that you’re mine.” You yelped in surprise when his hand came in contact with your ass, slapping it harshly. Steve took you immediately off of his lap to your dismay and cries but he surprisingly then pinned you onto the desk. The ruffling and crinkling of the papers were sounded as they hit your back.

“You want daddy’s cock, don’t you, babydoll?” You nodded vigorously as he leaned a bit closer, his prominent now clothed cock pressing up against your wet pussy. “Then daddy’s going to give you what you want.” Your eyes widened at the sound of his buckle hitting the floor. Normally, you would be punished for this kind of thing but Steve seemed to give you what you wanted this time. He was lightning fast, his lips connected with yours. The kiss was rough and passionate with teeth clashing and his tongue fighting against yours. 

“Since you love disobeying me, This time, I’m going to give you exactly what you want.” He didn’t even pull your skirt down before ramming his cock between your folds. It made you cry out so loud, you thought the whole compound heard you. He moved your legs so that they were wrapped around his hips.

He inserted his cock again, going at a very fast and hard pace, not taking any mercy as his moans filled the air. “You wanted daddy’s cock so badly that you disobeyed me. I’ve told you before that you don’t move unless I tell you to.” Your back moved back and forth on the large desk and your whimpered cries were loud. You barely nodded at him and his eyes were only trained on you.

He slapped your ass harshly, pain, and pleasure all blending into one. “d-daddy!” He could feel your walls clenching already and he smiled a bit. “P-please, daddy!” He grunted and continued at the fast pace with his cock touching your sweet spot. You tried to hold it in a bit, not wanting Steve to be mad if you came too soon. You never wanted to disappoint Steve but his facial expression seemed to swell with satisfaction. “Daddy, can I come? Please?” He grunted as the click sounds of his cock going into your pussy was luscious and mouth-watering.

“Yes, baby. Don’t hold it in. Come on my cock.” You screamed out his name as loud as you could, your body convulsing at the pleasure Steve was sending you to. That little bundle of nerves your belly had locked in had fully made its release and you were seeing stars.

However, Steve never halted his movements, he was still pounding into you, hard and fast. You had just come so the sensations of his cock started to get a little too much.“Daddy, I-I can’t-” He shushed you gently, but the two of you knew that you could. You could never get tired of his cock pleasuring your holes. “You can, baby. My sweet girl can come all over my cock again, can’t she?” You nodded and gasped, gripping the sides of the desk harshly.

“D-daddy I-” His forehead connected to yours as he whispered sweet nothings and praises into your ears. Your orgasm never wasted time again, that sweet knot came undone. But this time you squirted all over his cock, rushing water released all over him. His eyes snapped towards yours and his mouth was agape. You were almost embarrassed, you hadn’t meant to come so hard that water gushed out of you. “Look at you, babydoll. Daddy’s so proud.” 

However, unbeknownst to you, Steve had thought it was the hottest thing he had ever seen. He thought about your sweet wetness that was all over his cock and even a little got onto his shirt. A large grunt left his mouth as he came into your pussy. His come was deep inside you and dripping out from your beautiful pussy. His cock was sheen looking from your juices spread all around it. He looked like he was glowing with pride which made you swoon. 

However, that all halted when his eyes became dark and solid, a prominent smirk caressing his features. “You’re going to be punished, you moved without asking. But don’t worry, we have all night, babydoll.”

~~

Permanent Taglist: @captainchrisstan​ @angstysebfan​ 

#aesthetical-bucky1kchallenge #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #daddy!steve #daddy!steve rogers #daddy!kink #dom!steve rogers #sub!reader #captain america #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #steve rogers smut #smut #overstimulation #dom!steve rogers x sub!reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel

[moon-light-jukebox]

see? - [Reid x Reader] - Chapter 4

masterlist

previous chapter // series index

Summary: Spencer’s entire world has shifted, but before he can dwell on any of it, he and the rest of the team must race against the clock to find the unsubs newest victim.  

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Angst (for now)

Word Count: 3.7k for Chapter 4 

Content Warning: Normal Criminal Minds stuff. Mentions of drug addiction. Angst

A/n: This chapter is the last planned one from Spencer’s POV. This is sort of another cliffhanger...but I’ll try to have chapter 5 out as soon as I can. Thank you for reading!

-- The Price We Pay --

(Spencer’s POV)

The most terrible moments in my life never happened slowly. I couldn’t be sure if that’s because of how my brain processed them or that’s just how they happened.

My hours with Tobias seemed to happen in the blink of an eye. My father all but ran out of my life. The light left Maeve’s eyes in a fraction of a second.

This was different.

I heard Hotch's question; I saw the pain ripple across his face when Garcia gave a muffled reply.

“Penelope,” he said, his voice sounding hollow. “I know you know where she is. I think she’s…she’s in danger, Penelope. Please.”

Hotch doesn't say please. Hotch doesn't beg. I knew that, of course, I knew that. I had known the man for over 10 years now.

That is why his behavior didn't make sense.

Looking back, I think this moment happened so slowly because my brain refused to process the gravity of this moment. It was trying to protect me.

Why would Hotch ask about Y/n right now? I knew Garcia must have helped her go into hiding…but why were we talking about it now?

Despite my brain lagging, my body knew something was wrong. My lungs seized. I heard Rossi say something. His voice was coming from the right…but I couldn't hear him. It's like I was underwater; everything was muffled.

My body was going into shock, but I couldn’t understand why.

“Reid. Reid.” I felt a hand on my shoulder, gripping tightly, trying to anchor me to the moment. “Spencer, come on, kid. Focus.”

He never calls me Spencer, I thought, turning my head to the left to meet the wide brown eyes of my friend. “Derek? What…You’re still driving back.”

“We were a block away.” He turned me more towards him, his left hand coming up to grip the back of my neck, applying just enough pressure to make me focus. “I know this is hard, Kid. But we need you.”

Realistically it had only been minutes since Hotch picked up his phone, but it had felt like hours. And everyone in this room had already pieced together a puzzle I was still struggling to see.

I blinked. Then I blinked again. “Y/n doesn’t have a family." When I turned my gaze to Hotch, I saw my unit chief, my boss, my friend tense for a second before he lifted his head, meeting my gaze head-on. "You…You created the Nightingale system after Haley died. It's emergency family relocation. She's…she wasn't close enough with any of her family to use it."

All of the pieces of the puzzle were there, right there in front of me, but I couldn't snap them together.

Hotch didn't say anything for a moment; he just looked at me. Then he lowered the phone from his ear, clicking a button before the sound of clicking keys filled the room. "You're on speaker, Garcia."

"Sir?" she questioned, her voice nasally and thick with congestion. But even though that, just that one word was dripping with sadness and unease.

"You need to hurry, Penelope. We think the unsub may already have her."

She gave a choked sob before the clicking of her computer keys got faster.

But this doesn’t make sense. “The unsub only takes pregnant women,” I rasped. “He’s…he’s after…but he’s not after any pregnant women…he’s after…”

My mind seemed to wake up with that thought, adrenaline finally running through my system and becoming useful.

Pregnancy, on average, lasts for 280 days. Our unsub wanted heavily pregnant women…he wanted women that were about to go into labor.

Images of the night I was outside her apartment flashed in my mind. The only night I had ever had with her…279 days ago.

The thought of her being with someone else pained me, but I grasped onto the idea with both hands, holding on tightly.

“She’s not…she doesn’t fit the victimology. She….she wouldn't be far enough along. Not unless…" My words hung in the air, my tongue-tied in my mouth, refusing to finish them.

Because if the unsub had her…she would have been pregnant when she left.

My world was slowly shifting into focus at the same moment I felt JJ’s hand on my upper arm.

“Spence,” JJ whispered.

“Did you know?” I choked out. “Did all of you know?”

Morgan clicked his tongue against his teeth before he shook his head. “Nah, kid. I didn’t know.”

But my eyes weren't on either of the people at my sides; my eyes were across the room. My eyes were locked on the man I had always trusted with my life. The man who was the best father I had ever known.

“No one knew besides Garcia and myself,” he said firmly. “I ordered her not to tell anyone else. If you have any issues, you can take them up with me.”

“If I have any issues?” I hissed, my teeth snapping together. It wasn’t until I felt wetness on my cheeks that I realized I was crying. “You…She’s pregnant.”

All of the tension seemed to leave his face, leaving him looking as battered as I felt. “We’ll do this later, Spencer.”

He never called me Spencer. “Is…is the baby…mine?” I had to ask, but everyone in the room already knew.

The man I thought was my friend nodded. “Yes.”

“Hotch!” JJ shrieked. “What were you thinking?! What was Y/n thinking?!”

Any emotion in his eyes hardened at her tone, his shoulders squared. The familiar coldness I saw when he faced down monsters and madmen took over his face. He didn’t look like my friend, like the man I had always admired. He wasn’t Hotch, he wasn’t Aaron; he was Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. And he was giving that look…to me.

“I did this because she asked me to. She showed up at my house in the middle of the fucking night because of a fight she had with you. She was…She is like family to me, and she was terrified. Because she went to tell the man she loved that she was pregnant, and he was cruel to her. He said he wished she was dead."

I didn’t flinch under his words; I knew what I had done.

“How could she trust you after that? She didn’t even know you had a problem, Reid.”

My addiction was always the elephant in the room. It didn't matter that I had struggled with it for the better part of 10 years; the team still refused to speak about it out loud.

Until now.

“You should have told me,” was all I could say.

Hotch didn’t budge. “You should have been a man worth telling.”

I flinched then; it was like he shot me. I think it would have hurt less if he had shot me.

Rossi stepped forward, placing a hand on our unit chief’s shoulder. “We don’t have time for this. If he does have our girl, we have to find her. We have to find…them.”

“Garcia,” Hotch barked out.

"I've got it! Her address is 20 Royal Oak Road. But I don't know if she'll be there. I hacked into her computer, and she had…she had a doctor's appointment scheduled for tonight."

I wanted to ask why she would have a doctors’ appointment scheduled for tonight…but I knew why. “Who is her doctor?”

“Reid,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry-“

“Who is her doctor, Garcia?”

“His name is Dr. Johnson. He’s affiliated with St. Mercy’s hospital.”

Hotch grabbed his jacket, already heading for the door. “Rossi, you and Kate go to the abduction site. See if they have any sort of surveillance, witnesses. Anything. JJ, you’re with me at her home. Morgan, I need you to get to the hospital. Spencer-“  

I didn’t hear what he told me. I was already out the door.

--

I had climbed into Morgan’s SUV without thought, settling in my seat a moment before he jumped behind the wheel.

My friend didn’t say anything while we made the 5-minute drive to St. Mercy’s hospital. He said nothing while we both ran inside the hospital’s entrance. The first time he spoke was to the nursing staff, flashing his badge and asking them to pull Dr. Johnson away from whatever patient he was with.

I’m not sure what Derek said, I’m not sure how he was able to convey to them how urgent the matter was, but the doctor was in front of us moments later. He was an older man with thinning white hair and tanned weathered skin.

“Sir, I’m SSA Derek Morgan, this is Dr. Spencer Reid. We’re with the FBI, and we’d like to ask you a few questions about one of your patients.”

“I’m afraid I can’t talk about any of my patients without-“

“I understand that sir, but these are extenuating circumstances. We believe she may be in danger. You heard about the murder in Eugene yesterday?”

All color drained from the man’s face. “You think the person who did that has one of my patients?”

“Yes, we do,” Derek said firmly. He was always so good at this part. He could talk his way into everything. I couldn’t help but wonder what that must be like. “She’s very heavily pregnant, possibly…possibly with a boy.”

“I have several patients that are in their last trimester but…” he trailed off, shifting uncomfortably.

“We have reason to believe that Y/n Y/l/n might be in danger. Her records indicate she had an appointment here with you tonight.”

Dr. Johnson frowned. “I don’t have a patient by that name. I…” he trailed off, his gaze shifting over to me. “I have a Y/n Reid.”

Ever since my confrontation with Hotch, I had been existing in a detached state. Maybe it was my mind’s way of keeping me safe. But hearing her name… “She goes by Reid?” The corners of my lips twitched involuntarily despite the pain radiating from my chest. Of course, she did. It would be the last name I would ever look for.

“I’m afraid I really can’t give out any more information –“

“How far along is she?” I interrupted.

“I’m sorry, I can’t-“

Every single bit of calm and control I had inside of me seem to snap all at once. I took a step forward, my hands balled into fists at my sides. “Listen,” I seethed, my voice like iron. “Not only am I a federal agent, but I am also the fucking father. I want to know when she’s due!”

Dr. Johnson was quite a bit shorter than I was; and while I had never felt like a particularly intimidating person, he seemed to shrink back under my focus. "She's…she's set to be induced tomorrow morning. I have my patients come in the night before. I wanted…I wanted her to be induced earlier but…" He adjusted the glasses on his nose. "She's just so stubborn. She thought she'd go into labor on her own. But I can’t let her go over 42 weeks. She’ll be 41 weeks and 6 days tomorrow. But she never checked in for the appointment.”

“Son of a bitch,” Morgan breathed, pulling his phone out of his pocket and typing rapidly.

“Do…do you know the sex of the baby?” I asked, still trying to hold on to a hope that we were wrong; somehow, despite all of the evidence, we had all been so wrong about this.

“I do. She…Ms. Reid doesn’t know. She wanted it to be a surprise.” He looked uncomfortable for a moment. “Do you…do you want to know?”

“NO, he doesn’t.” I turned to look at Morgan, my eyes struggling to focus. “You’ll find out in the delivery room, kid. We’re going to find her. We’re going to find them.”

It seemed like a ridiculous thing to stress, but it brought me some small sort of comfort while my friend led me out of the hospital to the SUV.

--

Morgan had called Hotch to confirm what we all already knew. Y/n had disappeared to Bend, Oregon, and she was in the final days of her pregnancy. Rossi and Kate found a car registered to Y/n Reid abandoned in a grocery store parking lot. There was an infant car seat and two bags in the back seat. One bag contained baby items…the other were the sorts of things a mother might need in the hospital.

We were all to meet Hotch and JJ at Y/n's apartment, and Hotch had asked that I come along in the hopes that I would see something everyone else had missed.

Because I had known her better than anyone.

“Kid,” Morgan said softly, breaking the silence inside the car. “We’ll find her…we’ll find them.”

I found myself nodding in agreement automatically. It felt like the right sort of reaction to have. My friend was worried about me, and sometimes you just do things because it’s better for the other person.

I couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how Y/n felt that night. The night she left.

"Her phone is still on," I found myself saying. Morgan didn't respond, but I saw him glance over at me out of the corner of his eye. "The same phone she had before she left. I don't know why she never disconnected it. Sometimes…" I broke off, emotion suddenly clogging my throat, threatening to strangle me. "Sometimes, I call it just to hear her voice. I know she won't pick up. But the…the message is still her voice. I always leave a message. I don't know if she ever checks them. But I always leave one…just…just in case." My hand came up to wipe angrily at my cheeks, embarrassed both by my confession and the emotions I couldn't seem to hold in.

“She’ll hear the messages, Reid.”

I gave him another automatic nod.

It turns out Y/n didn’t live too far from the police station. Her home was in an apartment complex on the south end of town, on the third floor. I couldn’t the number of steps from the elevator to her blue front door. Twenty-three.

The instant I stepped inside, it felt wrong; everything felt wrong. The living room was basic and utilitarian. Impersonal. Nothing like Y/n. She was the sort of person who always felt like home.

This didn’t feel like anybody’s home.

I followed Morgan through the house, taking note of how clean and orderly everything was. Y/n had never been messy, but her apartment at home was filled to the brim with objects and things that made her smile.

"There are no pictures on the walls, nothing personal,” Morgan noted, giving voice to my own thoughts. “Hotch?” he called.

“We’re in here,” his voice replied, leading us down a small hallway.

On the right side of the hallway, there was another door that had been thrown open, and we found the other member of my team standing inside.

The room was painted a pale grey with white curtains hanging across the only window. There was a small, darker grey crib against the biggest wall and a rocking chair in the corner.

Something about the sight of that rocking chair was a punch to the stomach because I could see her in it so clearly. Her eyes soft while she moved the chair back and forth, holding a tiny bundle in her arms.

How long had I wanted to be a father? How many times had I dreamed of starting a family with Y/n…only to lose it all now?

“Spence,” JJ said, stepping towards me.

I couldn't look at her; I ignored her because I couldn’t do anything else. “The doctor said she didn’t know the gender of the baby. But I don’t think she would have painted the room pink or blue. She was never that sort of person.”

My eyes ran over the rest of the room. There was a small chest of drawers against another wall with some sort of platform on top of it. A changing table, I thought absentmindedly. There were pictures of stars hung on the walls, small boxes of diapers stacked neatly in the closet.

By the time I made my way over to the rocking chair, I could barely see anything. My torture by Tobias had cost me so much already; my addiction had robbed so much from me. But now I was standing in my child's nursery, and I was having trouble remembering any pain that had ever felt worse than this.

There was a small table beside the chair with a small lamp placed in the middle, but my eyes were fixed on the book pearched on the edge of the table. My fingers wrapped around the spine of the book, lifting it with shaking hands. The cover was white with a tiny bunny rabbit on the corner.  

“Kid,” I heard Morgan say softly from behind me.

I couldn’t stop myself from flipping open the book, even though I knew it would bring me nothing but pain.

'The Story of You' was written on the first page in swirling script, right above a sonogram picture. My eyes moved over the outline of a face that I knew I would love for the rest of my life,;my fingers moved over the glossy paper, tracing the outline of my child's features.

A strangled sound left my throat when I read the words underneath the photo, my eyes squeezing tight.

“Spencer?” Rossi asked, coming up to my side. “What is it?”

I couldn’t open my eyes, but I tried to clear my throat, willing myself to speak. “The doctor said she didn’t know the baby’s sex…but…but I think she did anyway.”

Because underneath the photo, I saw her familiar handwriting.

Knowing the name of a child that wasn't even born yet wouldn't help me find her; it wasn't relevant to the case, but I couldn't move past it.

“Isaac Benjamin Reid.”

I couldn’t be sure how long the silence lasted before Rossi asked if that name had any significance to y/n.

“No, I don’t think so,” I said softly. “It’s…it has significance to me. Isaac Asimov is my father’s favorite author. I hadn’t read any of his works since my dad left…but one day on the jet, Y/n got me talking about it. The next day I found a copy of I, Robot on my desk at work. She didn’t say anything, but I knew it was her.”

It was always her.

“And Benjamin?” Hotch prodded.  

I let out a heavy exhale. “Ben Walker is my NA sponsor. He has been for over 8 years.” It wasn’t lost on me that none of my team knew about Ben. I never talked about that part of my life; I hadn’t even told Y/n he was my sponsor. I had no idea how she knew about him, but there was no doubt in my mind that’s why she’s selected this name.

“This doesn’t make sense,” JJ muttered, causing me to finally look up at her. “I’m sorry, but none of this makes sense. You said that she didn’t know the baby’s sex.”

"That's what the doctor said," I clarified before closing the book softly. "I guess she just had a feeling."

My friend nodded. “Of course. But how did the unsub know? Garcia has been digging for over an hour. Y/n was…she was hiding, Reid. She worked from home. She doesn’t have a social media presence. Garcia can’t even find any indication that she has friends.”

“So, how did the unsub find her?” Hotch finished. “How did the unsub know she existed? Let alone that she was pregnant with a boy.”

Kate stepped into the room, her eyes moving over everything. "Alright. We need to revisit each victim. Then we need to determine if he came here for y/n or if he just found her. If she's over 40 weeks, I'm sure it's obvious that she's pregnant."

JJ moved to the window and pulled back the curtains, her eyes moving over the street. “But how did he know it was a boy? How did he know any of the victims were pregnant with boys?”

The ringing of Hotch’s phone cut through the air. “Go ahead, Garcia.”

“Sir, I’ve been trying to hack not the security systems of the buildings around the supermarket. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but I’m trying to find any vehicle that seems evil.”

“Did you find anything?”

"Kevin and I have been running license plates against the state of Oregon's DMV. There's a bank two blocks away from the grocery store. Their security footage captured a black sedan driving by about 15 minutes after Y/n's debit card was used at the grocery store."

Rossi spoke next. “Is there any reason to suspect that car?”

“The plates belong to a different car, a red Volvo. It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got.”

Hotch nodded. “It’s our best lead. Can you track the car through traffic cameras?”

“Doing it now, sir.”

We all started moving towards the door before Hotch gave another order. "Send us the most recent locations, then every single location afterward as soon as you get it. We'll split up and try to canvas the area. Y/n could go into labor at any moment. He couldn't have gone far."

Hotch didn't bother telling me to stay behind this time, but I felt his eyes on me when I got into one of the SUVs. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was his knowledge that I wouldn't listen to him anyway.

It didn’t matter.

Morgan set off at a breakneck speed, his door barely closing before we started moving. His posture was tense, and his eyes were moving over the landscape rapidly.

“She’s gonna be okay, Spencer.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “You don’t know that Derek.”

“Yes, I do,” he said firmly. “She’s not just a pregnant woman. She’s a profiler. She’s one of the best profilers I’ve ever seen. I don’t know how this son of a bitch found her, but Garcia created her background. There is no fucking way he knew who she is. He doesn’t know he took an FBI agent.”

The thought should have brought me comfort, but it didn't. It just tore an even bigger hole in my chest. Y/n had left because of me. She had gone into hiding because she was afraid of me. She had a new identity that had potentially made her vulnerable…made my son vulnerable because of me.

Morgan was right; we had to find her.

Because I didn’t think I would be able to survive her paying for my mistakes.

------

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#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #Dr Reid #dr spencer reid fics #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fan fic #criminal minds angst #Spencer Reid angst #reid angst #see? series

[anime-alyssa]

after the hurt - childe x reader

warnings: smut, emotional hurt, nothing really major. 

also on a03 - buy me a kofi?

To think you had grown to feel something for him, just for him to betray you like that. When he came to find you afterward, you were not going to show him the mercy he wanted.

You were absolutely exhausted - the day’s events taking a toll on your body as you laid in the bed that you had gotten in Liyue. Ningguang had given you and Paimon your own rooms in a luxury hotel as thanks so you both could relax and recover after the disaster that was the night. Physically you were exhausted but you were also mentally exhausted as well - the flashes of the betrayal of Childe - if that was even his actual name, you didn’t know at this point - coming through your mind. 

You couldn’t believe that you had trusted him - let yourself fall for him over the past couple of months in Liyue. Paimon wasn’t too sure about him from the beginning, but you were determined to see for yourself if he really was all that bad. Sure, he was a Fatui agent - but he didn’t seem like he was trying to hurt you or anything. 

No, not hurt - just use. Used you for information for his own personal gain, used you for pleasure. Had it meant nothing to him at all? Probably not, you thought as you changed into some sleep clothes that were provided for you. Whatever, he was probably long on his way from Liyue with Signora in tow after their conversation with Zhongli. 

A sigh escaped your lips as you got under the covers and laid down, trying to get your brain to shut off. To think that only two days before you were laying in his bed with him, letting him take the stress away of getting sucked into the Rite of Parting ceremony. 

“Don’t worry about it - I’ll take care of you tonight.” His words echoed in your memory as he had followed up on his promise, only for you to face him 24 hours later. You had won, taking him down successfully, but Paimon couldn’t quite understand why you were so emotional about it despite winning. Neither could you, but it was only after seeing him when the whole thing was over, the small lovebites fading away on his neck and the way he looked at yours to see the same, that you realized it: you had fallen in love with Childe. 

It was ridiculous - you didn’t have time for that. The only thing you needed to focus on was going to see all of The Seven to find your brother and somehow keeping yourself and Paimon alive to see it through. But Childe came in and swept you off your feet in a way that you hadn’t quite expected him to, his smooth-talking and touches in all the right places making you tremble. 

You almost wished you could have said more to him earlier, but you were still hurt. He had looked at you like he had wanted you to say something to him, but Zhongli did all the talking as you had a lot of questions for the archon. You think he almost did it on purpose, having picked up on your mood due to something he had said to you before you departed from him. 

“I’ve found that in my many years of living, sometimes forgiving is the best way to move forward. There is no need to dwell on the past when there are things to work for.” the retired Geo Archon had told you. Paimon then lectured you about knowing that Childe was trouble, to which you promptly shut the door in her face, and now here you were. 

There was a chill in the room that you don’t remember being there previously. Did you leave the window open? You could have sworn that you had shut it - actually, you know that you hadn’t even opened it to begin with. Cursing yourself for putting out the light, you had no choice but to sit back up to see what the deal was - when you were promptly shoved back down, a hand over your mouth as you were thrust backward. 

“Don’t scream.” Childe’s voice sent shivers up your spine as he climbed on top of your body, his nose practically touching yours. His eyes were wide as he removed his hand slowly from your mouth.

“What the hell - why are you here? Why did you break into my room?” you asked him as he got off you, sitting on the edge of the bed. You sat up to meet him, trying to build your resolve now. He wasn’t going to get his way - absolutely not.

“I wanted to see you before I left, and I knew you weren’t going to let me in otherwise.” he said. You let out a scoff as he tried to reach out to you, shock going across his features when you pushed his hand away. 

“Well you’ve seen me. Now go.” you told him. He let out a sigh, a hand going to the back of his neck. 

“So you’re still mad.” He replied. 

“Still mad? You - you used me! Paimon was right - I never should have even trusted you in the first place.” you ranted and raved, letting your anger spill out. He was silent as you talked, unmoving next to you. “Did it mean anything at all to you? Was that all just a lie too?” you asked him. 

“I did what I had to do for the Fatui - but listen - none of us was a lie, it’s still not one.” Chile said, turning to face you more and eyes growing wide. He looked like he was emotional - seriously? You almost had to quite literally shake the thoughts out of your head, reminding you that he literally used you for Fatui gain - for Signora’s sake, a person who hurt your friend. 

“You say that like there’s anything left.” you muttered. Was there something left? You actually hated to admit it, but you did have something still for him - you were in love with him still, despite it all. By the looks of it, he still felt something for you too. Was everything romantic between the two of you genuine - and how could you even trust him anymore? Your head was spinning so fast with thoughts that you didn’t even notice him come closer to you until his fingertips were on your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“I know there’s something left on my side. But if you say there isn’t anything left on your side, I’ll leave, and you won’t see me again,” he said to you. That had your mind reeling even more - was he seriously saying that he still felt things for you? So he was telling the truth in that regard - or was he - “I’ll respect it, even if I don’t think you’re telling me the truth. I know you’ll tell me what you think I deserve to be told, for your sake.” he said sadly, running his thumb over your cheekbone while you stared at him in awe. 

Okay, what the fuck, Childe? As if you weren’t having a hard enough time trying to not immediately give into him because of your love for him, now he comes out with that Romeo and Juliet type speech? But he also just confessed that he had feelings for you still - it came from him first. You hadn’t known Childe to be emotionally vulnerable since you’ve known him, so maybe he was being honest? 

Your mind made up its mind before you could fully even process your actions. You grabbed Childe by his shoulders and threw him backward onto the bed, slightly propped up as you straddled his waist. He looked shocked but didn’t say anything - or get the chance to - as you leaned down and pressed your lips to his - harder than you probably should have in the moment. He didn’t argue, letting out a grunt as his hands found their way to your hips, letting your mouths move against each other before you pulled away from him. 

“I - I love you, Childe.” you admitted to him quietly. Childe looked up at you wide-eyed with a smile, about to speak before you cut him off. “But what you did… It can’t be forgotten so easily.”  you said back to him. 

“Let me make you forget it for the night.” he said to you. Ah, there he was - the Childe you knew who almost always wanted to get laid. You knew that would work and that he was likely leaving in the next day - so you’d be stupid to not take him up on the offer. Plus your position was incredibly suggestive right now - wait a minute -

You tested the waters for a minute, bringing your lips back down to his and letting your hips grind down against his. Childe shamelessly let out a groan, his hands on your hips gripping you tighter as you wound him up the way that you knew best. You continued your movements until you felt him rock hard beneath you, body stiff and panting once you pulled away from his lips. 

“You… you are - ” he choked out, not able to form any sort of thoughts at the current moment. Childe knew that you were assertive in your own way, but this was something he hadn’t seen out of you before. Was this your revenge? Hell, he’d betray you ten times over if this is what happened after - 

“Quiet, Childe. I’m in charge tonight.” you said to him, slipping your hands under his jacket and snapping the button off. It opened to expose his chest, letting your fingertips move over the lines of his abs gently as he took a shaky breath in. “You will do as I say, it’s the least you can do. Right?” you asked, eyes flickering to meet his. 

“Ye - yes.” he choked out as you ground into his hips again. He was holding you so tightly you swore there would be bruises where his fingers were digging into you. You nudged yourself off him and next to him on the bed.

“Take off your clothes.” you told him. Childe quickly got up, nearly stumbling over himself, and undressed. He started with the jacket and shirt that you had already undone and then moved to his pants, bringing those down quickly, minding his Vision that he kept on the belt. His boxers were saved for last as he couldn’t have ripped them off fast enough, his cock springing free. 

Beads of precum decorated his head as you inched yourself closer to him, one of your hands wrapping around the base of his shaft. Childe let out a quiet gasp that turned into a throaty moan as you ever so slightly pumped him. HIs eyes rolled into the back of his head and his hands balled into fists at his sides, at his limit for teasing already. 

“Do you want me to suck your cock? Do you deserve it?” you asked him, mouth grazing over his head and hand still gently pumping and squeezing his shaft. Childe let out a moan above you that you swore all of Tevyat could hear. 

“Archons, yes baby. Please.” he begged above you. How quickly Childe, one of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers, succumbed to you was music to your ears and all the more teasing you were going to do was gone as your lips encased his head, tongue gliding over his tip slowly. “Oh fuck yes.” Childe moaned as your head bobbed on his length, tongue licking up the underside of his cock as you continued to suck and pump him. 

His moans were music to your ears, sending vibrations throughout your own body that had slick starting to form between your own legs. You started to suck faster, focusing on his tip, letting your tongue swirl over the beads of precum that seeped out as Childe let out a guttural moan, panting for breath. His cock hardened in your mouth slowly, signaling his near release. You released him with a pop, backing up and licking your own lips. 

“What - baby - please - ” he began to fight, body aching at his orgam being taken away from him. You stood up and began to undress, starting with your top. Childe’s eyes went wide as you visibly saw his cock twitch. 

“Lay back down on the bed.” you told him, throwing the top to the side and sliding down your shorts. Childe did as you said, laying back on the bed where you had been previously. You went to go straddle his hips again, but had another idea first. He didn’t seem like he was in the mood to say no, so you slowly crawled your way up his chest until your core was lined up with his mouth. “Let me ride your face, Childe.” you said as his hands found their home back on your hips.

“Oh baby, it would be my honor.” he snarkily said back, not able to speak for much longer as you lowered your core to him. He dragged your center closer to him as his mouth devoured your heat, a moan now leaving your lips as shocks of pleasure started to shoot through your body. 

“O - oh - fuck Childe, right there…” you moaned out as his lips sucked on your clit, hips grinding down into his face. His tongue swirled over your bud as he sucked, jolts of pleasure consuming you as you cried out his name. His hands on your hips helped you fuck yourself against his mouth, quickening your pace as you felt your core beginning to tighten and heat up. One of his hands left your hip as it snaked closer to your clit, Childe moving his mouth away from your bud. 

“Chi - oh fuck!” you all but screamed as his tongue was promptly shoved up inside of your cunt, fingers dancing over your bud nearly making you come on him right then and there. Your hips ground deeper into his mouth, thanks to his guidance as you were now way too hazy to even try yourself, making his tongue enter you deeper as he sucked on your cunt for all it was worth. “Ah - ah - gonna - Childe - ah - coming!” you moaned, feeling everything inside you finally snap as your cunt spasmed around his tongue, orgasm hitting you like a mountain as you fucked yourself on his tongue. 

You panted for breath on his face, riding out your high as Childe continued to run his tongue through your folds, cleaning up your orgasm from between them. You whimpered above him as he kept going and slowly you felt the heat start to build in you again. Without a second thought, you lowered yourself from his mouth and brought your aching center over his cock. 

“Do you need me yet?” he asked. The answer was yes, but you weren’t letting him know that flat out. 

“Shut the fuck up and let me ride you.” you said to him. With that, you sunk yourself down on his cock, bottoming out in one motion. The both of you let out filthy moans that you were sure the rest of the hotel could hear. You gave yourself time to adjust as his cock twitched inside of you, remnants of Childe’s earlier deprived orgasm coming back to life. “Fuck…” you whined. 

“Baby, please - move - I’m trying here - ” he begged. He really was trying to let you take the ropes, you could see that. The amount of restraint he had tonight was impeccable and something you had never seen him have (he literally fucked you against a Statue of the Seven one night because he was impatient). With a small groan, you started to rock your hips against his, his cock completely filling you at every thrust. “Shit, you feel so god damn good…” Childe breathed. 

“Childe, touch me - I need you to touch me - ” you said to him as your thrusts quickened, overcome by the need to reach another high again so soon. Childe’s cock was always so thick and snug inside of you that every movement was hitting deep inside your needy cunt, curving to hit places that you didn’t even know were inside of you. You could feel his cock grow harder and thicker inside of you at the request, his fingers going over your still sensitive bud and beginning to roll it between them. “Fuck!” you moaned, placing your hands on his chest and fucking yourself on his cock. 

The moans of the both of you echoed off the walls, Childe panting below you as the sounds of you slamming your hips down against him were prominent. You were a shaking, sweaty mess above him as his other hand left your hip and went to one of your breasts, taking your nipple in his fingers and pulling. You felt yourself clench around his thickness, a cry leaving your lips as he thrust up into you. 

“I can’t - fuck I can’t do it!” Childe growled. You were too busy whining to notice, Childe sitting up with you in his lap in one fluid motion and beginning to piston himself up into you. His hands both moved to grip your cheeks, lips going to your neck to start sucking marks into your skin. You let out a scream as he fucked up into you, cock hitting all the way to your cervix and filling you completely with every powerful thrust. “Fuck you’re so tight - so fucking tight - beautiful - love you so much baby - so fucking much.” he moaned into your skin. 

“Ch - Childe - ” you cried out his name as you felt yourself about to have your second orgasm, body beginning to tremble first around him as your thrusts matched his to get you there. “Touch - touch me - so close - need to come - ” you begged him now, a hand in a fist in his hair as you yanked, making him moan. He quickly listened as his thumb harshly circled your clit once more - sending you over. “Fuck - Childe!” you screamed his name, feeling yourself come undone around him once more, white-hot ecstasy taking over your body. He let out a moan as he struggled to fuck you through your high, the feeling of your cunt spasming around his rock hard cock enough to make him come. 

“Oh fuck - oh fuck baby, I’m cumming - cumming inside - oh fuck!” he cursed, hips stuttering against your pulsing core as he emptied his cock inside of you with a moan of your name. You were panting for breath on top of him as you felt him twitching inside of you, spilling himself deep into your body. His lips trailed up your neck gently, peppering soft kisses while you both came down from your highs. You were both silent for a few moments, Childe laying you both back on the bed, bringing the blankets up over your bodies, until he spoke up again. “I meant it, you know. I love you.” he finally broke the silence, a sigh escaping your lips.

“I know you did. It just… it hurts still. I trusted you, loved you, and you hurt me.” you said to him, sitting up slightly straighter to look him in the eyes. He didn’t say anything, bringing his lips to yours and rolling you under him as he gently kissed you once more. 

“I swear, I’ll never do it again, and I’ll do anything to prove it to you.” he said, running his thumb along your cheekbone gently. You relaxed into his touch as Childe placed a kiss on your forehead, coming down back next to you on the bed and taking you into his arms. He was gone when you woke up the next morning, as you expected, but left a note saying he’d be back before he left - your heart flipping inside of you and a groan coming from your travelling companion. 

She’d just have to deal.

#tartagila x reader #childe x reader

[wkemeup]

By Any Other Name (16)

series summary: When Special Agent Bucky Barnes is tasked with infiltrating the notorious gang Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife of the head of Hydra… you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6.1k warnings: torture, gun violence, kidnapping, arson, a whole shit show and a wild ride from start to finish i am so very sorry  a/n: to anyone who listens to the series playlist, a reminder that Slow Mover has been on there from the start and the second half of the chorus was a direct warning for this chapter 😅 🌹series masterlist 🌹

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to go down like this.

You paced along the small length of a cold, dark office in the back of an old textile factory Brock used to manufacture Cerberus. Heels long forgotten to the top of the table, your bare feet touched on concrete, over small rocks embedded in the ground and the cracks of the floor. They poked and prodded at your skin, weight sinking puncture marks to the balls of your feet. It was something, at least, because with the rushing race of your heartbeat, it was hard to feel much of anything else.

You didn’t know where you were or what happened to James in the blackout. You assumed he was arrested like he was supposed to be, that they made a show of it for the Hydra crewmen in the effort to protect his identity for when this was over. You hoped, anyway. 

But if you knew James - and you knew him well - you didn’t suspect he would comply to much of anything when you were missing and in the company of your husband.

“How in the hell did this happen?!” Brock roared, storming into the office with several men on his heels; Zola, the scientist in a white lab coat with subtle red discoloration along the sleeves, and the two men who held James down in the basement that night as Brock nearly beat him to death, Kohl and Sanzetti.

“I don’t know, sir,” the blonde one, Kohl, replied, to which Brock answered by throwing a right jab straight to his jawline. He staggered backwards, into the filing cabinets as Brock growled at him, almost feral.

“Then why the fuck are you talking!?”

You froze at the corner of the room, watching as your husband cleared the desk of its supplies, aggressively throwing papers and coffee mugs and the computer monitor itself to the floor. You winced as the screen cracked and paper slowly drifted down through the air to land delicately amongst the mess. 

Brock was panting, red in the face, as he leaned against the edge of the desk, gripping at the corners until his knuckles were sheet white.

You’d never seen him like this before; panicked in a corner and lashing out. You would have felt some kind of satisfaction if you weren’t within the crosshairs of his rage.

“I may have some answers for you,” Zola’s mousey voice spoke from the doorway. He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose as Brock shot him a kind of glare that could have killed a man. “If you allow me one moment?”

With that, he disappeared back into the warehouse.

“Fucking hell,” Rumlow grumbled, shaking his head. “You’re all fucking useless.”

Kohl and Sanzetti were talking quietly amongst themselves, eyeing Brock suspiciously; low, murmured voices of men with loyalties to the highest bidder, the man with the most power, and suddenly, Brock didn’t hold that position. 

You watched as your husband started to finger at the weapon strapped to his waist, touching over cold metal like it was a comfort, like he it was an extension of himself, violence at the palm of his hand.

You had to get out of there.

“Brock,” you called, voice dry in your throat, arms folded over your chest protectively as he glared at you for daring to interrupt his brooding. “Maybe I could step outside for a moment? It’s a little cramped in here and—”

“No fuckin’ way, baby,” he shot back, waving his hand at you dismissively. “There could be feds casing this place! You’re not going anywhere. I want you right where I can see you. How else am I supposed to protect you?”

He spat it at you like a threat.

You clenched your jaw until it ached, nodding enough for Brock to divert his attention. He wore a forced smile, a dead kind of look in his eyes that slowly fell away to a cold, hard, nothingness as he stared down at the desk again. He didn’t care to protect you from anything. He was a selfish man at his very core and even with you feeding into his ego, he would throw you to the wolves it meant saving himself.

“You know what I don’t understand? How the hell did the FBI got access to our shipping logs?”

Your lungs burned, like fire had lit a match deep within your chest. Had you stopped breathing?

“That shit’s been under lock and key for decades,” Brock continued as he straightened his back, cracking his neck to the side, “ain’t that right, Sanzetti?”

“Yes, sir.”

Brock gritted his teeth, a sharp exhale from his nose. “So, logically, the only way that information could have been leaked was if the feds had an inside man.”

Sanzetti exchanged a nervous glance with Kohl before nodding slowly. “Yes, sir.”

Brock’s hands suddenly slammed down to the table in a fit of rage, the sharp echo of it startling straight to your chest and skipping over a beat.

“Someone better start talking!”

“I believe I can assist with that, sir.”

Zola appeared in the doorway again, a proud smirk on his face and you took a step forward, cold pavement under bare feet. Zola waved at someone beyond the door and he slid into the room, taking his place at Brock’s side and waited patiently. He glanced up at Brock like he was a man to be admired. It made you sick.

“This better be good, Zola, or a I’m going to—”

A body was thrown to the floor at Brock’s feet, heavy and lifeless, with a black canvas over his head and ropes tied at his wrists. Blood trailed down his neck and onto the concrete. 

You stared at the body, heart in your throat, breaths like fire to your lungs. You swallowed back the scream before it passed your lips.

“What the fuck is this?” Brock snapped, nudging the body with the toe of his wingtips.

“This,” Zola replied, bending down to remove the canvas, “is the man behind Hydra’s undoing.”

The canvas was ripped away, tossed to the far corner of the room and you bit down hard on your cheek. Thick coppery liquid pooled in your mouth as you stared down at the mess of blood matted through dark brown hair, ocean blue eyes shut, unconscious as your husband pushed himself from the desk.

James.

Zola pulled a water bottle from his bag and slowly began unscrewing the lid. He gestured for Kohl and Sanzetti to keep James secure, even amongst the bindings, and he dumped the water onto James’ face.

You dug your nails into your palms, your forearms, your thighs, leaving behind puncture marks you couldn’t feel, even with the red staining to your fingertips. The anticipation was torture, watching the water fall to James’ face, washing away the blood and soaking his hair, until he woke suddenly, coughing violently and flinching away from the stream of water obstructing his breathing.

“Ah, he wakes!” Zola jeered.

James wrestled to his knees, though he didn’t get much further, not with Kohl and Sanzetti holding him down. Wide, panicked eyes shot around the room, catching his bearings, until they landed on you. There was a moment of stillness, a slight relief only long enough to confirm your safety, before he thrashed against his bindings.

There were no more pretenses. There was no cover to protect. It was only survival now.

“What the hell are you going on about Zola?” Brock groaned, watching as James fought against his men, shoving shoulders to knees and grunting in the strained effort. He was unfazed – curious, maybe – at his own right hand bound at his feet, the mark of a traitor branded to his name.

Zola stepped forward, handing Brock a series of photographs. He eyed the short, rounded scientist suspiciously before he snatched the stack of photos from his hands.

From behind your husband, all you could see was the way he tensed upon a single glance down to the evidence in his hands, shoulders melding to stone as he flipped through the pages, a fire in his breath. When the scorch of red touched his ears, a low growl in his chest and a tight clench of his fists along the photographs, you knew this could only end violent and bloody. Brock held little capacity for honor or mercy. He’s killed men for far lesser offenses than this.

Brock tossed the photos to the desk as if they had burned him. Some scattered along the floor, others laid upon the surface. Taken from a distance with an often blurry figure at the center, set in varying locations ranging from the cherry blossoms around D.C. to the streets lined with brownstones in Brooklyn; always the same man in focus.

James.

You stepped forward, touching the image of James in a black suit, a man different than the one before you; shorter hair pushed back away from his eyes, a brightened smile on his face, a youthful glow in his stance. But what drew your attention wasn’t the lightness in his demeanor, the laugh so clearly present on his lips, or the lush of greenery in the background, but instead, the shiny gold badge draped on a thin metal chain around his neck, sitting at the buttons of his jacket.  

Oh God.

“Meet Special Agent James Buchanan Barnes.”

Your knees would have buckled out from under you if it wasn’t for your grip against the desk. Heart stammering, hands shaking, panic running course through your veins, you stared at James from the far end of the room, though he kept his gaze on Brock, hardened features and stone-cold expression. He didn’t bother to deny it.

“FBI, huh?” Brock questioned and Zola nodded slowly. 

“He’s been feeding them information from the start,” Zola confirmed, placing a series of small metal wirings into Brock’s hand. “We swept the house shortly after word of the raid began. He had bugs planted everywhere. Didn’t take long to weed him out as the culprit once I started looking into his history. He was a ghost before taking this job. He didn’t exist two years ago and that... intrigued me. So I tapped into the security footage records from Quantico and well... seems as though he fooled all of us, sir.”

Brock chuckled, low, humorless as he examined the small listening devices in his hand, pushing them around with his finger until he closed his hand to a fist, crushing the bugs and dropping their broken pieces to the floor. He wiped his hand along his thighs as if ridding dirt from his skin.

“I never took you for a traitor,” Brock sneered, slowly pacing along the room, cracking his knuckles out in front of him, making a show of it as he stretched his hands with every click. “I have to say I’m surprised… and well, a little disappointed. We could have done great things together, Karpov – oh, sorry, Barnes.” Brock chuckled to himself. “You were damn good, too. So eager. So willing to do what needed to get done for the glory of Hydra. What a goddamn shame...”

James just stared up at him, allowing the unkept disdain to rise straight to the surface. Jaw clenched, hands to fists though they were tied at the base of his back, skin red and raw under the cut of ropes. He barely even flinched as Brock barreled a closed fist straight to his left cheekbone.

You gasped, hand clamped over your mouth, tears brimming in your eyes from the terror coursing through you, but James was calm, so impossibly still as he slowly turned back up to face Brock.

“Nothing to say for yourself, Agent?”

James spat a glob of thick, crimson blood to the floor, some of it dripping from his lips to his chin. “Go to hell, asshole.”

“Oh, so he can speak!” Brock laughed, though he jumped back abruptly as James grappled against his bindings, lunging towards him only to be pulled back gruffly by the collar of his shirt. He narrowly clamped his teeth around Brock’s hand. “Fuckin’ hell!”

Brock raised a hand, fist clenched and rings reflecting in the dim lighting of the room, and you quickly turned your head before you saw him take the swing. The sound of knuckles to bone was enough; it warped in your stomach, pushed bile up your throat and clamping your jaw was no longer enough.

The adrenaline was seeping through the cracks, tears burning in your eyes, lump throbbing at your throat. You opened your eyes again to see James swaying unsteady on his knees, held by the front of his shirt by your husband as he punched him again and again while his men stood back and watched, while they laughed.

Blood dripped from James’ lips, sliding down his chin, his neck, pooling at the concrete beneath him. You couldn’t watch this again.

You had to do something.

You had to stop this.

“Brock?”

“I’m a little busy, baby,” he grunted, throwing another hit to James’ cheekbone, reopening the long, jagged wound that had healed in the weeks since the basement. The ring on Brock’s middle finger broke through skin and James cried out, shouting as he hunched over, pressing his cheek to his shoulder to stop the bleeding but it only soaked into his shirt. Pools of red in its wake.

“Brock, just—wait!” you tried again, voice shaken.

“Why? You want a turn?”

Wide eyes bore into his as he paused for a moment, looking back at you earnestly, and – dear God – he was serious. Your gaze flashed to his closed fist, staring at the red coating his broken knuckles and dripping down his wrist.

“We should get out of here,” you gasped, desperately avoiding the panic the quickly surged through James’ face, though he kept himself motionless. “Before his friends find us... we should go.”

Even from the corner of your eye, beyond the blood and swelling on James’ face, you could see the confusion, the horror, as the words left your lips. You knew your husband better than anyone else in this room, so you knew there was no scenario where he would allow James to leave this room alive; not unless his own self-preservation outweighed his need for revenge.

So, you’d stay with Brock, go with him far away from this factory, away from James and his team, to corners of the world you’d never see the other half of your heart again. You’d stand by your husband’s side and keep up this disguise for the rest of your life. You’d wear a dozen different masks, staple a smile to your face, and learn to be content – complicit – again. You’d do anything if it meant James survived this.

“Brock,” you whispered, taking another step forward like you were approaching a feral animal, cautious, calculated movements as not to set it off. You slowly reached out to him, close enough to slowly wrap your hands around his and carefully pull him to your grasp. Gentle, tender movements as you held his gaze, the blood of your lover warm on your palms as you guided away the monster’s fist.

“Let’s go,” you urged. “You and me. We’ll get away from all of this. But we have to leave now.”

There was a stillness in Brock, a slow drawl of his eyes as looked from your intertwined hands to your face; a moment of reprieve, maybe something like relief, and he pursed his lips together to a soft smile.

Then, he released James’ shirt and your whole heart fell crashed to the floor; concrete to his jaw, his arms bound behind his back and unable to catch himself. He groaned, withering against the cold of the ground, trying to push himself back to his knees, trying to catch your eye and beg you to stay, beg you not to leave with the same man you’d been desperate to escape from.

“Okay, baby,” Brock cooed, his free hand sliding up your arm, pulling goosebumps like ice and venom along the way until he cupped the side of your face. You held your breath, allowed him to kiss you, push his tongue into your mouth, and you held back tears, realizing you’d kissed James for the last time. Brock had already swept his touch away from you.

You could feel James’ eyes burning on you, desperate, begging, but you couldn’t look at him. The second you did, you knew you’d lose your resolve completely. You couldn’t allow that to happen.

Protect James; the way he protected you, the way he protected Peter. This was how you save him. Go with your husband. Take the life you were dealt and deal with the consequences.

You were prepared to make that sacrifice. Until –

“Just one thing before we go.”

Brock swiftly yanked a pistol from his waistband and in those seconds, your world seemed to move in slow motion; like limbs underwater, pushing against resistance, like you might be able to reach out and stop it in time if you were only faster than time itself.

The barrel pressed to James’ temple.

The unlatch of the safety followed; deafening, echoing.

There was a burning in your lungs long before you realized you were screaming.

“NO!”

You clamped your hand over your mouth, muffling yourself under trembling hands as time came speeding back up to you.

Brock froze, head slowly turning to you with a hardened expression of disbelief, of fury and fire and rage burning behind his eyes; a flicker of something darker hidden in the flakes of green, a realization, maybe, and you were certain a single look could have killed you.

You quickly dropped your hands and closed them to fists at your side to stop the shaking.

“Do we have a problem here, baby?”

There was venom to his voice. He spat the pet name at you like an insult.

You cleared your throat nervously, trying to find your breath but your eyes flickered to James. There was crimson coating over most of his face, the cold barrel of a gun pressed against his temple, and he was watching you, terrified, but never for himself – no, his fear was for you. His drive to protect you was always stronger than that of his own.

It was something you had in common.

“He’s a—a federal agent,” you tried to reason. “You don’t—you don’t want to give them more to charge you with. You kill one of their own and they’ll hunt you down. They won’t stop until they find you.”

Brock’s stare could have torn right through you, unnerving and cold as ice, like blades to your skin as they drew blood right at your heart. But then, seemingly out of nowhere, he lowered the weapon and you exhaled a heavy sigh of relief.

“Fine,” he shrugged, far too calm for the man you knew. He brushed the barrel of the gun against his thigh, examining it up against the light. It was the calm before the storm and you could sense the lightening long before the thunder when his eyes snapped to you. “Why don’t you do it?”

Before you could take another breath, Brock bounded across the room, grabbed a painful grip of your wrist and yanked you towards him. His grasp cut deep into your bones, would surely leave behind bruising and you watched as the marks of his fingers left discoloration in their wake.

He slammed the gun in your hand, cold metal to the burning heat of your palms, forced your arms out straight, pointed the barrel at James.

“Stop,” you gaped as you tried to push out of his grasp but there was no give on his hold; no release as he caged you, forcing a violent weapon to your hands and aimed at the one man you’d give your life for.

“Go on, baby! Shoot.”

You shook your head, trying to squirm out of his hold but it was like fighting with a wall. “Brock, let me go--”

“You wanted to be part of Hydra, didn’t you? This is Hydra, baby! Welcome to the fun!” Brock shouted, a laugh in his voice, amused, as his fingers dug bruises to your shoulders. “Now... shoot him!”

Your hands were shaking, the barrel of the gun swaying in your grasp. Your eyes caught James and you were shocked to find him calm, waiting patiently on his knees. There was a determination there you didn’t quite expect, a simple kind of realization. His gaze pointed down at his left shoulder before it returned to you.

You furrowed your brow.

“What are you waiting for?” Brock grunted. “No one is coming for him. We’ll dump the body before the feds can find us. No one will miss a fuckin’ narc.”

James was staring at you and you could barely make out the blue of his eyes over the swelling, behind the steady stream of blood on his face. He was breathing heavy, gargled, like there was blood in his throat, too, and God, it was worse than that terrible night in the basement. You choked back a cry, trying to bit it down before your husband could see your tears.

You wanted to scream, to run, to use that goddamn gun on Brock himself, but you wouldn’t get more than a few feet before his men took you down. There was no way out of this. James seemed to know that, too, because there was a slight nod of his head, impossibly subtle that not even Brock seemed to notice. You parted your lips in shock as blue eyes flickered to his shoulder again before returning to you.

The realization hit you like a sucker punch to the gut.

No.

“I’m growing impatient, baby,” Brock groaned, squeezing hard at your shoulders and causing you to recoil under the strain of muscle. “If you don’t take the goddamn shot, I will and I’ll make a damn mess of things; might empty the whole clip and I know how you women are about keeping things clean.”

You shivered as the heat of his breath touched your neck, disgust and rage surging through you and you struggled to find your breath.

James nodded at you again. Your heart thunderous in your chest; it pounded in your ears. You could feel the pulse of it in your temples, through your finger tips and you slowly slid your pointer to rest against the trigger.

“Good girl,” Brock praised, his voice laced in a thick, unrelenting poison.

James held your gaze the entire time and you wished you could have known what was running through his head in that moment, because all you could think about was how scared you felt how terrified you were that this was it, that you’d already used up your time with him.

He nodded again, the curve of his lips so soft you almost missed it. That sweet smile of his, the one that convinced you trust him more than a year earlier, the one that lifted the storm clouds and walls you’d surrounded yourself with, the one that you dreamed about at night. It was small and only an ounce of what you knew it to be, but it was there.

“Shoot him, baby,” Brock urged in your ear, but his voice was distant, muffled, because you kept your focus on James, on the sense of calm on his face, the trust in his eyes.

Brock was miles away when you were with James.

You took a deep breath, and on the exhale, you pulled the trigger.

There was barely anytime to watch as the bullet tore through the fabric of James’ shirt, as the impact nearly knocked him over, as the blood splattered out onto the white walls behind him, dripping down in deep crimson stains. 

Hands shaking violently as the weapon was pulled from your grip, you couldn’t look away as James’ eyes started to lose focus, how they drifted away from your own, and started to flutter, how he could hardly hold his head up.

You barely registered the push of angry hands shoving you to the door, a painful grip on your wrist, bones crackling under the touch as James slumped down to the floor. Your body was not your own as it was dragged on unsteady; a vicious ringing in your ears and a muffled voice shouting at you with malice laced in his tone.

Vision tunneling. Blurry. No – tears in your eyes. You nearly tripped over something on the floor, foot catching on something heavy and it took a moment before you realized it was James’ body Brock dragged you over.

You glanced back in horror, unable to pry Brock’s grip from around your wrist, to find blood pooling around James as he struggled to find his breath. The bare of your feet touched over warm, slippery crimson as Brock shoved you forward; red footprints in your wake.

Brock turned abruptly at the door, swinging you sharply behind him, and fired his weapon in two consecutive shots; ones that were muffled to the ringing in your ears as Kohl and Sanzetti fell to the floor, vagrant stares in their eyes and bullets lodged deep into brain tissue. You barely flinched, your focus solely on James.

He wasn’t moving, his gaze fixing on the wall far beyond you.

The pool of red under him was growing.

“You wanted to go, baby?” Brock sneered, yanking painfully on your hand, his rings cutting into your skin and you felt something pop. “Let’s fucking go!”

Red and blue lights flashed into the building and Brock cursed loudly, dragging you along as he sprinted to the back of the factory. James disappeared from your view and all you were left with were the bloody prints on the bottom of your feet.

The cold air slammed to you like a wall, shivers trembling up your spine, rocks and dirt to the bottom of your feet as Brock led you through the wooded overcast of trees running along the property. It was too dark back where you were, the street lights barely illuminating the front of the factory, let alone the long, winding, dirt path at its rear.

Police cars were parked by the entrance, lights flashing, men and women in uniform with weapons attached to their hips, some in their hands, as they slowly entered the building. You wanted to scream, to beg for help, but you knew the second you did, it would divert their attention to you and they might not reach James in time. You couldn’t allow that to happen.

Branches poked at your sides, scraping your skin and leaving prickles of blood in their wake; stones puncturing at your bare feet, leaves and dirt sticking to the mess of blood drying underneath. You nearly tripped over an exposed root before Brock shoved you up against a tree, hand slamming down over your mouth as a patrol car zoomed by up along the road.

No one saw you.

No one would.

At the end of the tree line was an unmarked car sitting alone in an empty parking lot. Brock pushed out ahead of you, pulling a key ring from his pocket and unlocked the vehicle. You paused, staring at him, wondering why the hell he had a getaway car stash out a mile away from the factory.

“Get in the goddamn car,” he growled, yanking your hand like you were a child and whipping you around the trunk. Your hip slammed to the rear lights and you let out a whimper, though Brock paid it no mind.

He shoved you to the passenger seat, slammed the door behind you. He slid over the engine and dropped in behind the wheel himself. Headlights off, he threw the shift into drive and drove away like it was nothing at all, like there weren’t dozens of policemen and SWAT teams and FBI patrolling the area.

The low vibration of the engine was deafening. Your hands were shaking in your lap so you tried to curl them to fists, nestle them under your thighs, but nothing seemed to make it stop. Dried blood on your feet, ringing still burning in your ears, and you turned your attention to the side of the road, watching the blur of trees out the passenger window.

You tried not to think of James.

Along the way, you must have lost track of time, because you were suddenly pulling into the driveway at the end of your estate. You’d lost nearly twenty minutes just staring out the window, lost within the ringing and the panic in your veins, and you stared up at the home with narrowed eyes.

“What are we doing here?” you asked, turning to Brock suspiciously. “This will be the first place the feds will come looking for you. We should--”

You bit down on your tongue because beside you, Brock was laughing to himself. Chin to his chest, wide smile pushing at his cheeks, like he was genuinely amused. It wasn’t a look you saw on him often. It was... unsettling.

“Brock?”

He looked up at you, crooked smile on his face, as his right hand slowly slid up your arm and nestled along your neck, fingers scratching at your scalp and they interwove into your hair. It was an intimate gesture, a tender one, and you tried to fight against how quickly you tensed up, how your muscles conformed to stone, but you knew he could feel it.

“We should go,” you tried again, voice low, cracking in the effort. Your throat was dry, like sandpaper.

He only smiled back at you, though it didn’t touch his eyes. Something was wrong.

Your heart started to pick up in pace, your breath becoming shallow.

“You can stop pretending, baby. It’s just the two of us now.”

His hand gripped tight to your hair, pulling out strands and a yelp from your lungs, and he slammed your head to the dashboard. Once, twice, until darkness came in and washed you away.

***

You woke to the smell of gasoline.

It burned in your nose, the tang of it bitter on your tongue, pushing down into your lungs with a sharp intake of breath. You started to cough, violent and dry heaves as you tried to find clean air, and that was when you felt the resistance at your wrists.

Vision still tunneled, unforgiving darkness, like you were looking through the thin fabric of a black mask, you found your wrists bound to a single, wooden chair; tied down primitively with electrical wires. You tugged against it, only for it to rub raw into your skin, digging deep into the crevices, pulling a hiss from between your teeth. You tried to push forward but there was a series of wiring wrapped at your chest, holding your shoulders to the back of the chair.

“Welcome back, baby.”

Snapping your eyes abruptly to the sound of the sudden voice, you saw Brock sitting on the corner of the couch, stretched back into the arm rest with a cigar in his hand, legs crossed over one another.

“Guess I knocked you out a bit too hard, huh?” he snickered as he started to light the end of his cigar. “You figure out where we are yet?”

Your head was throbbing, black spots covering most of your vision, but they were slowly fading away. You could make out the soft blue color of the couch he was sitting on, the coffee table with stained rings upon the wood in the shape of old mugs, the greenery hanging by the windows, the colorful bindings of hundreds of novels lining the shelves surrounding you.

A room that had held you safe for so many years. Four walls that shielded you from Hydra’s claim. A place where you could be yourself without fear of repercussions, where you found respite and grew to love a man who now laid in a pool of his own blood miles away.

Your library.

“Ah, there it is,” Brock jeered, taking a long drag from the cigar, his wet, cracked lips circling around the wrapper as he inhaled. He held your eye as you stared at him, wide and stunned, before he removed the cigar and slowly blew the smoke to your face. The thick cloud of grey touched your skin and the bitterness of it stung in your lungs as you tried to cough it away.

“What the hell are you doing, Brock?” you rasped, chest burning from the smoke and the sting of gas in the air. There was a container at his feet, a bucket filled high with thick, dark liquid, and you could see his reflection in.

“Getting justice,” he replied with a shrug.

“Justice?” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Are you insane?!”

The mask you’d worn was long cracked and dismembered to pieces at your feet. There was no hiding your distain, no reason to pretend that your relationship was anything other than hostage and captor; certainly not with the wires binding you to a chair and the blinding pulsing in your head from where he’d knocked you out cold.

“Maybe,” he shot back with a sickening grin. He waved the cigar at you, eyes trailing over your body, the hem of your dress riding up high on your thighs in the struggle. He smirked. “I see you’ve decided to drop the act, as well.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you spat, rolling your eyes.

“Ouch. That stings,” Brock whined, hand mockingly clutching at his heart. “Didn’t know you were so unhappy, baby. I gave you the world, didn’t I?”

“You took everything from me, you fucking asshole!” you shouted, voice raw and hoarse. “You forced me from my career, from my friends. You stole my money, my inheritance, my���my freedom! You tricked my sixteen-year-old cousin into a goddamn drug trafficking ring and threatened to beat him within an inch of his life! You kept me locked up in this house for years and tied me to your arm at those miserable fucking parties like I was some accessory you could show off for a few hours before you threw it back to storage! You destroyed my life!”

“Funny,” Brock chuckled, completely unfazed. “I recall you signing the marriage certificate yourself. No gun to your head or anything.”

You shook your head, chest heaving with heavy, painful breaths. “You lied to me. You used me.”

Brock only shrugged, a slight purse of his lips as he tapped the end of the cigar and grey ashes fell to the cushions of your couch.

Your stomach was heavy, lined with stones; your gaze focused on the muddied imprint on the tips of his shoes, the dried blood on the soles of his feet, the same blood that stained your bare skin, where you’d left footprints behind.

James’ blood.

“We could’ve had it all, baby,” Brock sighed, taking another drag from the cigar. He blew the smoke to the ceiling. “You and me. We could have ruled Hydra together. You could have been my queen.”

He paused, a heavy sigh as a cloud of thick, grey smoke passed by his lips. The cigar twirled around his fingers as if manipulated by string.

“But you just had to go and start fucking my hitman, didn’t you?”

It was the full force of a train whipping along the outer curves of a mountain, plummeting you to frozen rapids amongst the free fall. Ice water to your chest, in your veins.

The hardened glare slipped from your features, replaced by widened eyes, parted lips gaping in the shock of it, panic and fear; exactly what your husband wanted from you. He wanted you afraid, trapped. It was how he always wanted you.  

You couldn’t find your breath, much less your voice, so all you could do was watch as Brock pushed himself up from the couch and started to pace along the room. He slid his fingers along the shelves, pulling books by their bindings and watching as they fell to the floor, open pages stepped on by muddied wingtips.

“You know,” he drawled, picking up a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, examining it as he flipped through the pages before he tossed it over his shoulder. You winced as it hit the ground. “I never understood your obsession with this room.  All these old, boring books written by old, boring people; thousands of dollars of my fortune... wasted on fairytales.”

Your stomach was still lodged in your throat, hands gripping painfully at the arms of the chair. Your wrists were raw, red, and there was a burning sensation there, a tingling, and you realized the wires had cut through your skin, dipped in blood. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as the pounding of your heart in your chest, your ears, down to your fingertips and toes.

“You spent so much time in here. Figured it must be something special…. but it’s just another fuckin’ room,” Brock continued, passing by the series of plants hanging by the windows.

In one swift motion, he grabbed a pot hanging from the ceiling and threw it across the room. You flinched, the shock of it forcing several skips in your already racing heart, as it collided against the wall and shattered to the floor; a cloud of dirt circling into the air above it.

Behind you, Brock snickered as he began kicking over the plants behind you, tipping them from their place on the windowsill and dumping them from the shelves. Flowers and greenery amongst the dirt and pieces of broken ceramic, lying on the floor as he dug his heels to the roots, smashed the petals under his wingtips and kicked at the remains.

You could hear the floorboards under his feet whine as he paced behind you but you kept your gaze forward, not daring to turn around. He paused then, a heavy exhale as he turned his attention to the couch, smirking from behind your shoulder.

"You fuck him in here, too?”

You bit on your tongue, tears burning in your eyes you could no longer contain.

“Huh?!” Brock bounded across the room, thunderous steps and he gripped ahold of your shoulders until you yelped, turning away from him as best you could. “You fuck that traitorous son of a bitch in my house?!”

You recoiled as he screamed to your ear, eyes closing shut as tears slipped down over your cheeks. Brock chuckled to himself as he pulled away, pleased by your reaction and he wiped his hands on his thighs, as if to rid you from his touch.

Despite the bindings, you were shaking; hands trembling, breaths labored and uneven, jaw clenched impossibly tight to stop the chattering. You weren’t made for this the way Natasha was, or Sam, or Steve, or James. You weren’t an agent of the FBI. You weren’t trained as an army ranger or learned how to withstand torture the way James did that night in the basement. Brock hadn’t even raised a hand to you and you were in pieces.

You were a literature professor at Columbia. This wasn’t your world.

“I don’t know how long you knew he was a fed but frankly, I couldn’t give a shit at this point.” Brock bit the cigar between his teeth, holding it steady as he knelt down in front of you. His breath was sour, like old smoke and day-old bourbon, and you flinched as his fingers reached up and grabbed a sharp hold of your jaw. “All I know, is that you were in on this somehow. You gave me up. Didn’t take long to figure that out once our buddy James was lying bloody on that floor and you wouldn’t let me kill the bastard myself.”

You swallowed, trying to pull yourself from his grasp, but his fingers dug in further.

“I was surprised at first,” he continued, words garbled from the cigarette nestled at his lips as he ran his free hand through your hair, “but then I remembered how Karpov volunteered to take a beating for that punk ass cousin of yours. I remembered how you reacted that night in the basement, how you begged me to stop and I realized... he did it for you, didn’t he?”

Your blood ran cold. You couldn’t speak.

“It opened my fucking eyes, baby!” Brock shouted right to your ear, causing you to flinch. “All those times he was watching you from the corner of the room? Shit, I thought it was harmless. The guy wanted to fuck you. So what? Half my men get themselves off to the thought of it. But him? No... this was different. That fucking moron actually fell for you... and you know what is so goddamn funny about it all? You fell for him, too, right under my fuckin’ nose.”

Tears were openly sliding down your cheeks, touching onto Brock’s fingers as he held your jawline in place, forcing you to look him in the eye. His stare was of ice, heartless, a vicious envy in the green of his eyes.

A single beat. And then, “imagine how fun it was for me to force you to shoot him.”

“You’re a monster.” It came out broken, harsh and aching. Images of James lying still and bloody on the floor of that factory haunting you as you closed your eyes.

“Yeah?” Brock chuckled humorlessly. “At least I’m not dead.”

Cold, unforgiving eyes stared back at you; seething, red.

And yet it ignited something in you.

“James Barnes,” you started slowly, finding strength in his name as you stared to the eyes of the devil, “is ten times the man you will ever be.”

You waited, watched as Brock’s mouth curved up to a smirk, baring teeth behind dry, cracked lips, and you spat.

He flinched at it landed on his cheek, wet and dripping down his jaw. He started to laugh as he wiped it away, flicking away the saliva to the floor and wiping the rest on his suit pants.

“Was.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

“You mean ‘was,’ as in past tense,” Brock jeered, planting his hands on your forearms, face inches from yours. “James Barnes was ten times the -- blah blah blah. You killed him, baby... or did you forget?”

No.

No, you shot him in the shoulder, right where he told you. You were certain of it. It was a clean shot.

But there was so much blood. There shouldn’t have been so much blood...

God, why was there so much blood?

You weren’t trained like he was. You weren’t an expert marksman like Natasha. You could have missed without realizing it. You could have shot two inches to the right and hit an artery. He could have bled out alone in that room before the cops got to him in time. He couldn’t actually be–

Your heart rate started to pick up, thunderous and burning a lump in your throat. Breathing coming in uneven, rushed, shallow, and you looked up to Brock with wide eyes, only to find him turning his back to you, slowly making his way to the bucket by the couch.

“His friends aren’t coming for you,” he taunted, picking up the container of gasoline and dumping a steady stream onto the couch beside you. You held your breath, trying to turn away from the stench of it, but it was too powerful. Brock only laughed.

“You think that because you were his plaything that they’ll give a shit about you? You’ve been a part of Hydra from the start, baby! You stood in the shadows and watched from your fuckin’ ivory tower! You knew everything that was going on in this house and you kept your mouth shut like the good little girl you are!”

You shook your head, panting because your breaths were coming in faster than you could take in air. “You threatened me! You threatened my family!”

“You were still complicit to hundreds of crimes,” Brock shrugged, dragging the container around the room and spilling puddles of gasoline along the hardwood floors. “You are Hydra, baby, whether you like it or not. You are not worthy of redemption. You are not better than me. You are and always will be Hydra to those feds and they will leave you to BURN!”

There were splinters in your palms from how tight you were holding the edge of the arm rests. Your whole body was rigid, like stone, as you watched Brock douse the shelves filled with priceless books, first editions and cherished copies, with gasoline.

He always held a resentment for this room; the fact that you had a place within the cold, unforgiving nature of this home to feel safe in. It mocked him, infuriated him, that he couldn’t control every ounce of relief and happiness you were allowed in this world. You’d found that for yourself outside of him. In this room. In James. In yourself.

And he was going to set fire to it all.

“Brock,” you choked out, terrified, “wait.”

“I think I’ve waited long enough,” he shot back, tossing the rest of the gas onto the plants behind you, letting it seep along the floorboards. He threw the empty container to the side of the room, against the bookshelves to your left and pulling down several novels along with in. They splashed into the gas, their pages soaking in the fuel.

“Don’t do this,” you begged, voice barely above a whisper, too lost, too broken behind the lump in your throat. You tugged against the bindings, fighting the restraints, until blood dripped down your wrists and stained the hardwood floors beneath you.

Brock winked as he leaned on the door frame, pulling the cigar from between his teeth and blowing out a cloud of smoke. One final drag before he flicked it to the floor, almost in slow motion as it spun and twisted in the air.

It landed amongst the gas, and then, it burst into flames.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you

[dfroza]

“Beloved, remember you don’t belong in this world. You are resident aliens living in exile, so resist those desires of the flesh that battle against the soul.”

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 2nd chapter of the letter of 1st Peter:

So get rid of hatefulness and deception, of insincerity and jealousy and slander. Be like newborn babies, crying out for spiritual milk that will help you grow into salvation if you have tasted and found the Lord to be good.

Come to Him—the living stone—who was rejected by people but accepted by God as chosen and precious. Like living stones, let yourselves be assembled into a spiritual house, a holy order of priests who offer up spiritual sacrifices that will be acceptable to God through Jesus the Anointed. For it says in the words of the prophet Isaiah,

See here—I am laying in Zion a stone,

a cornerstone, chosen and precious;

Whoever depends upon Him will never be disgraced.

To you who believe and depend on Him, He is precious; but to you who don’t, remember the words of the psalmist:

The stone that the builders rejected

has been laid as the cornerstone—the very stone that holds together the entire foundation,

and of Isaiah:

A stone that blocks their way,

a rock that trips them.

They stumble because they don’t follow the word of God, as they were destined to do.

But you are a chosen people, set aside to be a royal order of priests, a holy nation, God’s own; so that you may proclaim the wondrous acts of the One who called you out of inky darkness into shimmering light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received it.

Beloved, remember you don’t belong in this world. You are resident aliens living in exile, so resist those desires of the flesh that battle against the soul. Live honorably among the outsiders so that, even when some may be inclined to call you criminals, when they see your good works, they might give glory to God when He returns in judgment.

For the Lord’s sake, accept the decrees and laws of all the various human institutions, whether they come from the highest human ruler or agents he sends to punish those who do wrong and to reward those who do well. You see, it is God’s will that by doing what is right and good you should hush the gabbing ignorance of the foolish. Live as those who are free and not as those who use their freedom as a pretext for evil, but live as God’s servants. Respect everyone. Love the community of believers. Reverence God. Honor your ruler.

If you are a slave, submit yourself to the master who has authority over you, whether he is kind and gentle or harsh as he deals with you. For grace is clearly at work when a person accepts undeserved pain and suffering and does so because he is mindful of God. For what credit is there in enduring punishment you deserve? But if you do what is right and yet are punished and endure it patiently, God will be pleased with you. For you were called to this kind of life, as Isaiah said,

He did no wrong deed,

and no evil word came from His mouth.

The Anointed One suffered for us and left us His example so that we could follow in His steps. When He was verbally abused, He didn’t return the abuse; when He suffered, He didn’t make threats to cause suffering in return; instead, He trusted that all would be put right by the One who is just when He judges. He took on our sins in His body when He died on the cross so that we, being dead to sin, can live for righteousness. As the Scripture says, “Through His wounds, you were healed.” For there was a time when you were like sheep that wandered from the fold, but now you have returned to the Shepherd and Guardian of your lives.

The Letter of 1st Peter, Chapter 2 (The Voice)

A set of posts from The Voice translation:

The word “submission” evokes concerns about sexism, racism, and dehumanization. Unfortunately there have been good reasons to draw such conclusions. The true purpose of biblical submission, however, is not to sanction any type of inequality but to honor Jesus even in the most difficult circumstances. Offering an attitude of humility toward those who are undeserving of it mirrors the unmerited favor God graciously gives to us. When submission is modeled evenly by all believers—male and female, young and old—it is no longer enslaving, but liberating.

Many believers face intense persecution, but western Christians tend not to experience anything beyond social pressure. Are we merely pursuing comfort, or are we willing to swim against culture?

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 29th chapter of the book of 2nd Chronicles where King Hezekiah leads to the restoring the Temple in Jerusalem:

Hezekiah, son of Abijah (Zechariah’s daughter), became king when he was 25 years old and reigned 29 years in Jerusalem. He followed the Eternal, just as his ancestor David had.

Hezekiah’s first action when he began to reign was reopening and repairing the Eternal’s temple. He called all the priests and the Levites into the square east of the temple.

Hezekiah (to the Levites): Listen to me. First, you must sanctify yourselves so that you can sanctify the temple of the Eternal One, the True God of your ancestors, and remove the immoral and ungodly items that are there.

The previous generations forgot the laws of the Eternal One, our True God, and were unfaithful—abandoning the temple, ignoring Him with their backs turned, closing the doors of the front of the temple so no one else could worship there, extinguishing the temple lamps, and stopping the incense and burnt offerings to the True God of Israel. For these offenses, the Eternal has punished us, Judah and Jerusalem, as you have witnessed, with deaths, disasters, and derision. Our fathers were slaughtered in the wars with the Arameans and the Northern Kingdom, and our wives and children are still prisoners of those wars.

But I want to renew a covenant with the Eternal, God of Israel, and follow His ways again so that he will not continue to be angry with us. Now that we have made this commitment, we must not abandon the Eternal, who expects us to be in His presence, serve Him, minister on His behalf to others, and burn incense continually.

Then seven Levite families sent forward representatives. From the main Levite lines: Mahath (son of Amasai and Joel the son of Azariah) from the Kohathites, Kish (son of Abdi and Azariah the son of Jehallelel) from the sons of Merari, Joah (son of Zimmah and Eden the son of Joah) from the Gershonites, and Shimri and Jeiel from the sons of Elizaphan. From the Levitical singers: Zechariah and Mattaniah from the sons of Asaph, Jehiel and Shimei from the sons of Heman, and Shemaiah and Uzziel from the sons of Jeduthun.

The representatives gathered all of their kinsmen, sanctified themselves, then sanctified the Eternal’s temple as the king commanded and as the Eternal desired. The priests cleansed the most holy place in the Eternal’s temple, taking every unclean thing outside into the temple courts, from where the Levites then took them to the Kidron Valley to be discarded. This cleansing began on the first day of the first month and ended on the eighth day of the month, when they were finally able to enter the Eternal’s temple porch. Then they blessed the Eternal’s temple, which took eight more days and ended on the sixteenth day of the first month. Then they told King Hezekiah all they had done.

Levites: We have cleansed all of the Eternal’s temple: the altar of burnt offering, the table of unleavened bread, and all of the utensils. Also we have recovered and sanctified all the utensils which King Ahaz disposed of during his despicable reign. Now they, too, are at the Eternal’s altar.

King Hezekiah woke up early and assembled the city leaders at the Eternal’s house. The men brought seven bulls, seven rams, seven lambs, and seven male goats as sin offerings representing the atonement of the entire kingdom, the sanctuary, and Judah. Hezekiah then ordered the priests, the sons of Aaron, to sacrifice for the Southern Kingdom’s sins on the Eternal’s altar, slaughtering the bulls, rams, and lambs and sprinkling their blood on the altar. Then they sacrificed for the atonement of all of Israel, the North and the South, as Hezekiah requested by offering the male goats. The priests brought the goats before the king and the leaders, laid their hands on the animals, slaughtered them, and covered the altar with their blood.

He assigned the priests to play their trumpets and the Levites to play King David’s cymbals, harps, and lyres in the Eternal’s temple as the Eternal had commanded them to do through the words of David, Gad (David’s seer), and Nathan the prophet. Then Hezekiah commanded the burnt offering be offered on the altar. During the offering, the musicians played their trumpets and David’s instruments, performing the song to the Eternal. The people worshiped, the singers sang, and the trumpets sounded until the burnt offering was consumed. Then the king and all the people there bowed down and worshiped.

Hezekiah and the Leaders (to the Levites): Sing the songs of David the king and Asaph the seer, praising the Eternal One with their lyrics.

So the Levites praised Him joyously and bowed before Him in worship.

Hezekiah (to the people): Now that you have cleansed yourselves with the blood offerings, show your gratitude by bringing your sacrifices and thanksgiving and burnt offerings to the Eternal’s temple.

The people did as Hezekiah suggested, offering 600 bulls and 3,000 sheep, and some also brought burnt offerings to the Eternal: 70 bulls, 100 rams, and 200 lambs. Because of the large number of offerings, the priests could not prepare all of the burnt offerings and the Levites had to help them skin the animals until all had been sacrificed and the priests had all sanctified themselves (which the Levites had already done since they were more concerned with cleansing than the priests were). The quantity of the burnt offerings, the fat of the peace offerings, and the libations for the burnt offerings were enough to restore the Eternal’s temple and its practices, so Hezekiah and all the people rejoiced over how quickly the True God had changed the hearts of the people and brought them back to following Him.

The Book of 2nd Chronicles, Chapter 29 (The Voice)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Thursday, march 16 of 2023 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about “guarding” the mind:

We are living in stressful times; the world is drunk with its delusions and truth has fallen in the streets... Outrage and stupefied thinking are dark motifs of our moribund and cowardly culture. The Apostle Paul wrote that the time before the “End of Days” would be “perilous” and full of unrelenting human depravity and lawlessness (2 Tim. 3:1-5). Yeshua warned that apostasy would abound and that the hearts of many would run cold as ice (Matt. 24:12). In light of the raging spiritual war going on all around us, the following needs to be emphatically restated: “The important thing is to not lose your mind.”

The mind is the “gateway” to your heart, and it is therefore essential to guard your thinking by immersing yourself in the truth... “Not losing your mind” therefore means being grounded in what is real, and it therefore means understanding your identity and provision as a child of God. “God has not given us the spirit of fear, but of power and of love, and of a sound mind” – literally, a “delivered” mind, “healed” from chaos and despair (2 Tim. 1:7). The Greek word “sound mind” (σωφρονισμός) comes from a verb meaning “to be made safe,” in the sense of being under restraining influence of the Spirit of God... The closest Hebrew word might be musar, or “moral discipline.”

Part of the task of “guarding your mind” is being able to discern between good and evil. “The fear of the LORD is to hate evil” (Prov. 8:13) and as the prophet cried out, “Hate what is wrong, love what is right” (Amos 5:15). We must love the truth and abhor the lie (Psalm 119:163, Zech. 8:19; Prov. 12:22). Tolerating sin in a world ripe for judgment is a tacit form of “collaboration” with the enemy. Indeed, the only thing regarded as intolerable in the devil’s world is the denial that people have the “liberty” to sin. But the Lord is clear on this point: “Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, and who turn darkness into light and light into darkness, to those who turn bitter into sweet and sweet into bitter. Woe to those who are wise in their own eyes, and shrewd in their own sight!” (Isa. 5:20-21). It is the truth that sets people free, but this presupposes the ability to discern how we become enslaved to deception. Therefore we are instructed: “You are to distinguish between the holy and the common, and between the unclean and the clean” (Lev. 10:10).

Someone who loves you will to help you stay honest with yourself: The truth of God’s moral law is likened to a Father’s moral correction that leads his child to life (Prov. 6:23).

[ Hebrew for Christians ]

========

Proverbs 6:23 Hebrew reading:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/prov6-23-jjp.mp3

Hebrew page download:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/prov6-23-lesson.pdf

Chaos and the End of Days podcast:

https://hebrew4christians.com/training/end-of-days-lawlessness/

3.14.23 • Facebook

from yesterday’s email by Israel365:

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

March 16, 2023

The Winds of the World

“The wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north; it whirleth about continually, and the wind returneth again according to his circuits.” (Ecclesiastes 1:6)

This is one of the Bible’s many scientific insights, written long before such a process was discovered in the modern science of meteorology. The basic circulation of the atmosphere (which generates the winds of the world) is “toward the south” near the ground, which then “turneth about unto the north” aloft. The heated air near the equator expands and rises, then flows north to replace the colder, heavier air that has descended to the ground in the polar regions.

This simple north-south-north cycle is complicated, however, by the earth’s rotation. Further complexities are introduced by the different topographical features of the surface (oceans, mountains, etc.), but the end result is a general circulation of the whole atmosphere, which “whirleth about continually, and...returneth again according to his circuits.”

None of this was understood at all until very modern times, but this ancient verse in Ecclesiastes corresponds beautifully to modern science. In fact, it was not even known until recent times that air had weight, but the patriarch Job had noted about 4,000 years ago that “he...seeth under the whole heaven; to make the weight for the winds” (Job 28:24-25), and this fact is essential to the atmospheric circulation.

This is only one of many scientific principles implied in the Bible ages before men discovered them in their scientific research. In contrast, there are no demonstrable scientific errors in the Bible. This is not really surprising, for the same God who wrote the Word made the world! In Jesus Christ “are hid all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge” (Colossians 2:3). HMM

[mollygetssherlockcoffee]

When In Rome

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Y/N face-fucks Spencer with a strap-on for the first time. Based on this request by anon and then backed up by @pumpkin-goob​

Warnings: Smut. Slight offence towards BDSM (Fuck you, Rebecca)

Words: 2,035

A/N: Neither Reader nor I have a problem with any form of BDSM or anything, its just Rebecca (boring bitch). Now, I hope you’re ready for a ✨piece of garbage ✨

Master List   Permanent Tag List

A stood in front of the full-length mirror, examining yourself. The black lace bra cupped your breast beautifully, holding them together and pushing them up in the perfect way. Your chest looked amazing and you couldn’t help but trace the supple flesh with the tips of your fingers. If it wasn’t for the strap-on resting on your thigh, your breasts would be the focus of attention.

The black harness sat snuggly on you, the six-inch dildo attached securely and adding an unexpectedly enjoyable weight to your lower body. You run your hand over the soft plastic, your fingers following the veins of the realistic cock.

 Standing in your black stockings and heels, which your strap-on attached and in your hands, you couldn’t help but feel good. As a woman, you felt strong and powerful but with a faux penis attached to your body… you understood why people enjoyed strap-ons so much. It didn’t take away you’re your femininity at all, it seemed to add…something to it, if that were possible. You could admit it to yourself, you looked amazing and you felt it too.  

 You left the bathroom and went to the bedroom, mindful of the heels which you could easily fall over in. You took a deep breath before pushing the door open, nerves tickling up your back as you entered the room.

 Spencer sat at the end of the bed, naked, watching as you entered. His eyes travelled over you, widening as they took in the strap-on. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he tore his eyes away, forcing them to meet yours. You could see the nerves in his eyes but also the curiosity and, maybe, a hint of excitement.

 You and Spencer had spoken for weeks before taking this step. While on a case with his team, Spencer had gotten a deeper looking into what some may consider the ‘darker’ side of sex. And by some, you meant your friend Rebecca.

 You had never considered your sex life with Spencer to be boring, though, you admit, it was rather vanilla. So, when Spencer came home and asked if you would be willing to try new things in the bedroom, you had been all for it. ‘Try everything once’ was a motto you stuck by.

 You had tried some new things already. Handcuffs, ropes, a flogger and a Wartenberg pinwheel. You both tried each of the items, both being mutual curious about giving and receiving the pleasure they could achieve.

 Something Spencer was curious about was blowjobs. Spencer was a genius and he was interested in knowing things. Which lead to his curiosity of what it was like to give a blowjob. Neither of you were ready to think about bringing a third person into your bedroom, even if just for a night.

 Which was what led you to this moment, standing before him wearing a realistic strap-on penis.

 “Did you known, in Roman times, a person could be punished for breaking the law by having to perform a blowjob on the person they wronged” Spencer said. “Rome was a patriarchal society, so men were considered to be giving and the person who performed oral was actually receiving.”

 You smiled gently at your boyfriend and crouched in front of his. You cradled his face in your palm, stroking your thumb over his prominent cheekbone. He looked so sweet, so innocent, and your heart filled with love for him.

 “Are you sure you want to do this?” you asked him softly, making sure to keep eye contact with him. “We don’t have to do this. I’ve explained to you what it’s like, you’ve read books… you don’t actually have to do this.”

“No-no. I-I-I want to” he assured you.

Your head tilted to the side as you studied him, trying to determine whether his stutter was due to his hesitation or anticipation. Finally, you nodded. “Okay, but we can stop at any time.”

 You stood back up to your full height and took several steps back. Keep eye contact with Spencer, you spat in your hand and brought it back to the strap on. His eyes flickered down to watch as you spread your spit of the dildo, his Adam’s apple bobbing again as he swallowed. He forced in eyes back to your again.

 “On your knees” you ordered him.

 Though your voice was hard, Spencer could detect the softness behind the words. Though to an outside it would appear that you were in charge, in reality, Spencer had all the power in the relationship. All he needed to do was say ‘Rocket’, or tap the back of your calf twice, and it would be over.

 Spencer dropped to his knees in front of you. Your eyes took in the sight of him on his knees before you, his cock semi-hard between his legs. Spencer Reid, powerful FBI agent and accomplished profiler, was, in a sense, at your mercy. The thought made you giddy.

 “You look so pretty on your knees, Spence” you tell him, your thumb pulling at his bottom lip. “Are you gonna be a good boy and open your mouth for me?”

 In your time of experimentation, you had found that Spencer quite liked to be praised. The first time you had praised him, he had involuntarily thrusted up to you and moaned lowly. The unauthorised movement and vocalisation had warranted a punishment in the form of an orgasm denial which lasted maybe a little too long, but it was a lesson learned for future use.

 Spencer sat on his knees, his hands on the back of your legs, with his mouth open and waiting for you. Grasping the base of the dildo, you brought it up to his mouth. You traced his bottom lip with the tip of the cock.

 Hmm, you thought to yourself, could you consider it your cock?

 As the tip traced his lips, his tongue darted out to taste it. Though you had ensured to properly wash the toy, the taste of plastic was still present and made his nose scrunch up slightly. You couldn’t help but smirk as you watched him.

 Your left hand threaded into the hair at the back of his head and you took a firm grasp, pulling his head back. His moaned at the force, looking at you through his long eyelashes. Spencer Reid really was a pretty boy.

 You slowly pushed into his mouth, allowing him a few inches before pulling out. Your eyebrow raised at him, but Spencer tapped the back of your leg once, telling you to continue. You pushed back into his mouth, giving him a smile of approval when he hollowed his cheeks, sucking as you pulled out again.

 You watched, your own arousal growing, as he circled his tongue around the tip of the cock before you plunged quickly back into his mouth. He moaned at the change of speed, his hands squeezing you, and his eyebrows lifting.

 Your hand on the back of his head, you stopped your movement and encouraged him to move on you. You moaned as you watched his head bob, his beautiful brown eyes searching for yours as he worked his mouth over the dildo. You had never thought that watching your boyfriend give a blowjob, even to a toy, would be such a turn on.

 And you were turned on, very much so. Your nipples hardened in your bra, pushing against the material. Your hips involuntarily thrusted forward, sending the dildo further into Spencer’s mouth and making him lightly gag on it, his eye twitching.

 Your about to freeze, to pull away and apologise but then you hear it. Spencer moans. He liked that.

 “You’re doing so well, Spence, your pretty mouth is taking my cock so well” you praise, pushing his hair out of his face. “I just want to fuck your face so hard, make you chock on me.” Spencer moaned in approval and both of your hands trailed into his hair. “Is that what you want, Spencer baby, you want me to fuck your face? Such a good boy.”

 Your hands grasping the back of his head, fingers threaded through his hair, you held him still. He moaned again as you began to pull out of his mouth but soon stopped as you thrusted back in. You didn’t stop this time and let your hip continue to thrust against him, the dildo pushing its way to the back of his mouth and most likely touching the lining of his throat.

 His eyes were wide and wet, and you watched as a single tear leaked from the corner of his left eye. Then another. The noises he made were beautiful. The wet sound of the dildo entering his mouth, pushing against his tongue.

 His right hand leaves your leg and, tilting your head to the side slightly, you watch as he reaches for his own cock. He takes his cock in his hand, stroking it in time with your thrusts, moaning around the dildo in his mouth.

 “You like that?” you asked, continuing your thrusts. “Go on, baby, touch yourself for me.”

 On his knees before you, tears streaking down his face as you plunge into his mouth with your strap-on, his hand around his cock, he looks beautiful. You want nothing more than to stop, to pull out of his mouth and have him fuck you instead. You don’t though, this is about Spencer, about fulfilling something he was curious about.

 It doesn’t take much longer before you watch as his eyes close, his body tensing as he lets out a muffled moan. His left hand squeezes your leg as he orgasms, his cum hitting your stocking covered legs.

 In the middle of his euphoria, he looks breath taking. You had seen Spencer cum before, many times, but watching him do it while he was on his knees before you… he looked amazing, beautiful. It was at that moment you envied his memory, wanting to remember this view for the rest of your life.

 Your thrusts slow to a stop and you pull the strap-on gently from his mouth. Spencer’s breathing heavy, both from the orgasm and having the toy down his throat. You leave his side for a moment, grabbing the bottle of water from the bedside table and bringing it to him.

 “You did so well baby” you praise, stroking his sweaty hair back and kissing his forehead. “How are you feeling, you okay?”

He nods, sipping at the bottle.

“Come on, lets get you into bed” you said, grasping his arm.

 Taking hold of him, you pull him to his feet and guide him to the bed. Once he’s sat down, you retrieve a wet washcloth from the bathroom. You gently clean him up before running it over your leg, then throwing it in the hamper.

 “Sorry” Spencer apologises, his voice a little scratchy.

“Don’t be” you smile, leaning over to give him a kiss.

 Taking your heels off, you unstrapped the harness and pulled it down your legs. You detached the dildo, setting both on the dressing table to be cleaned tomorrow. You took off your bra, throwing it towards the hamper along with the stockings, and grabbed one of Spencer’s old shirts to pull on.

 You climbed into bed beside Spencer, snuggling up to him and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. His hand touched your thigh, tracing delicate patterns. You sighed, closing your eyes happily. His hand moved upwards, dancing over the skin between your upper thighs as it went towards your centre.

 “What are you doing?” you asked, reaching down and grabbing hold of his hand.

“You didn’t cum” he replied. “I want you to feel good too.”

“I’m okay” you told him, leaning up to give him a kiss. You chuckled as he moved to protest, “Spencer, seriously, I don’t want you to. Tonight was for you, not for me. I might not have gotten to orgasm but I enjoyed myself either way.”

  Meeting your eye, he knew there was no point in arguing. Instead, he sighed and circled his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. You smiled happily, closing your eyes and snuggling into him.

Permanent Tag List: @sskhair​​ @sammypotato67​​ @spencerreids-wife​​ @yoongi-holland​ @bucky-babygirl​​ @youareperrrfectls​​ @alexxcorona113​​ @tired-draculina​ @rachelxwayne​ @itsmoony​ @shigarakis-fifth-hand​ @andreasworlsboring101 @fantasticalfuchsbau​ @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto​ @ourmrswonderlandlove @loverboyreid​

Requested Tag: @kburgenstein

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer x reader #spencer x y/n #spencer x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #cm #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic

[saturatedboy]

The Paw of a Lion (Ethan!Winters x Karl!Heisenberg)

My work can be found on AO3 (Use the title above)

Please note all this is a series and after the events of Resident Evil 8. Everyone has survived and lived. I’m still open to requests but I’m writing two stories on the side so your request may take an extra day to write.

Requests: Open

Word Count: 4.3K

Being in the chopper held no safety over the male blonde. He could have been dead, free from all this mess but plans had been changed last minute to ensure his safety. And now, he was sat next to his wife, Mia, cradling their child close to himself as he became derealisation. Just under the 24-hour mark, the male had to repeat the worse of his days once again. It seemed no matter what breaks he was given; he was never able to truly escape the grasp of lies being floated around him. Even having his child in his arms, knowing his understanding of being all mold, he felt as though something was still missing- he knew something else was missing...but what?

Light taps had been hitting his shoulder, yet he chose to ignore them. He wouldn't be able to pull out his mind for a while to come, and yet he didn’t see why his thoughts that engulfed him should be interrupted. He had every right to ignore everyone. All the thieving liars. “Ethan, we know your mad.” His wife’s words had reached out to him, leaving him to hold their child closer to his chest. The movement went unnoticed by his wife luckily. He wouldn’t let his baby girl go, not after everything that had happened to them both in this shithole of a village. “Please Ethan, speak to us.” Mia’s voice had sounded desperate, as though she truly meant she wanted to hear him talk back.

“Tch.” The simple sound left his lips as he moved to look upon his once everything, the person he was really meant to truly love yet couldn’t find the lingering feeling of that word at the given moment. To him now, it seemed Mia was nothing but a classic wolf in sheep’s clothing. “And say what exactly,” He sneered, shaking his head as he gazed down to stare at his daughter who was sleeping soundly as she cuddled closed to his sanded coat, she was wrapped in. “And say I forgive, that we can be a normal happy family.” Mia bit her bottom lip, fingers twitching to place on her clearly shaken husband’s arm, yet she didn’t dare to touch him anymore after his words directed at her show no mercy in actually wanting anything such as a civil conversation with her.

“I know I lied- many of us did to you, but we are trying to protect you!” She leaned forward in her seat, trying to capture Ethan’s attention. His eyesight never left the bundle of his girl but his facial expression shifted into furrow brow and a forced small smile.

“Protect me. Everyone says that- even in those cheap romantic movies they say that. How can I be the one to be protected when our daughter here was almost killed for someone else’s sickening needs. That someone you knew clearly well. You're protecting me? Since when have you ever protected me. All this trouble, everything that has happened was all because you let yourself get mixed up in all the trouble you see.”  

“Ethan,” A deep warning tone came from the front of the chopper. A wider male leaned his body to the side to peer over the chair he was sat in. He stared at the two partners that sat on a metal bench with an intense glare that was mostly was directed at the male. “Anger doesn’t get any of us anywhere. We have explaining and so do you.” His words cancelled out any further arguments between the married couple, leaving them all in silence as the mixed of harsh and soft breathing had been heard through the headsets they all wore.

Ethan took a deep breath in and out, calming his racing heartbeat that was making him feel slightly dizzy “Is there anything else I should be aware about,” Thankfully, he was quickly responded back by Redfield, the wider male at the front who wasted no time in explaining everything that seemed important.

“Those...Lords have been found alive and are being taken by other members of my squad to be reported back at the base. Seems you never actually killed them. We are planning to run tests on them and then we will let the higher ups decide what out next move shall be with them.” The mention of those Lords sent a sick bug down Ethan’s throat. Knowing they were alive had him questioning his own safety now. Would they want to kill him for trying to kill them? Because they are mutated like himself would he be placed to go against them, for all of them to become Lab Rats to the BSAA? What would happen to his daughter-

“I do not give any consent for my daughter to be used as some Lab Rat,” his lips became dry as the words left him. No, he wouldn’t allow his daughter to have such tests run on her. She was a baby. A small, fragile, and the only person Ethan felt like needing in his life.

Redfield had moved to face forward, not wanting to respond to the father’s words. The BSAA would surely need Rosemary for a few days to make sure everything for her was okay, was stable and that she could be placed into a society where she could be kept safe. Chris sighed and leaned back, watching as the horizon of the sky lightened up. Soon...soon things will calm down and until then, there was sure to be violence between all parties in this situation. The Lords, Mia, Ethan and of course himself. “I mean it Chris; any sort of harm that comes to my daughter I will have to do things I wouldn't regret.” The tone of venom hadn’t been ignored by anyone that was listening in on the headsets. Ethan had truly changed; he was no longer the sweet loving husband everyone knew of- instead he was rather the hunter, the lion willing to protect its cub.

Ethan stepped into the base of the BSAA. Mia had been moved by other agents to go somewhere else to split the two and to ease the tension both of them brought and Ethan was glad for that move to be made. The shining lights and its agents running about had him questioning how much actually were these people prepared for. Looking around, checking for any danger, Ethan followed Redfield and a few agents into an elevator with Rosemary in his arms still. He had refused to let her out of his sight until he knew she was truly safe. The elevator had taken them up 30 floors in total and the ride had become very uncomfortable for the standing agents. They could feel the anger flying off between the two men only for it to be cut short when they finally excited the cramped space. Ethan had once again followed Chris to a room where more agents stood and two lone white coats around a large office table with a whiteboard at the furthest end from the door. “Ethan, I want you to meet the people who would be working with you.” Ethan sent a short nod to everyone in the room, adjusting Rose in his hold to have a secure hold around her small body.  

A woman outstretched a hand towards Ethan with a bright smile. “I’m Sherley, I’m somewhat a case worker for you. Any troubles you want speaking about; I’ll will send them to our higher ups for the matters to be discussed.” Ethan ignored the hand, choosing to sit down around the large wooden table.

“I apologise for Mr Winter’s manners. He has been through a lot.” Chris responded, sending a kind smile to Sherley who nodded and began to sit down as well, sitting closer to the head of the table at the other side facing Ethan. Chris sighed and shook his head towards Ethan, showing his disappointment in the lack of manners before going to sit at the head of the office table. Other agents and the scientist sat down in the unoccupied seats, however leaving Ethan’s side empty. Raising a finger to his earpiece, Chris sent a quick message to all responsive. “Send them in.”

Ethan glared at Chris, his words finding more questions to raise into the father’s mind. Who was ‘Them’? It seemed he didn’t have to wait long for the familiar voices to catch his ears. Before Ethan could speak up in any protests, a swarm of flies had swarmed in with crackling voices. They were soon followed by the familiar Lords Ethan had tried killing- but leaving them alive. Lady Dimitrescu walked in first, her eyes ignoring the sitting blonde and instead standing behind her three daughter who had placed themselves together in three seats. Next to walk in was Moreau who held a metal container in his hands. Ethan dropped his gaze to his little Rose, who was slightly awake but dropping her eyelids to sleep again. Soon more people had entered, the high pitch doll had Ethan looking up and glaring at the doll with a glare that would’ve killed her. “Keep her quiet, my daughter here is trying to sleep.” The power of his voice sent Angie to be silent, she still knew what Ethan could do if he wanted to- she held tightly onto Lady Beneveinto finding fear for the blonde who had almost killed her and her Lady. They sat closest to Chris, Angie prompting Donna to do so, so she could stay away from Ethan’s murderous glare. There was only one empty seat next to Ethan now, and he could hear the boots of who would occupy that seat coming closer.

“Am I late to the meeting,” The voice had crackled out, stubbing his cigar against the door frame and dropping it to the ground before entering the room seeing everyone together. “Ooo, everyone looks scary,” His sarcasm had left him with an angered Vampire and a sigh from Redfield. Finding amusement in the situation, he plopped himself in the chair next to Ethan and gave him a flashy smile.

“Look at me again and I will make sure to finish the job,” Ethan smiles back, watching as Heisenberg’s face shifted from his flashy smile to a croaked smile. He slowly faced away from Ethan, his eyes landing on his ‘older sister’ who was holding back an amuse smile of her own.

“Maybe the father isn’t all bad,” She cooed, watching as Ethan messed with his daughter’s outstretched hands.  

“So, I’m glad you’re all here.” Redfield spoke, getting rid of any attention on Rose and her father. He stood up out his chair and placed his arms behind his back in a soldier-like manner. “We are all here to discuss what will happen with you all since...you know-” Chris struggled to find the words, what was he supposed to say? What should he call their indifferences?

“Because we are all monsters?” Ethan piped up, his eyes still not leaving his daughter who brought a weird warmth into his heart that only a child could achieve.  

“I wouldn’t say that but because you’re all different from regular people.”  

“Just get on with it, I haven’t got the time.” Ethan had really changed in Chris’ eyes. He was more demanding, only now taking power over any situation and wanting to have control of it. ‘Father Instincts’ Chris had brushed it off as. He was sure Ethan would go back to being the man he first met after the incident at the Baker’s house- well he hoped he would go back to that version of himself anyway.

“Right. So, for starters we are placing you all in a close proximity neighbourhood for safe checking and safety for you all. Any arguments against that?” Suddenly the Lords begun arguing and Rosemary had started to cry. Dimitrescu was stating her daughters would easily die. Moreau was stating he had no home since he was a water base monster, Angie was speaking up for Beneviento stating being close to anyone in general wasn’t good on her Lady’s health and lastly, Heisenberg had shouted out over everyone else that he had no need to be kept a close eye on as he was the safest one of them all- the statement got a lot of eye rolls over from everyone in the room. One by one, Chris had silenced them to the point he could be heard again if it wasn’t for the cries of Rose and Ethan’s gentle vice soothing her down. He raised his hands to his temple to rub away the headache he was getting from the loud noises before speaking again after Ethan had successful quietened Rose. “It’s just for now, other living arrangements may be made later on in time. Please, be the grownups you are in this society and accept what you are given. Now agents, is there anything you want to speak about with the Lords of the Village?”

Ethan watched as his daughter fell asleep, he toned out the agents talk. He couldn’t help the smile that grew on his lips, seeing his daughter so peaceful away from danger now gave him a reason to also feel safe. He will protect her, not the protection Mia had provided him but he would do better for his baby. Ethan rubbed his mutated hand against her cheek, watching her smile in her sleep and rub against the trunks of his loss two fingers. “You’re not a bad father,” A voice spoke next to him. Soon his smile changed to a scowl, he looked over at Heisenberg watching as the rugged man looked down at the sleeping Rose.

“And what would you know about fatherhood?” Ethan snarled back, keeping his voice quiet to not draw attention to himself. Heisenberg released a chuckle that only Ethan heard and leaned back further in his seat, letting himself slouched down backwards.

“I know to be a father you need to place your children first...which is exactly what you did,” He mummed out, looking back at Ethan to see him no longer looking at him and rather back at his daughter. Ethan slowly nodded, giving his face a break from having an angered look at the other and instead rested his expressions.

“If you know little, then why did you try to use my daughter as a weapon?” He questioned the Lord, looking towards him still ignoring the speaking agents who were now speaking more towards Angie than Beneviento. The room felt a little more open now, being settled around enemies was a scary thought at first to the father but now, it seemed as though he may be settling down fine with them seemingly, they all now shared a sort of connection. The Lord had lifted himself out from his slouched position and sat straight, completely facing away from having his chair facing the other side of the table to now be facing Ethan fully. Heisenberg, having his back turned facing Redfield, used this opportunity to talk to the father he so desperately wanted on his side for the fight.

“I never wanted to hurt your daughter, I’m not like that bitch Miranda. I just needed to use her to break Miranda’s powers. I’m not good at socialising with good words, I probably phrased my needs wrongly and I never wanted that. We were supposed to be a team Ethan, you and me destroying the Bitch of Crows.” Ethan fell silent, watching as Heisenberg stared at him from behind his shades.

“You need to work on your social skills.” The point that came from Ethan had Heisenberg holding back a loud chuckle. The father was right but the sudden response of that sentence had put Heisenberg off his serious demur.

“I’ll work on them one day. For now, how about we start over?” His question lingered between Ethan and himself. It took a few short seconds and careful thinking before Ethan had responded.

“Maybe...” Although Heisenberg didn’t get a full ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer, he was still pleased either way. He and Ethan could do so much if he agreed. Heisenberg was already strumming ideas in his mind such as them building together, or annoying his ‘older sister’. So much now that he had some of his freedom he could do- and who better to spend his freedom with the man who saved them all.  

“Are we interrupting something?” Chris had spoken up with a raised brow. Ethan shook his head, staring at the other man. Heisenberg moved his chair back to its original position and also shook his head, tilting his hat to cover a little more of his face feeling the eyes on him by the agents. “Okay...so you will be going to the neighbourhood after this meeting and settling in your homes. Please note you may be moved in the future depending how well all this goes. As for you Ethan,” Ethan had physically shrunken back at the mention of his name. Why did he have to be a part of all this? “You need to decided whenever you want Mia living with you since that flight you both seemed a little distance from each other.” The blonde had wasted no time to answer, having no second thoughts.

“I want nothing to do with her.” Chris was taken back from Ethan.  

“A-are you sure? She’s your wife-”

“No. I want a divorce this minute. I can’t handle any more lies Chris. And I certainty can’t stand her own mind games.” Before Chris could ask for further explanation to his reasons, Sherley spoke up.

“I’ll have the papers sent to her straight away Mr Winters.” She had quickly gathered her own folders off the table and left with two agents trailing behind her out of the meeting room. The three daughters had begun to whisper amongst themselves, Ethan hearing the sentence of ‘what is a divorce’ coming from Bella’s mouth.

“E-Ethan. Think about this.” Chris wanted answers, he wasn’t going to be left out. He wanted to protected Ethan and now he was going to make sure that Ethan’s happiness was also something to be thought about with all this.

Ethan looked down at Rose again, not daring to look back up. It seemed Rose gave him the calmness he had been searching for all his life since meeting Mia. “She’s a bad person for me Chris. I believe I’ll be better off without her.”  

“But what about the young one?” It was a scientist that spoke up this time, pointing with a pen at the baby cradled in her father’s arms.

Ethan swallowed, he needed to think. And quick. There were really only two options to that question and he could either be a bad parent, or be the decent guy. “She can have half custody over our child, but I wish for her to not be anywhere near me or my home where I’ll be keeping Rose safe when she is with me.” The agents and scientist were jotting down notes, clearly his every movement was being recorded and Ethan was stuck thinking if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Clicking the pen down, the same scientist spoke back up.

“Okay and that’s all we needed to know. Please remember Lords that you will have tests run on you to ensure our safety as much as your own. There is only so much we can give you at the moment until you complete all tests. Your first tests will start tomorrow. Have a good rest of the day.” They all quickly packed up, leaving Chris, Ethan and his spawn as well as the Lords alone in the room. However, the room wasn’t completely private, a small camera being in the corner watching over the whole table.

“So... this is it?” Angie asked, looking around the whole table. “We will be kept alive?” Hope was evident in her tone, it seemed she was just as glad as the others to be alive.

“You are allowed to be spared. I’m not going to lie, at first the BSAA were going to make sure every last one of you were dead for caution reasons...but it seemed Winters had the better judgement of the matter and the actions has led the organisation to believe you are allowed to live because of his judgement.” Chris smiled as he saw a small amount of red leak onto Ethan’s cheek. He hated having attention brought onto himself, and Chris knew that all too well.

Moreau was the next to speak up. “So, because of him, we are allowed to live?” Chris answered with a nod of the head. Moreau started to jump up and down in his seat, clearly excited at the news. “Oh, that’s wonderful! Mr Winters, I have so much to thank you for! Even if I did follow mother’s orders a lot...”  

Ethan’s face flushed a darker red, only on his ears however as he tried his best to shake off the words of Moreau. “Don’t thank me- who knows what they’ll put you through with the tests.”

“It doesn’t quite matter yet though. You’ve practically gave us freedom we all never thought to ever have.” Dimitrescu leaned back up to stand, after leaning over all three of her daughters in the meeting, placing a hand on her hip as she faced Ethan who was sat down and trying to turn away from all the attention. Dimitrescu bowed slightly, earning a gasp from all three of her girls. As she stood straight back up, she coughed into her closed fist and gave a warm smile. “Thank you for giving us it.”

“Guys honestly, don’t thank me. There is nothing to be thankful for,” His whines came out of deaf ears as Angie was next to scream out appreciative words to be joined in with Moreau after and Dumitrescu daughters. Chris smiled, finding all this amusing and... warming almost.  

‘They really are just people at the end of the day’ He thought, frowning a little at the realisation that they are only like this because of what Miranda had done. True people stripped of their right and humanity all for a small girl to come back... it all failed either way. “As much as I’m sure Ethan enjoys the attention, it's time for you all to head to your new housing area. Leave the meeting room and agents will escort you to cars that will bring you to your neighbourhood. Any requirements you need, state them to the agents in the car and we’ll do our best to bring them to you over time.” Chris nodded his head to the room before being the first to leave. Next to follow was Angie with Lady Beneveinto, next after them was Moreau with a scowling Dimitrescu following behind complaining about the stench he was carrying. Her daughters followed her also, asking if they could have their coats that were taken off them when they set foot into the building.

Left in the room was Ethan with his child and Heisenberg who didn’t make any sort of movement of leaving. Ethan waited a few minutes before starting to get a little annoyed with his presence. “Aren’t you going to go?” He asked, looking towards the Lord who seemed to stare into space. Not getting an answer, Ethan huffed and adjusted Rose to lay in one of his arms before using the other to shake Heisenberg’s shoulder. It worked as the Lord was taken out of his mind.

“hm? What? W-What did you say?” He asked, taking his shades off and placing them into his trench coat’s pocket. Ethan resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“I asked aren’t you going to go as well, to your new home?” Heisenberg rested his eyes to stare at Ethan.  

“Are you also coming papa?” He asked back, smiling as Ethan groaned.

“Stop calling me that, just call me Ethan.”  

“Okay...Mr Winters.” The lord teased watching as the other was getting riled up. With a kick of the leg, Heisenberg laughed as Ethan laid back on his chair and started to kick one of the Lord’s knees. “You call that a kick? C’mon you hurt a lot more back in the Village.”

“Just go Heisenberg, you got your freedom now go.” Ethan stopped kicking the other Lord, resisting the urge to smile. It felt nice to be playful...even if it was with an enemy of the past. Heisenberg had a kind smile, it wasn’t his usual smirk but something much different, a lot better.

“And do I get the honours of spending my freedom with the man who gave me it?” The question left Ethan speechless. Heisenberg wanted him to be spending his life with. The lack of an answer left Heisenberg's smile to falter a little, seeing the father so hesitant with his words. “It’s aright if you don't want to. I get it, you got a lot going on and I’m sure me being there will worsen things-”

“We are neighbours remember?” Ethan spoke up, standing out of his seat and looking down at the shorter male. “I suppose you can pop around whenever, just don't do anything that will get you into trouble with me.”  

Smiling again, Heisenberg stood out of his seat with much enthusiasm and nodded sharply. “Yes, sir no sir, there will be no trouble with me.”

“You’re an idiot,” was Ethan’s last words as he spoke in a happy tone before he left the meeting room with Rose cradled in his arms just about waking up.

“Wanting to be your idiot.” Heisenberg spoke to no one, plotting more ideas for himself and the father. Maybe after tomorrow’s first test, he could give the blond a visit.

#Karl Heisenberg #ethan winters #karl heisenberg x ethan winters #ao3 #resident evil 8 #resident evil #lord heisenberg

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch20: Bent But Not Yet Broken

Summary: The team are still searching for Katie, but with little luck. Meanwhile, she’s at the mercy of HYDRA…until help comes from a very unlikely place.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Violence, kidnapping, bad language, beatings, smut (via flashbacks), brief descriptions and mentions of rape and torture. Major angst. 18+

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

A/N: I’m loving the banner for these three chapters!! And the edits @angrybirdcr​

Chapter 19

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Katie awoke alone wherever she was. They had driven her from the place she was taken for hours, right into the night, when she had been dragged out of the back of a van and shoved harshly into what looked like some kind of old factory, down a number of steps so she knew she was underground. They had offered her nothing, no food, or water and she’d simply curled up on the hard bed in the corner of the room and cried until she had fallen asleep.

She had no idea how long she had been there, no idea. There were no windows, just artificial light so she had no way of using the cycle of day and night. Eventually, the lock of the door clicked and she jumped to her feet as the door opened, and the large, burly man who reminded her of Rumlow stepped into her cell. Katie swallowed, but maintained her stance, her eyes locking onto his, jaw jutting up defiantly as he stepped towards her.

“My name is Jones, and I’m in charge of your interrogation.” he sneered.

Still she said nothing.

She was dragged to another room by this Jones, who sat in a chair opposite her with another agent, and asked what she knew about what SHIELD was up to, now it was under the control of Coulson. And then them targeting her made perfect sense, she was the only Avenger that knew he was alive (Ward had no idea she had told Steve) They informed her they knew she had to be working alongside him to track the Sceptre and HYDRA, even though she hadn’t seen him for months. 

And once more, she said nothing.

If it wasn’t so serious Katie would have laughed at their stupidity. Dumb fuckers had no idea about anything. She hadn’t given the sceptre a second thought since the Chitauri fight in New York and she certainly didn’t know where it was, or that Coulson had been tracking it.

She continued to say nothing when they drilled her about what she knew as to the whereabouts of Bucky, the ‘Asset’ or ‘Soldat’ as they referred to him. At that point, she had looked directly at the idiot who had been asking the questions wondering if he was born this stupid or if he suffered some kind of brain injury later in life, because only an idiot could possibly think that if the Avengers knew where he was that they would let HYDRA get their hands on him again. Unable to hold it in anymore, she’d laughed and simply shook her head. 

They stuck pins under her nails for that one, but still she hadn’t broken. Although it fucking hurt, like nothing had hurt before. She’d been unable to stop the tears of pain falling down her cheeks, but she made no noise as she trembled through the ordeal. Instead she tried to remember her training, allowing her mind to focus out, concentrate on something else, something nice. Something safe…

“Miss Stark?” JARVIS inquired again. Katie gave an exasperated sigh. Her alarm hadn’t gone off and it had been Steve that had awoken her half hour later than she wanted when his alarm went off. Now she was running, running way behind. She hadn’t even had chance to do her make up. Thankfully, at Steve’s insistence she had packed the night before. "Yes J?” “Mr. Stark has informed me that he’s begun to slowly pour out your coffee. If you don’t hurry, there won’t be any left.” She rolled her eyes, shoved her make up punch in the bag she was taking with her- plenty of time to do it on the way. The flight would be a few hours. She grabbed her bag, headed into the hallway and Steve walked out of the kitchen, coffee mug in hand. “I gotta go baby I’m sooo late.” She sighed “Tony will be having a fit.” Steve chuckled and quickly scanned her up and down.

“Nice suit.”

She glanced down at her black pinstriped jacket, trousers and a simple light blue button down.

“You making funna me?” she teased.

He shook his head “Not at all. You’re gorgeous as ever.” “Charmer.” she grinned as he leaned down to give her a quick kiss before she turned on her heels. “Love you.” She tossed over her shoulder. “You too” he smiled “See you later.”

She clung to that memory. The last time she had seen Steve. His soft kiss, his hair wet from his shower, that grey Underarmour shirt clinging to his form. And eventually when they realised that there was nothing she was going to say, they stopped and returned her to her cell leaving her alone once more.

Katie wasn’t stupid enough not to understand that there was an element of revenge in all of this too. Revenge on her, and Steve, at the fact they had been a key part of bringing Hydra to the broken, shattered organisation it now was. And as she sat there alone, nursing her sore fingers, she could do nothing but wish they had killed every, last one of the fuckers.

As time ticked by the interrogations continued. She had her fingernails dug up with pins, she was water-boarded, strangled to the point of passing out, and it was always the same. They’d push her, she’d continue to fight, and then then they would stop. They’d leave her for another stretch of time in that room, feeding her whatever meagre morsels they decided upon, deliberately weakening her system, and would come at her again.

But, the thing with being in Solitary confinement is that you have a lot of time to think. And think she did, whilst she nursed her various injuries. As such Katie had a pretty good idea now why they were so bothered about Coulson and SHIELD tracking the sceptre. There had been records of it in any of the files dumped on the internet when they had released SHIELD and HYDRA’s secrets to the world but she suspected it was in HYDRA’s possession and had been from the start, taken by Sitwell and STRIKE from the tower once they had defeated Loki. She further surmised, that it had been taken to the specialist department, STATION just like the rest of the Chitauri shit that they had recovered. Which meant that Strucker must have it. And they were worried for some reason that SHIELD were coming for it.

And then one day, they swiftly changed tact.

“All you need to do is tell me what the Avengers and SHIELD are planning next and you’ll be free to go.” Jones said, looking at her as she stood in her cell.

Katie snorted, because really? Did they think she was that stupid? She knew he was full of shit, he had no intention of releasing her. Even if she did or could cooperate, she’d be dead when they had what then needed. At least this way, whilst they thought she knew something, they would keep her alive. And the longer she was alive, the more chance the team had of finding her

Her snort earned her a sharp punch to the face which caused her to tall to the floor, where she received a harsh kick in the ribs, leaving her winded before he turned on his heels and left. Groaning, she pulled herself up over to her bed and lay on her side, wiping at the blood and tears on her face.

More time went by, and then she was pulled back out and dragged to the familiar, clinically white room they like to ‘interrogate her in’. This time they threatened to go back and find Tony, Steve, the rest of her friends and family, and kill them all. But this time she didn’t snort, she full on laughed, because the thought of them trying to get into the tower and meeting Earth’s Mightiest Heroes was hilarious. And the laughter just wouldn’t stop.

That was until she got a back hander across the face and another punch in the ribs.

But the next time they try something else, they almost break her. Almost.

They came for her in her cell and first off they took her rings. They’d already taken her necklace and her bracelet but they’d left these with her for some reason. But now, they wanted them. First off they went for the sparkling diamond on her left hand. She should just have let them have it, but she couldn’t. It’s her’s, her ‘big, fuck off Tiffany diamond’, her princess cut engagement ring that she had always dreamed of. So she tried to fight, and screamed when she felt and heard her fingers snap as Jones stamped on her hand. When they went for the emerald on her right, she was too caught up with the pain in her left to fight for that one. This time they were the ones laughing at her, laughing at her pain as she held her bust hand close and choked on deep sobs.

And then Jones did something far more humiliating and degrading and forced himself on her. She put up as good a fight as she could, considering the state her hand was in, but someone else grabbed her painful fingers and pinned her arms above her head, sniggering, calling her a “SHIELD slut…” The pain of him inside her was excruciating, but as she opened her mouth to scream at him, she looked in his face and knew that was what the bastard wanted. So instead she turned her head to the side and screwed her eyes shut. Trying to block it all out.

When he had finished his grunting and smashing into her, he passed her over to the man who had been pinning her arms above her head but by now she was emotionally dead. When he finished, she lay still for a moment before she heard footsteps and Jones crouched down besides her, holding her diamond ring between his thumb and fingers.

“You know…” He leered at her as she backed away, grabbing at her trousers and shakily pulling them up as she rose from the ground “I bet this is worth a pretty packet. You’d think that giving you a rock like that would mean he cares but where is he, huh? The Star Spangled Man doesn’t seem to have a plan at the moment.”

And then, despite the pain, despite the fact he has just violated her, she laughed again because, you know ‘Star Spangled Man with a Plan…’ and those ridiculous videos and that spandex…

In hindsight it probably wasn’t the brightest thing to do. Jones snapped and he unloaded on her, again, only this time it was savage. He lost his temper, and she would normally be slightly proud but she had no time to be as she was pushed into walls, punched, kicked, stomped on. She tried to fight back, and normally she would and could put up a decent battle against anyone, she’s an Avenger, but being weak from lack of decent food, lack of sleep, and the various injuries she’s already sustained plus the violent assault she had just taken had all left her weak.  And then the other one joined in. As they punched and kicked away she could hear faint voice echoing in her ringing ears, a brush of a thumb across her cheek, the warmth of a palm against her face.

“God I love you, Doll…” Steve looks down at her as he lies over her gently, both of them slightly breathless, sheets tangled around her legs.

She staggered to her feet and then her nose was smashed by a fist. Once more she was transported to another place, a mission, from way before her and Steve started dating, one where she caught an elbow to the face by some dickhead who had taken a Diplomat’s daughter hostage…

“It’s broken,” she says, matter of factly, as her Captain’s hand gently reaches up, thumb and forefinger carefully tilting her head so he can see her face.

He gives her a pained smile. “Yeah, looks like.” whilst he gently hands her an ice pack before standing up, and dropping a hand to the top of her head.

Katie was tossed around that room like Loki was by the Hulk. Oh wouldn’t it be great if Banner appeared now, Hulked out and ripped the place apart. Or Thor, lighting all these fuckers up. Or Widow for that matter, delivering them one of those delectable shocks. Or Clint, placing arrows between their eyes. Or Tony dispatching of them with whatever weapon he chooses. Or Steve, using his shield to break their bones and faces…

But no one came.

Jones glanced down at her “This is your own fault.” His boot swiftly collided with her midriff one last time. “One way or another, I will get something out of you. Maybe you’ll speak when we take you up to see a couple of my special friends… they’re good at making people comply.”

And they left her, a bleeding, battered mess on the floor.

Eventually she mustered the strength to crawl to the bed at the side of the room, hauling herself up onto the bare mattress. - they’d taken every little bit of comfort from her including the blankets and her warmer outer clothing and shoes leaving her merely in her blouse and her trousers, both filthy and covered in blood. 

Everything hurt. Everywhere. Physically and mentally. And she was tired. From lack of sleep. The lights were kept on blindingly light all the time and she was craving the darkness of her bedroom in the tower.

How long was it since she’d been in her own bed? Certainly longer than days but was it weeks? Months? One second of time simply melted into the next in this place. The sobs wracked her painful chest as she let out the first word she had spoken since she had arrived, God knows how long ago, a single gasp of his name.

“Stevie…”

******

“Errr, do you have an appointment!”  Katie grinned as Steve walked into her office, shutting the door behind him.

“Do I need one?” he asked she turned round from where she had been stood looking in a filing cabinet.

 “Distractions always need an appointment.” “Is that what I am?” he pouted.

“When you come in here dressed like that, yes.” she said, pointing up and down taking in his jeans and grey top “That T-shirt is ridiculously tight, and your ass looks great in those jeans.

"It’s all yours, baby.” He grinned, hands sliding to her hips as hers slid up round his neck. “Can you spare your distraction enough time for lunch?” Katie let out a groan “I can’t, I’ve got a working lunch today as we’re looking over a proposal we got in from another publishers. I could probably grab a coffee though, I got like 20 minutes.”

 “20 minutes?” Steve asked, arching an eyebrow and Katie immediately grinned as his eyes dropped to her lips.

“What are you suggesting Captain Bad Ass?” “Nothing” he said, innocently. Before he smirked “Does the door lock?”

 “J…” Katie spoke, not taking her eyes of his “Do me a favour and lock down my office for half an hour, full black-out.” “Certainly Miss Stark.”

The door locks clicked, the blinds into the main office area closed, and Katie looked up to check the CCTV cameras were also down too. “That doesn’t make it sound proof though, just so you know…” she said.

Steve smirked and then kissed her hard, pulling her to him, one hand on her back the other tangled in her hair before he reached down, sliding his hands up and under her skirt sliding the grey material up over her thighs.

“I’m not gonna lie…”he murmured, lifting her up onto the desk so she was sat in front of him “Seeing you in these office skirts and tops… its kinda hot.”

She smirked into his kiss as she tugged at the material of his t-shirt until he raised his arms so she could pull it up, over his head and off. She was groping his bare chest as he pressed against her, rubbing her spot with his still covered crotch. She moaned at the rough denim of his jeans pushing against her, the thin barrier of her underwear doing nothing to stop the sensation.

"Tease.” she growled into his mouth before reaching down to unbuckle his pants and Steve grinned before sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth when she reached in and grasped him in her hand. His hands started opening the buttons of her blouse  then once they were open he gently reached into the cups of her bra, pulling her breasts out, dipping his head down to suck at one of her nipples, his hand drifting back downwards to tug at her underwear. She moaned and shifted so he could pull them down her legs.

As he followed them down, dropping to his knees, he took an ankle into his hand pulling her foot up.

“These stay on.” He instructed referring to her heels and she nodded biting her lip as he threw her leg over his shoulder exposing her completely.  She grappled for grip on the sleek, wooden desk, settling for one hand curling round the edge, the other finding its place back in his hair as he gave one long perfect lick, listening to her soft groans. He worked her with his mouth and her head tipped back, a constant stream of soft moans escaping her lips. He drove her right to the edge, his mouth and tongue knew how to play her perfectly now, and when he could tell she was close he rose gracefully and gently pushed her back, wrapping her legs round his waist so he was supporting her hips with his, and he pushed into her in one easy thrust.

“Jesus…” he  shuddered, as he bent over to gently kiss her, his hands on her hips as he continued to thrust in and out. Fuck, this was hot. Papers, pens, staplers went flying off  the desk as he pushed harder and harder, his name tumbling from her lips, “Stevie…” pure pleasure and ecstasy, and lust,and desire. 

“Stevie!” This time his name was a shout, filled with terror, and fear, and pain, and it vibrated through him, painfully.

With his own yell, Steve sat bolt upright, before falling off the couch with a crash. Shaking his head, taking a deep breath he blinked his tired eyes and the room in front of him came slowly into focus. His eyes fell on a picture of the two of them in a frame sitting on one of the shelves by the TV. Both of them smiling as they stood in jackets, scarves and hats in the snow in Central Park, arms round one another. There are more of them together, and with their friends and family. Tearing his eyes away he looked around and spotted the pair of her shoes that had been kicked off by the door the last time she had walked through it, some 4 weeks ago, shoes that he couldn’t bring himself to move.

How the fuck had he fallen asleep? He jumped suddenly and looks frantically around him for his phone, it was in his pocket. There could be news, someone may have called, but he knows deep down that’s not true. They had no leads, every single but of intel they had had led them to nothing but dead ends. But he looked at it anyway and saw nothing. Nothing but her eyes and her smile peering back at him from the photo on his lock screen, along with the time and date, a reminder of just how long she’s been gone.

Steve took a deep breath and when he exhaled it came out in a deep, pitiful sob.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, his breath and voice catching as he curled up, leaning back against the sofa, his arms hugging his knees to his chest “I’m sorry, so sorry sweetheart, we’re trying, I’m trying, I’m so sorry…”

******

Steve couldn’t decide if time was moving too slow or too fast. The weeks without her were flashing by his eyes but the days and the nights felt like they lasted forever. He couldn’t understand how it was only 3 in the afternoon, mind you, having said that, the days and nights all blurred into one. He wasn’t sleeping properly after all. His nightmares were frequent, only now it wasn’t the ice or Bucky he saw. It was her, crying, screaming for help and him not being able to do anything about it.

Pouring himself what felt like his 17th coffee of the day he turned to see Sam walking into the room. Steve nodded to him.

 “Cap, I know this isn’t top of your priority list but…” Sam turned to check they were alone before he carried on “I had a call today from one of my contacts. They have a potential sighing of Ol’ Frosty.” Despite himself Steve picks up, interested “Where.”

“Canadian Border, Montana. Mean anything?”

Steve shook his head “Is there a Hydra base nearby?”

“Not that we know of. I can take a look?” Steve nodded. “Thanks Sam.”

Sam took a deep breath. The man looked utterly broken, but he wasn’t surprised. Katie had been gone for 5 weeks and they had nothing. They were now taking a deep dive into old intel, the information they had recovered from the bases they had raided and re-raided. She wasn’t at any of them, but then they hadn’t expected her to be. Hydra were too smart for that

 The pair of them wheeled round when suddenly Clint appeared in the door way “Cap… Coulson is here, says he has news.”

“Thanks.” Steve said,

Oh he had news alright. The location of another Hydra base that no one knew about, one they had dug up on the seemingly never ending search for that fucking sceptre. It was a small military outpost just outside of Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan. Coulson had dispatched a team to do some recon, and they had spoken to locals who had informed them that the base had been empty with no one seen or heard entering for years.

“Until 5 weeks ago.” Coulson said, looking around at them from his seat at the table “According to a man out walking his dog, an SUV came straight down the road and into the gates, locking them behind him. A load of men in suits climbed out, so he assumed they were government. Since then Mr Dog Walker has seen armed guards on the gate each day. So they brought something there, we just don’t know what,“

“5 weeks…” Natasha breathed out “That’s too much of a coincidence!”

“Yeah, so I had my team sweep the base immediately…” Coulson sighed, as he looked around the room “There was no one there, but they did find evidence that Katie was there at some point.”

 Steve turned his head away and stood up sharply, walking to the edge of the room, looking out into the hallway.

“What kind of evidence?” Tony asked, his voice cracking.

Coulson hesitated before he pushed the plastic bag across the table and Steve walked back as Tony tipped the contents out onto the table.

Her StarkPhone, in 2 pieces, clearly done to avoid them tracing her, the Captain America shield design that Tony had engraved on the back for a joke blinked in the light like it was mocking them. Her diamond star pendant that Steve bought  her for Christmas and the bracelet he had brought her for her birthday, clasps broken on both as if they had been ripped off. But it was the flash of yellow, green and silver and diamond that made Steve’s heart stop. Her rings. Bright platinum and yellow gold. Sparkling diamond, deep green emerald.

There’s no way she would have given those up without a fight…

Tony pushed himself away from the table, a sob catching in his throat whilst Steve reached out to gently pick up his girl’s rings. He could hardly make them out now, the tears in his own eyes blurred his vision. He closed his palm around them, and walked out of the room, but not before he gave a loud, angry yet broken cry and his fist punched straight through the re-enforced glass in one of the windows that looked out into the corridor. 

He headed up to the roof, he’d been coming here a lot recently. Good way to get some peace, away from everything. Except he was never away, because she was with him, in his head, every damned movement he made.  He glanced across the skyline, his eyes falling on Central Park. The leaves on some of the trees already a bright mixture of reds, golds and oranges. Fall was his favourite time of year, he loved the colours. It was an artist’s dream. Not Katie’s though. Oh no.

“She hates this time of year.” Steve said simply as he looked out over the New York Skyline, not turning to look at Tony as he drew up beside him.

“Everything dies and it’s a bit shit.” Tony mumbled, sticking his hands in his pockets as he uttered the words Katie uses to describe Autumn. Steve knew what he was saying, but the pair of them couldn’t help but inhale at the sentiments of the word.

"Sorry… “ Tony sighed, “I just…” he trailed off, shrugging.

Steve shrugged also as he turned to look at the man besides him, lips curling into a despondent sort of smile. “I know…”

The two men stood in silence before a short, despairing chuckle burst from Steve . “You know, this time last year she made a pie,” he shook his head “I was teasing her about being miserable it was Autumn and she said the only thing decent about it is you can make apple pie. And I told her she was ridiculous, as surely apple pie can be made any time of year…” “That’s my mom” Tony said, smiling and he gave a small huff of laughter “Mom always used to make pies autumn through winter but never any other time of year…”

“I didn’t even wait for it to cool.” Steve chuckled. “As soon as it came out of the oven there was a scoop of ice cream on it and I was digging in. She stabbed me with a fork”

Tony snorted “Sounds about right.”

“It was the best fucking apple pie I’ve eaten.” Steve sniffed. “Damned it..” his voice cracked “ I’d give anything to have her here to make another…”

Tony glanced up at the soldier, the tears evident in his eyes.

“Katie told me she thinks you’re the strongest person she’s ever known,” he breathed out. “Learning to live and start again in a world that has continually done nothing but beat you down… “

“I don’t feel strong now.” Steve whispered, turning to face Tony.

“You have to be.” Tony said “We all do, that’s the only way we’re gonna find her.” Even in the dim light, through his own tears, Tony could see the grief on Steve’s face. There was utter desperation and sadness in his blue eyes, the tears now shining as they fell down his cheeks. The Captain released a long, shuddering breath before wiping at his face stating simply, “I don’t know how to be strong without her Tony.”

“She makes me better too.” Tony said, his own eyes now spilling with tears, “And for that reason alone we have to find her. And we have to bring her home.” his eyes turn back to the city which is now starting to light up as the sun begins to dips behind the horizon “And then she can make a damned pie.”

*****

He parked the truck at the end of the long drive, hiding it between two trees and then climbed out, the smells, the sounds of the wind, everything was familiar, but it was clear, sharp, as if he wasn’t experiencing it all through a veil of fog.

This was the last place on his list. He had by no way, shape or form eliminated everyone that had been involved in his programming, but he’d taken the main ones he remembered. And there was one left. A Doctor. A Doctor that had been sadistic. A Doctor that had been sadistic and enjoyed what he did, experimenting on him, on others. He wasn’t sure if he had been the type of person to seek revenge before they had done this to him and he didn’t really care either, and besides, it wasn’t just revenge…it was closure. After this one was dead, that was it. He was going to lay low, try and make sense of these whirring memories that came back to him in a jumble. Sometimes he could make sense of them, and some of them were stronger than others, like the ones of him in the war. He could remember the missions mainly. And then some of them from before were hazier, a short, skinny, sickly blond haired boy. Punk…

“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” He knew the boy was Steve. Captain America leader of the Commandos. He remembered Steve but he didn’t feel that he knew him. But he understood that he should, the display at the Smithsonian had told him that.

Best friends since childhood.

The longer he stayed out of Hydra’s grasp the more his mind was his own, and it was only a matter of time, he hoped, till he did remember. But until then, he needed to slip away. Be a ghost story once more.

One more…

Picking the gun up off the passenger seat he zipped up his jacket and made his way towards the facility, making sure he kept to the cover of the expanse of forest and open green space that surrounded it. Of course it would be in the fuck end of nowhere. No one to hear the screams. He easily dispatched the guards at the gate, and the 4 that then rush out to greet him are no match for him. That’s one upside to this entire situation, he can fight. And fight better than he ever could

“Pick on someone your own size…” He swiftly boots the guy right up the ass and down the alley.

“You know, sometimes I think you like getting punched.” He turns to the small, blonde man standing up, dusting himself off.

“I had him on the ropes.” By the time he made his way inside he can hear the alarm going, and he smirked to himself slightly. Like it matters. Anyone who tried to stop him was dealt with, anyone who simply ran away, well he wasn’t here for them. They could go. He navigated the clinical corridor easily, by memory or instinct he doesn’t know but he eventually found the room. Something stopped him for a second, and a rush of vivid and loud memories flashed in front of his eyes.

“Soldat!” the voice is loud, almost a bark. “Hold out your arm.” He holds out his metal arm.

“The other one.” He does as he is told, and grits his teeth as the scalpel slices into him and they cut a chunk of his flesh away.

“Take that to my lab.” the voice says “I want to run some tests on his healing qualities, isolate the properties…keep him here, I can study his recover too…” With blood dripping down his arm, they take him back to his room, his cell at the other end of the facility, without even giving him a bandage.

With a low growl he kicked the door open and the man in the chair looked up at him, his eyes growing wide in fear.

“Soldat-”

The Doctor was cut off when a large boot kicked him hard in the chest, causing him to topple over backwards, the chair crashing to the floor. In one stride he was over him, gun levelled at his head.

“My name is Bucky.” He stated simply before he discharged his gun straight between the fucker’s eyes.

It’s done. It’s finished.

Turning on his heels he walked out of the room and aimed a punch to the man that launched at him from the right, sending him down easily. He then saw the flash of a gun as it went off, easily dodging the shot. He turned and fired one of his own, straight into the bastard’s knee cap and he collapsed. His path was now clear and he was about to leave, but then he heard it.

A jumbled scream of names, but it was the tone that set his nerves on edge. It was broken, the scream of someone desperate, someone that wasn’t here of their own accord. It was heart-wrenching, pitiful…and it was female

Automatically he spun and headed towards it.

*****

Katie had no idea when she last ate, it was certainly before they moved her here to this new place anyway. She didn’t trust them not to poison her, so at some point she stopped eating completely. She still refused to talk, and seeing as she knew they wanted her to scream, to shout in pain, to verify that what they are doing to her hurt, she also learned to stop crying out.

They wanted her to break. They continued to violate her, seemingly visiting her to get their fill whenever the ‘mood’ took them, but she held tight, tight to her memories, thoughts, trust in her fiancé, brother, her Avengers family to find her, tight to her desperate hope, and above all else, tight to that Stark pig-headed stubbornness.

She will NOT break. She will not give these fuckers anything. And if that means she dies, so be it.

As she lay on her bed, weak, her stomach churning from the bruises and hunger, there was a shrill noise in her ears, probably from the beating she took yesterday, but the more she tried to focus, the louder it became. And then she heard voices, yells.

The sound of gunfire made her sit up, fast, a little too fast and she cried out in pain as her body protested to the movement, but now she understood, the shrill noise was an alarm.

“He’s in the main lab…” She heard someone yelling.

And then Jones’ voice replied, he was getting closer as he spoke, she could tell “I’ll get the bitch, we need to move”.

Someone was here, and whoever it was wasn’t Hydra. And Katie let out a sob. It was them, it had to be, they’d come for her.

 The door to her cell flung open and Jones ran in to grab her arm.

“Time to go…” As he grabbed her arm and dragged her off the bed she screamed. As loud as she could. She screamed for Steve, then Tony, then Thor, Natasha, Clint…her voice cracking and croaky from lack of use, yelling the first words she’d spoken in his presence since they’d taken her.

She wasn’t staying quiet this time, not now rescue was so close by.

“Oh, now you talk…” Jones gave her a quick slap which left her dazed but, as he dragged her to the door he stopped dead halfway across the room. Katie looked up, struggling to focus and she could just make out a tall figure, blocking the way. For a moment she thought it was Steve, but then she realised he wasn’t tall enough. And the way he held himself was all wrong. Then she noticed his hair, and as he strode into the cell, murderous intent oozing from every part of his body, her eyes started to focus and she saw his face from under the peak of his cap, that haunted stare she remembered from the riverbank.

“Bucky.” Her voice was nothing but a whisper.

Bucky tilted his head, surveying her, but he didn’t acknowledge her. Instead, his eyes moved to Jones, and they suddenly lit with a furious fire and he stepped forward again.

Jones pushed Katie hard towards him. She fell again, and Bucky gently caught her, setting her quickly to one side as he grabbed Jones who was making a break for it towards the door. He gripped the man in his metal left arm, which was covered by a black leather jacket and glove, round the throat and squeezed, hard. The man’s bones and sinew and tissue crunched and squashed in his grip and he fell limp.

I don’t like men hitting women, you fucker. 

Bucky tossed Jones to the floor and Katie tried to push herself up from where she had fallen with her hands, but it hurt so much. Her broken one gave way and she lurched forward, bracing herself for the impact as she was about to fall flat on her face but the blow never came. Instead, a strong arm wrapped around her from behind and she was gently pulled back into a sitting position, as she fought to keep her sobs and cries under control. She looked up, following Bucky’s movement as he crouched down in front of her. She looked up at him, and managed a small smile.

“Thank you Bucky.” 

Bucky swallowed, she knew him? How? How did she know who he really was? He continued to look into her eyes, green and dull, sunken into a face that is spattered with bruises, died blood, cuts and angry red marks and then he recognised her, from that day on the river bank. 

The day he dragged Captain America, Steve, out of the Potomac.

“I’m Katie. Steve’s Girlfriend. You know Steve, right?”

What Hydra were doing with Steve’s girlfriend in this god-forsaken shithole he had no idea. But he also knew that he couldn’t leave her here.

“Can you stand?” He asked softly.

“I don’t know…” she choked out, her voice croaky. He decided it would be easier, and kinder to carry her. Removing his jacket and placing it round her shoulders, because it was cold outside and all she was wearing was a dirty blouse and trousers, no shoes or socks. He gently placed his metal arm round her back and his right under her knees, lifting her effortlessly up into his arms. She let out a small sob and a cry of pain as the movement jostled her slightly.

“Sorry.” He appologised gruffly, as she placed her arms round his neck for support and leaned into his warmth, the first kind and friendly touch she had felt in so damned long. Instinctively, she buried her face into his chest as he carried her, unable to believe that she was finally safe.

It wasn’t Steve, but at the moment she would have taken anyone.

Quickly Bucky made his way back through the base, up a short flight of stairs she had absolutely no recollection of coming down when she was brought here, and they emerged into the fresh air. The wind hit her face and stung her cheeks and she pressed her face harder into his chest, whimpering at the assault on her senses. Eventually, when she felt she had gotten control of herself she gently moved, ignoring the pain, to have a look around. The leaves on the trees around them were now sporting orange leaves, some having shed a few already.

It had been the 1st of September when she had been taken.

“Do you know the date?” she throatily asked as Bucky carried her gently but quickly towards a truck which was parked haphazardly in between 3 of the trees in a clearing set back from the road. How fucking long had they had her?

“10th October.” he replied

She gave another little sob as she did the maths in her head “6 weeks. 6 fucking weeks.”

“Try 70 years sweetheart” Bucky mumbled back, and his sarcasm made her snort a little laugh, and she instantly winced at the pain in her chest.

He gently helped her into the truck, laying her across her across the back seats, before he jumped in the driver’s side and gave a quick look around before he set off.

Katie pulled the jacket tighter around her and gave another loud sob, then the tears started, and she couldn’t stop.

“You’re safe.” Bucky cast a glance over his shoulder. “I won’t hurt you.” “I know.” He looked at her again, as she lay down, before she started to cough. Tilting onto her side, she tried to stop herself as it was painful, fire shooting across her stomach, up her side, her ribs…her hand…everything.  

“You need a hospital.” he said.

“No.” she shook her head

“You need medical attention”

“I can…”she took a deep breath, fighting the pain “Home. I’ll be safer with Steve and my brother.” Steve. Bucky swallowed thickly. “Where’s home?” he asked.

“Manhattan.” “I can’t go to Manhattan” he said, shaking his head.

“Yes you can.” she grimaced “Steve…he’ll help.” “I can’t go to Manhattan” he repeated. She didn’t respond and when he glanced back he saw she’d passed out, or was sleeping, he doesn’t know. He took a deep breath and for a split second toyed with ignoring her request and driving her to the nearest ER, but he understood her fear only too well. If Hydra took her, there’s a chance they’ll come back for her and she was right. Steve could keep her safe.

So he drove into the nearest Police Station, parked the truck outside leaving the engine and the heaters running, to keep her warm and with his baseball cap pulled as far down over his face, grabbed his rucksack. He hid behind a dumpster, not far away, keeping the car in sight. It didn’t take long until someone came out of the police station and walked over to the vehicle to investigate. Bucky saw the man peer inside before he gave a yell, and yanked open the back door. Bucky took a deep breath, and with one last look over his shoulder he headed off into the cold October wind.

******

“Miss…” a voice was stirring Katie. It was a soft voice, not the harsh one she was used to dealing with. And she was warm, she could smell leather. A bit like Steve’s jacket, but not, because it didn’t smell like him. Blinking she saw someone leaning over her and she instinctively tried to back up, but she hit something metal. Taking a moment she realised she was in a car. And then she remembered Bucky. Bucky had killed Jones and freed her. 

“Where…” she began and the large man spoke softly

“You’re in La Ronge…at the local police station.” he said, gently.

She glanced up, wary. “How do I know you’re not Hydra…” “Hydra?” he frowned and she took in his appearance. He was in a uniform, and he was flanked by other officers in a uniform.

“We’ve called an ambulance…” he began. “No!” She immediately yelled. “I need to go home…” “Ma’am…” “No. Hospital.” she growled, trying to sit up. “It isn’t safe. I need…” she took a deep breath “Can you call home, my fiancé, my brother, anyone…” “Where’s home ma’am.” “Avengers Tower.” she said, taking a deep breath. The man’s eyes grew wide as he looked at her, “You’re…oh my God, you’re Katie Stark…”

She nodded.

He leaned back out to one of the other officers and said something before leaning back into the car.

“There’s been a lot of people looking for you Miss Stark.” he said kindly “We’ll get someone on to your Brother right away. In the mean-time, we need to get you inside.”

She nodded and pushed herself up, gritting her teeth, trying to fight how much pain she was in. With a bit of a struggle and help she managed to shuffle herself out of the car. She steadied herself against it, whilst the officer looked at her and then gently moved towards her. Instinctively she shrunk back and he held his hands up.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I just thought you might need a hand walking.”

She did need a hand. After scrutinizing him for another second, she nodded and he gently scooped her up, causing her to hiss, and he took her inside. She was gently carried through the back of the station and into a warm, gently lit medical room of some sorts where she was set down on a soft medical bench.

“No hospital” she said again, feeling her eyes going droopy again.

“I promise.” the man nodded. “But we do have an on duty medic…maybe she could clean you up a little, and we can find you some clothes.” That sounded ok, and she nodded again, before the blackness took her once more

******

Steve couldn’t run. Not properly. He needed to be in the tower just in case. Not to mention the barrage of press camped on the doorstep since he had relented and told  Tony to go public a few days back.  And he hated the treadmill, seemed pointless, if he was running he actually wanted to get somewhere. So instead he took his frustration out on the punch bag. Every blow he landed was one for the fuckers that had taken his girl. He lost count of how many of the things he tore open but thankfully there seemed to be an endless supply, and someone to clear up the mess he left afterwards. Including the blood on the floor from his split knuckle as he had stopped bandaging his hands. The pain was twistedly comforting, something to actually feel when the rest of him was numb. "Trouble sleeping?”

He turned and saw her leaning in the doorway, wearing a pair of tight lycra leggings and a crop top that finished halfway down her perfect midriff and a cheeky grin as she took a drag from the water bottle in her hand.

He gave a laugh, as he caught the punch bag.

“At half 4 in the afternoon?” He quipped back as she crossed the room towards him. He noticed her skin was gleaming with sweat “you been training?”

“Sparring with Nat… she was an absolute bitch” Katie said, taking a drink from her water bottle “she needs to get laid then she might stop taking it out on me.”

“Or maybe you need to learn to punch better” he teased.

“Can you get divorced before you get married?” she said through narrowed eyes making him laugh. “I can punch just fine thanks”

“Show me whatcha got then” he nodded towards the punch bag. Taking another drink from her bottle she tossed it aside and shoved him in the chest, making him laugh again, stepping back as she passed. He watched as she took up her stance, feet slightly apart, arms raised, and she gave the bag a sharp jab with her right and it swung back away from her.

“Not bad…” he grinned, moving towards her. ”But if you tilt your hips…“ his hands fell to her waist and he moved her slightly "this way… legs slightly further…” he used his feet to nudge hers “this way and arms…” both his hands wrapped round her wrists, the light catching her ring on her left hand “little less high…” he used his arms to guide hers and swung and the bag sending it flying.

She dropped her arms and brought them around her front, taking his with them. “Admit it…” she said, her voice husky “my stance was fine you just wanted to touch me.”

“You have a very high opinion of yourself, or a very low opinion of me.” He said, his body stooping so his chin rest in her shoulder.

“No, I just know you too well Captain Sex Fiend…” she said, turning her head to face him, her lips brushing his.

He’d pushed her backwards, and took her hard and fast against the wooden clad walls of the gym, bodies slick and working together the way they always did. Her hands were in his hair, clawing at his back and it had left them both far more flushed than any other physical exercise ever did…. With one final punch as the memory faded Steve gave a cry of anger, frustration, grief, he had no idea what he was feeling, maybe all 3, but he knocked the damn thing straight off the chain anyway. “Captain Rogers…” JARVIS suddenly spoke. “Yeah.” He responded, his voice croaky from unshed tears. “Mr Stark has asked that you meet him immediately in the hanger. There has been a development regarding Miss Stark” Steve didn’t respond, he grabbed his dark, red hoody and sprinted out of the door.

“She’s been found.” Tony said, wheeling round to look at him as he ran up the ramp to the jet, not waiting for him to speak. “In the back of a stolen car that was abandoned outside a station in La Ronge.“

“Is she…” he choked out, and Tony gave a small smile and a sniff.

“She’s alive. But she’s not in great shape, and she’s refusing to go to hospital, told them to call us instead.”

Steve’s hands flying up to cover his face and they slid into his hair as he dropped into the seat behind Tony, the relief washing all over his body. Tony began to flip the switches, firing up the jet, at the same time as Bruce walked on board.

“We got something?” He looked at the two men.

 “Yeah..” Tony said “Some police station in La Ronge called. They have her, but she’s…she’s not in a good way so we need…” He gestured to Bruce and pointed to one of the seats.

Bruce let out a deep breath, his shoulders sagging in relief. “That’s great…that’s she’s been found…”

“Jarvis, you got that flight plan?” Tony asked.

 “Yes Sir, you are expected at the air field, some 15 miles from the station. The Sergeant who called will meet you there. ETA 3pm”

 Tony turned to Steve as the jet began to rise, the soldier was looking down at his hands, breathing deeply. He was a jumble of emotions, relief she was ok, worried about what state she was in, angry at who had done this to her. He was jerked out of his thoughts by Tony who gently clamped him on the shoulder.

 Blue eyes met dark brown, both shimmering with tears. “Let’s go get our girl” Tony smiled softly.

**** Chapter 21

**Original Posting**

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #Katie Stark #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america #mcu #mcu fanfic #chris evans #chris evans characters

[breaddaerb]

Skye/Jett hcs again please.

(Thank you btw, ik i barely say thanks or something, but pls. know im grateful for a writer like you)

[ skye x jett II ]

✎↷: thank you anon!! i am so so grateful that all of you keep up with my writing too.. it makes me very incredibly soft. i hope you enjoy these!

skye has a more mother-bird personality than sage does, believe it or not. the radiant holds lots of potential but at the end of the day, she cherishes her morals and what she sees as true. it’s part of the reason as to why skye wasn’t phased in the slightest at jett’s cocky and defensive mannerisms, and how she fell for the korean in the first place. skye is able to see the real and human parts of jett, which she holds dearly to her.

jett shares herself in other ways. like when she tried to teach skye to speak korean, or the basic foundations of it. australian korean is not a good mix, because for the life of skye, she can’t curl her tongue around their ‘r’ or ‘eo’ consonants. she did take the effort to learn and read korean, so many of the times when they have conversation, jett is rambling about something in korean while skye responds accordingly in english. most of the agents have seen the interracial couple interact this way, and have filed it under being a “jett and skye” thing.

they sleep together. a lot. take this in both forms, because jett has found skye’s room to be extremely comforting with the presence of the woman. plants and terrariums fill its surfaces, and the green hue that constantly tints the walls and the soft noise of running water and habitats have become a calming mechanism for jett. skye has a huge red and green quilt that they sleep under together, and jett has come to appreciate the home style way that skye lives.

woodworking class isn’t something that jett regularly turns up to, but she’ll usually doze off or practice with her knives while skye teaches other agents how to carve wood. jett is not good with the small details, so her projects normally end up being bulky and missing chunks of wood here and there. skye insists on keeping them as a part of her, even using radianite to restore a rabbit jett made into one of her creatures. it hangs out in jett’s room when skye isn’t around, and it’s a regular companion that the couple is used to.

skye completely spoils jett’s sweet tooth. yes, she’s a healer, and nothing delighted her more than the face jett made when she tried a tim tam for the first time. whenever they visit australia, it consists of going grocery shopping and having skye put together her favorite treats and snacks for jett to enjoy. the tradition passed over into other countries until they were eating enough sugar to have a severe case of diabetes but, hey, healing over here! they were going to become gourmet dessert taste testers at this rate.

something that jett noticed about skye is that the redhead can pass out anywhere she wants to. it happened once when she walked back into her room after going to the bathroom and found skye slumped over on the floor with her head propped up against a chair. jett took many pictures of her before she transported skye to her bed, cuddling up and making an early turn in for the couple. skye also likes to pass out immediately after a mission, so when healing puts a strain on her, jett hands her a transportable pillow and tells her to sleep.

there is no early morning. jett has heavy insomnia, so it becomes hard to wake up as early as skye does. the healer relented eventually and decided to bring back jett leftover breakfast, or something else for her when she wakes up in case the korean fears she missed out on something important. her baby air bender needs her rest too, after all, and it’s the least that skye can do for her.

breach hangs out with them. he is jett’s ‘man’ and skye’s workout buddy, so he’ll walk by the two of them and pull them into a chokehold on each arm. skye is the only agent who’s able to pry the arms off of herself, while jett is left to struggle until breach and skye decide to have mercy on her. “oh— really?! this is unfair!” jett squirmed, nails digging into metal. skye pinched the korean’s button nose and smiled, leaning in closer. “then we’ll have to hit the gym a little harder, then!” “no!”

#valorant #valorant headcanons #valorant scenarios #skye #jett #breach #junglestorm #skyexjett #skett #?? #wlw #they’re so cute hthsjeh

[too-gay-for-marvel]

i want to come home pt.5

a/n: i’ve written it out and this will have 6 parts, so one more after this. i’ll have a full emotional thanks for the last part, so get prepared. also, @thatkgrl was RIGHT and Y/N’s revival is based off of Mass Effect 2, though my “science” is based on NOTHING factual. i have nothing to give you for getting it right except my undying love. anyway, here we go! almost there!

Word Count: 1357

Warnings: semi-medical jargon, death explanations

Pairing: Natasha x Reader

(pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6)

“You sitting down?” Tony asked, even though he was looking directly at Natasha and he could see she wasn’t sitting.

“Stark-”

“-Okay,” Tony said as he held his hands up in defeat. “Then hold onto your butt.”

Still sitting, Tony pulled up a hologram of you. It showed your blood flow, your organs, your muscle and skeletal structures. None of your skin, but that was the least of Natasha’s worries. Up on the right side of your head was a date; the day you had officially become a SHIELD agent.

“As you can see, this is our dear Agent Romanoff,” Tony said, pointing to your hologram.

“Before the mission.”

“Before the mission,” Tony repeated with a nod. He moved his hand - and the hologram - to the side before pulling up a second image.

It was still you, but Natasha could see the changes. The colour of your organs was different, your heart was shaped differently, your blood flow looked quicker. There were anomalies on parts of your skeleton and musculature. In the same spot as the other hologram was a date; over three months after your death.

“After,” Tony said simply.

“After,” Natasha mumbled to herself, her eyes glued on your holograms.

“Technical cause of death is crush syndrome,” Tony continued, pulling up a third hologram that was obviously from your death.

Natasha didn’t look at it.

“Muscle breakdown, shattered bones, blood loss, trauma. I could go on,” Tony said with a wave of his hand, as if this was the morning news.

Natasha wanted to slap him.

“When I started working on her, the body had started to decompose.”

“When was she-,” Natasha stopped, cleared her throat, and started again. “-When was she recovered?” She asked, still avoiding looking at your broken body. Instead her eyes were trained on Tony and his forced nonchalance.

“Around…,” Tony pursed his lips and looked up to the ceiling, “three weeks after she died?” Tony finished on a question, looking back at Natasha. “Give or take a few days?”

You had been left in that collapsed building. For three weeks. Alone for three weeks. She had seen the pictures of the building, and you had been left there? No one had tried to get to you?

No one had told her?

“You didn’t know, Nat,” Tony said softly. He reached his hand out as if to try and comfort her, but let it fall back into his lap.

“No,” Natasha whispered, “I didn’t.”

And that was the problem.

“She’s okay now,” Tony said, voice still hushed, but he had the common decency to pull your after-death hologram down.

“Tell me how,” Natasha said, no hesitation in her voice. Maybe she was going to hate what she was about to hear. Maybe it would make her feel better. She wouldn’t know until she heard it.

“A lot of money,” Tony admitted as if he hadn’t just tried to comfort her over her dead wife. “And my genius intellect.”

“Tony.”

“Long version or short?” Tony asked as he zoomed in on the newest hologram.

“Short,” Natasha decided, “you can talk my ear off later.”

“It’s a lot of science,” Tony said simply, “but we reinforced her skeletal structure with cybernetic implants,” he pointed to the anomalies on your bones. “Fixed the muscles,” showed your newly enriched muscular system. “And injected new liquid in the veins. To get the blood pumping again.”

Tony was right. It was a lot of science.

“So,” Natasha started, but she wasn’t sure where she was going with it. “Nothing drastic?”

“Most drastic thing is her heart,” Tony said as he zoomed in on the chest of the hologram. “Vibranium shell around an arc reactor.”

“Like you.”

“You know me,” Tony said with a shrug. “Had to leave my mark somehow.”

“But she’s okay?” Natasha asked.

You had admitted time after time that you were okay, but she didn’t believe it. Not after you had panicked and stormed out not even an hour ago. You weren’t okay, but she needed to know your body wouldn’t give up.

She couldn’t handle you dying again.

“She’s okay, Nat,” Tony reassured, and this time he didn’t falter as he reached over and grabbed hers, giving it a squeeze. He may not have been good at comfort, but his own way was more than enough.

“I need to talk to her,” Natasha mumbled, more to herself than to anyone in particular.

She squeezed Tony’s hand once before letting go and making her way out of his lab. There was no telling where you were, but she would find you. If there was one thing Natasha Romanoff was good at, it was finding people who didn’t want to be found.

Until she ran into Maria.

“Romanoff,” Maria said curtly, “you have a new mission.”

“Can it wait?” Natasha asked even though she already knew the answer.

“Shower off and get to the hangar,” Maria continued, not even answering her question. “Take-off is in an hour.”

An hour wasn’t enough time. She couldn’t get to you and talk to you and be in the hangar in an hour. If she went to you, she would delay the mission and get reprimanded. If she went to the hangar, she wouldn’t get to talk to you.

Actually…

Without sparing a second thought, Natasha rushed to the showers and got ready. It wouldn’t take her an hour to get to the hangars, she was nothing if not punctual. But she could relax in the shower for just a minute more than normal, trying to think of how she was going to bring things up to you.

Maybe you would have mercy on her and just understand what she wanted to say.

She made it to the hangar with 15 minutes to spare; more than enough time to tie up a few loose ends. Even though she was suited up and ready, she hadn’t put her phone away yet. After having a family, she learned the value of keeping her phone on her.

The phone rang once, twice, almost three times before being answered.

“Hi, Mrs. Romanoff,” your babysitter, Emily, said. “Everything okay?”

“Just wanted to talk to Mase for a minute.”

“Let me get her, one sec.”

Natasha could hear Emily walking around the house, calling for Mason. She didn’t know why, but the sounds brought a smile to her face. There was just something so domestic, so normal about hearing your babysitter talk with your daughter. 

“Momma?”

“Hey, baby,” Natasha said with a smile as she sat down on one of the benches in the hangar. The perfect spot to keep an eye on the entrance and the jet.

“You and mommy are late,” Mason accused, but she didn’t sound genuinely upset.

“I have to stay at work for a bit.”

“But mommy is coming home, right?”

“Of course she is,” Natasha answered quickly, not wanting Mason to worry. Neither you nor Natasha took missions at the same time as the other for this very purpose.

“Okay, good,” Mason said. “Wanna know what I did at school today?” And just like that the conversation turned to Mason’s arts and crafts at school. It was all a bunch of weird stuff, in Natasha’s opinion. They made hand print turkeys, but it wasn’t Thanksgiving. Hell, it wasn’t even fall.

“Nat.”

She looked up to see Steve nodding toward the jet, and Natasha nodded once in confirmation. This part of missions was always the hardest. She was just lucky she had a kid that understood. Well, the best a five year old could.

“It’s time to go, baby,” Natasha said softly.

“Okay, momma,” Mason replied with just a hint of sadness. “Bring home chocolate?”

“I always do,” Natasha chuckled. “I love you, solnyshka.”

“I love you, momma!”

Mason sent a kiss through the phone and Natasha returned it before ending the call and slipping her phone in her bag. She threw it over her shoulder as she made her way to the jet, already getting herself into mission mode. No time for worrying.

You could handle Mason for a few days, right?

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow imagine #natasha romanoff imagine #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagine