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angstsfordays · 3 years

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Beautiful Pain (5)

Chapter Five- Think About Us

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced! Reader

Summary: Post-Blip, you started to feel lost when most of the Avengers team are gone. Coping with your loss, you still find hope in the connection with your remaining friends. However, it is not easy as everyone is trying to figure their lives after the Blip.

Having a long history with Bucky ever since you both saved each other from Hydra, you were still glad you had Bucky after all this time. However, as you try to give Bucky space to find himself after being pardoned for his past, you start to wonder if you should ever cross the line of friendship before it’s too late.

That thought might have to be put on hold though, when you, Sam and Bucky find yourselves having to deal with threats that continue to rise in a post-Blip world.

Chapter synopsis: Feeling lucky to have met Sharon in Madripoor, she could be your lead to find out the origins of the new super serums. Meanwhile, your one-sided love for Bucky might turn out otherwise.

Warnings: Awkward run-ins. Sexual tension, perhaps? A slow slow burn. Violence. A few bad words.

Word count: 4.3k

Notes: Hi everyone! Ever since I started this series, I gained a great number of followers and I am so thankful for everyone who did so! I am really glad you have been enjoying this series so far! 😆

Please let me know what you think of the story, I really appreciate it! 😘

The tag list is still open! Let me know if you want to join with a message or comment in the chapters!

Previous: Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

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Sharon brought you back to her place and you were amazed at how high end it was. The residential place had armed security and as you entered the building, you realised that there was a gallery within it filled with stolen original artworks.

Sharon explained how she had to chose to make the most of her new life. Even she was a fugitive of the states, she made sure she put her skills to use so that she could enjoy a comfortable life.

You were in awe at her resilience. Sam in an innocent moment, couldn’t believe that all the artworks in Sharon’s gallery were the real deal and Bucky informed that the museums were all holding fakes.

Letting you know that she’s hosting clients in an hour, she ushered all of you to go get changed. Sharon told you to choose anything from her personal wardrobe and offered you to use the bathroom.

Giving your thanks, she left you to your own. You immediately took off your heels and pulled the strings that held your dress together. Taking advantage of her bathroom products, you wiped off your makeup and allowed yourself a refreshing quick shower.

Once the last bit of bubbles was washed off your body, you towelled yourself off and put on a fresh set of underwear. As you were about to reach for the hairdryer, you suddenly heard the jolt of the door and you turned to see Bucky entering the same bathroom.

It was a brief second of exchange before you turned your back on him while he exited and close the door behind him.

“Oh shoot, sorry- I didn’t know-” Bucky stuttered as he struggled to find the right words. You felt your cheeks turning hot but tried to stay cool.

“It’s okay, don’t need to worry.” As you were met with silence, you couldn’t help but wince at the awkward moment and hoped to make it go away.

“Are you urgent?” You added on to see if he would respond. His next words brought you relief as you thought he would have just walked off without notice.

“Oh no, it’s fine. I can wait.” You thought that you didn’t want to make him wait and quickly rushed to wear the oversized white blouse and light flared denim that Sharon passed to you.

You quickly proceeded to open the door to find Bucky standing awkwardly with his hands behind and his head looking down on the floor. You saw he had picked out a black ensemble- a black blazer, black shirt, black pants and black shoes.

He looked so good you wanted to melt into a puddle.

When he heard the doors opened, he immediately raised his head to meet your eyes. You tried to give a reassuring smile to ease the atmosphere and told him that he could use the bathroom first. You could dry your hair later.

“I swear I didn’t see anything, I mean I did for a second but that was it.” Bucky tried to explain himself. He hated how he was suddenly being weird around you.

Maybe he was acting because this was the first time he has even remotely seen a woman like that after years of HYDRA’s brainwashing and being on the run. But then again, he had seen all those bikini pictures of women on dating apps and while it was bizarre to him, it didn’t faze him in the way it just did with you.

In all his years that Bucky had known you, that was probably the first time he has actually seen you in such an intimate image. What was up with tonight and why was he suddenly feeling so much about you?

“It’s fine, Buck! It’s not like you are a pervert or something.” Trying to crack a joke so that Bucky could relax, you saw the side of his mouth quirk up in agreement before he stepped into the bathroom.

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You entered the room last seeing everyone was already gathering and talking. Greeted by the sight of Zemo pouring himself a drink and Sam putting on a shirt, your eyes moved to where Sharon joined Bucky on the couch.

You managed to catch the last bit of conversation where Sharon was shading Bucky in regard to the topic of John Walker. Sharon warned of potentially crossing paths with the power broker as you all wanted to find more leads on Nagel.

Sam tried to convince her to help and promised to clear her name. As she poured herself a drink, you could tell from Sharon’s expression that she was not buying it. Her walls were up after the last incident and she wasn’t sure if she could trust you all anymore.

Sam pressed on but Sharon refused to be pitied. He then made it a deal and she relented. Sharon mentioned how her clients were well-connected and she would see if she could get anything useful from the party.

Looking at you stand uncomfortably at the corner, she came up to you and squeezed your shoulder to comfort you.

“I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch all this while. There’s no excuse.”

“It’s fine, you were dragged into it pretty much like I was.” Sam gave a surprising look at how Sharon was fine with your apology.

Noticing it, Sharon then explained that she had a softer spot for you since you were friends and you had stuck your neck out for her on several occasions during your S.H.I.E.L.D days.

She was willing to overlook it compared to her almost non-existent history with Sam.

“I’m surprised you kept your secret from me, I thought we were friends after all.” You knew she was referring to your powers. Nervously licking your lips, you responded.

“I’m sorry. It was Director Fury’s order.” The guilt seeped in.

“And you actually revealed it for the first time publicly for him?” Without mentioning his name, Bucky knew Sharon was referring to him. He looked over to see you giving a nervous and awkward smile. While curious to know what you would say, Bucky just looked somewhere else pretending to be unbothered.

“There’s a lot more to it, Sharon. I wish I could tell you more.”

“He’s really something, huh?” Sharon said before sipping her drink. You actually knew what to say but held back especially since Sam and Zemo were in the room.

More importantly, Bucky was there. Sensing your hesitance and noticing your fleeting glance over at Bucky, Sharon had a hunch but she was more than aware to not harp on it.

Giving an awkward laugh, you tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear. You looked into her eyes in a quiet exchange and she returned you a brief smile before telling everyone to lay low and enjoy the party.

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The music was bouncing off the speakers wildly and the flashing lights in the club caused to squint your eyes a bit. Sharon was already working while the rest of you figured how you would exactly blend in.

Zemo was already working his way onto the dance floor and you were flabbergasted at the mere sight of him starting to bust out some moves to the music. You could see Sam being approached by some people and beginning to make small talk.

Turning your head to find Bucky, you realised you had lost sight of him in the crowd. You weren’t exactly in a party mood seeing you’re all alone and opted to head to the bar.

Before taking another step, you heard someone calling for you.

“Hey.” Spinning your head to the source of the voice, you were met with the vision of a tall and handsome man with a boyish smile. You were taken aback by his request to dance and you thought you probably looked like an idiot turning your head to look for your help.

When you face the guy once more, he had an earnest look that was waiting for your answer. Giving him another quick glance up and down, you didn’t think of him to be a sleazy dude. He kind of looked alright but you were wondering that if he were to be in Madripoor, could he even be up to any good?

“You’re really beautiful and I just wanted to dance.” He added on in hopes that you would agree.

Seeing how you were taking a long time to respond, the man reached out to grab your hand and pulled you closer to him. He respectfully kept you at a distance and did not immediately press himself against you.

Blinking like a deer in headlights, you took a sharp intake as he spun you to press your back against his front and placed his hands on your waist. Leading you to dance, you could feel him swaying side to side and guiding you to follow the same. You weren’t sure where to even put your hands and started cracking your knuckles in nervousness.

You bit your lip as you thought about how you should get yourself out of this. The man seemed nice enough but you weren’t into him. You are an agent and someone with superpowers, you should be able to get out of this mess.

Waiting for the right timing to tell him that you didn’t want to continue this, a cold hand reached out to grab yours and firmly pull you out of the man’s grip on you. Your eyes met with a familiar chest and in the next moment, a warm hand rested on your back.

Titling your head up, piercing cerulean orbs met yours and you heaved a sigh of relief at the recognition of the owner with the beautiful eyes.

“Sorry I’m late, doll.” His voice was reverberating all the way from his chest. Your eyes shied away to meet his once more before you peered over your shoulder at the embarrassed man.

“Hey man, I didn’t know. She didn’t say anything.” The man raised his hands in surrender but Bucky was not pleased with his explanation.

“If she didn’t say anything, it is not consent.” Bucky shot back with a death stare. You swore Bucky could add staring onto his list of super abilities as it always seemed to make people tremble in fear, save for Sam.

When the man was gone, Bucky apologised before letting you go. Instant disappointment washed over you as you had secretly hoped to be held by him longer. Bucky cleared his throat and tried to look somewhere far as he didn’t know what to say next in this situation.

You were overwhelmed with emotions and thought that it was now or never.

“Do you wanna dance?” You looked up to see Bucky looking back at you with wide eyes. You instantly regretted ever asking the question and quickly turned yourself away before he could even say anything.

Bucky’s hand shot out to grab yours to stop you from moving and the two of you exchanged in a silent moment before he spoke.

“I don’t really know how to dance to this. Music was different back in the day. The dance is also uh- different-” You knew Bucky was referring to the exceedingly intimate dancing of people that were surrounding you.

It was the norm but you would never see yourself doing that. The only time where you would actually let loose and dance that provocatively was in good fun with your girlfriends or gathered a stroke of courage with hard liquor.

“We don’t need to follow them. We can dance by our own rules.” Hands reaching out to hold his, you moved them to the rhythm to allow him to feel the music. You then lift your right and his left hand in the air before you twirled yourself.

Bucky’s lips moved up into a brief smile as you led the dance with confidence. The two of you were in your own bubble, uncaring of your surroundings. Seeing Bucky loosened up a little more, you picked up the confidence to groove your hips to the music. Recognising the song, you sang it enthusiastically and lost yourself in the lyrics.

This was probably the first time you had the chance to visibly relax from the aftermath of the last fight and the grief of your loss. Bucky couldn’t hold back his grin when he saw how you looked so carefree. He knew that even though you looked cheerful most of the time, he could always sense a tinge of sadness behind those eyes.

The next song was familiar to you as it was a favourite of yours. It was a popular Latin pop song and it easily invites one to dance their heart out.

Wrapping your hands behind his neck, you motioned him to follow you in slightly swaying to the music. The song sang of two people who were attracted to each other and you couldn’t help but wished it was fitting for this context.

Believing that your attraction to Bucky was only one-sided, you took this chance to be able to ever have such intimacy with him. As you sang the song, you playfully made up such actions to the lyrics that came off flirtatious. You believed Bucky was playing along with you in the moment but that was where you thought wrong.

Listening to the lyrics of the song, Bucky’s ear turned red at what the song was about. Seeing how you were acting, he thought that you were just feeling out the song but Bucky felt otherwise. When the beat dropped, Bucky made a sudden move to pull closer by the waist.

Lowering his head nearer to yours, your breath hitched at the sudden turn of events. You didn’t think one dance with Bucky would turn out like this. One of your hands slid from the back of his to hold his jaw. Your thumb stroked his light beard and you realised your noses were almost brushing.

What was going on? Could Bucky also feel the same way or was he too caught up in the moment. Both of your hands slid down to smooth the lapels of his jacket before resting on his broad chest. Your eyes averted away due to the intensity of his brooding stare but Bucky took this chance to bring his hand to tilt your head back to face him straight on.

“Bucky-” Whispering his name to get his attention, you didn’t know the effect it had on him as his attention went to your lips tinted with a balm. Were your lips always this alluring? He suddenly really wanted a taste to find out.

Bucky slanted his head to an angle before lowering his lips. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes as you anticipated what was about to happen.

“Hey guys, Sharon got a lead!” Sam’s voice broke you out of your trance and you snapped your eyes open. Without looking at Bucky, you quickly turned to see Sam making his way through the crowd to find the two of you.

“Here!” You piped up before making quick steps to the man, leaving a bewildered and disappointed super-soldier behind. Sam pointed to you where Sharon was and when he turned back to see Bucky, he was confused as to why Bucky was staring at him like he wanted him dead.

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Nagel’s hideout was speculated to be amongst the shipping containers. Sharon warned you that the longer you stayed in Madripoor, the lesser chances you had of leaving with the bounty on all of you.

She passed you in-ear comms before giving you the container number. Before she walked away, you stopped her in her tracks.

“Would you be alright? I could come with you instead.” You added that the three men should be good on their own but Sharon insisted that she would be fine on her own. She wished you good luck before leaving you all.

As the four of you entered the container, you weren’t sure if you were in the right place. Zemo managed to find the handle of the door and looked back at all of you.

Sam and Bucky readied themselves with guns while you nervously fidgeted with your hands. As Bucky walked up to you, he gave you a longing stare but you quickly averted your eyes away.

Your mind was still reeling from what happened at the club last night and you couldn’t believe that things went that far. Was it real or was it just a dream? You shook your head to snap you out of your thought as you refocus on the mission at hand.

Sam and Bucky both took the lead while you were pacing side by side with Zemo. You looked to see him with a sudden solemn expression as you continued to make your way forward.

As the music started playing from a speaker somewhere, the sight that greeted you showed that the inside of this container was refurbished to be some sort of lab.

Venturing inwards, you saw a man who you presumed to be Dr Nagel. Zemo turned off the record player and Sam called for the doctor.

The doctor though frightened, was still relatively calm at the sight of all four of you in his supposed hidden lab. Despite the intrusion, Dr Nagel was indifferent and asked for everyone to leave. While he made his way, his feet stopped at the sight of Bucky.

Sam suggested he better speak of what he knew about the super-soldier serums but Nagel seemed defiant. He even asked for a counter-proposal to make him talk.

That’s when you heard Sharon speaking in the comms about approaching company. Time was pressing and you were frustrated at the doctor’s refusal to speak. Bucky took the rougher approach and immediately went to sit Nagel down while pointing a gun directly at his head.

You sighed in exasperation when Sharon spoke in your comms once more to inform you that every bounty hunter in Madripoor had known of your location and was coming to get all of you.

Nagel feared Bucky the most, knowing what he was actually capable of all. He began to share how he worked for HYDRA then the CIA. He managed to get his hands on an American test subject with semi-stable traces of the super-soldier serum.

You closed your eyes wearily as you knew who he was referring to. Nagel then went on to talk about how he managed to recreate the serum after much hard work and referred to himself as a god.

His project was paused when he was snapped. However, when he came back, he sought refuge here in Madripoor. The power broker was very eager to fund his work. He had made exactly twenty vials of the serum but they were all stolen by Karli Morgenthau.

He remarked that Karli had contacted him to seek help for someone, Donya Madani who was diagnosed with tuberculosis. This was definitely a clue to help you all step in the right direction.

“Y/N L/N.” The sudden call of your name had you meet eyes with Nagel. You didn’t expect him to look at you with a leering smile that managed to creep you out. All the men were curious why he had suddenly called for you.

“I read your leaked files. You are the only one of your kind. Perhaps, the only one who managed to surface from the shadows.” Nagel’s words only served to confused everyone before he continued.

“I am a believer of Science, but when there has been little research, you can’t help to turn to stories. You are human yet you are not. How on earth are you able to gain superpowers without any experimentation done on you?” You realised this was why Director Fury had you hidden all this while cause he knew that people like Nagel would love to get his hands on you.

“It would be an honour for me to able to find out what courses through your veins and make you so powerful. Perhaps, if I am able to provide such privileges to those who were willing to pay for it, I will be unstoppable.”

Talking like a mad man, you shook your head in disbelief at what he was implying. The fact he wanted to treat you like a test subject for his personal science project. Bucky clutched the gun in his hands harder while you went forward to grab Nagel’s collars.

Your hands glowed brightly, threatening to burn Nagel. He was a crossed between looking fearful and fascinated at the same time.

“You bastard-”

“Guys, we’re seriously out of time here!” Sharon busted through the doors right at this moment. Your hands on Nagel slackened as you turned towards Sharon. Before you knew it, a gunshot was fired and Sam had Zemo backed up to the wall.

Nagel fell flat on the floor with a bullet lodged right at where his heart would be.

The breaking of windows came before the flames burst through the room. Everyone went to hide from the blast while you stretched your hands to use your powers to subdue it. While the impact was reduced, everyone still fell back on the floor from the shock.

Bucky who managed to recover faster went to help everyone up and you pulled them to their feet. All of you managed to make your way to the exit.

Even in the smoke, you could make out the shadows of the bounty hunters who were preparing a shootout. Bucky tried to lead but Sam already went ahead. You rolled your eyes at the fact that they couldn’t work together for once.

All three of your friends started to fight back with the onslaught of people after your lives. As you faced your palms out on standby, Sam reminded you to not use your powers.

“Do we look like we have the privilege to do that now?” You retorted before sending blasts consecutively to know each hunter down like a domino.

As you knocked out each person, you could hear arguing at the back from Sam and Bucky. You had it and you shot a huge blast that reminiscing of a torch blower before you sharply turn back at the two bickering children.

“For the love of god, if you two don’t stop this, I will burn your tongues off.” You said it like you mean it before the two men zipped shut.

A sudden burst of flames took your attention next and you hold up your hands to build a barrier to protect your friends. All of your attention was directed to Zemo appearing out of nowhere and taking out people easily.

You all decided to escape from your hiding spot and find somewhere safe. Your group were met with a couple more bounty hunters which Bucky easily took care of. All of you retreated to a container before Bucky burst out of the other end.

Zemo came and pulled up with a car with a cheeky smile. Was this man the same one from before?

Sam gave him shit for pulling the stunt on Nagel and claimed that he would send him back to jail. However, Bucky intervened and reasoned that you all still needed Zemo to find Karli. Getting into the car before Sam, you were surprised to hear Sharon wouldn’t be joining you. She held Sam to the promise of a pardon and you stretched your hands to squeeze hers affectionately.

“Take care.” You bided her farewell before she did the same.

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“You, okay?” Bucky checked in with Sam as he finally took a breather after making a call. You sat beside Bucky as he cleaned out the dirt and blood from his vibranium arm.

There was a lot to process from what happened in Madripoor. Learning about what Sharon had to go through and how Nagel was a mad scientist who did not have respect for human beings.

“Are you okay?” Bucky turned to you next. He was worried for you when he saw how you were with Nagel. Your rage was clear as day when you heard how the doctor spoke of you like you were some work of scientific wonder to be poked and prodded.

He could only imagine how upsetting it was for you like how it unsettled him to have you being talked about in that manner. You gave his vibranium hand a light squeeze before leaning your head on his shoulder for comfort.

“I will be okay.” You sighed before closing your eyes to rest. Bucky held your hands and laid them on his leg as he saw you trying to relax from all the events that had happened earlier. He decided to let you have your peace.

You could hear your boys started talking properly for once without arguing about Steve’s shield. It seemed like everything had been a mess. Sam went on to say that he should have it destroyed while Bucky countered that the shield was important to many people including himself.

He vowed to make sure he takes it back from Walker cause it sure plain as hell that he was not suited to be your new Captain. Sam managed to find out who Donya Madani was and informed that she had passed away.

Feeling the other end of the seat sinking, you figure Zemo had taken that spot. He remarked that he had a place that you all could go in regard to Donya’s last location and requested a change of course.

Bucky looked down to see you already laying still, probably getting a quick shut-eye. Catching Sam’s glance down at your tangled hands, Bucky looked away to seem apathetic where in reality, his heart was racing wildly as he hears the soft breathing that soon came out of your lips.

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Tag list: @tanyaherondale @spookycereal-s @cataves @archaeoheart @conflicted-noxsirius

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #tfatws #thefalconandthewintersoldier #bucky barnes fanfiction #angstsfordays #beautiful pain #marvel fanfiction

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criminalmindzjunkie · 4 years

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The Reward of Suffering

next chapter

Summary: A retelling of the events of season 12 episode 13.

Gif credit to the wonderful and talented @imagining-in-the-margins

A/N: After several months of contemplation, I have finally decided to post part one of my first ever fic on Tumblr! This fic will follow the event of Spencer’s prison arc, so needless to say there will be SPOILERS. This first part is super long, but I felt that it needed to be in order to set up the plot. I hope you all enjoy reading! If you would like to be tagged on future updates, let me know!

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Fem! Reader

Warnings: no smut (yet), mentions of past frug use, cursing, typical CM case talk

Word count: 12.1k

“Reid is in jail.”

I felt the color immediately drain from my face and an intense feeling of dread began to wash through my body. I sat up in my chair, back ramrod straight. I briefly looked towards the faces of my teammates, Luke and JJ to my left and Penelope to my right. Their faces were all contorted, displaying varying degrees of shock and confusion. It was hard for any of us to process what we were hearing. The idea of Spencer Reid, the same Spencer who wore a mask to the office on Halloween and put on elaborate magic shows for everyone’s children, doing anything that would warrant being put behind bars was preposterous.

Surely, this is all just a big misunderstanding.

“Jail?” Penelope squeaked out. My eyes flitted to her, taking note of the way her eyebrows were drawn together in disbelief. She was thinking the same thing I’m sure we all were; that there was no way Spencer Reid had engaged in any illegal activity. Spencer was a well-educated, highly regarded FBI agent, for Christ sake. He knew the laws of the land better than any of us.

“In Mexico.”

My attention focused solely on Emily. In the few weeks since I had come to know her, I had begun to look at her not only as a sort of fearless leader, but also as a kind of fiercely loyal friend that I was incredibly lucky to have. Emily somehow managed to find the perfect balance between being accommodating and stern. She was the kind of boss you could have a drink and cut up with after a long day, but she also carried herself in a way that demanded the utmost respect in the workplace. Emily Prentiss’s bravery was unmatched, and I admired her for that.

It shook me to my core when her eyes met mine and I saw the pure, unbridled fear in them. If Emily was scared, then this must be leagues worse than we could have ever imagined.

“What the hell is he doing down there?” JJ asked, crossing her arms and shuffling from one foot to the other.

“I don’t know. I didn’t talk to him. The call came in to Cruz from their lead investigator.”

Luke was the next to chime in. “What’s he being held for?”

“Drug possession,” Rossi said, before taking on, “with intent to distribute.”

For the second time that day, it felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. Images of Spencer sitting across from me in a dimly lit coffee shop, tripping over his words as he confided in me, spilling his deepest and darkest secrets in a voice barely above a whisper. His voice had grown stronger as he neared the end of his story and he had dug deep in his satchel, producing a small golden coin. We both had tears in our eyes as we looked at the writing engraved into the coin; unity, service recovery. Spencer Reid was ten years sober, and the pride on his face was as clear as day.

There was no way he would throw all of that away.

“What type of drugs?”

“Cocaine and heroin,” Rossi said, his voice shaky.

Rossi and Spencer had always had a good relationship. Spencer had admired his work long before he met him, having read and reread every book he had ever published. It had delighted Spencer that he and Rossi had managed to develop rapport so quickly. Rossi was the only one talented enough at the game of chess to even think of giving Spencer a run for his money, though many of us had tried. In one of many hushed conversations shared on the jet, he had once told me that he had begun to think of Rossi as somewhat of a father figure; he didn’t quite fill the role in the same way Gideon had, but Spencer was thankful just the same. One look at Rossi’s troubled expression was enough to tell me that the feelings were definitely mutual.

“Oh my God. This can’t be happening.” JJ was positively crestfallen, clutching a hand against her own chest in an attempt to ground herself. Her other hand came up to her face as she absentmindedly pushed her hair away.

“We need Lewis and Walker here, ASAP,” Emily directed her order and Penelope, who was quick to comply.

Everyone sprang into action, but I found myself unable to move, weighed down by the deeply unsettling circumstance. It felt as if I was no longer in my own body, like I was watching everything unfold from an outsider’s perspective. Maybe I am, I thought. Maybe this is all just some horrible nightmare. Any second now, my alarm will go off and this will all be over.

I waited and waited for my alarm to sound, but that never happened. Instead, Emily crouched down in front of me, grasping my arm firmly in her right hand.

“I know how devastated you must be. Trust me, I do,” she sympathized, her deep brown eyes boring into my own. “But Reid’s going to need you now more than ever. You’re his best friend and you know him better than anyone. Did he ever mention to you that he was going to Mexico?”

I shook my head numbly, my motions feeling alien and stilted.

“Never. He told me the same thing he told you; that he was going to Houston for a few days to meet with his mother’s doctor,” I whispered. I feared that if I raised my voice any higher, tears would begin to fall. Maintaining my composure was becoming harder with every passing second, and I wasn’t exactly privy to breaking down in front of my boss. “I guess I don’t know him as well as I thought.”

Emily sighed, letting go of my arm before straightening up.

“Apparently, none of us did. But I know damn well that this has to be a mistake. We’ll get him out of this.”

The apprehension in her voice told me that even she wasn’t sure we could pull this one off.

“This has got to be Scratch,” Tara stated, her voice wafting through the speakers of Luke’s laptop. Emily, Rossi, Luke and I were currently in the jet, on our way to the jail where Spencer was being held. All of us were huddled close together around the computer, listening on with eager ears. “He was laying low, and now we know why.”

“Crossing the border as a fugitive is a huge risk,” Luke pointed out.

“The reward is even greater. He’s been punishing the team, and now his target is Reid.” Emily’s voice was full of frustration and contempt.

“Peter Lewis dropped off the map after attacking Tara’s family,” Stephen chimed in. Not even his deep baritone voice could do anything to calm my frazzled nerves. “Maybe he’s been hiding in Mexico this whole time.”

“We also have to consider that it isn’t related to him,” I murmured. Several pairs of eyes locked on me, shocked. I had been uncharacteristically quiet since this whole ordeal began, limiting my responses to one word replies and hums of acknowledgement. On a normal day, I’d be throwing in my two cents any time I saw fit. Today, I was struggling just to keep breathing.

“Who else would it be?” Rossi asked.

“Drug cartels. Could’ve threatened Reid and used him as a mule.” Saying his name was painful, because it reminded me that we weren’t just talking about a victim with whom we had no personal ties; we were talking about our colleague and beloved friend.

“Agreed,” Rossi nodded. “This could simply be a case of bad luck. Reid was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Spencer’s mom is okay.” JJ’s announcement was like music to my ears. I let out an audible sigh of relief. “The home nurse he hired said all is stable.”

“How long did he tell the nurse he’d be gone?”

“Three days.”

“That sounds reasonable. After the Palm Springs case, Reid said he had to get back to Houston to talk to his mom’s doctor,” Emily interjected. I nodded along in agreement. He’d told me the same thing when I talked to him the night before last.

The fatigue in his voice had alerted me to the fact that things hadn’t been going so well with his mother. Her condition had been rapidly deteriorating in the recent months, prompting Spencer to make the tough decision to remove her from the assisted living facility she was at and into his own apartment. His main argument had been that no one could possibly take better care of his mother that him; that he was familiar with her condition and how best to respond when she had an episode. When I had asked him how he was handling it all, he was quick to reassure me that it was not anything he couldn’t handle.

Spencer’s loyalty ran deep; so deep that I knew he would do anything in his power to take care of Diana, but I’d never imagined that it would land him in fucking jail.

“Well, Houston is only a five-hour drive from the border,” Tara mused. “The question is, why did he go down there?”

“And why does he have narcotics?” Rossi was the first to speak on what was at the forefront of everyone’s mind.

“Yeah, exactly. He wouldn’t… He wouldn’t do that. Those drugs were planted on him,” Penelope insisted.

“Absolutely, but there’s something bigger in play. That’s why he crossed the border and kept it a secret. There’s something he didn’t want to share with any of you.”

I cringed at Stephen’s choice of wording. Spencer and I were as close as two people could be, and there was nothing I withheld from him. He knew everything about me, every dark and embarrassing thought that had ever crossed my mind; yet, he accepted me just the same. I had always assumed that it went both ways, that he was just as honest and forthcoming with me as I was with him. It hurt to know that there were things he kept from me, secrets that he felt he couldn’t trust me with.

But most of all, it absolutely gutted me to think that he was dealing with something so horrible that it landed him in jail, and he that he had to do it all alone.

“Okay, so what would make him risk everything?” Emily pondered aloud.

“His mom.” My answer was instantaneous.

A ping sounded from the other end of the video call, and we all leaning in, our interest piqued.

“Cruz just sent me the arresting report,” Penelope announced, clicking away at her computer before continuing. “It says here that Reid was involved in a high-speed chase.”

“What?” I choked out, my voice coming out several pitches higher than usual. “Spencer hardly ever drives.” I could feel my stomach begin to churn, bile threatening to force its way up my esophagus. This isn’t right, I wanted to scream. Our Spencer would never get himself involved in something that would put himself or others at risk.

“None of this sounds like him,” Penelope whispered, her thoughts mimicking my own. “It says he was wearing jeans and a baseball cap and that he was really confused. According to the arresting officer, he was really high on something.”

Unity, service, respect; ten years sober. All down the fucking drain.

I shot up from my seat, bolting down the walkway and into the bathroom. I immediately fell to my knees, barely managing to push my hair out of the way before retching into the toilet bowl. I continued like this for several minutes, only pausing momentarily when I felt large, soothing hands running up and down my back. Soft murmurings of reassurance alerted me to the fact that it was Luke who was sitting with me. I let out a strained ‘thank you’ before another wave of nausea hit me, rendering me speechless. Luke held my hair back, never once leaving my side.

When I had thrown up the entirety of my breakfast and all I could do was dry heave, I slumped back against the wall, relishing in how cool it felt against my flushed skin. A stretch of silence passed before he decided to break it.

“That was an extreme reaction,” Luke pointed out, still sitting in the floor with his legs crisscrossed. I noticed how closely he was watching me, his eyes focused on reading my expressions. He was profiling me, that much was obvious. It was an unspoken rule between us all that we would never profile one another, but any fight I had left in me had long since dissipated.

“He worked so hard to get clean, Luke. I wasn’t around when it happened, but he told me about it. He was so proud of himself,” I whispered. My throat was now raw and my voice came out more than a little bit hoarse.

Luke’s eyebrows came together, confusion clear on his face.

“Get clean? What are you talking about?”

I let out a shuddery breath. It felt wrong to divulge information on Spencer’s personal life; like I was betraying his trust. Given the circumstance, I supposed he wouldn’t mind, but it still felt treacherous and left a bad taste in my mouth. Sorry, Spence.

“Ten years ago, Reid was kidnapped by an unsub with DID. He kept him in a remote cabin for several days, alternating between beating him senseless and shooting him full of so much hydromorphone that he couldn’t remember his own name. At one point, he even,” I trailed off, hot tears spilling out of my eyes and running down my cheeks. Luke took my hand in his in an act of reassurance, his way of telling me not to rush. Luke hadn’t been with us for long, and our interactions thus far hadn’t gone much farther than conversations about work. Seeing the way he was offering himself up to me as a confidant and shoulder to cry on made me feel guilty for ever having written him off.

Thank God for Luke Alvez.

After a long pause, I managed to continue. “Spencer ended up having a seizure and he died for several minutes. The unsub’s more benevolent personality, Tobias, was able to resuscitate him. Eventually Spencer was able to take him down, but the trauma mixed with the exposure to such a highly addictive drug led to him developing a dependence on it.”

Luke swore and ran a hand through his hair.

“I never would’ve guessed it. The kid carries himself so well.”

A small, fond smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

“He’s amazing, really. He detoxed all by himself and started going to NA meetings. This past October marked ten years. We celebrated by going to one of those really fancy museums he likes and he insisted on taking the guided tour so that he could see how many errors the guide would make,” I let out a light laugh at the memory. “Every time they’d get something wrong, he’d lean down whisper the correct information so that only I could hear it. I don’t think I’d ever seen him that happy,” I reminisced, allowing myself to forget about the current situation for the tiniest of moments. I wondered if I’d ever get to experience a day like that with Spencer ever again.

“You two are close, I take it?”

I nodded. Luke had fit in with the group so seamlessly that I had forgotten that he had only been with us for a short time. He didn’t really know the dynamics of everything yet.

“He’s my best friend.”

Luke hummed, and I could feel his eyes looking at me inquisitively.

“And that boyfriend of yours, he doesn’t mind?” Okay, maybe Luke was a little bit more perceptive than he let on.

Gavin and I had begun dating at the end of my first year with the BAU. He and I had meet in the most cliché of ways; bumping into each other in the cereal aisle at the grocery store. Gavin was more than a little bit handsome, but what had reeled me in had been the way he taken one look at the box of cereal in my cart and immediately scrunched his nose up in disgust.

“Plain Cheerios? Are you some sort of masochist, or something?” he had asked, a playful lilt to his voice. Normally, if a strange man had approached me in public, I would’ve been quick to express my disinterest. If my job had taught me anything, it was that a woman being approached by a strange man was a recipe for trouble. But something about him seemed wholly unthreatening, and I couldn’t help but laugh at his forwardness, raising an eyebrow at him.

“As if your choice is any better. Lucky Charms? What are you, six?”

“Don’t even go there. Lucky Charms are magically delicious, thank you very much,” he sniffed, feigning superiority. “And if we’re touching on the subject of age, the only person I know that eats plain Cheerios is my eighty-six-year-old grandmother. You look a bit young to be worrying about heart health, and I refuse to believe that you actually enjoy the taste, so what gives?”

“First of all, I find it concerning that you are so familiar with cereal slogans,” I breezed, leaning against my shopping cart. “Second, I am curious; do you make it a habit to harass people about their cereal preferences?”

“Only if they’re cute.”

And that had been that. Several dates later he had asked me to be his girlfriend over a dinner he had attempted to make himself. I said yes and he kissed me, nearly knocking over his plate of burnt chicken parmesan in the process.

“We, uh, have an understanding. He knows that Spencer and I are just good friends.”

Gavin and I did have an understanding, but it wasn’t a very solid one. In fact, I was sure that he damn near despised Spencer’s very existence. He had done a good job at hiding it for a while, but after coming home one night from an impromptu movie night with Spencer, he had revealed to me that he had a jealous streak a mile long. I reassured him that there was absolutely nothing that he needed to worry about, but I could tell he didn’t believe a word of it. Gavin had out flat demanded that I cut all ties with Spencer, and I had laughed in his face.

“I’m not the kind of girl that likes to be told what to do. Either you learn to live with him being a part of my life, or you can find someone else to boss around, because I can tell you right now, that won’t fly with me.”

My threat had proven to be effective, and he had apologized, and that had been the end of that. He still wasn’t fond of the idea that Spencer and I were such close friends, but he hadn’t tried to proposition me with any more ridiculous ultimatums.

“That’s good to hear,” Luke hummed, squeezing my hand before rising to his feet. I could tell that he didn’t necessarily buy into what I was saying, but I was thankful that he didn’t press it any further. “What do you say we go back out there. We’ve got to be getting close by now.”

I nodded and he helped me to my feet. I bent down to the faucet, swishing some water in my mouth before spitting it out.

When Luke and I returned to our seats, I was immediately aware of the way Rossi and Emily were eyeing me; like I was a delicate thing that needed to be handled with kid gloves.

I absolutely hated it.

“Sorry about that. It won’t happen again,” I said, before turning my attention back to the video call and saying, “so, what did we miss?”

The police station was surprisingly small. The hallways were narrow and the light bulbs above me gave off an almost green tint, casting an eerie glow on the place. The sounds of disgruntled detainees calling out drifted through the hallways, sounding akin to the moaning of a ghost. My eyes darted around constantly as we walked, the uneasy feeling in my stomach growing with every step we took towards the heart of the precinct.

“Thank you for calling us.” Emily’s words were directed at the police officer, Chief Castenada, who was leading us down the hall. He was a short man with graying hair and a seemingly permanent frown etched into his face. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that he wasn’t happy that four federal agents were in his jail.

“A U.S. fed in our custody isn’t something we see every day,” the man said, his tone entirely unfriendly. I grimaced.

“Have you gotten any of his tox screen panels back yet?” I prodded, quickening the pace of my strides until I was walking alongside him. He looked down at me like I was a pesky gnat that he wanted to bat away.

“No.”

Color me unsurprised.

“You’ll need to expedite that. We have cause to believe that Doctor Reid was drugged.”

“He was definitely high and driving like a bat out of Hell. Not to mention he had $20,000 worth of heroin in his possession,” he sneered, ceasing to walk and staring down at me with distaste. “Both of which put my officers at risk. You’re in our jurisdiction. Don’t forget that. The rules are different here.”

I opened my mouth, ready to fire back with some smart-assery of my own, but a hand at my elbow stopped me. I turned and saw that it was Luke, who nodded his head to the left of us. I looked in the direction he was referring to, and I felt my heart shatter into a million pieces.

Just up ahead was a holding cell with several poorly constructed benches in the center of it. On the very first row of seats sat Spencer, who had seemingly retreated in to himself. He was hunched over, his arms wrapped pitifully around himself, much like you’d imagine a child might do to keep warm. Spencer’s clothes were tattered and dirty and a bandage adorned his right hand. His usually beautiful chestnut curls were flying around his head in a mess of tangles and dirt. Despite the fact that Spencer towered over most of us, I couldn’t help but notice how incredibly small he looked.

Even as awful as he looked in his current state, a direct contradiction of the way he usually presented himself, I’d never been happier to lay my eyes on someone in my life.

My feet carried me forward before my brain had time to catch up. I closed the distance between me and the cell, pausing and taking a good, long look at him before allowing myself to speak. He hadn’t noticed me standing there yet. His gaze was instead trained on something at the other end of the room, his eyes red rimmed and glassy and his face completely slack.

“Spence?” I called out, the nickname falling from my lips like a prayer. In a way I suppose it was; a prayer that he was alright, that the horrible things Penelope had told us about were nothing but a horrible lie. At first, I was worried that he hadn’t heard me or that he was too out of his mind to even register the sound of my voice. Just when I opened my mouth to speak again, he turned his head in way that I would have described as comically slow if the situation hadn’t been so serious. The spacey look in his eyes told me that my prayers wouldn’t be answered.

Spencer’s eyes locked with mine, but his face remained completely blank, devoid of all expression. I stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, until it hit me like a ton of bricks; he had no clue who I was.

I wanted to be mad. I wanted to scream at him, to ask him how could he forget me, of all people. My anger was irrational and unfair, but I couldn’t help it. While I understood that it was no fault of his own, that the drugs coursing through his veins were to blame, it didn’t make it hurt any less.

I swallowed down the emotions that threatened to spill out, pushing them down into the depths of my being. I couldn’t let my emotional attachment hinder my judgment. I needed to be as vigilant as ever, no, more vigilant. The fate of my favorite person in the whole world depended on it.

“It’s me, Y/N,” I explained, keeping my voice as steady as I could manage. “It’s good to see you, Spencer. You’re a sight for sore eyes.��

He watched me for a moment before standing and making his way to where I was leaning against the bars.

“Y/N,” Spencer murmured when he reached me, as if testing my name out to see how it rolled off of his tongue. His stare was still vacant, but having him in front of me after worrying about his wellbeing for the last five hours was more than enough for now. I’d take him however I could have him. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, we came,” I murmured, my eyes raking over every inch of his body for any signs of distress. Other than the bandage on his hand, he seemed to be in one piece.

Rossi was quick to join me, coming to a stop at my left.

“We’re going to get you out of here, kid,” he reassured, his tone more serious than I’d ever heard it.

“We need to work out some details with the locals, okay?” Emily said, waiting for a response but getting none.

“Who was your contact down here?” Luke asked.

Spencer was quicker to respond this time.

“Rosa,” he mumbled as he grabbed his shirt sleeve and pulled it up. On his inner arm, the name Rosa Medina was written in what was undoubtably his own handwriting. Spencer was notorious around the office for having the worst handwriting. I like to blame it on the fact that he was a doctor, which always elicited a laugh from him. “I think she’s a doctor.”

Luke pulled his phone out from his pocket, snapping a picture of the name.

“Where did you meet her?”

Spencer shook his head and a frown pulled down at the corner of his lips.

“I… I don’t remember.”

“If you saw her, would you remember her?”

Spencer nodded in affirmation.

“You’re missing time, aren’t you?” I asked, causing him to look at me once more. His brows furrowed together and he was nodding again, slightly surer of himself this time.

“It’s peeking out. It’s coming in flashes.”

“And you’ve been drugged?”

I didn’t know it was possible for his face to fall any more, but the look of shame that manifested itself when he registered my words was absolutely heartbreaking.

“Yeah, but I didn’t take it myself,” he insisted, a spark of life burning bright in the depths of his eyes. Somewhere in there, under the haze of narcotics, was the same Spencer that had fought tooth and nail for his sobriety all those years ago. My heart broke for him.

“Of course, you didn’t, Spence. We know that,” I said, almost reaching out to touch him before thinking better of it. “We’re thinking it might be Scratch.”

Just like before, when I had first spoken to him, absolutely no sign of recognition showed itself on his face.

“Scratch,” he muttered detachedly, much the same as before.

Luke’s phone rang then and he excused himself for a moment before stepping away. I looked to Rossi and Emily, who seemed to also be at a loss for words. The silence that filled the room was excruciating, and I once again started to feel like the walls were closing in on me. I wanted nothing more than to scream, to cry out in frustration. The whole situation was unfair in a way that I didn’t think was possible. I was a big believer in karma; put good in and get good out, or something like that. But now, standing outside of a holding cell that looked more like a dungeon than anything, I was ready to throw away that belief entirely.

Of all the people that I know, Spencer was the least deserving of something like this.

Just when I began to consider ducking outside for a breath of fresh air, Luke returned.

“Hey, the team sent this. Is this the doctor you met?” he asked, pointing to a picture of a woman he had pulled up on his phone. The woman was of Mexican descent, with short, choppy gray hair. She appeared to be middle aged, from what I could guess.

Spencer stared at the picture before nodding.

“Her alias is Rosa Medina and her real name is Nadi Ramos. Garcia tracked her to a motel just outside of town. Does that sound familiar?”

Spencer’s brows furrowed and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“No.”

“Okay, we’ll need to take Castenada and his officers with us,” Emily announced, before turning and heading towards the door.

“Do you want company here?” Rossi asked.

Spencer seemed to take a moment to process before answering with an almost imperceptible nod. He turned his head and focused his gaze on me.

“Can… Can you stay?”

Rossi turned to face me too, raising an eyebrow as if to say ‘are you okay with this?’ I gave him what I hoped was a convincing smile. Honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure that I could handle this; the this that I am referring to being a nearly catatonic Spencer Reid. I was used to the Spencer who regaled me with interesting tidbits of information whenever there was a lull in conversation. The Spencer that stood before me now was a shell of his former self, and that terrified me.

“I’ll be fine here. Let me know if you guys find anything,” I told Rossi. He nodded once to me before enveloping me in a tight hug.

“Resta forte mia piccolo colomba,” Rossi murmured in my ear. I hadn’t a clue what the phrase meant, but the words draped over me like a warm blanket. Suddenly the weight of the current situation didn’t seem so heavy, and I felt immensely thankful that a man like David Rossi was in my life.

Rossi pressed his lips to the top of my head before releasing me. He gave one last, despairing look to Spencer before hurrying off after Luke and Emily. It could’ve been the light playing tricks on me, or maybe the exhaustion, but when Rossi turned away from us, I swear I saw tears welling in his eyes.

And then there were two.

I took glance at my watch for the first time all day, cringing when I saw the time to be 8:17PM. Quantico was an hour ahead, meaning Gavin was probably losing his shit wondering where I was. I sighed, fishing my phone out of my back pocket and turning it on.

“Spence, I’m going to make a phone call really quick,” I murmured. He offered no reply, just as I had come to expect. He was watching me, standing stock still in the same place he had been the entire time. I moved to stand in the doorway, hopefully far enough away that he couldn’t hear me anymore.

As soon as my phone booted up, a plethora of notifications came through. Seventeen missed calls and twenty-four unread text messages, to be exact. I decided to forgo reading the messages, instead pressing the return call button and tapping my foot anxiously against the floor. Gavin didn’t keep me waiting long, picking up on the very first ring.

“About time you answer your goddamn phone,” he hissed out. “Do you know how worried I’ve been? I even called your office phone and no one would answer that, either. What the fuck is going on? Where are you?”

“I’m… In Mexico.”

A long pause followed and I held my breath, waiting for the onslaught to begin.

“You left the country without even bothering to tell me?” Gavin asked, his voice raising in volume. I could picture him now; probably sitting on our sofa, fists balled together and jaw clenched. “Would you like to enlighten me as to why you’re in Mexico?”

I closed my eyes, frustration bubbling deep inside me. Today was arguably the shittiest day of my entire life, and I certainly didn’t need Gavin harping on about how I hadn’t been in touch. Honestly, informing him of my whereabouts had been the furthest thing from my mind.

“It’s Spencer,” I began, trying to think of the proper way to word it all. “He got into some… trouble. We think he’s being framed by Scratch.”

“Isn’t that the guy that just went after Tara’s family?”

“Yeah, it is. He’s been laying low for the past few months, and I guess he was just building up to all of this. It’s really bad, Gav,” I whispered the last bit, hoping that Spencer couldn’t hear me. If he did, he made no move that indicated it. “He’s high out of his mind and can’t remember anything.”

“How long will you guys be there?” Gavin asked, completely ignoring the fact that I mentioned Spencer at all. I bit down on my bottom lip to keep from saying something I might regret. I understand that he doesn’t like the guy, but he could show some common decency and at least pretend.

“I’m not entirely sure. Rossi, Emily, and Luke just headed out to go check on a lead. I don’t know how long that’ll take.”

“Wait, so, where are you?”

“I’m at the jail with Spencer, why?” I inquired, running my hand through my hair and absentmindedly combing out the knots that had formed. I was sure that I looked a right mess, but I couldn’t be too bothered to care.

“Let me get this straight. They left you alone with a guy who is wasted on God knows what, not knowing how he’ll react to it?” A bitter laugh flowed through the phone speaker. “Sounds like you don’t exactly work with the smartest bunch. What if he tries to attack you or something?”

I let his words hang in the air for a moment, unable to formulate a reply that wasn’t something like you’re being an absolute fucking dick bag right now. No, I was a grown woman and I was going to communicate like one, despite the fact that his ignorant reply was making me shake with rage.

“The first thing I’m going to address is the fact that this is not some guy. We’re talking about my best friend and teammate, and his name is Spencer. Use it,” I said through gritted teeth. “The second thing is that he’s not some wild animal. He’s not going to try to come through the bars and pounce on me. What he’s going through right now is traumatic, and he doesn’t need to be left alone right now. Show some compassion.”

“Yeah, okay, I’m sorry,” Gavin muttered. It was the most unapologetic apology I’d ever heard in my life, prompting me to roll my eyes. I don’t understand how I can love someone and want to throttle them simultaneously. “I’m just worried about you, is all. How are you holding up?”

“I’m as good as can be expected,” I sighed, bringing my free hand up to rub at my eyes. “I’m just tired of watching this guy terrorize all of my friends. First, he takes Hotch from us, then he nearly kills Tara’s brother, and now this. I’m beginning to think we’ll never catch a break.”

“I know you’re tired, baby. Just try to hang on a little bit longer. As much as I question some of their decisions, your team is good at what they do. You guys will catch him. I have faith in you.”

There it is. That’s the Gavin that I fell in love with.

“Thank you,” I murmured. “It’s been a long day and I needed to hear that.” I cast a glance back at Spencer, who was now staring down at his bandaged hand, an indiscernible expression on his face. He looked so lost, standing all alone in the grimy holding cell. The lights cast shadows on his face, making his already angular face look gaunt. The Spencer I knew was the human embodiment of light; filling up every room he was in with his delightfully idiosyncratic presence. The Spencer in the cell was so shrouded in darkness that the room seemed to be swallowing him whole, taking his brilliance and crushing it into smithereens.

“Gav, I think I need to get back in there.”

“Yeah, alright. Just keep me in the loop this time, please. I don’t like not knowing where my girlfriend is.”

“I’ll make sure to check in whenever I can,” I promised, before tacking on a, “love you.”

“Love you, too.”

I pocketed my phone with hands that shook, no longer from rage but from apprehension. I liked to think that I was good at my job. I had done well at the academy; not well enough to have graduated at the top of my class, but I did manage to be in the top ten. After lucking into the job of a lifetime, I had fully committed myself to learning to be the best profiler I could possibly be. Two years of piecing together the innerworkings of criminal minds had taught me more than I ever could have imagined about the human psyche. I had talked many a deranged psychopath down from the ledge, and I had saved more than a few lives along the way. Unfortunately, not all cases can end favorably. Those are the ones that taught me the most.

For all that I learned, nothing could’ve prepared me to deal with the shell of a man that stood before me.

I was standing in front of him now, fiddling nervously with my hands. When Spencer had originally told me about his battle with addiction, I had taken it upon myself to do some research of my own. I wanted to be able to identify the signs, God forbid he ever relapse. While conducting my research, I had read somewhere that the best way to support someone during a come down is by remaining positive and creating a calm, safe environment.

I was currently the antithesis of calm, but for Spencer’s sake, I was going to do my best.

I took a step forward and offered him a small smile.

“I’ve never seen you in jeans and boots before,” I said. I was proud of myself when the words came out sounding relatively casual. “It’s a good look on you, but I have to admit I prefer the academic look. I suppose it’s the sapiosexual in me.”

He gave no response, but the tinniest tug at the corner of his mouth told me that he found my comment amusing.

I let my eyes drag over him again and I fixated on the bandage on his right hand, frowning.

“Do you remember what happened to your hand?”

Spencer raised his hand up, absentmindedly flipping it over and inspecting it.

“I don’t know,” he murmured. Spencer’s usually high pitched voice came out gravely, no doubt a byproduct of dehydration related to the drugs. My eyes skimmed across the holding cell and I frowned when I saw no water fountain in sight.

“M’ gonna go get you some water, okay?” I turned away and pivoted on my heel, taking one step before a hand wrapped around my upper arm. I spun around so fast I nearly caught whiplash.

Spencer’s eyes were wide and full of panic, conveying more emotion than he’d had since we’d arrived. His eyebrows were drawn together as well, contorting his face into a pitiful expression.

“Don’t go,” he rasped, his hand still firmly grasping my arm. “Please.”

The hopelessness in his voice was like a dagger through my heart. I nodded fervently and placed my hand over his, prompting him to loosen his grip. He did, and I took his hand in both of mine. I rubbed my thumbs over his skin, haphazardly tracing patterns in an attempt to calm him.

“Yeah, okay. I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” I soothed, bringing his hand up to my mouth and placing a chaste kiss to the skin. “I’ve got you, Spence. It’s all going to be okay.”

The look of panic slowly washed away the longer we stood there. He held onto my hands like I was a lifeline, the only thing tethering him to the ground. While I longed for nothing more than to really embrace him, to pull all of him into my arms and hold on for dear life, the bars that separated us inhibited me from doing so. So instead I just relished in the feel of his hand intertwined with my own.

It would have to be enough for now.

Nadi Ramos was dead.

I didn’t have to ask Emily to know that the situation had gone from bad to absolutely fucking terrible. We knew Scratch was a horrendous individual; that much had been proved by his preferred modus operandi. We also knew that he had become fixated on taking down each of us one by one. He’d tried twice with Hotch, even going as far as to target his son, resulting in the two of them joining WITSEC for their own safety. The next blow had come when he had set his sights on Tara, or, more specifically, her brother. We’d gotten lucky with that one, having located and freed her brother just in the nick of time. After the incident with Tara’s brother, we all expected the next attack to come in quick succession. When several months passed with no sign of Scratch, we all became terribly on edge. No one was saying it, but we all were waiting to see which one of us would be next, crossing our fingers and hoping it wouldn’t be us.

I knew that none of us were exempt from Scratch’s wrath, but for some reason, I’d never imagined him targeting Spencer.

And target him he fucking did.

“We know you didn’t do this,” Emily spoke for the group, knowing good and well that we were all on the same page.

“How did it happen?” Spencer’s back was to us. His shoulders were slumped and his face downturned.

“She was stabbed multiple times. It looked personal,” Luke answered, his voice low and careful. It was obvious to us all that he was being extra careful with his wording, making sure to broach the subject carefully. We all knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Spencer was innocent; but that didn’t mean that Spencer did.

Chief Castenada trudged into the holding cell, the portrait of all things cranky and unpleasant. His presence acted as a proverbial storm cloud on an already shitty day.

“We got the results of your blood work. There’s cocaine and heroin in your system.”

“What else?” Emily asked, causing Castenada to give her a confused look.

“He was in possession of cocaine and heroin when he was arrested. I found what I needed.”

I felt myself bristle and before I knew it, my mouth was open and I was spouting out pure venom.

“Thanks so much for doing the bare minimum, but we’re going to need a full tox screen panel. We’re looking for scopolamine.”

Emily’s eyes cut over to me and if I hadn’t been fighting on Spencer’s behalf, I would’ve withered under the weight of the shut the fuck up look she gave me. Instead, I continued on, silently praying I’d still have a job after today.

“It’ll take longer, but we need it,” I explained in what I hoped was a slightly more accommodating tone. Castenada gave a curt nod in reply before exiting the room, grumbling something in Spanish that had Luke and Emily shooting daggers at his retreating figure.

“Do I want to know?”

Luke shook his head, shooting a small smile in my direction.

“Let’s just say he’s not your biggest fan, and we’ll leave it at that,” he offered, before straightening out his expression and turning back to Spencer. “You were given a speed ball. The opiates block the dopamine in your brain. That’s why things go from clear to hazy. The combination of the drugs causes a dissociative state and explains the memory loss. Are you coming down now?”

“I think so,” Spencer said. His cadence wasn’t as slow as it had been earlier, which was a relief.

“Do you think you could do a cognitive interview?” Emily’s voice was hopeful, and if Spencer was one thing, it was a people pleaser. It was obvious that he was overwhelmed; I had taken note of the fact that he was displaying one of his nervous ticks. Spencer was touching the pad of his thumb on the tips of his other fingers in rapid succession. Despite his obvious discomfort, he nodded his head in agreeance.

“I’ll try.”

Rossi took the lull in conversation as an opportunity to hold up the plastic bag in his hand. I narrowed my eyes at it inquisitively. There were five vials of a murky, dark brown liquid in the bag.

“There were five of these in your bag at the motel. Do you recognize them?”

Spencer’s eyes zeroed in on the bag and its contents, his brows furrowing. It wasn’t long until a look of partial recognition flashed across his face. It was so faint that if he hadn’t been in a room of profilers, it would’ve gone unnoticed.

“What is it?” I asked from my place at his side. He’d been somewhat clingy since the incident that had transpired while everyone was at the motel, gravitating towards me as soon as we all had been granted entrance to the holding cell. I knew that he needed familiarity right now; he was in a very vulnerable state and he needed something that made him feel safe and secure.

Butterflies erupted in my stomach when I had realized what he was doing, that I was that thing that made him feel safe and secure.

Spencer opened his mouth once before closing it, as if trying to put his thoughts into words was difficult. He did this a few more times before settling on,

“Whatever’s in those vials, I was giving it to my mom,” he said, his eyes darting around the room as he spoke. “That’s the only thing I’m sure of.”

“I’ll have them run it through the lab,” Rossi said, before leaving and heading towards the direction in which Castenada had retreated.

Emily and Luke were quick to hop into a rushed conversation, leaving only Spencer and I still in the cell. I looked up at him, at the way his forehead creased as he bit his lip in quiet contemplation.

“Are you sure you’re ready for a cognitive? I know the effects may be wearing off, but you’re gonna be cloudy for a while. If you don’t want to do it now, all you have to do is say the word,” I murmured, keeping my voice low so that only he could hear it. “I can tell that you’re a bit overwhelmed, and that’s okay.”

Spencer’s response came in the form of a shrug of his shoulders.

“I want to try, because I know it’s important. I just don’t know that it will be of much help,” he replied, casting his eyes down to me.

“Yes, it is important, but don’t put too much pressure on yourself. We’ll figure this out even if you can’t remember it all right now.”

Spencer nodded once before running his tongue across his chapped bottom lip.

“I don’t remember what happened, but I know I didn’t kill her,” he whispered, barely audible. Even though his words were quiet, I could hear the desperation in them; almost as if he was begging me to believe them, begging himself to believe them.

I made the irrational decision then to throw professionalism aside and wrap both of my arms around his torso, my grip tight and assured. Spencer’s aversion to touch was common knowledge amongst us all, but for some reason that never seemed to apply to me, and I could see in his eyes that the way we were all treating him like he was fragile was wounding him more than he would ever admit. I hoped to remedy that with my embrace, and the speed in which he reciprocated was so fast that I was certain he was thankful. He wrapped his injured hand around my waist, the other finding purchase in my hair. I felt his chest move as he let out a shuddering breath.

“I know you didn’t, Spence. Everyone on the team knows you didn’t,” I reassured him, my words muffled as my face was pressed against his chest. “And we’re not going to stop until everyone else knows it, too.”

I was well aware that our embrace had garnered the attention of our teammates, but Spencer’s hold on me hadn’t faltered in the slightest, so I didn’t let mine either. Instead, I gripped the fabric of his flannel shirt tighter in my hands.

When Emily exited the room in which they had conducted the cognitive interview, the look on her face was grim. I visibly cringed at the sight as I felt the sliver of hope that I had left die a miserable death.

We are so beyond fucked.

“How’s he doing?” Rossi asked, obviously taking note of the distress on Emily’s face.

“He’s made some breakthroughs, but I’m not sure how helpful they’ll be,” she sighed, running a hand through her jet-black hair. When none of us spoke, Emily’s eyes flitted around, finally noticing that our expressions were a direct reflection of her own. “What is it?”

“They just charged Reid with the murder of Nadi Ramos.”

Hearing it said aloud wasn’t any easier the second time.

While the rest of us had taken it upon ourselves to lean against the cement walls, Luke had begun pacing down the short hallway. After about ten minutes of unbearable silence, he decided he’d had enough.

“We can’t get him out of here, can we?” he finally spoke, his voice a mix of anger and desperation.

“I don’t know how.”

“He didn’t kill her,” I reiterated, speaking more to myself than the three of them.

“If all I had to go on was the evidence, I would swear he did,” Rossi sighed. I knew he was right; Spencer’s personal belongings were all over the hotel room, which was about as incriminating as you could get. “But knowing Reid, hearing the cognitive…”

“Yes, he said there was another person in that motel room, but,” Emily pressed play on the audio recording, and her voice proceeded to flow through the speakers.

“Who has the knife? Who is stabbing Rosa?”

“I don’t know. It’s in my hand.”

Emily pressed the power button and the screen went black.

“Right now, this is just more evidence against him.”

“So, what do we do now? Do we just sit and twiddle our thumbs until the consulate agrees to the extradition?” I asked. “There’s got to be more we can do. We can’t let them take him to jail, he won’t survive in there.”

“I called in some help from IRT. Clara Seger and Matt Simmons will be arriving at any moment,” Emily said, checking her phone after hearing it ping. “In fact, that would be them. They’re here.”

I breathed a sigh of relief as we all fell into step beside Emily. Having people from other areas of expertise that are willing to help is a good thing. Maybe they’ll be able to see something that we didn’t.

“We come bearing good news,” I announced, leading the group as we all entered the holding cell. Spencer was quick to turn around and the corners of his lips pulled upwards as he set his sights on all of us. “Back up is here.”

“Hey Spencer,” Matt greeted, offering up a small smile before crossing his arms across his chest.

“Hey,” Spencer replied, moving to stand up from his spot on the bench. He was still a little wobbly on his feet, but he was doing much better than he was when we had arrived. “Thank you for coming.”

“Yeah, of course. Jack and me are finishing up a case in Costa Rica, so we hopped on a commercial plane to get here,” Clara explained.

“We’re trying to stop you transfer to El Diablo.”

Spencer’s eyes darted over to me and he swallowed hard before speaking.

“Do you think it’s possible?” Hearing the hope in his voice tugged at my heart strings. The way that he could manage to stay optimistic at time like this was a true testament to his character.

“Yes,” Clara began. “Lab reports on the vials came back and some of what was in there hasn’t been approved by the FDA, but there aren’t any illegal substances.”

“That’s great news,” I sighed, letting out the breath that I didn’t know I had been holding.

“Is there anything else you remember about your time here?”

“I remember what happened to the vials at home. My mom threw most of them out.”

“So, that’s why you were here. To get more,” Clara said in an attempt to clarify.

“It must be,” Spencer murmured, shuffling anxiously from one foot to the other.

“Well, you’re off the hook for that. There’s no contraband involved,” Matt announced. Okay, this is good. One less thing to worry about.

“Yeah, but we’re still looking at the planted drug and the murder charges, which could keep you here for a long time.”

“Can we do anything to delay the transfer?” I wondered aloud. Clara took into account what I said and sighed, before turning towards Spencer once again.

“You said that you met Nadi, who calls herself Rosa, in Houston. Why didn’t she just give you the vials in the U.S.?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer said, running his uninjured hand through his hair. “I don’t know, but she helped us and I trusted her. I was right to. I still believe that.”

“Well, she convinced you to cross the border multiple times. She had you risk your life,” Matt argued.

“Because she must have something to lose, too,” I mumbled, eliciting a series of fervent nods from Clara. “Family, maybe?”

“We need to know more about her,” Clara said.

And then, something glorious happened. It was like a switch had flipped inside of Spencer’s head, and all of the sudden the lights were back on. I could tell that he had been struck with an idea, and it was a wonderous sight to behold.

“What was in those vials?” Spencer asked, only solidifying my observation.

Matt produced a paper with the lab results and began reading off the results.

“There are so nootropic compounds like Ampalex, uh, but also some more natural stuff; coral calcium, jimson weed, coconut oil, a variety of vitamins. B12, D3-”

“Where are we right now?” Spencer interjected.

“Matamoros, Northern Mexico.”

“Jimson weed, otherwise known as the Devil’s Snare, originated in Mexico but its natural growing region is further north or south of the border,” Spencer said, his words flowing out rapidly. I felt my heart soar and I didn’t even try to suppress the smile that fought its way to my face.

“Boy Genius is back,” I announced, and for just a moment, the mood in the room lightened for the first time all day.

“So, if it isn’t from here, then were did she get it?” Clara asked.

“Let me get Garcia on,” Emily murmured, dialing the number and tapping her foot as it rang. On the third ring, Penelope’s bright and cheerful voice filled the room, a sunbeam shining through on a cloudy day.

“Please tell me you’re calling to tell me some good news.”

“Garcia, I have some questions for you.”

“Hey, Penelope,” Matt greeted, earning a pleasantly surprised gasp from the woman on the other end.

“Oh my God, it’s the dulcet tones of Matt Simmons,” Penelope gushed. “Are you there to save the day?”

“I’m trying. Clara’s here, too.” A relieved sigh floated through the speakers.

“Knowing we have you guys as backup is providing me some much-needed hope, and I work better this way.”

“Hey, lady,” Clara greeted. “We’re trying to catch up on a few things. Where is Nadi Ramos from?” Before Clara even managed to finish her sentence, the sound of Garcia’s acrylic nails tapping away at her keyboard could be heard.

“Mm she lives with her family just north of Matamoros.”

“That must be where she got the jimson weed,” Emily pointed out.

“What’s weird in she crosses the border, like, a lot.”

“Why?”

“Well, she works in Houston at that clinic, but she also helps at a low-income healthcare center. I can’t find a visa on her, which is double weird. And, in finishing the weird trifecta, there’s a social security number on her W2 form.”

“Social security? She’s an American citizen?” I asked. Matt confirmed my suspicions with a nod of his head.

“Yeah, she had dual citizenship. She was born in Houston, and her family had to move back to Mexico. She lives with them and she works in the U.S.”

“This changes everything. We need to talk to the consulate,” Emily stated.

Just as things were beginning to look up, Chief Castenada decided to grace us with his presence once more; and this time, he had an entourage.

“It’s time for his transfer,” Castenada announced, looking pointedly in my direction.

“We’ve had a break in the case,” Emily argued, shaking her head at him. “The victim was also American, and that calls for extradition.”

Castenada merely shrugged before walking past us all.

“I’ve got orders, sorry,” he muttered, making Gavin’s apology from earlier in the day sound heartfelt in comparison. Castenada wasted no time in beginning to place handcuffs on Spencer, locking them in place with a definitive click. Spencer and I shared a look of panic before both of us looked towards Emily in a silent plea.

One of the men roughly grabbed Spencer by the arm and led him from the room. I watched in horror as they led him away, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest. I barely registered the fact that Emily was now on the phone. I just stood there, staring blankly at the entrance to the cell.

“With the victim having dual citizenship, we now have concurrent jurisdiction. It was my understanding that the official order to extradite SSA Spencer Reid would be evaluated,” Emily damn near snarled into the phone. She paused for a moment, listening to the voice on the other line, before a look of relief washed over her face. “I understand, thank you.” She promptly hung up the phone before turning to face Luke. “They’re taking it to their brass. Go get him.”

Luke took off in a rush, not needing to be told twice.

I only wished I could be there to see the look on Castenada’s face.

“We’re working on all channels here. Matt Cruz is on with the consulate right now. We could get an immediate extradition, but it’s just the beginning,” Emily explained, her voice stern.

Spencer regarded her with a weary expression. The drug induced haze had finally lifted, leaving him painfully aware of how dire the situation was.

“I really screwed up and I’m so sorry,” he choked out, resulting in a crack forming in Emily’s hard exterior. I couldn’t blame her; it wasn’t easy to stay mad at Spencer Reid. Spencer’s eyes were like kryptonite to most; big and brown and full of emotion. I’m sure if you searched ‘puppy dog eyes’ in the dictionary, a picture of Spencer Reid would be found in example.

“It was for the right reason.”

“I can’t remember what happened, but I know I didn’t kill anyone.” It was obvious in the way that he kept repeating the words that he was desperate for us to believe him. No amount of calm reassurance from us could quell the voice in his head that was surely telling him that we thought him guilty.

“We do, too.”

Clara was first to enter the cell, immediately followed by Matt.

“Hey, they approved the extradition,” Clara announced, smiling brightly at the three of us.

“Effective immediately,” Matt added on.

We all exchanged relieved smiles before Matt and Clara led Spencer from the cell. Emily and I were quick to follow, right on Matt’s heels when we were stopped by Castenada.

“I must point out that I feel like justice isn’t exactly being served with this move.”

I pursed my lips together. In the short time we had been in Mexico, my feelings towards the man had grown from distaste to almost a full-blown hatred. That being said, I couldn’t help but understand where he was coming from. If Spencer hadn’t been a federal agent, he wouldn’t be granted the privilege of the extradition. Nor would he be allowed to fly home with us. I hated to admit it, but Castenada made a valid point.

“I understand, but I can assure you that this has gone to the highest ranks and there will be a full investigation,” Emily reassured him.

“Thank you for working with us,” I offered in an attempt to smooth over the rift I had created earlier. Now that my judgement wasn’t so clouded by my need to defend Spencer, I could see the error of my ways. I hadn’t been the most professional.

Castenada nodded once in my direction before turning his attention back to Emily.

“For our reports, I would like to have the recording of that cognitive interview.”

I felt my blood run cold. That interview would just add to the list of things that could be used against Spencer in court. He had openly admitted to holding the murder weapon in his own hands, an admission that would surely earn him twenty to life.

We cannot give him that recording.

Emily seemed to be on the same page as I was.

“I didn’t record it.”

Castenada’s face contorted into an ugly frown.

“But that was our agreement,” he squawked angrily.

“I determined he was still under the influence. Anything he said wouldn’t have clarified matters.”

Castenada’s gaze never faltered, eyeing Emily in an attempt to discern if she was giving him the run around. Luckily, Castenada was unable to find a hint of dishonesty on Emily’s face, and he nodded in resignation.

Years of profiling will teach you how to control your micro expressions.

“You’re committed agents. And I’ve worked with the IRT before. I trust you know what you’re doing.”

“We do. I promise,” I stated, my voice giving off more confidence than I felt. Yes, I thought to myself, there’s no doubt that we’re good at what we do.

But so is Scratch.

All was quiet on the jet, the steady thrum of the engine being the only sound that could be heard. Rossi had been the only one able to fall asleep, something that I would be sure to tease him about later. Next to Rossi sat Emily, who had busied herself with flipping through Spencer’s arresting report. Clara and Matt sat across from them, engulfed in their own hushed conversation.

Spencer had opted to sit on the couch, but he didn’t allow himself to sprawl out like he normally would have done. He was visibly exhausted, wiping at his eyes frequently in an attempt to keep the fatigue at bay. It was almost like he was punishing himself; like he didn’t feel he deserved the solace that sleep would bring.

“You should go talk to him. See if you can’t get him to lay down,” Luke whispered encouragingly from his seat beside mine.

“I have no idea what to say to him,” I confessed. I tore my gaze away from Spencer and turned my attention to Luke. “There’s nothing I can say that will make this any better.”

“You’re not wrong about that, but maybe just letting him know you’re here for him will help. Just go and sit with him, I’m sure he could use a friend right now.”

Luke was right. I let out a dramatic sigh before shooting Luke a pointed look.

“Since when did you get so insightful?”

A grin stretched its way across his face.

“Always have been, sweetness. It’s part of my charm. I’m more than just a pretty face, you know.”

“And on that note, I’ll be going,” I announced, standing up from my seat and walking the short distance to the couch. Luke’s chuckles sounded off behind me and I couldn’t help but smile; note to self, make more of an effort to get to know Luke Alvez.

I approached slowly, hoping not to startle him as he seemed to be lost in his own world. He didn’t notice me until I came to a stop in front of the couch. Spencer’s head shot up suddenly, the worry on his face melting away to form a small smile.

“Hi,” I greeted, returning his smile tenfold. “You looked like you could use some company. Do you mind if I sit?”

Spencer gave me a soft smile and scooted over, patting at the space next to him. I lowered myself onto the couch, angling my body so it was facing him.

“You’re tired,” I observed, leaning back into the soft cushions. Spencer shrugged in reply, opening his mouth to argue, only for a yawn to slip out. I let out a light laugh. “Don’t even try to argue. There’s no telling how long you’ve been up. Why don’t you try and get some sleep?”

Spencer’s eyes reluctantly met mine and I felt almost paralyzed when I saw the sheer vulnerability in them.

“Researchers from the University of Cardiff conducted a two-part study looking at whether people’s daily frustration or fulfilment of their psychological needs, such as feeling autonomous or competent, affects their dreams. The results from the first study showed that people who were frustrated with their daily situation tended to have recurring dreams in which they were falling, failing or being attacked,” he rasped out, his words jumbling together as they fell from his mouth in rapid succession. “The lead author on the study concluded that negative dream emotions may directly result from distressing dream events, and might represent the psyche’s attempt to process and make sense of particularly psychologically challenging waking experiences.”

“And you’re worried your dreams will reflect what happened today.”

Spencer bit the inside of his cheek before nodding in affirmation.

“I can’t promise you that you won’t dream about those things,” I began, my voice coming out soft. “But I can tell you that sleep deprivation can cause lots of very unfortunate symptoms like impaired memory, reduced physical strength, and inability to concentrate. Do you know how I know those things?”

A light flush dusted over the tops of his cheeks.

“Probably because I’ve made it a habit to bore you with my information dumps.”

I shook my head adamantly, reaching a hand up and ruffling up his hair. He batted my hand away, ducking his head to try and hide the smile tugging at his lips.

“Never a bore, Spence. But yes, I know those things because of you and that remarkable brain of yours. And we’re going to need that remarkable brain in tip top shape if we want to get you out of this mess, understood?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he relented.

I patted a hand on my lap, an invitation for him to use me as a pillow. He seemed hesitant, eyes flitting from my face before going back down to my lap.

“Don’t act shy around me, Pretty Boy. I know better than anyone that you’re a secret cuddle bug,” I teased, earning a snort from the man next to me.

“Am not,” he harrumphed, before deciding to take me up on my offer. He laid his head down on my lap before stretching his legs out across the expanse of the couch. My heart lurched pitifully when he nuzzled his head into my leg before letting out a loud sigh.

“Thank you,” Spencer whispered, voice thick with emotion. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, casting tiny shadows on his face. I smiled at the sight and began carding my hands through his hair.

“No need to thank me,” I murmured, raking my nails against his scalp and eliciting a pleased hum from him. “Don’t you worry about a thing, okay? We’re going to get you out of this. I know we will. And don’t worry about your mom, either; I’m going to check on your mom every day, I promise.”

Spencer’s breathing stuttered at the mention of Diana, and I worried I had crossed a line. He stayed silent for a moment, before moving his hand up and squeezing my knee.

“You’re entirely too good to me.”

“Yeah, well, you’d do the same for me. That’s what friends are for.”

No more words were exchanged, and within five minutes Spencer’s breathing evened out and he was asleep.

Several hours later, we were all filing out of the elevator and into the bullpen. I shivered slightly as the cool air hit my bare arms, but I tried not to show my discomfort. I’d shrugged off my sweater and offered it to Spencer the moment we stepped off the jet, draping it across his cuffed hands in an attempt to conceal them. Spencer had thanked me with a pitiful smile and I returned the sentiment, blinking several times to try and stifle the tears pooling in my eyes.

JJ was the first to greet him, with Stephen, Tara and Penelope following closely behind. I watched on for a moment before my attention was pulled elsewhere. Stephen’s phone had rung, prompting him to slip away from the group and retreat further down the hall. I furrowed my brow at this, taking advantage of my colleagues’ distraction as I wandered towards Stephen. I strained to hear his whispered words, but just as soon as I neared, he ended the call.

“What was that about?” I asked quietly. The look on his face told me that the news couldn’t be good, and I didn’t want to ruin the reunion going on just down the hall. They all deserved a few moments of relief.

Stephen let out a long sigh and ran his hand through his hair before speaking.

“I, uh, just got a call. Reid isn’t eligible for the bureau’s legal assistance.”

Stephen’s words sent a jolt of white-hot dread through me. “How is that even possible?” “Spencer went without being briefed, and he wasn’t in Mexico on government business. They refuse to represent him.”

I let my wary eyes drift down the hall, towards the group of wonderful misfits that I had grown to think of as family;

Penelope, whose optimism never wavered, even in the face of the absolute worst that the world had to offer.

JJ, a devoted mother with a heart of gold and a fierceness that inspired me every single day.

Tara, one of the most intelligent and caring women I had ever had the privilege to know.

Rossi, a father figure to all with enough wisdom to create a legacy that would inspire generations of profilers to be.

Emily, a fearless leader whom I trusted with my life and would follow into battle without question.

Luke, a newcomer who took special care to comfort me when I was at my worst.

Spencer, a man too remarkable to even try to describe with words. A man that anyone of us would defend until our very last breath.

That undeniable truth gave birth to the tiny sliver of hope growing inside of me. Spencer Reid was innocent, and we are all hellbent on proving it.

I nodded once in affirmation, more to myself than to Stephen, before allowing myself to meet his gaze.

“We’re on our own.”

And if anyone could pull this off, it was this team. My team.

There is a point when facing the unknown stops being a longed-for adventure and becomes a terrifying reality.

-Storm Constantine

#spencer reid smut #spencer x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid self insert #criminal minds self insert #prison spencer #prison!reid

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mm2305 · 3 years

Note

Hi Mil!!

I thought those Meet Cute asks were so much fun!! I am glad you did too!! If you have time I would like to request #35 for Ethan and Olivia.

Thank you!!

-Kate

Please drive!

Pairing : Ethan Ramsey x f!mc (Olivia Valentine) ¦¦ Words/Rating : 1.4k / T ¦¦ Warnings : mention of aggressive dogs ¦¦ Setting : Alternate Universe ¦¦

Prompt : They jump into your car breathless and tell you to keep driving

A/N : Hello!! I'm sorry this took so long but it's here now and I really hope you like this Kate! I certainly had lots of fun with this. Request from the meet cute prompt list (requests still open). Happy reading!

Disclaimer : all characters belong to the rightful owners. Also the Thomas Mendez headcanon here is by @jamespotterthefirst

Masterlist

-/-

It was a warm, sunny afternoon, the sun high upon the sky, the air unusually filled with humidity. A dreadful combination, for sure. The street was mostly empty, the sight of another soul, rare during this time that the heat was at its fullest. Most people would be sensible enough to not go out at 103°F, but as much as he needed to be one of those people, Ethan was on borrowed time that day.

Being an intern at a hospital was probably the hardest - and let's be honest, shittiest- situation you could be in, right? The answer is a big fat no. At least that's what Ethan Ramsey, a doctor who at just his second year as an attending was at the top of his game and highly successful, would say. Why? Because someone has to deal with the interns and that brave soul has to deal with a lot. He speaks from experience.

Hence why this was the only moment he could slip in his schedule to take a break and get some decent coffee. His best friend Tobias, had suggested he go to the new place in the suburbs to get his caffeine fix. Of course, Ethan didn't believe him at first. A coffee shop in the suburbs? Sounds like one of Tobias' usual pranks. Still, his curiosity won and he drove all the way to the suburbs in search of the infamous coffee shop.

He would die before he admitted that Tobias was right, but that was some pretty good coffee. Content and somewhat more ready to go back, he began walking to his car. He could hear some barking in the distance, but that was to be expected. All those rich people around here sure would keep a dog or two. "Well maybe I should adopt the pup Thomas stole. I could use the company of someone not constantly talking" , he thought to himself as he unlocked the car.

Ethan quickly got in and immediately turned on the air conditioning. He sinked into his leather seat and closed his eyes for a minute, finding some relief from the unbearable heat. Suddenly he heard the door of the car open and close along with some very loud barking and he instinctively jumped in his seat, turning to look at the person who jumped in his car.

He didn't even get to utter a word before the woman turned to look at him with pleading eyes.

"Oh my God I'm so sorry for barging in but please please drive ! I'll explain everything I promise!"

Not even thinking about it, he started driving, while keeping an eye on the woman next to him, who was breathing heavily and looking out of the mirrors. It was then that he saw six big dogs running after his car and all that barking he had heard started making sense.

The dogs stopped following them after a few more minutes, their endurance making them seem understandably terrifying. Only then did she relax and take a deep breath.

"Thank you so much for this. I'm so sorry for jumping into your car.", she thanked him with a small smile.

"Uh… it's no problem. Glad I could help."

"I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Olivia Valentine, nice to meet you.", Olivia extended her hand towards him in a handshake.

Turning his eyes on her he briefly shook her hand. "Ethan Ramsey, it's…certainly interesting to meet you"

She laughed slightly at that, shaking her head and looking out of the window.

Ethan couldn't help but really notice how attractive she was. Her hair was gold blonde and tied back into a high ponytail, shaped in loose curls. Her eyes were big and green and her skin was spotless. Olivia wasn't wearing much makeup but what really stood out was her plump, bright red lips, perfectly contrasting with her fair skin. She was dressed in a simple, professional, dark blue , form-fitting dress with black high heels that accentuated her long legs. She was wearing a silver, elegant wrist watch and in her lap rested a black briefcase.

"Would it be okay if I asked what just happened to you, Miss Valentine?", the urge to solve mysteries whether it was regarding medicine or this beautiful woman, propelled him towards asking her this question. Besides she just came out of nowhere, I have a right I ask her. Right?

"Please call me Olivia."

"Only if you call me Ethan"

She grinned and nodded. "Deal"

"So, Ethan , I am a real estate agent. I had an appointment with a client to show him a villa that was for sale but I had been waiting outside the house for thirty minutes and he hadn't shown up. And of course, he didn't even call to let me know that he wouldn't come, instead of letting me roast in the sun. Anyways, I decided to leave and I walked a couple of blocks down the street in hopes of getting a cab. You can guess how well that went in this time and area, so I called a colleague to come pick me up. I was waiting for her to come, when two of these huge ass dogs escaped their homes, thinking I was an intruder just because I passed by and began coming closer, teeth bared and all. Since I am so lucky today, somehow more dogs gathered so I panicked and ran. They started chasing me… and then Olivia met Ethan", she finished her story with a dry chuckle.

Ethan was left speechless. His surprise must have been written all across his face because next thing he knew she was bursting into laughter.

"I'm-I'm sorry… it's just--that you should see your face", she said in between laughing.

"I mean. Wow. And all because of that jerk of a client."

"Definitely a jerk and not only because of that. He's a plastic surgeon and he's all about how successful he is or some shit. "I'm Dr. Thorne and I'm one of the leading plastic surgeons in Massachusetts." As if I give a damn. ", she rolled her eyes hard.

"Dr. Thorne you said? Ugh he's one of the worst of his kind"

"You know him?!"

"Yeah unfortunately. He works in Edenbrook, as do I. I'm a doctor."

"Ohh interesting! Let me guess. Internal medicine?"

"Actually… yes. How did you guess?", he turned to give her a surprised look.

"You previously said of his kind. I know enough about doctors that one working in internal medicine isn't particularly…fond of surgeons. Am I right?", she asked giddily.

Ethan chucked at that. "Yes, you are. Mostly at least"

"Nailed it."

Valentine. Where had he heard that name though…?

"You work in the big firm downtown don't you?" , he stated rather than asked after a moment of silence.

"I was wondering when you would figure it out Dr. Ramsey.", Olivia teased him, smirking.

"I am a diagnostician Ms. Valentine. I notice things. And your firm is difficult to miss"

"Technically not mine. My father owns the business."

"So it's safe to assume, your mother is the doctor?"

"Bravo, Doctor. Yes indeed. She works at Mass Kenmore."

"I see… So. Want me to give you a lift? We're already in the car and your work is on my way.", he raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"Sure! Thanks Ethan", she replied, grinning widely.

They spent the rest of the way comfortably talking to each other, both genuinely enjoying each other's company. For someone who was so talkative and gregarious, Ethan found himself interested in anything Olivia had to say. She was smart and confident, but in the most charming way possible. At last they reached the firm and Ethan pulled over.

Both turned to look at each other and started talking simultaneously

"Olivia--"

"I --"

"Ladies first.", he motioned for her to say what she wanted.

"Right. Thank you once again Ethan, both for the save and the ride. It was really nice to meet you.", her hand reached and squeezed his arm.

"You're very welcome, Olivia. I uh… wanted to ask…only if you want to of course… can I have your number?". He was quite visibly stuttering, but he tried to hide it behind a cough.

Olivia looked him in the eyes, clearly seeing through him and smiled. "Yeah, absolutely. Can I have yours too?"

He smiled back at her. "Yes of course"

They exchanged cards and after saying goodbye, Olivia got out of the car and walked back into the office. Just as she sat down at her desk she received a text message.

Ethan : Meet me this Saturday at 8, in "Gaston's Bistro"?

Olivia : I'll be there :)

Ethan : Perfect :D

She put her phone away and got down to work, smiling all the way, already excited for her date this weekend.

-/-

A/N : Of you made it till here, then thank you for reading! Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated :)

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bi-bard · 3 years

Text

An Extra Dose of Chaos- Malcolm Bright Imagine (Prodigal Son/Criminal Minds Crossover)

Title: An Extra Dose of Chaos

Pairing: Malcolm Bright X Reader

Requested: Nope

Word Count: 1,861 words

Warning(s): Violence in canon of both shows

Summary: (Starts on season 13, episode 7 of Criminal Minds) The BAU found themselves in a time of need after their final confrontation with Scratch. Though absolutely devastated by the loss of Stephen Walker, (Y/n) was somewhat excited to not be seen as the new kid anymore when Malcolm Bright was brought on to the team. Now, if he could just stop making such a mess of things...

Author’s Note: THERE MAY BE A PART 2 OF THIS BUT I’M NOTE SURE YET! It took a long time but... I found a way to connect them! I am so excited! Also, I doubt Malcolm would’ve lasted this long in the B.A.U but this is the best way to put him in the story without using two seasons that were airing at the same time (Season 1 of Prodigal Son and season 15 of Criminal Minds)

Please consider supporting my Ko-fi account. It would mean a lot to me. If I know there are people interested in it, I’ll get the monthly donation part set up.

Buy me a coffee? https://ko-fi.com/khoward0

----------------------------------------------------

I let out a sigh as I walked to the round table. Another day without Stephen. We had both joined the team around the same time, but I was still declared a new kid because he beat me here by about a month. Garcia had given Luke the official title but I still felt it whenever we were debriefed on a case. Stephen gave me someone to relate to.

I looked over to the door as J.J walked in. She grinned at me.

“Emily hired a new agent,” she said. I nodded. “How are you?”

“Shaky but desperate to get some work done,” I replied, forcing a smile. I knew she was going to say more but luckily the team walked in before she could.

Emily stayed standing as everyone got settled in their seats.

“Everyone, this Malcolm Bright, he’s our new agent,” she said, pointing at the man standing next to her. He waved. Emily and him made their way to their seats. “Take it away, Garcia.”

Malcolm had sat in the spot right next to me. I glanced over at him while he read the case file. He seemed... giddy? That wasn’t the right word but I don’t think there was a better one. Something that should’ve disturbed him just... didn’t.

It was a strange case. Victims were kidnapped, had symbols carved into their faces, and then were found in their cars but miles away from where they were last seen. All without any memory of what had happened to them.

“Alright, wheels up in 30,” Emily said before standing. Everyone followed close behind her.

“Hey, Malcolm,” I said, stopping the new guy before he left. “How are you feeling? I know some of this stuff can feel overwhelming on the first day.”

“I’m alright,” he replied. “Believe me, I’ve seen worse.”

“When,” I asked, my eyebrows furrowing together for a moment.

“Oh, y’know, research for school and such,” he shrugged the question off. “I’ve gotta get my go bag.”

“Okay, see you on the jet.”

“We have our own jet?”

--Time Skip--

“Spencer,” I said, looking at the photos of one of the victim’s injuries. “These can’t be taser or stun gun marks.”

“Why,” the doctor in front of us asked.

“They usually burn the skin around the radius of the mark,” I replied. “There’s no burn mark.”

“Did the victim report a metallic taste in her mouth,” Spencer asked as Malcolm looked over my shoulder at the photos.

“They’re probably snake bites,” Malcolm noted, cutting the doctor off a little bit. “Blood tests would show if there was any venom present.”

Spencer turned around and listed off a few blood tests that I could never remember. I closed the file.

“A snake as a way to subdue a victim, that’s risky,” I said, looking at Malcolm.

“Hot day, lock the snake in the car, and wait,” he mumbled. “It leaves a lot to chance. This is the element that matters. There’s no way a snake is a weapon of opportunity.”

“If it’s a dangerous reptile, there’d be records of licenses,” I said as we followed Spencer out of the hospital. “Once we have the kind of snake, we could ask Garcia to cross-reference.”

“Except if it was bought on the black market,” Malcolm added.

“You do not know Garcia,” I smirked, picking up my pace to keep up with Spencer. Damn this boy and his gazelle legs.

“She seems delightful,” Malcolm shrugged. None of us spoke again until we were in the car. “So... why does this guy choose body modification? Why specifically the scarring? Surely tattoos would have a similar effect to the women’s self-worth.”

“I don’t know yet,” Spencer replied. “I say we relay what we know to the team and see what they say.”

We both nodded, waiting for him to start the car.

--Time Skip--

I wondered why my heart could beat so fast yet I could look so calm when we got to crime scenes. It was like my fear responses stopped halfway. I’m sure there was a reason for it but there are some things you think about but don’t really want the answers to.

I took a deep breath as the car stopped. I unbuckled quickly. We had split up. Matt, J.J, Malcolm, and me in one car; Rossi, Spencer, and Luke in the other. Emily stayed back at the police station to help us out as much as possible.

Matt and J.J went around the back to keep watch. Malcolm and I got to the front door. I was just about to lay my hand on the doorknob so we could be smart about this...

and then Malcolm sprinted in. No count, no warning, he just ran in without any warning.

“Malcolm,” I hissed, following him quickly. What the hell was wrong with him.

I barely got there at the same time as him when he busted the door down.

“F.B.I,” I shouted, actually doing my job. I followed him inside.

He didn’t have his gun aimed. Did he have it out when he first ran in? I kept my gun fixed on Desi- the unsub- who was just staring at us. Her mom tied to a chair and her sister trapped on one of the seats you’d see in a tattoo parlor.

“Desi, drop the knife,” Malcolm said, holding his gun up.

“You- You don’t know what she did to me,” she replied.

“We do,” he nodded. “We know about the neglect and... and the abuse.”

“I was so scared,” she was whispering.

“Who wouldn’t be,” I asked. “You were just a kid-”

“I tried so hard to erase any sign of her,” she continued. “And there she is on the front page. They think she’s perfect.”

My eyes drifted towards the snakes in the room.

“The perfect woman! The perfect mother! They don’t know what she’s capable of... what I’m capable of.”

“We know,” Malcolm nodded, grinning at her. “I also know that if you surrender and we walk out of here, everyone else will know too. She’ll have to live with that. Isn’t that what you wanted? For your mom to live with the shame of all of this?”

Desi went to move forward, towards the snakes.

“Desi,” I said firmly. She stopped... for a moment. She then ran at the container, shoving it towards the ground before sprinting out the other door.

“Help her mom,” I shouted, walking over to her sister. “Hey, stay with me, yeah? We’re gonna get you help.”

I went to call for an ambulance, only stopping for a second when I heard gunshots. I shook it off, calling the ambulance before helping her sister up and out of the room. Malcolm had already left with her mom.

--Time Skip--

We were all on the jet later that night. Some of the team was playing poker, others just relaxing. I was lounging on the small jet couch, cradling a mug of tea.

“Hey,” Malcolm said softly, sitting next to me. I nodded as a way to acknowledge him. “I’ve only known you for a few days but I can already tell that silence is not a good sign.”

“You ran into the house with any regard for safety,” I replied. “Your gun wasn’t drawn, you didn’t wait for back-up and was just lucky I was there, and you ran into an active crime scene without announcing that you were the F.B.I.”

“I did almost everything wrong.”

“Pretty much,” I sighed. “But you did a good job reasoning with Desi. As good of a job as any of us probably could.”

“Well, I’m sorry about what happened... but can I ask something?”

“Yeah.”

“Why are you so worried,” he asked. “I’d say you were angry but you aren’t displaying all of the signs of anger and you can’t just be nervous about the unsub because the event is over with.”

“I was the new kid before you,” I explained, already questioning whether or not I was ready to talk about this. “Around the same time I joined, Stephen Walker did. The team was looking for this serial killer that called himself Mr. Scratch. We thought we had found him and we knew the house was safe... we thought we were gonna catch him. Then, I think he laid spike in the road. Our cars crashed into each other. It was bad. Emily was kidnapped, the rest of us unconscious... except for Stephen. He died in that accident before they’d even found the cars. I had to tell his wife. I couldn’t even look to my right on my way home because her tears had stained my shirt. I lost the person I was closest to on the team.”

“Now you see another new kid running into snake dens like it’s no big deal,” Malcolm concluded. I nodded.

“It makes me really nervous,” I looked down.

“I’m sorry,” he replied quietly. I shook my head.

“It’s alright,” I looked back up at him. “Just... please don’t do something like that again.”

“... I’ll do my best.”

I chuckled at his hesitation. If all went well, Malcolm would fit in just fine.

--Time Skip (In Between Seasons 14 & 15)--

“Hey,” I said as Malcolm walked over to his desk. He had yet another meeting with Emily and Cruz. This time it went a step further. “How’d it go?”

“I had a meeting to explain my actions,” he explained, grabbing his go-bag. It was pretty much the only thing he had at his desk. “And they fired me.”

“What,” I asked. I bit the inside of my cheek.

“Are you surprised that it happened or are you surprised that it happened?”

“You did punch a sheriff,” I trailed off.

Malcolm nodded and started walking toward the elevator. I stood up and followed him quickly.

“Where are you gonna go,” I asked.

“Probably back to New York,” he shrugged. “My mom wants me back there anyway.”

“Oh,” I nodded. I wanted him to stay closer. I wanted to see him. I looked down nervously as we waited for the elevator. “It’s gonna be boring without you here.”

“Always kept you on your toes,” he chuckled. The elevator dinged. “You should come visit. Just give me a call.”

“Okay,” I replied. I was going to just wave but then jumped when Malcolm quickly kissed my cheek and stepped into the elevator. I could only watch in shock as the elevator doors closed.

“Did that just happen,” Garcia asked, walking over to me.

“Oh my god,” I whispered, looking at her. “Oh my god!”

“Go talk to him,” she shouted as the other elevator opened. I ran in, waving at her and telling her to let Emily know where I went.

What I didn’t see was J.J walk up to Garcia after the elevator doors closed.

“What’s (Y/n) doing,” she asked. Garcia just grinned.

“Proving that you owe me twenty bucks,” she replied.

“No he didn’t,” J.J said. Garcia nodded. “I’m waiting for (Y/n) to confirm that before I give you money.”

“(Y/n) might still be in shock when they get up here.”

...and maybe I was.

----------------------------------------------------

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

For the meet ugly prompts, 15 and/or 21 for ot4?

Here you go! I went with 15: I step out of the bathroom and right into the middle of a bar fight and you punch me accidentally so I punch back on instinct. There's no sex scene, but quite a bit of talk about sex.

Duck’s taken a few hits in his life. He’s not expecting one when he steps from the bathroom of Tarkensian’s General Store and Lunch Counter, but that’s what he gets, sharp and hard in the eye.

“Fuck” He yelps, swinging his fist out to keep whoever the fuck is pissed at him from doing it again. He misses, catching sight of a tall government suit as his momentum spins him into the wall.

At the gunshots, he drops to the floor.

“Goddamn it.” His attacker sprints towards the front of the store. Another shot, squealing tires, banging doors. By the time he’s made a cautious journey to the cash register to make sure Leo is okay, the man who punched him is arguing with another suit in front of a Dusenberg with bullet holes in the right front tire.

“I told you to never discharge your weapon unless absolutely necessary.” All six feet of mr quick fists is staring down at his partner.

“They were getting away!”

“Necessary means life or death, Agent Roberts; if we tracked them once, we can track them again, and stopping them today is not worth the life of the civilians in that store. Or anywhere else.”

“Who gives a damn if some hill-billys take a hit, this is government business-”

“That’s enough.” The taller man’s voice sharpens, “Protecting the people down here is why we’re doing this in the first place. If you can’t get that through your skull, you’re asking for a one way ticket back to the tiny police force they pulled you from.”

The shorter man rips his badge from his pocket, bouncing it off the other’s chest, “Save yourself the fucking trouble, I fucking quit.” With that he stomps down the dusty road towards the only hotel in town.

Duck and Leo, who’ve been watching the exchange like it’s a picture show, pivot to setting knocked cans and scattered boxes right as the remaining agent steps through the door. He stands, waiting for them to look his way and clearing his throat to speed them along.

“I, um, I apologize, Mr. Tarkesian. I only meant to question those two men in a friendly way, but the moment they saw my badge one threw a haymaker. Which leads me to assume they are bootleggers, a conclusion I was deferring until I could speak to them. That’s neither here nor there. Are you alright? Are your customers?”

“All in one piece, sir. Your partner ended a sack of flour, but nothin’ else.” Leo tilts his head at the pile of white dust, “though you gave Duck here a hell of a shiner.”

“Oh my lord.” The man puts a hand over his mouth when he sees Duck’s face, “I’m sorry. You stepped out of the washroom right when I tried to stop the younger brother.”

“S’okay. Not, uh, not the worst thing to ever happen to me at dinner time.” Duck would rather not get involved in whatever the hell is going on here.

“No, it’s not.” The man runs a hand over his slick-backed black hair, “will you let me buy you dinner as an apology? Or at least some ice for your eye?” The chagrin is unusual from a government man in this part of the country, and Duck can think of worse evenings than letting a handsome face pay for his meal.

“You buy me dinner” he tilts his head at the lunch counter, “I won’t be sore about bein’ sore.”

The man smiles, “That seems fair. Mr. Tarkesian, if you’re able to write up a bill for the damaged goods I’ll...well, I’ll do my best to get you paid back for it. Have someone drop it off at Amnesty Lodge for Agent Stern.”

“Will do.” Leo nods, then adds, “Duck, ask Pigeon for some ice on the house for that eye.”

Once their orders are in and Duck’s eye is chilling, the agent sets a thoughtful hand on his hat where it’s resting on the counter.

“I really am sorry.”

“Not the first time someone’s slugged me. Definitely the hardest, though. So, uh, guess that’s somethin.”

“If it’s any consolation, my hand sympathizes with your eye.” He holds up his right hand, bruises blooming on the knuckles. Duck holds out the ice but the agent shakes his head, “it’s my own fault for not opting for a more efficient way of apprehending those men.”

“Take it you’re here tryin to bust some moonshiners?”

“Yes. As you might imagine, it hasn’t led to the best reception.” He tilts his head towards the quartet of men scowling at them from down the counter.

“Doubt your partner helped with that any.”

“You don’t know the half of it. One of those men who wants the respect for his badge but doesn’t give a damn about earning it.” He sighs as Pigeon sets their sandwiches in front of them, “Nevermind. I shouldn’t complain about a fellow agent. Um. What do you do here in Kepler?”

“Arborist for every town in the county. The bigwigs at city hall realized any money they saved lettin me go when things got bad wouldn’t make up for what would happen if trees took out houses or the brush got too high and made it easy for the whole damn town square to burn to the ground.”

“Sounds like they’re lucky to have you.”

“Yep.”

They eat in silence, evening sun searing their backs through the windows.

“I’m, um, well I was going to say I’m usually better at conversation than this. But it’s been so long since I did any talking that wasn’t part of an investigation or government business I’ve forgotten how to be charming. Or even interesting.”

“Buyin a fella dinner is pretty charming.”

“No, it’s just the decent thing to do.”

“Take the compliment city boy.”

The agent raises an eyebrow and Duck prepares to be hit again for disrespect. Then Stern laughs, soft and tired, before sending a Clark Gable caliber smile his way, “It’s nice to be talked to like a person instead of a suit.”

Duck shifts on the stool to more easily enjoy the way blue eyes glint when he says, “Even easier if you told me your name.”

------------------------------------------------------

“Well, Joe, this is me.” Duck gestures to the house that’s been in the Newton family since it was built. He’s the last one left in town, so the faded paint and sturdy foundation are all his.

The agent regards the house with the same cool curiosity he’s applied to everything else they’ve encountered tonight. It’s only when his gaze lands on Duck that it takes on a new dimension, friendly and almost innocent in it’s hope.

“You, uh, feel like joinin’ me for some coffee? Wouldn’t wanna interfere with government business by keepin you.” He teases.

Joe is already joining him on the porch, “Roberts probably reported on our earlier altercation. I’ll have better luck keeping Agent Hayes from shouting my ear off if I give him until tomorrow to cool off.”

Duck gets the lights on as Joe hangs his hat and jacket by the door. He opens the cabinet, searching for clean glasses and mugs, spotting the bottle of bourbon that was there long before prohibition started right when the taller man steps behind him.

“Uh, any chance I can convince you that’s a bottle of vinegar or somethin’?”

“No. It doesn’t matter, though.” Since Duck’s hands are full, Joe closes the cabinet, “I don’t give a damn if people drink. I don’t care if someone wants to brew up moonshine in their yard or run a bar. What I care about is how this whole mess has made it easier for mobs to flourish, for normal people to get caught in the crossfire of a corrupt police force and ruthless criminals.” The sofa creaks as he sits down, “I’m not in Kepler because I think it’s some cesspool; I’m here because I know a major bootlegging ring has a leg here, and that the people who benefit from it won’t be the people who get arrested in my investigation casts to small a net.”

Duck keeps his mouth shut; he could tell Joe just how much Kepler’s changed since a certain family got their hands on it. But he’s not sure what else he’d reveal without even meaning to.

Even exhausted, Joe manages to look handsome when he adds, “All that’s to say, I wouldn’t mind a drop of that bottle in my coffee.”

The longer he sits on the couch with his coffee cup, the more relaxed Joe turns. He also doesn’t move when Duck scoots closer, and soon their legs and hands keep bumping each other.

“Do you know Amnesty Lodge?”

“Yep. Few of my friends work there, it’s full of good folks.”

“I agree. I, um, the only other person in town who’ll talk to me like I’m a human works there. Barclay’s one of the few people who doesn’t seem scared of me. Or, he did at the beginning. Now, well, some days I’m almost convinced he’s happy to see me.” A secretive blush dusts his cheeks, “I’m sorry, I get rambly after ten p.m. It’s just nice to have someone to talk to about him.”

Duck happens to be privy to what a man in love with Barclay Cobb looks like. So he keeps some gentleness in his tone when he teases, “City boy likes his men a little country?”

“Barclay is from San Francisco.” Joe looks up from his nails, bringing them almost nose to nose.

“That don’t answer the question.”

“Maybe this will.” Joe drops backwards onto the cushions, taking Duck with him courtesy of a kiss and not letting him up until dawn.

-------------------------------------------------

Practically everyone in Kepler has a job on the side, some legal and others not. Duck considers himself lucky that his is all pleasure with a chaser of business.

He let’s himself into what could generously be called a shack, the ragged exterior giving way to walls of beautiful drawings and a floor that’s more paper than wood. Seated in the far corner at a three-legged desk is a tall, skinny man with pale hair and red spectacles. Kepler’s Van Gogh of Vice, Indrid Cold.

At Duck’s footsteps he turns, angular cheeks and sharp nose a bit sunburnt but smile putting that star (and any other) to shame.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite model.” He stands, undershirt and denim pants hanging off him as he gathers Duck into a kiss. Then he pulls back, concerned, “goodness, what happened to your eye?”

“Hey, sugar.” Duck kisses his chin, “Got caught up in some trouble at Leo’s. Nothin to worry about. What am I today?”

“A brush salesman. Go put on that jacket, the rest of your clothing will do just fine.”

It’s the same routine every time; Indrid sketches Duck in some poor replica of a costume (a policeman, a boxer, a salesman), then instructs him to strip down to some level of undress. If it’s a weekend, Indrid will ask if he can sketch Duck for more complex drawings, some nude and some not, rather than the Tijuana Bibles that help line his threadbare pockets.

He always pays Duck for his time, even though Duck points out that, as his boyfriend, he can see him naked and hard any time for free.

They talk about birds and work, about going to the city sometime soon for a real night out, until Indrid instructs him to remove his shirt.

“My, my, what did you get up to last night?” Indrid traces a finger around the hickey on Duck’s lower belly.

Duck tells him, letting Indrid scoldingly nibble his collarbone as punishment for not inviting him to join.

“I’ve given Agent Stern a wide berth, so it is reassuring to know he’s a decent sort. Though someone really ought to inform him that Barclay shares his feelings.”

“Yeah. Barclay.” Duck chuckles, “they’re two grown men, if they can’t figure out they wanna fuck, I ain’t gonna hold their hands and drag ‘em into bed. Uh, wait, fuck-”

“I got both your intended meaning and the double one. Now kindly remove your trousers and lay on the bed.”

“Any specific pose?”

“Whichever one allows me to be in you the quickest.”

“You’re the boss, sugar.”

-----------------------------------------------------

“He did what?” Barclay thunks the last crate into the back of Indrid’s car.

“Dearest, I know you’re attached to Joseph, but Duck did nothing wrong by sleeping with him-”

“That’s not what I meant.” The cook sets the bags atop the clinking crates, “Duck can’t lie. Him fucking around with Joseph could end really badly.”

“Duck doesn’t know about this” Indrid closes the car, fidgets with the key.

“Yeah, which means he doesn’t know what things to hide. Joseph is smart, Duck could say something totally innocent and give him a clue.”

Indrid rubs his forehead, “We can discuss it further when I get back from this run.”

Barclay mumbles, “okay.” Then Indrid is being lovingly crushed in a hug as his boyfriend speaks into his shoulder, “Sorry I snapped. I get so fucking nervous when you do this.”

“That makes two of us. But I didn’t come by my nickname for nothing. I slip by as quietly as a moth in the dark.”

“But what if the cops lay a trap? Or some other family wants in on Leeshon’s territory and decides to hijack you? Or-”

“Leave the what-ifs to me, dearest. I’ll be back in two days. I promise.”

When Indrid is no more than a shadow on the backroad, Barclay trudges back to the Lodge. He hates this, hates the men who put him in this position, hates the feds who sniff around like dogs waiting to bite, hates how one of the two men who can stop his heart with his smile is also one who could throw him in jail.

The instant he sees Joseph in his usual corner seat, that all evaporates. He knows the agent originally used the Lodge restaurant as a place to eavesdrop. When he’s here these days, it’s solely for Barclay’s cooking and attention. Barclay will give him as much of both as he desires, feed him full of it in hopes of delaying the inevitable. So when the chairs are up and it’s only Joseph leaning on the counter asking if Barclay will join him for a slice of pie, the cook sits on the stool beside him, leaning in as close as he dares, and tries not to think of the future.

---------------------------------------------------

“Mr. Cold?”

“I’m on the back porch.” Indrid calls, cleaning up his paints as Joseph rounds the house, his pristine shirt, shoes, and hair making Indrid feel a rare bust of self-consciousness at his dishevelment. He stands, brushing off his pants, “how can I assist you?”

“By letting me take a look inside your home. I’ve heard rumors that you deal in items that are only bought in back rooms and I need to see if they’re true. I don’t have a warrant, and I’ll get one if I have to, but then I’ll have to bring other kinds of law enforcement with me who might, um, might....look, you’re important to Duck; I don’t want this to escalate any more than it has to.”

Indrid grins, waving him inside, “Say no more. I do believe there’s been a misunderstanding. Your mind, on account of your profession, went straight to bootlegging. I deal in something a bit different” He flips open a briefcase and gets the pleasure of watching Joseph Sten blush.

“It’s not the kind of art I’d sell if I had my choice, but I have a talent for rendering all manner of lewd acts on paper. Owners of bowling alleys and hunting clubs pay decently enough for them.”

“I, um, I see.” Joseph picks up one booklet, flipping through it, “I must admit these are more realistic than the ones I've encountered in the past.”

“I use models whenever possible in both these and my other work” he gestures to the non-explicit paintings on the wall, “in fact, you know two of my preferred muses.”

“Duck” Joseph’s thumb runs tenderly over the illustration.

“Indeed. And this one…” he holds up a second book, “is based on Barclay.”

“Good lord.”

“That’s the general consensus on that part of his body.” Indrid places both booklets safely in their spots, “does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“Yes.” Joseph runs a hand over his hair, “very much. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Cold.”

“Of course. And by all means, call me Indrid. Should you ever be interested in modeling...” he let's Stern feel the full force of his appreciative gaze, "do let me know."

The agent leaves in more of a hurry than he arrived. Indrid closes the door, slumps against and says to the dust specks, “that was too close.”

He reiterates this point to Barclay in the evening, who agrees with him that, as much as Joseph means to him and Duck, when Indrid returns from this run they’ll talk with Mama about how to get the agent out of the Lodge and, ideally, the town. They finish their conversation right as three members of the Leeshon family arrive, electing to travel north along with their goods for some “official business.” Apparently, word of the The Moth as a skilled driver is spreading, the implications of which are keeping Indrid up at night.

He stoops and smiles for the men with menacing shapes under their coats, blows a final kiss to Barclay, and speeds off into the night.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

“Is everything alright?” Joseph hovers over Duck’s shoulder, his eyes locked onto Barclay.

“‘Drid does these trips to sell his stuff, and he ain’t back yet. Ain’t called either of us, which is mighty strange. Usually he lets us know when he’s headin home.”

“And I tried the motel where he usually stays on his last night back down. They haven’t seen him.” Barclay wipes the same spot of table for the fiftieth time, “Duck’s truck is busted and Mama’s got the one we use for Lodge business, so we can’t go look for him ourselves.”

“We could take my car.” Joseph offers without hesitation, “if you know his usual route, we can at least rule out a wreck.”

Barclay shudders; he doesn’t want to think about Indrid, caged and lifeless in twisted metal. He wants to think about it so little that he does the most foolish thing possible; he decides to give a federal agent a guided tour of their bootlegging route.

Soon, they’re creeping along the winding backroad, Barclay navigating from the front seat while Duck bounces his leg in the back. The longer they drive, the more somber the expression from the man beside him.

“Indrid’s the Moth, isn’t he?” Joseph murmurs.

“Hate to say it Joe, but you’re so outta bounds you ain’t even in...the...game” he catches Barclay’s eyes in the mirror, “oh you gotta be fuckin kiddin me.”

“Wish I was” Barclay locks his hands in his lap, “Started about six months ago. Leeshon and his mob decided Kepler was a good spot to stage some of their smuggling. They went to the lodge first; Mama told ‘em hell no, told ‘em to get gone, and they threatened to shoot her then and there to burn the whole place and everyone in it. I stepped in, offered to do it. I was so fucking bad at the driving I almost got caught. Indrid offered to help to keep me safe and keep them from going after the Lodge.” He glances at Joseph, “we’re just trying to protect our family.”

“I don’t doubt it. But you haven’t exactly put me in an easy position. I had a hunch after I was in Indrid’s house; the faint smell of alcohol on certain bags, the regular trips along the exact same route. I just...I was hoping I was wrong.”

“You know damn well ‘Drid ain’t a threat to anyone.”

“He’s aiding the mob”

“To protect us--ohfuck” Barclay’s door is open before Joseph even stops the car. At the crossroads before them are two cars, each riddled with bullet holes. The one on the right, back half full of shattered bottles, is Indrid’s.

“No!” Barclay dodges the other bodies, Duck right behind him, and wrenches the driver-side door open. There’s bullets in the seat, but no body.

“Rival family, I can tell by the rings. They must have ambushed them.” Joseph stares down at one of the bodies by the second car.

“We gotta find him, he might still be, there-” Duck grabs Barclay’s arm, pointing towards the brush, “someone dragged themself that way.”

Duck leads the scramble through the foliage, following signs Barclay can’t see until they reach scuffed shoes on long legs.

“‘Drid, fuck, fuck, c’mon sugar talk to me.” Duck is on his knees, guiding the unconscious man into his arms.

“He’s breathing.” Barclay runs his hands over Indrid’s body, looking for broken bones. Finds one on his left leg, making his boyfriend groan in pain.

“You’re gonna be okay, we’ll get you home.” There’s a clanking noise from the direction they came, “I like Joe an awful lot, but if we gotta steal his car I will.”

Indrid manages to smile with dry lips, “I tried so hard to get back. Hard to crawl on a broken leg after playing dead for as long as it took everyone who’d been shot to finish dying. I just...can we...I want to go home.”

“You clear a path, I’ll carry him.” Barclay scoops Indrid up, follows Duck back towards the car as he snaps and pushes at brush.

“Thank the lord.” Joseph opens the back door of the car, “here, he can lay down. We’ll take him to the doctor right away.”

Duck stays in the back, Indrid’s head in his lap, petting his hair and whispering to him as Joseph turns the car towards town.

“You realize I have to report the shoot out.”

Barclay never takes his eyes off Indrid, “Do what you have to. Just don’t expect a warm welcome back.”

----------------------------------------------------

“....no, Agent Hayes, there were no survivors of the shoot-out.”

“Any records on the cars?”

“Only one. The other didn’t have plates.” Joseph keeps his breathing even as his boss mulls over his report.

“Alright. I won’t send a second man down, but if this escalates I expect you to alert me at once.”

“Understood, sir.” He hangs up, relieved, and steps into the hall of the Lodge. There’s not much spring in his step, since he doesn’t dare show his face in the restaurant.

Then there’s a lot of spring as he’s yanked through a door. Before he can raise a fist, calloused hands cup his cheeks and a beard prickles his skin as Barclay pins him to the wall in a kiss.

“Did, did you hear the callmmpph” He holds tight to Barclays shoulders as the cook manhandles him towards bed.

“Yep, had Aubrey eavesdrop on you.” Duck grins from his spot on Indrid’s comfy sickbed, “you gonna tell us why you covered our asses?”

“Barclay may have to release him for that.” Indrid pats the space next to Duck and the cook let’s Joseph drop into it.

“Arresting Indrid would have put the whole Lodge in danger and done nothing to stop the mobs vying for power on this bootlegging route. It’s the better call to let people think you’re dead for a time and see if I can catch Leeshon as he’s sniffing around for a new driver. And, um, I, I couldn’t hurt you. Any of you. You’ve made me happier than I’ve been in years and I, I just want to help you protect the town.”

“Aww, knew you were soft deep-down, city boy.” Duck kisses his cheek.

“I never did get to thank you for your role in saving my life. Come here.” Indrid crooks his finger and Joseph leans in, expecting a kiss on the cheek. He gets one full on the lips, Indrid humming when he brushes their tongues together. He purrs when they part, “after all, if you’re staying in town, I intend to join my boyfriends in their admiration of you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

“Wonderful. Iin that case, perhaps you’ll model for me.”

“Only if you buy me dinner.”

“Hey, I had to get punched to get dinner.” Duck teases.

“Let me go get it started.” Barclay winks, “don’t get into too much trouble until I get back.”

#OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid boyfriends #reader request #meet ugly #indruck #sternclay #inclay #agent stern/duck newton #prohibition au

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sunflowerdigs · 3 years

Text

So, I did a little sarcastic-y review from the salt mines for RNM 3x09. Warnings for excessive sodium content, Maribel mourning, a desire to recycle cardboard, and, of course, Malex opinions. Without further ado:

- Every time Michael smiles I forget for like 5 whole seconds how much I hate that Malex keeps me shackled to this show. Too cute that he brought Alex lunch (and probably hoped he could sneak a glimpse of him) and they're going on their first date (omg omg omg).❤❤❤❤❤

- Kyle should yell at people more. Starting with his garbage friends who left him in a barn without proper triage or jello cups while he was in a coma (why didn't they just keep him at DS if he's having appointments there anyway? Nevermind... ). Alas, he's starting his understandable rage tour with Uncle Edgelord, who, naturally, makes a dramatic statement and tries to leave. I am so glad Kyle called him on that.

- Delmanes would be cute if Greg didn't have the personality of cardboard. They've created a character who is actually only here to remind us of how special and amazing Maria is. Turns out that's not super interesting. And it's so painfully obvious that it's a pair-your-spares situation. I really wish they'd just give her Kyle, he has the patience of a saint. Anyway, Isobel's pigtails are cute af (rip my Isobel/Maria/Kyle heart - I would have taken Isobel interrupting Delmanes and Heather's post with pigtails today as signs if not for genetics).

- Anatsa and Isobel's development seems to have taken place completely off-screen, like everything else gay on this show, so I'm guessing it's gonna stick. Honestly...I guess this is controversial but Isobel and Maria have really good chemistry and a history. I know their bond is supposed to read "sibling" but it doesn't for me. And rather than waste time watching them flirt with these one-note (ah, Greg chimes in right on time with a convenient line any rando could have delivered) LIs, I'd much rather see them get closer. The whole related thing has thrown a wrench into it for me. That said, it's nice to watch a woman be encouraged to go after another woman. 🎉

- Alex the sci-fi/fantasy nerd figuring out immediately that the hallucination is his own subconscious is 100% legit. Much like Kyle not letting his uncle pull a classic tall-dark-and-broody exit, I appreciate Alex's 4th-wall break moment.

- Not Max and Liz proving that discussions about s2 drama can occur on Roswell New Mexico?! What? Must be a straight thing. Lucky them.

- Isobel is actually acting a lot like Sherlock Holmes when he's on a case, from the wardrobe to the focus, and it's hot. Also, totally believable that Isobel would be able to pull up that pod from under the ice because we know she's been training even if it didn't happen onscreen. Because she told us. Just a suggestion.

- I love the idea of Jim Valenti as a double-agent, but I don't see how Eduardo thought he could keep Kyle safe by never knowing him. It feels like there's a lot more here Eduardo isn't saying.

- It wasn't a sister-fight that Maria and Isobel had, but whatever (no one got physically shoved or brought up a horrifying memory from 100000 years ago to shove in someone's face in public - doesn't count).

- Also, why would you waste a glass by throwing it into the fireplace? Wouldn't it just explode back in your face? Man, the show is trying so hard with Maria and Greg, I want to give them some kind of romance-novel award for effort (but not success).

- Not Liz and Max showing us that it's possible to move forward by discussing your past mistakes like adults instead of pretending they didn't happen!? What? Must be a straight thing. Lucky them.

- Draw a line on the bottle? No way, Valenti, he obviously wants you to chuck that whole thing straight into the fire in a fit of passion to prove that his words had an emotional impact.

- Also, Kyle wins the prize for this episode for that speech to Uncle Edgelord. Everyone go home. When do I get a Kyle and Alex spin-off where they travel the world, defying sci-fi tropes and seducing beautiful men and women?

- Not Liz and Max talking loudly about aliens while breaking and entering! This one is actually very believable, I take it back.

- It was idiotic of Liz to trust Heath. And Echo keep having this same fight because MAX IS RIGHT BUT THE SHOW WON'T LET HIM BE. Which is so obnoxious. I would forgive Liz for almost any sin (like, idk, getting a better romantic storyline because she's straight) because she's gorgeous and smart and tough and I wanna go live with her and her mad scientist energy on a deserted island somewhere. But she's being real dumb rn.

- I love the t-shirt and if Vlambase doesn't sell one I will. But he couldn't have held up a radio and blasted some Barry White? I feel like that would have cleared everyone but Alex put of the building real fast. Also, what is time on Roswell NM? Was Alex just setting the alarm every so often for kicks? Does Eduardo really not check in on staff who are working with dangerous technology for days on end? Also, why is this entire plot happening over a single goddamn episode instead of two or more so that we can really feel Alex wasting away under the machine's influence? The reason this twist is at all surprising is also the entire plot's undoing - Alex's demeanor wasn't exactly one of a man obsessed (or an addict, tbh) in his last scene.

- Anyway, back to Rizzoli and Isles. I definitely am always super excited to hear the details of my sister's sex life. All the time. That is totally a sister thing except where it's really not. Do any of these writers actually have a sister? I feel like they must because the Michael/Max/Isobel sibling chemistry is always bang on but Maribel is just...flirty lady city. Oh, and look, the beard just showed up with coffee to cockblock - it really is R&I!

- Back to Alex's plot line, which, much like Isobel's coffee, is Express To-Go. He's become haggard and worn in the time it's taken Michael's mom to find a cute sweater in the void. Seriously, we wasted like 3 whole episodes where Alex was presumably sitting in DS twiddling his thumbs and now he's being worn down by the machine in a single episode? Why didn't this plot start back in episode 3 or 4? Like...look, I don't come on here to be an asshole. But I just really hope they're taking note of what worked this season and what didn't because HOLY PACING FIASCO BATMAN. Just because you're giving us Malex doesn't mean everything else can just be hot garbage (not the acting, Taylor's doing his best to sell this). Also, when did Alex put his leg back on? I have so many questions but they aren't the good kind, so Michael better ride in soon and save this mess.

- Regarding what Nora is saying, it's fine, it makes sense but the zero build up makes it completely ineffective. Alex is afraid he doesn't love enough - it would have been nice to see that over several episodes instead of just being told in a burst of sudden exposition but, you know. Nice straight things we can't have, I guess.

- If Michael and Alex want their relationship to "purr" they could, idk, talk through their past misunderstandings like people in relationships do. Or the show could keep throwing exposition bombs at them, idek.

- Are those empty toilet paper rolls inside the machine? I knew the CW was budget but come on...

- And we finally get the Heath connection and it's to our brand new trope-y character, Wise Old Black Man Dallas. It's surprising but only because the 4th alien didn't exist before this episode. So, good job.

Overall, not the worst episode of RNM ever. I only wondered why I watch this show maybe 3 times this episode. And Michael's enthusiasm for Alex was adorable.

#malex #roswell new mexico #review #rnm spoilers #3x09

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haru-sen · 3 years

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Imperial Forces

I’ve written...a lot of words for a fanfic no one asked for, and only one person has confirmed knowing what the hell I am even talking about. My god. This is a preview of the IAL anniversary gift and may be changed down the road. Certain people instigated this, you know who you are, and I’m still salty at you.

TW: This is a darker piece of work compliant with some of the unpleasantness that one expects the Sith Empire. Includes: dubcon, mentions of previous sexual assaults, attempted sexual assault, bad boundaries, bondage, and improper use of the Force. Edited: Posted some minor corrections. Part 1/?

You sat at the table, ramrod straight, focusing on the silverware, and your glass of wine. The cut of the crystal was exquisite, and the wine was a Dathomirian Fury Red, if you recalled correctly, which you might not, because the entire day had been an absolute disaster, and you would be so very lucky if you made it to the dessert course. Surviving this situation was highly unlikely. You’d known for awhile that your time was extremely limited. But having dessert before you were murdered by a Sith lord, would be kind of nice.

You glanced up at the masked Sith, and then the bored moff across from you: dinner, dessert, death. At least the dining room was luxuriously decorated. You’d always expected to die in a dark, gross alley. This was an upgrade, really.

But for some reason, all these high-end pre-murder amenities were not making you feel any better.

They called you Cipher 13, because your real name was classified, and because the previous Cipher 13 took a one-way trip down a sarlacc pit the night before your spontaneous promotion. In all fairness, the name was probably cursed. You were the “unluckiest” of the Cipher agents, often getting the worst assignments or having your missions interrupted by the most unbelievable accidents.

It was an old joke by now, but you still got regular comments about your unenviable misfortune. Like today, when you’d gone to the quartermaster to stock up on the special blend of stimpacks Ciphers used. Fixer 3 had made an awkward joke about how your formula had “unpredictable results” and looked uncharacteristically scared when you took one right in front of him. Fixer 3 was normally a sensible guy and you liked him. You weren’t sure what he had been thinking today.

But it had been a long week, and you had not been given the regular rest break between assignments. Something “urgent” had come up. Watcher 5 had briefed you of your next mission, which was something convoluted and political. You were working for a Dark Council member. Watcher 5 had slipped in a snide remark along the lines of, “try not to let your personal chaos spill into this operation. Sith Lords have little tolerance for surprises.”

He said this, like you had control over these things. Ridiculous.

For example, how could you anticipate that a rancor would get loose at a diplomatic banquet and eat the person you were supposed to interrogate (along with half a dozen or so other very important people)? Not your fault, and certainly not within your control, and despite slicing the needed information from his personal terminal, the mission had been judged (unfairly!) to be a failure. Then there was that pazaak tournament on Nar Shaddaa where you had been burned by another Cipher, who outed you to the Hutts. It didn’t matter, in the sense that you won the game, shot her in the face, and received the boon you had entered the tournament to acquire. (The Hutts didn’t care who you worked for, as long as you weren’t crossing them.) You received demerits for having your cover blown by another agent’s blatant betrayal. (But she didn’t get any, because she was dead, and Minder 2 was pissy with you after that forever.) Then, there was that time you’d walked right into a Jedi strike team ambush meant for Darth Baras on Corellia… You were lucky to only lose a hand that day. Coincidentally, the officer who had given you the bad intel had also been fatally unlucky. He had a rare and deadly allergic reaction to the nuts in his ryshcate pastries, served at a diplomatic fete that weekend. How tragic it is when one can’t even enjoy their pastries.

But it wasn’t just misfortune. The current Keeper did not like you, had never liked you, and was growing more and more frustrated by the fact that you kept coming back alive, when many others did not. (You knew for a fact that the Minders had a betting pool regarding your survival. Minder 12 had been very helpful in providing you the behind the scenes information. You missed her.) As Keeper effectively ran the ops division of Imperial Intelligence, this was a definite problem.

Watcher 4 had been instrumental in keeping you alive. But now that he was gone, you were on your own with very few allies within your organization. That was why you had been given this newest assignment. (You missed Watcher 4 as well, and while you could not and would not try to prove it, you thought he and Minder 12 might have faked their deaths and run off together. It was a purely fanciful notion, but you could dream, right?) Imperial Intelligence agents didn’t get happy endings. And Ciphers usually didn’t make it to five years.

You had seven.

By all rights, you should have been able to transfer to a Watcher position a long time ago. But that never happened. It was probably because Keeper hated you. You did not know exactly why. You suspected it was because you were not born into the upper echelons of Imperial high society. You had started out a slave, earned some freedom, and trained as a Cipher; but on the Imperial capital planet of Dromund Kaas, that wasn’t enough. Your continual survival offended him, a constant reminder of his own failure to erase you.

And so here you were, assigned to the whims of Darth Thanaton, a member of the Dark Council, a crusty overpowered madman, and worse, an absolutely unmitigated boor. He was urbane enough in his public appearances, but behind closed doors? An absolute drama queen.

You stood in his foyer, Thanaton was shouting now, and you got the impression that he did this a lot, having an audience present was optional. The man himself was older, fit enough to show his face (no mask or rebreather), and had been quite the assassin in his day. The room was black marble, filled with ugly stone antiques, and it felt like a mausoleum, only louder and more oppressive. Your head was pounding and your stomach churning as you struggled to pay attention to his spiel. You were professional enough that you could maintain a mask of respectfulness, despite your growing physical discomfort. You had powered through worse.

Like that time on Tatooine when you’d broken a leg in melee combat with Tusken Raiders…That had been a bad day. Or that time you’d gone undercover as a Hutt’s dancing slave on Nar Shaddaa. Or even when…

Focus. Thanaton was bad enough. You did not need to take a trip down traumatic memory lane in the middle of a Darth’s monologue.

Thanaton spent a good quarter of an hour railing against the failing morals and falling standards of the Sith academy on Korriban. And then another quarter of an hour complaining about the bureaucratic delay in assigning a “suitable” Imperial Intelligence agent to his cause. He went into great detail about how much the Council needed this work done, and how important it was, and how Lord Messor’s habits were unseemly, and Moff Kiljack needed to know his place, and...and...and… It went on much longer. He sprayed spittle when he spoke. It was painfully distracting.

You nodded along, like a good Cipher, even though you could feel the nastiness of his aura crawling along your skin. It worsened your nausea. You were no saint, but being near powerful Sith made you queasy. There was something fundamentally wrong with most of them, and your body knew it. But you stood at attention, masking your disgust, because to cross a Darth was a clear-cut and uncomfortable death, usually with choking, sometimes lightning. You’d seen it up close many times and experienced lighter versions of those punishments yourself. Best avoided if possible.

Keeper knew what he was doing. There was a fifty percent chance that you wouldn’t even make it to the mission. Snotty old Darth Thanaton would take offense at you for simply existing and smite you before you had a chance to get to work.

But you were not unaware of the situation. Lord Messor was an unconventional dark lord, taking more than his share of apprentices from Korriban (and doing who knows what with them? Sith Lords didn’t usually keep more than one alive at a time). Moff Kiljack had been one of those apprentices, and had shown an extreme aptitude for military strategy. He had then been put on a different career track, promoted to head of Messor’s security forces, and given free reign. Eventually however, things between the men soured, and the former security chief had managed to wrangle a promotion from the Imperial army, instead of just wasting away as Messor’s lackey. He gained some powerful allies and rose quickly to the rank of moff. To no one’s surprise, Messor hadn’t taken the change of allegiances well, and now things were awkward, to say the least.

Thanaton claimed that he found the entire situation offensive. You didn’t think it seemed any different from any other horrible day on Dromund Kaas. There were so many betrayals, atrocities, and political cliques, you just tried to keep your head down, and your heart beating. It was more likely that Thanaton feared Messor’s growing power and wanted to eliminate a rival.

If only you had gotten another off-world assignment. You’d already disabled the kill-chip implanted in the base of your skull. You could just fake your death, move to some peaceful, secluded farming planet, and not worry about being flayed alive for accidentally making eye contact with a power-mad sorcerer.

You’d always suspected your cause of death would be “someone else’s ego” or at least “collateral damage,” but you didn’t expect it to play out so literally. By the time Thanaton actually got to the point, you had been standing in his foyer for an hour, watching him froth and rant. Lord Messor or Moff Kiljack had just been assigned to deal with a situation on Hoth or Voss (you couldn’t tell because Thanaton had been going at it for so long that he kept switching the names and not giving you any kriffing context…) But you were to sabotage those efforts, make Messor and the moff lose credibility, fall from grace, and be tossed into the bone pile in the waste dumps outside the city.

That’s it. Ruin them on the basis of his disapproval and use his tenuously plotted scheme to do it. Failure would be met by death.

Success would also probably be treason, and that too was punishable by death.

Hell, if you did succeed, Thanaton would have to kill you to tie up loose ends.

Death, death, or more death, with no obvious way out. Normal mission parameters, really.

Nodding, you told him, “I understand, my lord. It will be done, my lord,” while preparing to take a shuttle off-world and commit very public suicide on Nar Shaddaa. Hell, you could just go throw yourself at the mercy of Theron Shan. He probably would only torture you a little, as a formality, before taking pity on you, and ending your misery himself.

OK, clearly you had been in Darth Thanaton’s dark energy radius for too long, because his madness and depressive thoughts were now rubbing off on you. Plus you still wanted to throw up. And Thanaton might have sensed your urge to flee, because he sent you back to the Imperial High Command with an escort: one of his security advisors, a pompous man of “good breeding” named Captain Prince, and a dozen heavily armed guards.

Druk.

The soldiers weren’t really there for you, you realized once you were already seated in the convoy listening to Prince further explain Thanaton’s “plan.” Lord Messor was taking on a greater role in the war effort against the Republic, and Imperial High Command was providing more men for his military gambits. Prince and his men were being overtly assigned by Imperial High Command, though they were actually loyal to Thanaton. Prince would be reporting to Messor tonight. Your cover was as Prince’s assistant. Your job would be reconnaissance and sabotage, and you would be reporting your progress to both Prince and Thanaton. You also would be expected to produce reports for Keeper, not that Prince understood the workings within Imperial Intelligence.

...It was shit plan. You knew it even before you heard it, though Prince seemed confident that his background would pass muster. That was a little more reassuring than Thanaton’s mad ramblings, but still amateur. Prince was a decorated military man, and had seen some very vicious combat, committed atrocities, and been rewarded for his service. He was not the man you would have put in charge of any operation that required subtlety. If Keeper had wanted this job done right, he would have assigned it to you himself, and given you free reign. There was a lot of subtext to unravel, but right now you had to nod along to Captain Prince’s blathering. He wasn’t nice, he stared at your chest longer than was polite, and he put a hand on your knee. You lightly brushed it off, reminding yourself that you could not kill Thanaton’s representative on the first day.

Like any highborn noble, Lord Messor had an estate outside the city. The route was straight forward, and you were taking a regular speeder to get there. Contrary to your expectations, the ride actually helped clear your head. You were still a little shaky, but less nauseated. Getting away from Thanaton helped. Wind lashed at your skin as you watched the jungle pass by, and you wondered how much of a lead you would have if you left for Nar Shaddaa tonight. With any luck, it would be hours before anyone noticed you were gone.

You waited, hands steady, even as you and Prince exited the vehicle. It was raining, as usual, and the air stunk of ozone. Three more men followed from another transport, and Prince did not offer any introduction, though you could feel them watching you with predatory eyes.

The Messor estate had several outbuildings, and the gates were high. A large fortress had been partially carved out of the cliff, the jungle providing more strategic cover. Though solid, it had the columned facade of an ancient Sith temple. You studied it, not quite sure what Thanaton had been complaining about. Lord Messor seemed to have traditional Sith tastes (gothic and imposing), at least when it came to architecture.

“Come on, kitten,” Prince said with a leer. “If you want to marvel about size, I have something to show you.”

The men behind you laughed.

You just smiled politely, and decided that maybe Prince would lean too far out a window tonight. The jungle provided a lot of ambient noise to cover any screaming. The winds were dangerous. Accidents happened, especially around you. Hell, if Prince was defenestrated, they’d probably be too busy mopping up the meat confetti to look for you…

Prince led the way to the fortress, frowning as an HK droid met you at the bottom of the steps.

“Greetings, Captain. Lord Messor is expecting you. Please come this way.” The droid pointed to a more discrete entrance: a small path leading to a recessed door. With the foliage and the angle of entry, it was well-concealed.

Prince’s upper lip curled in aggravation, but he adjusted course. You followed, noting the placement of the turrets, the thickness of the walls, and the fact that the droid that met you was a high-end assassination model. It spoke like a protocol droid, it had those functions as well, but you were very familiar with the HK series.

You followed Prince through the heavy durasteel door and to a narrow set of stone steps. The lights were low, and the stairwell was mostly in shadow. Then the door slammed shut behind you, leaving the HK droid and the other three men outside.

Prince stopped, he glanced at you questioningly.

“I didn’t shut it,” you said.

Prince pushed past you and tried the handle. The door did not budge. He frowned and drew his blaster pistol.

“Let’s go,” he told you, gesturing with the pistol for you to go first.

“Of course, Captain,” you said, maybe a little sarcastically, as you marched up the stairs, keeping an eye out for trip wires, pressure plates, or any of the other nasty surprises that Sith lords liked to keep around their homes.

...Druk. Sometimes there were creatures. The local fauna was bad enough, but the Sith liked to import nasty things as well as craft their own monsters. You’d seen plenty and you had no desire to face Sithspawn again any time soon.

You stepped lightly. The stairs went up for at least three stories, and then there was another door. You glanced back at Prince.

“Hurry up,” he growled.

You opened the large metal door, and stepped into a cavernous room big enough to serve as a huttball field. Dim lights shone in wall sconces, and two rows of black pillars lined a path to a massive carved throne. All these features seemed to be cut from the same mountain stone.

There was a figure on a throne, black and red robes under a heavy breastplate, a black hood and stylized skull mask covering his face. He wore heavy metal gauntlets, tipped with dangerously sharp talons.

“Captain Prince,” Lord Messor spoke quietly, his voice smoother than you expected, a lot calmer than some other dark lord whom you had met earlier today. The acoustics of the room were amazing, his voice carried through the hall.

“Ah, my lord,” Prince stepped past you, his blaster already holstered. “I am honored to finally- be in your presence.” He gestured for you to follow as he led the way toward the throne.

“I did not give you orders to approach.” He sounded almost bored.

Prince stopped. “My apologies, my lord. I did not-”

“You don’t need to explain,” Lord Messor said, resting his chin in one palm. “And I don’t have patience for your excuses.”

Prince cocked his head to the side and looked almost comically confused.

And then Moff Kiljack – you recognized that striking blonde hair and those icy blue eyes - stepped out from behind a pillar, and pressed his blaster to the back of Prince’s skull. There was no hesitation. He blew the captain’s brains out right there in Lord Messor’s throne room. Prince dropped with a thud.

You barely had time to avoid the splatter, let alone wonder what Moff Kiljack, Lord Messor’s sworn rival, was doing in his throne room. You glanced between the Sith lord and the moff, wondering if you had time to dive for cover while they battled.

Instead, Lord Messor just sighed. “Ensign De Veo,” he said, using your cover name, and giving you hope that he didn’t know exactly what was going on. “Also known as Cipher 13,” he added, crushing that hope. “I’m sorry for the mess. Kiljack can be so...uncivilized.” He stood and began descending from the dais.

You glanced over at Moff Kiljack, not at all surprised to find the blaster pistol aimed at your head.

“That’s unnecessary, Kiljack. I’m sure our dear Cipher understands her position.” Messor swept down the stairs from his throne, red and black fabric swirling behind him. He circled you like a hungry sleen. “Now, I realize this isn’t what you expected. But I’d be delighted to explain everything. So why don’t you join us for dinner, and we can discuss what you’re doing here, why you’re still alive, and what you need to do to stay that way. This should be easy enough for a woman of your caliber.” He chuckled.

There was no room for panic. You survived because you could think on your feet. Because you didn’t get caught up in “what should have happened.” You kept your mouth shut and most of your insubordinate comments in your head.

You gave a stiff bow from the waist. “I would be honored, my lord,” you said, already tasting lightning in the back of your throat. It was very unlikely that you would get through the night without a demonstration of Sith might.

Lord Messor laughed, like he found you genuinely amusing, and headed toward the eastern doors.

“Cipher,” Moff Kiljack was at your side, offering you his right arm. He was a tall man, very fit in his officer grays. There was blood on his cuffs and glove. He stood like he was carved from ice.

You swallowed and tentatively placed your metal hand on his bicep, wondering if you could scratch him with one of your poisoned needles without him noticing.

“I wouldn’t,” Kiljack said, not even turning his head to look at you. “Be a good girl, and you’ll make it out of this alive.”

You shivered, suddenly very cold in your officer’s tunic. The fear crept down your spine, threatening to freeze you in place. But that would not do. You forced yourself to breathe. You had forgotten that the moff had once been a Sith apprentice. Force-users could pick up surface thoughts. Normally though, you were better at shielding. You steered your mind back to nav-charts and the asteroid belts of the Outer Rim. Head held high, you walked with Moff Kiljack to Lord Messor’s banquet hall.

And so here you were now, seated to the left of Lord Messor, a very bored Moff Kiljack sitting across from you, watching you with cold eyes.

The table was long, almost the length of the room, and also carved from the same obsidian stone as the chamber. The same with the high-backed chairs, though they were not attached to the floor, and had plush cushions on them.

Your brain was working almost too fast, panic welling in each heart beat. You tried to calm yourself, as you stared at the vividly colored salad in front of you. You turned some of your hyperfocus on that. It was very aesthetically pleasing, and would not be out of place at a restaurant on Alderaan or Coruscant. Perhaps it would pair well with-

-So what the hell was going on? Moff Kiljack and Lord Messor shared a well-known enmity. But now they were working together, likely because they had learned of Darth Thanaton’s intent to bring them both down. Prince’s men were definitely dead. HKs were ruthlessly efficient like that. You were a loose end, but one they could bargain with. They would want to use you against Thanaton, of course, but you were an experienced Cipher. You still had some resources-

-a Starblossom spritzer or a Coruscant blush wine. You weren’t sure what the next course was, but traditionally there would be a protein and a starch, and-

-This wasn’t a con you could pull off alone. Not that it had much of a chance before. The original plan was half-baked garbage and you didn’t really want to-

Wait.

You willed yourself still, taking a moment to breathe. Your mind was moving too fast. There was something wrong. Had been wrong all day, your focus slowly sliding into the abyss. But trying to figure out what was exactly was wrong, was like grasping at fog. And with both a moff and a Sith lord watching your every move, now was not the time to buckle.

Your memory coaxed up a tiny epiphany. This started around the time you met Thanaton. Was it him?

Kiljack took a bite of his salad, his flat expression not changing, even as he chewed.

Lord Messor was not eating though. He raised his mask to sip his wine, but given the kinds of damage Sith lords did to their bodies, it was possible that he did not have a normal digestive tract.

“Is the food not to your liking, Cipher?” Messor asked, curling those metal talons against his palm with a rhythmic tap tap tap.

“It is exquisite, my lord,” you said, picking up your fork, and taking a bite. The vegetables were crisp, fresh, and lightly vinegared. There were sweet berries mixed in with crumbles of salty cheese. If this was your last meal, you could have really done worse. “Are these Alderaanian fickleberries? They’re a wonderful addition to the dish, just the right amount of sweetness.”

“Indeed,” Messor practically purred. “You have a sophisticated palate. I understand that you are well-traveled.”

“Or she’s used them before,” Kiljack said, still eating his salad. “Likely when she mixed them with the nuts in that Corellian ryshcate to poison Ambassador Morrow. Clever move: I understand the symptoms mimic an allergic reaction. Never thought to mix fickleberries with vweilu nuts and a decoction of grillig-juice. All are harmless on their own, but when combined together, the enzyme produced causes catastrophic organ failure in most humanoids.”

You froze.

“Do you think that would work on Darth Thanaton?” Kiljack asked, tilting his chin up “No, that’s far too radical for him. Mixing foreign nuts and berries, he’d never go for that.” He flashed you a predatory smile. “You might have better luck with a rancor.”

They knew.

This wasn’t just about Thanaton. No one in Imperial Intelligence decisively knew everything that you had done, or how: just that you got results. But Moff Kiljack and Lord Messor, two mortal enemies had just sat you down to dinner and they karking knew. And if these two knew what Imperial Intelligence did not, that meant they were far more driven and dangerous than you initially expected and how did they know? Why did they go through all that effort-?

Terror, still fresh from your encounter in the throne room, blossomed in your chest once more. Dozens of scenarios played out in your mind: the consequences of your exposure. There was no need to go into graphic detail, though you kept getting distracted with colorful visions of your own evisceration. No matter what you thought of, it all ended very badly for you.

In that moment, you cursed your premature deactivation of your kill-chip. They knew. And if it was you versus a Sith lord and his moff ex-apprentice, you would not win. They had already done the hard part, already figured out what you did and how. And then you had just walked into Messor’s home, a gift-wrapped sacrifice. They wanted something from you, and judging by what they already knew, what it took to find that information out, they had the will and means to break you. You’d seen the inquisitors work, seen the aftermath too, the piles of mewling meat begging for death. Being on the wrong side of Sith and moff persuasion wasn’t any kinder. Electrocution or a snapped neck were far better.

You were on your feet in seconds, already turning to run, hoping Moff Kiljack would take you out in one shot.

“No!” Lord Messor raised his hand, and you slammed back down into the chair. Something in your body cracked as you struck the stone, and the world went black for half a second before you snapped back into your body.

You tried to move, but the force held you in your seat, pressing tightly against your chest, your arms pinned down on the armrests. You could barely breathe, let alone move your limbs. Shuddering, you could only watch as Moff Kiljack leaned against the edge of the table in front of you. He reached out, one gloved hand tilting your chin up.

“You hit her too hard, Messor,” his voice was calm. “She’s bleeding and her pupils are uneven.”

“Couldn’t help it. She moved too fast, and she was planning to self-destruct.” Messor’s voice came from behind gritted teeth.

“That, or hoping to get one of us to do it for her.” Kiljack shook his head.

Cold sweat dripped down your neck. Your breaths came in short bursts. You were trapped, back flat against the stone chair. You couldn’t move. And you were at the mercy of men who didn’t know the meaning of the word. A strangled sob died in your chest as you vainly tried to move your limbs.

“Shhhhh, don’t struggle,” Kiljack reached for your napkin and then gently blotted your nose. “Messor, she’s having trouble breathing.”

“I know,” Messor shuddered, and took a deep breath. “She’s very scared.” There was a note of something like hunger in his voice, but he raised his hand again, and suddenly you could draw in a little more air.

“Mmm,” Kiljack nodded, those blue eyes studying your face. “That’s it, stop fighting us. This doesn’t have to hurt.” He set the napkin down, watching you intently, like a puzzle he wanted to dissect. He smiled then. “You are very loud, Cipher.”

You gritted your teeth and tried to stifle your breathing. You must be badly injured if you were making too much noise. Ciphers didn’t make a habit of being loud. For obvious reasons.

“That’s not what I meant,” Kiljack said. He leaned in, nearly nose to nose with you. “Quiet your mind.”

You stared at him, trying to swallow, but your throat was dry and your vision blurred. You dropped your head, too dizzy to stay upright.

Kiljack lifted your water glass to your lips. “Here. Take small sips. We don’t want you to choke. On the water.”

You flinched, waiting for one of them to follow up with a traditional Sith demonstration of force choking.

“Just drink your water,” Kiljack ordered.

You opened your mouth, closing your eyes as the glass touched your lips. The cool water tasted better than you hoped and the light steady stream cleared your throat.

“That’s it, good girl.” He stroked your cheek, his black glove soft against your skin. “Is that better?”

You managed a nod, feeling queasy from the motion alone.

“Now, are you going to behave?” Kiljack asked coolly. “Or do we have to keep you restrained? Another stunt like that, and I won’t be so nice, do you understand?”

“I’ll be good, sir,” you said, voice weak, and you had to grit your teeth, because speaking hurt. That force blow had done some damage to you. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact location, because your whole body ached. You still couldn’t move. And to make things worse, Moff Kiljack, of all people, was trying to gentle you like a wild tauntaun.

“Does it hurt?” He asked.

You closed your eyes, focusing on the different routes off of Nar Shaddaa instead of your current location. And you waited for the next threat of more pain, or the lightning, or whatever Kiljack wanted to use.

“Now, she’s gone silent,” Kiljack muttered.

“She’s in pain,” Messor said, his voice still low. “And while I find nav-charts far less tedious than endless streams of pazaak, someone really needs to teach you how to shield your mind better. I don’t know how you’ve survived this long with such loud and irreverent thoughts.”

Normally, you were better at it. But Kiljack had said your pupils were uneven...OK, concussion. That made sense. You took an inventory of your injuries: bad concussion, something fractured in your chest or abdomen, and you still were trapped here with a dark lord and a moff who wanted you for nothing good. Druk. It would have been so much easier if one of them had just killed you outright. They were supposed to be good at that kind of thing. Hell, you could still bite your tongue off and-

Kiljack gripped your chin, prying your jaw open. “I thought you were going to be a good girl, Cipher.”

You whimpered.

“I will get the bit and the slave collar,” he said glaring at you.

You relaxed your jaw. You weren’t trying to upset him. You were concussed. And you didn’t have complete control of your faculties right now.

Kiljack narrowed his eyes at you. “Is that so? Do I need to get the bit for your own safety? Or would you prefer I make you a cloth gag? Messor, can we borrow your sash?”

“Sah-ee, sir,” you said. It was not the first time you’d given a disingenuous apology with another man’s fingers in your mouth at the dinner table, and quite frankly you were a little embarrassed to be in that situation again.

Then came the spasm of pain that would have bent you in two, if you could move that far. Instead, you twitched, teeth clamping down on the moff’s fingers as you struggled to breathe. You tasted blood in your mouth, though you weren’t sure whose it was.

Kiljack’s eyes widened, but he didn’t move, and the slap you expected did not come. He waited for you to unclench before withdrawing his fingers. He examined his torn glove with a sigh. “We’re going to need kolto, Messor.”

A kolto pack floated over the table to Kiljack.

Nimble fingers began unbuttoning your collar. You opened your eyes to see Kiljack unfastening your tunic, a kolto pack in hand. His gaze lingered on your thin undershirt for a moment, and then he applied the cool healing gel onto your stomach, along your sides, and around to your back.

“I don’t think we’ll be finishing dinner out here any time soon,” Messor said.

“Messor, I’m not making do with just a salad, no matter what kind of fancy berries you put in it,” Kiljack said, wiping his hands off and checking his fingers. There were teeth marks, and some broken skin, but nothing severe. After the kolto application, the wounds started closing up as you watched.

Messor laughed. “We can take our meals in our rooms. Why don’t we call the medical droid and put our guest to bed first?”

The pressure on your body suddenly lifted, but before you could regain your bearings, Kiljack scooped you out of the chair.

“Is this causing you more pain?” He asked, one arm supporting your back, the other under your knees.

“No,” you said, though breathing was still uncomfortable. Rib damage, likely. You didn’t struggle, too woozy to make good decisions right now. On the bright side, it looked like they weren’t going to kill you just yet, but also, you hadn’t made it to dessert, and you were a little sad at the prospect of missing whatever Lord Messor’s chef had concocted. Even if it was fickleberries mixed with vweilu nuts and a decoction of grillig-juice.

Despite the danger, you could not keep your eyes open. The world faded away.

You dreamt.

You were back in that dining room, candlelight casting eerie shadows on the walls. You saw yourself bent over that banquet table, Lord Messor’s hand on your back, your face pressed against the stone, your wine glass rolling on its side, the red liquid dribbling onto the floor. You felt a spark and flinched, that light crackle of electricity as those metal talons trailed down your spine.

“Scared?” Messor murmured, his breath hot on the back of your neck.

“Yes, my lord,” you panted, squirming under him, feeling his cock pressed against you through his robes.

“Good.”

You were on your knees, staring up at Kiljack, the tip of a riding crop under your chin. You didn’t recognize the room. There was a small fountain flowing in the corner. It was an office, probably aboard a starcruiser from the shape of the window. You did not recognize the orbit. But Kiljack was in full moff regalia, gray tunic coat and jodphurs, black boots and gloves, and a heavy belt. Was this his battleship?

“I told you to open your mouth,” Kiljack said coldly.

You hesitantly parted your lips, noticing that your hands were unbound. You could-

Kiljack pushed a piece of silicone into your mouth, the ring shape holding your teeth apart. He fastened the strap snugly around your head.

“That’s better,” he said, an edge in his smile as he cupped your cheek. “This wouldn’t be necessary if you were more careful with those teeth. Now be a good girl and stick out your tongue.”

The bedroom was large and dimly lit.

The bed was enormous, draped in scarlet silks and pillows. It was comfortable, but you could not actually move very far. You poked at the gold collar latched around your neck. You wore matching bracelets and anklets, but there was a chain attached to the collar and secured to the headboard. You rolled your eyes at the outfit: the dancer’s garb with the red and gold harness top, chain belt and lashaa silk loincloth, and knee high boots.

You had worn these before – what spy hadn’t? But you didn’t remember getting here, or where here even was.

There was someone else in the room, somewhere in the shadows, just watching you. You looped a length of chain – your best bet for a weapon, and began examining where it connected to the headboard.

“I thought you were going to behave today.” Messor’s voice came from somewhere in the darkness.

“But if this is how she wants to play, why should we deny her?” Kiljack laughed.

The lights went out. And suddenly you weren’t alone on the bed.

“So do you like the view?” Kiljack whispered. “You’ll have to be quiet, or everyone will hear us.” He tightened his grip around your waist. “Or maybe that’s what you want.”

You sat on his lap, looking around the throne room, in all its sinister glory. Crimson imperial banners hung from the walls and pillars, the firelight casting harsh shadows. There was a second story balcony overlooking the throne room. It was too dark to see if anyone else was up there. But the rest of the cavern was a vast expanse, easily surveyed from the throne where Kiljack sat: Lord Messer’s throne.

He was right. If you made any noise, it would echo.

You swallowed roughly, eyes drifting to the spot where the moff had executed Prince. There was no body or blood.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Kiljack growled in your ear.

You opened your mouth to speak.

“You’re in my seat,” Messor said, the words echoing off the walls as he materialized from the shadows. His tone was dangerously mild. He stalked up the stairs toward you.

You started to move, but Kiljack held you tightly against him. “About time you got here,” the moff said. “I was getting bored giving the tour. Maybe we can move on to something more exciting.”

You sat up with a strangled gasp, your head pounding. Another unfamiliar bed, but when you looked down, you were covered in blankets. You peeked underneath, finding yourself still dressed in your thin tanktop and uniform pants. You ached, like you’d been in a fight. But there wasn’t pain between your legs, a small, but important reassurance. The inside of your mouth felt like a stable floor and you winced as you looked around, the dim lights still aggravating your eyes.

It was a large elegant bedroom, the furniture silver with red trim. It was neat, but it felt lived in, not a guest room. You started to look around, but your vision swam. Holding your head, you gave yourself a moment before trying to focus.

Yesterday was an absolute sarlaac snarl. You’d been sent off on a poorly-planned suicide mission, and your reactions were...wrong. Judging by how awful you felt right now, you’d been drugged. You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to analyze each location step by step. You started feeling ill in Darth Thanaton’s presence, but you neither ate nor drank there. Maybe he did have some secret force brainwashing powers, but that was unlikely. That ability was too subtle for a bombastic coot like him.

...The stims. Something had been wrong with the stims. Fixer 3 wasn’t being a smart ass. Fixer 3 had been trying to warn you. Echuta! It had been right there in front of your face and you were too distracted and arrogant to notice.

You growled, throwing the blankets off. You tried to stand, but found you were still too dizzy.

“Well, I’m glad to see that you’re feeling better.”

You blinked.

Just off to the side, nestled between a wardrobe and a table, sat Moff Kiljack. There was a blanket on his lap and a blaster pistol on the table. He yawned, stretching his arms above his head, before he stood, fully dressed, though his jacket was unbuttoned. A faint dusting of stubble shadowed his jaw. He looked you over. “That’s better.” He tapped his left temple. “You’re not so loud any more.” He gave a sigh that sounded a lot like relief. “I know that wasn’t entirely your fault. You were out of your head. The medical droid analyzed what was in your system, if you’re curious.”

“Someone sabotaged my stims,” you said, resting your head on your knees. “Someone in Imperial Intelligence.”

Moff Kiljack nodded. “Makes sense. You also had a bad concussion, cracked ribs, and some bruising. The kolto pack helped a little, but a localized injection sped it up.”

“Thank you,” you said, even if you were not so sure that you were grateful to be saved. Because you still had a lot of questions about what was going on, why these two “enemies” had put so much research into your accomplishments, and how much they knew about Darth Thanaton’s intentions.

You closed your eyes, knowing a few things already:

Moff Kiljack and Lord Messor had a complex relationship; this was likely Kiljack’s room and Messor would not keep it for him if they were really enemies. You needed to figure out the exact nature of their alliance and how much of that infamous enmity was a smokescreen. They worked too well in tandem for all of that showboating to be real.

Keeper was now actively trying to kill you. It would be very difficult to tamper with the stims otherwise. Thanaton was probably meant to be the instrument of your death. He was old, powerful, and no one would bat an eye over a Darth executing a Cipher.

The sensitivity was getting worse. Once it had been an asset, just enough insight to give you an advantage. Now it was opening you up to too many other things. And you lived in the capital city of the Empire, where so many hungry Sith congregated. No, this was bad for you. Kiljack was right, you needed to shore up those shields, and hide yourself better. Anything less would get you shipped off to Korriban.

“Can you hold down food?” Kiljack asked, suddenly standing beside the bed. He set a glass of water on the night stand.

“Not sure. Thank you.” You eyed it for a moment, knowing that he could have slipped any manner of drug in there, but at this point, what choice did you have? They needed you for something, and that meant they probably needed you alive and functional. You took the water, sipping it slowly.

The moff watched you like a hawk, probably worried that you were going to choke or throw up.

You studied him, noting his bare hands. There were scars on them, but it looked like the bite marks had healed. “Sorry about biting you last night,” you said. Apologizing seemed like a good idea. It would be wisest if they thought you were docile and amenable to them. You still weren’t certain that you were going to thank him for sparing your life. But you were a little more confident that they weren’t planning on torturing you to death. Not immediately, anyway.

“You need to be more careful with those teeth,” he said, without a hint of inflection, that handsome scarred face stoic once more.

You stared at him for a second, a moment of deja vu. You shrugged. “I need to be more careful, period.” You dropped back onto the pillows, another wave of dizziness skewing your balance.

The moff picked up a personal comm. “Echo, let Messor know that our guest is awake, and have something mild brought up from the kitchens for her.” He glanced over at you. “I can send for the medical droid.”

“You already had me checked out, right?” You asked, staring up at the stone tiled ceiling.

“Yes. There was a small amount of bleeding in your skull. We took care of it. It can provide some painkillers and anti-nausea meds if you want.”

We took care of it.

That was an interesting way to phrase it. The medical droid might have accomplished it on its own, though the procedure would be more invasive.

“I think I should go for the anti-nausea meds,” you said, one hand over your eyes. “But if you give me a minute, I can try to get upright and-”

“Just stay there,” Kiljack said. “Messor will be along shortly. Finish your water.”

You sighed and downed the rest of the glass, spilling a little down your chin, and not really caring because your head hurt.

The comm unit chimed and Kiljack stepped out of the bedroom. When he returned, he was carrying a large platter of flatbread, grilled fish, and some fruit. There was a small glass of anti-nausea medication too. He set it all on the nightstand and poured you another glass of water from the carafe.

Your stomach rumbled, so you took a few berries and ate them slowly, letting the sweetness roll down your throat. You downed the medication in one shot.

When everything stayed down, you took a few more berries, and then a piece of bread, passing on the sauce, just in case.

Kiljack settled back down in his chair, watching your every move.

You had taken a break from trying to eat, when there was a knock. It was distant, and you realized this bedroom was probably part of a suite. Kiljack got up, giving you a stern look.

You pretended not to see. You were still too messed up to make a run for it, and even if you did manage to escape, where would you go? Keeper was trying to kill you. Thanaton was not going to be happy about Prince. And Nar Shaddaa with its flashing lights and cacophony of sounds, would give you a migraine bad enough to make your head explode. You could stay here in the comfortable bed for a moment. You needed a more accurate picture of the situation, before you did anything rash. You did not need a repeat of last night.

“No, it’s fine, I don’t have to get back to the fleet, I’ll just stay here and babysit your new pet spy,” Kiljack said sharply as he returned and practically threw himself into his chair.

Lord Messor followed, still in those sweeping red and black Sith robes, that stylized skull mask in place. The Sith had several skull motifs, though to be honest, his reminded you a little of the Mandalorian mythosaur skull symbol, without the horns.

“I’m glad to see that you’re feeling better,” Lord Messor stood in the doorway. There was a slight mechanical quality to his voice that you had not noticed last night. The mask had a built-in vocoder then. Interesting.

“My lord,” you said, attempting a bow at the waist and feeling your head swoop dangerously close to your knees.

“Don’t-” He sighed. “We can do this informally, Cipher. You’re still recovering from your ordeal.”

You nodded, wincing as you leaned back into the pillows. “I appreciate that, my lord.”

“We’re in private, Cipher. You can forego the title as well.”

Thankfully, you were already lying down, because otherwise you would have fallen over in shock. You had never actually expected to hear a Sith lord say that. After Thanaton, it was a pleasant reversal. But you did not trust that magnanimity.

If Messor and Kiljack knew about the “extra” missions you did, then they had to have a fairly accurate psychological profile of you. They had to know that people who forced you into bad situations ended up having freak accidents. Being polite was just a good way to manage you. You had no illusions about the altruistic natures of moffs and Sith lords. But you could appreciate the effort and you would work with good manners. This was certainly better than spending an hour being shouted at by Darth Thanaton.

You waited for one of the men to speak. They were the ones who wanted you here, after all.

“You were recently tasked by Darth Thanaton to sabotage our strategic efforts on Hoth and Voss. You were assigned to Darth Thanaton by Imperial Intelligence, but that does not mean Imperial Intelligence condones his actions. However, as Thanaton is a member of the Dark Council, politics must come into play.” Messor’s hands twitched. He wasn’t wearing the gauntlets today. He had large hands, dark skin, and thick callouses, probably from handling weapons.

“So someone in Imperial Intelligence tipped you off?”

“Your...Keeper saw fit to warn me,” Kiljack said, fingers steepled.

You frowned. “But not Lord Messor.”

“I think you’ve already figured out that Messor and I are...exaggerating our feud.” Kiljack gave a wry smile. “But that is very guarded knowledge.”

“Yes,” you nodded, and then winced, because you did not need to be bobbing your injured head like an idiot bird. Your brain had taken enough of a blending.

A secret political alliance gave them an interesting cover and access to a wider range of intelligence. But Moff Kiljack did not have the wealth and prestige that Lord Messor did. He would be at a fundamental disadvantage. A Sith lord was not likely to trust anyone outside their control. There were a lot of disadvantages to this tactic and you could not see a clear payoff. You sat with that for a moment. There was an important reason for their ruse, though you doubted they would tell you anything but a plausible cover story today. But the layout of the game started to form. You looked at the empty spaces, trying to find the details that didn’t make sense.

...There it was. There was a third party in play, aiding and abetting this ruse. Someone with enough clout to help Kiljack get his promotion. Someone that even Keeper did not want to cross...

Another Dark Council member then. And given Kiljack and Messor’s military interests and mostly low-key behavior, you had a good idea whom that Council Member was, though again, not why they were using this exact ruse. But if Kiljack’s patron was who you thought it was, you did not blame Keeper for wanting to stay on his good side.

But you were also pretty sure that you were not supposed to survive that meeting with Thanaton yesterday. The exchange would go something like this:

“Send me another minion, peon!”

“I’m so sorry, your Decrepit-ness, you killed my only available agent and we’re very shorthanded! There’s no one else to send. You’ll have to wait.”

Keeper would be off the hook with Thanaton and Kiljack’s patron. You would be dead. Three problems solved.

Except you were alive, and no problems were solved. You looked up to see Kiljack studying your face.

“Do you suspect that Keeper knows the feud is fabricated?”

“No. That’s very exclusive knowledge,” Messor said without a trace of doubt.

You wondered how he could be so confident – not because he wasn’t ruthless – but because your business was secrets: keeping them, stealing them, rooting them out. If people wanted information badly enough, they would find a way to get it. No matter how well you thought you covered your tracks. Your stomach soured a little at that thought. They’d figured out some of your secrets. You’d have to return the favor, if only for your own pride. And maybe some leverage.

“So you want to recruit me as a double agent against Thanaton,” you said.

“Partially,” Messor admitted. “But I had a more permanent offer in mind for you.” He cleared his throat. “My current intelligence chief will be retiring soon. You were recommended to us.”

You blinked. “I can’t just quit Imperial Intelligence, believe me, I’ve tried,” you blurted out.

“You can if you have the right patronage,” Kiljack said. And he had some experience there, having gone from Sith apprentice to moff.

“You want me to help you bring down Thanaton, get you onto the Dark Council, and then you’ll hire me?” Your lips twitched at that tall order. Sith expectations.

“I will hire you now as a house intelligence agent, at double your current pay with all the usual amenities one expects from the well-to-do estate of a Sith lord,” Messor said. “Promotion to intelligence chief pending results.”

That would have been extremely generous, except Imperial Intelligence was criminally cheap. Sure you had some good benefits, but they didn’t have to be competitive when their employees literally weren’t allowed to quit. Still, it was not a bad offer. Better than a lot of the alternatives.

Messor continued. “Handling Thanaton and the Council are longer term problems. If we succeed on Hoth and Voss, I will have enough clout to extract you intact from the employ of Imperial Intelligence. And it will be easier since you’re already assigned to me: possession is nine tenths of the law.”

You sat with that for a few seconds. You could play the long game, letting Thanaton think you had wormed your way into Messor’s confidence. That would sit well with Keeper – it kept him out of the hotseat. You could go back to Keeper and see which way he wanted you to go – for intel purposes only - and then do whatever you wanted anyway. You could say no outright, and get shot in the head by Kiljack…

“You have questions,” Messor said, still keeping his distance.

“How long have you been tracking me? And what brought me to your attention?”

“A man once called “Sparrow” recommended you to us a year ago. He is around here if you want to catch up later.”

You sighed, of course Sparrow was still alive. That explained a lot. He knew you well enough to guess which missions you had purposefully altered. He knew your expertise well enough to conjecture methodology. That he shared this information with a strange Sith lord should not have surprised you entirely. The former Cipher 7 was a skilled assassin; he’d been declared KIA with his brother two years ago. But it seemed he had found a safe haven here.

“His brother?”

“Didn’t want to work with us. No one was going to force him. He took a shuttle to Yavin 4. Sparrow visits him occasionally,” Kiljack said.

“Why me?” You asked, not because you doubted your abilities, but because you still did not quite understand how this coalition worked.

Messor was silent for a moment. “You are a reasonable woman. And looking at your track record, we thought your methods would align with ours.”

“And why do you think that?” You asked.

“The Rancor Incident,” Kiljack said with a smirk.

You kept your face neutral.

“Lord Vilhus was there, a very nasty individual. But the casualty list also included Ieyak the Butcher, Margrene the Bloody, General Arus, Enso Chain-Maker, and Lord Casten. Coincidentally, none of the slaves, servers, or civilian bystanders were hurt. And everyone thought it was just a terrible accident. That took planning, skill, and finesse.”

You stared at your lap, trying to remember if any of those people had good or bad ties to House Messor. Vilhus wasn’t anyone’s friend and Arus wasn’t related. Casten might have attended the Academy at the same time as Messor. You pondered that connection.

Because once you’d had a close...friend, a lower ranking analyst in Imperial Intelligence. A smart and pretty Twi’lek who didn’t deserve the things Lord Vilhus did to her. Lord Vilhus was a Sith lord and could do as he pleased to those weaker than him. So when you saw him there and that rancor… It was just an opportunity.

You looked up to see Kiljack studying you intently. “None of them were allies to House Messor or myself,” he told you.

“Am I...broadcasting?” You asked, trying to make sure your mind was quiet.

“No, it’s just the next logical question,” Kiljack said. He cleared his throat. “But there’s something else we need to address.”

“You’re a Sensitive,” Messor said.

You winced. Of course they’d picked that up yesterday. “A little. Nothing kinetic level, just intuitive boosts every now and again. Came along later in life.” Though it still might be enough to get you sent to Korriban. And now they knew. Which was a manageable thing. You knew about their fake feud, they knew about your force sensitivity. Mutually-assured destruction ensured that the balance of power remained less complicated.

Messor nodded. “Kiljack is very good at shielding. You should consult him about how to better protect your mind.”

Kiljack gave Messor a side-eyed squint, but did not protest.

Accept the offer, take a hard job, and maybe get out from under Keeper’s thumb. Or decline and end up dead. It wasn’t much of a choice.

“What do I have to do to sign on?” You asked.

Different Sith lords had their ways of ensuring loyalty, or at least compliance. You had undergone years of conditioning to be kept under the authority of Imperial Intelligence. A lot of that conditioning had come undone in your term as an active operative. You had worked hard to slough the restraints that would have otherwise hobbled your thinking. They might have had your service, but your mind was your own. Ciphers had a lot of leeway to run operations as they saw fit, because an obedient drone could not do their job. But there were still ticks, involuntary habits ingrained in your mind, pathways worn in by years of unpleasant reinforcement. Oh, you weren’t loyal to Imperial Intelligence, but you knew to instantly bow your head to a “superior,” to mask your emotions with a lie, and that the mission came first at the expense of all else... You knew these things in your bones, because of the conditioning. And you understood intimately how those rituals did psychological damage.

So when Lord Messor stepped into the room and drew closer, you prepared yourself for something unpleasant.

“Give me your hand, the flesh one.”

Permanently, or just to hold? You wanted to ask, but you kept your mouth shut and extended your right hand. He took it gently between his palms. His skin was warm and rough. You swallowed, preparing to be overwhelmed by your reaction to the Sith.

The world turned black.

Then heat and light poured into your skull, a waterfall rushing through you, and you screamed under the torrent. It cut through your perception, and tethered something in your head, to that little spot of intuition that always knew when a weapon was being drawn or when someone was lying to you. That metaphysical aperture expanded, wedged open by the hooks of Messor’s connection. He was in your head, and for a moment, you were face down on the dining room table, those claws tracing along your spine while he pinned you there, while you squeezed your thighs together, squirming at his touch…

Then you felt the weight on your left arm, felt Messor squeeze your right hand, and you forced your eyes open.

Kiljack held you to the bed, your left hand pinned over your head.

You could feel Messor through the force. He was in your mind, had his own private backdoor in, a new sort of violation. And that realization enraged you. Snarling, you thrashed, “You bastard! Get the hell out of my head!”

“If you shield well, I can’t see what’s in your head,” he said calmly. “And I won’t go looking.”

Cursing, you lunged at him, but Kiljack held you down, his full weight on your body.

“It’s not mind control, it’s a minor force bond,” Messor said, tone even.

So this was how he kept Kiljack in line. And you had just willingly submitted yourself to the same treatment. Maybe death was preferable. Fury overtook you and you tried to throw Kiljack off you. When he didn’t budge, you sunk your teeth into Kiljack’s shoulder.

He jerked, then braced himself, hand tightening on your throat. “I thought I told you to be more careful with those teeth,” he rasped, pupils huge.

You waited for the leash or the neural bolt.

It’s not a leash. It goes both ways. And it fades with time. Messor said quietly in your head. Also, if you keep biting Kiljack, he’s going to choke you out.

Groaning, you released the moff, feeling his fingers begin to loosen around your neck. You kriffing piece of sarlaac scum! I’m going to feed you your teeth!

“I hope you’re talking to Messor, because you’re not in any position to threaten me,” Kiljack said gruffly, running his thumb over your throat, before letting go of your neck.

“You’re on the list too, don’t worry,” you hissed.

Messor released your hand, a hint of amusement in his aura. “Get some rest, Thirteen. We can talk more later.”

I know so many annoying drinking songs from dozens of planets. I will be screaming them into your skull all night!

“Charming,” Kiljack said, rubbing his temple. He glanced down at his ripped jacket and glared at you. “If you’re going to be a nuisance, you can go crawl into someone else’s bed, because-”

There was the ghost of a memory, a shirtless Kiljack laughing as he lay in the bed, another man pinned under him, like you had been, a flash of heat pulsed between your thighs-

Messor inhaled sharply.

Kiljack pinched the bridge of his nose. “I told you-” He pushed his hair back, suddenly very tired. “Just go. Your proximity is probably making things more difficult.”

“Your shoulder,” Messor said softly, he stepped out of the room and returned with a medkit.

You watched silently as Messor carefully cleaned Kiljack’s wound, and treated it with kolto.

Kiljack leaned into Messor’s hands, his head resting against Messor’s shoulder, and it clicked.

There was more than one reason why Kiljack did not betray Messor, one you had not anticipated. You gave a dry laugh, how utterly ridiculous. These stories never ended well for the Sith or their lovers. Suddenly very drained, you dropped back into the pillows.

Rest.

I hope you get eaten by a gorryl slug, you bastard. You pictured the giant carnivorous slugs of Kashyyyk, arboreal hunters that dropped onto their prey and were nearly impossible to pry off. They would exude digestive juices and slowly digest their victims. An unlucky person could take a very long time to die.

What are those- oh that is awful. I’ll have to remember that one. A low laugh in the back of your skull. Kiljack is very good at shielding. He will help you if you ask, nicely.

I’m going to gut you like a ghest.

Get some rest, Thirteen. You’ll have plenty of time to threaten me later.

#SWTOR #Crossover #in alio loco #reader insert #Fanfiction #Crackfic #Improper Use of the Force

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ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa · 4 years

Text

Never Let Me Go: Part 1 of 2

Summary/Author's Notes: Confession time. I have been @stevieharrrr 's "Daily Carrillo Thirst Anon" for some time now. Y'all seemed to really want this! So, after some idea bouncing, friendly threatening, and overall caps-lock screaming at one another, this is my poker chip that I am raising Stevie in the Carrillo feels war. (This takes place in season 2... episode 4)

Pairing: Col. Horacio Carrillo x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: 18+ -- SMUT, oral f!receiving, fingering, THICC CARRILLO ARMS/HANDS, language, violence, CHARACTER DEATH (I'm not kidding with this one y'all, I know it fucks me up when I read it in fic so you have been warned.) Cannon-divergence, this is a FIX IT FIC, if that makes you feel better. Gif by @el-cheung

And the questions I have for a sinner like me

But the arms of the ocean deliver me

MASTERLIST

Being married to Horacio had never been easy. You had lost count of the number of times you had moved, the number of houses you both had tried to make a home, and the number of times you had almost thrown in the towel. The key word being almost.

Colonel Horacio Carillo was a man's man. If anyone opened up a dictionary and looked up the word 'brave', a picture of your husband would be underneath. Along with the word reckless, cunning, ruthless, and a whole slew of other things that his superiors like to throw in his face when something didn't go according to plan. His strong resolve kept the underlying volcano of his rage carefully under wraps. And if you asked the man himself, he would attribute it entirely to you. According to him, the moment he put that ring on your finger was the moment he had a reason to not give in to his unbridled savagery, his desire to get the job done no matter what it cost. And so far, you were okay with that. You could play the dutiful wife on the sidelines, you could be his anchor, because as soon as his feet crossed the threshold of your home, he was no longer Bogetà's Atlas. He finally got to take all of Columbia off of his shoulders and fall into your waiting arms.

And that's the reason when you received the call that he would be working late for the third night in a row, you decided to do something about it. Hanging up the phone, you got dressed, pulling that small floral print dress that he loved so much over your head. You shimmied it down your ass and it just ghosted the middle of your thighs. The small pink and red flowers on top of the wispy white fabric made your skin look softer somehow, grabbable--at least that's what your husband had told you the first time you wore it out to the farmer's market. You picked up the phone again and called in his favorite take out from the small shop around the corner, balancing the receiver against your shoulder as you put on a touch of makeup and a bright pink lip stain.

By the time you arrived, the precinct was winding down for the night. A few of the regulars were standing around, and there was a general uneasiness in the air. Your high heels clicked against the laminate floor and it sounded way too loud, making you second guess your apparel.

"Mhm, what's that smell?"

Javier Peña turned from his pair of desks as you made your way across the office with the bag of takeout hanging over your forearm, your car keys jingling in your hand.

"Good evening, boys," you gave a small wave at the two DEA agents and continued on your path.

"Where's mine?" Steve Murphy, Javier's partner asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Sorry, Steve," you laughed softly, walking backwards a couple of steps. "Next time, okay?"

"Carrillo's a lucky son of a bitch!" Steve called after you and you shook your head feeling your cheeks blush. Javier mumbled something undoubtedly crude under his breath and Steve elbowed him in the ribs drawing a grunt from his partner before they both sat back to work.

Boys. That's what the two of them were and you weren't sure how Horacio put up with it all day. You raised a hand and tapped your knuckles against the glass bearing your own last name.

"Come in."

His voice made your shoulders relax. You let out a breath that you felt like you had been holding for the last three days, and walked into his office, closing the door behind you.

Colonel Carrillo looked up from the stack of papers on his desk and his eyes widened. Clearly expecting literally anyone but you to walk through his office door and it was humorous just how quickly his stoic persona melted in front of your eyes. He stood up abruptly, taking off his glasses and saying softly, "Mi amor?"

"Hey," you said, setting the to-go bag on a clear spot of his desk. "I thought you might be hungry."

"You didn't have to do this," he said, still looking surprised that you were actually standing in front of him. He stopped down as you offered your cheek to him and he gave it a small peck.

"I know."

"Ernesto's?" He raised an eyebrow and looked into the bag, inhaling deeply.

"Mhm," you nodded, reaching in and taking out the styrofoam boxes one at a time.

Carrillo rubbed his chin, looking you over slowly before shaking his head with a grin. "Thank you." He walked around the desk slowly, twisting the string on the blinds to his office window until they closed fully. You didn't look up from your task of setting out dinner until you heard the firm 'click' of the lock on the door.

"Horacio?" You asked over your shoulder as he rubbed his palms together and walked back over to you.

"So we won't be bothered," he said simply with a shrug and you nodded.

"When is the last time you ate?" You asked, lifting an eyebrow at him.

"I had coffee this morning." He admitted rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. You knew you were the only one that ever got to see that flicker of embarrassment in his eyes, like he had somehow disappointed you. He didn't give a damn what anyone else thought of his actions, but your opinion was always held in his highest regard.

"Coffee is not a food group. How many times do I have to tell you that?" You said, pressing your lips together in a tight line.

"Of course it is. Because you know what I'm like without it." He chuckled.

"Oh, I absolutely do," you laughed. "A bear in a uniform--"

Your hands paused on the food as you felt his large arms slide around your waist, his tender lips finding their way to the base of your neck. Was he trying to distract you from your current annoyance at his poor excuse for nutrition? Maybe. Was it working? Also maybe.

"I haven't seen this dress in awhile," he mumbled against your skin, removing one of his arms to pull your hair to the side and out of his way. He kissed his way up your neck then back down to your shoulder, soft feather light touches that made your eyes close for a brief second.

"You haven't been home in awhile." It was meant as a joke, a harmless jest, but your smile fell as you felt him tense behind you. You turned in his arms slowly, putting both hands on his broad chest. "I didn't mean it like that." You whispered, fingers playing along the collar of his army green button up. Your fingers traced the path against the embroidered name badge over his heart and you wished you hadn't said anything. The moments you did get together lately were so brief that any that weren't dedicated to loving one another felt like time wasted.

He didn't want to be gone all of the time. He made sure you knew that. The war on Escobar wouldn't wait just because one man's wife was missing him. There were plenty of men who never returned home. Escobar had left many widows in the wake of his cocaine empire and every time the man in front of you walked through the door and into your arms you thanked your lucky stars. You didn't believe in much, but you thanked every deity that might have been listening for keeping him safe.

"I know," he said, trying to give you a smile but unable to keep the sadness off of the edges.

"Come on," you said, nodding to the food. "It's gonna get cold."

"Not yet."

He kept his arms firmly planted around your waist, his hands slipping lower to take two huge handfuls of your ass. The movement made the dress lift slightly, the material bunching in his grip. You gave him a surprised look and he bit his lip, playfully waggling his eyebrows at you. It made you giggle. God, how you missed him when he wasn't home. This playful, boyish side of him that made you walk on air. The side of him that made it seem like you both were young and in love and didn't live in a war torn country.

"I thought you were hungry?" You asked as he continued his way up your neck to the shell of your ear.

"I am." He worked his way back down, kissing the tops of your breasts as he walked you a step backwards against his desk. "But not for take out."

"Even Ernesto's?" You gave a mock gasp of shock and smiled, letting your fingers card through his hair as he pulled the scoop neck of your dress down and squeezed your breast in his large hand. "I thought it was your favorite!"

"There's something I like more," he said, looking up at you with dark brown eyes, refusing to lift his lips from the mound of your breasts. It made the heat rise to your cheeks.

"Here?" You asked and as a response he reached around you and shoved a stack of files off of his desk and to the ground with a loud clunk.

"Yes. Here." His words were firm and he shoved a few books off of the desk to join the papers on the floor. He gripped your waist and picked you up to sit you on the edge of his desk, nudging your thighs open with his knee and standing between them. "Think you can be quiet, dulzura?"

"You know the answer to that," you giggled again, cupping his face in both of your hands as he closed in on you. You were not a quiet lover and he often told you it was one of his favorite things. The way you said his name as he brought you through your orgasm was his most favorite song and he liked when it was turned up loud.

You reached for the front of his dark slacks, palming the bulge at the front of his pants and he gripped your wrist with a shake of his head. "Not yet," he brought your hand up to his lips and kissed it before putting it back on the desk. He put his hands up the dress and gripped your underwear, sliding them over your hips and down your legs. The lace got tangled on the heel of your pump and you kicked them off with a shake of your foot.

"Kiss me again," you demanded with a shaky breath and he happily obliged.

His tongue slipped inside your mouth as one arm held you tightly and his other hand went up your dress. His thick fingers pressed against your labia and you moaned into his mouth as he began to run them up and down, slowly spreading your wetness. He pressed your clit and you jolted, it was too much too quickly and you gripped his neck.

"Mi amor?" He asked and when you hummed in response he continued. "Lift your dress."

You did as you were told. With excited hands and a hammering heart, he helped you pull the soft material up over your thighs, letting it bunch around your waist as he went to his knees in front of you. Those dark, chocolate colored eyes that you loved with all of your heart never strayed from your own as he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder. He let out a small noise of content as you ran your fingers through his hair and the noise carried over as he pressed his mouth to your aching cunt. With a gasp and your head thrown back, your hair cascading down your back, your husband would have said that you looked like a vision--if his mouth wasn't already preoccupied.

Carrillo's hands slid around each of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh and keeping them wide open for his broad shoulders to sit comfortably in the middle. His tongue slipped through your wet pussy like it had a hundred times before, but it still made you moan his name softly to the empty office around you. Your husband may have been a man of few words, but he liked to say he used his mouth for much more precious things.

He sucked each of your folds separately, a soft pop sound coming each time he moved to the next spot. When he finally closed his mouth around your clit, you gasped sharply and grabbed his hand that was resting on top of your thigh and squeezed it.

"There?" He mumbled from between your legs and you nodded.

"There. Right there."

"Right there. Mhmm, I see," he teased your desperation but continued to oblige your request. He worked his jaw against you in such a way that you imagined he was coating his face with your juices like you were the most delicious of fruits. The wonderfully crude image made your cunt twitch and he groaned.

He kept a firm grip on your hand, lacing his fingers with yours as he continued to suck your clit. You wanted so much more right now. You wanted his cock inside of you. You wanted his hand around your neck. You wanted him to flip you over and take your ass. Suddenly you wished more than anything that the two of you were home so you didn't have to pick what you wanted most, you just had to pick which one you wanted first.

"Horacio," you moaned his name, rocking your hips forward gently against his chin. You bit your lip and closed your eyes, the feeling of how well he knew your body started to overwhelm you. In the years you had been together he had taken so much time memorizing every spot that made you sigh, every place that made you break out in goosebumps, and every series of movements that had you falling apart in his arms.

He loved you fully, completely, and unconditionally.

The orgasm he brought you with his mouth took you from your thoughts as you clenched your thighs around his head suddenly. "I'm cuming!" You gasped desperately just before you felt the rush of heat flood your core down through your legs. It made you bend forward over him and open your eyes, moaning loudly as you saw him looking up at you, watching you orgasm in his hands as his mouth continued to ravage your aching cunt.

"Come on, baby," he squeezed your hand, feeling you clench again against his mouth and it was too much.

"Stop, stop," you said with a shaky voice to match your quivering legs. You grabbed two fistfuls of his button up and pulled, making him get to his feet and slam his mouth against yours.

He grunted against your lips as you pushed your tongue into his mouth, greedily tasting your own wetness on him. He cursed quietly in Spanish as you pulled his shirt, untucking it from the waistband of his pants. Your hands went to his belt and you slowed down, suddenly remembering you were in the precinct.

"Do--" you swallowed hard, trying to breathe normally as you spoke against his face. "Do you have time?"

"For you? Siempre," he slid his fingers in your hair at your temple and cradled the back of your head. "Siempre, mi amor."

Always.

You blushed a little, your fingers starting to unbutton his shirt as he kissed you gently and kept hold of your hair. With each button your heart raced faster, you smiled against his lips as he slipped his tongue back inside your mouth, expertly colliding it with your own. His kisses always felt like they were going to devour you from the inside out. He kissed with such an intensity that you knew from the first time he pressed his mouth to yours all those years ago you would willingly allow him to consume you.

You clenched your thighs around his waist and let your heels drop to the floor behind him. He ran his hand down the curve of your ass and hitched your leg further up on his hip, dipping you down to lay on his desk. He grinned down at you and started to open his mouth to say something but was stopped short by a hurried knock against the glass.

"Carrillo!" Javier called from the other side of the office door.

"Go away," he returned, throwing his voice in the direction of the door, leaning down to kiss your breasts.

"Messina needs us. We got a hit off of the wire taps--it could be Escobar." There was a pause as he tried the door but it was still locked. "We gotta go!"

Carrillo's shoulders fell slightly and ran a hand over his face before helping you sit up. "Coming!" He helped you pull your dress over your breasts and started buttoning his shirt back up. "Lo siento, mi amor." He said quietly and you shook your head.

"It's okay." You bit your lip as you watched him tuck his shirt back into his pants and he hissed softly. "Sorry about that," you nodded towards the bulge against his zipper as he did his belt.

He chuckled and kissed you on the cheek, bending over to pick up your thong and held it out to you in offering. "I'm not. It'll give me something to look forward to when this search comes up empty like all of the others."

You took your underwear from him and smiled as you slipped off of his desk and put them back on. "I take it I should put the food in the fridge?"

He nodded and put his hands on his hips as he watched you fondly finish redressing. "I'll be home late."

You cupped his face giving his cheek a gentle pat and a nod. "And I'll be asleep." You smiled as best you could but you knew he could see the twinge of sadness in the corners of your mouth. The number of times he crawled into bed in the wee hours of the morning far outweighed the number of times the two of you got to go to bed at the same time.

Carrillo grabbed your hand before you could turn away and kissed your knuckles, squeezing your hand as tightly as he could without hurting you. As he walked to the door and unlocked it, he looked over his shoulder and said seriously, "I love you."

"I love you, too," you barely managed to get out before he unlocked the door and he and Javier walked briskly down the hall, leaving you to tidy up and head home.

When the knock at your front door came, you were already in bed and sound asleep. The oscillating fan of your bedroom was breathing a cool breeze across your body as you snuggled deeper into the comforter. The bed hugged you like it knew you better than anyone else in the world, and apart from your husband, it probably did. The knock came again and you groaned because it meant that you hadn't been dreaming about the first one.

You leaned up and pushed your hair to the side, looking at the side table that held your alarm clock and a lamp. "Fuck," you mumbled as bright red numbers told you it was almost three in the morning. Three AM? Where the hell was Horacio? You touched his side of the bed as if to confirm what your eyes were already telling you--he still hadn't come home.

The knock came again.

"Shit," you cursed again, turning on the lamp and opening the drawer to grab the hand gun that you knew was there.

The 9mm felt cool in the palm of your hand as you checked the magazine for ammo before slamming it into place and pulling the cartridge back to slide a single bullet down the chamber. You grabbed your robe and wrapped it around your shoulders, tying it tightly and hurrying across the bedroom barefoot. You saw the flashing red and blue lights outside the front room window as they ran along the walls of your home, chasing each other over and over, casting shadows on the entire room. The fact that there were no sirens paired with them made you feel uneasy--that was never a good sign.

The knock came again, this time it was apparent that whoever it was was pounding their fist against the wooden paneling of the door. Leaning up on your tip-toes you looked out the peephole and recognized the somber face of Javier Peña. You hurried and put the gun on the table in the mudroom before flinging open the front door and asking him accusingly.

"Javi?? Do you have any idea what time it is?" Your voice sounded foreign even to you. Your heart hammered against your ribs as your eyes frantically searched the two police cars behind him for your husband.

"(Y/n)..." Javier said quietly as he leaned against your door frame, one hand in the pocket of his leather jacket.

"What's wrong?" You said as he shifted uncomfortably on your doorstep. In the back of your mind you already knew what he was about to tell you, but you wanted him to say it. If he didn't say the words out loud then they would never become real. The news he was about to give you was a stone, and unless he threw it, it would never be allowed to shatter your entire existence.

"There's been an accident." He said flatly, forcing himself to look you in the eyes. You glanced over his shoulder and saw Steve leaning against the hood of the Jeep with his arms crossed, looking at the ground. The other officers in uniform wouldn't look at you either and you knew your next question was a foolish one.

"Is he hurt?" You asked in a meek voice. Hurt you could handle. Hurt you could work with. But you knew before you even opened the door tonight that hoping that he was only hurt was a faulicy that your brain entertained purely to keep you from fainting on the hardwood floor.

"(Y/n)," Javier tried again, moving his arms from the door frame as he started to put his hands on your shoulders.

"I need to see him," you blurted out as Javi's hands clasped your biceps. You tried to shove him off. If he touched you, it was over. If he held you it was all over. If Horacio Carrillo was alive then he would have already told you to get dressed and get in the car. No, comfort meant trying to diffuse the ticking time bomb that was a woman about to learn that she was a widow.

"I can't--" Javier tried and you jerked your arms out of his grasp.

"Take me to him, Javi. Let me see him!"

"I can't do that. There's nothing--"

"Shut up! Don't you dare--" you raised your hands and he was faster than you and grabbed both of your wrists, holding them to his chest. "Don't you fucking dare! Where is he? Where's my husband--"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated as you finally gave in.

He kept his hands on your arms as your knees buckled out from under you and you slowly sank to the concrete stoop. Javi followed you down, pulling you against his leather jacket and letting you scream against his chest. You would have screamed all night if your vocal cords would have allowed it. But it wasn't long before the screaming turned to sobs and the sobbing turned to silent gasps as your body couldn't seem to figure out the appropriate noise to make to express your anguish.

You felt his voice against your hair as he spoke Spanish softly in your ear. Only catching half of it, you nodded helplessly as he told you it had been a quick death, that it was no secret around the office how deeply Horacio loved you, and other forms of condolence that didn't do a damn thing to stop the meticulous tearing of your heart within your chest.

He was gone. Not even twelve hours ago he had been in your hands, against your skin, warm and alive and looking at you with those gorgeous brown eyes. And now...nothing. You felt Javi's hand in your hair as you heard Steve's boots approaching the both of you quietly and respectfully. They were trying. They had been saddled with the task of telling you because they were friends of the Colonel. But as the tears started up again and you felt Javi's arms tighten around your shoulders, you desperately wished they belonged to someone else.

Permanent Tag List: @stevieharrrr @zeldasayer @cosmicbug379 @winters-buck @rae-gar-targaryen @gooddaykate @jigglemiwa @seawhisperer @halefirewarrior @ripleyafterdark @phoenixhalliwell @thebakerstboyskeeper @honestlystop @lackofhonor Please let me know if you want to be added to my Permanent Tag list or of I tagged you by mistake. I have done a shit job of keeping track of the Permanent list and I am trying to fix that. ❤️

#narcos #Horacio Carrillo #colonel carrillo #Carrillo x reader #narcos fic #i promise its gonna be okay #Horacio Carrillo x reader

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buckleyydiaz · 3 years

Text

conflicted looks good on me pt. 2/3

link to part 1 here length: 1.6k

ship: ralvez

summary: spencer tries to talk things out, which helps him more than expected

“Spence, I was wondering, do you see us coming out soon?”

The question took Spencer by surprise. He and Luke had been relaxing together on the couch after a wonderful date, lazily chatting about trivial little things. A question of such magnitude was in stark contrast to the rest of their evening, so it was unsurprising that he was taken aback by it. However, realising that his jaw had likely dropped, Spencer hurriedly tried to mask what he was feeling. Any further reaction could wait until he knew what Luke’s thoughts on the matter were.

“Do you want to?” Spencer asked, attempting to understand if they were on the same page or completely different ones to help make the situation easier on them both.

When Luke smiled and nodded happily, Spencer couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly guilty, knowing he was about to wipe that beautiful grin off of his face. It was far from surprising that Luke felt that way, he was after all, a loud, affectionate and loving person.

Spencer on the other hand, preferred to keep his relationships quiet - for a multitude of reasons. There was a certain niceness to the status quo - not risking any change in the relationship or its dynamics - something risked by coming out. Although he was aware it was irrational as well, he couldn’t help but think that the team would see him differently - being out in theory is one thing, but to be out and dating another man, that was a whole different one.

As always, there were also the insecurities in the back of his mind, ever present, never letting him be. They told Spencer that this was only ever going to end up humiliated as a result of this, that once their friends, family, knew, Luke would break up with him for one of many viable reasons, and he would be left, embarrassed, having expressed his love only to have it be unreturned, at least not returned to the same intensity.

He couldn’t do that, couldn’t go through the process of telling people that no, they weren’t together anymore, and yes, they broke up - not when Spencer would know that it was his fault that something he was so committed to, something he relied on, had come crumbling down.

“I take it you don’t?”

Spencer watched as the light that had previously been present in Luke’s eyes faded, replaced by a glossiness that he tried to pretend wasn’t unspilled tears that he was responsible for. He didn’t say anything, knowing Luke would hate it, because he was trying to hide it, surely in an attempt to avoid making Spencer feel guilty - all to no avail, of course, because he already felt guilty, aware that he was letting his love down.

Seeing that look on Luke’s face was painful - Luke was such a bright, happy person. It was horrible to see him attempting to keep a straight face when he was so clearly upset - and knowing that he was responsible for that look was the final straw for him, and he could no longer even pretend to keep some semblance of a straight face.

“I’m sorry, Luke, I-”

Spencer tried his best to get the words out, to apologise, for not wanting what Luke did, for upsetting him, disappointing him, but his words were muffled by Luke pulling Spencer into his arms. Spencer rested his head in the crook of Luke’s neck as he sniffled slightly, trying to pretend that he wasn’t essentially crying, overwhelmed by all that had happened, all that he was feeling.

He cuddled into Luke regardless, glad for the comfort despite the overall melancholy air to what had otherwise been an amazing day. It was their own little private moment away from their troubles, that was popped by the buzz of Spencer’s cell phone.

As he picked up the phone, he pulled away disappointedly, not wanting to leave Luke.

“It’s Derek, he’s asking me to head over since we haven’t caught up in a while.”

Spencer was going to offer to decline, but Luke beat him to it, surely knowing that, and not wanting him to lose time with his best friend, which was already very minimal between both of their busy lives.

“Go, have fun! This can wait.”

The badly faked smile on Luke’s face as he said that broke Spencer’s heart, but he didn’t think that he was capable of putting up a fight in his state of mind. As such, he got up and got ready to head out, not bothering to change out of the tracksuit pants and jumper (that was technically Luke’s) that he was wearing.

Maybe Derek would be able to help with some of his issues and reservations - he could tell Derek about their relationship, surely, and maybe that would be a step in the right direction, a step towards making Luke happy that was desperately needed after the debacle that had just occurred.

“Bye Cariño,” Luke called out to him as Spencer got into his old, dusty car and drove off.

The time in the car gave him far too long to spend in his own mind, despite being a very short journey. The guilt of putting such a sad look on Luke’s face, reducing him nearly to tears, was gnawing at him. Spencer hated knowing that he was responsible for that, all because of his own cowardice.

He tried his best to keep his eyes clear of tears and trained on the road, trying to focus all of his brain power on driving, although for him, it was hardly enough to distract him from the war being waged in his mind.

In many regards, Spencer did want to come out - and not just for Luke, but for himself. He wanted to be able to share their relationship with their family, to not have to hide away if one of them needed comfort, to be able to have public dates without driving far enough away that they wouldn’t be seen, but at the same time, his insecurities were stronger than his strengths.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long until he was outside Derek’s house. Spencer missed Derek a lot, and while he was really happy for him, for having a family, for having found happiness, he still missed being able to go to work and see him almost every day. He was a bit upset that Derek had invited him while Luke and Spencer were dealing with the whole coming out matter, but between both of their schedules, he didn’t know when they would next get the chance to hang out.

“Hey Pretty Boy!” Derek said as Spencer wandered in. It looked as though he had been about to ask how he was, before taking a look at Spencer and realising that something was definitely up. His eyebrows furrowed as Spencer got closer and it became even more apparent that things weren’t right. “You okay? What happened?’

They headed over to the living room, which was empty, with Hank and Savannah out with one of her friends. As they walked, Spencer tried to prepare what he could say to explain everything.

“Derek, you know the agent who took your spot? Luke Alvez?” When Spencer received confirmation, he continued on, trying his best to maintain his trust that Derek would never judge him, even though there was nothing really to judge him on. “We’re dating.”

Spencer watched Derek’s face light up with excitement for him.

“Spence, that’s great! He seems like a great guy, and I hope he is treating you well.” Derek then seemed to remember his sadness, his expression a mix of concern and anger. “Is he treating you alright? Is everything okay?”

Realising what Derek was concerned about, he was quick to dismiss that, reassuring Derek that Luke was nothing but a kind, perfect gentleman.

“It’s just… He wants to come out, um, to the team, but I’m scared, Der. I want to be open about our relationship, but if we are, then they all just once again get to watch as another of my few and far between relationships fails.”

Spencer had to take a moment to collect himself - he didn’t need to work himself up to the verge of crying yet again.

“I don’t want that to happen - I don’t want this to fail, let alone have spectators to it all - but I can’t just say no to him either. Not because I am scared of him or what his reaction would be, in fact, it's the opposite. Luke would do anything for me, for anyone he loves, even to his own disadvantage, even if it was tearing him apart - like this undoubtedly will.”

It was hard for Spencer to believe how lucky he had gotten with Luke, who was just so incredible, which is why, just saying it aloud, even without hearing from Derek, he knew what he would have to do.

As such, he cut Derek off before he could properly get into what he was going to say.

“I’m going to do it,” Spencer said, with as much conviction as he could muster. “Thank you for listening to me, Der. You’re the best.”

“Kid, you know I’m always here for you - even if you aren’t even going to listen to what I have to say.”

Derek chuckled, and Spencer did too - years ago, he would likely have apologised, thought Derek was criticising and laughing at him, but he knew better now.

“Do you have time to watch something and maybe have a beer or two before you go?”

Spencer scrunched up his nose at the suggestion of beer. It was something he had never acquired a taste for. He smiled though, and nodded. It would be a nice way to calm himself down before he went home to talk with Luke, to face his fears.

“Okay,” he agreed, “but you better have something to drink other than beer.”

#spencer #spencer reid #Derek #derek morgan #ralvez #luke #luke alvez #fanfic #fanfiction #cm #cm fanfic #criminalminds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds

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silvormoon · 3 years

Text

My Hero

A little vignette set in my superhero universe. Juudai’s been giving his all to being a good hero. Sometimes, he just needs someone to give a little something back.

It wasn’t easy, being the most powerful super in the world.

That sounded trite. Worse, it sounded self-congratulatory, a way of boasting that he, Yuuki Juudai, had much grander and more important problems than the humdrum things mere mortals had to deal with. It conjured up images of some movie star or millionaire lounging on their sofa sipping champagne while they talked about how stressful their life was.

And the point was that it wasn’t easy for Juudai, and he didn’t even get the champagne to make up for it. Granted, his life did tend to involve a lot of sofas, but mainly in the, “Can I crash here tonight?” kind of way. The hardest part was that he knew he could change that if he wanted to. He could make himself famous overnight. He could have as much money as he wanted. People would line up for miles to get the kind of treatment he could provide. He could make the world his oyster, if he wanted to, or crush it under his heel, and no one would be able to stop him. That was the whole reason why he worked in the dark, kept his name out of the papers, and slept in a tent or on friends’ sofas and spare beds, earned money doing odd jobs when he had any money at all, and spent a lot of time second-guessing himself.

But he wasn’t doing any second-guessing tonight. Tonight, he had found the hideout of a gang of criminals who had been peddling a bogus drug they claimed would give people temporary superpowers. What it did was to give the user a sense of euphoria, a feeling that they were all-powerful and omniscient. Several people had died from jumping off buildings or doing other equally risky things under the influence of the drug, and Juudai had decided someone needed to put a stop to it.

Just now, he was waiting near the front door of the lab. Yubel was standing over the collection of about a dozen men they’d captured together and was giving them all vicious glares if any of them so much as breathed too loudly. Juudai was aware of a few more who had fled out the back door, but he and Yubel had managed to capture the three ringleaders, so he doubted the operation would be starting up again any time soon. They had been using some specific know-how blended with the application of some unique superpowers to synthesize the drug, and those powers were gone now. It was a shame, really. A power to synthesize chemicals like that would have been invaluable to the medical community. Perhaps if this man learned his lesson, Juudai would let him have it back someday.

For now, he watched as a number of police officers warily approached the building.

“It’s okay!” Juudai called out to them. “My partner and I have things pretty well nailed down here.”

The lead officer edged a little closer. He was eyeing Juudai warily, and Juudai didn’t blame him. Most supers at least tried to look like superheroes when they were on the job. Juudai was wearing ragged jeans, hiking boots, a fleece-lined brown leather jacket that had obviously seen a great deal of life, and a T-shirt advertising a band called Sugar Snow. He looked more like a college student out for a beer than a superhero.

“Doing a little spur-of-the-moment heroing, are you?” asked the officer suspiciously. “Care to show me your license?”

Juudai produced his ID card and flicked it towards the officer, who caught it neatly out of the air.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, and ran it through a scanner at his waist. He looked at the results. His eyebrows rose. He scrolled rapidly through the rest of the file, then looked back at Juudai.

“You’re the Haou?” he asked.

Juudai shrugged. “Apparently. I mean, I didn’t come up with the name, but it’s sort of stuck to me now so I figured I might as well own it.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I didn’t think you were real,” said the officer, handing his card back.

Juudai shoved the ID back in his pocket. “Yeah, well, I like to keep a low profile.”

“I can certainly understand that, sir,” said the officer, a bit more respectfully. “But I would like to see some proof, if you don’t mind. May I...?”

“Huh? Oh, sure,” said Juudai, who had been through this song and dance before. There were ways that a villain could disguise themselves as a hero, many of them quite hard to detect. S-levels, though, tended to stay stable, so one way of proving a person was who they said they were was to test their blood and see if their S-levels matched what was printed on their ID card. It wasn’t foolproof, since it was possible for two people to have the same S-levels, even if the odds of any two people matching were one in several hundred. Nobody, however, had levels like Juudai. He offered his finger to be pricked, and watched as the numbers on the little scanner lit up. It showed 9999, just as it always did.

“You are him,” said the officer. He was visibly impressed now.

“Yeah, that’s me,” said Juudai uneasily. “Look, we’ve got these guys all tied up in the back, so if you wanna...?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” said the officer.

Uniformed men poured into the building and started doing official things. Juudai watched a little while to make sure everything was going as it should, then quietly slipped away when no one was looking.

“I wish they wouldn’t always do that,” he complained, woefully regarding his finger. “Just because I’m famous doesn’t give people the right to punch me full of holes.”

“You don’t have to let them do it,” said Yubel.

“I know,” he said. “It’s just not fair. If I had a normal power like flying or punching holes in walls or laser vision, no one would ever ask if I am who I say I am. They’d just go, ‘oh, you’re Wonder Guy, can I have your autograph?’”

Yubel gave him a knowing look. “And you’d want that, would you?”

“Not really,” Juudai admitted. “Well, maybe a little.”

“Do you know what your problem is?”

Juudai smirked. “I’m sure you have a list.

Through all he’d done in the years since he’d left school, Yubel had been his constant companion. Juudai had promised, after all, that they would stay together once they had found each other, and Yubel took him at his word. Through rain and snow, through train delays and cancelled flights, through cheap motels and leaky tents, gang wars and monster battles and helping lost children find their parents, whatever Juudai did, Yubel did too. Even on those days when everything went wrong and they were both feeling thoroughly sick of each other, Juudai was always thankful that he didn’t have to do all this alone.

“I think,” said Yubel, “that you’re burned out.”

“What do you mean, burned out?” said Juudai. “It’s not like I do very much. Mostly we just travel.”

“That still counts as doing things,” Yubel pointed out. “Anyway, you know what I mean. I’ve been watching you. You’re all give and no get. You do all these wonderful things but you don’t stick around to enjoy the thanks, because you’re afraid it will go to your head. Sooner or later, you’re bound to run out of give.”

Juudai scowled. “You know...”

“I know why you do things the way you do. You don’t want the whole world beating a path to your door demanding you give them all godlike superpowers, or take the powers away from people you don’t like,” said Yubel. “I’m just saying, it might be time for a vacation.”

Juudai knew his laugh sounded forced. “I don’t exactly have money for a tropical vacation.”

“Then ask one of your friends. Any one of them would let you stay with them for a while.” Yubel smiled. “It wouldn’t hurt to relive your school days for a while. Do you remember all the fun we had? The annual snowball fight, staying up late telling ghost stories, eating popcorn and watching movies in the common room...”

“Yeah, I remember,” said Juudai. He smiled a little. “Those were the good old days. Man, I’d give a lot to have another go at some of those games we used to play in Chronos’s class. Remember the time you got tangled up in that net so bad they had to cut you loose?”

Yubel huffed. “I could have gotten out if I’d wanted to.”

“I know,” said Juudai. He took out his phone and poked at it for a moment. “Hey, you know, there’s a gym close by that has those reinforced training rooms for playing capture the flag and stuff. We could see if we could scrape up a team. And then we could, I dunno, grab a pizza or some ramen or something, and then maybe catch a movie? And tomorrow I’ll call around and see if any of our friends mind having a couple of house guests for a few days.”

Yubel grinned. “Now you’ve got the idea.”

Juudai grinned back. “Knew there was a reason I kept you around.”

Yubel reached for his hand. “You keep me around for a lot of reasons.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” said Juudai. “Come on. Mission ‘Have Some Fun For A Change’ is officially under way.”

They began making their way towards their destination. Somewhere in the distance, Juudai could hear sirens. There was always something going on in a big city like this, and a part of him itched to be part of the action, but he knew Yubel was right. Sometimes, the person he needed to protect was himself. He was lucky he had someone by his side to remind him of that.

It doesn’t matter how strong I am, he thought. Sometimes I still need a hero, too. He was glad he’d found one.

“So, Yubel, what movie do you want to see?”

“I don’t know. What’s playing?”

“Well, there’s one about this secret agent who...”

“I am not sitting through another movie full of cars exploding. Pick something else!”

“I didn’t say I wanted to see that one!”

“No, but you were thinking it.”

Laughing and bantering with each other, they walked away, hand in hand.

#soulshipping week #soulshipping #yugioh gx #yuuki juudai #yubel

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kchuarts · 4 years

Text

Instinct

A/N: *rubs my filthy hands together* This is a VERY self indulgent fic of mine with one of my various kinks... Also takes place during a weird timeline in IW and Loki has been informally accepted as an Avenger.

Summary: Astrid KNOWS that now is not the time to bring up the idea of having a child. She also knows how Loki feels about it; he does not want children. With everything going on in the world, why was she even thinking about this?

Thanos is still looming over the Avengers at an uncomfortably close distance, and strange creatures have began to invade earth. Unfortunately, these creatures happen to be from Jotunheim...

Warnings: 🔞🔞🔞 VERY SPICY SMUT, breeding, dubious consent, impregnation, etc...🔞🔞🔞 DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18!!!🔞🔞🔞

The very first time Astrid had ever brought up the idea of having children in the future with Loki, was also the last time. In fact, the prince seemed rather upset that she would even bring up such a topic. He had given her a very firm “No.” but never gave any clear validation why he was so against the suggestion. Astrid decided it would be wise not to bring it up again despite her desire to give him a family. His cool opinion of her devotion made her heart ache. She thought that maybe he would be at least open to the idea, but his habit of closing off had won that argument.

It wasn’t that Loki did not want children, it was more of his inner turmoil and who he was. After his haunting fall from the Bifrost, the prince never even thought he would be breathing today. Since his brainwashing, he had concluded that fatherhood would never be within his prospect. This final result was all thanks to the lack of fatherly love from Odin, having learned the truth of his origins, having been unwillingly controlled, what he could do, and now? What now? There was no research of a mortal and Jotun ever creating life together and scarce information of an Asgardian and Jotun doing the same. Loki would not risk his wife’s endurance for something that could quite possibly kill her. He finally found something beautiful through his hardships and he was not willing to let her go. As much as it hurt him to see Astrid suffer in silence about it, he would rather be safe than sorry...

“It has come to my attention that a seam has torn through our world by something to let these massive beasts in and destroy everything in sight.” Fury stated, glancing to Thor and Loki who were standing to the left of the round meeting table. “It is also to my understanding that you have dealt with these things before, and that your brother is of their particular home planet.” He waited for a reply from the Gods as everyone else did.

“They are frost beasts and they do indeed come from Jotunheim.” Loki spoke up, nodding toward the holograph of one of these humongous creatures.

Steve walked forth, examining the 3D image and scratching his beard at it. “So what you’re saying, if I am not mistaken, is that we could have another convergence on hand if these things are coming in? I’m no expert so please excuse my misinformation if I am wrong.” His blue eyes flicked to the God of Mischief. To everyone’s slight relief, both Loki and Thor shook their heads no. “We have yet another 5,000 years before the next convergence occurs, so we can consider ourselves lucky in that regard.” Thor tapped the table toward the frost beast, “What we have here is something else entirely and if my intuition is correct, I believe Thanos is behind this.” The God of Thunder pulled his arm back, mirroring the Captains pose and scratching his own beard. Director Fury nodded to Thor, “So it is a distraction of sorts for what he truly has planned? Laufeyson. You should know the answer to this, given you were under his control.”

Loki nodded, “This is one of his tactics. His army is far larger than a few frost beasts, I have seen it first hand. Well, a glimpse of it anyways. I am hypothesizing he has torn the seam to get me alone. He still is after my head and wishes death upon me.” His thumb gently plays with the smooth onyx band around his ring finger as a means to calm himself; to think of going home to his wife. “Understandable. We also wanted you dead for a period of time.” Nick spoke nonchalant, taking no mind in the slight irk in Loki. “Gentlemen, please.” Steve frowned, holding his hands out and waving down before turning to the dark haired prince, “I’ve got an idea but it will be very dangerous. It does involve closing that seam so we can take care of this and get back to taking Thanos down... I’m gonna need you to go home, Loki.”

Scoffing, the Trickster gave an amused smile to the captain “I would not exactly call it ‘home’ as you so plainly put it, but it does appear that I haven’t a choice here.” He sighed and turned on his heel, “Very well, please prepare a ship for me. If you are sending reinforcements along, I suggest you see Stark first for cold resistant armor. I do not require it, but mortals will-” There was a sudden crackling noise as Tony’s voice broke through the communicator on the table. “Sorry to interrupt ladies, but this isn’t the time for an ice cream social. We’ve got frosty the snowman on steroids over here destroying shit left and right!” Fury pressed a button, “Stark. Where is your position and company?”

“Central- Really!? Come on!! Never mind where we are! Just track us down and get help!!” Tony’s voice cut out as his communicator lost connection.

Almost immediately, Thor turned to Loki and grinned widely to which the latter tried to ignore what was just said.

“Let’s do get help.”

“No-”

All four of the men present suddenly grabbed onto anything as the room shook violently. The shaking was followed by a terrifying screech, causing everyone except Loki to cover their ears. “What the hell was that!?” Steve looked up to see the Trickster frozen in place as though he had seen a ghost. “It’s near the medical wing-” Loki choked out, taking off in a sprint as fast as he could.

--------------

“Everyone form a single file line and do NOT rush out!!” Astrid walked along the line of medical workers and patients, doing her best to escort the frightened people out of danger. It was hard to do so with the violent tremors that continued to rock the building. “Astrid, I’ll take over, go check the Children’s ward and make sure there aren’t any kids left.” Doctor Cho placed a hand on the brunette woman’s shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. Astrid nodded, quickly making her way out of room D to the best of her ability through the crashing and now flickering power. Her heart rate picked up as she heard a high pitched, terrified squeal come from her destination. Astrid sprinted down to the ward, eyes scanning over the beds in a panic.

The child shrieked once more as the power blacked out completely this time. “It’s ok!! Stay where you are and I’ll come get you, sweetie!!” Astrid pulled her phone out quickly turning on flashlight and seeing a little girl; who was no older than 5, huddled in the corner and shaking. The head nurse head to the girl with light feet, scooping her up and giving the poor child a tight squeeze. “It’s gonna be ok. I’ve got you. We’re gonna get you out of here.” She cooed to the girl, taking her small hand and holding it as she had reached for it out of comfort. Swiftly, Astrid began to make progress exiting the room with what little light her phone provided her. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” She cautiously stepped over some new rubble that had fallen from the ceiling while she was in the ward. “L-Lorraine.” the girl sniffled, continuing to hold Astrid’s hand and cling tightly to the woman.

Astrid smiled at the child despite being in complete darkness. “What a pretty name you have! I am so glad to have rescued you, Lorraine. My name is Astrid.” She adjusted the girl in her arms, hearing a small noise of happiness come from her; before finally reaching a well lit area and setting Lorraine down. Kneeling to her eye level, Astrid looked over her to see if she had any injuries. “Wh-What’s gonna happen to us, M-Miss Astrid?” The woman’s attention is brought up to big, teary green eyes. Reaching up, Astrid pushes some hair from the girls face and smiles once more in an attempt to ease her fears. “We are gonna get us out of here and find your parents. I see you’ve got a Junior Agent badge on your little uniform. Do your parents work for S.H.I.E.L.D?” She tapped the button on Lorraine’s shirt. “Mhm. Daddy is a person that helps other people. My mommy is here.” Her small finger pointed to her heart, “She went up to heaven last year with nana. Daddy told me not to be sad no more ‘cuz she is not in pain. He misses her too but he takes good help of me.” she gave the nurse a small smile, swaying in place.

“Oh Lorraine, you are such a brave little girl... My mom is here too.” Astrid smiled sadly, pointing to her heart. “What about your daddy?” Lorraine wiped her eyes, sniffling as she was lifted into the woman’s arms again. She paused, hesitant on how to answer that... “My dad...” She started saying as she continued to find an exit. “My dad..” she smiled at the little girl “Is Mr. Stark and he is the coolest dad ever. Sometimes he is kinda mean so maybe your dad is way more cool.” she chuckled softly as Lorraine’s eyes became large with wonder. “Whoooaaa!! That’s awesomeness. Are the Avengers your friends?” her fears soon dissipated from her mind as she became engrossed with Astrid’s words. “Mhm. I am! Captain America is the sweetest, Black Widow is cool, Ironman is a genius, Thor is like a big puppy!! I love them all.... Can you keep a secret for me?” She raised her brows and winked at Lorraine. The girl nodded eagerly and leaned in to hear, “I am married to one of the Avengers.” She laughed softly at Lorraine’s little gasp and blush. “Do you guys have babies?”

Her laugh faltered a little, but she continued to smile despite the inner conflict within. “Nope, not yet. But I’ll let you know as soon as we have one.” She pushed Lorraine’s bangs from her eyes again, heart aching from wanting a child of her own. Before the little girl could say anything else, Astrid dove to the floor while shielding the child with her body. The wall had exploded and a giant claw reached in, one of it’s sharp nails cutting Astrid’s ankle. She hissed in pain, clenching her teeth and keeping Lorraine’s head to her chest to protect her as much as she could. The pain slowly became worse as it felt like her skin was frozen and becoming frostbit. She knew it wasn’t too deep but that searing chill would worry her more. Lorraine screamed as the Frost Beast roared, destroying more of the wall. The beast turned it’s attention to the two and primarily focused on Astrid as it could smell her blood. Its hulking body moved, jaws getting dangerously close to the woman.

Before it could snap Astrid and Lorraine into it’s jaws, the Frost Beast let out a painful screech and backed away as its eyes began to bleed. Loki leapt down from the roof and into the hall where his wife was currently trapped. “Astrid!!” He called out, climbing down the fallen building to get to her. “Norns.” He muttered, seeing the nasty cut on her ankle and the chill encasing it. Holding a large hand over it, he chanted something in his native tongue and healed it completely. “I thought you were at home.” Astrid coughed from the dust, blinking to get it out of her eyes and look at Loki. “You really think I would be at home right now with all of this ruckus going on? Come now, my love. You know me better than that-” His brow scrunched as he saw movement underneath his wife. Lorraine peeked out, spotting Loki and quickly hiding her face into Astrid’s chest again. “It’s alright, honey. That’s my husband, he’s here to help us. He’s the one who defeated that big mean monster.” The brunette woman sat up, checking over the little girl.

Loki watched in awe as Astrid so lovingly and patiently tended to the child; checking to see if she was hurt and that she was ok. He knew it was part of her job to help children, but he never did get to see how she worked with them let alone see the love in her eyes for them. The god bit his cheek, shaking his head at the “what if...?” thoughts and scooped the both of them up. “Let us get to safety before more of its friends decide to show up and give us a bigger problem.”

---------

After reaching the rest of the group, Lorraine was returned to her father who was sobbing with reprieve that his daughter was safe. “Miss Astrid helped me, daddy! She and her husband! “ Lorraine gave the two a toothy grin. “She’s gonna let me know when they have babies.” She giggled as she saw Loki’s cheeks turn pink. His jaw was clenched, “Astrid. My love. May I have a word?” He spoke through his teeth. Astrid’s smile faded as she knew where this was headed, she turned and smiled to the girl; saying her goodbyes and thank yous before facing Loki.

“I-I can explain-” her voice was timid from her husband’s silent irritation.

Loki shook his head, nostrils flaring a bit “You know how I feel about that.” He almost hissed while trying to keep his temper under control. “She is a little girl, Loki.” Astrid’s hands fall to her sides, becoming annoyed herself.

“And?”

“And? And what!? She was frightened! I had to distract her somehow!” The brunette scoffed, folding her arms over her chest. “So that distraction was to tell her every little detail about our personal life? She is a little girl, Astrid.” He mocked her words and tone from before. “What did you want me to do!? Say nothing!? Kids are curious! Also, for your information, I didn’t tell her everything as you so dramatically put it. I doubt that she will remember me in a few days.” She felt a sharp grip on her arm and gasped as Loki shoved her against the wall. He was very irate with her and would not have anymore. “That is exactly the problem, my dear. You work with children and she just so happens to be in the same place you are. I do not recall any other children you have helped affecting you like this. Children are indeed curious and will spread information like wildfire. Have you forgotten that the public still resents me? I do not know what sort of thoughts have overcome you as of late concerning me impregnating you, but they will cease. The next time this gets brought up...” He stopped, looking away from her. What was he going to say? He wasn’t going to leave her, Norns no! There was always adoption... No. His selfish thoughts of being mistreated and fearing he would be the same to an innocent babe turned him away quickly. The thought of getting her sterilized did cross his mind too...

Astrid yanked her arm from his now loosened grip, tears burning her eyes. She knew he had a point and that she would apologize for it later, but just once did she want him to see that these thoughts were not selfish. She was doing this for him out of love and wanting him to be truly happy. “I-I’ll see you at home.” She huffed, walking away and refusing to let Loki see her tears. She would not let him win, not this time...

----------

Dinner was unusually quiet that evening, Astrid still mulling over the events of the day and barely touching her food. Loki was presumably in the same boat and decided he also lost his appetite. “I am to leave for Jotunheim tomorrow.” He broke the silence, pulling a chair out and sitting across from Astrid who glanced up at him. “Okay, be careful.” She shrugged, looking back down at her cold food before getting up and pitching it. The prince clicked his tongue and stood up abruptly, blocking his wife’s way to their bedroom. “Is that all you have to say to me?” hidden displeasure seeped in his words. Astrid sighed deeply, shoulders falling and whined, “Loki I’m tired-” She tried to walk past, just wanting to go to bed. His large hands grasped her arms, not as tightly as earlier but still firm, “Look at me.” His voice softened. The brunette sighed again before looking into the prince’s eyes. A small smile peaked across his handsome features as his hands moved up from her arms to her jaw. “I would wager that our situations have changed given that you always tell me I am the dramatic and whiney one.” He smiled as he got a grin from Astrid who tried to hide it.

“I apologize for earlier, my love...” His thumbs caressed her cheeks as he continued to look at her.

“I’m sorry too. I know it’s not a good subject... But m-maybe... Maybe we could discuss it in the future? Not have anything set in stone, but talk about it?” Astrid raised her brows, a hopeful glint in her large, doe like eyes. Loki leaned forth, placing a kiss on her forehead “Perhaps we will... However, there are more important things to worry about at hand. Such as keeping you safe.” He rest his cheek on top of her head and felt her arms wrap around his lithe torso. Nuzzling her face against his strong chest, Astrid took his scent in and felt any worry she had at the moment drift away. “Well then you probably won’t like my next question then.” She chuckled.

“You want to come to Jotunheim with me, don’t you?” Loki lift his head up to look at his mortal wife again, an unamused expression on his face. Astrid grinned, nodding and giggling at his frown. In her amusement, she reached up and pushed his pouting lip in and squealed when he softly nipped at her finger. “Be careful, I may have picked up a few habits from the mongrel.” He chuckled, hiding his smirk with a kiss to her neck. His laughter rumbled once more as Astrid smacked him playfully at him. “Leave my Kovu out of this.” She scolded, still laughing softly. Loki stood up, taking her small hand in his and leading her to their bedroom. He carefully tossed her onto the large mattress before crawling up and placing his head on her chest. Astrid rolled her eyes as she knew what he was asking for and began to play with his hair. “You know, you will need a medic to come along with you. One that sorta kinda knows your biology-” She blushed at what Loki cut her off with.

“By that you mean my cock? Oh darling, I am most certainly aware that you are an expert in that field.” He laughed as he felt yet another smack, nuzzling his head on her chest. “You know what I mean, dumb ass.” Astrid continued to play with his hair, shaking her head and smiling. “You are right though. I do take care of children... But there’s one big kid that I really need to keep watch on. Such a little trouble maker he is and not to mention he is very amorous...” She felt him shift a little to press his lower half on her leg to emphasize her words. “You would not happen to be talking about a very tall, handsome, charming, prince with a large-” He felt her stop playing with his hair and actually whined. The brunette laughed at the noise he made and his hand grabbing hers to put it back on his head. “Your chances of me saying yes to your joining decrease when you stop your petting.”

Sighing once more, Astrid resumed her caresses until the prince lulled into a slumber. He did agree to her joining the mission, but what he was not aware of were the circumstances that would happen on the planet of his birth...

So I guess this is gonna be a two or three parter. God damn. Why do I do this to myself?? Anyways, smut will be in the next chapter

Taglist: @lucywrites02

#lokistrid #loki x ofc #loki x oc #tw: breeding #tw: pregnancy #loki fanfic #fanfic #my writing #writing #loki mcu #mcu oc #i cannot wait to write the other paaaart >:3

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lu-undy · 4 years

Note

Idea: after a very long night of parenting poor engie is trying round up the other mercs (who are well.. to say drunk is an understatement-) and goes sniper (who like engine absolutely refused to try demo’s “mystery rum”) for help but there’s a problem while snipes would love to help a VERY drunken spy had latched onto him and refuses to move and he’s like “I don’t care if medics on the roof ready to throw solider this is my baby.. he’s.. mine.. all mine.. NOW SHOO-“

That was one awesome idea! Thank you so much for giving it to me!! Here it is, I loved writing it so I hope you’ll enjoy reading as much :)

The music was playing loudly that night as the mercenaries celebrated their victories of the week. But that weekend was to be longer than usual as the Administrator had called to say that it would last three days. The mercenaries, instead of their usual drink around a table, decided to throw a party.

Thus, the music was booming through the speakers as Scout blasted the latest hits. The bass made their chests tremble as they danced and walked close to the speakers.

"Sniper?" Engie shouted, his hands left and right from his mouth. He was looking for him.

Most of the mercenaries were way past tipsy at the exception of Engie who had refused to try Demo's 'special occasions whiskey' and Heavy who could withstand any quantity of ethanol as if it was mineral water.

Engineer was trying to contain the relative chaos that the party had turned into, and like a single father to most of his colleagues, he felt a little bit overwhelmed. As a result, he was looking for Sniper that he had seen refused Demo's whiskey. The Aussie had received a shipment of Australian beers and wanted to enjoy them and nothing else.

The poor Texan had gone out of the base a few moments ago, looking for Medic and Soldier and had found them on the rooftop, one about to push the other in the snow 'and see how many of his bones would break when he fell in the snow'...

Of course, Engineer would need some backup to make his drunk friends realise the foolishness of their idea, and that's why he was looking for Sniper.

Meanwhile, in the Aussie's campervan, the atmosphere was very different. Sniper had been joined by the most drunk secret agent he had ever seen.

"Another cigarette?" Spy offered.

"If it's free…"

"You are lucky I am this drunk or it would cost you a lot more."

They were both sitting, side by side, on Sniper's worn out small couch. They chuckled and lit their cigarettes in the van that they had decided against lighting up. There was something cozy about the relative darkness. Spy undid his tie and opened the first two buttons of his shirt.

"Ooh, the tie's out now, eh? You must feel naked or something."

"Pff…" Spy giggled. "Almost so, oui. I hope this nakedness does not put you into any discomfort, hm?" He raised a smug eyebrow.

"Oh, nah… I've seen other necks in my life, eh." Sniper joked.

They shared a chuckle but Spy noticed that Sniper's eyes stayed on his neck for a while.

"I don't doubt it, and yet you stare."

"It's cause of your scar, there, sorry." Sniper averted his gaze.

"Ah, oui. There used to be a time when I had more hickies and lipstick marks than scars on my skin. But this time is long gone."

"Really?"

"Are you doubting that it was the case or that it ceased?"

"Nah, that it stopped. You're a nice bloke. I'm sure sheilas fall at your feet like there's no tomorrow."

"Oui, it is true that I cannot complain in that regard. Although I must correct what you said."

"Oh?"

"Not only women seem to do that, I have my successes regardless of people's sex." Spy said with a smirk before taking another sip.

"Always humble, aren't we?" Sniper answered.

"Non, but always honest."

"That's rich comin' from you, Spook!"

Spy laughed.

"What d'you think about the beer?" Sniper asked.

"Almost unbearably fruity. I didn't know you were one to like it that way, Bushman."

"Oh, I usually don't." They took a sip. "It's just that one brand from home."

"From Australia?" Spy asked.

"Yeah. Received them a few days ago, now."

Spy looked at the bottle and Sniper chuckled as he saw him squint and stare, struggling to decipher the inscriptions. The Aussie turned a night lamp on.

"Here, maybe you'll read it better."

"I quite like the darkness. However, if the letters could stop dancing and wiggling around, that would help!" Spy complained and Sniper understood that he was just too drunk to be able to read.

"I'll read it for ya."

"Thank you."

"It says that it's been produced in - oh?"

A knock interrupted Sniper's sentence.

"Ooh, you were waiting for some late night company?" Spy mocked.

"Nah." Sniper smiled.

"You sure?" Spy raised an eyebrow. "I can leave if needs be."

"Spook, quit it…" Sniper rolled his eyes and went to the door, seeing Spy's smug smile from the corner of his eye.

He opened the door.

"Oh, hey Engie."

"Sniper, uh, could you spare a minute to help me out?"

"What's wrong?"

"Solly and Sawbones are on the rooftop and Medic wants to push him off."

"What?!" Sniper's eyes snapped wide under the surprise.

"He's dead drunk and thinks it's the right moment to try new experiments…"

"Bloody hell…"

"Can you come and help me convince them down?"

"Uh-"

Before Sniper could answer, he felt two hands lace around him from his side and soon, Spy appeared next to him.

"I am sorry, Labourer, but you have knocked on the wrong door. The Bushman is already in company."

"Spook, he's not askin' to spend the night here, it's just that-"

"Then why is he still here? Shoo…!" Spy accompanied the words with a gesture and Sniper rolled his eyes.

"Spook, please, we really need to get them out of the rooftop before they -"

"God bless Americaaaa!" A shout from the very recognisable Soldier echoed in the snowy desert before there was a thud that they couldn't hear from that distance.

"Well, it seems it is too late, Engineer. Now, if you don't mind, some of us were spending a delicious night here…" Spy added.

"Look Sniper, now I'd really need someone to help me get him to the medicbay, no doubt that Solly did break a few bones." Engineer put his hand on Sniper's forearm to grab him but received a slap from the Frenchman on his hand.

"Non!" He protested and Sniper smiled. "This Bushman is mine for the night. Goodnight."

Sniper shrugged with a smile and Engie finally rolled his eyes with a smile.

"Alrighty then, guess I gotta find Heavy…"

Spy nodded and shut the door himself, still clinging to Sniper's side.

"Can I at least go back on the couch?" The Aussie smiled.

"Only if I can sit with you." Spy answered.

"Right, let's go, Spook."

Sniper walked more awkwardly than ever before with Spy clinging on his side.

"Gosh, Spook, you're so clingy when you're drunk…" He sat down and Spy took the liberty of sitting on his lap and laying his head on Sniper's shoulder.

"Is it a bad thing?"

"I-I mean… You're drunk…"

"Oh, oui, way too drunk. It is more than likely that tomorrow I will forget that any of this happened at all." Spy answered, snuggling against Sniper.

"M-mate, look, uh…" Sniper looked down and saw that Spy's eyes were shut. "Ugh, of bloody course you're gonna fall asleep on me…"

He sighed and silence fell. Sniper felt Spy's ribcage inflate and deflate regularly against his own. He instinctively wrapped his arms around him but then realised that he shouldn't. Spy was drunk, and as such, he was not thinking straight. Sniper however was sober, a bit happy from the beers, but he was very much the master of his acts and words. He shouldn't take advantage of his friend and so he decided against doing anything. He just leaned back slowly, Spy's head and body never disconnecting from his, and looked through the thin window.

The bass from the speakers were still booming from the base and Sniper could hear them very clearly. For a second he thought back about Engie and hoped he managed to find Heavy and that everything had solved itself. But then, Sniper pondered. What would have been his answer if Spy hadn't said no to Engie?

Sniper's eyes went down to Spy's silhouette.

Of course he would have preferred to stay with Spy. And the way he had clung to him… He still was technically! And of all the places Spy had chosen to fall asleep and defenseless, Sniper's shoulder had seemed best for him.

How on Earth could that be? Spy was distrustful. He never would give his trust to anyone and yet there he was, sleeping on Sniper's chest. Did that mean that he…?

"Spook… Uhm… I know you're asleep and, well, more drunk than I've ever seen you be before. But uh… Just so you know, even if you won't cause you've fallen asleep on me… anyway, I'm getting lost. Point is, I'd have tried to send Engie away to stay with you. I know it's bloody ridiculous. I don't know. I just like the night we're spending together. And uh, I guess I can say it now but if you weren't drunk, I'd have put my arms around you." Sniper chuckled. "It's almost hard resistin' it, eh. But you're drunk and maybe you wouldn't want it if you were sober. So I won't do anything. I'll just… I'll just enjoy being your pillow."

"And you are a comfortable one, Bushman." A voice with a French accent answered.

"Shit, I woke you up?"

"I never was asleep."

"What?"

"I was just resting."

"You never were sleepin'? So what were you doing? I thought you sort of passed out on my shoulder."

"I didn't."

"Spook, I'm so confused. What the hell were you doing?"

"Cuddling? Hugging? Snuggling? Looking for physical comfort? You name it." Spy answered and Sniper blushed.

"So you heard me?"

"Oui, I did."

"Ah… Right, well… Thank God you won't remember a thing tomorrow when you'll have sobered up, eh?"

"Ah oui, your reasoning would work if not for one thing."

"What?" Sniper asked.

"I am not drunk. Never have been. In fact, the last time that I was drunk to that extent was a long time ago now."

Sniper froze on his seat.

"Wait… Why did you pretend then? And why tell that you were pretending?"

Spy chuckled against Sniper's chest.

"I pretended so that you would let me lie against you without you wondering too much about it. And I stopped to pretend because, very much to your honour, you don't want to hold me because you thought I was drunk."

Sniper frowned.

"You're complicated, you know that?"

"Only as much as you make me." Spy answered.

"But wait, if you lied about being drunk and all… What you said to Engie, was it true?"

Spy raised his head off Sniper's chest to look him in the eye.

"Oui, it absolutely was. I find this night absolutely delicious in your company and I wouldn't want to be anywhere else but against you. Besides, I really think what I said to Engineer."

Sniper gulped down audibly as he recalled Spy calling him his.

"The good news is that, because I am not even tipsy, you can hold me if you want." Spy added and Sniper's arms obeyed before his mind consciously made the decision. "Much better, merci."

Spy snuggled against Sniper's chest.

"I don't even know what I'm doing…" Sniper said.

"You are enjoying the moment." Spy answered.

"N-no… I mean… I don't know what I'm thinkin', what's happening, what…?"

"Which is exactly why I pretended to be drunk. Were I sober, you would wonder too much and not just do what your heart tells you." Spy was lightly scratching Sniper's chest, on his heart and he felt it start racing. "Shhh… Relax. It is just you and me."

"Yeah, well…"

"Do I impress you that much?" Spy asked and Sniper's silence was an answer on its own. "Sniper…"

"I know. That's me… I'm like that. Sometimes I just… I just don't know what to say and I just stay silent... awkwardly."

Spy chuckled from the bottom of his throat.

"Do not apologise. I think it is part of your charm."

Their eyes met in the dimness of the van, under the light of the night lamp.

"Really?"

"Oui. But it does raise questions and doubt, your shyness."

"What d'you mean?"

"I never know if you're holding me because you really want to, or simply because I asked you to and you are too shy to refuse." Spy explained.

"Nah, Spook." Sniper shook his head. "I'd never let a bloke sit on my lap like that if I… I mean, if I didn't agree to it."

"You mean if you didn't want it too?"

Sniper shyly nodded, a bit embarrassed to admit such a truth.

"I am delighted to hear that you want it too." Spy leaned again on Sniper's chest and lightly scratched it through his gloves. "You are warm and very comfortable. And that distinct scent…"

"I-I can change my cologne or something if you don't like it…"

"Non, non, on the contrary. It smells of everything I abhor, it is cheap, so strong that it could bring tears to my eyes and yet!" Spy closed his eyes. "I couldn't possibly want to smell anything else, for I know that if I do smell it, it is because you are nearby."

"Spook, just for a second, please be honest, ok?"

"I am."

"How can I be sure? You looked dead serious when you told me you were drunk, you even struggled to read the beer and stuff… I don't know!"

Spy raised his head.

"Shall I show you?" He asked.

"Show me what?"

"That I am sincere."

"Yeah, well, I don't know how you're gonna do it but yeah, go ahead."

Spy removed his gloves and put his hands flat on Sniper's cheeks before putting his forehead against his.

"Sniper… Please believe me."

Sniper's jaw dropped as he saw him close his eyes and a second later, he felt something on his lips, something soft, something thin and warm and - oh - it became slick.

Sniper rolled up his eyes before he closed them, his entire weight on the sofa and his whole attention on Spy's lips dancing with his own.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy

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miraculous-sunflower · 3 years

Text

the skeld - a miraculous x among us AU

Marinette- pink, a flower circlet. A fashionista with a hamster ball because she loves hamsters and fashion…

Adrien- lime, kitty cat ears. Channeling his inner Chat Noir…

Alya- orange, dum sticker. Reporter extraordinaire! Dum sticker is courtesy of the lovely Marinette!

Nino- blue, headphones. He's just chilling...

Chloe- yellow, crown. *ahem ahem*, Queen Bee!

Sabrina- white, bunny ears. *sigh* I know that the outfit looks weird, but I tried my best! She looks pretty innocent though...

Kagami- red, sword in head. Fencing, ahaha, am I right?

Luka- cyan, mohawk. He looks awesome. Just awesome. Has some inner rockstar in him :)

Lila- brown, long weird funky hair. Hehe my friend and I couldn’t resist doing this!

Felix- black, top hat. Dark, and mysterious, perfect…

PROLOGUE

Life on The Skeld was rough. The stress of running a spaceship and doing tasks, based on a small tablet with the rules and instructions, was piling on top of the ten high school students. Some of them were friends, while others were enemies. Unfortunately, the fights couldn’t be prevented. Luka hated that Marinette chose Adrien. Alya hated that she couldn't blog what was going on. Nino hated that his headphones wouldn’t work. Chloe hated not being in the comfort of her daddy’s hotel. Kagami hated that Adrien was so caught up with Marinette, that he wouldn’t even practice fencing with her. Felix hated that his parents probably wouldn’t worry about him. Sabrina hated that she left her lucky pin - the one Chloe gave her - with her father, back in Paris. Adrien hated that Felix had to be one of the unlucky ten on the ship. Marinette hated not being in the bakery; her home. And Lila hated that she was all alone on the spaceship - even Chloe the brat had a friend! Unfortunately, as the days went on, things got worse, and worse. It was impossible to run a spaceship - where there were normally over 50 staff members! Little did Marinette know that on the 13th day, misfortune would strike once again.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Body in Storage. I repeat, body in Storage.” Felix reported. An emergency meeting was held straight away.

“Oh no! Sabrina!” Marinette gasped.

“What?!?! Someone killed my friend! This is ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous!” Chloe snapped.

“Friend? I thought she was your servant, Chloe,” Alya smirked.

“Um, well, well she’s both!” Chloe’s face went red.

“Wait, a second, Sabrina’s dead?” Nino asked.

“Yes. Found her body in Storage. Didn’t see anyone.” Felix stated.

“Hold up. Our fellow crewmates are dying? Do you guys know what this means?” Alya nervously asked.

“Alya, what’s happening?” Adrien asked.

“There is someone, on this ship, who wants to take over.”

There is an impostor among us.

Marinette was the first to leave the table. She had to swipe her ID card, so she headed to Admin. Beep! Perfect. It only took one swipe. She noticed that someone else had come into Admin.

“Well hello there, Princess. Fancy seeing you here.” Adrien grinned.

Marinette tried not to crack a smile, but Adrien’s smile was adorable. She remembered Alya’s warning. There is an impostor among us. Be careful. Trust no one. She had said ‘Trust no one’, but come on! This was Adrien! Dorky, funny, and adorable Adrien! She really didn’t think he could kill someone.

Adrien carefully studied Marinette. Yes, his girlfriend had her game face on. She was probably determining the chances of him being the killer. “Marinette,” he looked into her eyes, and grabbed her hands, interlocking them with his, “I promise you, I’m not the impostor. I’d never kill anyone.”

Marinette showed a tiny smile. Adrien was telling the truth. She could see it in his eyes. “Alright, kitty. How about we stick together and protect each other?”

Her boyfriend grinned. “Yes! We could be secret agents! Hmmm, we need code names. Umm, oh, I’ll be Chat Noir. Yeah, Chat Noir. The Black Cat.”

Marinette laughed. “Well, if you're a black cat, I’ll be Ladybug. I mean, good luck is the opposite of bad luck, right?”

If it was possible, Adrien’s grin grew even more. “Woah, we’ll be two parts of a whole!” He raised his eyebrows, up and down. “And that fits us pretty well, right?”

Marinette blushed, but smiled. “Yes, Chaton. It fits us pretty well.”

Chloe thought this situation was ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous! Sabrina was dead, so she didn’t know how to do her tasks! Ugh, where were her tasks anyway? She pulled up her tablet, which contained her tasks.

“Fix wires in Electrical. Where am I supposed to find Electrical?” She blurted out furiously.

She thought about the times before Sabrina was killed.

Flashback:

”Oh, you have a task in Electrical? No worries, Chloe! I can show you how to get there!” Sabrina joyously exclaimed.

Chloe tried to bite back her smile, but couldn’t help it. She was too happy to have a real friend on the spaceship.

Sabrina led her to Electrical. “Hey, Chloe, do you need help with your task?” Chloe was furiously messing with her distributor.

“I don’t know how to do this thing!” She yelled furiously.

“Oh Chloe, it’s alright. I can show you how. So what you want to do is calibrate it. Match the pointy part to the…

Chloe blinked twice, snapping herself out of the flashback. She needed to finish her tasks. She needed to. Sure, she had no friends left, but she had to do it. For Sabrina. Filled with a new burst of determination, she pulled up the map on her tablet. She found herself, a yellow crewmate, in Cafeteria. She also located Electrical. “Okay, so if I go down into Storage, then make a right, Electrical will be on the left. Got it.” Chloe took a breath in, and started her journey.

But as soon as she arrived in Electrical, she noticed something wrong. There, standing in the doorway, was Felix, holding a bloody knife. She saw Kagami’s bloody body behind him. Felix’s eyes widened when he saw Chloe, but relaxed.

“Felix? You’re the killer?” Chloe was too surprised to move.

Felix smirked. “No, I’m not the killer. You are.” He took his megaphone from his backpack, and raised it into the air. Chloe looked at him with a murderous gaze. “You wouldn’t dare…”

“Oh, I would. Body in Electrical. I repeat, body in Electrical.” Everyone around the ship headed to Cafeteria.

“Another body. Felix, see anything?” Marinette asked.

“Oh, Felix saw something, alright! I just saw Felix coming out of Electrical, where Kagami’s body is! It’s a self report!” Chloe yelled.

“Quite the opposite, actually. Marinette, to answer your question, I did indeed see something. Chloe ran into Electrical while Kagami and I were doing tasks, and sliced Kagami. I luckily saw her run away.” Felix calmly stated.

Marinette narrowed her eyes at both of them. “Felix and Chloe, what was your reason for going to Electrical?”

“Well, I had to download some important information regarding the electrical supply. I was going to upload it to the Admin HQ after.” Felix answered.

“Well, I was there to do a task.” Chloe bluntly stated.

Marinette got a bit annoyed. “What task, Chloe?”

Chloe froze. What task, what task, what task? “Oh, um, ah, I forgot.”

Marinette looked at her suspiciously. “How do you forget which task you have?”

“Well, before, Sabrina always helped me with my tasks,” Chloe looked at her nervously.

“Well, sorry Chloe, but Sabrina’s dead.” Nino said.

“Yeah, that sounds suspicious. I’m voting Chloe.” Alya stated.

“So am I, as I saw her do it.” Felix aimed a smirk at Chloe. Chloe glared at him.

“No please, you have to believe me. Please!” She desperately looked at Marinette. “Please, Marinette. If there’s an impostor, they would’ve killed Sabrina too. You know I’d never kill Sabrina!” Now here, Marinette was confused. All of the evidence pointed to Chloe, but this confused her. She knew how much Sabrina meant to Chloe…

“Lies. I saw her do it. I caught her in the act. The impostor is indeed Chloe.” Felix stated, once again. He was sure Chloe wouldn’t be able to escape his plan.

Chloe didn’t care about what Felix said. She just focused on Marinette. “Please, Marinette. If you don’t believe me, vote Felix out first. Then vote for me. I just don’t want to let anyone else get killed.”

Marinette thought that the idea was fair. “Alright. I will be voting Felix.” She glanced at Felix, who was stunned. He was sure his plan would work!

Alya and Felix were the ones who voted for Chloe, while the others voted out Felix. Adrien and Luka grabbed Felix by the arms and led him to Marinette, who opened the airlock that led to space. The three of them launched Felix outside, and watched his body shrivel up, floating in space.

Felix was ejected.

Chloe gulped. She knew it was her turn now.

Marinette called another emergency meeting. The rest of the crewmates turned to Chloe. “I’m sorry Chloe, but this is the only way to make sure one of you was the killer.” Marinette looked at her, apologizing with her eyes.

“It’s alright. I had this idea. At least no one will be murdered anymore.” Taking a deep breath in, she waved her hand. “Bye, everyone. It was fun working with you,” She turned around, ready to be launched into space.

“Chloe, it was fun working with you too. You’re so brave. You’re sacrificing yourself in order to protect your fellow crewmates. It’s an honor to call you my friend.” Marinette smiled at her.

Chloe gasped, but a tear of joy slid down her face. “Thank you, Marinette. I’ll never forget you.”

When she was blasted into space, there was only one thought in her mind. And it was. She was a ghost now. She glided through walls, frantically looking for Sabrina. Suddenly, she saw a pale, white-colored ghost sobbing.

“Sabrina?” Chloe whispered.

The pale ghost jumped up, but then studied Chloe.

“Chloe? Is that really you?” Sabrina asked. Chloe nodded. The two ghosts, yellow and white, ran to each other, but then realised that they couldn’t give each other hugs.

“Oh Sabrina, I missed you so much!” Chloe sobbed out.

Sabrina looked at her happily. “I did too. I hated that I couldn’t talk to you. But I’ve always been there. I followed you, wherever you went.”

“You did? Oh Sabrina, I’m so happy to see you again,” A fresh new wave of tears ran down Chloe’s face.

“I am too. But don’t ever worry, Chloe. I’ll always be with you. In here.” Sabrina gestured to Chloe’s heart.

Chloe looked at her friend. Perhaps death wasn’t that bad. She was reunited with her friend. Her friend.

Marinette blinked back tears. From the moment she arrived on the spaceship, she always thought Chloe was a brat. But no. She was wrong. Chloe was kind, so brave. Marinette would always remember Chloe. She picked up the crown that Chloe always wore, and placed it in the center of the meeting table. “She died a hero. She died protecting others. For that, we should honor her spirit.” There was a moment of silence.

Alya spoke up after a minute. “Okay, so now we are sure to have the killer out. Right?”

Marinette wiped the tears coming out of her eyes. “Yes, there should be no murders. Crewmates, continue on with your tasks.” Everyone shuffled out of Cafeteria, but Adrien stayed behind.

“I’m sorry about Chloe, Princess. But we had to. To protect the others, we needed to do it.”

Marinette looked at him. “I know, kitty. But I can’t help but be mad at myself for not realizing how kind Chloe was back then.” She looked at him wearily. “I’ve known her for years, and I’ve always thought she was snobby. But her spirit lives on, in the spaceship.”

Adrien cracked a smile at her. “Well, to cheer you up, how about we go on a task date?”

Marinette laughed at him. “Sure, kitty-cat. Let’s head to Weapons. I want to make sure there aren’t any asteroids that might hit our ship.”

The couple headed to Weapons, but as soon as they arrived, the lights went out. “Hey, that’s not good. No one has access to the lights except me,” Marinette suspiciously looked around, but she couldn’t see anything. “Adrien, Adrien where are you?” She reached her hand out.

“I’m here, Marinette,” Her hand touched another hand, and she immediately clasped it.

“We have to get to Electrical to fix the lights, Adrien.” Marinetet whispered.

“Okay, let’s go,” Adrien responded. They took baby steps, making sure there wasn’t anyone else around. They reached Electrical, and Marinette stepped to the lights panel. She flicked the switches until they all were light green. The lights started to come back on, one by one.

“Okay, that problem is fixed. Any idea why it happened?” Adrien asked Marinette, clearly able to see her now. He headed to the back of Electrical.

“No, I have no idea, unless-” She was interrupted by Adrien’s gasp. She ran to the back, and saw a bloody sight.

Standing on Alya’s body was Lila, whose back was turned around. When Lila heard Adrien’s gasp, she turned around.

“Oh, hi guys! Do you want to hear about the time I helped astronauts from Polus-” but she stopped when she noticed the dead body at her feet. She looked up at Marinette and Adrien, who had wide eyes. “Oh, guys, I swear, it’s not what it looks like-”

“Body in Electrical. I repeat, “Body in Electrical.” Marinette reported, glaring at Lila. Marinette and Adrien escorted Lila to Cafeteria. Couple seconds later, Nino showed up, and then Luka did.

“What?! Alya’s dead?! Oh god whoever killed her…” Nino looked at the ground with sad eyes, trying to hold back tears.

“Oh Nino, we’ll get justice for you. Because the killer is, drumroll please,” Adrien grinned, but Marinette shot him a death glare. “Lila.”

Nino gasped when he heard that. “Lila? How?”

“She was standing on Alya’s body. I’m really sorry, Nino,” Marinette went to comfort Nino, giving him a bear hug.

“No! I didn’t kill her! I was just trying to do my wires! I swear! It wasn’t me!” But no one believed Lila. When the time came, Adrien and Luka picked her up and launched her into space. Marinette watched Lila’s body shrivel up with a grim expression. Adrien put an arm around Marinette’s shoulders.

“I can’t believe Alya’s dead. My best friend,” She was still in shock.

“Hey, Princess. We got them all justice, right? Felix and Lila were the killers, so all of them got justice.” Little did the couple know that the ghosts were actually yelling at their stupidity, but they couldn't blame them. Lila was a liar, so the real impostor framing her was a genius idea.

Suddenly, the reactor meltdown alarm went off. Marinette’s eyes widened. No, this wasn’t good, not good at all. It meant that there was still an impostor among them. But who?

Marinette and Adrien ran to Reactor, one going up, other going down, to scan their hands to stop the meltdown. Luka and Nino weren’t in sight.

“Oh god, Adrien. We need to call an emergency meeting. We have to!” Marinette raced to Cafeteria, Adrien following her in hot pursuit. Marinette slammed the red button, and the emergency meeting siren was sounded throughout the ship. In a couple seconds, Luka showed up from Admin, but Nino was not in sight. 2 minutes passed, 5 minutes passed, 7 minutes passed, 10 minutes passed. Nino never showed up.

There was a sinking feeling that occurred in Marinette’s stomach. Nino was dead. That meant… it meant that Luka was the killer. Luka was the impostor among them all.

Adrien looked at her, and she looked at him. They slowly looked at Luka, who tried to look as innocent as possible.

“Well, Adrien, you tried. But you got caught,” Luka tried to frame Adrien.

Adrien glared at Luka. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yep. Well, Marinette,” Adrien didn’t like how Luka said his girlfriend’s name, “who do you think it is?”

Marinette looked at Luka with eyes that said, ‘Do you think I’m dumb?’. “Oh! Well, me and Adrien were on a task date,” Adrien smirked at Luka, who rolled his eyes, “sooo the only person who could have killed would be, hm, oh yeah! You!”

Luka fake gasped. “What? Why are you accusing me!? You’re probably helping Adrien…”

“This is so dumb. Princess, can we just launch him out?” Adrien was getting mad at Luka.

“Yeah, okay, we can.”

Adrien and Marinette tried to escort Luka to the airway, but Luka elbowed Adrien in the chest and grabbed Marinette’s hand. Adrien slammed into the window, groaning. Marinette thought he was unconscious. “Oh no, we’re launching you, Adrien.” Luka smiled.

“Adrien! No!” Marinette yelled.

Luka looked at Marinette. “Oh, sweet melody. I’ve always loved you. And now, you shall love me!” he laughed evilly. Marinette was still shocked that Luka killed so many innocent people.

“I can’t believe that this is the real you, Luka. I never would’ve guessed. I actually thought you were kind!” Marinette felt the tears burning her eyes. If Luka managed to launch Adrien, it was over. ‘Deep breaths, Marinette. You’ve got this. Just make a plan,’ she told herself.

Luka was only grabbing her arm, so her feet were pretty movable. She calculated the distance from her foot to Luka’s chest, then calculated how far away Adrien was. She'd have to hurt Luka pretty bad if she wanted her plan to work. On the count of three, she hurled her foot and it perfectly hit Luka’s chest. Luka fell onto the floor, groaning, but he made no sign of getting up. Marinette wasted no time of sprinting to Adrien, who was finally conscious. She helped him up.

“Okay, Adrien. We need to get Luka outside. We have to! Otherwise…”

“Don’t worry, Princess. I think we can do it.” Adrien answered.

They picked him up, and dragged him to the airlock. Marinette pressed her ID to the key lock, and the airlock opened. Using the last remaining strength that either of them had, they both pushed Luka out of the airlock.

“Did it work?” Adrien asked, out of breath.

Luka was ejected.

“It did. It worked!” Marinette threw her arms around Adrien. Adrien returned the gesture. They both started crying, as the loss of their friends finally sank in.

Alya, Marinette’s first friend on the spaceship. She welcomed Marinette, showed her how to do most of her tasks. Marinette would always be thankful for Alya’s love and help.

Nino, Adrien’s first friend. Adrien had a toxic life before coming to the spaceship, but Nino made him laugh everyday, whether it was funny turtle memes, or just being himself. Adrien would always be thankful for Nino’s love and help.

Kagami. Even if Kagami had a crush on Adrien at some point in time, she was still a very good friend of Marinette and Adrien. If someone criticized Marinette’s decision, for example if she wanted to build a new reactor, Kagami would always be there to back her up. Adrien and Marinette would always be thankful for Kagami’s love and help.

Sabrina. Sabrina was their latest recruit, but she’d been so helpful, whether it be setting up the tables for dinner, or cleaning the Cafeteria. Marinette, Adrien, and the whole crew would be thankful for Sabrina’s help.

Lila. Well, Lila was a liar, but there were some noble moments. She helped explain to Adrien how the trash chute worked. She waited to watch people’s medscan. Even if she was mean sometimes, she truly was a pretty good person.

Finally, Chloe. Chloe was mean to Marinette in the beginning, but that was just out of jealousy. She was jealous of how many friends Marinette had. She was jealous of Marinette’s position. But even if she was mean, she was kind at the end. She sacrificed herself in order to protect others. She was brave, so brave, and Marinette was guilty for not seeing it until the end. But as the golden crown sits in the middle of the meeting table, all the ghosts, who used to be crewmates on the ship, remain on the ship. Their spirit lives on.

The couple sat down on the nearest sofa, exhausted from their blood filled day.

“Marinette, do you think our friends are still with us?” Adrien asked.

“Of course they are. They will always be with us, in here.” Marinette gestured to her heart.

The couple gazed out at the starry night of the galaxy, wishing for a better day of the Skeld.

#adrienette #chlobrina #luka salt #felix salt #lila salt #among us #alternate universe #the skeld

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spac3bar7end3r · 4 years

Text

Tell Me That I'll Be Alright

Modern Wizarding World, Draco Stays in Muggle Part, Pre-relationship, Short fic, potion master Draco, auror Harry

For the prompt: “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”

2873 words

read on Ao3

‘For today's weather, the wind is calm. It will be sunny throughout the day. There is a chance of a little reunion happening. The person you don’t expect to see will walk through your door. It’s your choice to decide to close the door or open it once more.’

Luna’s message is cryptic. She is always cryptic, that’s for sure. But today’s message seems specific in a vague way (how can that be?) Normally it would be something like: your lucky person is the man who wears green, or something similar to that.

He loves it though, and it sells well both for muggles and in the wizarding world. It’s Luna’s own business, sending daily cryptic texts to subscribers. He once saw a muggle who has religiously studied her texts like verses in the bible.

If Luna said, he’s going to have a reunion today then so be it. Let’s hope it is not someone who wants to kill him. The weather is too good for a sparring today.

Draco Malfoy put his phone back in his pocket and locks his flat’s door before checking the time on his mobile phone. The young wizard smiles to himself. He has more spare time before work than usual.

He put his keys in his the other side of his pants’ pocket. The sound of the keys jingling echoes through the hallway. He looked up to nod at one of his old neighbour who is also going out of their resident. Draco smiles back when the other sends a smile his way like he always does.

He hums to himself while walking down the street. Maybe today is a great day to order coffee from the shop across the street. He deserves it. He has time to indulge himself in muggles’ fancy drinks (and he will!).

Draco orders a hot latte and a plain bagel. He smiles to the barista with a familiar face. Draco sees this bloke a lot when he becomes this shop’s regular (His first time here was a bit embarrassing because he cannot pronounce macchiato. What a dumb word.) The barista smiles flirtatiously, but Draco pretends like he doesn’t see it. He takes an effort to make small talk and puts the tips in a jar then goes out with his drinks and heavenly-smelled bagel in hands.

He unlocks the door when he reaches his office the muggle way, opening it and waves his hand, sending his scarf flying to the coat rack next to the door. The Closed sign hanging on the door flips itself and now showing Open instead. He turns on the light and the wireless before throwing his body on his chair. The smell of hot coffee and the gently sound of muggle’s music makes him feel lively for a second but then his mood shifts when Draco notices a letter on his desk, his brows furrowed at the pretentious, ugly wax seal and the department behind the symbol of the seal.

Comparing to the first time he received a letter from Hogwarts, this is like a 180 change. It is a letter from Gawain bloody Robards.

‘Dear Potion Master Draco Malfoy,’ written the letter, and Draco has to look up from the letter to sneer with himself for dramatic purpose.

And then he continues:

‘The Department of the Auror of the Ministry of Magic urgently needs your expertise on an important case since we believe your skills and knowledge will assist our works tremendously. We will send one of our officers to your office tomorrow. He will tell you all about the case.

We hope you will regard us in the same way that the Ministry has been regarding and assisting the Malfoy family. I believe it is quite a crucial time for us to support each other for the best of the wizarding world in this time and age.

Warm Regards,

Gawain Robards

Head Auror’

“Warm regards my arse.” Draco quickly looks through the content of the letter then throws the paper to the fire without care. He picks his coffee up and drinks, his mood now soiled. Since the letter was sent to him yesterday (Draco guesses it must be right after him getting out of his office. Robards is sly like that. That prat might have sent it knowing Draco wouldn’t be able to reject it in time.

Then that means ‘one of the officers’ is going to turn up here sooner or later. Draco takes a deep breath, not sure if he can school his expression well when seeing the people from the ministry. Those bastards always sneer at him because of the former Death Eater thing. Of course, Draco sneers back, but it doesn’t mean—

A sound of someone opening the door interrupts his thoughts. Draco lowers the volume of the music then looks at the visitor.

“Welcome—” Draco says to his potential customer but his voice cracks at the end. His gazes fixed on the person who just enters who looks as surprised as Draco (or maybe more).

It’s Potter.

‘The person you don’t expect to see will walk through your door.’ Luna’s message rings in his head. He stares openly at the figure standing at his door.

It’s Potter.

Of course, it’s Harry Potter. Why not?

“Malfoy, you’re wearing a beanie.” Potter blurts out with wide eyes. Draco raises his eyebrows, touching his beanie consciously then he looks at himself from head to toe: Graphic shirt with top buttons undone, muggle jeans and Doc Marten boots. Pansy called it ‘A typical, Hipster Muggle Look.’

Seven years since the war and this is what this blunt prat decided to say to his old classmate? Draco decides to also look at Potter thoroughly. Potter is not the only one who has eyes. He looks at The Gryffindor’s dirty boots, his old jeans that have more tears than to be a fashion statement, his dark blue t-shirt and a dark jacket in his hands… The outfit screams Potter the War Hero that he’s seen before on papers (except his body that well… fitter, more muscle on his body than when he was a gangly kid — but this is not what he should scrutinise at the moment, isn’t it?)

“Yes, I’m aware, Potter. Since it is on my head and all. Your point?”

“I thought the potion master has to be like—”

“Like what? Snape? Slughorn? Potter, need I remind you that this is 2019? Do you think that a potion master has to wear a robe, putting a cauldron in the centre of their workplace and still use owls to contact each other? Please, only people at the ministry do that. Tell them to email me next time.”

“But the ministry recommended you. I thought it would be an old bloke wearing a robe, acting like a ministry agent or something.” Potter explains, “Your manner is still kinda the same, though.”

“I’d bite my own tongue before I behave like those old bastards.”

“I think the current you is quite nice. I, er, I mean, I prefer you than those wizards and witches.”

Potter stammers and Draco tries not to overthink what the other said.

He tries to channel the old Draco Malfoy from his school years, chin up and all, “Actually I thought the ministry wouldn’t really want to ask me,” He twists his lips, directing a cocky smile at Potter, “But I guess they have no choice. I am an exceptional potion master, and they can’t get rid of my pretty face even if they want to.”

Potter has a small smile at the corner of his lips “I guess that’s true.”

Draco doesn’t know which part that Potter agreed with him. Potter is playing with the hem of his shirt awkwardly and just stands at the door. Draco coughs, waving the auror to his desk.

“Nice to reacquaint, Potter.” Draco looks directly into the green eyes. The ones that he’s never thought he would be able to have a chance to stare at again. “Put your jacket on the rack and come sit here.” He points to the chair at the other side of his desk before getting up and brewing tea for his old rival.

* * *

‘It’s your choice to decide to close the door or open it once more.’

Draco’s mind dwells on Luna’s words. What does that even mean? If her random prediction is accurate, then it means Draco needs to do something about…this? What is this anyway? And has he ever open the door to Potter, to begin with?

“You don’t look surprised to see me,” Potter says while he lightly puts the teacup on Draco’s desk.

“And what face do you want to see? I’ve lived around muggles for seven years, Potter. I guess I am great at feigning nonchalant to surprising shits now.” Draco thinks of all the weird muggle stuff he has encountered over the years.

“…”

“So are we going to talk about the ‘important case’ that Robards mentioned in the letter now?” Draco raises his eyebrow. Potter nods, swallowing before he grabs something from his pants pocket.

“We found this in the belongings of a squib in a muggle part of London. We have to work together with the muggle police. They think it was some kind of drug, but we also think it also has some kind of magic properties.” He puts the tiny bottle on Draco’s desk.

“Is there anybody at the ministry—”

“It seems like some chemical that the muggle seems to know of a lot. I heard you—"

“Doing research on muggle drugs and potion-making. Yes, I was. Did they drink this or inject themselves with it?” Draco opens the bottle and lightly smells the transparent liquid inside. They are not that different from the bottle of pure water.

“They drank it. The symptom is a daydreaming-like behaviour, but we also have one frozen wizard who looks like he was cast with the Full Body-Bind Curse. We still have not found a permanent cure for these symptoms.”

Draco nods, opening his top drawer and grabs the notepad. He jots down something quickly as if he’s afraid of forgetting it.

“I am well-acquainted with a muggle who’s in law enforcement. I could find some more details without unnecessary paperwork. Oh, but if you have any important details like the locations, other noticeable symptoms, forward it to me directly via email.” Draco grabs his phone and sends a text to said muggle before he forgets. He doesn’t want to contact this bloke without unnecessary because no matter how useful it is, this muggle is quite clingy, but he also wants to get rid of Potter as soon as possible.

He looks up to find Potter staring at his fingers. Draco stops, tilting his head as if asking a silent question when Potter notices him stopping.

“Uh, I, just, I’m not used to you using muggle stuff.” Potter coughs, blushing. “You even used emoji.” Potter nods towards Draco’s fingers, and with a small voice, he adds, “Is that an eggplant emoji? You used eggplant emoji? To that muggle?”

“Those were old texts.” Draco doesn’t know why he needs to quickly explain that to Potter (Lie. He actually knows why.) He puts down his phone and continues, “I might be able to find a cure. Maybe in two or three days. Do you want me sending the report or just—”

“I can come here for that.” Potter interrupts.

“Good. Because I hate having to getting in touch with the wizardry world.” Draco smiles darkly.

Potter slowly nods before looking around the office, looking for another topic to talk about.

“Nice office.”

“Thanks. I didn’t want the old-fashioned potion master vibe, so I tried to match it with the surrounding.” Draco nods towards the scenery outside the window.

“How is it here? I want to come here a few times but haven’t had a chance.”

“It’s alright. If you want some hipster muggle stuff, you’d like it here. You already have the look for it, I guess.” Draco raises his eyebrow at the auror.

Potter laughs, saying “Luna will absolutely love this place. I also notice a shop selling plants here. I’ll have to tell Neville about it.”

Draco smiles. “I contact Longbottom from time to time. I remembered he did research on some magical plants. He’s doing business now or…?”

“Yes, still about plants though.” Potter smiles. “I’m living in the same flat with him, and his plants.”

“You’re living with Longbottom? In Fulham? I thought you live in House Black’s house or with Weasley—”

“That was six years ago.” Potter interrupts.

Draco thought he became immune to surprising shits now that he’s getting older, but it seems like he still reacts the same way when it is concerning Potter. He raises one of his eyebrows, slowly taking a peek at Potter’s left hand—the part where he tries so hard not to stare since Potter has stepped inside.

However, there is no object that he’s scared to see. No ring. No wedding ring.

He thought Potter would have a happy ending after the war. Having a bunch of kids and living in a big house.

But it’s not like that. Potter’s eyes look sad. They seem like he saw something, even after the war. Something is hidden behind his green’s eyes that Draco doesn’t know what it is.

“So you’re single right now?”

“Yeah, I thought everyone knows that. The Daily Prophet and other editorials always write about my relationships like their lives depend on it. Witches Weekly also does that, putting me in a bachelor list every month or two.”

“Congrats on getting to be on the list, Scarhead. Unfortunately, I don’t get to see your mug on the papers since I don’t read wizard papers anymore because they are shit. Well, except the Quibbler. Luna is great at her job.”

“True.” Potter smiles lightly, “Do you subscribe to her daily prediction? I got an interesting text today.”

“I do, and yes, it was quite interesting.”

“Do we get the same text? How many people does she send it to? Is it randomised or something?”

“I don’t know. What’s yours say?”

“It says ‘don’t hesitate to go through the door.’ I don’t know what that means.”

“‘It’s your choice to close or open the door.’ is what I got.”

Potter raises his eyebrows. He swallows slowly and says, “And you, are you seeing anyone?” Potter asks, and Merlin, Draco hopes that it is a real hope glinting in Potter’s green eyes and it’s not just Draco’s hopeless desire projecting his old feeling from his unrequited crush during Hogwarts years. (Yes, at least Draco is brave to admit that now. Plus, He’s good at Occlumency. Even if Potter’s learned Legilimency, he still wouldn’t get a glimpse. Draco is that good.)

“No…” Draco answers slowly, processing his thought.

“What about that Eggplant Emoji muggle?”

“Merlin’s sake, Potter. That was a text from months ago.” Draco rolls his eyes.

“Good.” Potter nods. “Good.”

“What were we talking about before? Right, work. Case. Potion.” Draco gets gloomy a little when his mind returns to this annoying task (but it actually got less annoying the moment he realised who he gets to work with.)

“Right. I may need more pieces of evidence for the case, and if I find something new—”

“Like I said, email me or text me.”

“Do I need to include emoji in my message?” Potter grins jokingly.

“If you want,” Draco answers with a challenging smile. Potter’s dark skin flushed a little. He opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something, but then he closes it again.

“Well, if it’s not urgent then you can tell me when you come to get a better cure for the victims in three days.”

“Alright. Cheers.”

“We can do it over lunch. So I can introduce you to the street here. I’m sure you’ll like Dalston.”

“Fantastic. I’ve never refused when it comes to food.” Potter grins. “That settles it then. See you in three days. Cheers.”

“I’ll text you the restaurant’s name.”

“Brilliant. See you.”

Potter stands up from the chair. He walks to his coat hanging by the door and puts it on. The sound of the doorbell chiming rings around the office when the auror opens the door.

Apart from that messy dark hair, Draco notices Potter still has awkward habits he did in Hogwarts, like the way he walks, or the expression he made when he’s embarrassed.

Before the door closes, Draco shouts at the top of his lungs, “It’s a date, Potter!”

Potter splutters, face blushing. However, the auror nods enthusiastically, agreeing. He waves awkwardly like he doesn’t know what to do with his hand then quickly leaves.

Draco Malfoy smirks. He stands up and looks at the back of the auror who’s vanishing in thin air a second later.

‘It’s your choice to decide to close the door or open it once more.’

Draco made his choice. It’s depended on Potter now whether he will enter Draco’s open door or not.

Draco hopes he will.

Spoiler Alert: Yes, Harry will definitely enter the door. No hesitation.

And it doesn’t’ have anything to do with Luna’s prediction.

#sbdrarryfic #drarry #drarry fic #Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #my fic #spacebartenderfic

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