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darklydeliciousdesires · 11 months

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Lost & Found - A Guero (Mayans MC)/OC Story.

Okay, okay! I cave to the demand and the excitement I have warmly received from you all. Here you go, darlings. First chapter is here. I can’t promise I will be posting the second next week just in case I want to do ANOTHER deep dive into the editing, but since I am just over halfway through writing it now, I thought I would at least post the first.

Story is somewhat canon, with a few changes here and there to suit my artistic vision... i.e. I kicked canon in the ass and told her to go home, hahaha! Oh, I also gave Guero a surname, too! I tried to keep him as true to who we see on screen, but obviously since we didn’t get him for long, some of his characterisations are of my creation. Don’t like it? Don’t read. Simple as that.

Nervously and excitedly awaiting your feedback, eeek! :)

Words - 3,834

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, Minors DNI. Recounts of kidnap, child trafficking, physical/verbal/sexual abuse in the coming chapters.

Unknown numbers. Ezekiel Reyes often received more than he wished to endure upon the burner phone he used for club business. Regularly they were legitimate, but occasionally telemarketers, such annoyances he simply hung up on instantly. While walking from his trailer to the clubhouse, he expected the call coming in to be that of nuisance, 11am seemingly the call centre worker bee’s peak time to bother him about his long-distance courier needs, or savings on his energy bills.

It was no telemarketer, but he almost disconnected the call all the same in sheer disbelief.

“Ezekiel Reyes?”

“Who wants to know?” His journey across the yard was undisturbed, watching as Bottles and Nestor took in an alcohol delivery, a nearby Guero and Downer giving them the usual offering of shit talk.

“Rocco Lombardi.”

He stopped dead in his tracks. The Rocco Lombardi was reaching out to him? Nah.

“This your idea of a joke?”

He heard a deep chuckle filter down the line. “I’m more of a knock knock, who’s there kinda fella.” Remaining paused, he thought whoever it was had at least nailed the thick, New Jersey accent. He had to give them props for that, he guessed. “Listen, you got FaceTime, I take it?”

“I do, but...” The line cut dead. Five seconds later and sure enough, a FaceTime call came in. EZ nearly fell over when there on the screen, appeared the face of the big boss, the notorious and famed king of the mafia. There he was; the head of the biggest, most powerful crime family on earth. Rocco Lombardi.

“That better?”

He raised his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “Yeah, the confirmation is appreciated.”

“Good. Now not for nothin’, but I can’t fuckin’ stand video calls, encrypted or not. I’ll call you back.” Once again, the call disconnected, the cell ringing after a few moments. All the while EZ could feel his ego swelling, realising truly how far he’d come in his leadership that he was being sought out by someone of such standing within the criminal underworld. He was nothing short of surprised when he eventually found out why, though.

He’d always believed that the code of La Cosa Nostra forbade their operations to extend into the realms of drug trafficking. To be specific, he’d assumed it stemmed from reasons of mortality, perhaps a skewed sense of Catholic guilt, when in fact, the commoner explanation was far simpler.

The prospect of a lengthier prison sentence, of course, increased the propensity of their members turning upon the organisation, becoming government informants in order to secure a more lenient custodial term. When the federal carrot is dangled before a desperate man, one looking at forty years when his assistance could mean all he ends up serving is ten to fifteen, tongues tend to be loosened.

Rats out themselves, major players are taken off the streets and ultimately, the government wins. It would be very reasonable to assume that the code is in place for this very reason, to prevent such catastrophic damage within their organisation and family infrastructure. The risk is not worth the payout. Or rather, it is bendable to the point of unrecognition when those doing said bending can earn a substantial profit.

Enter Rocco Lombardi and his proposition.

“I think we could mutually benefit from the blending of your organisation with mine, Mr Reyes.” Lombardi was intelligent enough to be concise, even when speaking upon the relative safety of a burner phone. He hadn’t gotten to the top because he was sloppy. Lombardi had sat at the very head of the hierarchy for years, after all. He was hailed as the boss of all bosses for a reason.

They’d once given John Gotti the monicker of Teflon Don, because nothing ever stuck to him in the way of evidence to bring about charges. That was until his own underboss has turned on him, the evidence given at trial by Salvatore “Sammy the Bull” Gravano leading to his incarceration. Truly, if there was one overlord within the organised crime world who lacked cohesion, it was the man who ruled the Romano crime family with an iron fist.

EZ Reyes had launched into thoroughly researching Lombardi after his reaching out to him, learning the ins and out of his character, how much of a slippery customer he was, how – and it went without saying – he would use people as pawns to further his own reach and agenda. It went without saying because it was the way of his own world, too. Within his MC, he went about the very same, albeit on a much smaller scale.

Rocco Lombardi’s reach was, to put it simply, enormous. EZ and his VP would be lying if they’d have claimed that bearing such in mind, it hadn’t piqued their curiosity over what on earth he could want with a Californian based MC. For all intents and purposes, the man had his operations not merely sewn up tightly, but steel reinforced.

“All I know is we gotta play it carefully, mano,” Bishop had sagely advised prior to their leaving Santo Padre to for a face to face with the mafioso legend, Rocco insisting that a larger MC presence not assemble in the interests of it remaining nothing short of clandestine. “Our worlds might be similar, but the mafia play by an entirely different set of rules. I ain’t saying you’re not smart enough to outsmart the guy, but he’s the kind who will have thought three moves ahead before we’ve even stepped foot into that hotel suite.”

EZ had sipped his beer, narrowed eyes unmoving as he’d absorbed the words of the former president with all the credence they deserved. Bishop had, after all, been approached by the mafia before. His reasons for turning down an offer from a different crime family had been solid in their validity, and EZ knew he would be a fool to let this warning go unheeded. Especially since the club were on their knees where their drug trade was concerned. He also knew that somehow, Rocco likely knew this, too.

The mafia tended to have ears in the very last places one might expect them to extend. He also knew that they preferred to keep their operations within the Italian American brotherhood if they could at all help it, so the need for an alliance was somewhat even in its beneficial mutuality.

“I guess we just have to wait and see what this sit down entails.” Truly, it was all they could do.

The time passed quickly between then and the two of them riding through the strip, both separately feeling the mist of apprehension gather, until they were parking up at the hotel and casino they were scheduled to meet Lombardi at, their demeanours switching to cool composure before they’d even entered the building.

The two men dressed in denim, flannel and leather looked out of place as they strode across the foyer of the MGM Grand, the buzz and tacky decadence of Las Vegas swirling all around them. Gamblers bet it all, slot machines flashed in frenzy while spitting out endless streams of coins, and alcohol flowed without restriction, certainly enough to keep it so the house always won.

Would it be their own win he was sealing, EZ thought while waiting for the elevator, or was this the biggest and most uncertain gamble the club were about to make to date? He guessed the next few hours would tell, whether or not he was about to be presented with a winning hand.

The ding of the elevator roused him, both stepping inside, Bishop pressing the button for the tenth floor. EZ stared straight ahead at his reflection in the shiny metal of the elevator doors, noting the haunted veil that hung over his features. Shadowy eyes and skin bearing many more lines than a man in his mid-thirties should do were now his staple in appearance, a few further flecks of grey in his hair also.

Ezekiel Reyes was a man barely holding it together, but his demeanour did not give away the tumult that gnawed at his guts and yanked at his nerves, even if it had seemed to age him five years in just over seven months. His control was as unquestionable as it was unshakable, even in the dark times his club was currently under the duress of. He would never, ever let the toll it was taking upon him show.

He was in Vegas, after all. Home of the poker face.

The man at his side, though? He saw through the veil. He knew. In the interests of helping him glue back together the smashed fragments of the MC, he chose to keep his observances to himself. When he’d reigned supreme, if someone had pointed out his weak points, he would have shown no magnanimity in return. He knew better than to antagonise. Bishop Losa was nothing if not tactile these days, with how much delicacy teetered upon a knife’s edge, how much was at stake.

The elevator shunted to a stop, the doors gliding open, the men exchanging a look and a nod before they exited, walking in step down the long hallway. Coming to a stop in front of room eight one five, EZ reached to knock, his arm suddenly grasped, preventing the rap of knuckles upon the sleek, white enamel.

“Whatever goes down in there, I got you.” Bishop’s words were delivered with a solemn nod, EZ returning it before knocking the door. They stood tall as they waited, unflinching, rock-like in their demeanour, the door opening to reveal a slight yet menacing looking man in an expensive suit. He eyed up the two men standing before him, his lips pursing slightly as he stood back to allow their entrance.

“Guns on the table.”

EZ’s brow knitted. “The fuck?”

“You heard me, stronzo. Guns. On. The. Table.”

Neither man took well to his condescending delivery, both irked at the display of what they considered to be one hell of a chip upon his shoulder. EZ was just about to offer his retort when a voice came from further within the suite.

“Stop playing rottweiler and let my guests in, Mario. If we’re armed, so can they be, too.” Immediately, he stood aside at the instruction of his boss, a large, dark-haired man rising from his seat at the dining table, two armed men stationed in opposing corners of the suite. “My apologies. This one here, he can be a hot head, y’know?”

Although seemingly personable right off the bat, there was an aura surrounding Rocco Lombardi that virtually crackled with menace. His ‘thou shalt not fuck with me’ demeanour was beyond palpable. “Take a seat, fellas. Can I offer either of youse a drink?”

EZ’s eyes flitted around the room, taking in every detail. He stored it all on the internal hard drive that was his brain, his guard up as naturally it should have been. “No, thank you.”

Rocco took the rebuff in his stride, gesturing to the chairs opposite as he sat again. “A man who likes to get straight down to business. I can appreciate that.” Down to business was exactly how it went, no pleasantries, no idle chatter. Rocco cut right to the chase.

“My proposition is simple, Ezekiel. My current methods in transportation of product are, shall we say, attracting more attention than myself and my associates are comfortable with, y’know? I need to implement a one stop solution. I also need a far more financially viable method of my product crossing the border from Mexico than I’m currently paying through the fucking nose for.”

Bribes. Of course, Lombardi meant bribing the border control, an exercise EZ knew likely cost fortunes, cutting into a profit margin the mafia were probably tired of having bites taken out of. “This is where the MC comes in, youse and your tunnel.” EZ’s eyebrow twitched, just a fraction, Rocco smirking at the tell.

“Yeah, I know all about it. Ain’t many places my ears don’t have reach. I want that tunnel as a new channel to move my product across the border, which then will be transferred to the Port of San Diego, to a designated shipping container the day it ports. You unload into the container, minus your personal cut that will ensure you keep the monopoly on supply within the Californian correctional facilities, and you also get a nice little monetary injection for you and your boys on a monthly basis. How’s that sound?”

EZ took a moment to ponder, his fingers knitting before him on the table, arm muscles flexing as he shared a sideways glance with Bishop. “Sounds like there’s a catch.”

Rocco smirked, taking a long puff on his cigar, his eyes twinkling through the thick plumes of smoke as he leaned back in his chair. “You move two tons at a time. That is non-negotiable.”

Two fucking tons every month. Holy mother of god. Before they’d even entered that room, they of course knew the reach of the Romano crime family, that it was extensive. Worldwide, even. Two tons of heroin every four weeks truly hammered home just how far Lombardi’s tentacles reached within the criminal underworld. The risks associated with that were unfathomable, EZ lifting his chin, his poker face firmly set once more. “I’m gonna need to see a number, the nice little monetary injection you speak of.”

Rocco reached into the pocket of his suit, removing a pen, taking a napkin from the table before him and scribing a number upon it, sliding it across the polished wood. Upon viewing it, EZ’s well trained blank façade slid south quickly, showing it to Bishop.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

His quiet exclamation was no understatement over the amount of zero’s scrawled upon the napkin.

“I assume you know of our current difficulties with the LNG?”

The tall man nodded. “Quite a fucking pasticcio youse have gotten yourself into, eh?” His smile widened suddenly, slowly drawing his thumb and forefinger from the corners of his mouth down to the centre of his lip. “If you do the first shipment for free, I can take care of that, as well as your issues with the knuckleheaded, heavy arms wielding fuck heads you got yourselves caught up in, too.” He hissed a breath over his teeth, shaking his head. “Fentanyl, gentleman. What a risky business that is.”

What in the fuck didn’t this man know about their operations? EZ was all but surprised that Rocco wasn’t clued in on the colour of his underwear by that point, the man seemingly well informed, his intel even extending to knowing about their deal with Cole.

He rose to his feet, jerking his head towards the balcony. “If you could give myself and my VP a moment?”

Rocco made a passive motion with his hand, nodding. “Sure, take your time.”

They strode across the suite, wallet chains rattling and leather creaking the only sounds to permeate the silence of the room, EZ sliding the glass door open. The warm Vegas air hit him, his eyes narrowing as he looked out over the luminosity of the strip, thousands upon thousands of lights twinkling. They glittered a promise of wealth and prosperity hinged upon a gamble, which was exactly what Rocco Lombardi was offering up to them.

“You have to back me on this when we take it to the table. The risk is massive, and I appreciate that, but this? This is our way out of it all. Our way out and our ladder to climb back to the top.”

Bishop considered the words of his president as he pulled out his cigarettes, lighting one up. A massive risk; fuck, that was putting it lightly. It was a fool’s errand, in short, transporting such a colossal consignment of heroin. The pay off, though? If they could execute each run flawlessly, it would be beyond worth it. Santo Padre would be back on top, and the Mayans kings of California.

He wanted with everything he had to back EZ, but something persistent tugged at him deep in his guts. The old adage ‘too good to be true’ echoed through his mind. There had to be another catch. For all appearances, said catch appeared to be the two tons of narcotics, the kind of consignment that would mean the MC would never see the outside of a prison for the remainder of their lives, should they be caught moving it. However, he felt there was another shoe yet to drop from Lombardi’s perspective.

Conflict rose in him like an unpleasant tempest, knowing that they were stuck between a rock and a hard place. Take the deal and shoulder an enormous risk or walk away from it and try to seek a way out of their mess alone. Being in the pocket of the mafia was a dangerous location, he knew that; they both knew that. In this instance, no matter how much trepidation he felt, he had to concede that Lombari’s offer was very much the lesser of two evils.

Still, it didn’t prevent him voicing the concern. “I feel like there’s something extra he’s gonna have us on the hook for further down the road.” Taking a deep drag on his cigarette, he turned to his president, brows furrowed, his head shaking softly. “I wanna back you, but I don’t trust him.”

Neither did EZ, if he was honest. “We don’t need to trust him. We need to make ourselves indispensable to him. The weight of his organisation has the power to break us completely, and I’d be an idiot if I didn’t see that, Bish. We gotta remember that he’s coming to us because he needs this symbiosis too. If he had any other plan to move his product, he’d have exacted it by now. What he’s offering us in payment solidifies that. He needs to lock the MC down.”

He took a breath, his eyes once again focusing on the lights below. “And our backs are against the kind of wall we can’t break alone. Rocco Lombardi can not only break that wall, he can obliterate it completely. We can’t refuse.”

Upon their return to Santo Padre, an immediate templo was called, the proposition repeated, a vote cast. It was, just as EZ had anticipated, a unanimous yes. Hell, it wasn’t like any of the men assembled around the table hadn’t known that extreme danger was exactly what he was signing up for, and this was about a risky as it got.

Moving heroin two tons at a time for the mafia was the height of hazardous endeavours, but the payoff would elicit the kind of money and power they had been striving for. Sure, they were still ultimately under someone else’s thumb, but in the world of the MC, Santo Padre rose like the phoenix from the proverbial ashes. If they were careful and exercised caution, they would remain risen, too.

The operation was undertaken with military precision. The two tons of heroin were moved through the tunnels from one side of the border to the other, then stowed away down there for a day before the Mayans arrived, loading one ton into each van. The vehicles both then hit the road, two members within, two members upon motorcycles escorting at the front and rear, and EZ leading the way.

They drove far enough apart not to attract the attention that such a closely assembled convoy likely would, with EZ a quarter of a mile in front, so he could warn of any upcoming complications that might lead to said convoy needing to peel off the freeway. Since the run was done at 2am, the risk of such was minimised greatly, yet still they always prepared for the worst-case scenario. This is why two vans were utilized, when all it truly took was one. If one broke down, then there they were, stuck with a life sentence cargo on the side of the freeway, rather than another means to continue their journey.

Arriving at the port, EZ gave the usual nod to the guard, a guard whose pockets had been nicely lined with mafia cash, who would duly send another of his team down to the container as soon as the Mayans left, standing guard until the cargo was loaded onto a vessel bound either for New York or the far east the following morning. Yes, the tentacles of Rocco Lombardi even reached over to the Yakuza, the Japanese criminal organisation taking two tons of product off his hands on a bi-monthly basis.

The shipment they were about to offload on that particular night was heading straight back to New York, the guys all assembling, the usual banter firing back and forth.

Downer, of course, was at the epicentre of it. “Hey, I thought there was meant to be whores on the dockside? That’s a thing, ain’t it? We’ve been here four times before now and no damned pussy anywhere.”

Angel lit a cigarette, raising his eyebrows. “Man, where the fuck you get that from?”

“He’s right,” Hank chimed in, “but about a couple hundred years out of date. Hookers used to frequent the docks back in the eighteen, nineteen hundreds. Gave lots of navy men who’d been at sea for months at a time a rampant case of the syph.”

Guero couldn’t help himself. “Eighteen hundreds. Back in your youth, huh bro?” He was shot a look of pure distain from Downer, his chirp continuing. “I bet you’d like the crotch rot. You’re a sick enough individual to probably be into it.”

“It’s his kink. Itchy balls and a putrid cock, man,” Bottles interjected with, earning a snort laugh from Guero and an incredulous stare from Downer.

Aggressively delivered middle fingers were raised. “Fuck you and fuck you even fuckin’ harder!”

Bottles grinned at the rise he’d gotten. “You wish.”

“You’re getting way too smart with that fuckin’ yap of yours, prospect,” he snorted, pointing at Guero. “Been spending too much time with him and his big mouth.”

The man himself beamed, pulling his hood up. “What can I say?” He held his arms in wide expression, his smirk growing. “I’m infectious. Like your cock, just way less scabby.” He received a boot in the ass as he turned, heading straight over to the yellow container and hauling the levers to open it. What he expected to see within were the usual lines of packing cases into which they would load their cargo, with a specially marked one housing their cash.

The last thing he expected to see was the body of a dishevelled looking blonde girl with a gash upon her head, lying there out cold, and the marked case notably empty of its usual stack of bills.

“Uh, guys?” he called, appearing back around the container door as his brothers were carrying cargo across from the vans. “We got a situation in here.”

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popcornforone · 6 months

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Christmas Wish

A Tim Rockford fan fic

I got in from the cinema tonight at about 10:30 watches a bit of tv & then went on tiktok & then couldn’t sleep. It’s now 2am & a small idea I had I’ve now almost completed a first draft of. & I think you will get the finished product soon. See this is why I have lots of fics in draft. Because bang I will get a new idea & then I’ll just write. Also I can’t believe I’m writing Tim again. Send help (but please don’t)

Synopsis: your taking your kids to see Santa but your husband isn’t sure he will make it on time. But a Santas wish box might make all your dreams come true.

Word count:3800

Warnings: DO NOT READ IF TOU ARE UNDER 18! PIV sex, breeding kink, pregnancy, swearing. Previous sexual encounters & fantasies mentioned. Husband & wife, swearing. Mentions of alcohol, teasing, crime is mentioned but not in detail, bedroom voice, Tim likes to be incontrol but he’s not a dom. cock warming, intense sex.

Thanks as always for reading peoples. All feedback is welcome.

3 rings, he always answers exactly after 3 rings no matter who it is. Today is no different.

“Detective Rockford” he answers professionally.

“Tim?” He turns red straight away & starts mouthing to the two other officers in the room with him working the case. He’s saying it’s you & it’s a family emergency.

“Ahhh hang on” he scurries out of the room & into his office down the corridor closing the door behind him. “Sorry still working the case, we’ve almost made a break through.” He says as he rubs his hand across his forehead. He always tried to think like the criminal to catch them & this case has pushed him a little. He’s often got home late exhausted & full of concern that that longer this person is on the loose, the harder it will be to find them.

“That’s not the only thing that needs to be considered” you say. He can hear babbling going on in the back ground. He’s worked out it’s your 5 year old & 2 year old. “How much later are you going to be tonight Tim?” You sound exasperated.

“Maybe an hour, so close, we’re so so close,” he then pauses “wait… I’m missing something, arent I?” He says. You falling silent down the other end of the phone confirms this. “Fuck! What am I missing?” His eyes scrunch up in anger, that he’s got caught up in his work once again. You knew being Mrs Rockford would come with moments like this, but recently it’s becoming more frequent.

“It’s 5pm at the moment, we are meant to all be meeting Santa at the North Pole Grotto at 6:30pm” you say calmly down the phone. You know annoying him by going I told you to set a reminder when you booked it 2 months ago, will piss him off. “I understand though Tim, this is a huge case. It will make our town safe. I can call them up & push it to next week if I do it in the…” Tim then hears your 5 year old son start singing jingle bells in the back ground. He knows he’s probably in his light up raindeer jumper & is so excited to see Santa tonight.

“No, you have to go. I’ll try & get there. I’m sure I’ve got the address, I’ll do my best”

“Tim I can…”

“No I can hear Jason singing in the background, don’t break his heart, I’ll make it up to him & Grace & you, especially you.” He looks at his watch. He can do this. He’s then disturbed as someone taps on the glass of his door. “Baby I gotta go, but promise me you’ll take the kids okay, even if I have to then come back to work, I’ll do my best”

“Tim I…”

“Promise me” he used his moody interrogation voice. That’s how you met. You had been a witness to a crime & he talked to you at the police station. He got no new clues out of you, but you left your number in case he needed to ask you anything else. 3 weeks later, you were handcuffed to his bed, screaming Tim’s name as he licked every inch of your pussy. His face glistening as he told you how good you tasted before he ravaged you for the next 2 days. Even detective Rockford through a sicky to pleasure his new girlfriend. That was almost 8 years ago. You knew what you were getting yourself into by having a relationship with someone like him, both work wise & sexually.

“Okay detective” you say & then sigh. He doesn’t even say bye down the phone, clearly somethings come up. You say to the beeping cancel tone “I love you baby” before Jason starts jumping about to the next Christmas song.

You are sat in the ‘north pole’ bouncing Grace on your lap who looks adorable in her snowman outfit. Jason is busy saying exactly what he wants Santa to get him.

“A rocket ship, lego, slime, chocolate, more chocolate…” the list keeps going.

“Yea Jason. Santa will see us in a second. He’s got lots of people to see. I think you just need to pick 3 items for today.” You say & he sits down next to you.

“What do you want for Christmas Mummy?” He asks. You had no idea your son was so thoughtful. The look on his face is genuine. He really wants to know.

“For you & your sister to have the best Christmas” you say & wrap your arms around him. His hug is pure love, the only kind of love a 5 year old can give.

“Oooh im not sure I can wrap that up, what can I actually get you?” Jason hugs you. You know what you really want but you know Jason can’t get it for you. You go to answer with something trivial, but your then interupted by a teenager dressed as an Elf.

“The Rockfords?” You stand up & go to speak.

“Yep that’s us” an echoing voice comes from down the corridor. Tim is lightly jogging your way & the beam on your face can’t be denied.

“Daddy!” Tim scopes Jason up into his arms.

“Hey sport” he gives his boy a big kiss & ruffles Graces hair as she’s almost asleep on you. “Couldn’t miss this for the world” he kisses your cheek & you turn as red as a robins breast. Tim is still in his full detective gear. Holsters & everything. It’s giving you flash backs to some previous role play. He’s previously just left his tie & the holsters on while he’s fucked you & fake interrogated you in bed. The last time he did it, he growled just before his point of climax are you on birth control, you screamed no. You didn’t know Tim had a breeding kink until that moment as he went oh we’re gonna make this stick then. He fucked you all night, even when you woke up in the morning. He was late for work that’s day & you walked slowly for a week. The man delivered though, 9 months later Grace was born.

“I’m glad you made it baby” you say to him as you enter the first room & you are both offered a mince pie. Tim bites into his & his face lights up even more.

“Oooh this tastes good, I haven’t eaten since breakfast” he says & after you’ve had a small bite of yours, you offer it to him. There’s no point rolling your eyes at Tim not eating, his job means he sometimes doesn’t stop for hours. “Thanks beautiful” he says.

You’re then asked if you’d all like to stand infront of a fake fire for a family photo. Usually Tim hates this but he sees Jason get ready to pose & smile.

“Oooh absolutely” a few sensible & also funny family photos are taken in front of the fire & you know by the time you are done with Santa, you will have the jpegs emailed across to print off at home. Tim smiles genuinely in every single photograph. It makes butterflies flutter in your stomach. Those eyes that made you fall for him, dazing in the fake fire light. So warm cozy & loving much like his hugs on a cold winters night. He sees you look & looks back into your own soft blue eyes. “Hello you” he whispers. He can see the love reflecting back to him. His hand slowly fits in yours. So large but soft. The way his thumb goes across your knuckles to start with arouses you.

“Are you all ready to meet Santa?” the elf says, bring you both back to reality.

“Yes” Jason shouts. You & Tim both nod. You’re just happy to see Tim enjoying a family moment & forgetting about work stress.

“Well let’s go” The elf lifts up the icicle beaded curtain & Jason bounds in & you & then Tim follow.

There sits Santa. On his big red chair. A large tree, 3 large sacks of gifts & a few toys on the floor. It’s in a cabin setting. Jason doesn’t move, hes star struck.

“Go on Jason” you say & he then grabs Tim’s leg feeling a little shy.

“Hohoho is that Jason Rockford?” Santa asks in his deep voice. Jason nods, but still hangs onto daddy. “& that then must be mummy & daddy & is that your little sister Grace?” He asks, rubbing his belly. His beard is magnificently white & the suit is cherry red. You knew there was a reason why people booked up this Santa experience.

“How do you know my sisters name?” Jason asks suspiciously.

“It’s my job to know everyone’s name” Santa laughs “especially those on the nice list” Jason still hasn’t budged from Tim. Tim then gets down to his knees & looks at his son.

“Come on Jason, it’s only Santa, he wants to talk to you” he gestures. Jason still says nothing, not moving, standing firm. “Didn’t you want to tell him what was on your Christmas list, you told mummy earlier didn’t you.” Jason then shakes his head. Seeing Santa might have been what he’s wanted for the last 3 weeks but a 5 year old can’t process all those emotions. “Then tell me, tell daddy.”

“Chocolate” Jason says quietly.

“Sorry sport, speak up I missed that”

“More chocolate”

“Oooh chocolate I love chocolate” Santa Ho Ho Hos again & leans into a box,” i like Milky Way”

“That’s my fave too” Jason turns his head & he sees Santa holding one. In a flash Jason is no longer star struck or shy. He is on Santas knee, telling him about his gifts he’s like & what he thinks Grace wants & the elf’s take photos.

“He’s forward like his mum” Tim whispers in your ear as you hand Grace over for the kids to have their own Santa photo.

“& shy to start with like his dad, but then once your out of the shell” you smile at him.

“Thought you like me being outgoing and adventurous” Tim says. He then does that thing with his hand, the way he rubs it around his neck always has you pining, you have no idea why, it just does.

“I want any version of you my love” you then see Santa start to wrap it up the fun.

“Now here’s a small gift” he starts & he hands one to Jason & one to you for Grace as Tim picks her up.” To keep you going until Christmas night okay”

“Wow really, thanks Santa” Jason hugs him & we thank him too.

“Don’t forget to put your Christmas wishes in the box on your way out. Ho Ho Ho & Merry Christmas” he says & your family leave the room.

You look at the wish box & get Jason to write his down & you do one for Grace. But then you see Tim with a piece of paper.

“Baby what are you…”

“You need to do one too” he says as take a photo of his before he drops his in the box “otherwise your Christmas wish won’t come true” you smile & do the same.

“Okay Tim” after dropping your wish into the box, you leave as a family & Tim helps you get the kids in the car, once you get to the car park.

“Are you coming home” you ask being hopeful.

“No I’m not, I have to go back, I’ve got a murderer interview to conduct.”

“You found them”you say excitedly.

“Yes, the team left to arrest him while I’ve been here, but I promise to not be too late okay” you can tell by the looks of it in his eyes that he wants to do nothing more than follow you & the kids home right now. Both will be sound asleep before he gets home tonight, there’s even a chance you might be.

“It’s okay baby, I get It” you smile & go to open your car door but he blocks you getting into it. Your eyes connect & the kiss Tim gives is sweet & soft & your gloved hands graze his beard. You don’t want this kiss to end. He looks full of both sorrow & love as the kiss breaks.

“I love you” Tim says & he traces his thumb across your lips & leaves you standing by the car as he walks off to go get in his.

Christmas Day madness has happened & you get into bed in your new pink fleece snoopy pyjamas that you got for Christmas. The clean up can start tomorrow. Your parents have agreed to get up if the kids are an issue tonight. In walks Tim into the bedroom in his dark blue pinstripe Pyjamas & he gets under the duvet with you & kisses your cheek.

“I’ve got 1 more Christmas gift for you baby & I think you have one for me”he says with a mischievous look in his eyes.

“Tim you know that we were always going to have…”

“No no nope, im not talking about sex” he says & he grabs his phone. “I want to show you what my Christmas wish was that I asked Santa for.” Your eyes dilate. You’d forgotten you did that on the evening you met Santa but now you’re excited to see what his was & to share yours.

“Really Tim?” You say excitedly & move close to him under the duvet. Your hand goes for his groin automatically, you know full well that sex is also on the cards, as you slip your hand beneath his bottoms. He lets out a small deep moan & you’re not just hot due to your new fluffy sleep wear. You want your husband, & he wants his wife.

“Y…ye…oooh yes” he says. You’re not sure if that’s a reaponse to sharing or your hand working his length or both, but the way his eyebrows twitch & the more breathing he does you think it’s more from arousal. He then grabs your hand & takes it away. “I don’t want to cum already” he mumbles & pulls you in so your head rests on his top. Such a firm chest & the broadest shoulders tower above you.

He scrolls through his photos.

“Your not worried you wish won’t come true baby”

“Ooh sweetheart” Tim kisses your forehead “it’s Christmas it’s a time for miracles” he says cockily.

“Did you just try & be Hans Gruber?” You ask & you both giggle.

“Guilty as charged” he says & then he flips his phone around & you look at what he wrote on the piece of paper. Your eyes well up.

For my families love & understanding everyday, not just at Christmas.

Your arms fling around his neck & you kiss him hard. So deep so passionate so intense.

“You’ve always had that Tim”

“I know, I just sometimes take it for granted” the way his hand strokes your hair sends a sensation down your spine. His lips are soft as the keep making contact with yours.

“Do you…”

“After this” he moans as he reaches the hem of your fleece top, always a man who knows what he wants. A man who gets results. He might not be in his detective gear right now, but it wasn’t the detective fantasy you fell in love with 8 years ago. It was those big eyes, that smoulder, the messy hair, the deep sexual voice, those large hands that make your body do extraordinary things. You love Tim Rockford, he never had to be a detective to get you in bed, although now that is sometimes useful.

Your pyjamas are off before his & he kisses your tummy. Your stretch marks always get the first kisses just before he slips inside you. You still don’t like them & always gasp when he kisses them.

“There’s nothing sexier than these baby, they made the two best things in my life, be proud” his top has gone & his bottoms follow quickly. His long length dripping already. You’re so aroused that you know you won’t need lube tonight. The way his hands caress your hips as he goes between your legs. You feel the tip tease your clit & the moan you let out has Tim licking his lip.”okay maybe that noise is, make that noise again” he breaches you. He’s not fully in but it has you hand clutching the pillow. He always makes you stretch. He likes to go in slowly & sensually. You oblige & moan again. “That’s my good girl, you’re on my nice list” the next rock he’s almost fully inside. You’re already clamping around him. He feels so good.

“a nice list?” You stutter.

“Yes” the next thrust he’s completely inside you & you cry his name. “You are such a good girl except when it comes to sex, then your naughty but you do that to make me happy” he raises his eyebrows as his next thrusts hits the soft spot. The one that makes you see starts. You close your eyes, pleasure taking over as he slowly rocks into you & your body responds enjoying each movement. Your eyes open after an extraordinary kiss. He feels even deeper inside you tonight. You’re extra sensitive to each graze inside your core.

He lowers himself so he’s all but lying on top of you. Just hoovering slightly. His hands grab either side of the pillow by your head. You lift your hands up & hold his face, & look directly into his eyes. The sweat glistening off his head. His body moving in a rhythm that’s unmatched. It makes you purr.

“Baby”

“Oooh baby”

It’s intense staring into each others eyes. The way he works his hips. Your friction against him has you whimpering.

“Ooooh yes yes yes yes don’t stop, keep going oooh fuck” your heart races.

“Oooh you like that, fuck you do” those massive brown eyes are the largest you’ve ever seen. He’s lost in his lust & desire for you. That turns you on even more.

“Tim oh Tim. Yes Tim”

“You take me so well baby” one of the hands stops gripping the pillow & lightly goes around your neck. Each thrust deep. It hits the spot without fail. You feel extraordinarily sexy as his grinds his teeth. The beads of sweat drip onto your chest.

“Keep going im so close” you just about get the words out. His grip tightens & you start gasping & he is pulsing. You’re sure the bed is creaking. You’re hoping no one can hear your collective moans.

“You wanna cum?” Tim growls as his other hand tugs at your hair. “Do you think you’ve earnt it? Do you want to drench me? Make me spill inside you?” you love it when he gets in the zone & starts using his menacing voice. Criminals cave in for this tone but you squirt when he gets it right. What brings nightmares for others makes you orgasm.

“Ye yea…. Yess”

“If I cum your gonna keep me warm, your going to sleep all night with my hard throbbing cock buried inside you. We’re gonna stimulate you so you stay wet & I stay hard. You’re gonna be cock drunk when you wake up on Boxing Day, my naughty wife.” You hear these words escape Tim’s mouth but they don’t make sense. You’ve lost all cognitive thoughts. Your about to scream so that everyone knows your husband has satisfied you. “Cum baby, cum for your hubby”

The way you scream Tim’s name is deep & low, because you are almost speechless. You gush & drench his length as he keeps going inside you. Even if you weren’t speechless, nothing could describe what you’re experiencing right now.

“Yes baby, that’s my girl, oooh fuck oooh god oooh yesssss” Tim screams. His hand squeezes once more around your neck, his sperm flows inside you, filling you up. His body also juddering, from the extreme pleasure. He sharply let’s go of your neck & you gasp for as much air as you can in 3 seconds before your mouth is occupied with his. Your bodies roll you both out of your highs, slow rocks to calm you down. His hands are in your hair & on your breasts. Yours are also in his hair & stroking that small little patch he has in his beard, your favourite place for cheeky kisses. Eventually your bodies do stop rocking & your collective panting goes quiet. There is a squelching noice from his penis still semi hard inside your.

“Baby” you eventually say & flutter your eyes open.

“Ooh baby in deed” he goes to roll off you & then remembers his promise. You moan slightly as he withdraws but he is swiftly back inside you semi hard, being your big spoon. Even like this he feels good inside you. Cock warming is often something you do as you fall asleep after sex.

“Was that the best Christmas gift?”Tim whispers.

“Well it’s either that or the watch?” You giggle as he moves your hair to the side to kiss your neck. Such small soft little pecks.

“See we can make everyone’s Christmas wish come true” he says. “Hang on you never showed me what you asked santa for”

“Did I not?”

“No we got so into the moment after my reveal that we forgot”

“Hmmm”you reach your arm out & grab your phone. A smile comes across your face. “Promise to not over react?” You say with a little snigger.

“Baby what could…” Tim then looks & the photo on the phone startled. He takes it from you & stares at it. He then throws it down the end of the bed. His hands trail down your body as harder kisses fill your neck & cheek. “Seriously?” You nod “but today? How?” He’s really shocked.

“I was in charge” you smile & turn your head around so his lips can find yours.

“My cleaver girl”

You slowly both nod off to sleep exhausted, his cock still inside you, the kisses eventually stop. His hand also stops rubbing his most favourite place of all. Eventually your phone screen turns off. Your wish was always going to be true.

For Jason & Grace to love their new sibling, who should be here come August.

#pedro pascal #fanfic #my fics #smutt #no minors #over18 #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal fan fic #pedro pascal fandom #tim rockford fic #tim rockford fanfic #detective tim rockford #tim rockford #tim rockford fanfiction

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unolvrs · 10 months

Note

UPCOMING WORKS? PLEASE? IF THERE AREN'T ANY, IT'S OKAY TOO!

uhh, there are both upcoming works and upcoming updates! i have sneak peeks for each one! but here they are:

少年A　（jjk ft. male!reader; possibly megumi/reader）

In a remote village in Sapporo, a thirteen-year-old first year student in an unnamed junior high school allegedly killed three classmates known to bully his best friend who they had driven to suicide. (Or, none of that is true.)

少年A (or: Boy A) was initially made as an OC out of nowhere. i shared him to a few friends before i realized that the set-up of him being nameless and just being called 'Boy A' was perfect for a reader-insert. and before i knew it, i was already writing everything down and it was really, really fun. the term 「少年A」 is something akin to 'John Doe' and it's mostly a name used to minors involved in a crime. there are lots of criminal 「少年A」 in japan so if you want to read about them, i'd give you a big trigger warning because the most well-known 「少年A」 was involved a horrific case.

2. among dawn flowers (the face of god), an extra chapter

i always get notifications about comments concerning dawn flowers and i've read all of them. thank you for your very kind words! they make me feel very happy every time i read them :D i'll be replying to them soon. but the most common comment is about gojō's... well, reaction to everything and what he truly felt for the main character, and there were a couple of misunderstandings in the comments too. i would normally just leave the misunderstandings be to let people have their own interpretation but i've been getting lots of comments and DMs about dawn flowers all the time, so this extra chapter happened. it has the following AUs too:

zen'in naoya marries tengai-san instead

tengai-san survives

tōji snatches up tengai-san (not at all romantic but a found family of sorts because their dynamics are really interesting! because they're the people who neither needs the least!)

and idk, maybe some more? i'll be reading through the comments again!

3. kirigakure-centric naruto fic

“Kirigakure didn’t need help. They needed salvation.” No one knows anything about the Mizukage. Only that she’s kind. She likes to smile. She likes seafood like every other Mizu-born. And that there’s something inexplicably wrong with her. There’s something wrong with the Mizukage whom the Kiri-nin call a ‘god’. —or, Wataru Wataru was never really a powerhouse, in this life or the last, but she’s resourceful. She knows cults, pyramid schemes, and corrupt politicians like the back of her hand, so of course, she becomes the Mizukage and becomes a god along the way.

it's highlighted because it's undergoing editing... but yes, the mizukage cultist fic that i was talking about a month ago. it currently has four chapters in my drafts. i'm testing the waters on whether or not i can maintain it. so far, i have everything planned... like the timeline... it's too detailed.

4. shintō pjo fic

Beyond the eastern seas, Sen'no Hyōran wages a one-man war. (Or, if all she needs is the Golden Fleece, if all she needs is to steal that damned thing, then she will. Those Greeks standing in her way or not.)

YES IT'S HAPPENING OK!

of course, there's also the writing of kill the goose (3 chapters in my drafts now!), rain on my parade (a very slow rewriting), sunday without god (i wrote the next chapter and it was too long like 8k words and i'm not even halfway done so i'm stuck)! and posting some comm'd works that have been rotting in my drive for months!

some possible fics but no promises:

floating blue (nanami/reader)

Aoi's josei romance manga life starts when she's saved by Nanami Kento after almost falling down the train tracks! (Or, it turns out that Aoi is the main character of a supernatural josei manga! She's so excited!)

starts off as a cliché josei manga set-up bc aoi is a josei manga protagonist! then turns deep :D might become a reader-insert instead but without the [name] insert things. just second pov. this was really meant to be a rom-com than a sudden "omg! i'm in a supernatural josei manga!" might write bc it's a cute concept.

the prostitution of learning (jjk & male!oc)

There is no other main character but Kikuchi Eita. (Or, defeating enemies, exorcizing Curses, facing conservative higher-ups, there’s no adversity that Kikuchi Eita cannot push through because Kikuchi Eita is the main character. That is until Itadori Yūji.)

i made this guy before 少年A and while eita is my favorite oc i've ever created in jjk, 少年A's story is easier to write. but the prostitution of learning is a bit more complicated even just with eita's planned CT and while i'd love nothing more than to write this one, idk if i'd have the time but i really want to!

willow diaries / 柳日記 (kakashi/oc)

Kakashi gets a nobleman's concubine pregnant. Whoops. (Or, I no Yanagihaya's honorable brother-in-law said to surprise him. She did.)

first of all, it's not cheating or infidelity. said nobleman is dead. anyway, i think this is the most likely to be written bc i've written the first chapter a hundred times but couldn't get satisfied. anyway, this one's fun. and i love civilian ocs! especially writing nobility. the research was a pain but i loooove this one.

pls... don't ask me about frog in a well :"") i'm working on it! idk, froggie's become that weird cousin idk if i wanna talk to or not. it's awkward between the two of us right now bc ik i could start writing the chapter anytime and get it done and over it quickly but i've been lazy and focusing on other stuff hehe <3

#問 ━━ answers #aka the monthly “what are you writing rn uno”

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108garys · 1 year

Text

Bleeding Hearts

So this is the longest bit of writing I've ever posted, I know it's nothing compared to a lot of the wonderful writers in the dark pictures fandom but it's the longest I've ever posted all at once. So people seem to like the way I write Charlie's darker traits and I had this idea of what a true role reversal would look like and what would drive Charlie under the circumstances, as always if anyone has anything that they think I should tag then let me know(and also as usual there wasn't a lot of time between completion and posting)

It somehow just occurred to me that this is my first proper Hecile fic, at least the first to actually get completed and posted

@kassiekolchek22 @mistmoose @delurkr @eddie-brii @oblivious-troll @ivycross @lonnitamongus @maria-rayro @blubary @ultrabananapudding @ctrvpani @timethehobo

(one of these days I'll stop being so mean to Hector in my writings)

Charlie kept him grounded. Shortly before he'd met him Hector had buried his mother, the last of his family, cracked a career defining case and very nearly went off the deep end interviewing the vile man who truly believed Hector could sink to his level…

The day they'd met he'd come home knuckles bruised from where he'd struck the Beast of Arkansas, if others hadn't intervened Manny Sherman's execution may have came a lot quicker and when he caught a stranger in his home that night he understood that anything was possible.

Charlie had fallen to his knees and begged for Hector to understand, he wanted to write about the case. He was taken aback by the audacity that the man could blatantly trespass and feel completely justified in his actions; Ultimately kicking him out for fear that this comparatively petty criminal would end up on the receiving end of violence meant for a far worse monster.

That should have been the end of it but the next day he found the younger man on his doorstep, this time asking for an interview. Humouring this request had quickly escalated into something unthinkable. Hector knew there was something wrong with him, sleeping with a man who he'd only met because the other broke into his home and when Charlie had to go back to the UK and he agreed to a long distance relationship Hector confirmed that there was something very wrong with both of them…

Over the next few years they'd periodically visit and for the first time in his life Hector had a halfway decent work life balance, when the 2000s rolled around the idea of Charlie moving to the US permanently came up more and more and after living together for a full year Hector concluded his boyfriend was indeed crazy. He was a little too into true crime, it was his dream to eventually direct documentarys about famous serial killers, he was fascinated by them and cohabitation with an FBI profiler was fuel to that fire.

Hector knew he shouldn't but … Eventually sharing details of his cases became a regular occurrence, it was good to get it off his chest… He knew that he should be concerned that this excited Charlie but… His boyfriend had always been a little eccentric, he dismissed it against his better judgement.

Charlie started working the night shift at a local grocery store, Hector didn't mind since he also worked late most nights. Charlie kept working on his passions on the side and it was almost like they were married.

In the mid 2000s work became busier for Hector and he had to travel for his cases, Charlie didn't take it well… Hector knew his boyfriend had some pretty intense abandonment issues and made sure to call him every night and promised to check in with him as much as possible…

After a close call on an investigation he woke up in the hospital in a different city. Charlie had destroyed their place in his anxiety when Hector didn't answer his calls, he became the most attentive boyfriend anyone could ask for during Hector's recovery… Sometimes he worried what Charlie would do if he died… It was best to not think about it.

He hit the ground running when he returned to work, a new serial killer was on the block. With three known victims he started painting a picture. All were men in their early thirties with few social ties, one came from out of state, the other two had immigrated, all three wore glasses, their hair ranged from light brown to dirty blond but there was no mistaking it, they looked like Charlie…

At first Hector wanted to protect him from this information but he had to know. He promised he wouldn't let anything happen to him and Charlie clung to him any chance he could get… He needed to solve this case.

Months went by and more victims emerged. Stabbed in the heart, with no other injuries and an expression of shock… These men were clearly taken by surprise. When a body turned up a block away from Charlie's work, along the route he took home Hector couldn't take it anymore!

"I've been thinking…" Charlie looked up at him with those beautiful blue eyes of his, "Charlie, until this case is solved I-, I think you should go back to England." Charlie dropped his spoon into his cereal splashing milk across the table. "What!?" Charlie looked betrayed, his bowl was spilt. "You… You want to get rid of me?" Charlie asked in small voice, tears in his eyes. "No- I…" Hector took a deep breath, trying to find the right words, "Charlie I can't keep being called to crime scenes, seeing you in the faces of this bastard's victims, I just want you to be safe."

"Fine." Hector could deal with Charlie's temper, he could deal with his tantrums, but when Charlie was cold to him… Hector watched as Charlie got up from his seat and went to their room without another word, he decided to give him some space as he cleaned up the mess. Doing the dishes before going to check on him.

Hector stood in the doorway in silence… The room was empty!? Draws emptied, the room in disarray… The window wide open… "Charlie?" Hector didn't want to believe he was gone, he tried to call him only to feel his heart sink as Charlie's phone rang out in the room… "He couldn't have gotten far…" Hector reassured himself, throwing on his coat and getting his keys.

He spent all day searching for his boyfriend, this wasn't like him… Hector concluded that Charlie must be terrified and that the idea of being away from him scared him more. He kept his phone close at hand just in case Charlie went home and decided to call… He should've asked Charlie to take the day shift, or find another job, hell he made enough that Charlie could be unemployed!

The sun was setting as his mobile phone rang. Hector didn't even look at it before answering, before he could say anything he heard a colleague's voice on the other end. An eerie cold washed over him… His hands were trembling as he heard that another victim had been discovered, killed within the past few hours… He had to ask them to repeat the address a few times and as the call ended he stood on the sidewalk. Heart pounding in his ears. It isn't him… It… It can't be… He should keep looking, he couldn't abandon Charlie… But what if-?

Hector looked in the direction the crime scene… It wasn't far, "Forgive me Charlie."

This one was different… The victim had been killed with extreme malice, his face so disfigured that only his ID could confirm his resemblance to the others. Hector was conflicted… He was disturbed by the sight, horrified that the killer seemed to be escalating… But at the same time he was relieved that it wasn't Charlie and that made him feel like a monster.

It was just before sunrise when he came home, physically and emotionally exhausted,he heard the shower going and saw that Charlie had made dinner. What was he supposed to do?

Part way through having his reheated pasta and quietly reflecting on the past day Charlie came into the kitchen, he smiled like nothing happened. "How was work?" Hector didn't say anything, he wish he could say he was shocked, Charlie stood next to his chair, Hector leaned into his touch and just let it all fall away for a moment as Charlie wrapped his arms around him, kissing him on the top of his head. It wasn't until he ran his free hand over Charlie's arm that Hector noticed the bandage. He froze for a moment, turning to look at his boyfriend as the arm was pulled out of his grasp. "Charlie? What-"

"I hurt it at work." Charlie said defensively, Hector wanted to ask about specifics he wanted to talk about Charlie's actions or what he had seen but instead steadied his voice and started over. "I've had time to think…" his eyes followed Charlie as he moved to the other side of the table and sat down, a worried look on his face. "We we're both a little too hasty yesterday, I want you to be safe but there are so many other options before banishing you back to England." Hector picked at his food still a little nervous. "The best I can think of is for you to request the day shift or quit, I can support us, I just-"

"Okay… I'll call my boss, if I can't get my shift changed," Charlie looked away, "I'll trust your judgement." Hector let out a sigh of relief that they'd found a compromise. He finished his dinner feeling a little lighter and when he finally found his way to bed he slept a little easier. He never told Charlie what he saw.

The next week was a blur but Charlie kept Hector grounded. He could do this, he had captured the Beast of Arkansas… He could do this. He needed more than anything to solve this case.

Early morning on his day off he woke wrapped up in Charlie's arms, he never wanted this to change. Hector carefully extracted himself from his sleeping partner's grasp, taking a moment to admire how peaceful he looked. After his morning routine hector decided to catch up on laundry, he preferred to get things done on his off days. It was a running joke that Charlie claimed Hector would die if forced to actually relax. He was probably right… He paused noticing a balled up shirt pushed into a corner, a little out of sight, it was one of Charlie's button up shirts, it was dark red, Hector had bought it for him. the sleeve was torn up… It seemed clean, maybe even a little too clean? Perhaps Charlie gave up on repairing it after he washed it? Charlie probably felt bad about ruining it… Hector absent mindedly tucked it away, making note to ask Charlie what exactly happened at his work…

He couldn't get the most recent victim out of his head, the guilt he felt that he was happy it wasn't Charlie, the horror of knowing it could have been… They still didn't talk about it, maybe it was selfish but he wanted to only think about Charlie but… He felt like something was alluding him, why did they all look like him? He and Charlie had been living together openly for years now, he was certain that they'd be married one day… Was he being messed with? His name was in the news surrounding the Manny Sherman case… Maybe his private life was too public? It wasn't like they were screaming from the rooftops… He and Charlie were the normal amount of open about their relationship, maybe that was too much for someone in his line of work…

He couldn't sit still, he had to get out and put these thoughts into something useful. He left a note to let Charlie know he where he was going and left as soon as his washing was in the dryer. It wasn't unusual for him to work on his day off so nobody would be shocked if he took another look around the crime scene…

When he arrived at the old dockside warehouse he let himself in, the place didn't seem unusual… He put on a pair of gloves and got to picking over everything, looking for… He wasn't exactly sure what, but he was determined to find it. After over an hour of fruitless searching Hector stepped out side, lighting a cigarette. This side of the building looked out over the water, a chain link fence ran around the perimeter. Old and rusted, it may as well be torn down, as smoke drifted lazily into the grey morning, his mind was racing… As if in answer to an unspoken prayer Hector noticed something from the corner of his eye.

Where the fence met the building the chain link was separated enough for a person to crawl through, not remarkable in of itself as the whole thing was filled with holes but caught on the edge was a small strip of fabric. Dark red, bloodstained? He carefully removed it, placing it in a clear evidence bag… Maybe he was desperate... He was desperate, but this could be important. he stashed the bag in his coat, he'd drop by the house on his way to hand it off to forensics.

When Hector arrived, Charlie was writing one of his true crime things. Hector kissed him and poured a cup of coffee. He didn't tell Charlie what he'd found, Charlie hadn't asked about it… That was a little unusual but he must be focused on his writing, he figured he could afford to fold the washing before he headed for the office. After idle conversation, no that was underselling it… There was nothing more he loved than just talking to Charlie about anything and everything… It made him look forward to being off the clock, even if he knew he had a problem with actually staying off the clock.

He went went back to the laundry, satisfied with how productive the day had been so far, he didn't even remove his coat given he'd be heading out again soon. As he folded the clothes he stopped, his literal shred of evidence had fallen out of his coat pocket, he should put it somewhere safe so it doesn't get lost-

His brain crashed into a brick wall at full speed as his hand paused an inch above the bag… He stared at it, dumbfounded. It took him a minute to even articulate what the problem was and then… And then a few more dreadful heart wrenching minuets to actually get his thoughts to make sense but they didn't, it didn't make any sense… It couldn't… He'd prove it to himself, it was an stupid irrational thought. He grabbed the bag and dug out the shirt, laying it flat on the table. He kept his eyes shut. Deafened by his own heart beat as he smoothed out the fabric, feeling along the torn sleeve. He layed the fabric strip next to it in its clear bag… Hands braced on the laundry table as he breathes slowly, he tilted his head down. He'd open his eyes and feel like the biggest idiot in the universe… Maybe he'd been in this field for too long, maybe what he and Charlie needed was to get far away from it all but… He had to solve this, had to know.

He felt numb as he looked down, a perfect fit… He didn't move, didn't breathe, if it was possible he's sure his heart would have stopped… He was an empty shell and his boyfriend was a serial killer… Part of him died when he even considerd suspecting Charlie, he felt dully that his life was over… He couldn't live with himself if he turned Charlie in, his career was over either way, he'd either be the washed up profiler who couldn't even see the truth right in front of him or he'd be found out as the rogue agent who intentionally mislead the investigation to protect his lover-

"Hector?" Charlie stood in the doorway, Hector didn't move, didn't respond. He stared blankly down at the torn shirt as he heard Charlie's footsteps behind him. His heart started beating again as Charlie wrapped his arms around him, he could breathe… Charlie kept him grounded, kept him together. He blinked away tears that threatened to fall from his eyes as Charlie moved to see what he was looking at. He froze, just as Hector had, a shocked gasp escaped Charlie. Hector tore his eyes away from the shirt as he turned, wrapping his arms around Charlie, holding him firmly to his chest. They stared at each other, shaky anxious breathes filling the small room…

"Why?" It was barely audible but the single word carried the crushing weight of the world, of everything they had and could have had… Charlie pleaded with him wordlessly to take it back, to turn his head and forget what he saw… Tears started to stream down his face and Hector couldn't help but reach out, his hand stopped short of Charlie's cheek. He couldn't do it, he couldn't hurt Charlie and he couldn't pretend he didn't know what he knew. He asked again, more insistently. "Why did you… Why did you do it?"

Charlie stepped back, Hector had loosened his hold when he was sure Charlie wasn't going to run from him. He watched as his boyfriend rubbed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Anticipation clawed at Hector as Charlie looked at him calmly. "I didn't want to share you, not even with the dead."

"What?" Hector spoke so quietly that he wasn't even sure he had spoken, was he having some messed up nightmare!? He knew Charlie was the jealous type but this!? Committing murder to… To make it so Hector thought of Charlie at all times… He didn't want to believe it, he didn't want to acknowledge that it had worked. "You're insane…" he shook his head, he'd known this about Charlie since they met, every single red flag that he'd actively dismissed and yet… He could have killed him, the day they met he was in such a dark place that he knows he could have done it, knew that man was right about him and deep down… He dismissed every single warning sign because he couldn't handle that fact. He looked Charlie in the eye and asked. "When did you start killing?" his voice was calm, like he was asking about a hobby, Charlie looked like he'd been slapped. He remained quiet for a moment, speaking only when he could no longer avoid the question…

"It was an accident."

"Charlie… Please…" Hector took a careful step towards him. "…tell me."

"it was before we met, I had just turned eighteen and was going out with some friends since we were finally old enough to drink back home," Hector listened as Charlie spoke carefully, "I had this… Friend, I'd been head over heels for him but I kept it too myself," Charlie wrapped his arms around himself, looking at the floor. "I always wanted to scream whenever he got a girlfriend but that night, free of the usual restraint I just… I yelled at him, shoved him and left him where he lay on the way home." Charlie looked back at Hector with a pained smile. "He never got up and nobody ever found out, said he fell and hit his head and… Well that's not the point."

"Nobody suspected a thing, I could have blamed my intoxication but… I said we split up sooner, it was easy… I thought if… If I could understand why it was so easy then…"

"That's why you're into true crime?" Hector asked taking another step, Charlie was crying again. "Were you hoping to find something that could rationalise away your guilt? Or your guilt for not feeling guilty?" Hector hated that it made sense to him, Charlie stepped back looking hurt. "Hector… What are you going to do?" they both knew he held all the cards here, he grabbed Charlie by the shoulders. Looking directly into his eyes. "You understand that we can't be together anymore, right? Charlie, our life is over… You never-"

"Are you going to turn me in?" Charlie asked bluntly, neither of them could handle this uncertainty anymore… Hector looked at him, he knew there was something very wrong with the both of them. His mind was made up and he refused to second guess himself. He cupped Charlie's face, kissing him deeply before preparing to go further past the point of no return.

"Listen to me, Charlie… Promise me you'll do exactly what I tell you." Charlie kept Hector grounded, he'd done so for years and without him… "Say you promise."

"I promise, Hector, I'll do anything." Hector was already dead, the future they'd planned had died the moment he suspected his love… Marriage, growing old together… Gone. And yet… He smiled at Charlie. It was going to be ok, he would fix it… He knew what he had to do…

Charlie Lonnit sat behind his desk at the office, researching for an upcoming episode of architects of murder, his employees chatting amongst themselves.

"Hey what about the bleeding hearts killer?" Kate suggested, "All his murders were committed right here in Chicago, we wouldn't even have to travel." She looked around for everyone else's input. "Didn't that guy exclusively kill men who looked like his boyfriend?" Jamie asked without looking up, she was fiddling with a damaged piece of film equipment, Erin had headphones on, generally ignoring the conversation.

"That's fucked up," Mark responded, "What happened to the boyfriend anyway?" Charlie looked up at them. "No one knows, he was still alive during the time of the murders but his name was kept out of the press for his safety," Kate scrolled through some information about the case, "I guarantee that poor man never wants to think about his evil ex again, I'd be surprised if he wasn't getting abused throughout the whole relationship…" she got up from the couch she was lounging on, stretching as she continued casually. "He probably celebrated when that bastard died in a fire."

"I'd like to believe they really loved each other," Charlie defended, "What the fuck Charles!? You're a real piece of work-"

The phone rings.

Charlie shushes her, Answering the call. Grateful for the life his love gave him…

#The devil in me #The dark pictures anthology #charlie lonnit #Hector Munday #Heclie #Granthem Du'met #Du'lie #oneshot #Corruption arc Charlie #du'met x charlie #Hector X Charlie #the dark pictures the devil in me

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bitletsanddrabbles · 9 months

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PSA: You May Be Wrong

If you ever happen to be in a store and an employee tells you not to do something that you've just done, stop and consider this: you may have just done something wrong.

The likelihood of this being true gets stronger the more the employee: says things like 'that is against policy' or even 'you can't do that here', uses loud language or a sharp tone, or gives you dirty looks.

It is pretty much guaranteed to be true if the employee tells you the thing you have just done is illegal. In this instance, I promise you, complaining to other employees will not help you - especially if the employee speaking to you is a manager and the employee you're complaining to is a cashier or something similar. They will simply confirm that, yes, you just broke the law. Maybe it wasn't bad enough to call the police, but law violation did just take place, and no one appreciates it.

I don't care how many other people you've seen do the same thing. You're the one who got caught.

I don't care how many other employees have not called you on this in the past. Just because one person is too beaten down and confrontation avoidant to say anything doesn't mean the next person has to follow suit.

I don't care how minor the legal violation is. It's still a legal violation and if someone is risking being reported to the higher ups for having an attitude with you over it, it's a legal violation that negatively impacts their life and they're sick enough of dealing with it that the threat of a write up isn't enough anymore.

I don't care if you think you should be able to do what you want and the employee should just cheerfully shut up and clean up after whatever mess you create. Accusing them of being lazy is not going to get you what you want, it's going to get people yelling "May you live in interesting times!" after you and many prayers that karma reincarnates you as a cockroach. You will get that regardless of culture and religion.

If the employee is yelling at you, you are not doing them a favor by giving them something to do. Creating extra work and potentially dangerous situations is not 'job security'. Seriously, try that shit with the cops and see how far it gets you.

Leaving shopping carts blocking fire hydrants so that the cart collectors have to continually battle to keep it available to firefighters in case of a fire is not a minor crime and if you do it, I hope that the fire department has cause at some point to run a hose through your car window and leave a ticket on your windshield.

#guess how my day at work went?#psa

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seidenbros · 2 years

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Tag Game

Thank you so much @spideyanakin for tagging me 💚

dynamic: post the names of all the files in your wip folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

1.I See Your True Colours - 1st Steddie fic I'm writing

When Steve finds Eddie and Dustin in the Upside Down, he finds apulse and carries Eddie out of there. After three weeks in the hospital Eddie finalls wakes up. His dreams have been guided by Steve reading LotR to him. Steve was there nearly every night, because only in Eddie's presence, he was able to get some sleep without being haunted by nightmares. Wayne of course realises there is something going on, and after what Steve has done for Eddie, he already considers him family.

2. Promises-Series | currently writing Part 4: Holy Diver

Eddie and you have been best friends since you were 10, when you were 15, you had your first date, admitted your love for each other, but then you had to move to NYC. Eddie never wrote you a letter, you weren't able to reach out, and pride kept you from writing him another letter (you'd left him one the day of your move, but he never got it). Now, 5 years later (taking place dright before and during season 4), you come back because you miss him, your best friend. You argue, but decide to talk about it a couple of days later, and that's wehn all hell breaks loose.

3. I'm Lost I'm Found in You - Witcher Modern AU

Geralt is a veteran and has his service dog Roach because of his PTSD. He needs to get away from the big city and moves in with Jaskier, a complete stranger, whose house is too big and quiet for him alone. While Geralt wakes up in the middle of the night from nightmares, Jaskier sits downstairs, plays the guitar and sings, which is calming for Geralt. Ciri lost her parents and the family that's taking care of her is abusive towards her, so Geralt and Jaskier take her in. They're both falling for each other, but... still a little scared about it

4. You'll Make Me Brave - Geraskier Crime AU

Found covered in blood right next to his father’s dead body, it seems to be clear that Jaskier killed the old man. Geralt, working this case as a Detective, had to figure out what really happened, which won’t be easy, seeing that Jaskier isn’t even able to speak at first. Was it really him? Or was someone else involved? Geralt is determined to uncover the truth.

5. Let's Just Close Our Eyes and Let Go - Geraskier Hacker AU

Jaskier operates under the name the Sandpiper and steals from the rich to give the money to homeless shelters, since he’s spent a lot of time on the streets after his family kicked him out after coming out to them. Geralt sees him play music on the street, has seen him a couple of times and finally finds the courage to ask him out. Jaskier takes him to his home: A small flat on top of a building where he has loads of plants. Plants that don’t even bloom at that time of year. Geralt see’s Jaskier’s magic (which Jaskier is completely unaware of). Vesemir calls Geralt since they had a break in their case. In front of Jaskier’s building, he tells him that Jaskier is in fact the Sandpiper)

6. Wherever You Will Go - Geraskier Hockey AU

Famous contemporary romance author Julian Alfred Pankratz is set to travel with the Kaedwen Wolves (who won the cup last year) to get to know how they interact with each other, learn about hockey, so that he can incorporate that in his next book. He’s a little nervous, but still excited, until he sees a familiar face among the players. The face that was the model for one of the main characters in his last book, because they’d nearly fucked in the elevator they’d been stuck in- Only that Geralt had made it clear that he was looking for something serious, while Jaskier is afraid of commitment.

7. Geraskier Your Name AU

Geralt and Jaskier wake up int he other one’s body every now and again. At first they think it’s just some kind of weird dream, until their friends ask them what the hell had been wrong with them the previous day. At first they’re both like “I do what I want”, but that quickly changes, because their behaviour has consequences for the other one, and they start to like each other or rather what they find out. And suddenly, Jaskier had to find out how to wield a sword, while Geralt needs to learn how to play the lute.

though the Witcher ones are currently on hiatus, because I can't seem to focus on them. I tried and I couldn't write anything down

I'm tagging (but no pressure): @tellhound @luteandsword @dancingwiththefae @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @jesskier @wren-of-the-woods @writingmysanity

#There are theoretically more Geraskier ones but there's not much #and I have two Geralt requests in my inbox #but I need to be in the right headspace to write them #and 2 pieces for Eddie #but nothing writting so far #tag game #stranger things #the witcher #geraskier #eddie munson x reader

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dreamgothgirl · 2 years

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Bastard Pt. 1

Batman AU! Toji x GN! Reader

Warnings: mild language, VERY suggestive (more like direct) language, maybe messed up grammer or sentence structures, a plot line composed by a stoner music producer with nothing better to do. Smut will be in the next one, pinky promise.

Author's Note: So sorry this is late. I have no excuse. But I love you for sticking around anyway big tiddie broke dilf make me go brrr :,) <3

This probably makes no sense but I had fun writing it and I hope you have fun reading it.

wc: 1,927

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Toji Fushiguro, AKA: Deadshot. A widowed single father and ex-supervillain turned somewhat vigilante that just so happens to work with Batman, as a spy and front man for Satoru Enterprises when Batman himself, known to the public eye as Gojo Satoru, is too busy being the center of attention at other parties.

You can thank his son Megumi, or Nightwing, for making those two somewhat behave around each other. After Deadshot saved Robin’s life from one of Joker’s antics gone wrong by none other than you, Gojo couldn’t help but, for the first time, feel in debt to someone. But Toji? Let’s just say that if Batman ever had the pleasure of catching you, you will have wished it was Deadshot who got you first.

After putting Yuji’s, AKA: Robin’s, life in danger, Gojo has been paying extra money on the side for your assassination; should you ever cross Toji’s path. Because of his partnering with the Bat Family, Deadshot doesn’t carry out assassinations to multiple clients like he used to; mostly participating in gambling rings to get his fix of illegalities and, on special occasions, more violence. Though, no matter how good he is at bullshitting, he can’t help but admit that neither of those things put as much money in his pocket as he’d like. Money that isn’t from Batman.

The very person who put him in the shithole situation that made him lose everything back then. Sure, your attempted murder of Robin was the Bat family’s reason for hating you, but Toji’s had nothing to do with you actually almost killing a minor. No. He hated that you were the reason he had to hang around Batman, of all people. The sooner you were dead, the faster he got away from the Bat Family and could get back to his true passion and money maker. Who knows? Maybe he might actually ask Megumi to hang out with him for once.

Y/N L/N, AKA V/N. You were a master con-artist that has nothing to do with Deacon Blackfire. In fact, unlike Blackfire, you had no ability to brainwash your victims. Although brainwashing would be the best addition to your curse technique, it wasn’t a big fuss when you had a gun. Your curse was simply called, ‘Doppelgänger’. Your friends mused how cool of a name that was for you already, but V/N has such a cuter ring to it! The name of your curse is self-explanatory. You had the ability to copy another person’s look down to the birthmarks on their body with one handshake. This did mean that you could also duplicate their cursed energy, but not the curse itself.

This is because your cursed energy simply suffocates the original curse thanks to a curse steroid serum made by Scarecrow. Because of this curse, you gained one of the most notoriously ANNOYING but funny sidekicks. Clayface. Clayface was quite literally your partner in crime as he fought off the Bat Family and other villains trying to ruin your plans. Thanks to you ruining the Joker’s scheme back then, you were able to convince the public that V/N was truly dead for good. Batman nor Deadshot ever said a word about this being true, voicing their skeptics to the public and warning them to continue to keep an eye out just in case. So, the fight between Bats and Clayface just made Clayface seem like any other villain trying to mess with Gotham City per usual. Yikes.

Since you always hid your identity with a mask of some kind, not only did this increase paranoia and distrust amongst the Gotham citizens, but it also made it harder for Toji and the Bat family to know if you were in front of them. Normally, Gojo would have no problem finding you, but the constant change in your cursed energy managed to throw his six-eyes into a distorted funk.

The steroids your cursed energy absorbed didn’t make it any better. Because of Scarecrow, the curse steroid made any curse users brave enough to try to find you with their own curse, it would reveal their worst nightmare through their own technique. It wouldn’t deter any curse users from fighting you with their curse techniques though. Scarecrow didn’t want to get rid of all the fun. Anyway, it was safe to say that Deadshot had never seen your true face, nor have the two of you ever exchanged real words.

Tonight was the last night of your DA campaign and the race was looking tight. It was you vs Geto Suguru. He had the one up on you because of the heavy funding from Satoru Enterprises. ‘Having rich friends help you out has got to be against the rules somehow,’ you thought. You got your funding from the most respected people in Gotham. Just ask Clayface. Going against Geto was ironic considering how often you kidnapped his daughters and himself. But you were so close to winning by pointing out the chaos Gojo and Toji’s words to the public.

Your statements of Batman not even being able to protect his own understudies and successors solidified your win, you thought. Victory was so close you could taste it. And tonight, you absolutely were not going to let ANY of those Bat Rats and their stupid puppy ruin it.

You glared ahead at the center of the ballroom, licking the champagne away from your lips. Fallen glitter from the extravagant yet somewhat scandalous dresses that decorated the bodies of would-be goddesses at your charity event for your campaign. However, through all the lights, chatter, and music you become lost in thought at the one man you were PRAYING wouldn’t show up just yet. Those simple hopes were quickly dragged to hell and your anger rose when one of your henchmen whispered over your shoulder, “Mx. L/N, Mr. Fushiguro would like to have a word with you, if you would.”

Your nose twitched slightly, ‘!@#$% !@#$% !@#$% THAT PIECE OF ^%&*!! !@#$%!!!!!’

You gave a kind smile and small bow of your head, apologizing, “Excuse me for a moment.”

As the two of you walked across the room, the man at your side kept a whispered while you nodded and waved to your guests thanking you for the lovely event, “The donations have already been moved and the exchange has been done. We’re ready whenever you are.”

You nodded but almost let your glass of champagne slip from you’re your fingers as you stood a few feet away from the one they called Deadshot. The tux he wore was a classic black with a sleek silk tie and matching handkerchief neatly tucked away in his breast pocket. His ensemble fit him well enough to show his rippling muscles that’ve taken the lives of so many innocent and cruel.

The lux silver cufflinks that sat just above the ball of his wrist made his strong, deadly hands look more dignified and powerful than they would have with tattoos and rings. It made you wonder if maybe he had a tattoo or two elsewhere. Nothing would make you hesitate from finding out, that’s for sure.

Fushiguro’s hair looked soft and thick enough for you to pull. You wished you could grip it as hard as you could. Preferably out of annoyance, but…maybe something else could replace it? The warmth in your face quickly turned stone cold as his piercing green eyes met your e/c ones. Those eyes were the eyes of a tunnel visioned blood lust you’d only seen in the most skilled killers you’ve sorely crossed paths with. He knows. And you’re silently fearful that there may not be a way out for once.

‘I know I’m not God’s favorite soldier…but before you let the devil take me, just let me lick his lip scar. Just once!!’

Toji’s eyes bore into you, watching as your own, classier, outfit hugged your body just right. The subtle plumpness of your thighs could be seen through the fabric of your bottoms while they hugged your ass the way he was really wishing his hands would. Fuck, what was he thinking? You were Gotham’s soon-to-be mayor.

He could give a shit about tainting his own name, but he knew that if he did give in to his urges, the Satoru name would be in shambles which might even lead to the downfall of Batman. Hm…maybe that’s not such a bad thing actually.

Argh, but even so he’d be putting your own reputation at risk given his background. It took Gojo quite a bit more work than the rich sorcerer initially thought to get the public opinion to be in favor of Deadshot, the deadliest assassin who has ruined countless families in the name of business as well; suddenly being in a relationship with a politician such as yourself was way too suspicious.

But goddamn, he just couldn’t take his mind off you. He’d been watching you since he walked in. Toji’s eyes never once left your general direction as he leaned against the open bar, greeting Satoru Enterprises’ partners with a not-so-subtle dismissive tone in his voice. Toji was told to keep a lookout for V/N, but he knew damn well he wasn’t even bothering with the thought of that headache.

Tonight, it was all you. He’d been infatuated with you for a while. Something about your presence was like a whip cracking in the room, catching everyone’s attention as soon as your heel hit the floor. Your looks were the cherry on top of your manipulative promises to your supporters. After keeping an eye on you for an hour, which felt like 20 minutes, he called over one of your representatives.

Now, here you were. Glowing like some fucking deity had come to reap his soul to hell like he deserved. Toji already knew as soon as he decided to finally call you over that his chances with you were low, but he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try to get just a little taste of your lips.

Toji’s eyes bore into you, watching as your own outfit hugged your body in all the right places. The lights that made your sexy h/c hair have a water-like sparkle to it. He was too busy appreciating your beauty; you took his concentration for suspicion. Had you been weak, you would’ve compromised your position in an instant at how cold and sharp those eyes were.

The definition of piercing, truly. Luckily, your voice sent strong enough shivers down his spine to snap him out of his trance. “Good evening. Mr. Fushiguro! I’m so glad you could make it!”

His scar curved a bit as he smirked, “Nice to see you, Mx. L/N. You look great.”

‘You’d look better in my sheets.’

You chuckled and bowed your head a bit in thanks, “You got balls showing up here, I’ll give you that! Should I expect to see Mr. Geto?”

Toji shrugged, leaning back coolly against the calmly busy open bar, “Nah, don't even worry about him, babe. I don’t get paid to vote for assholes I don’t like. Just work for ‘em, y’know?”

The casual banter he’d begun made your shoulders relax and your face soften a bit, “Yeah. Tell me about it. That’s why I prefer working solo.”

The man gave a huff of amusement through his nose, almost sarcastically replying before sipping his whiskey, “I knew you’d understand.”

You order your own drink and decide to sit with your soon to be trophy. Dead or alive, you were going to make sure he was yours. And had he known who you were; he could say the same. But with only you knowing who he was...maybe you'd be first.

#fushiguro toji x reader #jjk toji #jjk smut #jjk x reader #fan fiction #toji zenin #toji fic #toji smut #gn y/n #batman au #jujutsu sorcerer

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swaqcenix · 1 year

Note

*died.*

PLEASE FORGIVE ME! I'm sorry I disappeared from the radar. I was just preparing for the physics contest, which I will have on Monday. and I also have a german contest this Friday. maybe I'm a quiet person, but my ambitions are very loud and I intend to get first place everywhere, lol…

so!

first.

MY GODNESS, nooo, don't call me cute or sweet. 😭😭😭 my heart is very weak and may not be able to stand it. again, God, thank you very much for your kind words and mutual understanding that you give me. hehe, I hope you are not tired of my long messages, which equally kill our time.

my request!

I'm dying. I'm really dying a happy person. I'm so glad you liked it so much that you started writing it so quickly. BUT, please take your time and keep giving yourself time to rest and introspect. everything is fine, I will humbly wait for this masterpiece. and I'm always here to talk about the motives why some characters would become yandere. I'm sure that the main reasons that would trigger my resilient and independent Peggy would be the desire to protect and take care of the object of her "love", given that people who are too close to Peggy can be killed.

so……. yes.

Oh and, haha, that's unusual to hear. I'm not a fan of horror movies or sitcoms, (unlike my mother), but I would love to watch with you what you think is a real masterpiece that we just have to watch.

next, emotions. of course, emotions and feelings are very… a sensitive topic. as well as dont revealing your such emotions and feelings to people. everyone has their own reasons for this. and I am so glad that you are really getting help in this matter. it's true as an outlet after these messages with a kind of self-autopsy in front of a stranger like me.🫂

and no. we and your loved ones are lucky to have you. and, probably, I'm not thinking very constructively in order to decompose all your positive and negative traits and behavior in order to determine whether you are a curse or a blessing...

Rather, this is what I want to see.

let's remember a glass of water. someone will say that it is half full, and someone will think that it is half empty. in your case, if you were a glass of water, I would say "this glass is half full".

I do not know, but I'm again so embarrassed and happy at the same time from your post with Peggy and this spoiler……

I swear, while I'm at this olympics, one cell of my brain and the last cell of my nerves will probably be like:

"Peggy, Peggy, Peggy, Peggy fanfiction, dark-Peggy, Captain Carter, tumbler, Kaz, Kaz, Kaz, Kaz, be gay do crime, here we go lesbians, wAh uH BoH uHl, yoove gOht tO bE JOEking, God save Peggy Carter and her amazing accent"

AND OH MY GOD, HOW BEAUTIFULLY YOU PICKED UP THESE AESTHETIC PHOTOS AND HOW BEAUTIFULLY EVERYTHING IS DECORATED.

just don't think that I'm writing all this just because of my request. I just wanted to compliment you on your excellent sense of taste and impressive writing abilities. well, and of course in general, for your presence.

hmm.

hey, babe, do you know what the best thing your parents did?🧐🤨

*theatrical pause*

you!😎😜😈

(DISCLAIMER: IT'S A JOKE, I DONT KNOW, WHAT IF YOUR PARENTS ARE DOCTORS AND FIGHTING CANCER OR HELPING HOMELESS CATS AND DOGS, THANK YOU, BUT YOU'RE STILL THE BEST THING THEY DID)

oh my god if it isn't my favourite anon! hii darling i hope you're doing okay! <3 you'll absolutely smash those contests ik you will so good luck for them! sending much love and support for it! 💌

hey it's okay to be a lil quiet but have strong ambitions and aspirations fr, were all our own person simply trying to be in the world

agh i'm sorry dear :) i have a habbit of using nickname's especially to cute humans who deserve it. i'll protect your lil heart i promise! and of course my word's simply seek to tell the truth. <3 also i could never get bored of your messages even if they're long i love that you feel comfortable enough to send me messages like this, besides they make my days 🫶

god don't die on me before you have even read it please! 🙏 no but of course i'm enjoying writing it bit by bit, besides it's an interesting concept and i hope you thoroughly enjoy it when i do get around to posting it love! don't worry i won't over work myself sweet! i feel like the reason in this story peggy ends up becoming yandere is due to her past, she's always had to fight to become what she wanted. the serum everything, her brothers death. so in regards to this seeing reader with wanda and seemingly so helpless she has to have her, in a way her stomach seeths with a pain she hasnt felt in years. When she does get reader its the urge to keep herself and peggy has to tell herself that, it is all for the good of cause for her little thing she has to protect! <3 i got carried away then and it shows.. 🫠

god i'm such a sucker for them it's embarrassing. scream, the conjuring series, the visit, hereditary it's the adrenaline for me! dw i'll choose ones that won't scare the shite out of you i pinky promise love! :))

emotions are always a complicated little thing, silly but meaningful in every way. loki said love is like a dagger and sylvie said love is hate, whereas it's all of that and so much more just as any emotion is! it's apart of who someone is and how they can be seen. thank you so much darling, sometimes those who cannot be seen or known of are the best listeners, so always! 🫂

i'm lucky to have you all in my life in anyway shape or form, those we surround ourselves with always impact our inner selves and ofc. analysing whether one is a poet or a singer through words, or simply is just one at the edge of the shore is entirely a concept that doesn't define curse or blessing, i'm flattered and touched you'd simply let it be. your words speak everything so softly <33

thats an interesting concept of a glass of water and touching. from my perspective in regards to yourself you speak fondly of people in ways that even the sun is unable to touch, you perceive things amazingly and im blessed to get to speak to such a sweet anon 💞

bahaha you're adorably funny i love it! my fanfics are something idk even what they are but i do apologise (not really) that it's fumbling so much with that brain of yours. i just enjoy delving deep into gayness and chaos with stories and characters! :')

sO each photo really does have a meaning, small spoiler the middle photo of peggy is her face when she first sees said reader, the other two are secrets yet to be revealed! i love alluding to certain events with my photos i just enjoy searching for them and adding in secrets and clues to be revealed.

don't worry darling ik you're speaking from a kind heart and soul, your messages truly are touching and i adore speaking to you and receiving such compliments! you're truly a breath of incredible fresh air and sunshine 💌

BAHAHA such an adorable thing and snazzy thing to say! <33 yk what yours did? the same thing created such a beauty such a melody. LMAOAOAOA dont worry no offence taken (my parents are fine my love) 😂💌

i hope you've slept well though and taking care of yourself!! did you sleep well and remember to stay hydrated my dear :')

#anon! 💌#my cute peggy anon lover #kazasks ღ #this is the cutest anon #they are the sweetest anon to exist!

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mxliv-oftheendless · 4 years

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The Shocking Case of O.J. Simpson (Part 2)

And we are back! So in Part 1 we looked at an overview of the case; here in Part 2 we’re gonna look at the suspects! I’m thinking this is how it’ll go for true crime episodes in the future. Speaking of which, if any of you guys have an idea of an episode for me to do next, whether it’s supernatural or true crime, feel free to suggest it!

Now that we’re getting into suspects, I feel I should reiterate my warning from Part 1: we’re gonna get into some of the... heavier details in this part. If at any point you feel uncomfortable or distressed by what you read, you are totally free to stop reading. I personally had no problem with what is addressed, but I realize not everyone is me. Your feelings are valid, and you are not a lesser person for wanting to stop reading.

And now, without further ado, enjoy!

Tag list: @cosmicrealmofkissteria @ashestoashesvvi @kategwidt

VINNIE [voiceover]: Now that we’ve covered the timeline and important events in the case, let’s get into the suspects. Unlike our other cases, this case has one clear top suspect: O. J. Simpson. So we’re going to break this down into two sections; why O. J. is the killer, and why O. J. is NOT the killer. Let’s start with why he could have done it. First off, let’s start with a possible motive. O. J. and Nicole Simpson had been going through a break, and at the time of the murders were living in separate residences. Also at the time of the murders, Nicole and Ronald Goldman had grown increasingly close, leading some to speculate that they were perhaps more than friends. Though Goldman said this was not the case.

That is obviously a clear motive right there.

Yeah, obviously. Even if Goldman said it wasn’t the case…

O. J. could still think he’s lying and they’re getting romantically involved.

VINNIE [voiceover]: Now, let’s return to the timeline. If the murders did in fact occur around 10:15 PM, the time the dog barking began, that would give O. J. enough time to commit the murders, clean himself up, and be back at his house by 11 PM, in time to greet the limo driver.

[cut to the three driving in the car in Brentwood. It is now night]

VINNIE: Right now, we’re headed to O. J.’s Rockingham Estate, which, not-so-fun fact, was only six minutes away from Nicole’s townhouse.

PAUL: Oh man, really?

GENE: So it’s definitely feasible, especially if he was booking it.

[car stops, and they all look out the window]

PAUL: Is that it?

VINNIE: That is it. [camera pans over a gated entrance as Vinnie speaks] So this the former site of O. J.’s Rockingham Estate. It was demolished in 1998, but… probably very happy to leave.

[screen cuts back to the slideshow]

VINNIE [voiceover]: Going into DNA evidence, O. J.’s blood, as well as Nicole’s and Goldman’s, were found on the glove left at the scene of the crime. Further damning is the fact that this glove matched a glove found at O. J.’s estate behind the guest house, near the area where O. J.’s friend Kato heard loud thumps at 10:40 PM. Both gloves had blood on them that matched Nicole, Goldman, and O. J. O. J. also had a cut on his finger the day after the murders when the police interviewed him. The knitted hat contained hairs that were proven to be O. J.’s by the FBI hair and fiber laboratory. Also found at O. J.’s residence was Nicole’s blood on a sock, and blood was also found in his driveway. The bloody shoeprint found at the crime scene matched O. J.’s size, and the sole pattern matched another pair that O. J. owned at the time. O. J. had also purchased a knife matching the type the coroner predicted had been used. Though, the knife and the shoes were never found.

I’m sorry, how is this an unsolved case again? Because it seems pretty obvious to me that he did it.

Well… *sigh* I don’t know how to answer this question…

I’m pretty sure this is where most people draw the line and say, “Yep. He’s guilty.” I think this is where my grandfather was convinced anyway.

Wasn’t your grandfather kind of a dick, though?

Okay, regardless of whether or not Gene’s grandfather was a dick, I will say that yes, this is where many people draw the line.

VINNIE [voiceover]: Another key detail was the fact that O. J. had been a perpetrator of spousal abuse against Nicole Simpson in the past, reportedly resulting in nine police visits to the Simpson residence responding to domestic disturbance calls. In 1989, O. J. was found guilty for spousal abuse, and plead no contest to the charges. Bizarrely, in 2006, O. J. himself wrote and published a book called “If I Did It”; a hypothetical account of the murder. Though the book was first cancelled due to public outrage, it was still later published, with all profits going to the Goldman family.

Wait wait wait, hang on a sec.

Uh huh?

So O. J., the man everybody thinks did it…

Yes.

…after getting acquitted for these murders…

Yes.

…writes a goddamn book on what could have happened if he did it?

Yes.

…

*wheeze*

*laughter* What the fuck, man?

This guy’s got some balls on him, that’s all I’ll say.

VINNIE [voiceover]: For those that are new to this case, O. J. Simpson was found not guilty. Despite the DNA evidence found at the crime scene, the defense team called to the attention of the jury technical mistakes made by the forensic team, which created some doubt over the evidence. Evidence was not packaged correctly and even left in a van to overheat. This ultimately led them to suggest that the crime scene may have been contaminated.

So, do we have any commentary on this?

*sighs*

Nope.

I got nothin’.

Okay then.

VINNIE [voiceover]: During the trial, the defense team had O. J. try on the glove found at the crime scene, and it was too small, leading to the now famous line by his lawyer, “If it doesn’t fit, you must acquit.” Though, it’s worth mentioning the prosecution team was against having O. J. try on the glove, because it had been frozen and unfrozen multiple times as a preservation method, and it also had been covered in blood.

Oh, THAT’S where that line comes from!

Yep, this is where it’s from.

I was wondering what line they were parodying on that one Rick and Morty episode.

VINNIE [voiceover]: Many also believe that race played a factor in O. J.’s acquittal, due to the events that surrounded the trial. In 1992, race riots occurred due to the LAPD’s senseless and horrific beating of a black man named Rodney King; a beating for which the assaulting officers were acquitted of all charges. The defense strategically used law enforcement racism as a reason for O. J.’s charges; they showed a video of Simpson handcuffed as soon as he returned from Chicago, demonstrating the rush in judgement by the police. Perhaps one of their biggest arguments was centered around Detective Mark Fuhrman. During the trial, the defense played for the jury a tape of audio in which Detective Fuhrman was recorded using racial slurs over FORTY times in one recorded sitting.

What the fuck?!

Jesus…

VINNIE [voiceover]: This is noteworthy, because Detective Fuhrman was also the first person to step inside O. J.’s Brentwood Rockingham Estate after the murders occurred, a feat he accomplished by jumping over the wall of the estate. This is a critical detail, because according to Fuhrman’s own testimony, it was during this time after he jumped the wall that he alone discovered the notorious, matching bloody glove behind O. J.’s guest house. With this information, the defense was able to suggest that Detective Fuhrman planted the glove and perhaps all other evidence found at O. J.’s estate, effectively tainting the evidence regardless of whether or not it was true. Christopher Darden, a deputy district attorney assigned to the O. J. case summarized it in this quote: “It will do one thing. It will upset the black jurors. It will say, whose side are you on, ‘the man’ or ‘the brothers’?” The jury was made up of eight black people, one Hispanic person, one white person, and two people of mixed race. All these things considered, the jury reached the verdict of not guilty, after only four hours of deliberation. However, it’s worth mentioning that O. J. lost the eventual civil case for the wrongful deaths of Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman, with the jury awarding their families $33.5 million in punitive damages.

[cuts back to the office]

PAUL: This episode is gettin’ me down, man.

VINNIE: Yeah, I— [starts laughing]

PAUL: This sucks.

GENE: I agree, this is the worst.

VINNIE: Yeah, it is not fun.

PAUL: Jesus, I’m getting JonBenet Ramsey flashbacks. This is the fucking worst.

VINNIE [voiceover]: Though, if O. J. Simpson didn’t kill his ex-wife and Ronald Goldman, then who did? Let’s get into some alternate suspects. The first suspect is convicted serial killer Glen Rogers. In an investigation discovery documentary, Clay Rogers, the brother of Glen Rogers, said that while on death row, his brother Glen confessed to murdering Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman. Though, even if this theory is true, O. J. would still be guilty. Glen Rogers had reportedly been hired by O. J. to steal a pair of earrings from her condo, but was told to kill her if she got in the way. However, it’s possible that Rogers was serving a six week jail sentence at the time of the murders, and therefore lied about his involvement.

So O. J. hired a serial killer to steal a pair of earrings?

Yeah, that… that doesn’t make a lot of sense.

No, it really doesn’t.

Those must’ve been some pretty damn expensive earrings.

VINNIE [voiceover]: The last suspect is Jason Simpson, O. J.’s son, and is the sole theory of famed private investigator Bill Dear, one of the few private investigators to be inducted into the Police Hall of Fame. Though, it’s worth mentioning that people have discredited Dear’s case as entirely circumstantial.

I already am suspicious of this theory.

Oh, just wait.

Is it bad?

Well, I don’t know if I would call it “bad” per se, but it’s… it’s kind of fucked up.

VINNIE [voiceover]: Nonetheless, Dear presents his theory in a book, and the highlights are as follows: At the time of Nicole and Goldman’s murders, Jason was on probation after having attacked his former boss with a knife. According to Dear, Jason had also attacked a former girlfriend named Jennifer Green. Dear also spoke to another former girlfriend of Jason’s named Dee Dee, who claimed Jason almost broke her back after throwing her into a bathtub, and perhaps even more suspiciously, cut off her hair with a knife, giving Jason two reported assaults involving a knife. Dear also reportedly obtained medical records of Jason’s—illegally, some might add—by dressing up and impersonating a doctor at Cedar-Sinai Hospital, where Jason had been a patient, for two weeks.

Okay—wow.

He, *laughing* he impersonated a doctor for two weeks just to get this kid’s medical files?

*wheeze* It does sound ridiculous when you put it like that.

Why didn’t he just ask the hospital for the records?

Well, there were probably a ton of hoops he would’ve had to jump through if he did that. Like, I know there’s a law protecting doctor-patient confidentiality for one thing.

… Okay, that makes sense. But still… weird.

Definitely weird. The Police Hall of Fame didn’t seem to think it was weird, though.

Is that really a thing?

Yes.

Okay... I dunno how to feel about that, but okay.

VINNIE [voiceover]: According to Dear, Jason had been diagnosed with Intermittent Rage Disorder, and around the time of the murders, Jason stopped taking the prescribed antipsychotic drugs. This was also during the time when Jason reportedly told doctors he was “going to rage.” Jason’s alibi was that he was working at a restaurant that night. Dear feels this is a flimsy alibi, due to the fact that his timecard is reportedly handwritten, which could suggest it was written after the murders. This reportedly handwritten timecard is even more suspicious when you consider the fact that the electronic time clock was fully functional that night. Dear also reportedly has pictures of Jason wearing a knitted hat that bears resemblance to the hat found at the scene of the crime, pictures taken before the murders and not after. To cap this off, Dear suggests that O. J. was only present at the scene of the crime to protect his son, and that this would explain his bizarre behavior such as the famous Bronco chase. But as mentioned before, many have discredited Dear’s case as almost entirely circumstantial.

I will say this: he does make a solid case.

Yeah, but… I dunno…

I hesitate to say this theory is good, because unlike with O. J., there’s no definite, hard evidence that he did it.

Yeah, there is that.

There’s no DNA evidence, his theory on the alibi is kinda shaky…

It’s almost as if he’s twisting around facts to support his theory…

It really does.

Which as we all know is intellectually dishonest.

Very intellectually dishonest.

VINNIE [voiceover]: Unrelated to this case, on September 16th, 2007, O. J. was connected to a robbery in Las Vegas, Nevada. In the 2008 trial that followed, O. J. was found guilty for twelve counts, including armed robbery and kidnapping, and was sentenced to 33 years in prison. According to a CNN survey, the overall percentage of Americans who believe O. J. did murder Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman has increased from 66% in 1994 to 83% in 2014. Perhaps one day we will have a definite answer to the question of who murdered Nicole Simpson and Ronald Goldman. But for now, the case officially remains… UNSOLVED.

[as the credits roll, we cut back to the office set. Paul, Gene, and Vinnie all look unsure of what to do next]

PAUL: Jeez… Well, thanks for this, Vinnie. This has been fun.

GENE: Yep. We got into some heavy shit this episode.

VINNIE: Well I’m sorry for heeding the request of the masses. [gestures to the camera] They’re the ones that kept suggesting this case.

PAUL: I will say, this did not bum me out as much as JonBenet Ramsey.

VINNIE: I mean, all of us were bummed out by the JonBenet Ramsey case.

GENE: You guys are givin’ me flashbacks.

[beat of silence]

VINNIE: [sighs] I need a drink. [stands up. Paul and Gene follow]

PAUL: I feel like I need a shower.

GENE: I’m gonna go watch some Looney Tunes. I need some humor after all this heaviness.

PAUL: Good idea. [looks and points at the camera] All you guys, go watch some Looney Tunes. Give yourself a laugh. Self-care is important.

BUZZFEED UNSOLVED TRUE CRIME

What unsolved mystery do you want to see next?

#kiss unsolved #kiss unsolved true crime #lol I really put the boys through the wringer on this one eh?#I promise the next true crime case I write up for them will be a bit lighter #well as light as it can be anyway #I always really enjoy writing for this au #it's really fun and these three work really well together #if only they were like this in real life...#well that's what fanfiction's for #hope you guys had a good time reading this #please feel free to suggest another episode to cover #kiss au writing #my writing #thanks for reading!

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blackwoolncrown · 4 years

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”This essay has been kicking around in my head for years now and I’ve never felt confident enough to write it. It’s a time in my life I’m ashamed of. It’s a time that I hurt people and, through inaction, allowed others to be hurt. It’s a time that I acted as a violent agent of capitalism and white supremacy. Under the guise of public safety, I personally ruined people’s lives but in so doing, made the public no safer… so did the family members and close friends of mine who also bore the badge alongside me.

But enough is enough.

The reforms aren’t working. Incrementalism isn’t happening. Unarmed Black, indigenous, and people of color are being killed by cops in the streets and the police are savagely attacking the people protesting these murders.

American policing is a thick blue tumor strangling the life from our communities and if you don’t believe it when the poor and the marginalized say it, if you don’t believe it when you see cops across the country shooting journalists with less-lethal bullets and caustic chemicals, maybe you’ll believe it when you hear it straight from the pig’s mouth.”

>>Copied here in case anyone gets paywalled when they click the above. The full article is...a lot.<<

WHY AM I WRITING THIS

As someone who went through the training, hiring, and socialization of a career in law enforcement, I wanted to give a first-hand account of why I believe police officers are the way they are. Not to excuse their behavior, but to explain it and to indict the structures that perpetuate it.

I believe that if everyone understood how we’re trained and brought up in the profession, it would inform the demands our communities should be making of a new way of community safety. If I tell you how we were made, I hope it will empower you to unmake us.

One of the other reasons I’ve struggled to write this essay is that I don’t want to center the conversation on myself and my big salty boo-hoo feelings about my bad choices. It’s a toxic white impulse to see atrocities and think “How can I make this about me?” So, I hope you’ll take me at my word that this account isn’t meant to highlight me, but rather the hundred thousand of me in every city in the country. It’s about the structure that made me (that I chose to pollute myself with) and it’s my meager contribution to the cause of radical justice.

YES, ALL COPS ARE BASTARDS

I was a police officer in a major metropolitan area in California with a predominantly poor, non-white population (with a large proportion of first-generation immigrants). One night during briefing, our watch commander told us that the city council had requested a new zero tolerance policy. Against murderers, drug dealers, or child predators?

No, against homeless people collecting cans from recycling bins.

See, the city had some kickback deal with the waste management company where waste management got paid by the government for our expected tonnage of recycling. When homeless people “stole” that recycling from the waste management company, they were putting that cheaper contract in peril. So, we were to arrest as many recyclers as we could find.

Even for me, this was a stupid policy and I promptly blew Sarge off. But a few hours later, Sarge called me over to assist him. He was detaining a 70 year old immigrant who spoke no English, who he’d seen picking a coke can out of a trash bin. He ordered me to arrest her for stealing trash. I said, “Sarge, c’mon, she’s an old lady.” He said, “I don’t give a shit. Hook her up, that’s an order.” And… I did. She cried the entire way to the station and all through the booking process. I couldn’t even comfort her because I didn’t speak Spanish. I felt disgusting but I was ordered to make this arrest and I wasn’t willing to lose my job for her.

If you’re tempted to feel sympathy for me, don’t. I used to happily hassle the homeless under other circumstances. I researched obscure penal codes so I could arrest people in homeless encampments for lesser known crimes like “remaining too close to railroad property” (369i of the California Penal Code). I used to call it “planting warrant seeds” since I knew they wouldn’t make their court dates and we could arrest them again and again for warrant violations.

We used to have informal contests for who could cite or arrest someone for the weirdest law. DUI on a bicycle, non-regulation number of brooms on your tow truck (27700(a)(1) of the California Vehicle Code)… shit like that. For me, police work was a logic puzzle for arresting people, regardless of their actual threat to the community. As ashamed as I am to admit it, it needs to be said: stripping people of their freedom felt like a game to me for many years.

I know what you’re going to ask: did I ever plant drugs? Did I ever plant a gun on someone? Did I ever make a false arrest or file a false report? Believe it or not, the answer is no. Cheating was no fun, I liked to get my stats the “legitimate” way. But I knew officers who kept a little baggie of whatever or maybe a pocket knife that was a little too big in their war bags (yeah, we called our dufflebags “war bags”…). Did I ever tell anybody about it? No I did not. Did I ever confess my suspicions when cocaine suddenly showed up in a gang member’s jacket? No I did not.

In fact, let me tell you about an extremely formative experience: in my police academy class, we had a clique of around six trainees who routinely bullied and harassed other students: intentionally scuffing another trainee’s shoes to get them in trouble during inspection, sexually harassing female trainees, cracking racist jokes, and so on. Every quarter, we were to write anonymous evaluations of our squadmates. I wrote scathing accounts of their behavior, thinking I was helping keep bad apples out of law enforcement and believing I would be protected. Instead, the academy staff read my complaints to them out loud and outed me to them and never punished them, causing me to get harassed for the rest of my academy class. That’s how I learned that even police leadership hates rats. That’s why no one is “changing things from the inside.” They can’t, the structure won’t allow it.

And that’s the point of what I’m telling you. Whether you were my sergeant, legally harassing an old woman, me, legally harassing our residents, my fellow trainees bullying the rest of us, or “the bad apples” illegally harassing “shitbags”, we were all in it together. I knew cops that pulled women over to flirt with them. I knew cops who would pepper spray sleeping bags so that homeless people would have to throw them away. I knew cops that intentionally provoked anger in suspects so they could claim they were assaulted. I was particularly good at winding people up verbally until they lashed out so I could fight them. Nobody spoke out. Nobody stood up. Nobody betrayed the code.

None of us protected the people (you) from bad cops.

This is why “All cops are bastards.” Even your uncle, even your cousin, even your mom, even your brother, even your best friend, even your spouse, even me. Because even if they wouldn’t Do The Thing themselves, they will almost never rat out another officer who Does The Thing, much less stop it from happening.

BASTARD 101

I could write an entire book of the awful things I’ve done, seen done, and heard others bragging about doing. But, to me, the bigger question is “How did it get this way?”. While I was a police officer in a city 30 miles from where I lived, many of my fellow officers were from the community and treated their neighbors just as badly as I did. While every cop’s individual biases come into play, it’s the profession itself that is toxic, and it starts from day 1 of training.

Every police academy is different but all of them share certain features: taught by old cops, run like a paramilitary bootcamp, strong emphasis on protecting yourself more than anyone else. The majority of my time in the academy was spent doing aggressive physical training and watching video after video after video of police officers being murdered on duty.

I want to highlight this: nearly everyone coming into law enforcement is bombarded with dash cam footage of police officers being ambushed and killed. Over and over and over. Colorless VHS mortality plays, cops screaming for help over their radios, their bodies going limp as a pair of tail lights speed away into a grainy black horizon. In my case, with commentary from an old racist cop who used to brag about assaulting Black Panthers.

To understand why all cops are bastards, you need to understand one of the things almost every training officer told me when it came to using force:

“I’d rather be judged by 12 than carried by 6.”

Meaning, “I’ll take my chances in court rather than risk getting hurt”. We’re able to think that way because police unions are extremely overpowered and because of the generous concept of Qualified Immunity, a legal theory which says a cop generally can’t be held personally liable for mistakes they make doing their job in an official capacity.

When you look at the actions of the officers who killed George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, David McAtee, Mike Brown, Tamir Rice, Philando Castile, Eric Garner, or Freddie Gray, remember that they, like me, were trained to recite “I’d rather be judged by 12” as a mantra. Even if Mistakes Were Made™, the city (meaning the taxpayers, meaning you) pays the settlement, not the officer.

Once police training has - through repetition, indoctrination, and violent spectacle - promised officers that everyone in the world is out to kill them, the next lesson is that your partners are the only people protecting you. Occasionally, this is even true: I’ve had encounters turn on me rapidly to the point I legitimately thought I was going to die, only to have other officers come and turn the tables.

One of the most important thought leaders in law enforcement is Col. Dave Grossman, a “killologist” who wrote an essay called “Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs”. Cops are the sheepdogs, bad guys are the wolves, and the citizens are the sheep (!). Col. Grossman makes sure to mention that to a stupid sheep, sheepdogs look more like wolves than sheep, and that’s why they dislike you.

This “they hate you for protecting them and only I love you, only I can protect you” tactic is familiar to students of abuse. It’s what abusers do to coerce their victims into isolation, pulling them away from friends and family and ensnaring them in the abuser’s toxic web. Law enforcement does this too, pitting the officer against civilians. “They don’t understand what you do, they don’t respect your sacrifice, they just want to get away with crimes. You’re only safe with us.”

I think the Wolves vs. Sheepdogs dynamic is one of the most important elements as to why officers behave the way they do. Every single second of my training, I was told that criminals were not a legitimate part of their community, that they were individual bad actors, and that their bad actions were solely the result of their inherent criminality. Any concept of systemic trauma, generational poverty, or white supremacist oppression was either never mentioned or simply dismissed. After all, most people don’t steal, so anyone who does isn’t “most people,” right? To us, anyone committing a crime deserved anything that happened to them because they broke the “social contract.” And yet, it was never even a question as to whether the power structure above them was honoring any sort of contract back.

Understand: Police officers are part of the state monopoly on violence and all police training reinforces this monopoly as a cornerstone of police work, a source of honor and pride. Many cops fantasize about getting to kill someone in the line of duty, egged on by others that have. One of my training officers told me about the time he shot and killed a mentally ill homeless man wielding a big stick. He bragged that he “slept like a baby” that night. Official training teaches you how to be violent effectively and when you’re legally allowed to deploy that violence, but “unofficial training” teaches you to desire violence, to expand the breadth of your violence without getting caught, and to erode your own compassion for desperate people so you can justify punitive violence against them.

HOW TO BE A BASTARD

I have participated in some of these activities personally, others are ones I either witnessed personally or heard officers brag about openly. Very, very occasionally, I knew an officer who was disciplined or fired for one of these things.

Police officers will lie about the law, about what’s illegal, or about what they can legally do to you in order to manipulate you into doing what they want.

Police officers will lie about feeling afraid for their life to justify a use of force after the fact.

Police officers will lie and tell you they’ll file a police report just to get you off their back.

Police officers will lie that your cooperation will “look good for you” in court, or that they will “put in a good word for you with the DA.” The police will never help you look good in court.

Police officers will lie about what they see and hear to access private property to conduct unlawful searches.

Police officers will lie and say your friend already ratted you out, so you might as well rat them back out. This is almost never true.

Police officers will lie and say you’re not in trouble in order to get you to exit a location or otherwise make an arrest more convenient for them.

Police officers will lie and say that they won’t arrest you if you’ll just “be honest with them” so they know what really happened.

Police officers will lie about their ability to seize the property of friends and family members to coerce a confession.

Police officers will write obviously bullshit tickets so that they get time-and-a-half overtime fighting them in court.

Police officers will search places and containers you didn’t consent to and later claim they were open or “smelled like marijuana”.

Police officers will threaten you with a more serious crime they can’t prove in order to convince you to confess to the lesser crime they really want you for.

Police officers will employ zero tolerance on races and ethnicities they dislike and show favor and lenience to members of their own group.

Police officers will use intentionally extra-painful maneuvers and holds during an arrest to provoke “resistance” so they can further assault the suspect.

Some police officers will plant drugs and weapons on you, sometimes to teach you a lesson, sometimes if they kill you somewhere away from public view.

Some police officers will assault you to intimidate you and threaten to arrest you if you tell anyone.

A non-trivial number of police officers will steal from your house or vehicle during a search.

A non-trivial number of police officers commit intimate partner violence and use their status to get away with it.

A non-trivial number of police officers use their position to entice, coerce, or force sexual favors from vulnerable people.

If you take nothing else away from this essay, I want you to tattoo this onto your brain forever: if a police officer is telling you something, it is probably a lie designed to gain your compliance.

Do not talk to cops and never, ever believe them. Do not “try to be helpful” with cops. Do not assume they are trying to catch someone else instead of you. Do not assume what they are doing is “important” or even legal. Under no circumstances assume any police officer is acting in good faith.

Also, and this is important, do not talk to cops.

I just remembered something, do not talk to cops.

Checking my notes real quick, something jumped out at me:

not

fucking

talk

cops.

Ever.

Say, “I don’t answer questions,” and ask if you’re free to leave; if so, leave. If not, tell them you want your lawyer and that, per the Supreme Court, they must terminate questioning. If they don’t, file a complaint and collect some badges for your mantle.

DO THE BASTARDS EVER HELP?

Reading the above, you may be tempted to ask whether cops ever do anything good. And the answer is, sure, sometimes. In fact, most officers I worked with thought they were usually helping the helpless and protecting the safety of innocent people.

During my tenure in law enforcement, I protected women from domestic abusers, arrested cold-blooded murderers and child molesters, and comforted families who lost children to car accidents and other tragedies. I helped connect struggling people in my community with local resources for food, shelter, and counseling. I deescalated situations that could have turned violent and talked a lot of people down from making the biggest mistake of their lives. I worked with plenty of officers who were individually kind, bought food for homeless residents, or otherwise showed care for their community.

The question is this: did I need a gun and sweeping police powers to help the average person on the average night? The answer is no. When I was doing my best work as a cop, I was doing mediocre work as a therapist or a social worker. My good deeds were listening to people failed by the system and trying to unite them with any crumbs of resources the structure was currently denying them.

It’s also important to note that well over 90% of the calls for service I handled were reactive, showing up well after a crime had taken place. We would arrive, take a statement, collect evidence (if any), file the report, and onto the next caper. Most “active” crimes we stopped were someone harmless possessing or selling a small amount of drugs. Very, very rarely would we stop something dangerous in progress or stop something from happening entirely. The closest we could usually get was seeing someone running away from the scene of a crime, but the damage was still done.

And consider this: my job as a police officer required me to be a marriage counselor, a mental health crisis professional, a conflict negotiator, a social worker, a child advocate, a traffic safety expert, a sexual assault specialist, and, every once in awhile, a public safety officer authorized to use force, all after only a 1000 hours of training at a police academy. Does the person we send to catch a robber also need to be the person we send to interview a rape victim or document a fender bender? Should one profession be expected to do all that important community care (with very little training) all at the same time?

To put this another way: I made double the salary most social workers made to do a fraction of what they could do to mitigate the causes of crimes and desperation. I can count very few times my monopoly on state violence actually made our citizens safer, and even then, it’s hard to say better-funded social safety nets and dozens of other community care specialists wouldn’t have prevented a problem before it started.

Armed, indoctrinated (and dare I say, traumatized) cops do not make you safer; community mutual aid networks who can unite other people with the resources they need to stay fed, clothed, and housed make you safer. I really want to hammer this home: every cop in your neighborhood is damaged by their training, emboldened by their immunity, and they have a gun and the ability to take your life with near-impunity. This does not make you safer, even if you’re white.

HOW DO YOU SOLVE A PROBLEM LIKE A BASTARD?

So what do we do about it? Even though I’m an expert on bastardism, I am not a public policy expert nor an expert in organizing a post-police society. So, before I give some suggestions, let me tell you what probably won’t solve the problem of bastard cops:

Increased “bias” training. A quarterly or even monthly training session is not capable of covering over years of trauma-based camaraderie in police forces. I can tell you from experience, we don’t take it seriously, the proctors let us cheat on whatever “tests” there are, and we all made fun of it later over coffee.

Tougher laws. I hope you understand by now, cops do not follow the law and will not hold each other accountable to the law. Tougher laws are all the more reason to circle the wagons and protect your brothers and sisters.

More community policing programs. Yes, there is a marginal effect when a few cops get to know members of the community, but look at the protests of 2020: many of the cops pepper-spraying journalists were probably the nice school cop a month ago.

Police officers do not protect and serve people, they protect and serve the status quo, “polite society”, and private property. Using the incremental mechanisms of the status quo will never reform the police because the status quo relies on police violence to exist. Capitalism requires a permanent underclass to exploit for cheap labor and it requires the cops to bring that underclass to heel.

Instead of wasting time with minor tweaks, I recommend exploring the following ideas:

No more qualified immunity. Police officers should be personally liable for all decisions they make in the line of duty.

No more civil asset forfeiture. Did you know that every year, citizens like you lose more cash and property to unaccountable civil asset forfeiture than to all burglaries combined? The police can steal your stuff without charging you with a crime and it makes some police departments very rich.

Break the power of police unions. Police unions make it nearly impossible to fire bad cops and incentivize protecting them to protect the power of the union. A police union is not a labor union; police officers are powerful state agents, not exploited workers.

Require malpractice insurance. Doctors must pay for insurance in case they botch a surgery, police officers should do the same for botching a police raid or other use of force. If human decency won’t motivate police to respect human life, perhaps hitting their wallet might.

Defund, demilitarize, and disarm cops. Thousands of police departments own assault rifles, armored personnel carriers, and stuff you’d see in a warzone. Police officers have grants and huge budgets to spend on guns, ammo, body armor, and combat training. 99% of calls for service require no armed response, yet when all you have is a gun, every problem feels like target practice. Cities are not safer when unaccountable bullies have a monopoly on state violence and the equipment to execute that monopoly.

One final idea: consider abolishing the police.

I know what you’re thinking, “What? We need the police! They protect us!” As someone who did it for nearly a decade, I need you to understand that by and large, police protection is marginal, incidental. It’s an illusion created by decades of copaganda designed to fool you into thinking these brave men and women are holding back the barbarians at the gates.

I alluded to this above: the vast majority of calls for service I handled were theft reports, burglary reports, domestic arguments that hadn’t escalated into violence, loud parties, (houseless) people loitering, traffic collisions, very minor drug possession, and arguments between neighbors. Mostly the mundane ups and downs of life in the community, with little inherent danger. And, like I mentioned, the vast majority of crimes I responded to (even violent ones) had already happened; my unaccountable license to kill was irrelevant.

What I mainly provided was an “objective” third party with the authority to document property damage, ask people to chill out or disperse, or counsel people not to beat each other up. A trained counselor or conflict resolution specialist would be ten times more effective than someone with a gun strapped to his hip wondering if anyone would try to kill him when he showed up. There are many models for community safety that can be explored if we get away from the idea that the only way to be safe is to have a man with a M4 rifle prowling your neighborhood ready at a moment’s notice to write down your name and birthday after you’ve been robbed and beaten.

You might be asking, “What about the armed robbers, the gangsters, the drug dealers, the serial killers?” And yes, in the city I worked, I regularly broke up gang parties, found gang members carrying guns, and handled homicides. I’ve seen some tragic things, from a reformed gangster shot in the head with his brains oozing out to a fifteen year old boy taking his last breath in his screaming mother’s arms thanks to a gang member’s bullet. I know the wages of violence.

This is where we have to have the courage to ask: why do people rob? Why do they join gangs? Why do they get addicted to drugs or sell them? It’s not because they are inherently evil. I submit to you that these are the results of living in a capitalist system that grinds people down and denies them housing, medical care, human dignity, and a say in their government. These are the results of white supremacy pushing people to the margins, excluding them, disrespecting them, and treating their bodies as disposable.

Equally important to remember: disabled and mentally ill people are frequently killed by police officers not trained to recognize and react to disabilities or mental health crises. Some of the people we picture as “violent offenders” are often people struggling with untreated mental illness, often due to economic hardships. Very frequently, the officers sent to “protect the community” escalate this crisis and ultimately wound or kill the person. Your community was not made safer by police violence; a sick member of your community was killed because it was cheaper than treating them. Are you extremely confident you’ll never get sick one day too?

Wrestle with this for a minute: if all of someone’s material needs were met and all the members of their community were fed, clothed, housed, and dignified, why would they need to join a gang? Why would they need to risk their lives selling drugs or breaking into buildings? If mental healthcare was free and was not stigmatized, how many lives would that save?

Would there still be a few bad actors in the world? Sure, probably. What’s my solution for them, you’re no doubt asking. I’ll tell you what: generational poverty, food insecurity, houselessness, and for-profit medical care are all problems that can be solved in our lifetimes by rejecting the dehumanizing meat grinder of capitalism and white supremacy. Once that’s done, we can work on the edge cases together, with clearer hearts not clouded by a corrupt system.

Police abolition is closely related to the idea of prison abolition and the entire concept of banishing the carceral state, meaning, creating a society focused on reconciliation and restorative justice instead of punishment, pain, and suffering — a system that sees people in crisis as humans, not monsters. People who want to abolish the police typically also want to abolish prisons, and the same questions get asked: “What about the bad guys? Where do we put them?” I bring this up because abolitionists don’t want to simply replace cops with armed social workers or prisons with casual detention centers full of puffy leather couches and Playstations. We imagine a world not divided into good guys and bad guys, but rather a world where people’s needs are met and those in crisis receive care, not dehumanization.

Here’s legendary activist and thinker Angela Y. Davis putting it better than I ever could:

“An abolitionist approach that seeks to answer questions such as these would require us to imagine a constellation of alternative strategies and institutions, with the ultimate aim of removing the prison from the social and ideological landscapes of our society. In other words, we would not be looking for prisonlike substitutes for the prison, such as house arrest safeguarded by electronic surveillance bracelets. Rather, positing decarceration as our overarching strategy, we would try to envision a continuum of alternatives to imprisonment-demilitarization of schools, revitalization of education at all levels, a health system that provides free physical and mental care to all, and a justice system based on reparation and reconciliation rather than retribution and vengeance.”

(Are Prisons Obsolete, pg. 107)

I’m not telling you I have the blueprint for a beautiful new world. What I’m telling you is that the system we have right now is broken beyond repair and that it’s time to consider new ways of doing community together. Those new ways need to be negotiated by members of those communities, particularly Black, indigenous, disabled, houseless, and citizens of color historically shoved into the margins of society. Instead of letting Fox News fill your head with nightmares about Hispanic gangs, ask the Hispanic community what they need to thrive. Instead of letting racist politicians scaremonger about pro-Black demonstrators, ask the Black community what they need to meet the needs of the most vulnerable. If you truly desire safety, ask not what your most vulnerable can do for the community, ask what the community can do for the most vulnerable.

A WORLD WITH FEWER BASTARDS IS POSSIBLE

If you take only one thing away from this essay, I hope it’s this: do not talk to cops. But if you only take two things away, I hope the second one is that it’s possible to imagine a different world where unarmed black people, indigenous people, poor people, disabled people, and people of color are not routinely gunned down by unaccountable police officers. It doesn’t have to be this way. Yes, this requires a leap of faith into community models that might feel unfamiliar, but I ask you:

When you see a man dying in the street begging for breath, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a mother or a daughter shot to death sleeping in their beds, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a twelve year old boy executed in a public park for the crime of playing with a toy, jesus fucking christ, can you really just stand there and think “This is normal”?

And to any cops who made it this far down, is this really the world you want to live in? Aren’t you tired of the trauma? Aren’t you tired of the soul sickness inherent to the badge? Aren’t you tired of looking the other way when your partners break the law? Are you really willing to kill the next George Floyd, the next Breonna Taylor, the next Tamir Rice? How confident are you that your next use of force will be something you’re proud of? I’m writing this for you too: it’s wrong what our training did to us, it’s wrong that they hardened our hearts to our communities, and it’s wrong to pretend this is normal.

Look, I wouldn’t have been able to hear any of this for much of my life. You reading this now may not be able to hear this yet either. But do me this one favor: just think about it. Just turn it over in your mind for a couple minutes. “Yes, And” me for a minute. Look around you and think about the kind of world you want to live in. Is it one where an all-powerful stranger with a gun keeps you and your neighbors in line with the fear of death, or can you picture a world where, as a community, we embrace our most vulnerable, meet their needs, heal their wounds, honor their dignity, and make them family instead of desperate outsiders?

If you take only three things away from this essay, I hope the third is this: you and your community don’t need bastards to thrive.

RESOURCES TO YES-AND WITH

Achele Mbembe — Necropolitics

Angela Y. Davis — Are Prisons Obsolete?

CriticalResistance.org — Abolition Toolkit

Joe Macaré, Maya Schenwar, and Alana Yu-lan Price — Who Do You Serve, Who Do You Protect?

Ruth Wilson Gilmore — COVID-19, Decarceration, Abolition [video]

#acab

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pastpatientlywaitingforimagines · 3 years

Text

Wormhole | Spencer Reid x Reader Platonic

WC: 10k

A/N: This is a comfort fic disguised as a CM episode. Also, I had a lot of fun writing this.

WARNINGS: Kidnapping, murder, general CM things, hospitals, mentions of blood, psychopaths

You weren’t normally nervous to talk to Agent Aaron Hotchner. Sure, he was your boss, but he had also been leading the BAU for so long that you always trusted his reactions and motives. Still, the reason you had asked him to meet was so far out of left field that you were nervous he would tell you you were insane.

You were the first one in the office for the morning, perching on your desk in the empty bullpen while you waited for Hotch to arrive. You stood up when he entered the office, but waited to move until he made it to his office door and beckoned you to follow him inside.

“Good morning, (y/n).”

“Morning, Hotch,” you stood awkwardly in front of his desk, clutching the file in your hands.

“Please, sit. Is everything ok?” As soon as you made eye contact with him, your nerves settled. Everything about his behavior showed that he was genuinely concerned for you and interested in what you had to say. You took a deep breath, sliding the file onto his desk.

“I was looking into this cold case from the eighties, in Illinois. Mia-Rose Horn, 16, found murdered under a bridge. I have a theory, and I was hoping I could take a couple of days to go check it out.” You bit your lip while he picked up the file, thumbing through it.

“What’s your theory?”

“The only suspects considered were older transients in the area because the town was so biased against migrant workers. My preliminary research shows that the unsub profiles as younger, someone who knew the victim and her family personally. It feels like there’s a piece of the puzzle missing, and I think victimology can really help this case. I’d like to visit the dumpsite and walk the crime scene. I’d also like to go through the evidence to see if I can narrow it down a little more, and possibly do updated DNA analysis. I’ve already contacted the lead detective, he said it would be fine if I went out there.”

Hotch was quiet for a minute, reading the case information from the file. The longer you sat in silence, the more you feared he would say no. Finally, he closed the file and handed it back to you, “the FBI wasn’t invited in on this case when it was active, how did you find it?”

You blushed, hard. “I was watching a cold case documentary and when they talked about this one it just didn’t feel right, so I asked Garcia to pull the file. Once I looked it over more I realized my hunch was correct. They barely built a profile and the one they did make was wrong.”

“Do you work on cold cases often?”

“I’ve only worked on it when we don’t have an active case and I’m caught up on my paperwork, it makes me feel like I’m still making a difference when things are slow here.”

Hotch nodded, “you’re a good agent, (y/n). I trust that you’ll represent the BAU well. I can’t let you take the jet but you’re welcome to an SUV. However, as soon as we get an active case it takes priority. Do you understand?”

You stood up quickly, excitedly gripping at the file, “Yes sir, of course. Thank you so much. I promise I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t think I could do something. I won’t let you down, sir.” Hotch smiled softly at your energy. You had reached for the door handle before he spoke again, calling after you.

“(y/n),” you turned, hand still on the doorknob, “take Reid with you, I assume he knows the details of this case, too?” You nodded quickly, practically bouncing back to your desk with excitement. You checked the clock, Spencer would probably arrive in the next ten minutes or so, giving you time to arrange everything you’d need for the trip.

As soon as he stepped out of the elevator, you were waiting for him, go bag in hand.

“Hotch said you could go?”

“Not only that, he said you could come with me,” you smirked, falling in step next to him as he walked to his desk.

“Really?”

“We’re leaving now, so get your go bag.” You did a little happy dance as he started to gather his things.

“Ooh! Where are you going?” Penelope joined you at Spencer’s desk, hot cup of coffee in her hands.

“(y/n) is solving a cold case, we’re going out to Illinois to get more information.”

“The one I pulled for you? You actually solved it? Is there anything you can’t do?” Penelope asked in disbelief. Just last week she had explained to you why she was convinced you were a superhero.

You laughed brightly, “I don’t know if I can solve it yet, that’s why I need to go check it out for myself. Yes, I’ll call you if I need anything,” you answered when she opened her mouth to speak again. She hugged both you and Spencer before you left, making you promise you’d call her with updates and letting you know she’d call the detective to let him know you were on your way.

In true Spencer fashion, he had brought enough audiobooks to last the whole drive. You didn’t mind, your brain was more focused on driving. You didn’t talk about the case until you were nearing the end of the twelve hour road trip. Spencer was the one to bring it up, turning down the volume knob on the console.

“How are you feeling about this?”

“To be honest, Spence, I haven’t really been listening.”

“I meant about the case,” he chuckled.

“I’m trying not to get my hopes up. It’s been a cold case for over three decades for a reason, you know?”

“We wouldn’t be in Illinois right now if you weren’t on to something. Instincts exist for a reason, and your instincts are usually right.”

You fiddled with the air conditioning vents absentmindedly, “I don’t want to dredge up old wounds for the family and the town unless I’m absolutely certain I can bring some closure to them as well. The detective is the only person who knows we’re coming. I don’t want to start interviewing witnesses until I know I can do something to help.”

Spencer nodded, “I’ll follow your lead, you just tell me what you need.”

You spent the rest of the time discussing the details of the case, Spencer looking over the file again while you navigated to the police office. Having Spencer with you made you feel a lot better. You knew the case front to back, but this was your first time leading an investigation and you didn’t want to accidentally miss something in the file out of nervousness. Spencer’s eidetic memory and genius brain would keep you on track and ask you questions you knew would only help you in the grand scheme of things. Spencer was also your best friend, your biggest supporter. Any considerations he had would always come from a place of love and mutual respect.

When you arrived at the police station it was late in the evening, but the detective was waiting for you. He was an older man, tall and mostly bald.

“Hi, you must be Agent (y/l/n). Nice to finally meet you in person.”

“Detective Reeves, nice to finally meet you, too. This is my partner, Doctor Reid.” Spencer brought a hand up to wave. “Thanks for letting us take a look at this.”

“Thanks for making the drive out here. This case…” he sighed, “Mia-Rose went missing two months after I started this job and I’ve been hunting her killer ever since. It’s been thirty two years, a fresh pair of eyes will do this case good. It’ll do the whole town good if you can see somethin’ I haven’t.”

“We’ll see what we can do,” you said, not wanting to promise any results to him. “Is there a room we can set up in?”

“I’ve brought all of the evidence to our conference room. Use it for as long as you need.”

“Thanks,” you took off to the door that he had pointed at, Spencer on your heels. He shut the door behind you, dropping his bag on a chair while you picked up examination gloves.

The next few hours were spent meticulously going over the evidence that had been collected. You occasionally made comments to Spencer about where the item had come from and any notes that had already been documented about it.

The clock had just passed midnight when you were ready to move on to the next part of your investigation. You wanted to walk the dumpsite, but it would be useless to go while it was still dark. Instead, you retreated to a small motel at Spencer’s insistence that you needed sleep.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to shut my brain off enough to actually sleep,” you confessed once you were wearing sweatpants and leaning up against the headboard of the bed.

Spencer wandered out of the bathroom, giving you the softest look as he sat down next to you.

“What are you thinking about the most?”

“The evidence told me exactly what I thought it would, but I can’t build a decent mental picture of what happened until I see the dump site. What if I get there and it still doesn’t make sense? What if I’m in too deep on this one, Spence?”

“This case has been cold for thirty years, it can wait one more night. You are an incredible FBI agent. You’re an incredible human, at that. I know you can handle this, and Hotch knows you can handle this, too. If you aren’t able to solve it, you’re not letting anyone down. It’s been a cold case for a reason, I’m sure you’ll solve the next one.”

“Logically I know you’re right, but that isn’t making sleep happen any easier,” you sighed, sinking down onto a pillow. You could tell from Spencer’s expression that he had an idea when he reached up, turning off the lamp beside him and laying down next to you in the dark.

“This is called Image Distraction, all you have to do is close your eyes, try to relax, and listen to my voice.”

“Are you hypnotizing me?” you giggled into the darkness, feeling like a small kid at a sleepover with their best friend.

“No, it’s just a strategy to help you fall asleep. I’m going to describe a scene to you and the idea is that it takes up enough space in your brain to prevent you from re-engaging with other thoughts. Hypnosis doesn’t actually put you to sleep, just in a trance that seems like you’re sleeping. It’s been proven to help change habits and thoughts around sleeping though. There was a study done in 2010-”

“Is that what I’m supposed to be picturing? I’m seeing dudes in lab coats and creepy hospital walls.”

You felt the mattress shake next to you as Spencer laughed.

“No, that wasn’t it. I’m going to start now, picture a waterfall. As you walk closer it gets louder, pounding onto the rocks below it and spraying a mist into the air. The droplets of water stick to your face. You can see a rainbow that touches the pool at the base of the waterfall. The plants growing around the pool of water are greener than emeralds, bright and shining in the sun…”

That was the last thing you remembered him saying before succumbing to sleep. You had a very vivid dream while you were sleeping, not uncommon for someone in your field, but it wasn’t one you had had before.

There was a teenage girl walking in front of you down a long hallway. You instantly recognized her as Mia-Rose. She turned around every so often, beckoning you to come closer, but no matter how fast you tried to move your feet it was impossible for you to catch up. The hallway was familiar, you realized it was one in Quantico that you walked down every day to get to the elevator. It took longer than normal to reach the end, and just when you thought you could catch up to Mia-Rose, Hotch stepped out in front of you, holding Spencer with one arm and holding his gun to your best friend’s temple with the other.

“You have to choose, (y/n).”

“Choose what?”

“One of them has to die. Him or her?” he moved his gun to point the barrel at Mia-Rose.

“I don’t understand, why can’t I save them both?”

“One of them has to die.”

It only took you a moment to consider, “me. Shoot me. Let them live.”

“Brave choice,” Hotch’s gun came to point at you and his finger squeezed the trigger.

You woke up.

Soft morning light was coming in through the window and Spencer was already awake, quietly tying his tie while perched on the edge of the bed.

“Morning,” he grinned when he noticed you watching him.

“Morning,” you panted, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“You were dreaming.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Hotch made me choose between him shooting Mia-Rose or shooting you.”

“What did you choose?”

“I made him shoot me instead.”

You expected Spencer to launch into an analysis of your dream and what it meant, but instead he asked another question, changing the subject.

“Can we stop for coffee before we walk the dumpsite?” he pulled a blue cardigan out from his go bag and stuck his arms through the sleeves.

“Sure,” you said, stretching as you stood up. While you got ready, Spencer found the nearest place to get coffee, and you stopped there before continuing on to the bridge where Mia-Rose’s body had been found thirty years ago.

“I’m too used to walking active crime scenes,” you murmured when you pulled over to the empty dumpsite. Normally dumpsites like this were taped off with officers present, as well as some news reporters and civilian gawkers. You were sure that it had looked like that when the crime had first happened, but now it was just a bridge that nobody thought about.

When you stepped out of the SUV you noticed a small memorial for Mia-Rose nailed to a tree, wilted and weathered flowers around it. You stopped for a minute to look at it, then continued through the brush to the overpass.

Mia-Rose had fallen off of the bridge onto the ground beneath, where you were standing now. Her death was originally ruled a suicide, which had slowed the investigation until her parents insisted she wasn’t suicidal and had her autopsied, revealing ligature marks and evidence of assault. Just from reading the file, you knew that her parents were right. She didn’t profile as suicidal, and if she was she could have jumped from further down the bridge into the flowing river to your right, not onto the ground where she likely would have survived.

“Mia-Rose was found right here,” you pointed, “and her belongings…” you turned to your left, Spencer moving from behind you to stand where the girl’s school backpack and shoes had been found, a handful of yards away.

“They were found next to this rock.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” you said, facing him from where you stood, “the ME found traces of motor oil on her skin, so she must have been transported in a car. That means the unsub was driving on this road, stopped here by the bridge, then tossed her over the side. Why not just toss her stuff after her?” After thinking in silence for a minute, you started moving. “Stay where you are,” you instructed Spencer as you climbed the embankment. Once you reached the bridge, you stood on the edge so you could see both locations of dump sites.

“Spence,” you called to him, “how long is the average car?”

“Anywhere between 10 and 18 feet, depending on the size of the vehicle,” he answered quickly. You positioned yourself in line with where Mia-Rose’s body was found, then paced out roughly fifteen feet, landing you almost squarely in line with where Spencer was standing down the hill.

“What are you thinking?”

“This might sound kind of out there, but what if there was a partner?”

Spencer furrowed his eyebrows, trying to figure out how you had gotten there. He climbed up to where you were standing before asking you about it, “what makes you think that?”

“Eyewitness accounts said they saw Mia-Rose in a car with a man the night she went missing, and they were both sitting in the front of the car, but that’s about all anyone can agree on. What if there was a second unsub sitting in the back? If I’m the unsub getting Mia-Rose out of the front, you’re taking her stuff out of the trunk and tossing it over the side,” you acted out.

“Which means my DNA should be on her belongings,” Spencer concluded, finishing your thought, “I’ll call the lab and start getting things processed.”

“Good idea, I’m going to call Garcia and then we can head back to the station,” you said, pulling out your own phone as Spencer took a step away to make his call.

“Crimefighter! What have you’ve got?” Garcia answered her phone quickly.

“Hey Penelope, can you go through the list of Mia-Rose’s family members and get me some updated contact info?”

“Of course! Did you get a lead? I knew you could solve this,” she rambled. You could hear the clicking of her keyboard as she multitasked.

“Not quite, just a better understanding of the situation. I want to start interviewing family members to really nail down victimology and see if they know of anyone who fits my profile. Spencer’s calling the lab to get some evidence re-examined. When they send you results can you run them through CODIS?”

“Absolutely. Anything else?”

“That’s it for now, thanks Garcia.”

“Anytime, my love. I just sent the updated contacts to your tablet. Garcia out!”

Spencer was waiting for you in the SUV, once you finished your call with Garcia you drove back to the station. Detective Reeves assigned an officer to help you call the family members and invite them in for interviews.

“Mrs. Horn, thank you for coming in to talk with us,” you said gently to the elderly woman sitting across from you.

“Anything to help you find my little girl’s killer. Do you really think you can solve it?”

“We’re trying our best. Any information you can give us will make our job easier. Mia-Rose was walking home from school when she went missing, and was later seen getting into a blue car. Is there anyone she would have willingly accepted a ride home from?”

“No, she always walked, rain or shine so she could say hello to the neighbors on her way home. Except for Tuesdays, my brother Dylan would drive her home from band practice on Tuesdays because it was after dark.”

You exchanged a glance with Spencer, silently acknowledging that Mia-Rose was abducted on a Friday.

“Did she have any enemies? Anyone who would want to hurt her, bullies or friends she might have had a falling out with?”

“No, she was sweet to everyone. That’s why it was such a shock to the town when she was killed. There wasn’t a soul who hadn’t been touched by her kindness.” Mrs. Horn spoke so highly of her daughter, further validating your theory.

“Let’s take a break,” you said, noting the way she was tearing up, “excuse us.” You stepped out of the room with Spencer.

“We should talk to Dylan,” he said once you were out of earshot of Mrs. Horn.

“I agree. He was interrogated by police when Mia-Rose first went missing, but I don’t think he’s a suspect. His alibi was rock solid, but he might know something about what happened.”

You had the detective bring in Mrs. Horn’s brother, Dylan Godfrey. While he agreed to an interview, he was much less cooperative than Mrs. Horn.

“I told the police thirty years ago, I had nothing to do with it,” he drawled, “I was at home with my wife, God rest her soul. I didn’t even have my car to kidnap Mia if I wanted to.”

“Where was your car?” Spencer asked quickly.

“My boy had it, out with his friends. He had just gotten his driver’s license. You know how kids are, impossible to control.”

This was the first you were hearing of his son. Nowhere in the records from the original investigation did it say Dylan Godfrey had a son, let alone a son who’s whereabouts were unknown on the night of the crime.

“Mr. Godfrey, let me ask you this. How old was your son the year Mia-Rose was murdered?”

“Eighteen.”

“Do you know where he was that night?”

“Out, like I said. He didn’t come home until after two o’clock in the morning.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

“Last I knew he was working on a farm just out of town, the McGilroy’s place.”

As soon as Spencer had gotten the information out of him, you were firing off texts to Garcia. She sent you the address of the farm, and you called her once you were en route.

“You’re on speaker, Garcia. What have you found about this guy and why didn’t we know about him before?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question. He wasn’t included in any of the original witness statements. I’ve barely been able to find information about him online. I know he’s still alive because I don’t have a death certificate, but other than that no home address, no phone number, no nothing. Everything I know about him is from his childhood, before Mia-Rose went missing.”

“Something is better than nothing, what did you find?”

“Daniel Godfrey, born in 1965 to Mary and Dylan Godfrey. He was a decent kid from what I can tell. He got good grades in school, even got a scholarship to a college in Chicago but he turned it down at the last minute. I’ll hit you back if I figure out why.”

“Thanks Garcia,” you chirped before she hung up. You pulled up the long dirt drive of the McGilroy’s farm, putting the SUV in park and getting out. Spencer was by your side in an instant, you noticed the way his hand rested on his revolver.

“My goal is to get him in for a voluntary interview. If we can get him talking, we can figure out what happened that night and why his known locations on that night fit our timeline. Best case, we get a confession and the name of his partner, worst case, he had nothing to do with it and we’re back where we started.”

Spencer nodded, so you reached up to knock on the door. After a moment, a blonde woman opened the door.

You flashed your credentials, “hi, I’m SSA (y/l/n) with the FBI, we’re looking for Daniel Godfrey and we were told he might be here.”

“He’s out back in the barn,” she said, pointing down a gravel path.

“Thanks so much,” Spencer said as you stepped off the porch. You reached the barn and pushed open the large door, revealing a man inside. He was carrying a bucket of water that he poured into a trough for a horse before acknowledging you.

“What can I do ya for?”

“Are you Daniel Godfrey?” you asked.

“Depend’s who’s asking,” he chuffed, wiping his hands on his dirty coveralls. You held up your credentials.

“I’m Agent (y/l/n) and this is Doctor Reid. We’re with the FBI investigating the murder of your cousin, Mia-Rose Horn. We were hoping you’d come in to the station so we could get some more information about her.”

“What kinda information? Mia’s been dead a long time now.”

You had to play this carefully, one wrong word and he wouldn’t voluntarily interview with you, “your father told us you were out with friends the night she disappeared. We were hoping you could tell us what town was like that night and if you saw anything unusual.”

“You talked to my father? I can tell ya right now, it was quiet. Just like any other night in this town.”

“Great, that’s exactly the kind of information we’re looking for. Would you be able to come with us to the station so we can get that statement through the official channels? While we’re there I’d like to ask you a few more questions, if that’s ok.”

“Are ya saying I’m being arrested?”

“No, not at all. This is completely voluntary.”

Daniel fell silent, considering your offer. When he finally spoke again it was gruff and hostile, “will my old man still be there?”

You exchanged a glance with Spencer, hoping he had a better read on what answer would be your best choice. Spencer’s tongue flickered over his lips, then he cautioned a response, “he’s there right now, will that be a problem?”

Daniel looked dejected, scuffing his feet in the hay below his boots, “not unless he makes it a problem.”

“We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. Our car is out front, is there anything you need to do before we go?”

Daniel shook his head and quietly followed you and Spencer back to the SUV. He didn’t say much while you were driving back to the police station, and neither did you. You escorted Daniel inside the station, walking quickly past where his father was sitting, still talking to the officer Reeves had assigned to your case. Dylan stood up when he noticed his son, but Daniel just kept his head down and quickened his pace. You brought him to an interrogation room, a small space with just a table and a couple of chairs.

“You can wait here, we just have to go collect some materials and then we’ll be back, alright?”

“Whatever,” Daniel said, taking the seat closest to the door. You stepped out, shutting the door behind you.

“Did you see the way Dylan reacted when he saw Daniel?” you asked Spencer quietly. He nodded.

“Did you see the way Daniel reacted when he saw Dylan?”

“Do you think it’s relevant to this case? I don’t want to waste time asking about it if it’s just some squabble they had once. Hotch said I could only work this case until we got an active one back at Quantico, and you and I both know serial killers don’t take extended vacations.”

Spencer considered the situation, you could almost see the gears turning in his mind, “it might be a way we can get him comfortable talking to us, irrelevant or not. This is the best lead we have. Just like you said earlier, you have to get him talking.”

You trusted Spencer’s opinion, not just because he was your best friend, but because he had led his fair share of interrogations during his time in the FBI. He was really good at it, his accelerated mind picking up patterns of words and behaviors that you could only be envious of.

“What do you mean ‘I’ have to get him talking? I thought this was a team effort.”

“It is, but you have to lead this interrogation.”

You weren’t surprised at his statement, but you resented the fact that he was right. Your favorite part of your job was the quick thinking, the on-the-fly deductions you had to make in the field that helped you put all of the clues together. You liked helping people and actively putting bad guys away for the greater good of the country you served. You were good at your job, too, having spent so much time developing your skills with arguably some of the best agents in the Bureau. You couldn’t not be good at your job surrounded by minds like the ones at the BAU.

Like everyone though, there were some aspects of your career that you were better at than others. You usually excelled in the takedown and arrests of suspects and left the mind games to your colleagues that were much better equipped to handle them. Sure, you could talk a suspect into putting their weapon down instead of pointing it at you or a victim, but that was a heat of the moment interaction. Cool, collected interrogation rooms just weren’t your strong suit, and nothing during your time at the BAU so far had changed it.

“You really think I can do this?”

“Absolutely. You have the skills, knowledge, and rapport to conduct this interview,” Spencer showed no hesitation in his answer.

“Promise to let me know if I’m going down the wrong rabbit hole?”

Spencer smiled, “of course. Let’s go solve this case.” He handed you a sheet of paper, a form for Daniel to sign with his Miranda rights on it.

Once you were seated across from Daniel, you handed him the paper and read him his rights.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Daniel, what happened between you and your father?”

Daniel’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked back and forth between you and Spencer, “what kind of FBI agents are you?”

“We’re with the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia. We use psychology to solve crimes. I hope my question wasn’t intrusive, Doctor Reid and I both just noticed the way your behavior changed when you saw your father. He’s been helpful in our investigation and I don’t want any family conflicts to interfere if you’re going to help us too.”

“We had a disagreement.”

“Just a disagreement?” you pressed carefully.

“Just a disagreement.”

“Alright,” you said, deciding to leave it at that and move on. He was giving you too much resistance for the direction you had wanted to take the conversation, so you changed the subject. If his disagreement with his father was relevant to the case, you’d have to get that information out of him another way.

You started off by asking about Mia-Rose and gathering any information Daniel had about her. At first he was reluctant, just explaining that they saw each other during family gatherings and when his father would drive them both home from band practice.

“You went to the same high school then, if you were in band together?”

“Uh huh. It’s a small town, everyone goes to the same school.”

“Can you tell us about who Mia-Rose spent time with? Who were her friends?”

“Everyone was her friend. She was the friendliest kid in school.”

“Who were your friends?” Spencer asked, tilting his head. It wasn’t a question you had thought to ask, but as soon as he did you saw where he was going.

“Does it matter?”

“It does to me,” Spencer answered.

“Alec Krause, Markus Sparrow, Nicolas Rush,” Daniel listed.

“Where are they now?” you asked while Spencer pulled out his phone, presumably to text Garcia for a background check, “are you still in contact with them?”

“They all moved out of town for college. Haven’t seen or talked to ‘em since,” Daniel shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“You were supposed to go to college, in Chicago, right?” you prompted. Daniel’s eyes flickered between you and Spencer, probably wondering how much about him you knew.

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you go?”

“Got a job at the farm,” he shrugged.

“Daniel, I’m going to be real with you,” you squared up, “I’ve seen plenty of small towns in this job. I’ve talked to many people from small towns just like this one, and almost all of them in your position would have taken the out. They would have moved to the city as soon as they got the chance, so why didn’t you? Why did you choose to stay in this town?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Daniel was quick to correct you.

“You didn’t?” Now you were on to something.

“The disagreement I had with my father was about me leaving. He wouldn’t let me leave, so he got me the job at the farm.”

“Alright, let’s take a break,” you said, standing up and stepping out of the room. Spencer exchanged a few words with Daniel, then followed you out.

“That was big,” you panted, trying to shake out the jump of adrenaline that you were feeling.

“You’re doing great,” Spencer confirmed.

“When Dylan was talking about his son earlier, during his interview, it seemed like he didn’t have control over Daniel. What was it he said, ‘you know how kids are’? Something must have changed to make Daniel listen to his father telling him to stay, something that changed after Mia-Rose was murdered.”

Right before you were going to go back into the interrogation room, your phone rang. Hotch’s name lit up the screen.

“Hold on, Spence. (y/l/n),” you answered, praying that Hotch wasn’t going to tell you to abandon the case and get back to Quantico right when you were making strides.

“I’m just checking in to see how things are going.”

“We’re talking to a person of interest right now, it’s just very slow going. We think he had been working with a partner when the murder took place, but he’s not giving up names,” you explained, “please don’t tell me we have a case that we have to come back for, we just got a break that might open this case up for us.”

Hotch chuckled on the other end of the line, “no, we don’t have a case. Garcia told me you had a lead and I was curious.”

“Honestly, I don’t know how you were a prosecutor before joining the BAU. This is exhausting, and every time I say something I feel like he’s going to invoke.”

“You’re doing fine,” Spencer whispered reassuringly.

“Spencer says I’m doing fine,” you relayed to Hotch.

“I’m sure you are. Sometimes unsubs like this take time to crack,” he reminded you.

“It’s already been thirty years, I’d like to close it now,” you decided, squaring your shoulders. “I’m going to go back in there and wrap this up. I’ll call you back when we’re done.” You hung up with Hotch, then turned to Spencer. “Let’s do this.”

Daniel seemed to tense up when you walked back in, sitting down across the table from him once again.

“Thanks for being patient, Daniel. I’d like to know why your father wouldn’t let you leave town. From what he told us, he gave you a lot of freedom in high school. What happened?”

“We had a disagreement, like I said.”

“Right, we’ve covered that. It must have been hard going from being able to do whatever you wanted to working a farm job under your father’s thumb. I was hoping you could tell us exactly what kind of disagreement. Was it because Mia-Rose was murdered?” Daniel nodded, “ok, that’s a start. Was there a specific reason beyond Mia-Rose’s murder?”

Your tactic was deliberate, validating his feelings before pressing harder in hopes that he would give something up.

“He didn’t want me getting into more trouble.”

“More trouble? As in, you got into trouble here first?”

“Correct.”

“We don’t have any police records for you, Mr. Godfrey. Usually that’s the kind of ‘trouble’ that stops kids from going to college,” Spencer chimed in.

“The police don’t know I was there.”

“Where?” Your question was burning hot, and you watched Daniel squirm as he realized he had dug himself into a hole.

“I was in the car.”

“Which car?” you hoped he meant the car you thought he did, but you needed a true confession.

“My father’s car…” you chose not to say anything and instead let him sit in uncomfortable silence, “the night Mia was killed.”

“With her? Was Mia in the car with you?”

“Yes, she was.”

You had to maintain your composure, even though your insides were doing cartwheels out of excitement. This was exactly the kind of lead you were looking for, you couldn’t blow it now.

“Your father said you were out with friends, were any of the people you mentioned earlier with you? Alec, Markus, and Nicholas?”

“No, it wasn’t with them.”

“Who else was in the car then, Daniel? It wasn’t just you and Mia-Rose.”

“I don’t remember,” he started backpedaling, a clear sign that you were closing in.

“We’re going to step out and give you some time to think about it, see if you can try to remember,” Spencer interrupted before you could say anything, nodding towards the door when you made eye contact with him. You followed him out, turning to him abruptly once the door was shut behind you.

“I was getting somewhere with him.” You were fired up, to say the least. Now that you were in the comfortable privacy of Spencer’s company, you could let your emotions come forward.

“I know, I know,” Spencer smirked, “Garcia got a hit with Daniel’s friends, we should call and see what she has so we have more leverage when we go back in there.”

You took a deep breath, pulling out your phone and calling Garcia.

“Boy Wonder got my text!” she answered after the first ring.

“What did you find, Garcia? We’re really making strides here and anything you’ve got could really close this for us.”

“I ran the names of Daniel’s friends, like you asked. Almost all of them checked out, normal guys with normal lives.”

“Almost all of them?” you caught the specificity of her words.

“Right. One of them, Markus, he checks out too… but his brother, oh my his brother has done some stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Spencer asked, brows furrowed in thought.

“Kyle Sparrow. When he was 11 he attempted to rob a bank, and not just as a joke. When he was 14 he was suspended from school after locking students in storage closets. He’s been in and out of jail his whole adult life. He got out a year ago and hasn’t been back since.”

“That fits our profile. How old was he when Mia-Rose was killed?” Spencer followed up.

“That’s where things get weird, I was hoping you guys would have a good explanation because this really doesn’t make sense.”

“Garcia,” you called, refocusing her.

“Right. Kyle Sparrow was 10 years old when Mia-Rose was murdered.”

“What?” you whipped around to look at Spencer incredulously, hoping he would have some kind of information about child serial killers that would clarify the situation. Instead, he just frowned and shook his head. You had to decide if it was worth bringing up to Daniel and risk wasting precious time. You considered for a moment, then spoke. “Send us his address, we’re going to ask Daniel about him. If he seems like a viable lead then we’ll head out there. Thanks Garcia.”

“Done and done. You’ve got this, crimefighters!”

“Are you ready to go back in there?” Spencer asked when you reached for the interrogation room door handle.

“Do I have a choice? This case just took a turn that I wasn’t expecting.”

“It’s been four hours and thirty six minutes. We can take another minute to get coffee if you need a longer break,” he suggested.

“I’m too close to cracking this. I can feel it,” you confessed. Spencer nodded, acknowledging that your gut feelings were usually right. You opened the door, sitting back down across from Daniel. Spencer stood in the corner behind you, hands in his pockets.

“Did you remember who was in the car with you the night Mia-Rose was murdered?” Daniel shook his head. “Ok, that’s fine. I have some names that we’ve collected as people of interest for this case. I’m going to read them off and you tell me if one sounds familiar, ok?” Daniel nodded, so you opened your file and pulled out a blank piece of paper, holding it so Daniel couldn’t see the lack of information on your side.

“Emily Prentiss.”

He shook his head.

“Derek Morgan.”

Again, nothing.

“Penelope Garcia.”

Your list was intentional, listing people you were certain Daniel wouldn’t know so you could get a baseline for his behavior. It paid off when you listed the next name, “Kyle Sparrow.”

You could practically see Daniel tense up. Though he shook his head, his leg started bouncing nervously and his eyes were flickering frantically around the room, looking anywhere but at you and Spencer.

“Daniel,” you started, keeping your voice low, “remember when I told you Doctor Reid and I use psychology and behavior to solve crimes? You may not have noticed it, but your behavior shifted when you heard Kyle’s name. You know something about him, don’t you? Was he in the car with you that night?”

Daniel finally looked up at you, eyes watering, “I’m not a criminal.”

“I didn’t say you were. Was Kyle in the car with you the night Mia-Rose was murdered?”

“He was just a kid, my best friend’s little brother. We were out in my dad’s car, I had just gotten my license so I skipped class and took Markus and Alec for a spin around town. When I dropped them off back home Kyle said he was lookin’ to go across town to the library so I offered him a ride. I even made him sit in the back because he was still just a small kid. Then we saw Mia walking home. It always took her longer because she stopped to say hi to everyone she passed. Kyle suggested we offer her a ride too, so I did.

“It all happened so fast, first she was getting into the car and then Kyle had a knife at her throat. He told me he’d kill her if I didn’t do what he wanted. He made me drive out of town to the woods and watch as he tied her up and did horrible, horrible things to her. I didn’t even know a kid was capable of doing those things. When he was done with her he made me help put her back in the car and drive to the bridge. She wasn’t dead when he made me push her over the edge, that’s why I didn’t throw her in the river. I thought she’d survive it without Kyle knowing because he was too busy getting rid of her stuff in the trunk. He still made me drop him off at the library after, even though it was closed on account of it being real late at night, and swear that I’d never tell anyone what we did or he’d kill me too.”

“How did your father find out?” you asked.

“He found blood in the car the next morning. I told him it was from Markus, that he had gotten scratched up while we were messing around in the afternoon. He made me clean it out with bleach, told me I’d have to learn responsibility if I wanted to move out. When my auntie called him later and told him about Mia being missing, he connected the dots. He told me he didn’t want to know what I had been doing the night before, but if I tried to move away it would make me a suspect. He got me the job at the farm and I’ve been there ever since.”

“Thank you for your honesty, Daniel. We’ll tell the court how cooperative you’ve been, they might ease your sentence because of it.”

“The court? What?” Pure fear crossed Daniel’s face. It didn’t sit right with you that he had to be arrested, knowing he had been coerced into helping murder his cousin, but he had still committed a felony. You had to let the court decide his fate.

“Daniel Godfrey, you’re under arrest for accessory to the murder of Mia-Rose Horn,” Spencer moved behind Daniel, taking his hands to cuff them. As soon as he was done Daniel was passed off to an officer and you and Spencer took off, SUV keys in hand.

You sped towards the home address Garcia had sent you for Kyle Sparrow, wishing the rest of the team was there so you could split up in case he was at work. This part of your job was where you felt the most comfortable, the tactical side of an arrest that was more physical than the mind games you had just played in the interrogation room. It was just starting to rain, a light drizzle that darkened the skies as you drove to what you hoped was your final location for this case.

“Is there Kevlar in the back?” you asked, realizing you hadn’t gotten vests from the police station before you had left. Spencer turned around in his seat, checking around the vehicle.

“Nope.”

“Great,” you sighed, “let’s try not to get shot at then, alright?”

“Sounds good to me,” Spencer agreed.

You pulled up to Kyle’s house, which was more of a rundown shack on the outskirts of town. You drew your weapon as soon as your boots were on the ground, approaching the door cautiously.

“Where’s Morgan when you need him,” you mumbled, hoping you wouldn’t have to kick the door down, “Kyle Sparrow, FBI,” you announced, knocking on the door. A gunshot flew through the window next to you, shattering the glass. That was all the invitation you needed to bust open the door, but Kyle wasn’t in the room inside. You moved quickly through the maze of rooms, taking one side while Spencer took the other.

“Clear,” you called every time you ensured a room was empty. You heard Spencer clear a couple of spaces, then fall silent. You worked your way to the kitchen, finding him in a standoff with Kyle.

“I’m not going to jail again. You can’t make me,” Kyle seemed unreasonably calm, grinning slightly to himself while he pointed a pistol at Spencer.

“You’re wanted for the murder of Mia-Rose, Kyle. There’s no way to get out of this one,” you had to keep things simple for him and talk him down as quickly as possible before he shot at you again, “let’s just talk about it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not going to jail for a person I killed thirty years ago.”

“There’s no other option. We know it was you, this ends here.”

“If I have to go back, it has to be for something better. You’re right, this ends here, but not because I killed Mia-Rose Horn.”

“How does it end, Kyle?” Spencer asked. You noticed the glint in Kyle’s eye, giving you a split second to push Spencer out of the way and get hit with a searing pain in your side. You heard Spencer’s revolver fire as you hit the floor.

“Get him first,” you grunted, putting a hand on your side to try to stem the bleeding. Spencer crouched next to you, worried eyes looking you over before he pulled your handcuffs out of your pocket. Your ears were ringing, but you could just make out the sounds of Spencer talking before you blacked out.

You woke up in the hospital, an all too familiar experience. Spencer was beside you, nose in a book. You weren’t sure how much he was paying attention to it though, considering the way his brows were furrowed and his fingers were tapping against the cover. He was lost in thought somewhere, you just didn’t know where.

“Spence,” you managed to croak through your dry throat. His eyes shot up from the page, lips turning up in a small smile when his gaze met yours.

“Hi,” he practically whispered.

“Is Kyle dead?”

Spencer hesitated, no doubt weighing the value of telling you the outcome now or waiting until you were better rested. He chose the former, shaking his head.

“I did what you would have done and shot him in the hip. He’s not dead, and once he’s healed he’ll go to trial. You did it, (y/n). You solved the case.”

“We solved the case. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“You also wouldn’t have gotten shot.”

“So?” you shrugged, “I lived. Where’s Garcia? Usually she’s the first one at the hospital.”

Spencer’s smile returned, “she wanted to but a case came in right right after you went into surgery. She sends her love and said she’d make up for not being here when we get back to Quantico.”

“A case? We should get back to help,” though you were exhausted, you brain immediately went into profiling mode.

“No, you’re going to stay here and rest. You should be staying for longer than you’re going to, but I was able to convince your doctor that I was more than capable of making sure you got home safely.”

“I didn’t realize you were a rule-breaker,” you teased, feeling your eyelids droop.

“I’m not, I just thought you would want to go home as soon as possible. You’re not the kind of person who likes being away from their family, and we’ve already been gone three days. Staying here doing nothing, although it would be good for you, would just torment you more.”

“Thanks, Spence,” you murmured, falling back to sleep. You dozed on and off for the better part of the day, Spencer staying by your side the whole time. Towards the end of the afternoon, you woke up to his seat vacant. The immediate panic you felt was squashed by calculated thoughts, he’s probably getting food or in the bathroom. You fought to stay awake while you waited for him to come back. He surprised you by returning with someone behind him.

“Mrs. Horn wanted to talk to you, if you’re feeling up for it,” he said, resuming his position in the chair next to you. You nodded, watching the older woman enter the room from where she had been standing in the doorway.

“I wanted to thank you for finding my daughter’s killer, even though it put you in the line of danger.”

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” you reassured her, sitting up a little against your pillows.

“I wish her father could have been here to see it solved. He always told me not to lose faith, that a blessing would come our way. You were our blessing,” she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

“I was just doing my job, I’m sorry it took so long for someone to figure this out.”

Mrs. Horn tutted, telling you she was just glad that her daughter could rest in peace now. Before she left, she made sure to tell you that if you were ever in Illinois you and Spencer were welcome to come over for dinner, and that she hoped you got better quickly so you could go help other victims.

Once she was gone, your doctor came in to follow up with you. You had been shot in the side, the bullet passing through and exiting out of your back without hitting any major organs. Spencer did most of the talking for you, asking questions you couldn’t make sense of and checking over your chart for what was probably the hundredth time that day.

“You seem to be healing well and have a… knowledgable… support system, so I’m going to clear you for discharge. If anything changes you’ll need to go into the nearest hospital, ok?”

“Yes ma’am,” you answered. A nurse came in later with your discharge papers, which you signed before Spencer helped you in a wheelchair and out to where the SUV was parked.

“Are you sure you want to drive in this rain? I can-“ you winced in pain, hand flying to your side, “I can do it if you don’t feel comfortable.” Spencer stifled a laugh, reaching his hands out to give you something to brace yourself against as you moved from the wheelchair the SUV.

“I don’t mind driving,” he said simply.

“Yes you do,” you quipped quickly, exhaling as you settled into the passenger seat.

“Ok, yes. Under normal circumstances, I do mind driving, but I think I can make an exception when my favorite driver has been shot.”

“Don’t let Morgan hear you say that,” you smirked, still struggling to breathe in a way that would make your side hurt less.

“Are you warm enough?” Spencer fiddled with the heating knobs once he was settled behind the wheel. You nodded, but the shiver that ran down your body betrayed you.

“You’re the one driving. I want you to be comfortable,” you mumbled.

“You’re the one who just got shot. Here,” he reached behind him into the back where both of your go bags were stored. He unzipped his own and pulled out a cardigan, then leaned over the console to drape it across you. “The wool will help you retain heat.”

“Thanks,” you sighed, relishing in the comfort of his gesture.

“You didn’t have to take that bullet for me.”

“I did. I pulled you into this mess, I wasn’t going to let you get hurt because of it.”

“Hotch sent me with you so that you wouldn’t get yourself hurt,” he rebutted.

You brushed him off, “I’ve been shot before, I’m going to be fine.”

“I’ve also been shot before, you didn’t have to push me out of the way.”

You were quick to counter, “you didn’t have to push Blake out of the way either.”

It was an unnecessary squabble, a fact you both caught onto quickly once you realized the direction the conversation was going. Instead, Spencer changed the subject to explain the history of the small towns you were passing through on your way to the interstate.

Miraculously, once the car was comfortably cruising on the highway, Spencer fell silent. You suspected it had to do with his intense concentration on driving in the elements as the rain got harder, though he also could have been giving you the space to sleep if you needed to.

It wasn’t until you were over an hour into your journey that he spoke again, after a quick glance at you revealed fresh tear tracks down your cheeks under the passing street lights.

“(Y/n), are you crying?” His question was so soft you almost missed it, “is it the pain? You’re not due to take your meds for another three hours but I know you have ibuprofen in your bag that would be ok to take now. I can pull over-“ his hand was about to move back to the steering wheel from where it had come to rest on the console, but you reached out to grab it instead.

You and Spencer didn’t really ‘do’ physical contact. You both had reasons not to, instead finding comfort just in proximity. As long as he was around, you were happy. This time, though, it was different. Maybe it was because you were touch starved, or because you had just been poked and prodded at all angles while in the hospital. Whatever the reason, the light grip you had on Spencer’s hand to stop him from pulling over was enough to make you feel the tiniest bit better. He was there with you, he was real.

“It’s not the pain,” you managed to hold your composure, knowing that letting any kind of sob escape the confines of your soul would only physically hurt you more.

“Are you tired? I drank enough coffee to get us home by morning but if you really need to sleep we can find a hotel somewhere. There are three off the next exit.”

“Spencer,” you ran your thumb over the prominent vein in his hand, “it isn’t something you can fix.”

“What do you mean?” He was puzzled, and by the way his hands were twitching you could tell he was deciding whether or not to stop the car anyways.

“There are hundreds of thousands of cold cases. Hundreds of thousands of families that don’t have closure. Hundreds of thousands of victims that haven’t gotten justice.”

“There’s one less because of you. You made a difference to Mia-Rose’s family, you got her the justice she deserves.”

“She deserved justice thirty years ago. I feel like the system failed her, the very system I work for. She was just a kid, and the answer was right there the whole time. Why did I have to be the one to figure it out, thirty years too late?”

Spencer’s response was soft and gentle, “because you’re exceptional, (y/n).”

“I didn’t have to be exceptional to solve this case, though. That’s what I’ve learned from all of the cold case documentaries I’ve watched. The ones that get solved are because someone knew what happened and didn’t come forward about it until years later. There was a psychopathic kid on the streets for thirty years because the police didn’t think to talk to Daniel Godfrey.”

“We can’t change what happened in the past, but we can make a difference in our futures.”

“I’m just so tired, Spence. I chose this job, I love this job, but it’s exhausting.”

“Then rest, (y/n). It’s ok if the only person you save some days is yourself.”

He was right, of course. You wanted to keep saving others, but you couldn’t do that if you didn't make time to save yourself too. You finally closed your eyes and pulled his cardigan up to your chin. Though you were still conscious, limiting your sensory input helped calm you down enough that you found yourself flitting in and out of dissociation. Even when Spencer’s hand gently moved out from under yours to answer his phone, you kept your eyes closed.

“Hey JJ,” his voice was quiet, barely audible over the rain pounding against the windshield, “they’re doing ok.” He paused while he listened to JJ’s response. “No, they keep reminding me that it’s not the first time they’ve been shot. I’m worried about them though.” He trailed off.

“They’ve been shouldering this burden of over 185,000 cold cases since we started working on this one, and now that it’s solved they’re finally feeling the weight of it. I don’t want them to drive themselves crazy trying to solve all of them on their own. We deal with enough active cases as it is.”

Though you were barely in a state of mind to process his words, he had hit the nail right on the head.

“How is the case you’re working on?” You presumed JJ was filling him in on what they knew, “have Garcia look into large purchases of triacetone triperoxide… Call me if anything changes. We should be back by morning.”

“Yes,” his change in tone indicated that JJ had asked him a question, “that would be great, JJ. Thank you so much.”

He must have hung up with JJ because his hand found yours again, fingers just barely touching. It was a simple action, loaded with a lot of meaning. Spencer was your best friend, and would always be your best friend. Bullets, cold cases, marriages, there was nothing that could break the bond you had with him.

You didn’t understand why people called their significant others their “better half”. It insinuated that you weren’t a whole person to begin with, a fractured existence that only found completion by the means of someone else. The idea that your life couldn’t be fulfilling until someone else made it whole was a concept that was set up for failure and self-loathing.

Instead, you believed that you were a whole person who could live a fulfilling life without the necessity of another. Instead, you surrounded yourself with people who lifted you up and helped you achieve your goals without being the direct cause of your success. Instead, you followed your dreams and somehow found Spencer Reid along the way.

Spencer was your best friend, your confidant, the one person who you knew you couldn’t live without, but he was not your other half. He was his own whole person, a mirror image of your own being. You found solace in his companionship, safety in the complexities of his brain. When the stress of your job got to be too much, you could reliably turn to each other and exist in the little slice of the world you called yours for a moment.

No, he was not your other half. He wasn’t even yours, for that matter, but he was there. He was there in a capacity that nobody else could achieve.

This is part of my GALAXY universe! If you liked this relationship, check out the MASTERLIST for more content!

Galaxy Taglist: @kermitsaysgayrights @niallthedancingharry @shadyladyperfection @thatsonezesty13 @lexshead @ceeellewrites @howdycharlie @girlycakepops @fantastic-fans @canimarrypizzaornah @daisyflower138 @dyingrexx @taylormobley @bazzleslynn @tj-drinks-tea @willa-wonky @eddiesbifocals @tee-mbrown @reniescarlett @bone-hurty-bitch @messyacademia

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #platonic imagine #platonic soulmates

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waitimcomingtoo · 3 years

Text

In Case You Don’t Live Forever

~chapter eleven rewritten~

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!Reader

Synopsis: you are Peters greatest love and Spider-Man’s greatest enemy

Series Masterlist

In Case You Don’t Live Forever by Ben Platt

The next morning at 6 am, you got in a taxi and made your way to the airport. You packed up all your clothes the night before and told MJ to ship anything else to you. You figured if you waited until a few months, things between you and Peter would be settled and it wouldn’t be too awkward. Or sad. You mainly felt sad.

The sun was rising and your cab sat in stand still traffic. You wiped a few stray tears and looked out the window. You noticed a few people standing by the edge of the highway, taking pictures of the bridge. You couldn’t see because of the glare of the sun in your eyes. You figured it was a sky writer or something like that. But then you noticed people getting out of their cars to take pictures.

“What’s going on?” You asked the cab driver. He turned around. He was an older man with grey hair and thin, black tinted sunglasses. A kind smile poked out from under his mustache.

“There’s something written on the bridge.” He answered.

“Something on the bridge?” You asked.

“See for yourself. We’re not moving anytime soon.”

You got out of the car and squinted in the bridge. Your heart immediately stopped at what you saw. You walked towards the edge of the highway and leaned against the railing. Tears trickled down your eyes, happy ones this time. You blinked them away, not wanting anything to obstruct your view of the bridge.

There on the bridge in big webbed letters spelled out the undeniable phrase:

I LOVE YOU

Just as you were admiring it, Spider-Man swung down and swept you up in his arms. You heard applause and cheering as you two swung away. You held on tightly, as did Spider-Man. He landed on the top of one of the posts of the bridge and set you down, never taking his arms off of your waist. Likewise, you kept your arms around his neck and pressed your body close.

Peter quickly took off his mask and smiled at you. His eyes were puffy, surely from crying. But the loving look in his eyes remained.

“Did you get my message?” He asked excitedly.

“What message?” You played coy.

“On the bridge.” Peter said, not detecting your sarcasm.

“Oh, that was you? I couldn’t make it out. What did it say?” You asked. You knew exactly what it said.

“It said I love you.” Peter said proudly. “It was gonna say ‘I love you Y/n L/n please don’t move to San Francisco’ but I was on a time crunch and it’s very hard to write things on a bridge in webs. I practiced on the Brooklyn Bridge first and I accidentally wrote ‘I larb you.’ But that wasn’t what I wanted to say. What I wanted to say is, you’re wrong. You’re wrong about us being on different paths. We’re not on different paths, Y/n. Because you’re my path. I’ll give up Spider-Man. He means nothing to me if I don’t have you. I mean it. You and I are meant to be. If I know anything at all to be true, it’s that. I can’t imagine life without you. So if you go to San Francisco, I’m coming too. Hell, wherever you go, I’m coming too. They have crime in San Francisco, right? What I’m trying to say is, I love you, Y/n L/n. I am so in love with you. And nothing can keep me away.” Peter professed. You held him tighter and pressed your nose into his.

“I love you too, Peter Parker.” You whispered. “With all my heart.”

“Then will you stay with me? Or allow me to come with you?” Peter asked hopefully.

How could you say no? Every time you thought you could shut the door on Peter, he found a window.

“The world is rooting against us Peter.” You said. His face fell and his grip on your hips loosened. “But if it’s you and me against the world, then so be it.”

Peters smile lit up his entire face when you finished your sentence. He dipped you and kissed you passionately.

“I love you. I love you so much. I can never say it enough.” Peter said as he pressed kisses into your neck.

“I love you too.” You said back. You knew you should feel terrified given your fear of heights, but you couldn’t feel safer in Peters iron grip.

“Can we go home? I need to hold you for an entire day to make up for the time we were broken up.” Peter asked. You laughed.

“We were broken up for less than 8 hours.” You reminded him.

“8 hours of pure torture.” He fake gasped.

“Come on. Let’s get your stuff from the cab and go home. Did I mention you’re moving in? And that we’re getting married? Also what are we naming our children? Do you want it get a cat together?” Peter joked as he tightened his grip around your waist. A part of you hoped he wasn’t joking though. You wanted that with Peter. All of that. Even that cat.

“Does our apartment even allow cats?” You laughed.

“No.” He shook his head. “But if my baby wants one, we’ll get one. I want to start our lives now. I don’t want to miss another second apart from you. I’m serious. Never leave me again.” Peter said, tugging you into a tight hug. He nuzzled into your neck and pressed soft kisses there.

“I won’t. I won’t ever. I promise.”

Peter swung you back to the apartment after collecting your things from the cab. You spent the day in Peters bed just cuddling and talking about all the things you never could before.

“And then he told me you were going back to San Francisco to be with him.” Peter laughed as he told you about his encounter with Andy.

“I can’t believe he lied to you like that.” You shook your head. “He’s such an idiot.”

“He would’ve been a dead idiot if I had known he kissed you.” Peter joked.

“Hm. And I thought I was the only killer here.” You smirked as you pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“What are your powers?” Peter asked as he brushed your hair out of your face. You kissed his thumb lightly.

“Same as you. Super strength, super hearing, climbing walls. And I have acid spit and resistivity to bullets. But I don’t have your uh…Peter tingle.” You told him. Peter chuckled softly.

“It’s called my spidey sense.” Peter corrected.

“That’s really not much better than Peter tingle.” You teased.

“Shut up. What about your weaknesses?” Peter asked. You toyed with his fingers.

“Fire. And sound. We hate sound.” You said.

“All sounds?” Peter asked curiously.

“No. Not all sounds. Just loud ones. Car alarms, feedback, amps, things like that.” You answered.

“What happens to you when you encounter fire or sound?”

“What’s with all the questions? You’re not trying to take me down, are you?” You teased. Peter laughed and shook his head.

“No. I just want to know everything about you.”

“Well sound makes Venom separate from me. And fire kills.” You said, remembering that night on Carlton Drakes rocket when the fire killed him and Riot.

“Both of you die?” He asked nervously.

“Both of us. Venom and I keep each other alive. If we were separated, we’d both die.” You told Peter. Peter looked at the ceiling with a weird look on his face. His heart was beating extremely fast. You took it as him being scared of you dying.

“But don’t worry about that. Venom and I are never going to be separated. No one knows our weaknesses.” You assured Peter. You felt a little strange sharing all your weaknesses with your former enemy, but you knew Peter would never try to hurt you it use them against you.

“What about you? What are your weaknesses?” You asked.

“You.” Peter smiled. You smiled back before something shiny in his closet caught your eye.

“Is that a keyboard?” You asked as you sat up and went into his closet. Peter sat up as well and rubbed his eyes.

“Oh, yeah. I used to play when I was younger. My uncle taught me. Do you play?”

You retrieved the keyboard and sat on Peters bed, answered his question by playing a few notes. Peter scooted next to you and slipped an arm around your waist.

“Play me something.” Peter said softly. It wasn’t demanding, it was a sweet request.

“I haven’t in so long.” You muttered as you began to press down on a few random keys. The keyboard made strangled sounds at first until you slowly began playing a song you had fallen in love with.

“I, I’ve carried this song in my mind. Listen, it’s echoing in me. But I haven’t helped you to hear it.”

You sang softly as you got the hang of playing the keyboard again. Peter looked wonderstruck at you. He didn’t know you had such a lovely voice. He didn’t recognize the song but he wanted to hear you play forever.

“We, we’ve only got so much time. I’m pretty sure it would kill me if you didn’t know the pieces of me are pieces of you.”

You sang with a little more confidence as the song progressed. Your voice wasn’t great but it was everything and more to Peter. Peter began to pick up on the pattern you were playing and softly rested his hands on the keys on his side.

“I’ve waited way too long to say everything you mean to me.” you dragged out the last note before going all in on the keyboard.

“In case you don’t live forever, let me tell you now. I love you more than you’ll ever wrap your head around.” You looked into Peters eyes and he looked deeply into yours. He leaned in so that his lips ghosted yours, but never touched.

“In case you don’t live forever, let me tell you the truth. I’m everything that I am because of you.”

You felt tears of joy pricking at your eyes. Peter felt it too. The moment was pure bliss. It was just you and the boy you loved. Nothing could ruin it.

“I have a hero whenever I need one. I just look up to you and I see one. I’m a man ‘cause you taught me to be one.”

Peter liked the hero line. It made the song perfect, like it was written just for the two of you. He had begun to play along with you and you finished out the song together, never breaking eye contact.

“In case you don’t live forever, let me tell you the truth. As long as I’m here as I am, so are you.” You finished. You and Peter took your hands off the keyboard and immediately pulled the other into a kiss. The keyboard fell to the floor with a clang but you didn’t even hear it.

“I love you. More than anything this world has to offer.” Peter said against your lips. You smiled and kissed him again. He tasted like strawberry chapstick this time. It was yours. He must’ve swiped it from you one day. You didn’t mind.

“Did you steal my chapstick?” You giggled against his mouth.

“Yes. But you stole my heart. Fair trade.” He argued playfully. You laughed and kissed his cheeks.

“It’s okay. You can keep it. What’s mine is yours and what’s yours is ours.” You told him as you ran your fingers through his chestnut hair.

“That’s so cute.” Peter whined.

“I know. I stole it from the Little Rascals.” You admitted sheepishly. He hit you with his pillow before tackling you onto the bed.

You spent the remainder of the day just like that until you had to leave for your final interview with Cletus Kasady.

“Y/n! My favorite gal. Sit down. I have so much to tell you. I got something real good for your story.” Cletus said upon your entry into his cell. You’d been interviewing him for about three months now. It was almost July and you two met in April. You had come to trust him and no longer needed a security guard to stand in the room with you while you talked. You also graduated from talking through those glass windows with telephones on either side to being allowed into his cell. He was still handcuffed to his chair and kept in a cage, so you had no fear of him harming you. You’d actually come to like him in a way. Sure, he killed people, but so had you. He was still charismatic and made you laugh every now and then.

“Nice to see you Cletus. What do you have to tell me?” You asked as you took a seat. Your eyes wandered to the partial wall at the bottom of his cage. You had grown accustomed to his habit of writing on his cell walls with his own blood, but this particular message made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. In big bloody letters it read:

WELCOME VENOM

You swallowed despite your throat being bone dry. Cletus gave you his signature smirk.

“I got me a bug. Just like you.” He drawled. He smiled at your proudly. You felt yourself beginning to sweat.

“A bug?” You asked.

“Are you familiar with the concept of asexual reproduction?” Cletus questioned. You nodded.

“Yes. It’s what plants do. Why?” You asked back. Where was he going with this?

“Not just plants. Symbiotes too.” Cletus stated. Your body went cold with fear. You immediately felt uneasy with the way he was looking at you. He didn’t blink, and had his face frozen with that smirk.

“Y/n.” Venom said cautiously. She held your hand and gripped it tightly for comfort.

“I’m sorry?” You asked. Your voice came out barely above a whisper.

“Yup. And sometimes, they don’t even know when they asexually reproduce. It could happen anywhere. Even in a prison cell.” Cletus continued. You began to piece together the story. Cletus suddenly leaned forward, as far as he could go with his restraints and lowered his voice.

“You and I are no different. We’re both killers. But you get to roam the streets freely while we’re stuck in here, starving. Does that sound fair?” Cletus asked. His eyes weren’t his anymore. They were milky white and bulging. You scooted your chair back in fear.

“No.” You said. You didn’t want to anger him so you agreed with him.

“No. It’s not. That’s why we’re breaking out of here. And when we do, there’s gonna be Carnage.” Cletus smirked, his eyes back to normal now. You trembled slightly.

Cletus Kasady had a symbiote of his own. One that was stronger and deadly than yours. At least Venom bonded to a reporter with morals. Carnage bonded with a serial killer. They made for a lethal combination and you knew you couldn’t stop the havoc that was coming.

“We want you to join us, Y/n.” Cleatus drawled. “You and Venom. Imagine the power we could have. The city would be ours. We could do whatever we want.”

You felt sweat running down the sides of your face as you carefully thought out what you said next.

“Thank you for the offer, but we have to decline. We’re not like you. We only kill very bad people. Cletus, you killed 17 women just because they resembled the girl who broke your heart in high school. We don’t see things the same way.” You told him slowly. Cletus’s face fell.

“I thought you were my friend. I don’t have any friends in here. Nobody wants to be friends with a serial killer. The only person who was ever nice to me was you.” Cletus said sadly. You let out a shaky breath. You felt a little sorry for him, despite his lethal intentions.

“I know and I’m sorry. But Venom and I aren’t killers.” You said in your calmest tone.

“Yes, you are. Whether you like it or not, you will always have to kill to feed. You’ve been a good person your whole life, Y/n. What has it gotten you? You told me about your parents. Did being a good person keep them alive? And what about Andy? You exposed Carlton Drake because you’re a good person, and Andy still broke up with you. Why not throw your morals away and just be the monster you were meant to be?” Cletus persuaded. Your fear turned to sadness quickly and hot tears spilled down your cheeks.

“I am not a monster.” You said angrily. “We are not a monster.”

“But you are. The sooner you realize it, the freer you’ll be. It’s your choice.” Cletus shrugged.

“We choose to be good.” You said firmly. Cletus gave you a disappointed nod.

“Carnage told me you’d say that. I told him you were different. I guess I was wrong. I’m going to be sorry to see you go.” Cletus said sadly.

“See me go?” You asked.

“Carnage said anyone who stands in the way must die. That means you, Venom, Spider-Man, and anyone else who tries to stop us from taking over New York.”

You felt sick to your stomach. Killing you was one thing, but Spider-Man? Peter hadn’t done anything to Carnage. Why was Peter a Target?

“Please don’t hurt Spider-Man. You can kill me but please, don’t touch him.” You begged. Cletus smirked.

“Looks like Carnage was right about that too.” Cletus chuckled.

“Right about what?” You asked. Cletus seemed to be conversing with Carnage in his head.

“Right about there being something going on between you and Spider-Man. I’ll do my best to keep Carnage away from him, but I don’t have much control. So no promises. Even though you let me down, I have a liking for you Y/n. You knew what I did to those women and you still agreed to write an article on me and hear my side of the story. Most people wanted to lock me up and throw away the key. Not you. You listened. We won’t hurt him. But we want a deal.” Cletus stated.

“What deal?” You asked bitterly.

“We want a battle. A fair one. Venom vs. Carnage. If you win, we’ll go back to Klyntar. But if we win, you become apart of our team and we destroy New York together, starting with everyone who got me thrown in this hell hole. Do we have a deal?” Cletus asked. You didn’t want to agree to it but you knew you had no other choice. Carnage was strong but he lacked the impeccable bond you had with Venom. You were confident in Venoms abilities in a fight. Your solemnly nodded your head.

“It’s a deal. When?”

“Tonight at midnight on top of the Oscorp building. Don’t be late.” Cletus said. Before you could answer, the security guard came in.

“The hour is up, Miss L/n. It’s time for Cletus’s meal.” The guard said. Your checked your watch. It was in fact 7 o’clock. The hour had gone the fastest it ever had. You shot Cletus one last look before you thanked the security guard and left. You could feel his smirk watching you as you went.

“Peter? Y/n’s at the front door.” May called from the kitchen. Peter perked up at the slightest mention of your name.

Peter went to his front door and saw you were still dressed in nice clothes for your interview. Peter loved your usual laid back style but he also loved seeing you dressed up. It reminded him of how bad ass you were.

“Hi.” You said shyly, noticing him staring.

“Hey.” He said back. “What’s up?”

“Can we talk in the hall?” You asked. Peter nodded gravely and followed you out into the hall. He shut the door behind him and turned to face you.

“Y/n-“ he began.

“I came here to break up with you.” You interrupted. Peter eyes snapped from the floor to your face. You didn’t seem upset. You seemed almost excited. Peter felt the opposite.

“Wh-“ Peter began but you cut him off again.

“Let me finish. I came here to break up with you. But I’m not going to do that anymore.” You clarified. “Peter, there’s a very bad man after me. I just found out that Carnage bonded with Cletus Kasady. He’s stronger than me, faster than me, and more deadly than me. He’s asked me to join his side and I said no. Now, he’s going to kill me. And he said he’s going to kill you too. I have until midnight until the fight.”

“Okay.” Peter followed along. “So what about the breakup?”

“I figured I’d come here and break up with you, and not just break up but really break your heart. I was gonna tell you I cheated on you and if that didn’t work I was gonna say I was using you to get over Andy and that I still loved him. All lies, by the way. My heart beats for only you. But I thought that if I made you hate me, Carnage would have no reason to go after you and he’d leave you alone. So that was my plan when I left the prison. But as I drove here, I remembered I wasn’t just dating some guy. I remembered was dating Spider-Man.” You said proudly, and Peter grinned.

“What I’m trying to say is, I believe in you. I know you’re strong and capable of anything you put your mind to. You’re extraordinary, Peter. And I don’t have to protect you, as much as I might want to. So, I did come here to break up with you. But now that I’m here, I’m asking you to fight Carnage with me. I want you by my side when I fight the biggest battle of my life. What do you say? Will you help me, Spider-Man?”

“I will.” He said confidently. “Thank you for believing in me.”

“Thanks for giving me something to believe in.” You shrugged.

You spent the remaining hours before midnight coming up with a strategy with Peter. Soon enough, it was time to meet Cleatus on the roof. You and Peter swung there, shaking with anticipation as Cleatus arrived. You held Peter’s hand through this suit, still not in your Venom form. Cleatus looked between the two of you, and then at your intertwined hands.  “Remember when you said I could kill you if I left Spiderman alone?” Cleatus asked through a wicked smile. Peter looked at you, confused as to why you would say that as you nodded.

“Well, I’d like to take you up on that.” Cleatus said as he morphed into Carnage. He grabbed Peter in a quick movement and threw him off the roof, leaving you alone with him. You ran in the director that Peter was thrown but Carnage caught you and dragged you to him, stepping on your neck to keep you down.

“Told you.” He snarled in your ear. “There’s gonna be carnage.”

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker x venom!reader #venom!reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #iron man #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction

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