#I'm talking FINGER TRAFFICKING

[dreamescapeswriting]

Stray Kids Reaction || He Throws His Wedding Ring [Hyung Line] [Mafia Edition]

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - February 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of blood, killing, sex trafficking (not involving the reader) murder and fighting.

CHAN:

You couldn't even remember how the argument had and now you and Chan were standing in his living room staring at one another. Your breathing was rapid as you fought back the tears that were threatening to spill.

"Chan, I can't do this anymore. This life, the constant worrying and danger...Secrets...Not knowing if you're going to come home or not." You were exhausted from fighting with him, it had been going on for hours now and it felt as though he was never going to see your point of view behind this.

"This is who I am, Yn. You knew that when we got married, I can't just walk away from this."

"I didn't sign up for a life where I'm constantly worried if you'll come home alive! Or worried that someone will grab me!" You sniffled a little tears streaming down your cheeks.

"I want a normal life, a family without the fear of losing you every fucking day!" You finally yelled out but Chan scoffed at you like you were a child talking back to him.

"Normal? You think we can just walk away from this and be a normal couple?" He stared you down and shook his head at you, 

"It's not that simple. I have responsibilities, they won't just let us go." He grumbled at you, pouring himself a drink from the mini bar in the living room as you stared at the back of his head.

"Responsibilities?! Chan, you have a responsibility to me, you know...your wife! I won't be a widow before I'm at least 80!" You yelled at him finally losing your last bit of patience.

"You'll always put this life above me...Won't you?" You questioned, waiting for him to tell you that was crazy and that he loved you more than that,

"You knew when you married me that this was our life. Don't go trying to change the rules now." He downed the glass in one and you stared at him, the tears finally stopping as you felt nothing but anger for him now.

"Then maybe I made a mistake. Maybe I never should have married a man who thinks throwing his life away is honourable," The words flew from your lips before you had a chance to process them and the air turned thick and silent. You swore you could hear the faucet in the kitchen dripping, that's how quiet it was in the home now.

Chan silently twisted the ring around his finger before slipping it off and hurling it across the room, the ring clattered against the wall and onto the floor,

"There, happy now?! Is that what you wanted?!" He screamed at you, and your eyes searched him for any sign of your once-happy husband, the one you wanted to spend your life with.

"No, Chan. I wanted a husband, not some mafia boss..." You slowly slid the ring off your own finger and placed it down onto the coffee table,

"I can't sit here night after night waiting for that phone call to tell me you're not coming home." You wiped the tears from your face and walked toward the front door, Chan didn't stop you he just stared down at the wedding ring on the floor, the weight of his choices crushing him down onto the floor.

It had been two days since the huge blowout with Chan and you'd been hiding out in one of your friend's places for those two days, no phone or tracker for Chan to find you with which was why it was surprising to find him waiting for you at the door.

"What are you doing here?"

"Kat called," You scoffed a little, she'd been threatening to do it but you never thought she would. Whatever happened to the girl code?

"I'm not interested in fighting anymore. If you send divorce papers I'll sign, I don't want anything." You explained as you moved around him, unlocking the front door to head inside. You'd been apart and it killed you but anything was better than worrying every day about whether he was alive or not.

"Yn." He called out but you shook your head at him,

"You can keep everything,"

"I have nothing." The words stopped you in your tracks as you slowly turned to face him,

"What?"

"I walked away. Not without consequences but I did." It was then you noticed the sling around his arm, within seconds you were by his arm and inspecting it.

"It's just a minor break," He whispered as you stared up at him,.

"You walked away?" You whispered in shock, staring down at the ring that was back on his finger.

"Given the choice between that life and the love of my life? I needed to." He held out your wedding ring and you stared into his eyes, the mafia life was everything to him,

"But-"

"I'll still work for them but mostly low-level stuff...You're looking at a desk boy." He said proudly to you, it hurt his ego but he'd rather be chained to a desk than risk losing you. You slipped your ring back on before throwing your arms around Chan and hugging him tightly.

MINHO:

The living room was thick with tension as you paced back and forth in front of Minho who lounged on the sofa with a sombre look on his face but it only made you more frustrated to look at him.

"You promised me," You seethed out, shaking your head at him.

"You promised me that you were done with this...Done with all of the killing." You gestured to his shirt which was drenched in blood and then looked at his face. Streaks of blood and skin were dripping down his face as you felt the bile in your throat beginning to come up again. He'd walked through the door all nonchalant thinking you weren't home today only to find you waiting for him,

"I did what needed to be done, Yn!" He didn't yell or scream he just sighed at you. He thought he might have been able to get away with it if he could get home before you and shower before you had a chance to see him. 

Sure he would have been lying to you but anything was better than getting into a fight with you over the same thing you always thought over.

"You told me things were going to change once I got pregnant," Your sight began to blur from the tears that were building up,

"You said you wanted our child to have a father but look at you!" You gestured once again to the state of him,

"If our child sees this what are they going to think!?" You yelled and threw your hands up in frustration. All of this was supposed to stop once you got pregnant, he promised he'd take a step back and leave the dirty work to his minions. 

"You think it's easy for me?!" He finally screamed, getting up from the sofa and staring you down.

"Do you actually think I enjoy living like this?! Killing people?! Sometimes there is no other choice!" He yelled at you, your eyes unblinking as you stared at him.

"There's always a choice! You could have found another way." You grumbled at him, you were sick of this fight. Every time it was the same, he'd promise to stop killing only to pick it back up a few days later.

"I won't raise our child in his environment, Minho. I won't let him grow up to think it's normal to kill people in order to get what he wants."

"Yn. It wasn't to get what I wanted."

"No? Then what was it? He looked at you wrong? Flirted with me?" You listed off all the excuses he'd given to you before and Minho finally snapped, pulling off his ring and throwing it across the room. It skittered across the floor coming to a stop at your feet.

"Whatever. You want something so normal, go on and try it." With that he walked out, slamming the door behind him as you stared down at the wedding band on the floor. Something that had once been a symbol of your commitment to one another now meant nothing as it sat there.

"Changbin told me everything." You told Minho as you sat in the hospital waiting room together. It was deserted since Minho would never let anyone be alone with you,

"Hmm." He answered blandly, staring down at the floor. It had been a week since your fight and despite living in the same house you'd barely spoken a word to one another.

"Why didn't you tell me he was a sex trafficker."

"Would it have made a difference?" He slowly turned his head to look at you, your eyes were already staring into his as you nodded at him,

"Yes."

"I only kill who I have to. It's not something I do for fun." He admitted, his voice shaking a little. It wasn't as though it didn't affect him, he was taking another person's life which twisted him up in a way.

"I try and limit what I have to do myself but sometimes I have to do it." He told you with tears running down his cheeks, you nodded a little before kissing his cheek and squeezing his hand in yours.

"I understand,"

"I won't bring work home with me...Please, just don't leave." He begged, Minho wasn't the type to beg anybody for anything and you nodded.

"Wouldn't dream of it," You whispered before kissing him once more.

CHANGBIN:

You stared at Changbin from across the table with an unimpressed look on your face, Changbin had sweat dripping down his forehead as he glanced down at his phone for the time again.

"This was supposed to be our night," You were pissed at him, you wanted to yell at him for standing you up but you were in such an upscale restaurant you couldn't even do that.

"A simple dinner date and you couldn't even make it on time." You mumbled at him, 

"I got held up. Business came up." Changbin answered as if it made the whole thing better

"Business always comes up. I'm tired of being second best to your business." As you spoke Changbin took out his phone clearly not listening to you as he began texting with someone, probably one of his men if you knew him well enough by now.

"It's not like I enjoy this but it's the life I have." He shrugged his shoulders as you stared at him, his head still in his phone, he didn't even see the tears rolling down your cheeks in a silent cry. 

It seemed that was all you ever did lately when it came to your relationship, you'd be left crying while he pretended he didn't notice or maybe he didn't even notice, you didn't know anymore.

"We're drifting apart, Binnie. You're never here and I need more." Your voice broke as you spoke to him, your frustration getting the better of you.

"I knew who you were when we got married but I didn't sign up to be stood up, or for anniversaries and birthdays to be missed." You'd finally broken, he'd missed so much of married life you weren't even sure you could count each other as a married couple. 

"I want a life with you, not one where I'm always waiting for you to show up and magically decide I'm worthy that day." Changbin stared down at the ring on his finger before he twisted it, throwing it onto the table and gaining attention from nearby diners.

"Maybe you're right. I can't give you what you need." Was all he said before storming off, leaving you to stare down at the ring on the table as people around you muttered about what had happened.

"You know this is getting a little exhausting," Changbin told you as he followed you from the car to the house just like he had been doing every day since the night he'd given you his wedding ring back.

"I want a divorce." You told him plainly as you headed into the house you once had called home and he followed swiftly. 

"You know you can't walk away. I've been trying, Yn."

"I'm not interested in you trying anymore Changbin, I'm tired of never being put first..." Your voice trailed to a stop as you walked into the living room, there must have been thousands of your favourite flowers around the living room in vases and different arrangements.

"A thousand and one flowers...To make up for the dates I missed." He explained once he saw you trying to work out how many there were.

"W-What?" You stuttered a little walking toward them and running your hands on them to make sure that they were real.

"I missed too many to count so a thousand and one seemed fitting." He shrugged his shoulders and you turned around to stare at him.

"You didn't miss anywhere near a thousand." You laughed weakly and he stood in front of you, running his hand gently over your cheek as he stared down into your eyes,

"I won't miss a single one again...If you'll take me back." You wanted to, more than anything but it was going to take a lot more than flowers to make up for all of the time you'd lost together.

"It's going to take more than some-"

"I know." He told you with a smirk on his lips,

"And you're going to have to show me change." He planned on it, he had a plan in place for everything he was going to do.

"I know."

"And I- I wanted to go out regularly, once a week." You told him, right now Changbin would have given you whatever you wanted and one date a week sounded too easy on him in his eyes,

"Okay." He smiled at you,

"Okay?" You frowned as he smirked down at you.

"Yes, okay. Now will you let me kiss you?" You went to speak but it was quickly stopped as Changbin kissed you deeply.

HYUNJIN:

You couldn't believe it was coming down to this, you stared at your husband as he stared back at you with a scowl on his face clearly unamused by what was happening but you were tired of all of this. Tired and hurt about second guessing where you fell in Hyunjin's life.

"I need to know..." Your voice came out shakey as you stared at him,

"Do you even love me anymore?" You finished before he scoffed at you, downing the glass of whiskey he'd been nursing and shaking his head at you.

"What kind of question is that? Of course, I do." It wasn't a silly question, it was something you'd been agonising over for weeks now, months even.

"Your actions say otherwise." You scoffed, staring at him as he poured himself another glass and began to slowly nurse it as you stared at him.

"You're always so caught up in your business and I'm always here wondering if I even matter to you."

"This is the life of a mafia wife Yn. You knew that when you married me." You did, which was a fair point but he'd shown you that while it was a lot of waiting for him it was supposed to be a lavish lifestyle the two of you could share. You couldn't even remember the last time you'd gone out together that wasn't an obligation to the both of you.

"I didn't sign up to be a in loveless marriage! You promised me it would be in sickness and in health, for better or worse." He drank from his glass before pouring a third one for the night, usually two were his cut off so you knew you were getting under his skin a little and if that's what it took for him to see your point then you didn't care.

"I need more than lavish gifts from you every now and again and empty promises that we'll do something eventually."

"I take you out." He defended angrily but you didn't back down. There hadn't been a real date since you got married to one another, everything else was parties you had to be seen at or charity events you couldn't miss.

"To your stupid parties where your presence is required. You never take me somewhere we want to go."

"You don't think I provide for you!? Is that it?!" He finally yelled, losing his patience with you. Hyunjin adored you, practically worshipped the ground you walked on and for you to suggest otherwise was a knife to his chest,

"No-"

"I work like a dog, day and night and I give you everything you could ever possibly need in life!" He shouted out, not meaning to shout at you but he'd snapped that last bit that was holding him back,

"I don't NEED material things, I need you! I need your love! I need your presence!" You yelled at him.

"You know what I feel when we go out to your parties?" He doesn't answer you, instead, he stares down at the liquid in his glass that is burning his throat,

"I feel like a fucking trophy on your arm, something you can show off as the "Ha I got her" look." You started down at the wedding ring on his finger. Hyunjin had no idea you felt that way, his heart broke a little as he stared back at you, how could he have not seen it before?

"If you love me, then show it. Actions speak louder than words." In a fit of frustration, Hyunjin takes the ring off his finger and hurls it onto the table, the metal echoing around the room.

"You don't love me." You barely whispered before walking out of the room,

You'd walked out on him two weeks ago and since then he'd been nothing but sweet to you, showing up every day to walk you to work and bring you lunch.

"Why are you doing all this?" You asked as you stared at the picnic that was on your office floor.

"I'm starting again." He told you as if it explained everything he'd been doing for the last two weeks.

"What?" You slowly sat down on the floor noticing that everything he had was all of your favourite foods.

"You said actions speak louder than words. I'm starting from the beginning with you, more dates, more time together." He held out a glass for you and you took it from him,

"To new beginnings." Your eyes stared down at his hand as you noticed the ring was back in its rightful place.

"New beginnings." You said, clinking your glass with his and smiling a little. Maybe it wasn't the best way to start again but if it was him truly trying to change you were going to give it your best shot.

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[reiderwriter]

hi!!! omg i’ve been following you for a bit now and i saw that it’s not only your 1k celebration(AHHHHHH OMG CONGRATS GIRL!!!) but also your birthday soon!!! So happy birthday and i hope you’re having a fantabulous day!!

If it’s not too much trouble, could i request #4 on your 1k celeb list for Spencer Reid? maybe like imagine they’re undercover in a club or at a party and reader has to dance on him for some odd reason and boy is already mad in love and now he’s got a hard on while his crush dances on him for a case and reader maybe takes mercy on him and drags him to a private place tooooooo😋😋

it’s totally okay if this isn’t to your fancy so don’t feel pressured at all!! i love your writing so much and i just know anything you write, even if you don’t write this ask or if you change it up, will be amazing!!! enjoy your birthday b and take loads of a care of yourself!💕💕

A/N: Thank you for the request, and I AM SO SORRY it took me nearly four months to get to 😭 I actually loved writing this one, so I hope you enjoy reading it! Thank you for the birthday wishes 💖

Warnings: public sex, sex in an alleyway, talks of oral (m receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, dirty talk, creampie, coworkers to lovers, spoilers for upto season 7 of Criminal Minds.

“Cover? Right now? I'm wading through three caseloads of paperwork right now, I don't have time to go gallivanting across the country for another unit.” You stressed to your Unit Chief as she smiled sympathetically at you.

“Temporary reassignment means your desk will be cleared of work when you return, I'll personally complete it myself. That is if you decide to come back.”

“It would take one hell of an offer to get me to join another team, ma'am, and you know it.” 

Working under your boss Andi Swann at the Domestic Trafficking Task Force was something you took a lot of pride in. The work you did saved hundreds of women across the country, and you found justice for the ones you were too late for. It had been your second choice after you'd left the academy and a particularly ambitious one, all things considered. 

“Y/N, the Behavioural Analysis Unit needs you. Now, I remember your resume as well as you do, most likely, so don't try to convince me all of the profiling credits and courses you took at the academy were solely to be used for trafficking work.” 

You flushed as the woman caught you off guard. It was true that you hoped to someday be able to transfer to the aforementioned unit, but you truly still respected the woman in front of you. 

Deciding that your respect trumped your human need to placate her worries about you suddenly skipping out on her, you simply cleared your throat and spoke as calmly as possible. 

“What is it exactly that the BAU needs me for?” 

The older woman smiled back at you and shook her head slightly before opening her mouth again. 

“It seems that one of their team members needs a date.” 

–X– 

Having recovered from the shock of your reassignment and its details, you'd found yourself packing a few things from your desk, grabbing your go-bag, climbing into the elevator and arriving at the doors of the BAU.

You then struggled for a few minutes to open with all the things crowding your hands. 

“Here let me,” a voice said from behind you, as you suddenly saw an arm come up around your side to push the door open. You followed your gaze up the arm until your back was against the door, moving backwards even as he pushed it open as your throat went dry.

The man in front of you was hot. It was as if some deity had plucked your ideal type out of your mind, moulded him with clay, and kiln fired him before placing him right back in front of you as temptation.

You were sure that minutes had passed since he'd spoken with you just staring up at him like this, but alas, you really couldn't help yourself. 

“Oh! Thank you,” you smiled, hoping it would diffuse the sudden awkward atmosphere that your staring had bought on. “I'm sorry, can you tell me where Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner's office is?” You mumbled out, trying to clear your throat silently as you lost yourself in the strangers' gaze. 

His eyes were locked on yours, and as he broke eye contact, your heart jumped as you noticed his ears were stained red, embarrassment apparently not lost on him. 

“Up the stairs, first office, his name is on the door. You must be SSA Y/N.” Shocked to hear your name drop from his mouth  you felt a Rusholme mortification as you studied the man once again. 

Slightly messy hair, pile of books in his hand, dressed like he'd fallen into a closet at a retirement home, tall wiry frame. 

Ashley Seaver's description of Doctor Spencer Reid had been spot on. Apart from the part where she had failed to mention, he was quite possibly the most attractive man on earth. 

“Doctor Reid?” You asked, voice a squeak, almost scared that you were wrong despite there being no suggestion that you might be.

“How did you…?” His eyes widened with a smile as he looked back to you again, searching for answers with his head cocked slightly to the side.

“I work in Domestic Trafficking. Agent Seaver and my unit chief both gave me brief descriptions of your team so I wouldn't get bogged down with introductions when I got here.” You explained quickly for fear that he'd think you slightly stalkerish for knowing his name, even though he obviously knew yours as well.

He smiled slightly awkwardly again  and gestured further inside the office, sending you off to your temporary new Unit Chief's office with a small whisper.

“I look forward to working with you.”

--X–

The debrief with Aaron Hotchner was swift  and you appreciated the man's ability to cut straight to the point. 

There was a killer targeting women in New York City, just like there were killers targeting women everywhere. But this one had taken specific issue with women who were social climbers, who attended events with high profile and successful men on their arms. 

So far, the NYPD could link 7 homicides to the killer and were under pressure to catch the guy before Lucky Number eight. 

The FBI had stepped in and suggested you be Lucky Number eight.

They'd been sent the case as a consult and provided the profile, to which the NYPD had asked for full cooperation. 

Which is how you found yourself on a jet heading to New York City two hours after Andi Swann had called you into her office. Productive day.

“What does your budget look like after a year of private jet travel?” You wondered out loud as you followed Hotchner onto the plane. SSA David had followed you onto the plane as well, having tried to introduce himself earlier. You'd allowed him the moment of humility before telling him you knew exactly who he was, and he'd be surprised if anyone in the entire bureau didn't. 

“Well they haven't put me on display yet, so I don't think I'm quite a fossil. Pleasure to be working with you.” 

His words were kind enough, but they were a reminder of the other man you'd met earlier. 

The man who had since climbed into the seat next to you, ready for the on the go case briefing.

“We've established identities for the two of you, ready for you to go in tonight to establish yourselves as bait,” Hotch explained, handing you each a personnel folder. 

“Spencer, you'll be Charles Buchanan, local businessman with alleged ties to several socialite families in the Upper East Side.” That seemed to earn a few chuckles from Agent Morgan from his perch at the other end of the plane desk, but he cleverly kept his mouth shut. 

“Y/N, you'll be Daisy Smith, you're a student putting herself through a graduate degree, who has turned to sugaring to cover course fees.” 

“Sugaring?” Rossi asked from Hotch's side, waiting for someone to clarify. 

“It's a term used to describe the act of being a sugar baby or sugar daddy. A usually non-sexual consensual relationship involving cash or other materialistic gifts.” Spencer filled in the gaps easily, without looking up from the file he was scanning ridiculously fast.

Okay, speed-reading and super intelligence check, and you were two for two on descriptions of Spencer Reid. Swann's description had also left a lot to be desired. 

“We've got Garcia establishing some online profiles for the both of you currently using the images you sent us earlier. Hopefully, we were correct in our estimation of his hunting grounds, but he'll need to stalk you for a night or two before he strikes.” 

You cleared your throat carefully as you finally decided to ask the question that had been bugging you the entire time.

“I'm sorry if this is forward, but is there a reason I was chosen for this assignment? I don't have much undercover experience, and I was told there were two women on your team. Was I misinformed?” 

“That's correct. Unfortunately, last week, Agent Prentiss decided to take a job with Interpol in London. Agent Jareau was also recently married, so she put in leave to enjoy her honeymoon. None of the candidates we have lined up fit our Unsub's type. You do.”

“As good as I would look in a dress, you're going to be much more effective at catching this guy,” Morgan joked from the side, just as Hotch accepted a video call through to the jet. 

“Morgan in a dress, sounds like one of my dreams come true.” 

“Calm it, baby girl, what have you got for us?”

“Invitations to a charity ball being held in Manhattan tonight, and around 1000 hits across five sugaring platforms for Miss Y/N. If the FBI turns out to be a letdown, you have a lot of serious offers here, sweetie.” You laughed out loud at how she blasted through and diffused all the tension in your team, without even thinking to introduce herself first. 

“You must be Penelope Garcia. It's nice to meet you.” 

“Not as nice as it is to meet you, I promise.” 

The remainder of the jet ride had been quiet if not restful, the presence of Spencer Reid a disturbingly pretty thorn in your side. 

You'd sneaked glances at him multiple times, not an easy feat on a jet filled with profilers. His fingers had grazed yours as he passed you his file earlier as well, letting you read up on his new character. 

What you found most distracting, though, was the now bare stretch of skin peaking out from his shirt collar. 

He'd decided to take a nap at some point earlier, and now you silently cursed him for it as you looked at the splash of skin distractedly. 

You could press your lips there and work your way up to his lips. Or you could go in the opposite direction and have more fun, you reminded yourself. 

It seemed that image had you waking up, jerking upright so that you would not let that go any further.

This was your job. You were a professional, an FBI agent. 

You weren't allowed to imagine giving this man a blow job on government time. You'd have to save that thought for after the case was closed, and you could go your separate ways, you thought.

Landing was easy  and you moved straight into dress fittings and practising your story for the party later that night. 

Which meant a blissful few hours without the distraction of Spencer Reid. 

Luckily for you, the first dress they'd given you to wear had turned out to be a good fit, showcasing some of your more prominent assets. 

It hugged your body tight, but it wasn't uncomfortable, showing off a generous amount of cleavage and leg as well. It wasn't quite scandalous, but you knew it was definitely the kind of outfit that would stick out like a sore thumb at a socialite dinner. 

Which meant it was perfect for baiting the unsub.

By 7pm, you'd been outfitted, prepped, and deposited in the back of a limousine with Spencer Reid, and you were right back at square one trying not to climb him then and there. 

His outfit choice had been slightly harder, apparently, given his taller frame, but the three piece suit they'd given him was do perfect it was hard to tell it wasn't tailored to his measurements. 

“Are you nervous?” He asked, whispering the words in your ear as he stroked your hand. Although the limousine driver was an undercover NYPD detective, you'd both been told to get into character as quickly as possible. 

There were a series of other undercover agents being placed throughout the party tonight - Hotch was going in as a representative of the District Attorney's office, a few NYPD detectives were serving guests drinks and food, and Rossi had managed to get an invite as himself. 

Morgan was left running surveillance in the van outside. 

Because of your outfit and the nature of the unsubs attacks, there had been no point in trying to put a wire on you at this point in time. It'd take him a week of surveillance to pick you up anyway. Tonight would just be the start of his hunt. 

So you let Spencer stroke your hand, fingers locked in his as you gave him a smile, and tried not to imagine them wrapped around his cock. 

“Just a little. I think it's the dress  shows off a bit more than I'm used to.” He took a second to glance down your body, as if he'd been waiting for your permission until now, and you watched his eyes pause over your chest and at where the hem sat at the top of your thighs, dangerously close to bearing everything.

“You look… beautiful. I think our unsub will like it, at least.” 

You tried to hide your disappointment as he pulled his hand away, ready to open the door as the car pulled up to your destination. 

You surveyed the room as you walked in, trying to memorise every particularly leering smile from men as you made your way to your seat. 

After half an hour, though, it seemed like catching your guy was going to be like finding a needle in a haystack. Or a creep in a room full of creeps. 

It seemed like every man who talked to Spencer only glanced at you to stare down your dress, a few even attempting to pat your back and let their hands drift south.

If it weren't for the sake of the job, you'd have sucker punched some of the richest men in New York City by now. And you'd have enjoyed it. 

Politely detaching himself from conversation, Spencer guided you away to the dance floor for a second. You'd planned it this way for when you needed some time privately to discuss potential suspects. 

A few other couples glided around the floor as you stood chest to chest with Spencer, surprised how confidently he was handling the caseload. 

His hands took their places, one on your hip, the other gripping your own as you both began to sway side to side. 

“Any ideas?” He whispered in your ear as you moved delicately. 

“Your 10 o’clock. Younger son of the Johnson family. He’s been sat glaring at me for 10 minutes despite his mother's attempts to network for him.” 

“It fits the profile, absent father, overbearing mother. He has obvious disdain for you. Is there anyone else?” His words were hot against your skin as you looked up at him, finding your lips surprisingly close as your bodies continued swaying together. 

“Half of the men in this room have undressed me with their eyes, the other half actually tried to put their hands on me when they were talking to you.” He stiffened at that, breaking eye contact as his eyes flashed with sudden emotion. 

His hand slid from your waist further down to stroke your ass slightly as he watched the crowd to see anyone taking offence at his sudden bold display of affection. 

At least that was what you assumed he was doing  as you too began to glance around, watching for anyone watching you, confident that Hotch, Rossi, and the others would do the same. 

When his hand on your ass pulled you closer into him, though, you weren't so sure. 

“Spencer, what are you-” You started in confusion, noticing that his gaze had returned to you. More specifically, that it had returned to your chest, as he stared down at how your breasts looked, pushed up against his chest as they were. 

He encouraged your other hand to wrap around his shoulder, freeing his other hand to land on your ass again as he pulled you closer still. 

You'd almost stopped moving, certain that having his body pressed against yours in every place hardly counted as dancing. You opened your mouth to say as much when you felt something twitch against your thigh. A low groan slipped from Spencer's lips as he adjusted your positions slightly as you felt something hard shift against your leg. 

“Do you seriously have a boner right now?” You whispered, as much in exasperation as in excitement. 

Spencer Reid was grinding his boner into you in front of a room full of people, and you felt like you'd just won the lottery. 

“I'm sorry, natural reaction. You look so hot tonight, and then your hands were all over me.” He rambled slightly in his explanations, mortification clear on his face as he tried to apologise. 

“It's okay.” You whispered in his ear, pulling yourself up on your toes softly to press a chaste kiss to his lips. 

If you just so happened to rub up against him going up and down, eliciting another deep groan for the man, then so be it. 

“Y/N…” He whispered you name like a prayer and it almost convinced you that there was no one else in the room. 

“Spencer, there's no way our unsub is going to approach us if you have that thing tenting your pants.” You kept your voice low as your hands trailed down his chest. Pushing one further, you gently rubbed over his clothed member as if accentuating your point. 

“We need to solve this problem, don't you think?” 

His jaw clenched as he contemplated your words, trying not to let any other sounds out. His nod was barely perceptible, but within seconds you were glancing around the room for a quick exit, and in another minute, you'd slipped through a service entrance  and out through some corridors into a dimly lit alleyway. 

As soon as you were cloaked in darkness, Spencer was on you. 

Whirling you around, he backed you into the wall until your back was pressed into it, and his lips were on yours. 

You moaned helplessly into the kiss, hands finding his chest again and moving south even as he began exploring your body. 

“This is an important case, and we're about to blow it because I can't keep my hands off you,” he whispered between kisses, lips trailing down your neck. 

“Do you know how crazy we both must be?” 

“I know exactly how crazy for you I am, Reid. Now, please let me suck your dick.” You moaned the words as his fingers found their way into your panties, stroking your clit. 

“Y/N, I'm trying to talk sense into us here.” He groaned as your fingers fumbled with his pant buttons, hand sliding into the material to wrap around his cock.

“How much sense are you talking with your fingers inside me?” You panted, willing him to just fully let go and let you both enjoy yourselves. 

“While we're out here, Hotch and Rossi are inside, noting down anyone who takes particular offence to our exit. We can enjoy ourselves and catch a better lead.” You started slowly pumping him then, as he pushed closer into you, allowing you to reach more of him at this different angle.

His head dropped to your shoulder as he breathed out a laugh. 

“Right, this will help.” He tried to convince yourself, and you grinned in victory, rocking your hips against his hand to find your release sooner. 

Until he withdrew his hand and used it to grasp your own, halting your movements. 

“Spencer?” You pouted slightly, but he pressed another kiss to your lips  this time forceful and demanding, to guess begging permission to enter and dominate you. 

You gladly accepted him into your mouth, even as you felt him pushing up your skirt, letting the material ride higher as it had been trying to do all night. 

Making sure you were steady against the brick wall, he pulled your hips up and around his, pushing your panties to the side as he pushed inside of you. 

The stretch was maddening. Everywhere he touched became hot against the cool night breeze as he began his frenzied strokes into you. 

You lost all capability for speech, which was probably for the best, as you were sure you'd only ask for him to do more disgusting things to you eventually. 

His mouth slid to the top of your breasts as they bounced with each thrust, waiting to claim a nipple in his mouth when one eventually came free of the offending material. 

“Such a little slut, begging to suck my dick. Maybe next time, princess.” You screamed and arched your back as he finally bit down around your nipple, soothing the skin with his tongue as he licked and suckled there. 

His other hand fell to your clit again, pushing you to the edge as you finally came on his cock. 

He didn't stop though, powering through as you tightened around him, moaning wantonly as his thrusts hit deeper still.

“Let's see what our unsub thinks when he sees my cum dripping out of you,” he whispered again, as he too let himself go, releasing spurt after spurt of cum inside of you. 

Making sure you were strong enough, he set you back down on the ground, keeping an arm wrapped around you protectively as you smoothed your clothes back into place. 

You helped him button his pants as he smoothed your hair, tucking a stray piece behind your ear before ducking in for one more sweet kiss. 

“I'm sorry that I couldn't let you, uh, perform orally,” he blushed again, his ears that same shade of red you noticed earlier as he guided you back inside. “I think someone would have noticed if I'd ruined your makeup that much.”

You practically choked on your own spit as you finally slipped back into the dance hall.

“Next time,” you said, making sure to finish the conversation you'd started. “We’ll have more privacy.” 

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid criminal minds

[lazycats-stuff]

Yk the one where batbro reader meets the justice league and the leave absolutely loves him? Could you do one with the young justice with Tim or teens titans with dick or the outlaws with Jason?

You know what? I will do all 3 of them. Even if it kills my fingers. Also, some Dick Grayson appreciation.

Summary: (Y/N) is loved by his brother's friends.

Bruce Wayne & male!reader

Warnings: a little angst, but it's resolved, cursing, the teams love (Y/N)...

Ever since (Y/N) met the Justice League members, the news of a youngest vigilante spread like wildfire amongst the Young Justice, Teen Titans and the Outlaws. Jason, Dick and Tim weren't really sure how to feel about it. They were constantly asked about his younger brother.

If only they knew.

Tim looked over the files for the upcoming mission they had. It isn't under the Justice League, it was just under them. The more he looked over the files, the more it looked like a test created by Batman to test them all.

Their mission was to stop meta human trafficking, but it was connected to the Light. Batman didn't really involve them with the Light and they were only involved with the minor members of the Light.

If there is one member they never wanted to fight against, that was Ra's al Ghul. Tim didn't really want to face him. He saw enough of him.

And that's why he called (Y/N) to come by.

He needed a new set of eyes to look all over this. This was reeking of Batman influence, but if he voiced it to his teammates, he was sure that he was going to be called paranoid.

And again that's why he has called his younger brother. Out of all of them, he was the most objective and most realistic one. He looked up from the table when he heard the Zeta tubes going off, announcing the arrival of his brother.

Blue Beetle looked up too, confused as to who is entering the place. It's the same place where the OG Young Justice was and Blue Beetles eyes widened at the sight of the infamous (V/N). Tim waved his brother over.

He is still in his suit, mask on. There were some cuts on his suit and Tim saw that he came after patrol.

" Killer Croc? " Tim asked and (Y/N) nodded. Tim knew that (Y/N) is tired and he offered some coffee in apology.

" I'm sorry about calling you so late. I forgot the time difference. " Tim said, giving (Y/N) the papers to look at. (Y/N) sat down next to him, blinking to clear the tiredness.

" And what is the problem with the mission? " (Y/N) asked and the two brothers ignored the growing audience. Alongside Blue Beetle, there were now Kid Flash, Thirteen, Arrowette, Static and Wonder Girl. All of them looked at one another, clearly in shock to see (V/N).

" It reeks of Batman influence. " Tim explained and (Y/N) nodded. Tim's eyes looked at point behind (Y/N)'s shoulder.

Oh no. He glared at them, clearly saying try me.

" Robin, is that (V/N)? " Kid Flash started and Tim just rolled his eyes.

" Not now. " Tim said and (Y/N) just took a sip of his coffee. He really needed it.

" Is Batman really scary? " Kid Flash zooming to sit next to him.

" I have no comment on that. " (Y/N) said, looking up from the papers.

" Is Robin really addicted to caffeine? " Wonder Girl asked, sitting next to Tim.

" No comment. " (Y/N) said, turning the paper over. Now everyone was huddled over the two brothers.

Tim watched as everyone filed around (Y/N), asking him questions. There is a small smile on (Y/N)'s face as he talked to the team. He answered all of their other questions and Tim just looked at his brother.

Maybe this wasn't a bad idea. He stepped in when he saw how (Y/N)'s social battery is low.

" Well, he needs to go now. He came directly from patrol and he is tired. " Tim stated, moving closer to his brother.

" You need to come again! " Kid Flash said yelled to the duo as the brothers said goodbye. (Y/N) waived at them, saying he would.

Jason was sitting at one of the safe houses, looking over some files for the upcoming mission in regards to a mission related Black Mask. That man is a slippery little shit and he can somehow get back on his feet.

He took a drag of cigarette, shaking it off in the ash tray. This man is the biggest stressor in his life. Not even Bruce is this stressful. Roy and Amazon were crashing here too. Bizarro is somewhere around.

He looked up as he heard the door opening and some screams. After a last drag, he stood up, knees cracking from the long sitting. His guns were strapped on his sides as he made his way to the entrance.

He heard some cooing and some chuckles. Who the hell is cooing? He sighed as he saw his little brother, in his suit. Artemis is cooing at his brother. An Amazon warrior is cooing at his brother.

And Roy? He looked at him with a curious look in his eyes.

" (Y/N), you know I tolerate you. " Jason started.

" Likewise. "

" But what are you doing here? Not even Bruce knows about this safehouse. " Jason stated, raising his eyebrow.

" Before you say anything, he doesn't know that I'm here. Also, do you really think that Bruce doesn't know about this safe house? " (Y/N) said, pushing past the stuttering Jason.

" Also, I need some help. I'm trying to track down a contact of Black Mask. I know for a fact that you are an expert on that man. " (Y/N) said, plopping himself down on the couch.

" Jason, why didn't we meet this great kid? Why did you hide him? " Roy asked.

Jason rolled his eyes and moved back to the table to get his files and cigarettes.

" You still smoke? " (Y/N) asked, a frown on his face.

" Only when I need to destress. Which is often. Say something to Alfred and I will end you. " Jason said, putting the file and the pack down next to him on the couch.

" Alright, which contact do you need? " Jason asked, pulling up the list.

(Y/N) leaned into Jason, saying the name. Roy and Artemis looked at this adorable human. They were brothers, because Jason would not allow anyone to really lean on him like that.

" Okay, so this bastard is a cheeky one. " Jason started.

He was in the middle of an explanation when they heard Bizarro entering. He looked confused and then he just grunted. Jason nodded, seemingly confirming what he said.

" Yes, this is my brother. He needed some help. " Jason explained to Bizarro.

(Y/N) was a little bit tense at the sight of Bizarro. He is huge. A big rock.

" Relax, he is good. " Jason said to (Y/N).

" Alright. I should go. " (Y/N) said, standing up. " I got all I needed. Also, B wants to see you soon. For what, I don't know, but he needs to talk to you. " (Y/N) said and Jason raised his eyebrow.

" What? "

" Nice to meet you all. " (Y/N) said to the others as he left.

Once he left, Jason had to lit up a cigarette.

" Why is he so cute? " Artemis asked Jason. Jason rolled his eyes. He had an even better question. Why is (Y/N) so likable?

The last team that meet (Y/N) was Teen Titans. (Y/N) got into a big fight with Bruce and he simply didn't want to be on the same city as him. And what does the teen do in that situation?

He 'borrows' the car and drive to Bludhaven to his oldest brother and his team called Teen Titans. He knew that if he stayed in Gotham any longer, he was going to set the manor ablaze, alongside Gotham. He parked the car in front of the tower, just going towards the elevator.

He couldn't give a damn about the security. He could hear somebody yelling for him, but he didn't care about it. He needs his big brother. He needs an objective person.

And that person is his brother Dick.

He didn't see him when he entered the common room. However, everyone else was there and saw him. Raven, Beast Boy, Superboy and Starfire.

They all started at each other for a moment and it was awkward.

" Is Dick here by any means? " (Y/N) asked the team. Starfire looked at him for a moment before smiling.

" You are the famous (V/N). " She said and the others looked at him in shock, but the shock turned into recognition.

" Yeah... Is Dick here? I really need to talk to him. " (Y/N) said, feeling nervous now. He really needs to talk to him.

" He should be here any moment now. Please, make yourself comfortable. " She said, pointing at the couch. (Y/N) nodded and sat down at the couch. The team saw that something was off about (Y/N), but they knew that (Y/N) wouldn't say anything.

Dick came a minute later and after saying hi to the team, before setting his eyes on his brother. He saw that something was wrong.

" Hey, what's wrong? " Dick asked sitting down next to (Y/N).

" I need to talk to you in private. " (Y/N) said and Dick could hear the sheer sadness in his voice. He nodded and led him to his bedroom. He knew that (Y/N) was going to break at any moment.

" Now, tell me what happened. " Dick said, closing the door. (Y/N) sat down and looked down.

" I got into a big fight with Bruce. And I maybe took one of his cars to get here. " (Y/N) said, giving him a short version of what happened. Dick knew that now he wasn't going to get anything from (Y/N) if he pushed. For now, he hugged his little brother, holding the back of his neck. He felt something wet on his shirt, but he didn't say anything.

His brother just needed some comfort. After a few minutes, (Y/N) stopped crying. He tried to calm himself down and Dick just rubbed his shoulders.

" Are you hungry? "

(Y/N) shook his head.

" Tired? "

(Y/N) nodded his head. Dick nodded and helped (Y/N) to lay down on the bed properly. He helped him take his sneakers off and then his jacket.

" Rest up and find me in the common room if you are hungry. " Dick said, leaving the room. (Y/N) nodded and just fell asleep. Dick knew that Bruce would call later, but it wouldn't be good. Bruce and (Y/N) are kind of similar and that sometimes led to some conflicts.

But it never came to blow up like this. (Y/N) had never really done this to Bruce before.

(Y/N) woke up after a few hours, hungry and thirsty. He rubbed his eyes as he went to the kitchen. Dick was already waiting, getting ready to make some dinner. The rest of the team was on the couch and sprawled around. Raven was showing something to Beast Boy and Starfire was with Dick in the kitchen.

(Y/N) went directly to his brother, giving him a hug. Dick chuckled, ruffling his hair with his free hand. " I know you are hungry, just give me a minute. " Dick said, moving around.

" Sure. " (Y/N) said, rubbing his eyes. He let go and went to the couch. The team slowly migrated towards him, interested to talk to him. (Y/N) was answering all of their questions, happy to get some dirt on Dick.

Don't blame them, they all need some dirt on Dick. Speaking of Dick, he and Starfire just watched the interaction. It was cute.

After a few hours, Bruce came to get his son. He knew that the argument was stupid and that he was the one who started it. (Y/N) admitted that he was at fault too.

So, after some talk, they went back to Gotham.

And Dick? He was going to meet up with Tim and Jason. They need to figure out how (Y/N) was so liked by their teams. What the hell?

#dc x male reader #dc comics #x male reader #batfamily #jason todd x male reader #tim drake x male reader #dick grayson x male reader #red robin x male reader #red hood x male reader #nightwing x male reader

[mrsnancywheeler]

Sometimes when I be bored I think about Finnicks reaction to finding out his sweet girl is being forced into prostitution. Boy would be broken

no this is so real bc I also imagine the most angsty situations whenever I'm slightly bored which is why I write what I do lmao

tw talks about trafficking

but like imagine like you don't want to tell finnick about because he's already struggling and you want to comfort him without him worrying about you. so you bear the weight of it all alone until you can't anymore. you're able to say trips to the Capitol alone are for interviews with ceaser or to entertain the Captiol with whatever talent you've chosen, which is true except you're also being forced to entertain in other ways. and marks or bruises can only be explained as a fall or brushed off so many times before they become suspicious. and finnick notices that sometimes you just don't feel there anymore, like you've left your body, but the moment he brings it to you snap back into being comforting, happy, and supportive. finnick probably knows deep down before he actually comes to terms with it and when he does he's so broken up about it. why you? why didn't you want to tell him? how did he not notice ever sooner? what can he do for you?

and one night you're just laying in bed, he's been staring at the page of a book, but not focused on it. he's too busy fully realizing the truth and there you are laying down, staring at the ceiling, completely gone.

"Snow's selling you isn't he?" Finnick would ask it in the quietest tone and he's trying not to cry because you're his sweet girl, so loveable and soft, and now the Capitol is using you, breaking you down.

And he knows it's true when you just stare back at him, eyes so sad and a little shocked he figured it out. then you're both just staring at each other untill you're both bawling. and finnick is holding you like he's terrified to let go.

"why didn't you tell me?" he's mumbling out between choked sobs

"you just already have so much, I didn't want to add to your plate" and you're just so worried about him and he hates it and loves it

"I'm supposed to help you too, not just you with me. do you understand?" and you're nodding, saying you're sorry, and he's telling you it's okay

AND ON THE FLIP SIDE

finnick's girl, his sweet, gorgeous love, who recently won her games coming to finnick and telling him snow is planning on selling her

like you're all solemn and nervous, playing with your fingers and trying not to cry. finnick is so confused about the silence and what's going on so he's racking his mind to see if he did something.

and eventually with a shaky voice and tears on the brim of your eyelids you're like, "snow's going to sell me" and finnick's world comes crashing down

he's supposed to keep you safe which he already nearly failed at when you were reaped and almost died in the arena. "no, I'll talk to snow, I'll just take more, I can do it, I can handle it. not you, sweet girl, they can't have you." and he's just a wreck of tears trying to scramble for the next move in the chess game of the Captiol

"finnick, you're not going to do that." and your voice is still so soft, hands on his arm . "you can't do more, I can, and I'm popular right now"

and finnick's trying to insist, but you're hushing him as you cry until you start to really sob and crumble in his grasp so he's back in alert mode. stroking you hair, telling you he's got you, that things will turn out okay

anyways yeah a couple long thoughts I had about this, sorry lmao

#wanda 💋 #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair angst #finnick odair x reader fluff #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x reader angst #finnick odair fanfic #anon

[nn-ee-zz]

What are your other OC's like? I'm interested in hearing about the stories you came up with for them.

UH OH youre gonna get me talking!

My OCs are NPCs by origin. I was (still am) the DM of my friend group and to get their characters moving along I had to create my own.

Unexpectedly, my friends loved them.

ILYA - unwell henchman

i know its a boys name,

An aiding hand to an ambiguous villain, Ilya was introduced as sneaky, smiling, and untrustworthy. The facade collapsed once she vomited inside a cup after accidentally touching the liquified remains of (unbeknown to her) her younger sibling. The villain is a wizard of great power and transported all the liquid from their body to put out a fire, mummifying and killing the person in the process in an attempt to save several.

She seeks her sibling amongst the city. The tingling awareness of their demise at the hands of the guild she encouraged them to join and growing panic and grief led her to start a fight with someone who is spiraling as well.

She ends up at the local clinic, heavily injured and minus one eye, and spirals further from her injuries, her guilt, and the knowledge her family was correct about her being too mentally fragile to be in the city. Until....

(For now. The overall arc for this character is of recovery and improvement instead of pain and self-destruction. Forgive your past and find value within you that goes beyond self-sacrifice. With the help of others, of course.)

Despite her questionable moral position, a lot of characters feel the need to protect her.

Art - Her wearing another characters shirt and her getting a widdle kiss from said character, because even I (the monster freak artist) have my lovely ships

ED - emo organ trafficker

''Nez, I want my oc to be kidnapped and rescued by another oc'' ''Hm, I'll make up a guy to kidnap them then''

Originally meant to be a minor antagonist that would kidnap a character to harvest their organs and be easily defeated. Villain of the week type.

However, his snarky behavior, violent temperament, fancy victorian-boy-esque looks captured a lot of attention. He is a little freak but his direct words seem to bring out a lot of honesty in other characters.

Fun facts; His name is inspired by Edward Hyde. He is roomates and best friend/adopted sibling to Ilya. He makes an effort to be fancier than he is because he was born a bastard child and forced to be his fathers servant before he murdered his siblings and father and joined the army to escape (where he met ilya and ultimately got adopted into her family <333)

Art - Him, and him as a chibi fighting the guy who rescued the person he kidnapped. They also fall in love

REDD - funny bully

I recently made an oc just to mess around with the players while they were in jail! Well, now one of them drank his blood and is forever connected to him. The other one got her finger broken cuz she poked him. He also had the prision keys the entire time but pretended to be a prisioner as well. What a menace! I love making horrible pests. His name is red cuz thats how the others refered to him, because I described him as having red hair and red eyes.

Isnt it funny how despite being a DM I never use my monster designs?! I find it a lot more interesting to make characters specifically meant to alter the course of the character development of my players. I love to change deeply and irrevocably! : D

#ask #ocs #long post

[angel-of-the-moons]

A Rose Under The Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Violence, graphic violence, blood, fighting, human trafficking, mentions of abuse, drug use, child abuse, sex trafficking, angst. So much angst.

MINORS DNI: I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Whew! I'm proud of this one! Many thanks to my bestest friend, Artemis, who himself has DID and helps me understand this condition and describe them (hopefully) more accurately! His system is a big help in me learning more about this subject! (Extra note: any Spanish spoken in this fic is in italics. As I am not a fluent speaker by any means, it is mostly translated by Google. Have fun!)

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Chapter 2:

Inside Voices

(Steven, no…) Marc's voice groaned out, glaring at him through the shared reflection in the glass door.

"But Marc! I've lived here for ages and didn't know this shop was here!" Steven beamed, smiling widely. Thankfully the wireless headphones he had on made him look like he was on the phone, and not completely off his rocker…

Marc ran his hands through his curly black hair. (You have enough books!)

"But this store might have books I don't have!" He pointed out.

(Just let him look, hermano.) Jake sighed, his reflection staring up at Steven from a puddle on the ground.

"Yes, thank you, Jake. At least somebody encourages my hobby!" Steven huffed indignantly at Marc.

(Jake, stop babying him!)

(Hey, nothing wrong with having a hobby?) The man snorted.

Marc rolled his eyes and slumped his shoulders, he directed a tired glare back at Steven.

(You gonna go in or just stare at the front door?) He finally asked.

Steven grinned like an excited boy going into a candy shop.

Marc really needed to have a talk with Jake about this. Steven already had too many books in their flat!

Steven pulled the headphones out of his ears and shoved them in his pocket as he opened the door, nearly jumping when the bell dinged.

He looked around, rather impressed with how much was inside a small space. Steven almost jumped again when the clerk spoke.

"Hi! Welcome to Here Today Books!" She said cheerfully.

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

(I'm just saying, Steven… that's too many fucking books.) Marc said, crossing his arms at Steven through the reflection in the window across from his desk, cluttered with papers, folders, and books on various subjects of the Egyptian religious pantheon, architecture, etcetera.

"Oh, hush." Steven hummed, pushing his glasses up his nose as he examined the pages on one of the old books he held in his hand.

(Steven…) Marc sighed, exasperatedly. 

"I know, I know." He sighed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. The stubble there was getting rather coarse. Maybe he could talk Jake out of growing that mustache or goatee he was thinking about…

Steven looked over and picked up the bookmark, sighing deeply as he looked at the gold-tipped rose sealed so lovingly in the plastic. Small vine-luke designs had been penned into the colorful sheet of paper inside the plastic as well.

(Very Beauty and The Beast, no?) Jake mused, his reflection from the mirror on the desk looking at Steven with a cocky grin.

It helped them, they found, to have as many reflective surfaces as possible in their flat; it enabled them to talk to each other simultaneously and "see" one another. Sure they could all talk in the headspace, and when they co-fronted it was almost like they could feel each other; rubbing shoulders, as it were, but sometimes you just needed to see the other person, y'know? Outside of your own head? Shared head? The terms still confused poor Steven, at times.

"I s'pose." He hummed, holding the plastic in his fingers gently, as if it were made of the thinnest glass. Absentmindedly, he pulled the sleeve of his shirt up and looked at the inside of his left wrist.

A mark was there.

A rose, to be precise.

Sometimes it would look like it was wilting, other times it was blooming and vibrant… other times it was closed, not ready to bloom.

Right now, it was somewhere between wilting and blooming. He wasn't sure what it meant. He thought back to Marc's ex-wife, Layla. And how he practically fell head over heels with her when they first met.

He had hoped, with Layla, that she had a corresponding mark… but she didn't. Layla was one of the few who didn't have a mark, or in the very least it hadn't shown up yet. Which isn't entirely implausible… But… something happened. After escaping the Duat, coming back to life, fighting Ammit… finding out about Jake.

They just drifted apart. The sparks that may have been there snuffed out, any hints at romance gone from the equation. They all decided it was better to leave it at that.

Well, at least they were all still on friendly terms, Steven mused. Layla still spoke to he and Marc via phone, or even email. It took Steven forever to convince Marc to ditch that "old dinosaur piece of plastic" he called a phone, and stick with his touch-screen.

Except… Jake. Ah, Jake. Layla never fully trusted him.

(Steven.) Jake said, getting his attention, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Hm?" He hummed, turning the bookmark over and over in his hand thoughtfully, eyes fluttering back to their mark on their wrist.

(It's my turn tonight.) Jake reminded him softly.

"Oh… right." He cringed. "Bollocks, I hate this…"

(I know, hermanito. But it has to be done, or the bad guys roam free…)

"All right, just… don't let me see any of it, yeah?" Steven sighed, placing the bookmark on the table as he put his hands in his lap.

(Of course.) Jake replied.

Marc stayed silent.

Suddenly, eyes flew closed, the jaw clenched; a bit of a sharp pain fluttered briefly through the brain at the sudden switching. They were getting better at seamless transitions, but sometimes some form of discomfort lingered. The body sat, almost like an empty vessel waiting to be filled. Whether it was five minutes or five seconds, it was unsure. 

When the eyes opened again…

Jake was sitting where Steven sat. Steven's reflection wasn't in the mirror as Jake's had been, previously. He was left alone with Marc staring at him from the inky-black reflection in the window.

(I really hate that we have to do that to him.) Marc sighed, shaking his head.

"He's too gentle for our work, Marc." Jake said, clicking his tongue as he stood, walking over to the wardrobe in the corner and reaching out to grab his old leather coat. "He's too… good."

(I know.) Marc's reflection was in the fishtank now, where Gus the Second was swimming alongside… they really should think of a name for the other two.

Jake tugged the old worn garment on and pulled the gloves out of his jacket pockets with a sharp yank, flexing his fingers as they filled out the soft, well broken-in leather. Lastly, he pulled out that golf cap and slid it on his head, and looked at Marc.

(You don't have to see this, either, Marc.) He said to him.

(Somebody's gotta bear the weight with you, brother.) Marc said intently.

"Gracias por eso, hermano." Jake mumbled, twirling the flat's keys in his fingers as he walked to the front door.

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

He sat, kneeling on the rooftop, his body hunched in a way that made him look like a gargoyle, unflinching and unmoving in his gaze; the cape gifted to him flared out almost like a long, tattered set of broken wings.

He wasn’t sure why he decided here of all places was a good place to talk. Why here? What drew him here? Was it the lingering joy and comfort Steven felt when he came in earlier that day?

The sign was hand-painted and in need of a new coat. Flecks of it had chipped away, the exposed wood beneath bleached by years of exposure. But… why was the bookshop important enough to stand outside now?

He looked down below, the curtains were pulled back still in the flat above, old lightbulbs casting a soft, orangish glow to everything inside. He could barely see from this vantage point across the street the boxes of books and book stacks lying on a desk in front of the window. Small knick knacks lined the sills, a hanging plant pot on the outside containing flowers of different kinds, slightly wilted from the lack of sun from the past few days, and now the night.

He stirred when he watched the young woman inside walk to the window in the living room and close the curtains; then tracked her movements as she went about her nightly rituals.

She seemed relaxed. Comfortable. Safe.

She didn't need protection tonight.

He felt the air chill around him, seeping through the wrappings of his armor.

“Jake Lockley.”

There it was. The voice he was waiting for. The voice that always knocked him away from his personal thoughts. The voice that told him of his duties during the night.

Khonshu.

“Yes, father?” Jake asked, standing up, turning to see the large imposing silhouette of a gaunt man, enshrouded in ancient, wispy linen wraps, a tattered shawl hanging from his bony shoulders, clenched in his fist; in place of a head was the dessicated and fleshless bone of a bird skull, small web-like tendrils wafting about here or there. Large, eyeless sockets fixed him in a crushing gaze, the skull tilting in an almost inquisitive manner.

(I wish you’d stop calling him that…) Marc grumbled from within. 

“Have you located the evil-doers I sent you after?” Khonshu’s ancient and ethereal voice grated out.

“Yes. I plan on taking them out tonight.” Jake replied dutifully.

Khonshu tilted his head at Jake, and stood from where he sat on the aircon unit. “Now… Why are you here? This is not where you usually prefer to speak with me.”

“I… don’t know.” Jake admitted softly. “Felt like I had to be here.” 

“Hmm.” The god hummed, stopping to stand next to Jake, looking down at the flat below. “Indeed.”

“Was there… anything else, father?” Jake asked, looking up at him.

“No. You can leave. I will issue new orders when our quarry is dead and dealt with.”

“Of course.” Jake bowed his head, pressing his fist over the moon on his chest; sparing one last glance down at the woman before walking away, leaping to another rooftop with superhuman strength.

Khonshu stayed. Observing, just for a moment longer, at the woman inside the safety of her home. 

“Interesting.” He mused to himself, stamping his staff down and vanishing in a haze of mist.

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Jake panted, pulling one of his darts out of the chest of the man who had tried to previously shoot him just now. He sheathed the weapon and approached the shipping container, hesitating for a moment before smashing the lock open with his bare fist and hauling the heavy doors open.

Inside were half a dozen women and young girls, and children. Some of them naked, others half-dressed. Many of them were dirty and half starved, injuries evident on their poor bodies.

He noticed how they all flinched, backing away from him.

“I won’t hurt you.” He said, in a tone as soft as he could possibly manage, trying to ease their worries. “I’m here to save you.” 

Jake leaned down and pulled the jacket off the dead body of the man he had just killed, stepping over the corpse to the young woman nearest to him. 

She was clad only in her underwear, bruises and track marks lining her body. He draped the jacket over her shoulders, zipping it closed for her as he guided her arms through the sleeves. 

“The police are on their way. You’ll all be safe, soon.” He said, his glowing white eyes fixed in the black abyss of his mask immediately zeroed in on three women, clinging their arms around a group of small children.

The youngest couldn’t have been older than three years old. Her eyes cold, far too ancient and haunted for one so young, clouded by the things she’d been forced to endure for the profit of her traffickers; her tiny body already bearing the scars of the abuse and trauma. Jake’s fist balled at his sides as he forced his breathing to try and calm; adrenaline surging through him again, a hot coal of rage dropping deep into the pit of his stomach.

He wished he could kill them all over again. He wished he could make them all suffer in ways they could barely process for the things they’d done. He wanted to–

His cloak was tugged on, snapping him out of his seething.

He looked down, and a small boy, all skin and bones looked up at him. He looked to be about seven. Could be older, as malnourishment can inhibit growth. His big green eyes looked up at Jake as he wrapped the edge of his cloak around his shoulders like a blanket, his dirty and grimy fingers clinging to the blood-soaked material, seeking comfort he so desperately needed. Jake felt his heart crack in two. He looked almost like...

He closed his eyes for a moment and kneeled, getting as eye level with the boy as he could.

“You’re safe now. They can’t hurt you anymore.” Jake said, his voice quiet, almost broken. He reached for a ratty blanket on the ground and covered the little boy with it, the sight of him covered in a bloody cape almost too much for him to bear. 

He felt his breathing hitch when the little boy smiled up at him, gap-toothed and happy. He handed the boy off to a woman who looked to only be maybe nineteen.

“Stay…” He cleared his throat, looking at everyone within the container, standing back to his full imposing height. 

“Stay here while I make sure it’s safe and I got them all. Someone will be here soon to get you all out of here.”

“Thank you.” One of the women sobbed quietly, clutching onto what looked to be her own child. They looked too similar for them to be anything but related.

Jake turned, his cape flowing out behind him like a white shadow as he stalked into the warehouse beyond, his fists already tight; the spiked knuckles on the back of his hands ready for blows he was all too eager to deliver.

He stepped over bodies, beaten, broken. Lifeless. 

All at his hand. They deserved worse.

The eerie quiet of the cavernous space was only interrupted by the tinkling of chains suspended from the rafters, wind whistling through unseen cracks. 

He could hear the sirens in the distance closing in, but he didn’t relax. He wouldn’t. Not until he was sure.

Not until he knew they were all dead.

Jake’s hands trembled with anticipation as that coal of rage ignited into an inferno, burning hot and low in his belly, sending sparks through his bloodstream. He was so far into that haze of red, he missed the man rushing him with a kabar knife. 

He must have missed that one, the coward was probably hiding the moment the carnage broke out.

The moment he turned, he felt the blade slip easily through the wrappings of his dark armor, piercing the flesh and organs beneath, the pain tearing through his body like a macabre tsunami.

He brought his fist out, slamming the spiked knuckles into the face of the man.

The coppery scent of blood, the crunch of bones and cartilage filled his nose and were deafeningly loud in his ears. He was sure he watched his eyeball dislodge, hanging over the crushed and bloody expanse of his cheek as his body was sent flying into the cargo loader nearby.

The sound of his bones turning almost to powder overpowered the haunting ambience of the dark lair.

Jake marched over to him and gripped him by the shirt, rearing his fist back for another punch, even as his body hung limp in his grasp. 

Only… he couldn’t land the blow. He just couldn’t. It was one thing to kill to protect. But it was another to beat a corpse that he’d already wrought with one blow. His ears picked up the sounds of shouting, sirens, bootfall. A helicopter whirred above, spotlight shining at the carnage below.

He stood, clutching at the knife still sticking out of his side as he dragged his feet, pulling the shell of his body outside, where he was met with armored police officers, wearing what he assumed was some kind of riot gear. The pain in his side was maddening, he almost didn’t hear them demand he kneel. But he did hear a woman cry.

He lifted his gaze to see the woman he’d handed the boy off to; the child still clutched in her arms as they looked over at him, their eyes locking with his.

“He saved us!” She cried.

“Don’t hurt him, please!” Another shouted.

“He’s a nice man!” A child sobbed, clinging to the emergency blanket around her frail body.

Jake felt like he could cry, he felt his heart swell to bursting; not able to tear his gaze away from the innocents he’d saved, that he killed for. Not even when one of the officers approached him, gripping his elbow to keep him steady.

The older man sighed, unable to cuff the man that the human trafficking victims were shouting and crying accolades for. Even if he apparently killed all these monsters bare-handed. “Come on, lad. Let’s get you looked at. We can’t leave that knife in ya.” 

“I’m fine.” Jake mumbled, looking at the ground. His shoulders slumped.

“Like hell you are.” The officer turned and shouted for a medic.

“Perdóname, mi corazón." Jake muttered to himself. To someone else.

But as the man carrying the equipment bag jogged towards him, Jake gripped the handle of the knife and wrenched it free in one tug, blood spurting from the wound.

“Good God!” The officer gasped, reaching out to press his hand over the gushing wound. “Are you insane, boy?”

“Yes.” Jake mumbled, pulling his hand away from him, with gentle care that betrayed the violence his bloody fingers had wrought mere moments ago. He felt the wound close, the magic and blessed armor already performing its duty. Just as he had, so violently.

Jake straightened his posture as the medic and the officers backed away in a strange mixture of fascination, horror, and awe.

“Who… what are you?” The medic breathed.

Jake turned away, his gaze to the sky.

“I’m Moon Knight.”

And with that final goodbye, he leapt up, disappearing into the blackness and depths of the night, his heart heavy but relieved, cloak streaking across the shadows, as if to chase them away.

Chapter 3: Link

#moon knight #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x reader #marvel #my writing #khonshu #A Rose Under The Moon

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine the celestial dragons needing Shanks to stop you

Warning: slight spoilers? Use of a previously seen character's name that is release in more recent chapters (1050-1079?)

At Mary Geiose

Shanks: so....why am I here?

Jaygarica Saturn: We need to talk about that little fighter of yours. *Holds up your wanted poster*

Shanks: Oh yeah, they got separated from the crew a few weeks ago, and I haven't seen or heard from them since. *Voice dips to a threatening grumble, and he glares at the old man* Should I be worried?

Jaygarcia Saturn: well, not in the way I think you're implying, they're not in custody. The matter at hand is that a lone member of your crew is causing mass chaos.

Shanks: are you sure we're talking about the same person? I've never had them so much as step a toe out of line.

Jaygarcia Saturn: They've burned down three town halls, stolen six navy ships, injured hundreds of marines, stolen jewelry from wealthy ladies in six kingdoms, and that's not even the worst of it. They're sabotaging and systematically dismantling the animal fighting syndicates. Just yesterday they allied themself with a group of knife fighting monkeys that they freed, and together, they trashed an arena.

Shanks: And how is that a problem?

Jaygarcia Saturn: we're loosing money having to replace and repair the damage to the entertainment industry!

Shanks: and whose fault is it for investing in blood sports? Do you expect anyone to feel sad for you and your 'losses'?

Jaygarcia Saturn: Look... We'll pay you to go collect your fighter.

Shanks: *scoffs* Do you seriously expect me to hand a member of my crew over to you?

Jaygarcia Saturn: no, no, simply collect them, what you do with them after they are in your custody is up to you.

Shanks: I want their full bounty price, up front. And I mean the one you set it to this morning, not this outdated one.

Jaygarcia Saturn: *sweats* very well

A week later

You: *currently picking a lock some bird that are being trafficked*

Shanks: *snuck up on you and is now crouching behind you,* You're doing it wrong.

You: *shrieks and throws yourself against the cage door* Captain, what are you doing here?

Shanks: Shhh, keep your voice down, and giving you lock picking lessons, apparently. Even though you've always claimed to be a decent at it.

You: *hisses* I know how to pick a lock.

Shanks: evidently not, since you miscounted the pins.

You: you do it then, since you're so smart.

Shanks: *takes your tools and picks the lock in less than thirty seconds* see?

You: *sighs* Alright you're better at picking locks than me. By the way, how did you find me, boss?

Shanks: The celestial dickheads complained about you, and paid me your full bounty to come get you.

You: I'll come willingly if you put that money towards fixing my shower, I'm tired of sharing one with you filthy animals, and if I get first pick on the next treasure we find.

Shanks: *laughs and shakes his head* very well, that sounds like a deal.

You: *shakes his hand* deal, and the world nobles never specified for you to stop me?

Shanks: ... no?

You: then you you wanna help me free the rest of these animals?

Shanks: sure why not, sounds like an evening well spent.

The morning in Mary Geiose

Jaygarcia Saturn: *reading the newspaper and seeing that you and Shanks had destroyed several cargo ships for trafficking after letting the animals go* I guess we'll have to cut our losses, we might be able to even spin it in our favor. Germane, go get PR on the snail, we have some cleaning up to do, and actions to take credit for.... Oh! We can use *snaps his fingers* That flowery fanatic, what's his name... Oh well, it's not important.

Coming Soon

#one piece #one piece imagine #one piece x reader #shanks #akagami no shanks #red hair shanks #red haired shanks #shanks x reader #akagami no shanks x reader #red hair shanks x reader #red haired shanks X reader #from the depths of the dragon's hoard #tma original #3/31/23 #no beta we die like men

[yandere-kokeshi]

Do you write headcanon? If so, could you write yandere alejandro headcanon?? thank u <33

— Yandere headcanons of Alejandro Vargas

Warnings: Yandere behavior, stalking, military stuff. DM to let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: AHHH!!! Yesss, tysm anon!! I'm so sad he's so underrated. Hope you enjoy!

His behavior consists of being overprotective, possessive, and extremely clingy. While Alejandro flirts with you, he tries to keep it subtle and gives hints that he likes you; which, at times, gives you the impression he does this to everyone he meets.

It’s quite possible that you already have a friendship with him — working alongside him in the Mexican Special Army or helping him with the TF-Ghost Team.

But, that doesn’t mean you could be outside the campus! You could be a civilian he saved from someone following you, scaring them off with his booming voice and offering to walk you home; which, you politely took as he’s the damn colonel. Or possibly he came to a restaurant with Rodolfo and saw you there as his waiter, infatuated with the way you walked and talked; staring at you like a deer.

Either way, you’ve caught the attention of a man who’s determined to get you swooped off your feet with him.

85% of your time during the day is with him, through and through. Whenever you wanna hang out at some place, he’s right beside you and ordering drinks for the both of you; his arm resting behind you as his fingers graze gently against your back.

He's a gentleman, offering to pay for everything and anything. Went to an expensive restaurant? He's paying. Wanting to hang out with your friends? Sure! Why don't let him come along? Plus, he gets to see your friends.

Speaking of friends, Alejandro keeps tabs on everyone that you encounter, even if your with your childhood friend; he'll check their background and see if they're fit for you.

Alejandro is extremely protective. Even before he takes you, he makes sure you're able to defend yourself; have 1–1 training to make sure you can take down someone twice your size.

Though, this man is the definition of berserk if you get hurt or simply get yelled at on the street. He’s not beyond hurting someone if they threaten you, let alone touch you or even speak an ounce of disrespect in front of him.

While this man is full of determination, it’s a whole new step when it comes to you. He will go far beyond to make sure you’re safe and in his hold. Way safer than being around anyone else who isn’t capable of protecting you.

Alejandro is very skilled, not only in combat but watching you from afar. He loves to admire you, watch your hair blow in the wind or simply see you smile with others. It’s another skipped heartbeat if and when you laugh with him.

His obsession starts to shatter when he sees you smiling, simply laughing at a joke with someone; it could be a friend, possibly a customer, or your lover. Whoever it is, he's immediately planning to take you for him.

Alejandro would kidnap you within a few months (1-4 months max). He would simply come up with a few lies; if you're in the military, he would purposely make you come up as M.I.A. Though if you're a civilian, he'd come up that you suddenly disappeared, to suddenly reappear; coming from being trafficked or being kidnapped, being saved by this man.

Though, when he finally decides to take you. He makes sure to make it as harmless as possible. Possibly spiking your drink,

When you wake up in a comfortable bed, birds chirping in the background and covered in thin sheets; he immediately comes in and announces his love to you.

Whether how you take it is up to you. Though, much like Ghosts headcanon, you are not chained to the bed. Alejandro would hate to hurt you more than he already have.

But, he will use his strength and power to make you stay obedient. Though, if you dare to challenge him, he's always liked your blunt and bratty side.

While he's very possessive, he still allows you to keep in contact with friends and family. Even then, it's possible they've already met him, completely head over heels with him at how romantic and amazing he is. This also includes of you leaving the home, as long as you stay near him and keep contact; he doesn't mind.

His affection is shown in many ways: buying gifts, making food, and verbally and physically telling you he loves you. The two of you normally come home with him having three or more bags full of goodies for you. He absolutely adores spoiling you like no other.

Cuddle sessions to the max. Alejandro cannot keep his hands off you once he arrives home. He'll kiss your hand, chin, forehead, and head often. You won't be able to watch a show by yourself without him plopping himself near you, squeezing and kissing your body while mumbling love words to you.

While he’s out and about, being occupied with his duties. He will occasionally ask Rodolfo to stop by the home and check up on you. Which is at least a few times a day.

The both of you are likely good friends, or simply well acquainted where the two of you feel comfortable being near each other. Normally, he will stay to help you with anything and than be on his way to tell Alejandro about you.

—

My masterlist || Reblogs, comments, and likes are very much appreciated!! Stay well!!

Do not plagiarize, repost, modify, translate or copy my work.

#ask #kokeshi!! #yandere blog #anonymous #kokeshi anons #yandere x reader #yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere mw2 #yandere cod #yandere call of duty #yandere x gn reader #yandere x gender neutral reader #yandere x darling #yandere Alejandro #alejandro vargas #the icons are not mine #they belong to their rightful owners #alejandro vargas cod #alejandro cod #alejandro call of duty #yandere x y/n #x gn reader #x gender neutral reader #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro x reader #yandere tendencies #yandere soldier #soft yandere

[mybworlds]

Chapter 1

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: Javier Peña and his partner can't stand each other, but to take down an old enemy they are forced to work together and pretend to be a complacent married couple.

Series warnings: language , violence, alcohol use, slow burn, angst, mutual pining, smut (18+ MDNI), creampie, oral sex (m and f), fingering, masturbation (m and f), trauma and SA referencing.

Masterlist

Before to start… so here we are… I am very excited and nervous to write about this story 'cause I really care 'bout it. 🙏 I'm not an expert on these spy agencies, so if I got something wrong, don't get angry or offended. 😬 And maybe some aspects of Peña's character may change, if it's necessary. I don’t know how many chapters the story will have. If you want to follow my new fanfiction, I appreciate it 🙏

Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner

If there's one thing you really can't stand it's Monday mornings, not finding coffee on your desk in the office, not being able to catch a criminal after a long investigation that has taken you so much time and energy, you are in the office and you persistently look at the documentation related to Alvaro Monteiro, also known as 'El Diablo,' a drug dealer known in South America but also in half of the European countries, now also infamous for exploitation of prostitution and organ trafficking in countries like Mexico and Argentina.

You shake your head trying to bring order to the few testimonies about his movements, sightings, and the last deals he conducted; those who could really talk are afraid for their relatives and their own lives; those who talk more are found with a bullet in their head somewhere.

You hold your head in your hands watching the faces of all the young women, men and even children caught up in this so far endless trail of blood and death. You don't know when you will arrest Monteiro, but you know one thing for sure, you will not let up until you catch him. They wouldn't call you Bulldog like that.

Everyone whispers this nickname of yours because of your determination at work and then because, if you start pursuing a case, it becomes your priority even over your own life. None of your colleagues, however, has ever dared to openly call you that. With the exception of your insufferable colleague Javier Peña.

Speaking of him, he's a huge pain in the ass, a huge Don Juan who is convinced he can have everyone at his feet with that grin and his dark eyes always ready to look seductively at anyone who comes his way. He even hit on you once, but you told him everything you thought about him, about his absurd ways of getting information about investigations, about how he slept with half the office and all of them, even though they had been dumped by him, kept kissing the ground he walked on!

That's crazy.

By the way, here he comes into the office, agent Peña, hair perfectly coiffed, glasses on his nose, winking smile, and everyone looking at him dreamily, you roll your eyes and shake your head to go back to looking at the Monteiro dossier.

"Good mornin'." he greets you in a detached tone.

By the way, you and Peña can't stand each other. Not because you stood him up, or maybe even because of that, but because both of you were engaged on the Monteiro case a couple of years earlier. You each had your own method of investigation, as you do now for that matter, and you ended up pointing a gun at each other losing your target and then blaming each other in front of your boss. Your boss removed you from the case.

From that moment on, Peña treats you frostily, if he has to spite you he does, if he has to tell you a nasty thing he tells you, he doesn't think twice about it, if he has any news he keeps it to himself and reports it to your superior making you look like an amateur always bent over papers and little in action.

"Good mornin', Agent Peña," you greet him in the same tone.

Within a year of being removed from the case, however, Peña continued to keep his female informants - mostly prostitutes - on the alert about all that might be his movements, you for your part have always kept an eye on money movements and possible strange transfers from American to Mexican banks and vice versa, all of which led your boss to reassign both of you the case, making you promise to cooperate and share any information that either of you might obtain. Collaboration that has not happened so far, however, not entirely, at least.

Peña lays his palms on the documentation you were sifting through forcing you to look up at him, looking at you insistently with his huge dark eyes with the expression of someone who is studying someone intensely.

You sigh, "What do you want?" you ask him.

"Just to inform you," he replies.

You lean your back against the chair and raise your eyebrows as if to invite him to continue, you cross your arms "That would be news!" you exclaim in an icy tone "I'm all ears."

"Monteiro has been spotted in Paloma Beach, France."

You widen your eyes, spreading your lips wide, he smiles in that annoyed grin.

"Peña. Speak up. Now." you tell him, looking him straight in the eye.

He leans against the desk "I'm glad to have your attention," he says crossing his arms in a satisfied expression of someone who got to a race first "I thought you were too focused on staring at the paper…"

"Peña, you have my attention and if you don't talk right now I'm going to kick your ass and throw you out of my office!" you threaten him in an icy tone "So?"

He sighs, "Always in a good mood, I see!"

"Always a stupid and misplaced sarcasm," you retort using the same tone.

"Whatever," he says showing a green folder in his hands "Monteiro has been spotted in France, in Saint - Jean - Cap - Ferrat." he's telling you, because you're too eager to read news about the narco-trafficker, you get up from your chair and make to pull the clipboard away from him, but he's faster than you and pulls it away from your reach. You almost end up against him, you're within an arm's length of his angular nose and those dark pools, you both immediately retreat. He clears his throat and then resumes, "I was saying, Monteiro has been spotted there and according to this informant of mine he will be there for the next few summer months."

"When would the informant have told you these things?" you ask him raising an eyebrow.

"Does it matter?" he asks you raising an eyebrow as well.

No, not really considering how she must have gotten this information. You don't want to hear him say it, you are bothered by this display of how able he's to get his informants to talk and get comfortable and then get them to confess what he wants to know. No, thank you.

"Have you told Diáz yet?" you ask him, furrowing your brow.

"Claro." he answers you raising his eyebrows with a satisfied air.

"Cabrón." you answer him curtly.

You don't speak Spanish, but obviously living in those parts of South America you had to learn and especially you had to learn how to respond in tone to Peña's exclamations who likes to retort punctually in Spanish. In the early days he was doing it on purpose to retort in Spanish having realized you didn't understand Spanish and who knows how many he must have said to you and you didn't even understand them, but from the moment you started studying Spanish, you started responding in tone leaving him surprised in the early days, then it became a habit of yours to retort on each other with Spanish barbs.

"Muy bien, shall we go?" he asks you.

"Where?"

"Diáz of course! Did you have your coffee this morning, agent?" he asks as he gets up from your desk and adjusts his dark pants.

"And did you ever go to sleep?" you ask him making to head for the door. He does before you, however, and opens the door for you, then makes a hand gesture at which you roll your eyes and snort.

"Let it not be said that agent Peña is not a gentleman!" he exclaims.

"You're supposed to be a gentleman with all the poor girls you screw and then quit!" you exclaim. You just can't stand it, you can't help it.

Diáz is your boss, a man of about fifty, sturdy build, graying hair, big eyes with thick lenses on his nose, he wants everything to work perfectly in his department.

"Sir." you say as you enter his office.

"Sir." Peña greets as he enters the office closing the door "You wanted to see us?"

"Yes, thank you for coming, agents. I know you are both involved in the Monteiro case and as we know Monteiro has now become a world class criminal. I am in contact with departments in other countries and it's been confirmed that he is in France." he pauses "Do you speak French?"

You wrinkle your forehead, "Sir?"

"I need two agents - you -" he says pointing at both of you "to go there in the field in Saint - Jean - Cap - Ferrat to investigate undercover."

"Sir, with all due respect," you continue "but this is perhaps a CIA job-- we-- we are just DEA agents." you state externalizing your concern "We don't have the proper training to…"

"Agent," Diáz resumes, "I understand your fear, but the Monteiro case has become important to all of us. Monteiro could be in France today, the day after he disappeared from circulation again, it's too important for us to catch him."

You watch Peña in the hope of getting his support, but you see him thoughtfully "They will find out right away that we are agents, they might-" you are about to say they might kill you right away or torture you to figure out what you know and then kill you, but it's Peña who interrupts your stream of thought "When are we going to get him?"

Diáz smiles, "Have a seat, now I will explain everything."

Diáz explains to you in hand that you will not be completely alone, there will be CIA men who will be ready to intervene if you deem it necessary. He also explains to you that you will change your names, you will be Blanca Torres and Peña will be Diego Torres, and the role you will have to play. Diáz explains to you you will be two newlyweds on honeymoon ready to enjoy the sea, the sun, but your true goal will be to approach Monteiro and try to understand his plans and catch him.

"Todo claro? " asks your superior.

"Si." replies Peña.

"Está bien, aquí están sus pasaportes. Nadie te hará preguntas en el aeropuerto, pero sé discreto." continues Diáz in Spanish.

"¿Cuándo nos iremos?" you ask him not at all enthusiastically.

"In two days, just enough time to get the final paperwork in order. Needless to say, be discreet, don't ask too many questions around and play smart." he tells you again "Remember your roles and you won't fail." he adds taking your leave.

When Peña closes the office door behind him, you throw yourself into your chair with a despondent air "What do we do now?"

"What do you mean?" he asks you crossing his arms and furrowing his brow.

"Peña, you and I can't stand each other and now we have to pretend to be husband and wife, I don't know if you got that!" you exclaim nervously.

"Sure, Blanca. Or would you prefer, amor?" he asks smiling at you with that slapping face of him.

You roll your eyes; you don't know how you're going to stand him! You hope to catch Monteiro in a few days and put an end to that charade as soon as possible.

Taglist: @love-affair-with-fandoms; @pedr0swh0r3; @angel98624 if you want to be added let me know, if you liked this first part, leave a comment, like or reblog, if you didn't like it, it's okay, be kind and move on 🙂

#javier peña #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #narcos fanfiction #javier x reader #narcos ff #narcos fic #soft! javier pena #dom!javier pena #smut #javier pena fic #javier pena

[astrophileous]

Let's Put On a Show

Part 2 of 4 from The Countdown series.

The above image does not indicate the reader's physical appearance.

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Female Reader

Synopsis: As his undercover life begins, Derek finds that the biggest enemies he has to battle are past memories and resurfaced feelings.

Word Count: 7500-ish

Warning(s): 18+ NSFW CONTENT (minors dni); penetrative sex; vaginal fingering; alcohol consumption; derek might be a little bit of an asshole in certain parts; talks and/or implications of illegal trades (narcotics, firearms, explosives), human trafficking, past trauma (child abuse), reproduction, infertility (mentioned), coercion into sex (not by Derek), attempted rape (not by Derek), degrading nicknames (cocksle*ve—not by Derek), noncon strangulation during sex (not by Derek), physical violence, physical torture, violence against a child; pls lmk if I missed anything

Author's Note: this one is..... y'know what, I'll let you judge by yourself. pls be mindful of the warnings I've listed above. DON'T READ IF YOU THINK ANY OF IT MIGHT BE TRIGGERING. another special mention to @avis-writeshq for beta and for bearing with me 🥺💞 with that said, don't forget to LIKE+COMMENT+REBLOG &lt;3

Criminal Minds Masterlist

It was a couple of weeks later when Temples called for another meeting at the factory.

"Everything's set and good to go," Temples informed almost as soon as you had stepped into the threshold. "Derek Miller will be reporting for duty in two weeks."

Temples handed you the tablet containing a digital file filled with documents about Derek Miller's life. You were instantly reminded by the memory of receiving a similar looking tablet, scrolling through the endless documents of the persona you had been living with for the past few years.

"How do you wanna initiate contact?" you asked as you handed the tablet to Derek.

"I called in some favors from Bastoni. He's gonna vouch for Miller," Temples explained. "I trust you can handle the rest?"

You confirmed with a solid nod.

"It's happening," Derek muttered.

"You ready?"

Derek's eyes flew towards yours. "As I'll ever be."

"Good." A gentle breeze blew against your face, as if preparing along for the inevitable storm ahead. "Let's put on a show, shall we?"

"Derek."

Wrapped in your breathy moan, Derek's name was a world-class symphony. The soft expanse of skin glided against his own in a dance that he had known all too well. Above him, you were a goddess reincarnated, writhing for pleasure and setting flames to every nerve-ending in Derek's body.

"Derek, fuck. I'm gonna—"

"I know. I've got you, sweetheart." Derek's arms circled your waist, pulling you close until your chest was pressed against his. "Feel so good around me. Shit."

It took less than a minute for Derek to finally feel you coming undone around him, the sensation of your pulsating walls triggering his own release. Derek kept rutting up against you even as he was emptying himself into the condom, drawing tiny circles on your bundle of nerves and holding you tighter as your body spasmed some more from overstimulation.

Derek's lips brushed a feather-light touch on your cheek, tasting salt where sweat and tears of pleasure had mixed. You got up from his lap as soon as you regained the first bit of strength in your limbs, pretending that your legs weren't on the verge of breaking like sticks as you teetered towards the bathroom.

He was just returning from the kitchen with a bottle of water when you finally re-emerged.

"Let's put on a show," you suggested, now clad in your wrinkled shirt that was buttoned merely halfway.

Derek handed you the bottle before settling back under the duvet. "What do you wanna watch?"

"I don't know. What's on?"

You found your way back easily to Derek's side. It was muscle memory by now, the way you gravitated towards him and the way he'd welcome you easily into his arms. The bedroom lit up in the presence of your giddy smile when you saw one of your favorite Law & Order episodes playing on the TV.

"Hey," Derek spoke after ten full minutes of silence. "A buddy of mine is getting married next week."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"That's great."

"I wanted to see if you'd come with me."

The offer caught you off guard. Derek knew it from the way you tossed your attention so fast from the courtroom scene on the TV and towards him.

"Come with you to the wedding? As... your date?"

"Do you want to come with me as anything else?" Derek deadpanned.

An intangible weight shifted in the atmosphere when you decreased the TV volume all the way to zero. Derek didn't like the way you were examining him at that moment, as if you were trying to find a crack in an otherwise immaculate ornament.

"I thought you were fine with our arrangement the way it is."

"We've never even discussed it. You avoid me every time I try to bring it up."

Your chest swelled around a shaky breath. Derek never thought a few inches could feel like an entire ocean until he stared at the distance between where the two of you were sitting against the headboard.

"You don't wanna do this with me."

"What the hell does that mean?"

There was no mitigating the hostility in Derek's voice. He thought it must have been an act of fortification when you opted to leave the bed and began pacing the room, stepping further and further from him until the previous ocean finally metamorphosed into a freaking planet.

"I can't be somebody's girlfriend, Derek."

He ignored the resonant snap in his chest. "Can't or won't?"

"I won't because I can't. It's complicated. You don't understand."

"Then explain it to me." Derek rose from the bed, erasing the distance that had stolen you away from him. His chest felt thirty pounds heavier as he stood in front of you. "Help me understand. I want to understand. Please."

You sank on the edge of the mattress, with Derek kneeling before you as though prepared to launch himself forward if ever you would need him to. His hand hovered above your knee, dithering and unsure, petrified over the possibility of you pushing his hand—or worse, him—away.

"I've never had anyone in my life aside from my brother. Nobody before you." Derek perched his hand on your thigh at your revelation. "I don't know how to be with someone. How to care for them. How to love. I've been alone most of my life, and I work better that way. I only know how to be alone."

"That's not true," Derek denied abruptly. "You know how to be with me."

"That's different."

"How is that different?"

"Because you haven't needed anything else but sex from me up until now."

Derek faltered in shock.

You didn't think you ever saw him looking so wounded.

"That's what you think? That I've only ever used you for sex?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Sounds like that's exactly what you meant to say to me." Nothing could be more fragile than the voice that roused when he next spoke, "Is it something I said? Did I do something to make you believe that sex was all I wanted from you?"

"No, Derek. Of course not. Dammit, I told you I didn't mean it like that." You ran an agitated hand over your face before continuing, "We've never spent time with each other that didn't start or end with our clothes off. That's how it's always been between us, and I'm okay with that. I'm good at sex. That's why everything has worked out so far. But a relationship?" You laughed sardonically. "I don't know how to do it. What will happen when you need me to be there for you, and I'm constantly letting you down? What will happen when you start needing more than just my body, only to realize there's nothing left inside of me to offer?"

The air thickened around your throat.

You peered up to see whether or not Derek had caught that last bit of slip-up in your extempore speech. You hadn't meant to divulge it. You hadn't meant to articulate your fear so plainly in front of him like that.

What will happen when you start needing more than just my body, only to realize there's nothing left inside of me to offer?

Slowly, as though trying not to startle an easily-spooked rabbit, Derek took a seat right beside you on the bed. The scent of sandalwood attacked your senses instantaneously.

"You have so much to offer than you realize, sweetheart," Derek murmured. "You're every good thing in my life, can't you see?"

You shook your head in rebuttal. "That's the thing. I'm not good, Derek. You can't see it now, but you will eventually."

"Sweetheart—"

"I'm gonna hurt you, you know?" You looked up at him through the pooled tears in your waterlines. Derek decided right then and there that he despised the sight of you crying in front of him. "Maybe not today. Maybe it won't be tomorrow either. But someday, somehow, I will do something—or say something stupid, because that's what I do—and you'll hate me for it."

"That's fucking impossible."

"You don't believe I'm capable of hurting you?"

"No." His hand flew to your face, dragging a comforting thumb on the anxious lines that had embellished your forehead. "I don't believe I'm capable of hating you."

You loathed being at the depot in the middle of the day, especially underneath a scorching summer like this one. It was an uncommon occurrence that you found yourself there while the sun was still out. After all, whatever business was going down in that place called for discreet logistics, and since secrecy was a nighttime affair, you rarely visited the container yard during the day.

Alas, a big package coming in from Bolivia was supposed to arrive one week ago but found itself shipped elsewhere instead. This unexpected hiccup had drowned you in a copious amount of paperwork for days, followed by a substantial scoop into The Big Boss' personal vault. The delay also meant you had to do everything in broad daylight to catch up with the tight schedule on your hands. Kreczmar wasn't happy about the whole ordeal, and frankly, neither were you.

As you stood with your back against one of the disposed wooden crates, you kept an eagle eye on the men unloading the contents of the Bolivia containers out to the yard. There were three in total: two carrying the hottest illegal substances on the market, and another one filled with smuggled explosives and weaponry.

The men were pushing off the last crate from the second container when a figure plopped next to your right.

"We need to talk," Derek announced without so much as a greeting.

"Hello to you too."

You could feel his eyes on the side of your face as he spoke, "I'm stopping by your room later tonight."

"You can't. I'm expecting Kreczmar tonight."

Derek's stare was sweltering on your cheek. Even after the two months he had spent under, Derek couldn't warm up to the idea of your arrangement with Aleksander Kreczmar. In fact, he constantly scorned it at any given chance.

"Fine. I'll stop by after you're done."

"What is this about, Derek?"

"Not now, sweetheart. Later."

You watched as Derek walked away towards the other men, leaving you yearning alone over his retreating back.

In the span of two months, Derek had managed to fit in better than you initially thought he would. Miller the Stiller, they had dubbed him. Derek told you it was because he sent any room into a standstill due to his domineering presence—to which you had rolled your eyes blatantly to his face—but chatter from the back rooms told you that the nickname came from his good looks that, apparently, never failed to render anyone speechless.

As it turned out, Kreczmar's crooks were just as vulnerable to Derek Morgan's charm as the average women were. You didn't blame them. You, too, had fallen victim to that same charm many years ago.

Derek moved with authority among the sea of men, molding into the perfect puzzle piece to slot himself in between Kreczmar's thugs. You watched every inch of his movement like a hawk, stopping only when a rugged voice slashed through your pristine reverie.

"Ghost." Jan Borowicz stood to your left with the same signature frown across his graying eyebrows. His eyes, as always, were uncharacteristically warm for a man of his repute. "Something you should see."

You followed the middle-aged man to the back of another container, where you saw a figure crouching down with a hunched head between their knees. You didn't need to see their face to know who it was.

"Paolo." The 13 year-old looked up at the sound of his name. You rushed over to his side, your hands going straight to the fresh cuts and bruises smeared on the boy's face. "What happened?"

Paolo's eyes flared with fear. The answer you searched for eventually came from Jan, "I saw him with Ralph Grader earlier."

You recognized the name almost immediately. Grader was one of the new recruits from a few weeks ago; a petty thief who worked for one of Kreczmar's smaller branches before being transferred to the headquarters. You hadn't bothered memorizing anything else about the bastard—not even his face—because you thought he would be smart enough to realize his insignificance to never cause any trouble.

Well, you definitely got that one wrong.

"Is that true? Did Grader do this to you?"

Paolo never granted you a verbal answer, but the way he recoiled at the name told you everything you needed to know.

You turned to Jan with a newfound ire in your chest. "Where's Grader now?"

"Unloading with the rest of 'em."

You helped Paolo to his feet before marching over towards where the men were working. Most of them stopped in their tracks as soon as they saw you approaching, Jan and Paolo hot on your heels.

"Grader." Your voice was ice as it traveled throughout the group. "Ralph fucking Grader."

A scuffle at the back of the crowd caught your attention. It was a few seconds later when two of the men appeared in front of you, holding up a scruffy man—whom you could only assume as Grader—between the both of them. They shoved Grader on his knees, earning a rather loud hiss from the bastard.

"Let's not waste anyone's time and get straight to the point, shall we? You know why you're here." You reached for the gun in your holster, pulling it out before aiming the barrel to Grader's forehead. "You're gonna give me the answer I need before I finish counting to three, and I may have just enough mercy to let you keep your life."

"What—"

"One."

"Wait. Wait. Wait a second—"

"Two."

"I don't—"

"Th—"

"Okay! Okay! Fine, I confess!" Grader exclaimed. "It was me. I did that to him."

"You're not fucking stupid. Tell everyone what you did."

Grader trembled like a leaf before your eyes. You could read the forgiveness he sought with his gaze—no doubt similar to the one Paolo had flashed to him before he charged at the boy—and your chest glutted with relish to see the scoundrel grovel at your feet.

"I did it. I beat up Paolo," Grader confessed.

Tension fulminated in the air. Everybody was holding their breath as they waited to see what you would do next: show compassion or assign Ralph Grader an even worse fate than death?

The moment you lowered your gun from Grader's forehead, everyone knew that you had chosen the latter.

"You know what to do," you declared towards the two men—Vin and Al—who had brought Grader to you.

The two of them each grabbed Grader's arm before dragging him away from the scene. You didn't cast a single look towards Grader's direction even when he started pleading for his life.

"You can hold down the fort on your own, yeah?" you asked Jan, to which he gave you a single agreeing nod. "Good. Everyone else, back to work."

The crowd dispersed instantly upon your command.

As you were taking the first step to your leave, your eyes caught Derek's dark ones from the distance. Without another word, you turned around and followed Ralph Grader's drag marks on the ground, shunning the weight of Derek's stare that seemed to bore a hole straight through your skull.

"You okay?" Derek murmured in your ear.

Your answer was a stern nod—one that would satisfy any other person—but Derek Morgan was never any other person to you.

The man didn't hesitate to bid a quick goodbye to the host—claiming that there was an important errand the two of you needed to take care of, despite your incessant complaints—before pulling you along to the lot where his car was parked.

"Are you gonna tell me what's going on?" Derek questioned as soon as the car left the vicinity of Jennifer Jareau's house.

"Nothing's going on."

"You underestimate my ability to read you like an open book."

In the corner of his eye, Derek could see you staring out the window as if the city billboards were playing a non-stop rerun of your favorite movie. JJ's house shrinked in the rearview mirror with every yard the car sped through, and Derek thought he would suffocate in the silence if it continued any further.

He pulled up next to a curb as soon as he saw an empty spot he could park his car in. Confusion pranced in your eyes when Derek grabbed your hands in his.

"Talk to me."

"About what you said to JJ—" you evaded Derek's eyes, choosing to glout at your connected hands instead, "—did you mean that?"

Derek's forehead creased. He tried to pinpoint exactly which conversation with JJ you might have meant.

"About having a baby," you continued before Derek could ask you to clarify.

Understanding dawned on him in an instant.

JJ and Will had called for a merry celebration with the baby shower for their second child. All of Derek's dearest friends were in attendance, and he couldn't think of a more perfect opportunity to have you officially introduced to the team that had been his found family for the past several years. Some of them had met you in passing before, but this was the first occasion Derek could finally introduce you as his.

It was a joyous occasion, and in the midst of it all—after Derek had wished JJ a safe delivery and healthiness for both the mother and the baby—his blonde teammate had eyed the two of you cheekily and blurted out, "You guys are next, right?"

To which he replied without thinking, "Hopefully."

It was a lapse of judgment on his part, but Derek never expected the repercussions to be afflicting you this greatly.

"Hey, look at me." Derek's knuckles brushed against your cheekbone until your eyes leveled with him once more. "Don't take it to heart. I was making lighthearted conversations. I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it."

"Maybe." You pushed his hand away from your face, and Derek nearly groaned at the loss of contact. "But it's still something you want to do, right? Maybe not now, but later down the road?"

"Sweetheart." Derek tried to coax you into looking at him again, sighing heavily when you refused. "Do you not want kids?"

Derek's question crashed like a sinking ship in the air; slow and painful, catastrophic and dreadful. The firm grip he had on your knee would usually suffice as a life vest, but at that moment, the touch was nothing more than a stack of stones weighing you down even further.

"It's not about what I want."

"What do you—"

"I can't have kids."

There was no concealing the shock on Derek's face.

Out of everything he expected you to say, nothing could have prepared him for that admission. He didn't know how to respond to such a vulnerable confession. The way you were sitting right then, though—pressed against the door with your knees pointed away from Derek, as if you were an impala cornered by a lion—told him that any physical gesture he could present wouldn't be responded in kind.

"How long have you known?" was what Derek ended up asking after a while had passed.

"I think I've always known. It's not that I... I don't... There's no medical reason behind it. It's just something I can't do, Derek. Do you understand?"

He did.

Derek didn't think he could understand anyone better than he understood you at that moment.

As he watched your fingers trifle with the hem of your top, the abstract doodles in his head rearranged into a much clearer picture. He knew, then, that your incapability to have children wasn't caused by any physical factor. You simply wouldn't permit yourself to believe that you were capable of doing it.

It didn't take a genius to understand that this incapability was nothing less than a fear in disguise, stemmed from the years of abuse you had to endure as a child.

Derek hated to be profiling you during times like this, but the skills he had harvested from years on the job didn't exactly come with an off button. He had seen cases like this; where constant disappointment from loved ones gradually evolved into disappointment of one's self. Where the threat of projecting that same disappointment on others often led to drastic measures being taken.

In this case, the fear of turning out like your parents led you to believe that you didn't deserve to be a mother.

And that couldn't be further from the truth.

When Derek tried telling you this, you automatically shut down his attempt.

"Please, Derek. I know what you're trying to say. And I know that technically, you're right. But I just... I can't, okay? This isn't up for debate. I'll never be able to have kids. Not now. Not ever."

The finality of your words was indisputable.

Derek appraised you in its aftermath.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Not now. Not ever," Derek emphasized, grabbing your hand to circle a soothing touch on top of it. "You're in charge here, baby. We won't do anything you don't wanna do. You should know by now that I'd follow you blindly anywhere you lead me to."

"But I thought... Don't you want kids?"

"I want you more." Derek kissed you as though he was foregrounding his promise. The residual apprehension in your body evaporated at the first taste of his lips. "You're all I need, sweetheart."

The sight of your smile awakened something in Derek's chest. As he basked in your luminance, Derek could feel the shape of three little words consolidating inside of him. They frolicked around as if waiting to be said out loud, but Derek bit his tongue before they could slip past his lips.

The three little words could wait.

After all, there would be other opportunities for him to confess his undying love to you.

There were two rapid knocks on the door, a pause, a knock, a pause, and then another knock.

Derek Morgan was at the door.

It was already the third time Derek had ever been in the comfort of your bedroom, but it was the first time he stepped in there so soon after you had just finished your appointment with Kreczmar. The evidence of your time with the crime lord was still palpable in the unkempt state of your bed. Derek never thought the sight of ruffled bed sheets could feel like hot coals being shoved forcefully down his throat, and yet here he was.

"Drink?" you suddenly asked from your place by the liquor table.

There was no chance for him to respond before you thrusted a glass of whiskey in his face.

"It's not poisoned," you quipped after seeing the reluctance in his eyes. "I just got it as a gift. Old Fitzgerald. Good stuff."

Derek's jaw hardened the moment you mentioned the word gift. He didn't need further clarification to guess from whom "the gift" had originated.

"No, thanks." He put down the glass back on the table. "If you don't mind."

"Suit yourself."

The robe you were wearing spread out the second you sat down on the ottoman bench, revealing the naked length of your legs. Derek used to memorize every inch of those limbs better than he could memorize the lines on his palm.

"You said you wanted to talk?" you questioned.

Derek watched as you leaned back against the foot of the bed. Your navel was nearly exposed to him from this new position, but you crossed one of your legs over the other before you could flash him a peek. With the golden drink in your hand, you were the definition of a sinful temptation.

Derek buried his hands in his pockets and looked away. "I'm hearing chatter about a shipment coming in a couple of weeks. It's not listed in any of the existing manifests."

"Have you checked with the ones still awaiting approval?"

"I did. None in there as well."

"Hm. Interesting." You took a sip of your drink, savoring the burn while you lost yourself in contemplation. "Is the intel legit?"

"I heard it from Lascano."

You hummed thoughtfully at the name.

Mateo Lascano was one of Kreczmar's trusted right-hand men, though you'd argue that his loyalty resembled that of a guard dog just to see the man tremble with rage. You never liked the guy, and fortunately for you, the feeling was very much reciprocated. He harbored a nasty gash on his left cheek courtesy of your pocket knife from that one time he had challenged you to a spar after questioning your competence in front of Aleksander Kreczmar himself.

The taste of victory from that day was still sweet on your tongue, even underneath the bitter note from the whiskey you were nursing.

"He's an asshole, but his words do warrant some substance." You rose from your seat and headed for the liquor table to top up your glass. "I'll see what I can find out about it from Kreczmar."

"You think that's wise?"

"Why wouldn't that be?"

"He may get suspicious."

"I have my own ways with him. Trust me."

Derek's fists clenched against his sides.

You should have known by now that Derek's objections were never a matter of trust. He might still be leery about trusting you with his heart, but there was no question whether or not he would trust you with his life. Derek knew you would dive in front of a bullet for him if given the chance; a sentiment he both shared and requited in kind.

He did, however, have a strong disapproval of your so-called ways of handling things with Kreczmar.

"What's your plan, sweetheart? Fuck the bastard until you loosen his tongue?"

The drink in your hand stopped swirling. The glass fell with a loud thump when you slammed it back on the table.

"What the fuck is your problem?!"

"My problem?" Derek gritted his teeth. He stalked forward as though you were a convenient prey, blocking every possible exit until the only respite you were left with was the wall against your back. "You want to know what my problem is?!"

The next thing you knew, Derek had gripped your robe in his hand, yanking on the collar until you let out a reflexive shriek.

"This—" Derek began, his voice suddenly taking on a more gentle edge, reiterated by the touch he brushed against your neck, "—is what my fucking problem is."

You didn't need to look in the mirror to know what Derek was seeing in his eyes; to know what kind of marks you would glimpse if a reflection of you were to spawn in the middle of the room at that exact same second. After all, those bruises on your neck were pretty much identical to the ones that had tarnished your skin so many times prior. They always appeared in the ugliest splotches of blue, red, and purple, encircling your throat in the shape of Aleksander Kreczmar's hand.

You flung Derek's hands away before securing the robe tightly around yourself. There was a reason you liked that robe. It covered up your dirty little secret from any prying eyes.

Except for Derek's.

"How long has it been going on?" he asked.

You couldn't answer him.

What would Derek do if he found out that Kreczmar had been hurting you that way for as long as you had known the man?

The first time it happened, you hadn't seen it coming. Kreczmar left you gasping for air in the middle of your bed as soon as he was done, paying not even the slightest attention to the fact that you had nearly lost your life in his hand.

After numerous times going through the same thing, though, you eventually managed to learn how to ensure your survival by the time Kreczmar was done having his way with you.

It was a fucked up situation in an equally fucked up life. You made your peace with it a long time ago. This was merely an occupational hazard that you needed to learn to live with.

When you told Derek as much, the man proceeded to glower.

"Occupational hazard? That's all your life amounts to you? A fucking occupational hazard?!"

"What the hell do you want me to do here, Derek?"

"To stop being stupid, that's what."

"Stupid?" That single word was a blade through your chest. Red, fiery anger filled the gaping wound it left behind with every second that ticked by. "You're calling me stupid for doing my fucking job?!"

"It's not your job to offer yourself up as a punching bag for that bastard!"

"Yes, it is! My God, Derek. Of course, it is. You and I both know that it's part of the job description. It's a sacrifice I have to make for the greater good."

"And I'm telling you right now that you don't need to make that sacrifice. Nothing is worth putting yourself up as a sacrifice." Derek's voice fizzled to a low murmur, leaking desperation where his previously intact vigor had been punctured. "There are other ways to do this, sweetheart. I can help you find another way."

"Another way? You don't think I've thought of that after more than four years in this hell hole? Do you seriously think that letting myself be used by Kreczmar, keeping my life and my body at his disposal, was my first fucking choice?!"

Derek couldn't hide the physical reaction he had at your words. He couldn't help it. The thought of what Kreczmar had done and could do to you pained him more than what any type of injury could inflict on his body.

The man saw your knees buckle, but he could only watch you fall onto the edge of the bed after you smacked his hands away when he sprung forward to help. Derek swallowed down the bile in his throat. In front of him, your shoulders drooped as if Atlas himself had bequeathed his burden for you to bear.

"Miller the Stiller. That's what they call you, right? Tell me, who came up with the name?"

Derek frowned at the unexpected question. "Why?"

"Just fucking answer me, Derek."

"It was McCloskey."

"Justin McCloskey?" The scoff that fell from your lips echoed in the heated room. McCloskey was a drunk and a pervert who constantly begged to have his mouth taped shut. It didn't surprise you to find out that he had been the one responsible for Derek's nickname. After all, assigning nicknames to other people seemed to be one of his favorite downtime activities. "Do you know the story of how he lost the tip of his pinky finger?"

Derek could hear the blood surging in his veins. "Did you do that to him?"

"I did. Right after he tried to rape me." You rose from the bed languidly, as if you didn't just drop a bomb that obliterated every piece of Derek's whole sanity, and headed back to the liquor table to snatch the drink you left behind. "He wasn't the first. Others had groped me, sneaked into my room when I wasn't looking. McCloskey just happened to pull the short end of the stick. He used to make everyone call me a cocksleeve, did you know that?"

Of course not. Derek had no way of knowing it, and you knew that. Still, you let the question hang in the air out of pure spite.

"Those same people who worship your ass now, Derek, are the same dickheads who used to treat me like garbage. What I did to McCloskey didn't even hinder them. It wasn't until Kreczmar implied his claim over me did those bastards finally leave me alone." You ambled back towards the bed, now with a much-needed drink in hand, before sitting back down on the soft mattress. "I know you think that I brought myself into this situation, and you're right, I did. But only because it was the only way for me to survive."

A temporary silence settled in the room. Derek allowed it to simmer because he didn't know what to say.

"We're stuck in the same game but in two completely different playing fields, Derek." You smiled ruefully. "I didn't have the luxury to pick my own battles as you obviously do. If being known as The Big Boss' side piece was the only way for me to get my foot in the door, then I was completely willing to do it. It took me four years to garner the same amount of respect that you've gained after being here for only two months. So don't talk to me about finding another way, because whatever it is you can think of, I've done it. Believe me."

With everything off your chest, you gulped the remaining drink in the glass, savoring the burn it ignited all the way down your throat. The pressure solidifying in your ribcage traveled to your head at an agonizing pace. You closed your eyes to brace yourself for the incoming headache.

It felt like hours later, when in reality, it must have been mere minutes when you eventually heard the first shuffle of feet. Even without opening your eyes, Derek's presence was incontestable as it circled your bedroom. Your ears followed his movements until he stopped by the bed, directly in front of where you were sitting.

Gentle fingers hooked themselves beneath your chin, tugging upward and urging your eyes to open once more.

"What are you doing?" you asked as Derek sat down next to you. In his hand was a bottle of ointment that you had previously stored on the vanity table.

"May I?" Derek asked as his other hand reached forward, skimming above the neckline of your robe without actually touching. "Please."

Two frail nods from you were the only confirmation that Derek needed.

His touches were butterfly wings against your skin. They fluttered until the left sleeve of your robe pooled around your elbow, revealing your shoulder and decolletage, dangerously close to where the curves of your breast began.

When he rubbed the fragrant ointment on the odious bruises specking your neck, your chest deflated in an exhale.

"Does it hurt?" Derek asked.

You shook your head no.

In fact, Derek's ministrations were the exact antonym of pain. He handled you as if you were porcelain, infused with fragility and in need of utmost care. You couldn't remember the last time anyone had touched you that way—so tender and loving, without an ounce of malevolent intention buried underneath—but you were willing to bet that it had also been Derek who gave you those last few soft touches before you were rammed into this belligerent life.

You were lost in the rapture, only realizing that a moment had gone by when Derek finally shook you back to reality.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Your responding sigh was music to his ears. "Don't stop."

Who was he to deny the plea of a reincarnated goddess, anyway?

Instead of withdrawing after he was done applying the ointment, Derek opted to lean in, kissing every patch of contusion and condemning the abysmal memories tied to it away. A flicker started in the pit of your stomach for each one of his kisses, but once Derek slid further down your body, those same flickers turned into fireworks that erupted in tandem with the drag of his lips.

"Derek—"

He shushed you against your collarbone. "I'm sorry for what I said, sweetheart. Let me make it up to you. Let me make you feel good, hm?"

You were barely able to nod before he lurched forward and tugged your robe further down.

You couldn't quell your moan when Derek's mouth latched onto your nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud until you felt it standing taut. Your other breast became the object of his fingers' attention as they toyed with it, squeezing and massaging before his mouth decided to switch places between the two.

After he successfully transformed you into a panting mess, Derek pulled back and captured your lips in a desperate kiss.

It thrilled you, peculiarly, to find that Derek's lips tasted just the same as you had remembered it. Not only were his kisses the same, but the way he handled your body like a fiddle was also the same. You lost yourself deeper in the abyss of Derek Morgan, surprised to find yourself volunteering to dive deeper into him even when you knew consequences would be waiting for you once you decided to resurface.

With a heaving breath of his own, Derek murmured against your lips, "Tell me to stop."

"No."

"Good." He pressed you back until you were lying on the bed. "Because I'm gonna worship you exactly like you deserve."

At the first stroke of his thumb over your clit, you couldn't do anything else but mewl.

Derek teased your bundle of nerves while keeping loyal attention to the gasps you let out and the tics in your countenance. Your hands gripped his biceps tighter with each swipe across your clit, feeling the arousal pool bigger in your belly, but also noting it from the obscene sound of your wetness on Derek's fingers.

When he started to prod around your entrance, you couldn't contain the loud moan from spilling past your lips.

"Fucking hell, sweetheart," Derek muttered once two of his fingers were sheathed inside. "So warm and wet. This all for me?"

"All for you, Derek. Please, please, I need you to—"

"Hm? What do you need, baby?"

"Move." As if emphasizing your plea, you ground yourself down against his hand. "Please, need you to move."

With a kiss on your temple, Derek pulled his fingers back out—marveling the way your wetness coated them—before plunging the digits back inside and curling them against the spot that knocked the breath straight out of your lungs.

It didn't take long for Derek to find his rhythm, pushing you further to the brink of exultation with encouraging whispers against your cheek. You clawed at his face to pull him closer—as though his whole body wasn't caging you in already—and despairingly seized his lips in a kiss. Derek welcomed you with a groan, swallowing the needy sounds you made as his sensual ministratration picked up its pace.

"So good... Derek, please—"

"I know, sweetheart." Derek's fingers inside you never relented. He angled his hand slightly without ever leaving your heat, letting the heel of his palm smother your clit until you cried out in delight. "Can feel you squeezing me. Shit. Gripping me like a vice, baby. You'd feel so good around my cock."

Derek's words triggered another loud moan from deep within your throat. The thought of him driving into you only spurred on your arousal. This newfound excitement wasn't lost on Derek. He could tell that you were close from the way your walls were drawing him deeper.

"C'mon, sweetheart. Wanna feel you cum for me."

"Oh my God, Derek—"

"I know, baby. That's it. Gonna make you feel so good. Let it go, sweetheart."

The coil in your belly finally snapped. It jostled you into the pit of pleasure where your whole body convulsed in euphoria. Derek embraced you through it all, mollifying you with his voice, touch, and kisses, never once stopping until you were finally back down on earth.

"Where are you going?" you rushed out almost forlornly, raking the hem of Derek's shirt when he started to get up from the bed.

He smiled at your clingy display. "I'll be right back. Promise."

Derek returned less than two minutes later with a small towel in grasp. He cleaned you up carefully, his touch never a breadth too wide or an inch too deep as the towel swept over the skin of your inner thighs.

You extended your palm when he was done, and Derek accepted it happily with a kiss.

"It doesn't hurt," you said once you saw him fixated on your scraped knuckles. "You should see the other guy."

Derek brushed entirely past your lame attempt at a joke. "I did. I saw Vin and Al carrying Grader to the med ward."

"I know you don't approve of my methods—"

"If anyone had it coming, it's Grader. Especially after what he did to Paolo." The mental image of the boy's blackened eye made you shudder. "You care a lot about that kid."

It was an understatement rather than anything else. Everyone within ten feet could see how you regularly doted on the boy. Derek knew it was because Paolo reminded you of yourself; shoved into a life of violence too early in his youth, stripped of the childhood he so profoundly deserved. You never even hesitated to adopt the protector mantle for the boy, because in a lot of ways, it was something you wished someone would have done for you when you were a child.

"I know you used to have reservations about kids—" Derek continued, "—but I've seen you with Paolo. You're good with him."

"Right. Because I'm such a champ when it comes to being a good influence, right?" You rolled your eyes, skittering to sit on the edge of the bed and wrapping your body with the robe still on your back. Derek followed you silently. "I threatened a man at gunpoint in front of his eyes, Derek. You can't possibly say that witnessing something like that isn't gonna fuck him up for the rest of his life."

"Maybe not. But you're making this life less grueling for him, and that's something."

"I don't like where this conversation is going."

You stood up from the bed then, walking towards the windows of your room and popping them open to let the evening breeze in. When you spun around to face Derek on the bed, you had your arms folded defensively across your chest.

You were hiding again.

Two steps forward and three steps back.

That seemed to be the only thing Derek was capable of when it came to you.

"The incoming shipment," you began nonchalantly, as though Derek hadn't just made you orgasm until you could see stars mere minutes earlier. "What's your theory?"

Derek inhaled a deep breath before answering, "Gotta be something valuable if he goes to such lengths to keep it lowkey, even to the point of hiding it from you."

"More valuable than bombs and machine guns?"

"Precisely. Something that would make him a lot more money than those two combined."

"What? Like missiles?" Your eyes widened when realization bloomed in your head. "People. That's what you're insinuating, isn't it?"

"It makes sense, and it explains why you've never caught wind of any trafficking activity even to this day."

"They can't be using the depot, then. Too many witnesses. They must have another facility where they detain those people."

"Somewhere secluded but easy to control," Derek agreed. "And most likely, you know where it is."

"Me? What are you talking about?"

"Kreczmar profiles as a classic egotistical sociopath. It's not in his nature to do things quietly. He would want to boast, and you're the person in his life he'd want to do it to the most." Derek got up from the bed once he finished his statement. His stature somehow grew more officious as he stood in the middle of your room. "Think, sweetheart. You know the answer. You've had it all these years. You just didn't know that it was right there in front of your eyes."

Derek gauged every micro-expression zipping past your face. The wrinkle on the bridge of your nose was concentration, and the frenetic darting of your pupils was your mind flipping through the pages of memories about Aleksander Kreczmar. When your earnest gaze found his, Derek knew that it must have been the light bulb appearing right above your head.

"His guesthouse."

"Kreczmar has a guesthouse?"

"Well, a guesthouse might be a bit underwhelming. It's a freaking mansion that stands in the middle of at least two acres of land. He'd host parties there. Entertain important overseas guests or clients anytime they come by. He'd take me to the woods at the back of the property sometimes, and then he'd... well—" You cleared your throat and looked away. Derek didn't need to hear the rest of that sentence to know what you meant. "Secluded but easy to control. That's what you said, right?"

"Yeah." There was no guarantee that the guesthouse would end up being the place you were looking for, but Derek still deemed it necessary to pursue the lead. "We need to check the place out asap. Think you can set something up as a cover?"

"Don't need to, 'cause it must be your lucky day, Mister." The corner of your lips slanted upward, giving Derek a front row view of your pretty smile. He had to fight off the urge to march over there and taste the smile directly on his lips. "Kreczmar's throwing an exclusive party there in three weeks."

"He is?"

You nodded. "And it looks like you just got yourself an invitation."

Taglist is open. Leave a comment or send me an ask to be added!

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[vasyandii]

KruegerNak FIC- PLUMERIA

Synopsis: Nak tries a cigarette, talks before a mission.

Warnings: Mentioning of Drugs, Smoking, Violence, Murder

Word Count: 1,000+

Type: Casual, dialogue heavy

Characters: Sebastian Krueger, Phayvanh "Nak" Sotsvahn

Creator Notes: This is actually the most I've ever written in my life xD have fun

Sop Ruak; Chiang Saen, Thailand. It’s the heart of The Golden Triangle; Laos was just across from where they stood. Nausea rarely gripped her, but being here was too close for comfort. The Mekong River was the only thing separating her from what she had two years ago.

It felt familiar, almost nostalgic—if she could even call it that.

She's never been fond of Counter Narcotics Operations; interdictions specifically. Nikolai proposed that Phayvanh's first hand experience with this area would be useful during their time in the East. The setup, at least for larger trafficking operations, was always the same; outdoor labs, “product” stored in barrels or polypropylene woven sacks.

Maybe her feelings are more akin to regret.

“Light.” Sebastian requests, leaning against the guard rails overlooking the Mekong, an unlit tip of a cigarette dangling from his lips. That snapped her out of her introspection.

She pats her pockets, nothing. Fuck, was it like her to be so forgetful?

“Don't got one.”

“Right.” He murmurs, retrieving his own to light for himself.

“Why even ask?” Phayvanh squints, scowling.

A smirk plays across his lips, tendrils of smoke spiraling from them, “I like it when you light them for me.”

That son of a bitch.

“Drop dead.” She mutters, not wanting to look at him after his ridiculous confession.

That got a chuckle out of Sebastian before a silence settled in. It felt uncomfortable, something she’s not used to feeling with him. Maybe it's just her.

It wasn't like she could ignore and forget where she was even for a moment– the humidity in the air, the smell of leaves that were too sickeningly sweet– it's all overwhelming. Not to mention that damn sight in front of them. Maybe that's why he smokes? It Feels like she could break out in hives or have her hair turn gray.

“May I?” She holds out her hand.

Sebastian gives her a skeptical look, cigarette perched comfortably between his fingers. “Thought you didn't do shit like this.”

“You're going to die sooner because of it, might as well catch up.” Phayvanh utters, waving a dismissive hand.

“Fair.” He hands her what remains of his cigarette.

Her fingers awkwardly held it up; more familiar with handing them out than holding one. Phayvanh tentatively brought the borrowed cigarette to her lips. As she inhaled, a harsh burn seared her throat, and a sudden fit of coughing overtook her. The acrid taste lingered, catching her off guard.

“You're supposed to inhale, you know.” Sebastian watches with amusement.

She couldn't help but shoot him an exasperated glare between coughs; a miserable attempt of recovery as the acrid sting from the back of her throat shoots back out.

“So much for trying to catch up with me, huh, Schatzi?” He teased, retrieving what remained from the cigarette , Sebastian expertly drew another lungful before tossing it somewhere on the ground.

"So much for that" She grumbles, finally being able to speak properly.

Krueger smirks, nudging her shoulder with his.

“Want to try that again?” He goads, giving the end of her ponytail a light tug.

Phayvanh swats his hand away “Not really. I thought it'd have more..you know.”

"Tastes like shit and kills you slowly, Phay." He shrugs. "It doesn't offer much in the realm of comfort or relief.”

"I want it to." She sighs, overlooking the Mekong."I feel like I'm back to where I started again.”

A silence settles between them, only the hum of insects and faint splashing of water. "This place isn't Laos," Sebastian says finally after what felt like an eternity.

"But that place is." Phayvanh's eyes direct him to look the strip of land across the river. “And we have to go back there.”

Sebastian follows her gaze. "Are you up for it?" He doesn’t add anything, just leaves the question to hang there in the space between them

The words seem to not want to come out. Phayvanh makes a vague gesture with her hands, hoping he gets what she's trying to say.

"Wow, you should become a spokesperson. Really got me raring to go." he says with a dry grin.

“Don’t be a dick.” She complains, wanting to sulk a little longer.

"Too late for that," Sebastian retorts,the smirk on his face tightens; he gazes at Phayvanh as if he's challenging her to toss another insult.

“I don’t know where I stand in this anymore,” she vents out.

“Bullshit.” Krueger cuts through any potential excuse or argument Nak could throw up against him. “Right now is not the time for a fucking existential crisis."

His curt tone stings worse than when she had taken a puff from earlier -

“What if he's there?” She gives him an incredulous expression- just what right does he have giving life lectures?

Sebastian's gaze sharpens. He doesn't need to ask who she is referring to - he knows.

The snake of the Laotian underworld, mingled with blood and fear.

“He’d kill me.”

“Not if I’m there.” Sebastian chuckles

"He’d kill you first."

"Then we kill him," he replies, as if they were discussing the weather instead of plotting murder.

“..What?” She takes a step back.

Phayvanh had to do a double take at Sebastian's words. Kill him? She was lucky enough Kapano didn't send anyone after her the first time she tried.

"We kill Vang." he repeated,

"No." She lets out a small laugh of disbelief, it eased her more than she liked to admit "Is the heat getting to your head? There's no guarantee we'll even run into him.”

"No guarantee, no," Sebastian concedes with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. He then leans in to look at her directly.

"But you and I both know this world isn't kind enough for sweet coincidences." His voice lowered into a whisper "This is your chance Nak-- One bullet- just one can send him straight back to the sty he slithered out from”

"What, so we go out of our way to find him? I can't do that Sebastian." Phayvanh reasoned, crossing her arms.

"That bastard has had a chokehold on your neck since you were old enough to walk,” Sebastian retorts, he knows he's not wrong “It's deserved.”

She wasn't stupid. Naga would cut off the hand she used to stab him with. Then he would use it to do the same thing she did to him years ago; he'd get away with it as well.

“It's not about that, I could lose my job. Isn't this against protocol?" She reminds “He's not a target.”

"No one's going to care if that bastard drops dead, Phay." He urged her

It was clear she considered it for a second.

"I'll take care of it- You just have to be there with me. Like always.”

“You wouldn't.”

"You underestimate me." Sebastian scoffs. "I’d have his head put on a tray for you, Phayvanh.”

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #art #cod mw oc #kruegernak #original character #cod krueger #cod fic #cod fanfic #oc x canon fanfic #oc x canon #sebastian krueger #krueger cod #krueger #phayvanh nak sotsvahn #cod nak #Call of duty oc #call of duty original character #my wrtitng #cod oc

[celiciaa]

GILBERT VON OBSIDIAN EVENT STORY....

SWEET.

Together with the prince.

translations are not 100% accurate. expect mistakes.

MINORS DNI.

Emma: I want my big brother to love me!

The little rabbit's cheeks turned slightly red and her smile widened as she declared innocently.

(No, no…she’s just a child.)

Gilbert: Are you referring to another big brother?

Emma: Yeah.

Gilbert: Does that brother have anything to do with what happened earlier?

Emma: He is.

(No way, Emma's first love….)

There was only one thing in mind.

Gilbert: I understand. You’re talking about big brother Akatsuki, right?

The owner of the bookstore where Emma works has known her since she was a child.

At around this age, Emma should know.

Emma: No.

(I was wrong.)

Emma: But I heard it from big brother Akatsuki.

Emma: There was a boy in a certain place who never gave up on people in need.

Emma: Like the crying children and grandmothers in trouble….

Emma: Or an older sister who is fighting and an older brother who is tired….

Emma: That boy is smart, and he always helps in all kinds of ways.

(….)

Emma: Everyone laughs when that boy is around.

Emma: Whether he was angry, crying, sad, or frustrated….

Emma: Everyone laughs and forgets all the bad stuff.

Emma: I want to be like that big brother.

Gilbert: Why?

Emma: Because it makes me happy when people laugh.

Emma: I'm trying so hard to be like him….

Emma: …I'm doing my best…

Emma gripped the hem of her dress again and looked closely at the place where the man had disappeared.

(You wanted him to laugh, regardless of whether he was a villain or not. ...There's probably no logic to it.)

(Being able to feel the smiles of others as if they were your happiness is a certain talent.)

(The little rabbit originally had that talent…)

(After hearing Akatsuki's story, I came to consider that a boy who no longer exists anywhere became an ideal.)

I was overcome by an indescribable emotion, and my smile almost crumbled.

(…No wonder, the little rabbit reminded me of my past self.)

(I thought we were alike, but…)

(I guess because of me, you have learned the "bad" way to put others before yourself.)

Gilbert: Hey, little rabbit. Would you like to meet that boy?

Emma: Gil, do you know him!?

Emma's eyes lit up, and I could feel the strength of her passion.

Gilbert: But he might not be the same big brother you think he is, you know?

Gilbert: People change. That child may become someone completely different from what you longed for.

Gilbert: He may become the kind of adult who ignores people in need and does not reach out to them.

(….You must have been very disappointed in me for not thinking anything of the fight between the traffickers/smugglers, aren’t you?)

Gilbert: Do you still want to see him?

Emma: I want to!

Emma: After all, big brother Akatsuki said so.

Emma folds her arms cutely and raises her eyebrows.

Perhaps she is imitating Akatsuki.

Emma: "People are like roses."

Emma: "Roses may wither, bloom, or bud depending on the season."…

Emma: "The roots remain the same no matter what."

Gilbert: ….

Emma: That’s why I'm sure big brother hasn't changed at all.

Emma: Because his roots will always remain the same.

("Father" even talked about that to the little Emma.)

I felt like I learned about Emma's background as she grew up as Rhodolite's Belle.

Emma: Even so…

Emma: Maybe I don't want to see him just yet.

Gilbert: Huh, you looked so eager to see him earlier.

Emma: Because, you know, I'm still not as good as my big brother.

Emma: I want everyone to laugh, but sometimes I can't…

Emma: It would be best to meet my big brother once I am able to do things properly.

Emma: …I want to love my big brother as much as he loves me.

Emma: So don't tell anyone...Gil.

Finally, Emma lowers her voice and puts a small finger in front of her lips.

(This child's cuteness is now a deadly weapon. She’s dangerous. ...I need to notify the castle immediately of a no-contact order.)

Even though I was touched by her gestures, my mouth couldn’t help but relax.

(Maybe I'm just having a convenient dream….)

(If this is the little rabbit's first love, I've heard good things.)

Gilbert: Hehe, got it. Whenever you want to see him, just let me know, okay?

Emma: Yes!

With the little rabbit smiling again, we walk around the town again.

We ate lots of delicious food, bought "sparkles", and played with the playground equipment at the park in town….

In the meantime, the sky changed color and the night, favored by the wicked, arrived.

Roderich: Lord Gilbert.

As Emma was sleeping soundly on the bed, which was too big for a small child, I was soothing her body,

Roderich entered without a sound and kneeled.

Gilbert: Did you find it?

Roderich: As you command.

Gilbert: That's good. I'm sure you investigated his additional charges as well?

Roderich: Yes.

I received the document that was handed to me and looked through it.

There were all sorts of dirty deeds that the little rabbit wouldn't be able to see.

(Aah, this is no good.)

(I never intended to keep him alive in the first place, but there is so much corruption and deception.)

Gilbert: Roderich, let’s switch places.

I let go of Emma and I stood up.

Roderich: No, I'll handle it myself——

Gilbert: This time it's okay because it includes personal information.

I put on the jacket I had taken off and checked the gun I always carry, apart from my cane.

When I loaded a bullet into an empty chamber and put it in my pocket,

I turned to Roderich, who was puzzled about what to do with little Emma.

Gilbert: But you know what will happen if the little rabbit gets more attached to you, don't you?

Roderich: I'll try not to wake her up.

Gilbert: Yeah, just be careful, okay?

Gilbert: ….I’m sorry, Emma.

I walked over to her without making a sound and stroked her bangs lightly.

Emma's expression was calm as if she was dreaming about something.

Gilbert: You said that the roots remain the same, but that's not true.

Gilbert: The roots of flowers rot if they're in the wrong environment.

Gilbert: …But I will never let your roots rot. // But your roots will never rot.

Gilbert: May you remain a beautiful woman at heart….

Gilbert: And I’ll do what I must.

 ▸       [  previous ]

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen prince spoilers #ikepri jp #ikepri translations #ikemen series #cybird #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri gilbert

[pryce0]

Hello! I hope you're having a great day/night! I just recently discovered you and I think I just struck gold! 💗 Could we maybe get a fluff/angst of Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x reader? Maybe about having a deep conversation with him just talking about the scars each one of them got from being in the military, maybe a soft moment where reader gently touches the little scar on his face and calls him beautiful. I'm such a sucker for soft angst , it's one of my guilty pleasures 😔

- please consider it only if you have time, don't overwork yourself and don't forget to drink water !!! 💗💗💗

anarchy (Gaz x GN!Reader)

gif by; @sgt-gaz

word count; 1,108

masterlist; here

summary; War leaves deep wounds, mentally and physically. Gaz shares stories about his time in the military through scars. [title taken from “anarchy” by Egg.] [reader is gender neutral!]

a/n; thank you!! i did have some water during this <3 and thank you so much for the compliment, feel free to request more!! I'm also sorry this took a while, a lot of life stuff happened, and it needed my full attention. i’m also sorry if there is a story for gaz’s facial scar. i’m also sorry again because i wrote half of this a few weeks ago and just now finished it.

[tags; soft angst, hurt/comfort, light self-hatred, established relationship. heavily implied civilian reader.]

———————————————

Gaz doesn’t particularly hate how he looks, in fact he understands that he’s actually considered quite attractive, but there’s moments where he doesn’t feel like he is. When his body aches after a long day of work, when his wounds are finally turning into scars. That’s how he finds himself standing in front of the full body mirror in his bedroom that he shares with you, running his fingertips over some of his scars. Deep dents in his skin, lighter than his usual skin tone. Some of them are raised and still pink from healing. Gaz tends to lightly run his fingertips over the raised scars more often than the indented ones, although one of his gunshot scars are an exception.

The cool wind from the open window flows through the bedroom and against his warm skin. The light-colored curtain flows from the wind, a barely noticeable noise from the fabric rubbing against itself. Gaz's eyes glance down to where a long, yet thin scar runs against his lower right abdomen; a hand to hand fight he will never forget. Gaz hears your soft footsteps coming from down the hall, but he doesn't feel the need to hide from you. He isn't that self-conscious, and he also trusts you with every part of himself. You enter the room and glance at him with a soft smile, confusion written all over your face. "I thought you went to bed, Kyle.." You murmur. Gaz turns his head to look at you before looking back in the mirror, his fingers tracing some of his own scars. "I tried," Gaz responds. "I kept waking up."

You hum from this information. It's not like Gaz has terrible trouble going to sleep, but it definitely isn't easy for him to do so. Neither is staying asleep. You walk over to him and look at his figure through the mirror. Your eyes trail to where his fingers are on his abdomen, and you keep your voice light and quiet. "How did you get that one?"

Gaz fingers motions pause for a moment before continuing, his own eyes scanning the scar. He chuckles from your question. That isn't usually a question people like to be asked, Gaz is no exception (because it's rude) but he knows you mean no harm. He hums before answering, his eyes looking over the tour of scars over his body. "I got into a hand-to-hand fight with some guy on a stakeout," Gaz starts, moving his fingers so you can see the scar in detail. It looks fairly old, a good couple of years old. "He was very drunk, blew my cover. I was in a bar I think it was, scanning the area for my target.” Gaz chuckles at the memory, at the details of the mission that he can remember. “I was going to bust a drug trafficking ring. However, the guy pulled out a knife and got me real good with it.”

You don’t respond to his words, but you snake your arms around him, your fingers brushing against his near where his scar is. You glance at him again through my mirror and you move your fingers to a different scar; this one is more jagged, like whatever caused it? It was definitely not a clean cut. Your thumb caresses the jagged and raised skin. This one is fairly new, maybe a year old by this point. Gaz doesn’t tell you everything that happens on missions, especially if it considers his well-being. It took Price calling your number for you to find out. Honestly, when you saw “John Price” flash on your phone screen, your heart stopped. You answered at the last ring because you one hundred percent expected a death call. You press your lips into a firm line before opening your mouth. “This one?”

Gaz’s eyes trail down to where your fingers are and his abdomen tenses up under your touch and realizing which scar it is. He forces out a chuckle that holds no humor or amusement, and he ever so slightly shivers involuntarily. Your fingers are tracing a gunshot scar, a nasty one. “I took a bullet for John MacTavish.” Gaz utters as your wrap around arms around him from behind. He can’t help but melt into your touch, almost if you’re two objects with energy and you’re taking away the negativity. Your warmth seeps into his skin, settling into the inner most part of his bones. “You remember him, don’t you?”

You’re rest your head against his shoulder/back area and you nod. “Mhm, I remember him. Soap, right?”

Gaz smiles softly when you murmur his teammate and best friend’s name. “Yeah, he goes by Soap. We were in a firefight in an enemy zone. Escaping wasn’t easy, and of course no one could escape unscathed.”

Gaz was not specific, but you never expect him to be. In his line of work, he must go through a lot of traumatic events, day and night. You nuzzle into his shoulder, smiling after you give his skin a kiss. “Well, I think your scars make you badass.”

Gaz blinks and a slight amused smirk rises to his lips. “Oh? You think so, do you?”

You unwrap your hands from him and grab his shoulder, leading him to turn around. Your shoulders relax from seeing his beautiful face and you can’t resist cupping his cheek. You feel his stubble scratch your hand as you caress his cheek with your thumb, the tip rubbing over the scar. “You’re so beautiful, Kyle,” You murmur, your eyes scanning his face. You love the way his nose curves, how his eyebrows naturally turn downwards from being at work so much, you admire where his lips start and end. You drink in his appearance like it’s the first time you met him. “You’re gorgeous.”

Gaz swallows spit that collected in his mouth and he lets go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding onto. He says nothing as his hand rests over yours that still remains on his cheek.

You both know your words have a double meaning and he just melts from your reassurance. Gaz knows you love him for more than his looks, but at times, he’s worried that’s all you stay for. You smile and gently pull him into your arms, one arm around his torso and your other hand cups the back of his head. Gaz wraps his arms around you, just holding you as close as he can possibly manage. If he could, he would fuse his atoms with yours. You say nothing as only your soft breathing fills the room along with his.

#call of duty #cod #cod mwii #gaz mw2 #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x you #cod modern warfare #modern warfare x reader #modern warfare ii gaz #mw2 x reader #call of duty mwii #mw2022 #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz #gender neutral reader

[lvstcd]

no time to die ⟶ finnick odair & oc [part 9]

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9

A/N: this is for my pookie ookie bear rese &lt;3 happy birthday bbg

WARNINGS: swearing, mentions of death, mentions of torture, mentions of sex trafficking, weapons, trauma, smoking, pretty much all hunger games shit :)

SUMMARY: rhys marley was the youngest victor of hunger games, winning at the age of 12. 9 years later, she's captured by the capitol along with johanna mason and annie cresta while everyone else is in district 13.

GENRE: angst, dystopian, fluff, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

oc - original character(s)

NOT EDITED! SORRY FOR MISTAKES :0

lower case intended

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ZEPHYR, peeta, and finnick sit in her room, waiting for any sort of news. finnick sits on the ground, his back pressed against the wall and his knees to his chest as he continues to tie his rope. peeta sits on zephyr's bed with her, his arm around his shoulder, holding her into his chest as she lays there, staring at the wall. she glances at finnick, watching him.

"when.." her voice scratches out, her throat dry, "when you told me a few days ago.. that all you have been trying to do is protect rhys from the whole world.." she stops, finnicks eyes meeting with hers, "was that.." she stops talking, just looking at him. she tries to think of the best way to ask the question. she scrambles for the right words in her head, her gaze not leaving finnick.

finnick stares at her, a few dry tears on his cheekbones, waiting for her to ask the question. he knows what she's going to ask. but he wants her to ask it.

"i guess what i'm trying to ask is.. did you take her place? when the capitol planned to sell her... did.. did you volunteer to take her place?" zephyr asks, her voice a slight whisper. finnick's eyes soften and he clears his throat. he nods.

"why?" she whispers, looking at him. he sets the rope down, running a calloused hand through his hair. "they wanted to start selling her and her body when she turned 13. it was a year after she won the games. snow was making his way into victor village. rhys and her family were out, doing something. i don't remember what it was. i ran outside when i saw him. deep down, i knew what he wanted. what he was going to make her do. i.. i couldn't let that happen. i told him to take me instead. that he could do whatever he wanted to me. he could sell me to whoever. but he couldn't lay a finger on rhys. ever." he stops, glancing at zephyr.

"i have... i have put myself through so much for her. and she can't stand me. she won't even look at me." he whispers, his eyes not leaving hers. "she could hate me forever. and i would still protect her. if i could go back in time, i would still do it. i would still put my life in danger for her. because she means so much to me, and to you, and to many other people around us. i would do it over and over again, with no hesitation."

zephyr looks at him, nodding her head, "and the tattoo you have.. is it for rhys?" finnick nods his head, going to speak, but he is cut off by haymitch storming into the room out of breath. "they're back."

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ALL four of them run to where the soldiers are. she see's johanna and annie with the doctors. johanna looks at her, her eyes tired but her face full of anger. the usual johanna look. finnick see's annie and his heart drops. he runs to her and instantly wraps his arms around her. zephyr watches them, ignoring them. she looks around for any sign of rhys. she keeps looking around, finnick turning around and noticing zephyr struggling to find rhys. he steps away from annie, searching around for rhys too.

he stops, seeing her in the room with about 3 doctors, her back towards the door. he freezes, going to step in, when zephyr shoves him out of the way, running inside. finnick stops himself, knowing that his face isn't going to be the one she wants to see right away. he turns around, slowly going back to annie to comfort her.

zephyr runs into the room, coming to a halt when she see's rhys' boney back being covered with a gown. "yang..?" she whispers, rhys slowly turns to look at zephyr, her face black and blue, her once long platinum blonde hair is now cut short. "rhys.." she says softly, her eyes brimming with tears, "i'm so sorry. it should've been me who got captured, not you. you didn't deserve this." she is cut off my rhys shakily bringing her hands out to zephyr, waiting for her to come closer to embrace her.

zephyr steps forward, gently wrapping her arms around rhys' waist. she sobs into rhys' shoulder, rambling on about how she is sorry and how it should've been her, not rhys. rhys weakily lets go of zephyr, putting her hands on zephyrs face, "zeph. it isn't your fault. i needed to get you out of that arena. and i did. that is all that matters to me. that you're safe." zephyr shakes her head, hugging her again as she sobs, her hands gripping onto rhys' hospital gown.

peeta stands there silently, watching the interaction. rhys brushes zephyrs hair as she holds her. she glances at peeta, "hi bread boy." she whispers weakily, a small smile on her bloodied lips. he laughs softly, not knowing what to say. he doesn't want to ruin the moment for zephyr and rhys.

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FINNICK sits with annie as she sleeps, his hand brushing annie's hair as her face is nuzzled into his chest. johanna glances at him, "how's rhys? did you tell her i say hi?" she asks as she watches the two of them next to her. finnick's eyes widen, realizing he hasn't gone to see her yet. he looks down at annie who's sleeping peacefully on his chest. he looks back at johanna, not being able to form words.

johanna scoffs and looks away, "rhys and i grew pretty close in there. we got so used to each others screams and cries that we can most likely mimic them perfectly." finnick doesn't say a word, he gently moves annie off of him and slowly stands up, going to walk to rhys' room.

zephyr sees him about to walk in, her eyes widening. rhys continues to sleep while zephyr steps outside, stopping him from coming inside. "finnick." she says softly, blocking the doorway, "you don't want to see her." finnick's eyebrows furrow in confusion, sadness flooding his features, "what? why?" zephyr sighs, looking around before locking her eyes with his, "you won't recognize her." finnick shakes his head, trying to get past her, "i don't care. i want to see her."

she stops him again, putting her arms out so he can't get through, "finnick. you can't. when she was in there... they.." she stops, causing finnick to look down at her, his eyes wide and angry, "what did they do to her, zephyr?"

"finnick. listen to me. i just need you to go. please. just give it a few days. if you see her right now, it will kill you inside. just.. just go back to annie for a bit, okay? please? for rhys." he nods at zephyr, turning around and walking back to annie. he sits on the end of annie's bed as she sleeps.

a day or two later, finnick wakes up and immediately goes to rhys and zephyr's room. zephyr lies in bed asleep, while rhys lies in her bed, staring at the wall. finnick quietly steps inside, looking at her, his eyes full of pain and heart break as he looks at her. her gaze snaps towards finnick, her eyes widening. she scoots back in her bed, afraid. her eyes show fear and anger.

"rhys.." he whispers, trying to get closer to her. all of the sudden she screams, immediately waking up zephyr. finnick jumps back, afraid and confused. "get out! get the fuck out! you left me! you left me there to die! all you have ever done to me in my life is try to kill me! get out!" rhys screams, thrashing around on her bed. zephyr stands up, shoving finnick out of the room while peeta runs in, trying to calm rhys down.

"finnick. you need to leave." zephyr says quickly, closing the door behind her as she stands outside with finnick while rhys is inside their room crying and yelling.

"what did they do to her?" he asks, ignoring what zephyr said. he looks through the window, his eyes full of anger and pain as he watches rhys have an episode. zephyr ignores his question, "you just need to go. finnick, go." he looks down at zephyr, "no. what did they do to her? tell me." zephyr lets out a deep breath, rubbing her forehead before looking up at him. "they.. they hijacked her with tracker jackers. they went through all of her memories while she was being stung with tracker jackers and they... they made all of her memories all messed up."

finnick starts to breathe heavily, panicking. "finnick." zephyr states, trying to make sure she has his full attention, "they made her scared of you. they made her think you're out to kill her."

finnick freezes, his eyes brimming with tears, "she's... she's scared... of me?" zephyr nods, watching tears start to slowly stream down finnick's cheeks.

"it's going to take some time. but, we will get her back." she states softly, watching finnick have a full on meltdown in front of her. "finnick. please. just go." she says softly, looking at him. he sobs, wiping he eyes and nods, walking away. as he walks back to his room, he sees johanna sitting on her bed, glaring at him. "nice job protecting her, finnick. she risked her whole life in their to protect annie. for you. and for what? just for them to hijack her?" finnick stares at her, looking away, and walking into his room, closing the door behind him.

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#finnick odair #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x oc #hunger games fanfiction #hunger games mockingjay #hunger games peeta mellark #hunger games prequel #peeta mellark #peeta mellark x oc #the hunger games #the hunger games trilogy #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #the hunger games peeta #finnick odair imagine #thg finnick #peeta x reader #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #gale hawthorne #hunger games catching fire #catching fire #mockingjay #the mockingjay #peeta mallark #thg series #thg fanfiction #thg #thgedit #hunger games #district 12

[gabessquishytum]

New prompt for a pervy Black Widow/Sugar Daddy AU - it's long sorry!:

THE SETUP -- Dream's family is broke and each sibling is tasked with (bullied into) trying to entice the new rich bastards on the block to marry them, without a prenup. Now, maybe the professed plan is a black widow end - 'cause the Endless family is sooooo less than honorable (and let's be honest, great, great, great Grandma Endless's 2nd husband only had his money and his short life to recommend him), but the plan is fluid. First, one of the children needs to snare the right mark.

They don't talk about why Destruction won't return his parents calls - like he's so much better than the rest of the family.

Sufficed to say Desire and Dream are seen as the ones with the best shot. So every rich dick (figurative & literal) party they can go to, every society invite they can wrangle, they dress Desire and Dream up in the newest sexy couture they can borrow based on the Endless name and the fashion worthiness of Dream and Desire; and as they get more desperate, the outfits get more sheer -- tits outs and hints of trimmed pubic hair on show. See, the recent Mugler RTW Spring 2024 (soooo many sheer outfits!).

THE SITUATION ON THE GROUND -- Dream has been on the block too f'ing long. Desire seems to be enjoying it, or at least the part where they are competing against Dream for the "win," but all of these men (/very rarely women) are absolutely gross. Handsy and odious and just evil, why, even for just as long as it might take to separate any of these people from their money, Dream would want them to touch him - he can't fathom. And unfortunately, the biggest interested mark so far is Burgess - and Dream thinks he literally, openly, traffics people and starts wars for "fun."

THE [NEW] MARK -- Enter Hob Gadling. Now, no one is really clear where Hob's reported billions have come from. They just know it's "clean" money now, and Mr. Gadling appears to be a respectable tech/finance guy, now. There are rumors that, 'Please, call me Hob', Gadling, is not a nice man and that people who go against him wind up suspiciously broken (many times in bloody pieces, not just broke), but well he's mostly charming.

_______

Dream doesn't want to like Hob, again Dream knows all these people are just the worst (and let's be honest, the "plan" still involves a convenient honeymoon accident), but they keep running into each other, and Hob is hilariously vicious in his quiet comments to Dream, and Dream can feel the heat in Hob's stare as Dream's "dresses" get shorter, and sheerer, and really, at this point, Dream is walking around these parties mostly naked (with nipples that Hob's stares make so hard). Dream doesn't even want to discuss what happened when Hob put his hand on Dream's lower back to guide him through the party. *shivers*

Dream allows Hob a kiss after a particularly cutting remark about Burgess that has the whole party laughing; Hob takes the next few kisses that night; smudging all of Dream's make up and walking away visibly, shamelessly, hard. Dream's own full body flush can be seen under his sheer dress.

I'm gonna add the second part to this post!

I love the concept of vaguely gangsterish mystery millionaire Hob!!! Honestly if Dream is being honest with himself Hob probably also made his money from human trafficking but the difference is that he's sexy, and funny. And he doesn't look at Dream like he's a piece of meat.

So yeah of course he's gonna let Hob buy him pretty things! At first it's all trashy but expensive stuff that Dream squirrels away to sell later. But Hob slowly persuades him to accept more tasteful (still very expensive) things. Floor length gowns and huge opals that glimmer in the light, and even a car (and a chauffeur to drive it, Hob doesn't want his darling having to do that). Dream’s parents are pushing him to get a ring on his finger, get married, get in the will... but honestly Dream is very happy as he is at the moment.

And the sex is obviously insane. Dream’s previous lovers have all been selfish and boring but Hob is just... he wants Dream ALL the time. He's always coming up behind him, gently groping him and whispering that he wants to go again, please, will Dream let him? And Dream has no inclination towards saying no. He'll let Hob do whatever insane sexual thing to him because he knows it's always going to be amazing. And of course Hob has the biggest, most perfect cock. Dream would be devastated if he didn't get it inside him every day. He doesn't care how many people see or hear him whimpering while Hob fucks him slow and deep over the bonnet of his fancy car.

He's getting fucked and the money is rolling in. What's no to love?

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft

[bitcell]

i'm just going to say a few words about what happened because i see some misunderstanding and while i don't agree with people sending hate to anyone ever, i think there are some points that explain why things took such a turn yesterday after the debate

first of all, all the hate towards baghera is unjustified. nothing can explain that, she's a candidate and she was on the debate to argue with the other candidates. period.

now, about why some brazilians are really upset with aypierre and i think this is justified is because he made some comments like:

compared q!mike to h1tler and joked about it.

made jokes about forever being arrested on his flight to france for drug trafficking.

complained (jokingly) about the brazilians being too loud.

he already apologized and everything is fine now, but i hope this makes you understand why brazilians are (rightfully) upset at the stereotypes that were being shared by him (and antoine, if i'm not wrong). i don't want to bring any negativity because i do believe everything is fine now, but i don't like how people are just pointing fingers at the brazilian fandom when they do have some reason to be upset.

especially after the conversation quackity had a few weeks ago on the qsmp, about how he felt like his culture was constantly mocked and underappreciated under the disguise of jokes by other people.

i don't think aything can explain making jokes about h1tler at any circumstance, but maybe it's a cultural difference.

the second point is that latinos + drug trafficking... okay, what's next, asking if we have internet? it's just blatantly disgusting (and something that happened a lot to quackity on the dsmp). both forever and cellbit have talked about how, although they can join in on the fun and the jokes about drugs, they think this is a sensitive topic.

and the last one, once again, another stereotype. yesterday when cellbit was talking to aypierre or antoine (idr which one of them) at the favela, they made a comment about cellbit being loud and he immediately rushed to check his mic settings and when he asked if his mic was scuffed like forever's, they were like "ah, it's just a brazilian thing."

although there may not be a intent to upset, a cultural difference, a "different type of humor" or reinforce stereotypes, i just wanted to make sure everyone understood why brazilians were acting the way they were yesterday.

#discourse //