#also if i tell u to do something. there's no *negotiating* that

[britneyshakespeare]

you know i had a lot of teenagers be annoying around me today, a couple of them were really obnoxious *to* me today... kind of day that a year and a half ago would make me cry when i got home but as i've built a tolerance for it, i'm fine wake up at 5:30 tomorrow and do it all over again 👍

[dilf-docs]

A Pillar I Am Of Pride

vander x younger!fem reader

summary: you're too young, that's what he tells himself; that you could be one of his kids. but of course you have spent too much time with vi, and unfortunately for him, stubborn rhymes with your name: you just don't know when to quit.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (25ish/45ish), smut, p. in v., ofc there is SIZE KINK who do u think i am (he can choke me with those huge arms idcidc), manhandling, thigh riding, dirty talk, virgin!reader, public sex (they violating every health code on the last drop), belly bulge, cream pie, breeding kink if u squint, this is basically pwp also with happy ending (no one blows up or dies yet THIS IS my story and i say they're all happy as a big family SHUT UP)

word count: 3,142 words

side note: hope the arcane community hasn't died yet, looking at the amount of votes i received on the poll where i asked if y'all wanted stuff from the show. I LOVE VANDER!!! saw the drawing and went insane. LIKE i got infected with a raw carnal primal need to write for one of zaun dilfs,, it literally took my brain hostage ++based this little filthy 2D piece on the hozier song dinner and diatribes.

You just don't know when to quit.

Vander isn't dumb. He's lived enough and seen enough. He's lived enough to tell when the admiration became adoration on those big eyes of yours, that looked up to him first but now down without an ounce of shame through his sturdy built whenever you think he isn't looking.

He isn't dumb, so he knows he shouldn't encourage it. Yet, Vander also thinks there is something different about you.

There is this desire to protect you, love you like one of his kids, but there is something unique about you he can't quite tell, enough to differentiate you from viewing you as part of them, even if there's a bed belonging to you next to theirs.

He is a fool, for thinking you wouldn't end up adopting at least one of his or the kids' traits. And of course, lucky him, it had to be Violet's headstrong nature.

"Vander" you call out his name, and he's brought back to the red and the bridge.

He can still see you, eighteen, fighting against an enforcer twice your size: because he took the life of your parents, faces Vander had seen in the mines and then at their meetings, ready to fight in the name of the undercity, for a change and a future: for their daughter.

That is what Vander wants for his kids in Zaun. For you.

So he negotiates with them, even if your eyes fall when you learn the truth one evening, eavesdropping. He pleaded you not to tell the rest, afraid they'll see him differently, just like you. Still, you keep calling his name like you did at the bridge: like a hero; savior. He saved you from death, but you'd die for him.

He keeps his eyes trained on the glass he's wiping as you take a seat in the stools infront of him, unable to look you in the eyes. It kills him; gets harder each passing day. He can't keep lying to himself, but he can lie to you. Protect you, he swore he would do that when he saved you and took Powder and Vi. So, yes, he'll lie his ass off, that his heart too hasn't changed after the years; that it doesn't beat for you and only you.

"Hey, y/n" he forces out, but even saying your name brings him pain.

When did you go from a kid leaving the last remains of hope and naive kids in Zaun drop sooner than others, to a woman equally dangerous in heart and beauty? When did you stop looking like a big sister or a babysitter, to more as a mother to Mylo, Claggor, Powder and Vi?

"Vander" you call again, touching his arm softly, but it burns. It burns.

He stops what he's doing, still without sparing a glance your way.

"C'mon, V." he hates the way such a silly nickname, a monosyllable on top of that, makes him feel. "Look at me, will you?"

He does so, because he can't deny you anything.

"There you go" you laugh easily, as if you didn't know the power you held over him. "Easy, isn't it?"

"You better let me finish" stern, but a smile betrays him.

"No one is stopping you" you huff, "or bothering you"

He finishes the glass, picking up another. "You are"

"Me?" you laugh the accusation off. Then it dies down, and all that's left is the neon hues of outside, reflecting something more mellow, akin to sincerity in your face. "You're right, it's always me"

He doesn't know what to say, all words lost. Silco used to say he knew how to move the people, that masses would follow just by looking at him: Vander always knew what to say.

But as of late, during the end of the day, when it's just you and the dirty glasses he cleans away, Vander finds it hard to speak even, like you're trying to talk in a language he doesn't know, or worst, used to, yet is too old for that now.

"Where is everyone?" he asks, and when you laugh, he knows he's said something stupid. But there are more stupid things to say, like I love you, so he's safe. For now.

"Might be because we're closed" you mock. "The kids are asleep, if that's what you truly wanted to ask. Made sure of it"

The last part, whispered like a secret. He can see the dare laced in between your words, the desire that pours like the drink he's serving you right now, but he's too old to play games.

"Good" then pushes the glass to where you sit. "Drink"

"Is it new?" you inspect the glass. "I hope you're not trying to poison me"

He laughs, "You know I couldn't hurt you, y/n"

There goes that expression again, and he hates to realize he's playing along.

"I know, Vander" you take a full sip, as if showing him just how much you'd trust him. Like he could have a gun put to your head and you'd understand; like he could have a hand around your neck and you'd breath the last huffs of oxygen in his name.

Silence settles in, until you decide to break it by saying:

"You know, if you wanted to get me drunk" the drink dissapears in a rough gulp, the liquid smooth while it burns and slides down your throat, "you could've just asked"

"And for what would I want to do that?" he bites right into the bait.

The stool creaks as you get up, and he finds your face closer than the smoke and ashes of when he takes a drag.

"Because I know you too want this" you whisper, dangerously low.

His breath hitches, heart beating fast. He could break you in two, if he wanted to, but now trembles like a leaf in the wind with just your perfume and eyes piercing through his.

"Want what?" he dares to ask, duties forgotten long ago.

You click your tongue, maybe in dissapointment.

You just don't know when to quit.

"The evening's slow" now sweet, tempting. "About to end"

He feels drunk, even if he hasn't had a drop. You're lulling him right into your trap. It doesn't matter if he has stopped you before: ignoring the bat of your eyelashes, the lingering touches and the sweet words that seemed reserved for him only.

"What would you do?" he gulps, Adam's apple bobbing. To me, too coward to voice out loud; to stop this nonsense.

You walk over to him, standing still, almost defiant, even if he doubles your size; the thought only makes heat pool in your stomach. The ember of the moonlight shines over your corageous eyes, and Vander thinks he really needs to shorten your quality time with Vi. A hand traces over his defined pecs: hands he's seen before hold a gun, now touching him with a softness that doesn't belong in the undercity.

"Don't you think knowing it's late makes it easier know what I have in mind?" you laugh, and it tickles parts in his body he isn't ready to say yet. "Just give in"

You should've know when to quit.

His eyes darken, and this isn't the Vander you know. If anything, you should be scared, but you rub your thighs together, spot already wet.

"If anyone's about to give in, it's you"

Before you can register, his lips smack together with yours as he takes the lead. His big hands cup your face, traveling down until they reach your hips, and the pressure of his size feels so much better than you imagined.

"Tell your man what would yo do tonight?" huskily whispered your way. His knee finds it's way between your thighs as he applies pressure to your already slick cunt, making you yelp. "Or cat got your tongue?"

You're at loss for words, for the very first time in a while. All that time spent provoking him, edging and pushing for a reaction, so sure of the hidden flame sparking behind the curtain of smoke of his pipe, to know surrender so easily, like your body is unable to react at all.

So instead, you entangle your fingers through his greying hair, a small whine escaping your lips, the sleeping fierce need of battle now translated in the fight for dominance, his mouth growing more demanding.

Vander pushes your body against the bar, making the wood creak. He applies more pressure with his knees, making you whimper again, his tongue reaching every spot inside your sweet mouth.

"God, you're so sweet" he mumbles.

"Then why did you stop yourself all this time?" you breath out, as tempting as the shadows that walk through the streets.

Hi smiles devishly, biting your lip. "Ain't nothing stopping me no more"

He uses your body as he pleases, handling it to his complete and utter advantage, thumbs now digging into your hipbones before he feels you grinding against his knee.

"Greedy little thing. Haven't I taught you manners, ey?" but the way he looks at you, like a starved man who's been denied a meal for years, encourages you to keep rolling your hips. Once you find a steady rhythm, he releases your hips and moves to grab your wrists, pinning you down in the free bar. You whine, the pain of the hard wood on your back digging on your skin.

"Vander" you gasp, but he shuts up the pain by forcing his lips right back. His handsgrab back ahold of your thighs so you keep up the rhythm. He can feel a spot over his clothes start to dampen, doing nothing but augmenting the hunger. God, he can even feel the smell of your arousal.

You moan, head leaning back.

"Feels good?" he asks, and you mumble a nonsensical myriad of words that sound like yes. He nips your neck, making you squirm under his touch.

"C'mon, baby. I ain't deaf but I didn't hear you" Vander taunts, biting still. Now he travels to your collarbone and then tits, removing your shirt to reveal no bra under. Of course, you little vixen had planned it all and he fell like a fool. Not that he's complaining, of course, giving a lick to the soft rosy skin around your nipples.

"M-more, please!" you whimper out loud, mind numb.

"You wanted it so bad, yet can't even speak" he murmurs, sucking a spot dangerously near to your nipple. Your movements against his knee come to a halt, but he makes sure to keep you and your puffy core grinding against his thigh. "Talk"

He should know that you wouldn't give up that easily, prideful as he was, no matter if this is what you've always wanted.

"I said talk" your legs tremble around his when he forces you down harder. "I wanna hear you ask for what you say you wanted so bad, don't think I didn't notice all your traps, taunts and plays, little vixen"

The nickname makes you moan, inciting you to pour the words out.

"Ruin me, Vander" and he barely has time to react, knowing that no man has ever touched you before, your untainted territories dripping for him. "Please- take me and make me yours"

"You know I've never denied you anything" he breaths against your neck, "how could I ever say no to you if you ask so nicely, huh? I see you remembered those manners"

It's now his hand what touches between your thighs, leg long gone. His fingers rub firm circles around your clit through the cloth, making you shiver.

"Let's start small, yeah?" he encourages, "I know you're my brave girl, but I would like you to come on my fingers first"

Vander strips you down, eyes going dark when he sees your needy cunt on display. He shuffles himself down between your legs, and the pressure is new and much, you feel you could come with just the touch of his hand.

"You're so pretty. Can't believe you're giving all of this to an old man like me" he kneels down as you sit legs opened up on the bar, dragging his tongue through your wet folds.

"Sit still, yeah? Let me take care of you" he licks again, gently sucking on it as well. He can't help but wonder why he folded so easy, as if he hadn't put a stop or ignored all of your previous attempts at having him. Now he has you, under him, saying his name in a way he hadn't before, as he makes out with your puffy clit.

"Fuck" you gasp, head falling against the wood. Your hands and toes curl, waves of sensations never felt before washing over you, as Vander continues giving your pussy ministrations.

The energy is electric, your arousal flowing like a river, making wet slurping sounds come out of his lips, feeling up the empty bar, your moans as back track filling his ears. Vander's beard is covered in your juices, making all of this the more obscene.

"I see you liking it" he jokes, licking some of it off his mouth. He adjusts your legs over his broad shoulders, barely noticing the added weight. Your thighs are so close, he can feel them tremble as he slips a finger inside of you, pumping in and out.

"V-Vander" you whine in ecstasy. He loves the little sounds coming out of your mouth; obscene symphony. He adds another finger, now curling them upwards, making your walls drip more while clenching around them, loving the sensation. Your nails dig so deep, you can feel blisters inside of them, holding yourself for as what would be your first orgasm.

"I-I think I'm going to-" he can sense it, years of experience ahead from you. So now he gives his fingers a break, kneeling to let his tongue enter the game again. It swirls around the tight walls, making you squirm.

"Fingers. Now" you demand, and he's carrying your legs again on his shoulders, thrusting them inside of you aggresively. You feel your folds clench around them, your very first orgasm washing over you.

"You behaved well" he praises while kissing your puffy cunt, skin glistening and still sensible. "That's my brave girl"

He uses the cloth he's cleaned the glasses with to wipe off himself. You gasp, laughing even if your eyelids feel heavy.

"What? Think I'm gonna be dirty when I fuck the shit out of you?"

You didn't think his mouth could be so filthy, used to his fatherly side, but oh, you're not complaining. He removes his belt, pulling his pants down. Of course he's huge down there, you think, as the tent behind his underwear marks a reasonably large silhoutte.

"Now, will you be brave one last time? I don't want to scare you, or hurt you?" his boxer falls to his knees, dick hard. You gulp, but can't back off now. He, however, can sense your doubt. "Just say it, and we'll stop"

"No" even you are surprised by the conviction in your voice. "I want you, Vander. Always will"

You open up your legs, closer to the edge of the furniture. He walks over until his dick brushes your cunt, pulling up your legs once again, a position you've discovered as of today, might be your favorite.

"See, there is a reason I didn't clean you up. Don't think I don't know my manners as well"

He lubes with your still wet pussy, wasting no time to rub his dick against your glistening folds.

"We're alone, but don't want to wake up the kids, ey" you nod. "So, you'll behave?" you nod again. "Good girl"

"Now, if it hurts, tell me and I'll stop"

Vander aligns himself up with your entrance, and with one deep motion, buries himself all the way to the hilt. It's almost as if he's forgotten his gentle side.

"Mphm-" you're about to scream, but his big hands cover your mouth.

"Bad girl" he tuts, "you promised"

Your back hurts, arching itself from the wood as you take all of his girth, walls squeezing him perfectly.

"Don't worry, the pain doesn't last long" he assures you, hips going back and forth softly. He picks up the pace, slowly but determined, seeing you have adjusted to his size already. "There. Take it, my girl"

He buries himself inside of you, body numb at his size and strident movements of his hips against you.

"Y-you're so b-big" you speak up for the first time in minutes, letting out another moan. "I can even feel you-"

You don't finish the sentence but the image is there, right infront of him. That only encourages him to fuck you harder, the thrusts now more brutal and violent.

"Tell me, where you feeling me?" you can't speak, so you point to your stomach. "Yeah? Filling you up so good you can't even speak?" then pounds you even harder. The pain is intense, but so is the pleasure, making you mumble more incoherences while even tears begin to well up in your eyes.

There is pressure on your lower belly, and it's not his bulge. No, you recognize it, despite having only felt it once: your orgasm is building up again. The furniture squeaks, looking like it will break under both of your weights combined, his thrusts now sloppier and messier. He was also close, grunting when your walls begin clenching around his dick.

"Fuck, Vander" you whimper out. "I think I love you"

Before he can register the weight of your words, thick ropes of cum fill up your pussy, his whole body shaking and finally succumbing to his age. He empties himself inside of you, your greedy cunt taking every drop. It's a fleeting second, but he remember Felicia, and the news she dropped that day. He thinks of a child with your eyes and his hair, the cruel world that awaits them but still can't let you waste any of his seed.

The room goes quiet as both of you try to even your breaths. After a while, your confession settles in.

"I don't think I love you" he gets down, kissing your nose gently. "I know I do. Can't deny that anymore"

The adoration on his eyes is so pure, you feel like crying again. The feelings you kept to yourself and left like crumbs for him to pick up through out this past days have finally transformed into something real. So real, your pussy still feels warm, just as your heart.

He easily carries your body on his strong arms, up to his room. You had never slept there before, and despite the numbness, you keep your eyes open, excited as a child.

"Good" you laugh, "because I was running out of ideas"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @arcanegifs

[moonstruckme]

I am clean from sh for about 6 months now (yay me) and lately, idk why, I’ve just kinda been struggling with accepting my scars and the fact that I’ll have them probably forever and your writing is really comforting and actually helps, so I wanted to ask if u could maybe write something with Spencer helping reader feel ok with having them on reader‘s thighs?

totally understand that that’s a touchy topic and if u don’t wanna write it, I also completely get it, thanks anyway for even reading this xxx

Ahh yay you!!! Congrats baby, and thank you for requesting <3

cw: past self harm, some nudity that's really not sexual but they joke about it a bit

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You’re sweltering. D.C. doesn’t usually get very warm, but for the last week you’ve been on a streak of record-breaking temperatures that’s made your clothes stick to your skin and has caused even your perpetually chilled boyfriend to refrain from putting on his cardigan until he gets inside his work each morning. Just walking between your car and various air conditioned buildings is enough to make you consider moving to the Arctic. 

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping inelegantly down on the bed to peel your jeans off. “Can we turn the A/C down to sixty, please?” 

“Let’s start with seventy,” Spencer negotiates. You hear his footsteps stop halfway down the hall as he adjusts the monitor. “I think we still have some lemonade left, if you want some.”

“Ugh, yes.” You tear your jeans off your ankles with enough force to nearly send them flying across the room and sigh blissfully as the A/C kicks on. 

You change out of your sweaty shirt too, going for your pajamas despite it being hours from darkness falling. You have no plans to go out into that hellscape again until tomorrow. You hesitate over a pair of pajama shorts before slipping on loose pants instead, not quite as cool but still light enough to allow some air flow. 

“I love you,” you tell Spencer when he passes you your lemonade as you come into the living room, sitting beside him on the couch. Ice clinks inside your glass, which is already forming little beads of condensation. You have the urge to rub it on your face. “I mean, unconditionally, but especially right now.” 

“I’ll take it,” he jokes back, tilting his head back so his face is in the path of the A/C vent. When he looks up, he finds you pinching up the fabric of your pants around your knees, trying to create a pathway for the air to move up your legs. “Why are you wearing those?”

You know what he’s asking you, and you intentionally misunderstand. “I felt like it was pajama time. No way am I going outside again today.” 

“Right, but aren’t you warm?” Spencer tilts his head. He looks like a particularly cunning puppy, brown eyes soft and inquisitive.

“A little,” you admit. 

“Then why not wear something shorter?” 

“That’s awfully forward of you.” You do your best to give him a smile. It doesn’t stick around long in the face of your boyfriend’s serious expression, increasingly worried. “Maybe I don’t feel like parading my legs around for you.” 

You can see the cogs turning in Spencer’s brain, and the usually fascinating process is suddenly almost painful to watch. You know he’s thinking of what you refusing to wear shorts used to mean, how nobody ever thought anything of it because, again, D.C. doesn’t tend to get very warm. How evasive you were about it then, too. An uncomfortable weight settles in your stomach. 

“Is there a reason you don’t want them out?” he asks, and his voice is gentle but his gaze is unflinching. 

You try to hold it as you shake your head. “I’m still clean.” The words seem to take more air than they should. Your guilt and embarrassment are enough to choke on. “I promise.” 

Spencer nods. “I believe you.” 

His eyes don’t so much as twitch down to your covered thighs. Relief like a cool breeze passes through you. It’s no small thing, his trust in you. Not after you’d gone so far out of your way to hide the evidence of your hurt from him before. 

“But it’s still related to that, isn’t it?” He lifts his glass, taking a sip before wiping the corner of his mouth. You almost smile, picturing your boyfriend in an interrogation room asking questions with this same gentle tone and wide open, curious expression. You don’t think Spencer could ever be harsh. 

“Yeah,” you say. What felt like something private and humiliating a minute before you suddenly want to share with him. Spencer tends to have that effect on you; he makes divulging your most gut-twisting secrets feel natural and easy. “My scars just haven’t gone away. I don’t really want to see them.” 

Spencer’s mouth pinches. “You know they won’t ever fully go away, right?” 

“Yeah.” You sigh, but it doesn’t feel like letting anything out. “I know.” 

“They will probably fade, though.” His fingers circle your ankle loosely, calluses skimming softly over your achilles tendon. “Is it that you don’t want to see them, or you don’t want me to?” 

You rub your lips together. Shrug. “Both, I guess.” 

He tilts his head. Like your answer is expected, but nonetheless perplexing. “I don’t care if I see them,” he says. His hand coasts up your leg, over the fabric of your pants, until he grasps it by your knee. “Can I?” 

You nod. You know he’d let it go if you said no, but it’s not worth begrudging him. “Sure.” 

Spencer brings both hands to the fabric at your hips, and you lift your bum up off the couch as he pulls downwards. Your legs are happy to breathe, the cool air coming out of the vent even nicer than you’d thought it would be. Spencer keeps going until your pajama pants are balled up underneath your feet. 

“You really were hot,” he says. It’s neither teasing nor gloating, a simple statement of fact. His fingers come to rest at your ankle again, and it’s the only kind of warmth you’ll allow. “Is it actually worth it?” 

You look down at your thighs. Your skin feels better than it had covered up, but it’s also a physical reminder of things you’d rather forget. “I don’t know,” you reply. 

“I understand why you don’t like them,” Spencer says. When you look up, you expect him to be as stuck on your scars as you are, but he’s looking at your face. His stare is calm and unmoving, like they don’t command his attention the way they do yours. “But I think they may be with you for a while. It might help to start trying to get used to them.” 

You blow out a breath. “I want to.” 

“I know,” he says. Easily, the way he’d said I believe you. And you think that he probably does know. Spencer has things from his past he can’t fully leave behind, too. 

His forefinger moves slowly up and down the back of your ankle, an absentminded gesture for him and a comfort for you. Slowly, his eyes dip down to your legs. You fight the urge to squirm and hide. 

“You know,” he muses, “there’s actually one thing I sort of like about seeing them.” 

Your top lip starts to curl automatically, your brows pulling together. “What?” 

“Just, that they’re old.” Spencer seems not to have noticed your reaction. His gaze is contemplative. “I mean, it’s not that I’m looking for them all the time or anything, but it’s nice to see them and know there aren’t going to be any new ones. These ones will fade, and then that will be it.” 

Something new clogs your throat. It’s just as heavy as before, but far kinder. 

Spencer looks up at you. He looks sheepish, the corner of his mouth uptilted self-consciously. “Sorry, it’s a weird line of thinking. I don’t want you to think I’m always checking on them.”

“No,” you swallow, “I get it. That’s nice, Spence.” 

He shrugs. “It’s the truth.” 

You could almost laugh. He makes things so simple. “I’ll change into shorts.” 

“You don’t have to,” he says. “If you’re already cooling off.” 

“Oh, yeah?” You keep your voice light, grinning at him as you shuffle over to straddle his lap. His fingers brush over a couple of the lines on your thigh as he brings them around your back, and the sensation doesn’t make you feel as shuddery as usual. You hug him with your arms around his neck. “You’re cool with me just staying like this then? No pants?” 

“Not if you don’t want to wear them,” he says agreeably. 

You laugh and hug him harder. “Thanks,” you tell him sincerely. 

Spencer only makes a soft dismissive sound as he hugs you back. 

[rumplereids]

hii!! i’ve read some of your docs and they are just awesome !!

i wanted to ask you if you could write a fic (paring Spencer x fem!Reader) about the BAU chasing the unsub and they manage to catch him, tough he did fire some shots that didn’t hurt anyone except reader but reader doesn’t realise it until she starts to feel dizzy and feels her shirt wet only to find a gun wound on her side, spencer is really worried etc etc.. you know an hurt/comfort !! :3

sorry for my bad english 😞😞

take your time !! :33

tags: spencer reid x fem!reader. hurt/comfort. reader gets shot. blood. reader using sexual jokes as a coping mechanism. a/n: unedited! set around season 12, bcos i just rewatched the s11 finale lol. i also took some creative liberties but i hope u still like this :) masterlist. requests are open !

There’s something Spencer always did before the team goes out to take down an unsub.

First, in the car, in the calm before a probable storm, he would take two fingers into the collar of your bulletproof vest. He’d tug on the back, checking the tightness of the straps while confined in the SUV’s backseat. And then, the same hand would run down your back. A comforting gesture that grounds him more than he’d admit. And lastly, he’d take your hand in his. Squeeze it three times in a silent ‘I love you’. He’ll wait for you to squeeze back, and your eyes would meet for a second, words unneeded as your gaze tells each other to take care.

It’s a routine done even before you officially got together. Tonight was different.

You were on the way back to the station after re-interviewing a witness with Rossi. You’re sat on the passenger seat, notepad in hand, attempting to arrange your thoughts on the case. A ringtone coming from the car speaker distracts you from your musings. Rossi reaches over to accept the call.

“Yeah, Hotch?”

“We found him. Garcia sent the location to your cells. You’re 20 minutes away from the address, but do not engage. Keep your distance and wait for the rest of us.” Hotch drops the call after you reply with an “On it, boss.” You flip a switch on the console, turning on the sirens.

“I still hate how loud these things are,” you make a passing comment.

Rossi spares you a glance, a bemused look in his eyes, “I haven’t gotten used to it either.”

You turn to reach for your vest behind the passenger seat. After putting it on, you triple check the straps. And then, you unholster your standard issue pistol, thumb on the catch, before you check your mag.

Rossi’s turning the corner while you holster your gun, reaching over, you turn off the siren. Based on the profile, this unsub will not hesitate to draw guns if met with law enforcement. Best not give him a heads up. A few blocks ahead, you see the bright neon sign of the motel the unsub is hiding in. Rossi shifts the SUV into a slow crawl. He stops a block away, a safe distance that still gave you a good vantage point of the motel. You keep a lookout, Rossi putting on his vest while your eyes pass over each entrance, exit, and window on the two-storey building. You notice movement on the first floor. A shadow behind a curtain on the second floor.

You’re starting to get antsy when the rest of the team, and the local cops arrive. You quickly open your door, walking toward where Hotch, Tara, and Spencer were huddled by the trunk of a precinct car.

“Are you attempting to negotiate?” Rossi asks from your side. Spencer’s eyes meet yours from where he’s hunched over a map. Embedding the floorplan into his mind. You watch his eyes rake over your body twice. Eyes running to each strap on your vest. Your heart warms at the gesture.

“He has hostages,” Hotch’s voice breaks your eye contact with Spencer. The sheriff walks toward your team, a megaphone in hand. Hotch thanks the sheriff, turns on the speaker, and begins to call out for the unsub.

“Bryan Masen! FBI! Come out with your hands above your head!”

You see the shadow shift on the second floor. And then, a loud bang. Bryan Masen has an assault rifle, shooting out of the windows of the motel lobby, while a second unsub shoots their own rifle from the second floor. In all the chaos of gunshots and screams, your mind rotates through three things; Is Spencer okay? A partner wasn’t in the profile. My ribs hurt. Is Spencer okay? A partner wasn’t in the profile. My ribs hurt. Where’s Spenc—

The following silence was deafening.

And then, a group of uniforms led by Hotch and JJ move in on the motel. You begin to stand, intending to join the second group of uniforms with Luke and Rossi. Subconsciously, your hand presses against your side. It’s warm. And wet. You take one step forward. Hear Spencer call out your name. And then, it all turns black.

Spencer’s hands won’t stop shaking. He stares at it. The red on his palms. It’s drying, and all he can do is stare blankly at it. His knee jerks. It won’t stop. He feels a hand on his shoulder. Heavy. Comforting. Unwanted. He hears Luke ask him if he needed anything. He can’t hear his own reply. Hunched over his bloodied hands, he sees the boots peeking between his fingers. Black. Leather. Heeled. JJ tries to get him to wash his hands. He feels hands guide him to a sink. That same hand on his shoulder leaving when smaller hands take his in their own. The water is cold between his fingers. The hand scrubbing his knuckles is warm. He can’t afford to look away. Can’t risk his eyes closing for more than a blink. He needed to be distracted by something. Knowing that if mind was preoccupied by any other menial thing, he won’t be forced to see your body falling onto the sandy ground. Over and over. The scream in his throat. The thud. The frantic hands. Red, red, red. Pale lips and eyes closed. Over and over.

He has half a mind to stop JJ from cleaning his hands. But then, the faucet turns off. Paper towels are pressed into his hands, and JJ guides him back to where the rest of the team are waiting. Their silence tells him that there hasn’t been anything new. He falls into a chair. Numbers. Statistics. That can help him focus on something else.

The number of GSWs treated per biennium increased from 1,349 in 1996-1997 to 1,484 in 2014-2015, with a 59% increase occurring from 2010-2011 to 2014-2015. Overall mortality was 14.6%—

An unfamiliar name calls out your name.

He stands before anyone else can react. Like a wolf descending on a prey, he begins a barrage of questions; “Where is she? Is she okay? Is she ali—”

“She alive and well. The shrapnel missed any major arteries, and we were able to take every fragment out. Major bruising around her ribs. She’s currently sedated, but you can come and see her.”

Spencer bites back an attempt to snap, wanting to raise his voice and demand that they bring him to her already. But he doubts you’d let him get away with such a behavior. And so he silently follows after the doctor, fists pressed against his sides, thumb popping a knuckle.

When he enters your room, it’s dimly lit. But he can see your face, and the bruise on your cheek from when you fell unconscious. His eyes take you in, every inch of you. The hair pulled behind your ears. The medical gown covering pallor skin. The tube connected to the crook of your elbow. He reaches a hand out, smoothing your hair, before taking a deep breath in. He remembers your comment about the smell of hospitals.

“I’ll stay with her,” he mumbles. Two fingers pushing down the collar of your hospital gown. You don’t like it when your clothes bunch up around your neck. His fingers subconsciously move to trace the side of your throat. Moving to feel the beat of your pulse beneath his fingertips.

“I’ll bring your bags back in an hour,” he nods once to acknowledge JJ’s words.

“Thank you,” he coughs away the lump in his throat. You’re alive. You’ll be awake in a few hours. You can go home by the end of the week. He forces himself to feel optimistic.

“Get some rest if you can, Reid,” Hotch speaks from where he’s standing nearest to the door.

He nods, opting not to say anything. Unable to make promises.

Your eyes are heavy when you come to. You can feel the crust on your lids. The cool of the AC against your cheek. Slowly, you open your eyes. There’s a painting of a grassy field on the wall in front of you. You turn your head. Spencer has his socked feet up on the armchair. Curling into himself to fit better. He has his focus on your copy of Pride and Prejudice. You can tell it’s yours by the sticky tabs peeking between the pages.

“Spence?” your voice is throaty and hoarse. Struggling to crawl out. He still hears it, anyway.

“Oh, baby,” he drops your book on the chair, moving to sit by your side. His forehead presses against yours, his hands cup your jaw. Spencer presses a kiss on the apple of your cheek.

“You scared me,” he confesses with a whisper.

“I’m okay now,” you bring a hand into his hair. He moves his kisses down to your jaw.

“I was so afraid of losing you.”

You take his kisses as he freely gives them. He hides his face into your neck, kissing where it meets your shoulder. You move your hand down to scratch where his hair ends before his nape. “You could never get rid of me,” you say with a small smile. He presses a kiss where your neck meets your ear.

Right hand on your cheek, left hand going down to grip the flesh below your scapula. Slender thumb and finger pinching the softness behind your armpit. He breathes in the scent of you. Your hand starts to massage the muscle where his neck and shoulder meet. You know that he feels heavy there whenever he gets stressed out. You want to crack a joke at how tense he is, but keep it in and choose to give him comfort instead.

“I love you,” his lips whisper against your skin.

You sigh, the sound making him look up to meet your eyes.

“I was so scared too,” it was your turn to confess.

“You’re okay. We’re both okay,” he moves his hands to take yours into his. You squeeze his hands thrice.

“I asked Hotch to give me time off while you’re on medical leave.”

“You did?”

He squeezes your hand back. Three times like you both always have, and always will.

“I also had to call your family,”

He watches you grimace, “How did they take it?” He gives you a slight wince of a smile.

You let out a sigh, “I’ll call them in a bit.”

“Your mom is taking a flight to Washington,” he informs you.

“That sucks. We won’t have the house to ourselves for at least a month.”

He raises a brow at you, “Why would it matter? You’re not allowed any strenuous activity for three.”

You give Spencer a little pout, chastised that he easily called you out, “That’s just mean.”

He gives you a withering look, “Behave.” He gives you one more kiss on the cheek, moving to stand from your bed. He has to tell the team you’re awake. Taking your phone from the end table, he begins to draft a text.

“I still have my hands, you know.”

He turns to you, caught off guard. Disbelief painting his features.

“You did not just say that,” he says.

You stick a tongue out.

“Stop it. You’re injured,” he says with a slight reprimand.

“So? That didn’t stop us when your knee got shot.”

His mouth falls open, “I can’t believe you.”

“Three months is just a recommendation. You would know.”

You grin at the blush that takes over his face.

taglist: @i-live-in-spite @khxna please feel free to send an ask to be added to my general taglist!

[thehighladywrites]

corrupted cops.

pairing: police officer cassian x drug dealer reader

summary: you get caught red handed by cassian and try to do whatever it takes to skip out on jail

warnings: 18+, tiny plot like minimal, smut, backshots, seduction, solicitation, illegal activities, drugs mentioned, car sex, riding, cuffs being used wrongly😉

amara’s note: if u see any mistakes or errors no you didn’t and i blame english

next episode! — tba😉

series masterlist

"10, 20, 30 – are you kidding me? Pay for real or get out of my face," you demand, your hand outstretched, impatience and annoyance evident on your face.

This fool thinks he can score a whole bag for just $30. Not only is your supply top-tier and unmatched, but you also deal in real quality weed. You’re drugs are in demand and are selling quickly on many street corners, earning you hefty profits.

"Can't I pay some other time?" The typical rich, snotty guy with the douchebag hairstyle looks at you as if this is a negotiation, like he can convince you to lower your price for a rich trust fund baby like him. No fucking way.

"Listen dipshit, I'll make you pay double if I have to repeat myself. Then I'll ban you," you warn, narrowing your eyes at him as you slowly retract your arm.

The guy panics, sighs, then pulls out a $100 bill.

"See? You can be good!" you quip, snatching the bill out of his hands.

He mutters something before leaving, driving off in his stupidly loud supercar.

You were so overcharging him but you didn’t care. “Fucking loser.”

You turned around, pulling the massive stack you earned tonight out of your pocket, smiling as you think of what new things to buy for your luxury apartment. You count the money before looking up and freezing.

A man is standing there, dressed in the full nine yards in a police uniform, hands folded over his chest as he looks down at you with furrowed brows.

“Mind telling me what you were doing?”

His gruff voice entrances you for a moment.

It’s in that moment you realize that it’s the voice of the guy from your old class. The loud, popular guy had turned into a police officer. It didn’t shock you, honestly. Cassian was always about honesty and integrity, all about giving back to the community and whatnot.

Then you remember you’re holding a massive stack of money, weed is in your pocket, and he most likely saw you selling. So you smile at him before running.

You bolt, the sound of his heavy footsteps driving you forward.

Panic starts to set in, but you push it down, focusing on your escape. You bite your lip, urging yourself to keep going despite the danger looming around you.

“I’m SO fucked,” you think, looking around for an escape route.

In the dimly lit alley, you spot a door and rush towards it, relief flooding through you. Finally, you think, a way out from this mess. Your hands shake as you fumble with the lock, but no matter how hard you try, the door remains stubbornly shut, making you almost sob in frustration.

Frantic, you search for another escape route, your heart pounding in your chest.

"An alley? How cliche," he remarks, approaching you with a wry grin. The dim light of the alley lamp highlights his handsome face. You didn’t have time to admire him before, since you were running and all, but damn, he looked absolutely delicious.

Dark features, nice hair, a straight nose, and a stubbled jaw. He was wearing a tight short-sleeved officer shirt that hugged his built arms insanely. He had really grown into a fine man compared to the young boy he used to be. You looked him up and down, really taking in his height as he got closer and closer.

"You know there’s no way out of this, so put your hands infront of you and let’s make this easy, yeah? Don’t do anything stupid. Again," he says, his voice firm but with a hint of exasperation.

“Fine.”

You chewed the inside of your mouth, trying to think of a way out of this as he put the cuffs on you, leading you back to his car. Maybe some sweet words and feminine tears would solve it, you thought, hoping for a chance to talk your way out of trouble.

You had never gotten caught before, it was extremely humiliating and you would not stand for it.

—

"What’s your name, officer?" you ask, your voice tinted with slight seduction, testing if he remembers you. You don’t care what you have to do; you will get out of this.

"You know who I am. Badge number 031210," he answers, eyes on the road, hands gripping the steering wheel.

“Okay, Cassian. I think there has been a huge mistake. You don’t really wanna arrest me,” you say, rolling your eyes playfully, the cuffs jingling as you motion with your hands.

“Yeah? Why do I really not want to arrest you?”

“Because I’m a good person, I really am. So I happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Come on, we can overlook this, just let me go.” you plead, trying to appeal to his sense of leniency from the backseat of his cop car.

He chuckles, lookinh back at you through the mirror. “Can’t do that. Maybe don’t deal drugs next time.”

He sighs looking at you with sympathy that makes your skin crawl. It made you feel ashamed that his old classmate was a lowlife drug dealer.

“What happened, Y/N? I remember how smart you were. Surely, you could have become something big,” he questioned.

You looked away not being able to handle the emotions in his eye. “Things happened Cassian. I’m not explaining them to you,” you try crossing your arms then remember the cuffs and settle for putting them in your lap.

Cassians gaze hardens slightly. “Okay then. I guess you’ll have to explain it all down at the precinct.”

Okay, so you’re screwed, right? Wrong. There’s always a plan cooking in your little head.

You take your cuffed hands in front of you and drag down the zipper of your hoodie, looking down innocently. “Cassian, could you turn on the AC? It’s a little hot in here. And you don’t mind me taking off my hoodie, right?”

Cassian grips the wheel, the leather creaking slightly. “I don’t mind.”

As you slip off your hoodie, you catch his gaze lingering on your exposed skin, a flicker of something in his eyes. The air between you thickens with tension, the heat rising in the confined space of the car.

Thankfully, there’s no barrier between you, so there’s nothing stopping you from getting closer to him.

“Cass, I’m having trouble taking it off, could you help me?” you ask, having shuffled very close to him, talking lowly into his ear. You're directly behind him, knowing the effect your voice had on the man.

You took advandtage of the fact that you were in a red light and got closer, whispering and pleading for him to help you get comfortable. Cassian’s eyes fluttered slight at the way your voice and breath were hitting his ear.

You scanned his body, his composure, cassian was tense, there was no doubt about it––he was more than turned on. “That’s cute.”

That snapped him out of his trance. He straightened up a little. “Do you want me to arrest you for solicitation too?” he mutters, driving to the station.

You start to beg some more, knowing that he’s at his limit. There’s no way he’s gonna be able to keep up the good cop act for long.

You start to place light kisses on his cheek, traveling all the way to his neck. He lets out a groan and tucks his lips between his teeth, struggling to maintain his composure.

“Come play with me, officer. I’ll let you do whatever you want to me,” you add, licking a stripe up his neck. That’s all it takes for him to speed into a abandoned alley and park haphazardly.

The adrenaline makes your heart beat faster and faster, a sick rush going through you.

There was a moment of silence when he pulled you out of the car, his grip firm on your upper arm. You found yourself sitting at the edge of the seat, your feet between his legs, the proximity making your pulse race.

“When will you learn that this isn’t a joke,” he exclaims with irritation.

You tilt your head slightly, looking up at him through dolled lashes, doe-eyed and innocent.

“Maybe I need you to teach me, officer.”

The corner of his lips rise as he squats down infront of you, putting one hand on your thigh.

“Think some dick’s gon’ set you straight, huh?”

You erupt in goosebumps, loving the way his warm hands roamed your body.

“mm’yeah. think that’s exactly what i need.”

“Yeah? Alright then, step out of the vehicle,” he orders, not having an ounce of shame as he oogles your ass on your way out.

He pulls out the keys much to your surprise. But he only releases you so you can take off your hoodie, if anything it makes you more confused when he makes you put your hands behind your back instead of infront of you.

“I need sumthin’ to hold on to, don’t I?” he announces casually, like he isn’t talking about fucking someone he just arrested.

He walks you over to the hood of his car where he bends you over, thankful for the short sundress you were wearing underneath that hoodie.

Cassian puts his leg between yours, kicking your feet apart. He pushes your front against the hood of his car, the cold metall cooling your warm skin down.

“If you behave, i’ll let you go, understand?” he asks.

You almost scoff. Of course you’ll behave, it’s your-get-out-of-jail card. But you don’t say that. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

Cassians hold tightens slightly before he tells you how good of a girl you are as he pulls your panties down to your ankles. His hands move to his heavy belt, the belt thudding on the floor as he clips it off.

His hand lands on your ass with a smack, causing you to inhale sharply while showing him your wet, throbbing cunt. You smile secretly as his cock stretches you until he’s fully inside before jerking himself back out. His fucking rough and hard as his nails dig into the soft skin of your hips.

“Look at that, could just slide right in,” he chuckles lowly.

Your sounds of pleasure slipped from your lips as you tugged the metal cuffs around your wrists that were pinning your hands behind your back.

The way his dick was hitting deep, so deliciously hitting that good spot made your eyes roll back. Who knew a cop could fuck this good?

“—feels too fucking good, Cassian,” you moaned out, body covered in goosebumps.

he was giving you long strokes, pushing all the way in and then sliding all the way out leaving only a bit of his tip in every time

“yeah? some dick settin’ you straight,” he lets out when you squeeze around him, dangerously close to creaming on his cock.

You had to agree— his dick definitely made you act right. You almost started thinking about giving up dealing, maybe settle down and live a happy life. THAT is how good he was fucking you.

Cassian pulled out completely causing you to almost scream in frustration. Just a few more pumps and you would have been deliciously weak in the knees.

“No, no, no— put it back in, please,” you begged with low lidded eyes, god, you could almost cry.

“I’m just taking you into the car. Don’t worry, i’ll be so deep in your guts, you’ll never have to worry about me pulling out,” he whispers into your ear before gently biting your lobe.

—

Tears rolled down your face as you cried relentlessly out of pleasure. The windows had fogged up, droplets dripping down.

you whimpered, burying your head deeper into the car seat. he showed you no mercy, jackhammering into you as he shoved your face down, holding you down by your neck.

your eyes rolled into the back of your head as he dragged along your walls, ramming into your g-spot. some drool seeped out of the side of your mouth as his fingers dug into your hips.

“You still with me?” he asks, gently grabbing your neck to see if you’re alive. Cassian speeds up again when you barely manage to nod.

your mind became hazy and eyelids heavy, pathetic whimpers and gasps falling from your lips as you felt yourself slipping away.

“Officer, m’gon cum— can i, please?” You brokenly let out. Not only did you take backshots; he also made you ride, ate you out and had you gagging on his dick. You were exhausted and spent.

“You promise to be good? Hm?”

“Yeah, i promise,” you whine with tears im your eyes, toes curling as you tip over the edge.

“Then you can cum, pretty face.”

a low, guttural sound escapes his throat as he finishes, flooding into your pussy and stuffing you full with his cum before pulling out and smirking as it oozes out of you.

you collapse in the backseat, sweaty skin sticking to the dark leather. cassian runs a hand through his hair before putting his pants back on. a cocky smirk graces his lips at the sight of your fucked out, tired body.

“You’re a fucking terrible cop. Fucking someone you’ve arrested is grounds for termination, you know,” you rasp out quietly after a moment of peaceful quiet, smiling when his smirk lessens as he rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. You just better not let me run into you again. I’ll arrest your ass for real, understand?" he warns, his eyes boring into yours.

"I understand. And I’m sure you will, officer," you nod at him with a smile before gathering your belongings and getting ready to leave.

You kiss him one last time, a filthy, tongue-filled, teasing kiss before you open the door, leaving behind a flustered cop.

Of course, you would sell again. And you would do it especially in his patrol route.

Both him and the dick is far too interesting.

🏷️: @vbbaby-girl @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @azriels-shadowsinger @slut4acotar @clarencetonkin @cherryjain17 @stonerpersona @nobodyb183 @amara-moonlight @cadiawrites @aelinwya @justasillylittlegoofyguy @acourtoflostandwanderingstars @surielstea @cauldronboilmetakemetovelaris @glittervame @juniperberriesaries @bruhhvv @dlveenhassab @marigold-morelli @claireswritingcorner @redbleedingrose @readychilledwine @honeybeefae @danikamariewrites @blipy-blopy @sarawritestories

[drdemonprince]

im really envious of u. I like reading your writing and the stories you tell about sex and stuff and it sounds like u have a lot of fun. I don’t no if I will ever be able to live like that. im autistic and very inhibited is probably the best word. I find it hard to meet new people and go new places. a few times I have gone to local munches but been too introverted to say anything to people and I just sit there feeling self conscious and silly. they have been really nice. but I haven’t made any friends or anything. I feel like I need someone to take me under their wing kinda and give me an in. It seems like I’d really enjoy it a lot but don’t no how to make my way in. I don’t feel confident enough to just use apps and hook up. especially as im so new to it all and dont no what im doing really. I’ve read what you say about going to the social gatherings and stuff but what if im too shy to say anything? I don’t no how to be more uninhibited but I feel like that’s what I need.

please keep in mind that I was not doing any of this shit until I was like 32 years old. up until then I was in only a handful of relationships, mostly ones I had stumbled into through no agency of my own, and I had never really lived out any of my kinky desires. hell I had barely even gone out to a club or a concert or anything on my own, certainly not very often, let alone a sex club or something like that. I had to practice socializing on my own terms, and trying new things alone and scared and finding what was valuable in them despite those feelings a lot. like many many years a lot.

I didn't really venture out into the gay bath house or any of the cruising bars until I had a partner who was interested in taking me to them. that provided me with an in and an emotionally safe anchor with which to explore. I am also indebted to friends who showed me around places like steamworks and explained to me the nonverbals of cruising, which I then went ahead and put in my own cruising guide.

to this day I still have a much better time at events like puppy play night when I go with some homies and can spend some time joking around with them and using their support to help meet people before eventually breaking off and wandering into a back room to get laid. I still routinely have nights where I will go out on my own and do very little but sip from my drink and stand around awkwardly for four hours, maybe dance a bit, and go home.

cruising is an exercise in patience. you are never guaranteed any particular outcome or experience. you work with what nature gives you, and you learn to find some appreciation in simply being there and bearing witness. 9 times out of 10 you get turned down or there just isn't a spark. happens on the apps too.

shooting your shot and getting turned down is a successful consent negotiation. everybody has done everything correctly and it ended the only way that it should have. there's nothing to do but dust yourself off, not take it as some dramatic declaration of your life worth, and go at it again.

I recommend visiting cruising spaces with a friend. and just going purely for voyeuristic and anthropological reasons the first couple times. The only way you become a person who can do this stuff is by doing it, a fuck ton of times. message a lot of people. Go to a lot of events.

at some point you have to find the very act of going to be motivating and enjoyable in some way. thankfully I am fascinated by humans, enjoy dancing, like having a little drink or an edible and wandering around, and treat it all as very valuable writing fodder. you have to find what set of motivations work for you. because it's not about instant success or gratification ever. It is always a lot of waiting and watching and wondering what the night is going to bring, and making peace that often it will bring nothing at all except for being alive amongst others.

keep at it though. start really small. I am so glad that I got to this point, because yeah my life is really interesting and sexually gratifying and fun. but it also is entire weekends of just standing around nursing a drink and doing nothing and looking like an NPC. happens to the best of us

[cloudcountry]

Hiiii auburn i just noticed your requests are open and ik i'm not used i send some but i'm starved fo tkdb content

So would you mind doing liek a date with haru bcs he wont leave my brain

Totally not urgent and you can skip it if you don't have inspiration it's fine ^^

SUMMARY: first date headcanons with haru sagara!!

COMMENTS: im literally gonna EAT U i wrote this so fast dksjfkjv

A first date with Haru would likely start with him showing up at your door with a bouquet of flowers and a very sweaty forehead! Please take him into your arms and give him a kiss, he’ll swoon.

To go on a date with you means he had to hire extra help OR speed ahead of schedule and go ever faster than normal. Honestly, he might have broken a bone or two, but he’s not gonna let you know that!

So, please tell him how handsome you think he is. He’ll puff out his chest and preen under your attention, only to turn around and butter you up so much you’ll have steam coming out of your ears.

For a first date, I think he’d definitely want to do something active. Honestly, I don’t think he’s capable of relaxing! He’d get restless (っ °Д °;)っ

I think he’d be down for a rollerskating date, a botanical gardens date, and a hiking/picnic date! I don’t think a zoo would appeal to him that much because that’s like...going to an art museum if you’re an art curator.

I do think he would pay for you, even if he’s tight on cash. Even if you insist on paying for your own food. It’s just courtesy to do that for your date!

To remember the date when it’s over, he’d buy you both a set of matching Something. Maybe keychains, maybe stuffed animals, maybe even socks you find cute or some morning coffee/tea mugs! Just something that you’d see every single day and think of him.

Also, he will have a tracker on you throughout the date somehow. He does NOT want to lose you out in public! What if something happens!?

Trust that once he walks you home (because he IS walking you back, this is non-negotiable) he’ll head back to Jabberwock to find a very excited Towa.

Yes, Towa will know everything that happened. Haru isn’t going to hide just how happy you made him today, and as long as Haru is happy, so is Towa. (✿◡‿◡)

[liquorflower]

𝐥’𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞 𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐫𝐞 — 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢

summary: the job needs to be done, the important thing right now is finishing him, but, what can you do when he’s the one who’s going to make you finish, but in the other way?

wc: 2.2k

cw: mentions of acts of terr0r1sm, edging, manhandling, creampie, reference to le charme discret de la bourgeoisie and gunplay (not in the sex) if u squint, age gap kento’s in his late 30’s and reader in early 20’s)

a/n: well, i hope you enjoy. likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated thank you

it was you, again. kento wonders if you’re not tired of making this thing over and over, because your actions just demonstrate you’re not capable of killing even a miserable cockroach. all those failed attempts at homemade bombs and now, having the audacity to enter his consulate were the straw that broke the camel’s back. first, strange events that made it impossible to have dinner with their peers and now this.

he had to teach you a lesson didn’t he?

and gazing how your hands tremble, he knew by other hand about how other revolutionaries didn’t hesitate to shoot at their oppressors. but your heart is racing, increasing euphoria you can’t even explain yourself and you don’t seem capable of pulling the trigger.

but he can play that same game.

there’s gun under the pillow of his refined bed, in his opulent room, scenario that holds the future crime scene of his murder if he doesn't play his cards right. strangely enough, he’s not scared at all, could be your ragged clothes (that’s the respective way to call that hippie fashion) or the beauty you possess that makes him have some sort of compassion for you.

“does this have any use, dear?” he wanders through the room, trying to negotiate, persuade. as he does this, he diligently gets near the bed, having a seat. “how many times are we going to get through this, hmm?” his hand slides prudent and deliberately, as his gaze remains pierced in your eyes. they seem determined, but he can tell it’s just a stupid facade.

the revolver points at the direction he’s moving. you don’t say a word and only stare at him. you are pondering on why he can be so calm in this situation, you point a goddamn weapon and you can pull the trigger at any moment, and the only thing that will remain of him will be his brain scattered all over the place. but if you were concentrated, instead of paying attention to the turmoil of your thoughts, if you had payed attention you would’ve anticipated that he was going to pull out another pistol and also point at you.

shit, it was that obvious.

“i told you, sweetie. think about it. you’re still young,” he looks you over from head to toe, plotting a machiavellian plan, “beautiful…

you gulp.“don’t bullshit me.”

“hey, let’s take it easy. i’ll give you a chance. you can give me the gun, i’ll let you go and we’ll pretend none of this happened and we can go on with our lives as always… have you ever thought to go to college? bet you do. just leave this silly idealization of this perfect world. i get it, i once was young, but you can make the difference in other ways.” he persuades. both remaining stiff. the tension is close to the surface.

something convincing in his words resonates within your brain. for example, when was the last time you’ve eaten a decent meal or have slept in a comfy bed? all you can think about are the walls of the family stained in filth and shit. and everyone on top of each other for warmth — it wasn’t a place you could call home.

you don’t know what happened, but the next thing you know, is that you hand is giving him the gun, trembling and looking at the hollow and manly cheeks of kento. he’s wearing a robe. a slight blush heats your cheeks when you realize that.

“good choice.” he slightly bows his head, a cocky smile forms in his lips. “now, be a good girl and wait for me. i’ll…” he examines the weapon,“keep this thing downstairs. we don’t want some… collateral damages, do we?” and just like that, he leaves the room, not even bothering to see if you’d be capable of doing something else.

how did you falter like this? shit, shit, what you’re supposed to do now? now that you were so closer…

completely shocked, you take a seat on the bed. pleasant to lay your ass in, you think. as you grasp the velvety sheets, your palm notices a a cold surface.

he left the other gun neatly placed in the bed. a colt junior, smoothly laying there. not a big one, it is barely 5 inches long but perfect for self defense. is he stupid? why did he leave it there? your heart races, what it seemed to be like a lost opportunity, suddenly turns out again into a new hope.

so, you grab the gun and put it in your purse, thinking it is the perfect chance to shoot him dead.

sadly, destiny decided that it wasn't bound to be that way.

tiptoeing, trying to not make any noise, you manage to reach the door frame, your hand holds the weapon steady. even in this instant, you steered to be trapped again in your own net.

an enormous hand covers your mouth and the gasp gets encapsulated inside your throat.

was adrenaline, euphoria, rush, but you straightaway pulled out the gun out of your bag and pulled the trigger.

but nothing happened.

“bet you thought i left that thing there by mere coincidence, didn’t you?” he chuckled as he took you back to his room. you try to fight, make some loud noises behind that palm.

you are becoming quite annoying, and the next thing you know is that he put the barrel in your face and now that death seems closer than ever, you sob and warm tears run down your face.

the stupid bag.

“shit, how could i…” he mutters, managing to take your bag and continue pointing the revolver at you.

he empties it and only old papers and coins are inside — nothing that might seem like a threat . he just worried for nothing.

for you, now everything is lost. you’re going to end up dead and possible that not even the leader could notice that.

but he just doesn’t stop there.

“you must be hiding something.” he tightens the pressure of the barrel on your face and throws away the bag.

his other hand wanders down your waistline, palpating every part. unconsciously, you squeeze your thighs and a shiver runs down your spine, more when his hand is touching up each part of you until he reaches one of your breasts. he clasps it between his fingers.

you’re not wearing a single thing. despite an overwhelming urge to do something else, he keeps his examination, fingers going down, probing, checking every inch of skin to find any sort of irregularity — some other surface different from human soft skin.

however, he is doing something wrong and doesn’t trust the fabric of your clothes. sometimes other sorts of artefacts can be hidden from god knows where and can go unnoticed, and these matters, those little slips can affect and build tension with other countries, hence, need to be taken seriously.

with that in mind, his hand explored the flesh of your thighs, going under your clothes. you remain paralyzed. you’re not sure whether it’s because you are either in a panic or you know that trying to make something, even shouting, will cost you a bullet in the head. both are valid reasons to avoid causing more problems and gulping, you just let them explore all of your body.

the hem of your panties is the only thing that he can detect and decides to go even further. he examines, the palms of his hand are tender, soft — of course, he has never gotten to experience any kind of struggle or what hard work meant. despite acknowledging this, you shudder at the touch of his grip, almost wanting him to do something else.

and surely he does.

having notice that you are numb, blunted, he puts the weapon in one of the pockets of his robe and now the other hand joins to this inspection. a heat boils between your legs when his arms pull up your dress now exposing all of your body. hardened nipples and goosebumps are the new texture his palms grasp.

“ngh…” you sob

“calm down, sweetheart. I just need to know if you’re not hiding something else.” his digits go down, painfully slow, and with his tips, pulls down your panties. cheeks are flushed and you can’t help but feel the need of him wanting more of you.

“check all you want.” you’re voice whispered vaguely. now your will is completely broken. you can’t believe you’re betraying all you thought was for a greater good just to see how far he can go.

he throws you into bed. panties are stretched between your legs and he grabs you by the hips, just to have a clear view of your pussy. you bite your lip. scanning him, you can pay close attention to his imposing figure, thinking if this was worth it.

he grabs your wrists, making sure you’re not trying something, even though you have a main idea of what that might result. with that in mind, you bury your face in the soft mattress, not sure if he saw you biting your lip.

he rises up your trembling legs and grabs the cheek of your ass to open up and have a clear view of your cunt. you gulp, your pussy clenches and your clit pulsates. you let out a whimper, and just hearing that sound of yours, makes his cock twitch.

it is erotic see how it was only necessary to untie the knot of the robe to see that all this time he was naked, and now, pondering if all the time his cock was erected while he wandered every part of your body, makes the situation even more sultry.

“just see how slutty you are, huh? taking my cock that you’re not able to shoot that damn gun?” damn. when he slides in, you notice how wet you were and open your eyes big, not expecting to be that fast.

and you need to have in mind he just buried half of his shaft inside you. and he just leaves it there, because he takes his time to look at your body all placed in his bed, with your fingers latching onto the sheets.

“it hurts…” you whimper.

“you can can handle it, whore.” a shiver runs down your spine. you could’ve imagined at one point you would end up insulting at each other, but not like this, with your legs sprawled out and having a part of his cock fluttering and trapped tight within your walls.

“please… how can this not hurt anymore?” you beg, your drenched juices make him easier to slide even deeper, but now, hearing you whimper makes him wonder how sensitive you really are, that you are already falling apart with just a part of his length.

“well,” he moves slightly, and your eyes open wide again.

“fu-u-ck…” you pant and gulp.

“tsch, language.” the more words he says, the more he dives, open wide, tearing you. fucking feels good but pleasure has his price and though it brings a delightful pain, you can’t stand it, he needs to move or something… or else, you’ll fall apart.

“mmm, god it hurts, please,” you mewl, and best thing that comes to your mind, is to stroll your hips, to see if it can hit your sweet spot. “i want you to fuck me so badly, please… please…”

he lets out a malicious huff, and, without warning, he clasps errands of your hair and tightens his grip. it goes deeper and you whine. his hips start to collide with your ass. soft movements, the ones that are anticipating that he’s going to fasten his pace.

you breath heavily, your sloppy cunt opens up with every single thrust. “fuck, you’re taking it soo well.” he groans through his teeth,“bet you never thought we’re going to end up like this? you want me so bad, don’t you?” with every dirty assumption, you can’t help but moan.

he violently presses your head against the mattress and his cock delves in places you never thought it felt so good. the sticky sounds he makes each time he stretches your pussy is the only symphony that could be heard in the room.

“it feels good, isn’t it?” he teases between chattered teeth. his hips make obscene clap sounds.

“yes, yes…” your voice reverberates.

he pulls you up with the grip of your hair and with his hand, he grabs your neck and keeps now your neck is his grip to shoving his cock, almost disappearimg inside your clammy and loosen walls. his tip it’s circling around your depths jabbing with no mercy. he bites your cheek and every friction makes you loose your mind. “mhhh, i can’t take it anymore.” your back arches because you have already cum and your body twitches against his body.

“shhh, we’re not done yet.” it is painfully delicious how he feels your insides twitching around him and he fastens his movements.

“it feels so good…” the other orgasm made your sweet spot to become more sensitive and your pretty eyes flutter with every jab. your legs are shaking, you would like to close them right now, but most probably is that he won’t let you do it.

“shit…” he throws you back at the bed again, and still thrusting you faster, his body falls trembles but he manages to keep a normal pace. thick and warm ropes of his cum make your pussy palpitate and shake, cummining for the second time.

all of that experience makes you think seriously to phone your mom and tell her college was a good idea after all.

[thedeathdeelers]

Me: No but sae-on giving heejoo the signal to impersonate the kidnapper when she’s lying bleeding somewhere off the cliff is actually very character of him you see because he’s a negotiator and spokesperson, that’s his strength. As a husband, he is constantly stumbling, needs advice, giving in to his emotions because that is unfamiliar territory for him but being the negotiator is something he knows like the back of his hand and can have a degree of control over. That’s the only way for him to get through to her in this situation where she needs him.

So this was as much as means for heejoo to communicate as it was for him to communicate. It’s not irony that the spokesperson and the interpreter suck at being able to understand each other. This was their strength and tool to bring them out of a hellish situation after all. We are the fools! They got us! It was right in our face…..

Receptionist: Ma’m I’m gonna have to call security…

NO WAIT HOLD ON THE WAY I WANTED TO POINT THIS OUT AFTER WATCHING THE EP BUT I JUST FELL ASLEEP INSTEAD

i love that - i didn’t think of it as saeon switching to what he knows best in this moment of panic and fear - the role of negotiator

he knows who ‘406’ is; he knows it’s heejoo and thinks she maybe almost knows he know’s it’s her, and yet in this moment where she’s in pain and fear and danger, he lets her take the lead. he sees her calling from the kidnapper’s phone and tho he slips up at the beginning because he’s desperate to find her, he quickly switches to calling her 406, and referring to heejoo in the third person

he keeps dropping hints of what the kidnapper should tell heejoo to do, that he packed a first aid kit for her (🥺) that he packed water for her (🥺) that he thinks heejoo should do these things and hopes the kidnapper relays his messages to her (all really quite silly but also continuing on with this ruse to make sure heejoo doesn’t freak out and hang up. he needs her to focus and stay on the line. he needs her to guide him to her no matter what even if it means he has to refer to her in the third person)

it’s like he switched to this mode to 1. make sure she stays on the line and doesn’t freak out knowing it’s easier for her to actually talk and speak when she’s hiding behind the role of ‘406’ 2. for his own sake — he can be cold and calculative and logical while slipping into his negotiator role, tho i doubt he managed to fully immerse himself into that role

(and maybe he realises how hard it would be for her to keep talking for her words to keep coming out of her mouth if she realises he 100% knows it’s her) (maybe she’d even choke and hang up and he loses her forever)

ANYWAY. YEAH. THANK U FOR THIS ♥️ IS IT FRIDAY YET

[nagiwrites]

Chapter Two: The Capitol’s Rules.

Characters: Caleb, you

A/n: I swear formatting on here is a job in itself. Anyways another chap is here if u wanna be tagged feel free to tell me. Also I’ll put content warnings for this fic.

☆ Content: body stripping and forced undressing, non-consensual physical contact, loss of bodily autonomy, mild nudity and humiliation, emotional distress, depersonalization and identity erasure, as well as themes of classism and systemic oppression.

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📌 Synopsis :

On the way to the Capitol, she learns the Games are more performance than survival. Caleb promises to protect her, but his motives remain unclear. Once inside, she’s stripped of her identity and remade for the Capitol’s stage—left feeling like a stranger in her own skin.

The hovercraft hummed through the sky, the engines too smooth, too quiet for something moving this fast. The tinted windows gave nothing away—just endless stretches of blue fading into the neon glow of the Capitol ahead.

The farther they got from District IV, the cleaner everything became. The shanty towns and dust-covered streets disappeared, replaced with pristine high-rises, gleaming transport stations, and well-maintained roads. This was the rich side. The part of the district that still belonged to the Capitol, where officials, Peacekeepers, and the privileged few lived untouched by hunger and fear.

She’d never been here before.

And she wouldn’t have time to take it in now.

Across from her, Caleb sat in perfect stillness, his hands resting against his knees. Not restrained, not worried. Like a man who chose to be here.

She still didn’t understand that.

Or him.

She leaned back, staring at the ceiling as she exhaled. “So,” she said, breaking the silence, “are you going to explain how this works, or are we just supposed to figure it out as we go?”

Caleb blinked once, slow and unreadable. “The Hunter Games?”

“No, the weather,” she said flatly. “Of course, the Games.”

A flicker of something—amusement, maybe—crossed his face before vanishing. He shifted slightly, adjusting his posture like this conversation was a negotiation. “There are three phases before the arena,” he said. “Training, evaluations, and interviews. All designed to entertain the Capitol before the real event.”

She frowned. “Training?”

He nodded. “Weapons, survival tactics, close combat. You’ll be assigned a score at the end of it. Higher scores mean more sponsors. More sponsors mean a better chance of making it past the first few days.”

She absorbed that, tapping a finger against her knee. “And the evaluations?”

Caleb’s gaze darkened. “Private sessions with the Gamemakers. They decide how dangerous you are.”

That made her stomach twist.

“And the interviews?”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Propaganda.”

She snorted. “Figures.”

She expected him to leave it at that, but after a beat, he continued. “They want a story. Something they can sell to the people. Fear. Tragedy. Romance. It doesn’t matter as long as they can control it.”

She turned that over in her mind. The Games weren’t just about killing—they were about putting on a show. And the Capitol would twist every moment to fit whatever narrative kept the audience entertained.

Her fingers curled slightly. “And you?”

Caleb tilted his head. “What about me?”

She gestured vaguely. “You forced your way in. Which means you’re either my mentor, my handler, or some new Capitol experiment.”

He studied her, quiet for too long, before saying, “I’m here to make sure you survive.”

She didn’t know what to do with that.

Because there was something unsettling about the way he said it. Like it wasn’t just an objective. Like it wasn’t just duty.

Like it was personal.

She looked away first. Outside, the hovercraft was already descending, the glowing skyline of the Capitol stretching beneath them.

It was beautiful.

And it was a graveyard.

They were about to be thrown into a machine designed to tear them apart. And she still didn’t know why the man across from her had chosen to step inside it with her.

But one thing was clear.

Whatever his reasons, whatever he wasn’t saying—

Caleb wasn’t going to let her die.

And that might’ve been the most dangerous thing of all.

The hovercraft descended into the heart of the Capitol, the neon skyline shifting from a distant blur into something towering and suffocating. Buildings stretched high enough to disappear into the clouds, their sleek metal surfaces reflecting the glow of holographic advertisements. Bright screens displayed last year’s Hunter Games champion, a sharp-jawed boy dressed in golden armor, smiling like he hadn’t torn through twenty other tributes to get here.

The hovercraft docked on a landing platform that was too clean, too sterile. The moment the doors slid open, the artificial scent of processed air and something vaguely floral hit her nose. It smelled like a place that had never known real dirt, never known hunger or desperation.

Capitol attendants were already waiting—dressed in shimmering, impractical outfits, their skin airbrushed to perfection. She barely had time to get her bearings before one of them stepped forward, flashing a too-bright smile.

“Welcome, tributes! Right this way.”

She forced herself to move, stepping onto the platform with the same numbness she’d felt since the reaping.

Caleb was right behind her.

She didn’t know why she kept looking for him—why the solid presence of him at her back made her nerves settle instead of spike. But she did. And it unsettled her almost as much as the Capitol’s suffocating opulence.

A camera drone zipped in close, scanning them both, projecting their faces onto a screen above. The words DISTRICT IV TRIBUTES flashed beneath their images.

People in the town murmured. Some leaned forward, eager for a first look at this year’s new prey. Others watched with the detached amusement of people who would never have to step into the arena themselves.

She could already feel them assigning labels.

Would she be forgettable? A sacrifice? A tragic figure to cry over before the real show began?

And then there was Caleb.

They didn’t know what to do with him.

A colonel in the Games wasn’t normal. The murmurs grew louder, questioning. Whispering. A Capitol official in a crisp suit gestured for one of the attendants, eyes narrowing as he spoke.

She glanced at Caleb. “So… you really weren’t supposed to be here, huh?”

Caleb didn’t look at her, just kept walking forward. “No.”

The admission should’ve scared her. Instead, it made her pulse quicken for an entirely different reason.

The grand entrance of the Tribute Tower loomed ahead—a massive glass structure built solely to house the competitors before the Games. As they stepped inside, a holographic display of the Capitol’s logo shimmered above them, accompanied by a soft, artificial voice.

WELCOME, TRIBUTES. PREPARE FOR THE EXPERIENCE OF A LIFETIME.

She barely resisted the urge to scoff.

A set of attendants approached, separating her from Caleb in one swift motion.

“This way, dear,” one of them said, guiding her toward a long hallway lined with marble and gold trim. “We’ll get you cleaned up for the Opening Ceremony. You want to look your best, don’t you?”

She turned slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of Caleb before they pulled him in the opposite direction.

For the first time, his gaze met hers fully.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to.

Because something unspoken passed between them in that brief second.

Something that felt suspiciously like a promise.

Then the doors closed, and she was alone.

The hallway smelled like artificial roses and something chemical, a scent so sharp it stung the inside of her nose. Everything here was too clean, too polished, too perfect—designed for the people who had never known struggle, never worked their hands raw, never bled for something they couldn’t keep.

She hated it already.

The attendants guided her into a pristine white room, the walls smooth and seamless, as if they had been molded rather than built. A glass platform in the center illuminated as she stepped onto it, a soft chime sounding as an AI scanned her body.

“Preliminary evaluation complete. Commencing preparation process.”

The attendants wasted no time. Hands—cold, impersonal—pulled at her clothes, unfastening buttons, peeling fabric from her skin. She stiffened instinctively, her breath catching as they stripped her down without ceremony.

Her clothes, the last thing connecting her to home, were tossed into a disposal chute without hesitation.

Gone.

Just like that.

She was naked before she could process it, surrounded by strangers who didn’t even have the decency to pretend to care.

“Arms up,” one of them instructed. “We need to remove all the excess.”

She barely had time to ask what excess? before a warm, sticky substance was smeared over her legs, arms, and anywhere else the Capitol deemed unworthy.

Then came the ripping.

She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

It wasn’t the worst pain she’d ever felt—nothing compared to a deep wound or the ache of hunger—but it was the humiliation of it. The raw exposure. The way they talked over her, not to her, as if she were nothing more than a project being refined into something presentable.

Her skin burned by the time they were done, stripped raw under the bright lights.

Then came her hair.

One of the attendants examined it with a critical eye, fingers prodding at her scalp. “We’ll need to smooth this out,” she murmured, already reaching for a brush.

Her stomach twisted.

She clenched her fists. She knew what was coming.

The first pass wasn’t too bad, but the second—

A sharp pull.

Her scalp screamed in protest, her head yanked back as the attendant worked with mechanical efficiency, oblivious to the sharp sting radiating from each tug.

She held her breath.

Another pull.

Her fingers curled tighter.

She wouldn’t say anything. Wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

But when they reached the knots at the base of her skull, ripping through them without care, the pain sent sharp pricks behind her eyes.

She blinked rapidly, but it didn’t stop the tears from slipping down her cheeks.

Silent. Unnoticed.

Just another thing for them to strip away.

“Almost done,” the attendant said cheerfully, as if she wasn’t yanking her head like a ragdoll. “You’ll look stunning for the ceremony!”

She wanted to tell them she didn’t care about looking stunning. That she didn’t want to be something pretty for the Capitol to admire before they threw her into the dirt.

But she stayed silent.

Because it didn’t matter.

It never did.

By the time they finished, her body felt foreign—smooth where it shouldn’t be, styled in a way that didn’t belong to her.

They wrapped her in a robe, soft and expensive, guiding her toward another room where stylists awaited.

As they led her forward, she caught a glimpse of herself in the reflective wall.

She looked like a stranger.

And she hated her.

By the time they were done with her body, they moved on to her hair.

She sat stiffly in a plush chair, the fabric too smooth, too foreign against her stripped-down skin. The stylists surrounded her like architects examining blueprints, their eyes sharp with calculation.

“We should straighten it,” one suggested, running a comb through her curls with far too much force.

“No,” another chimed in, twisting a section between their fingers. “Texture is in this year. Let’s enhance it.”

She exhaled slowly through her nose, already exhausted. She wasn’t sure what was worse—the pain of them yanking through her scalp, or the way they talked about her like she wasn’t sitting right in front of them.

At least this time, they weren’t completely careless.

The hands that worked through her hair now were more delicate, though not out of kindness. It was precision. They conditioned, softened, twisted each strand into something elegant, something that would look effortless but had taken painstaking effort to achieve.

When they finally stepped back, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

Her hair had been shaped into an intricate design, cascading down one side, threaded with delicate metallic strands that shimmered under the light. It wasn’t her, not really. But at least it wasn’t stripped away.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat and turned away.

Then came the dress.

They led her to a display where rows of shimmering gowns hovered in the air, each one programmed with effects that reacted to movement. Some flickered like fire, others rippled like water, shifting colors as the fabric swayed.

“For the ceremony, you need to make an impression,” the lead stylist said, gesturing to the options. “The Capitol loves a tribute with presence.”

She barely heard them.

Her gaze had already landed on one dress, and something inside her cracked.

Her favorite color.

She didn’t even mean to laugh, but the sound burst out of her—loud, sharp, and broken.

Tears burned at the corners of her eyes as she covered her mouth, shaking her head. “Of course,” she choked out. “Of course they’d have one in my favorite color.”

The stylists exchanged confused glances, unsure if she was amused or unraveling.

Maybe it was both.

She reached for the dress, fingers brushing over the material. It was smooth, impossibly soft, but beneath the surface, she could feel the embedded tech, ready to activate at a moment’s notice.

The fabric pulsed, reacting to her touch. A slow shimmer ran through it, the color deepening, shifting like liquid under moonlight.

It was beautiful.

It was ridiculous.

It was hers.

“I’ll take this one,” she said, her voice steadier now.

The stylists hesitated before nodding, pleased with her choice.

As they helped her into the gown, adjusting the fit, setting the effects to highlight every movement, she stared at herself in the mirror once more.

The stranger was still there.

But this time, beneath all the Capitol’s work, there was something else.

A flicker of her.

And for now, that would have to be enough.

By the time they finished preparing her, the weight of everything settled over her shoulders like an iron chain. The gown clung to her frame perfectly, its advanced fabric shifting ever so slightly with her movements, rippling like water under the bright artificial lights.

The color—her color—stood out against the cold, sterile surroundings.

She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

A set of attendants ushered her down a corridor lined with reflective panels, the sleek, high-tech design making it impossible to forget where she was. Every few steps, the floor beneath her pulsed, scanning her biometrics. The Capitol left nothing unchecked.

Then, the doors at the end of the hallway slid open, revealing a lavish waiting chamber.

And there he was.

Caleb.

She came to an abrupt stop.

He was already dressed for the ceremony, standing with the kind of stillness that made people uneasy. His uniform had been replaced with something undeniably designed to impress—black, sharply tailored, lined with faint streaks of silver that pulsed like slow lightning beneath the fabric. The effects were subtle, but when he moved, the suit seemed almost alive, shifting with the kind of controlled power that the Capitol adored.

Of course they’d make him look like a leader. A warrior.

But she didn’t care about that.

She only cared about the fact that he was here. That the Capitol had let him be here.

That he had forced his way into this nightmare right alongside her.

He looked up, his gaze landing on her immediately.

And then—something flickered in his expression.

Not surprise. Not admiration.

Something deeper.

Something unreadable.

She swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of how ridiculous she must look. Dressed up like a doll, painted, polished, made into something more palatable for the audience that would soon be watching their every move.

His gaze swept over her once, calculating, before returning to her face. “You picked that?”

She narrowed her eyes. “What, does it offend you?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Then, in a low, unreadable tone, he said, “No.”

Silence stretched between them.

She wasn’t sure what she had expected. A comment about the absurdity of it all? A reminder that they were about to be paraded around like showpieces before being thrown into a death match?

But he just kept looking at her, as if trying to decipher something she didn’t understand herself.

Finally, she crossed her arms. “Well? Do I look like a proper tribute now?”

Caleb’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You look like someone the Capitol won’t forget.”

She wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or a warning.

Before she could decide, an official strode into the room, checking a holographic tablet before gesturing toward the exit. “You’re up next. Don’t keep them waiting.”

Her heart slammed once against her ribs.

This was it.

The first real moment where the world would see her. Where she’d step into the light, not as a district worker, not as a girl who had volunteered for a child she didn’t even know—

But as a tribute.

A piece in the Capitol’s game.

She inhaled slowly, forcing herself to move.

But just as she passed Caleb, his voice came low and steady, just loud enough for her to hear.

“Don’t let them define you.”

She turned slightly, meeting his gaze one last time before the doors opened—

And the world swallowed her whole.

A/n : thanks for reading maybe I’ll post more later in the night if I’m up but it’s a lot to have for format and edit this ngl. But I appreciate the likes feel free to repost with credits please.

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@mysticcollectionvoid

[honeytonedhottie]

trusting and betting on urself⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🫧

keep promises that u make to urself : just like how if u know someone who continuously makes promises to do something, yet they never act upon it, you won't trust that person or believe them if they promise u something else. this is also the same with urself. ur new years resolutions? ur goals that you've had for a while but never ever did? all those promises that you've made to yourself and the ones that you haven't followed up on will lessen trust with urself. do what u say you'll do. "stand on business" and if u know that u won't be able to deliver or do what u say you would, dont say it. dont tell urself promises that u won't be able to keep. once u start keeping ur own promises, you'll start to build trust within urself.

hold yourself accountable : just a quick disclaimer but when i say holding urself accountable i do NOT mean punishing urself!! when u find urself falling into old and fruitless patterns you need to hold urself accountable and make sure that u straighten up. the thing about our relationship with self is that a relationship needs BOUNDARIES. you need to set boundaries with urself. what will u or what will u not do? ur non-negotiables?

and when u find urself crossing boundaries within yourself take the BIGGEST step back. the key to forming a healthy relationship with urself is to balance being strict and gentle with urself. strict in the sense that ur the only one that can get u to where u wanna be, and gentle in the sense that ur best won't look the same every single day and u should also listen to urself and what u want, without having to compromise on ur boundaries. kind of finding that middle line is important, bcuz when we're too lenient with ourselves, we get too comfortable and that leads me into my next point...

where growth begins : u cannot expect to grow if ur too comfortable and honestly, this is why most people stay stagnant. its bcuz being comfortable FEELS GOOD. but growth will almost never happen when ur comfortable, on the contrary growth can only happen outside of ur comfort zone. if u want better things for urself, ur simply gonna have to DO BETTER.

the importance of ur self concept : even if ur not familiar with or u dont practice conscious manifesting/law of assumption, i think that working on ur self concept can still be such a fruitful thing to do. i say this because self concept is the way that u view urself in relation to ur desires/goals. its seeing urself as worthy and powerful, and truly grasping ur potential to do great things. a way to start with ur self concept is with affirmations! start telling urself about urself in a positive connotation. you're unstoppable <3

putting it into practice : start small, challenge urself a little bit every day. do one hard thing a day, doing so will build ur confidence bcuz u won't be so daunted by ur big goals when you've already done so many hard things. when u see something challenging instead of thinking "oh i can't do this" you'll have confidence in urself and what u are capable of. oftentimes when we have goals, we kick ourselves out of rooms before we've even tried to get in them bcuz we think "im not good enough" or "im not worthy" which isnt true at ALL. dont shoot urself in the foot. thats self sabotage. and thats not hot.

motivating urself : if u remind urself of your "why" then you'll have reason to stay consistent and truly try. i recommend asking urself the tougher questions, like "what do i want out of my life?" or "am i truly happy and if not what can i do to get there?" once you've decided what u want out of life make a VISION BOARD and actively pursue your dreams. u can't actively pursue something if u dont know what it is. so i advise u to remind urself whenever u feel that u need it of your "why", your driving cause. having that motivation, and actively pursuing and keeping the promises that u make to urself -> will then build ur confidence in yourself to the point where your betting on urself bcuz u know that no matter what cards you are dealt, you'll prosper.

so just to wrap things up, an overview ; start keeping ur promises -> be strict -> get comfy being uncomfy -> say ur self concept affirmations -> apply -> remind

[lateatnewyork]

Lilies

part I | part II | part III | part IV

Helion x reader, rhysand x sister!reader

Warnings: fluff, making out, honeymoon bliss, suggestive

Summary: In which you and Helion are happy.

a/n most definitely another filler chapter but the one with drama will be out tmrrw and my schools starting in like four days so the drafts will come out slower

Helion was the best mate anyone could ever ask for. He could cook, he understood my emotions, gave me space, could give amazing cuddles and kisses, he was great in bed but most of all he cared.

In a sense no one had ever done before. When I wanted him home, he was home. When I visited him during a meeting he made me sit in his lap and glared at anyone who decided to mention it.

We had been mated for at least 6 months by now. And it was absolute bliss. Every single day he would wake me up with his head between my legs, every single night he would worship me like a queen. His kisses made my knees weak and my head dizzy.

Sighing at the thought of him kissing me, I continue trying my best at a dish that Rhysand used to cook for me as a child.

Just as I’m about ditch the recipe and head to his office, a strong pair of arms wrap around me.

Melting into his touch, I lean back. He kisses my neck and bites at my soft spot making me moan softly.

“Hey baby,” turning around my hands run through his beautiful hair. His lips find mine almost instantly. My back presses against the counter and I arch into his touch. Pulling him closer my fingers stray to the hem of his shirt.

“As much as I would love to continue this, I have to tell you something,” he pulls away. My kind is still reeling from his intense kisses. Nodding, I ask him to keep going.

“The Night Court wants to negotiate some stuff with us,” he told me.

Raising an eyebrow I beckon him to continue. “I want you to come with me, your first appearance outside of Day Court as High Lady, and I know what you’re going to say, that you’re not ready or you’re not sure, but I know that you’re ready, I also know how much you miss your brother and your nephew,”

He was right, I mean when was Helion ever wrong?

“I suppose Nyx should meet his uncle,” I sigh dramatically.

“Can you help me make this dish, Rhysand used to make it for me,” I ask him.

“Rhysand can cook?” he gapes at me in shock. “You can cook too sweetheart,” I lay a soft kiss on his adam’s apple and start gathering the ingredients.

“I know what you’re trying to make, you relax I’ll make it for you,” Helion says pressing kisses against my shoulder.

He’s elbow deep in flour, looking like an absolute vision. His golden eyes glint in the sun, his tan skin more prominent as the sun started setting.

We had decided to get this house because of its position and how the sun was almost always reflecting some room.

In the mornings it was our bedroom, during the day it was the seating area outside and during the evening it always seeped into the kitchen.

Not that I was complaining, it made the Day High Lord in front of me look softer and almost vulnerable.

“You’re staring, my love” Helion chuckles, his voice oozing smugness. “Is it so wrong for a female to enjoy the view her mate is providing?” I question, teasing.

“No I suppose not, you know I have to put this in the oven for awhile and we have some spare time,” he cheekily suggests.

“What shall we do?” I say feigning innocence. He circles around to the side of the counter where I’m sitting and gently holds my chin, “You’re so innocent right now but wait until I have you begging and writhing underneath me,”

I gulp, his words go straight to my core.

“What are you waiting for then?”

a/n AZRIEL U WISH THIS WAS U anyway don’t think they have ovens in acotar and i js watched the pjo finale and the way luke said annabeth broke me but like my husband looked rlly fine.

[sleepy-harper]

haaii if u do any requests umm could u do smth smth like.. caretaker merchant vibes or smth i dunno how this works … i am just so fixated on that guy jts not even funny …… :3 no worries if u dont wanna feel free 2 ignore ^_^

HIHIHI OFC!! I wasn't sure what specific content you wanted, but inspiration struck and I figured you'd enjoy some headcanons!! <3

I also have a merchant moodboard here & here and a merchant pfp here!!

🪻— Merchant

✦ let me start this off with: he is the most prepared cg ever.

☆ oh what's that? you need a new paci? he's got 6 brand new ones in the back. thirsty? will that be a sippy, cup, or bottle? you need a new fuzzy friend to cuddle or a new figure or doll to play with? all you had to do was ask!!

✦ if you're an older or more sociable kiddo he'll let you help out a bit with the customers, teaching you to negotiate and he'll take over when customers might try and haggle

☆ if you're interested with that type of stuff though, he'll make sure you're all set up by yourself near his shops, just within eye sight for him

✦ though, if you're a baby and need more attention and closer care? he's got you carefully set up behind his desk on the floor near him

☆ happen to be napping near by? he's using ur cute little charms to persuade customers, telling them that he's been saving up to get you new toys

✦ ^ only partially lying, because he really does spoil you rotten with all his sales

☆ happen to be a little clinger? or you want to look/be like him? he's got you your own little purple bandana or necklace, carefully tying it around your neck

✦ if you happen to be a little or a critter who likes to snag the shiny looking items, you better believe he's making sure to double triple check every single spot

☆ he's a very laid back cg though, doesn't do discipline often and even when he does, it's just a stern talking to or you have to go sit on The Barrel of Shame™

✦ if you're an older kiddo, he's absolutely sending you on errands when you're bored

☆ he'll see you huffing and kicking a rock and he calls you over, giving you a paper of an order request and the supplies, sending you off with the directions and a playful good luck

✦ he makes sure you have your own little bag just like his own, just not filled with his shops stock

☆ that's not to say you don't have anything important in there though!! you have all your toys, binkies, clothes, snacks, and blankies in there!!

✦ and while we're on the topic of food... being a traveling merchant has many perks for you if you like to try new things!!

☆ he's always very encouraging when you want to try a new food, telling you you can't be sure you don't like it unless you at least try it

✦ he's just as accepting if you're a picky eater though, reassuring you it just saves time on getting something you might not like at all!!

[theheartmold]

WIP WEDNESDAY

i was tagged by @flowersforthemachines and lol it's technically not wednesday anymore for me but oh well! i'm attaching a scene NOT from the contracts eight fic but set just afterwards, with andrea and viago. unsure if it will make it into the final cut but i couldn't NOT write it. so here u go!

"It's disappointing, Andrea." Viago didn't look up at them. He was too busy thumbing through their report on the Rialto job. Andrea was too busy staring out the darkened window behind him, hoping against hope that the Maker would suddenly reveal himself. If he was merciful, he would have smited them by now. It's never too late for mercy.

"How the hell did the entire estate end up in flames?" He slammed the paperwork down, and Andrea only lazily drew their eyes over to him. Viago had no idea what they'd been through—what they had to do just to survive. They didn't feel particularly inclined to share. They had never quite liked living before. It seemed a near-death experience was all that it took to change. "Andrea. This was exactly what I was hoping to avoid."

"I killed him," Andrea drawled, "Didn't I?"

Viago scoffed. He leaned back in his chair, and Andrea could tell by the twitch in his brow that he was trying not to yell at them. They almost wanted him to. Anything would be better than this, sitting and waiting for his judgment to pass. Let it come, all wrath and righteous fury, and let them be parted from his gaze forever.

"Indeed. And you took everyone else with him." He took in a shaky breath. The silence carried for several heartbeats. Andrea didn't try to fill it. "As…. unfortunate as your dismal performance in Rialto may have been… there is still other news."

Viago reached for something else on his desk. He raised it up where Andrea could see; an envelope, thick, already opened. A wax seal, red as blood and depicting two crows in flight, was still stuck to the lip. Andrea sat up. They'd seen that seal before. That's…

"House Dellamorte sends their regards." Viago raised his brows at them. "You seemed to make an impression on Illario. He spoke highly of your work. As did your client, who said that you both exceeded expectations in meeting all of her… 'additional requests'." He quoted the words in the air with his fingers before setting the envelope down in front of Andrea.

They stared at it silently. Andrea leaned forward after a beat passed, reaching out to trace their fingers over the wax seal. Something wicked in them wondered if it had been Illario's hand to do so. Something worse reminded them of how it felt when he brushed his thumb over the scar on their cheek.

Thankfully, Viago didn't seem to notice their muted agony, because he continued to speak.

"She added an additional ten thousand andris to the contract payout."

Andrea looked up, the envelope suddenly heavy in their hand. "What?"

"Illario also insisted that be split with you, half and half like the rest of the payout." Viago exhaled, massaging his temple with one hand. "I don't know how you managed to weasel an equal split out of the Dellamortes. I thought I was going to have to get you a contract negotiator."

Andrea didn't have an answer for him either. They stuttered helplessly, looking down at the papers they'd pulled out. It was just as Viago said, and all handwritten in Illario's elegant scrawl. They'd come to know it so well by now.

"He also insisted that this extra payment, as it were, be paid to you directly rather than considered with the house fees. Given that I don't let anyone tell me how to run my house, much less Illario Dellamorte, I considered writing back myself. I didn't."

Andrea waited for another one of Viago's sighs, but it didn't come. Instead they thumbed through Illario's letter themself, their eyes jumping from word to word. The parchment crinkled under their touch as they turned from one page to the next—although it was to their eyes still a debrief, there was nothing but praise for their work to be found.

Andrea slowly looked up at Viago, whose expression was twisted into a scowl. They swallowed.

"What the hell am I supposed to think, Andrea?" Viago ran a hand down his face. "On the one hand you have one of the Dellamortes singing your praises—and on the other… whatever happened in Rialto. And don't think for a second that I believe what you wrote in your debrief."

Andrea winced. "It was a���"

"A change in plans," Viago finished for them. "So you've said. You're not the only one who has had to make them lately. Andrea, I was going to recommend that your work go to Velabanchel, especially after seeing how the Rialto job went."

They froze. Velabanchel. The Crow prison—trapped in stone, against the sea, nothing but them and prisoners and torturing, day in and day out, no way to track the time in the thick stone walls. Their breath was caught in their throat and they couldn't choke it out. "You—"

"Won't." Viago's tone was icy. "Not after this letter, from the house of the First Talon. Like I said, it seems that you made an impression on Illario. For now, you'll stay in Salle until I find another contract suited to your talents."

Andrea stood up to leave, the letter still gripped tightly in their hand. They paused, mouth open, as if to thank him, before they frowned. What did they have to thank him for? Not sending them away? Instead, they bowed their head and turned to leave.

"Andrea." Viago called out to them just before they reached the door. They bit their tongue instead of expressing their frustration. He always waited until just before they were free. Andrea turned their head to look back at him, waiting for another chastisement.

"The work with Illario. I wasn't sure how you would handle it." He leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. "It was a risk. It paid off. Lucanis and Illario both rarely work anything but solo jobs, and when they do partner up, it's usually exclusively with the other. What you've done is impressive."

Andrea could sense something venomous in his words. It made their throat feel like acid, dripping upset into their churning stomach. "Thank you, Viago." It was the nicest thing he'd said to them in years. It was still pleasant to hear. Bittersweet.

[byuntrash101]

preview: first flight to hong kong

pairing: sub!reader x ot8!ateez

synopsis: you're suprised when your company offers you a vacant spot in the vip crew. you're even more surprised to discover what kind of service your company provides the vips

tags preview: idol!au, a tad bit of plot, kink negotiation, color system safe words, flightattendant!reader, dom!ateez (some are gentle some are meanies depends on the member), gangbang, oral (f & m), multiple orgasms (f), cum play (more to be revealed in the full version)

word count: 18k (preview is 0.7k)

link to full fic

a/n: tell me if u wanna be tagged <3. also this is taking place right after the last show in paris.

But when everyone is served with either a cool refreshing soda or a warm cup of coffee you can't stall any longer. You have to address the elephant in the room. You intend do it as you would discuss any other subject. You just have to stay very professional. 

You seat yourself in front of all of them and grab a clipboard, a piece of paper and a bullpen. You cross your legs sideways, your skirt ever so slightly curling up your thighs, just enough to hint away at the white lace of your thigh high tights. Instantly their chatter dies down and you find yourself under the scrutinizing gaze of the eight men. 

"Now for the VIP service.” You speak as confidently as you can. “The form stipulated that the preferences were to be discussed with the hostess. Is there any particular request you'd like to make? Any preference you'd like to share?" 

"I think it would be more efficient to know what is off limits." The blonde one spoke. From what you saw online. That was the leader of the group, Hongjoong. 

You stayed completely silent, dumbfounded by the sudden change of dynamic. The client is supposed to state what they require from you and you are supposed to do everything in your power to fulfill their wish. 

"What are the no go's for you, sweetheart?" On another question when you failed to provide an answer in a normal, reasonable time frame. That one looked carved in marble, he had delicate features that looked hand crafted to perfection, beautiful long raven black hair resting on his shoulders which you could guess were muscular even under the thick black hoodie he was wearing. 

The pet name somehow made your toes tingle, sparking nervousness in your stomach again. 

"I don't know the usual" you replied and immediately followed by an awkward laugh. Hongjoong smiled at you, maybe picking up on the nervousness showing through your micro habits. 

"What about submissive/dominant dynamics?" The blonde man kindly asked, hinting on how to answer. "Would you be fine submitting to us?" 

At the question the tingles in your toes rose in your legs. To properly answer the question you had to imagine yourself kneeling before the eight men and the thought alone made your guts stir in something that wasn't just stress. You swiped your tongue on your lower lip in an attempt to pull you out of your thoughts. 

"Yes, that would be fine" you replied as plainly as possible. You spotted one of them smirk from the corner of your eyes. That one was also particularly handsome. He had sharp cat-like eyes that were piercing holes in you. The smirk grew bigger when you made eye contact with him as he was rubbing his chin with his index finger that was decorated by a simple elegant gold ring. 

"What about impact and pain play?" Another one asked. This one looked the tallest among all of them, even with all of them seated you could tell by how his legs bent, his knees sitting higher than the others. His face looked the softest among all of them so much that it was hard to believe he could ask such a question with this benevolent expression on his face. 

"'Like spanking?" You manage to ask without squeaking or stuttering. Which was a miracle in itself.

"Yes, like spanking, slapping, pinching, hair pulling... All that good stuff." The tall one continues. 

"What do you say, doll? Would you like us to hurt you?" Hongjoong adds. 

You bite your bottom lip as you feel your insides quiver. Only managing to give a shy nod to the question. 

"Use your words, princess" another one intervened. This one seemed to be more mature than the others, he also had dark hair, long parted bangs tickling his lashes.

"Y-yes... that would be fine." You gulped.

a/n: FEEDBACK IS SO GREATLY APPRECIATED <3333. im so excited to publish this soon!!!!! ive been working on it for so long! if you want to be tagged tell me <3

[valkyrieandstrangeridingaragorn]

There's things I am understand from Tony Stans when they write 'Steve mistake ',

1. They will using reason Steven choose bucky over tony

2. Steve hide / lie the fact about tony parents death

3. Steven is not read accord and not make negotiations about accord

4. Steve recruit clint, sama and wanda and make them in raft. So it's steve mistake

From the four point the third point is bothering me. I am not gonna lie I kind forget the detail civil war but, steve did and the only one that read accord. Also if I am not wrong Ross didn't give chance go steve and everyone to negotiations about accord at all, I meant he said avenegrs onel have three days accept or retired. I menat what kind f&** is that. They have no time to negotiations about accord at all

And Tony said the can make negotiations after they sign the paper, that not how work. You can't make negotiations after to signed the papers, the UN won't considered that they want control, you signed you follow what is inside

So I think it's was weord they blame steve no want negotiations at all. Because there's no time for that, also Steven considered the accord if they for innocent protection and not for government to controlling innocent peoples. So why they keep point that?

I think they need to come up with excuses, half-truths and lies because no matter how hard the Russos tried to paint both teams as equally right, Team Cap is the only one in the right.

To your first point, Steve is against the Accords way before Bucky is even in the picture.

This is something that not only the haters but many fans seem to forget: Not everything Steve does has to do with Bucky. He has a separate life and a mind of his own, and those Accords go against everything that makes him who he is.

To your second point, Steve had no way of knowing Bucky had murdered the Starks. Zola said this:

Zola: "For 70 years, HYDRA has been secretly feeding crises, reaping war. And when history did not cooperate, history was changed." Natasha: "That's impossible. S.H.I.E.L.D. would've stopped you." Zola: "Accidents will happen."

And this was shown:

This required Steve to assume Bucky had been the only Winter Soldier at the hands of Hydra. He could have guessed but he didn't know for sure. And going to Stark to tell him "I found out your parents were murdered but I'm not sure of what happened", over 20 years after the fact is not exactly ideal. Not to mention Stark had hacked Shield's systems two years prior. He didn't exactly do a good job of digging there, and Steve and he weren't that close.

To your third point, whoever says that is lying. Steve is the only one shown reading the Accords:

My man has perfect memory. He knew very well those Accords were an abomination.

And to your last point, Sam, Clint and Wanda have agency and they knew what they were getting into before they went to the airport. Unlike Peter Parker who was lied to by Stark, Steve was very clear that he wanted his team to know who and why they were fighting, and the consequences of doing so. Even with a stranger like Scott:

They chose to follow Steve because they knew it was the right thing to do. Clint left his family, Wanda risked her life and her freedom, so did Scott, Bucky and Sam. All of them followed and did the right thing because they're heroes, it's what they do.

Ross knew very well what he was doing. As Secretary of State, not only did he keep the Accords under wraps until only three days before the UN meeting, he kept from the entire team that an Accord is not the same as a law and it was a constitutional violation to try and enforce it on the team and the citizens.

They had no time to negotiate. They would have needed to lawyer up and do everything in a short period of time: the meeting was in Vienna and they were in NYC, if you count the time it would have taken them to get there, the time they needed to find a lawyer they trusted to go through the whole thing and come up with a good enough case to stand up not only to the US Senate but the UN… yep, they had no time to do so. That was Ross' plan all along.

Stark telling Steve the Accords could be amended after he signed them was no more than an attempt at manipulation. There is something important to keep in mind here: Stark would NOT be affected by these Accords at all. As shown in the movie, he broke them when he flew to Siberia and nothing happened. Ross called him and he put him on hold, and nothing happened.

Stark is used to doing whatever the hell he wants (like basically telling the government to suck it when he refused to give them his suits. What happened to him? Nothing) and facing no consequences whatsoever. So in his mind, signing these papers means nothing, he can break them whenever he feels like it and he'll find a way to get away with it. For Steve and Wanda, the Accords were a direct violation of their civil rights. It's not the same.

Steve was never against accountability. The Accords were: