#also not a gunshot board
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Back again~! (Do I ever really leave?)
Can I get an Agere board for The Collector (the owl house) themed around the stars and pastel purples?
Thank you~!
(& no kin/id/source or F/O tags please and thank you!!!)
- 🦊
#also not a gunshot board#⌑ regression ◞ deal with it#⌑ stimboard ◞ you're welcome#⌑ queue ◞ stars are made not born#᪤ The Owl House .ᐟ#﹫ 🦊 ; sapphox
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yeah yeah, yorick was being ominous in 44 and it makes sense to suspect him. but have we considered?
OH AND
#ALSO i think it goes without saying that mother darkness = lilith = scratch#but that's just a theory. a PODCAST THEO-#(gunshots)#sorry i'll be funny tomorrow i've already cried over this episode twice and now it's conspiracy board time#malevolent 45#malevolent spoilers#malevolent theory#malevolent
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Gotta occasionally post about antisemitism like rent-lowering gunshots so here's a periodic reminder that:
1. No one is saying you shouldn't advocate for Palestine. I'm also upset about the treatment of Palestinians and I really hate war. But harassing random Jews is not going to help.
2. If you could accept the fact that random civilizations do not represent their nation's government for every other country except Israel, you're being antisemitic.
3. Even if every single Israeli was completely, 100% on board with Netanyahu's bullshit (which they're not), that does not justify antisemitism. That does not justify October 7th. That does not justify pogroms. That does not justify the intentional destruction of synagogues. That does not justify the mistreatment of Jews anywhere.
4. Too many leftists are preoccupied with finding someone acceptable to hate instead of standing up for marginalized communities. Work on this, please.
I'm tired. I want peace. And I want antisemites to not fucking follow me.
#antisemitism#current events#jumblr#<- tagging that for anyone who needs a rent-lowering antisemitism post#original post
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Blood Blossom Au: Baby's First Commissioner Meeting :)
TL:DR This Post: Danny (orphan) gets poisoned with blood blossom extract by Vlad. He runs away from him and ends up under the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman! Starry is loudly pushing her batdad agenda.
(Also known as "Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings" on my ao3!)
This was a fun rough idea I've been sitting on for weeks, thinking about how Commissioner Gordon and Nightingale's first meeting might go.
---------------
Commissioner Gordon likes to think that he's adjusting to the new normal of Gotham very well, -- the new normal being grown men running around dressed like bats, in military-grade strength body armor, committing acts of vigilantism, -- and slowly, little by little, he was no longer being surprised when this new normal pops up out of the shadows like the world's most terrifying daisy. His shaving lifespan thanks him for it.
....
The kid is a surprise though.
Granted, he seemed to be a surprise to the Bat too.
There's been a string of murders lately, -- which, in Gotham, is kind of like saying there's been another storm during monsoon season. And there's just been another; in some dilapidated building down in south Gotham, with the broken, boarded-up windows and mildew-crawling walls to match. The victim is a man in his thirties, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, left in the center of the room for the blood to pool out around him.
The place is already secured when he arrives, the building swarmed with officers and the forensic detectives. The Bat emerges shortly after he does -- or, he might've been here the whole time, hiding someplace dark and shadowy. For his own sanity, Gordon doesn't think about it too hard.
The kid is a surprise, and he appears like a bolt of lightning.
He shows up in the middle of a conversation Gordon is having with the Bat.
A whistle, sharp and loud, slicing through the air, meant for open air rather than a confined space. Gordon's ears pierce and protest the sound, and the solemn, murmured chatter floating through the room abruptly cuts off like the swing of a gavel. As he turns towards the sound -- as they all do -- he swears, up and down, that he sees Batman's shoulders jump, just slightly.
At the source, perched on the window, is a boy. A boy in a gray-blue scarf and an oversized black hoodie, one that hangs off his frame and has ace bandages wrapped around the wrists in some attempt to cinch the sleeves. The hood is up, big like the rest of it, and threatens to swallow the upper half of the boy's face whole in the fabric. What upper half Gordon can see, is smeared with some kind of opaque, black face paint. He's holding onto the side of the frame with one hand, on his hip is a grappling hook. A familiar grappling hook.
Gordon has multiple questions, and his officers tense up.
Martinez puffs up, brows furrowing as his face shapes into a frown. Shoulders rolling back. "You can't be here, kid--"
The reaction is immediate, like a spark to gunpowder, the boy yanks his fingers from his mouth and his mouth twists into a scowl. Head snapping over to Officer Martinez, his hood manages to stay on but Gordon swears that as he bares his teeth, the glint makes them look sharper than they should be. His voice is rasp and quiet and harsh; snappish in its hissing; "Put a fuckin sock in it, Martinez. I'm not stayin."
Martinez reels back, and the boy immediately veers his attention off him. Like a switch, his demeanor drops. Despite half his face being covered, his mouth twists into a cringing, apologetic smile. Slanted and off-beat, embarrassed. It'd be disarming if this wasn't Gotham, and if he didn't just hiss at Martinez like he was about to bite his head off.
"Sorry." He whispers, voice deceptively polite and softer now. Gordon has to strain his ears to hear him. "I was looking for him."
He points his finger towards-- Gordon? No, Gordon follows the direction, and finds himself looking at -- the Bat.
The Bat, who always looks stiff as a pole, now looks even stiffer. Somehow. Well, the explains the grappling hook attached to the boy's waist.
"What are you doing here?" The Bat says, gruff and unable to completely smother the stumble of surprise in his tone.
The boy still holds a sheepish smile, and slips off the window ledge. His feet hit the creaky boards with a near-silent thud, the Batman finds his feet and rapidly begins crossing the room.
Gordon notes the slight tremble in the boy's legs as he straightens. He adjusts his scarf, which droops close to his knees now that he's standing, and slings a backpack -- how long has had that? -- off his shoulders. When the Bat reaches his side, he does as he always does, and looms over the boy like a spectre. A threatening mass of shadows cloaked in all-consuming black. Standing next to him, the boy looks teeny in comparison.
The Bat is a man who terrifies even the most hardened criminals, Gordon has seen grown men shiver in fear at the mention of his name. And yet when the boy looks up at him, he doesn't even flinch.
Instead, his sheepish smile melts away like ice under the sun, holding only traces of his previous embarrassment. It remains as a shadow on his face, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth. The boy pushes his hood back just enough to reveal glinting, ice-flint eyes surrounded in tar-black face paint. He holds the backpack up with one arm. "You forgot this."
#I have never seen Batman (2022) so really I'm just using battinson and crew as templates for my fic. but hey what else is new lol#dpxdc#danny fenton is not the ghost king#dp x dc#dpxdc crossover#dp x dc crossover#dpxdc fic#dpxdc au#dp x dc au#dpxdc fanfic#i dont know shit about detective work or true crime so forgive me for any bad terminology or incorrect procedure for how these things work#just a fun rough idea for how i imagined gordon's first meeting with nightingale goes LMAO. im sticking to the idea that danny doesn't#officially join the field for a *while* due to more than just health reasons. so his first appearances are brief and usually to give B smth#danny: im only here as express delivery for vader's little brother over there. yall stay safe tho.#bruce: *kill bill sirens bass-boosted* ohmygodwhatishedoinghere#batman: how did you get here... | danny: you have so many spare grappling hooks it was pr easy to just grab one and go#also danny is whispering on purpose because he doesn't have his ghost form to fall back on as a secret identity. so he *is* actually taking#extra steps to keep his identity safe. and people usually sound different when they're whispering. he also has personal beef with#office martinez despite the fact that they've never met. Danny's HEARD of his ass. he hATES his ass.#Martinez: *to batman* freak | danny: im going to Bite Him. | batman (reluctantly): hmr. please don't. | danny: im going for his shins#Martinez and Nightingale have this whole thing going on between the two of them. danny WILL slap a sticky note on Martinez's back that says#'asshole' on it and its the one spot square on his spine that martinez can't reach.#someone: why are you beefing with like. an actual 12 year old | martinez: HE'S A LITTLE RAT. THAT'S WHY. he's here to torment me#battinson: *did you grapple the whole way here* | danny: yah. it was kinda fun. i would've gotten here faster but i kept having to stop#battinson: *hnnn* im driving you back | danny:.. are you sure? | battinson already pulling him out of the room: y e s#i've been thinking about this for literally WEEKS. what did bruce forget? good question! i'll figure that out if or when i get to this#danny has Issues behind the word freak so its like a mini beserker button for him regardless of who the word is aimed at lol. lmao#martinez calls batman a freak once while nightingale is within range and its just the doom ost as danny simply Disappears from sight#like oops. you are now. In Danger. rip couldn't be me.#blood blossom au
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I expanded on this little thing I wrote the other day. It's literally just 1,000 words of Tommy and Rocker arguing with each other. Enjoy!
“We got a code four on the suspect!” Hondo called into his radio. “Sergeant Rocker sustained a gunshot wound to the leg; it's bleeding pretty good.”
“LAFD is two minutes out with the chopper,” Hicks replied from the ground. “The fire on the second floor has been contained. You guys should be able to make it down the stairwell without issue, but I want Rocker up in that bird.”
“Yes, Sir.” He walked closer to Rocker, who had the rest of 20-Squad hovering around him, Deacon helping him keep pressure on his wound. “LAFD's gonna take you to the hospital,” he explained. “The rest of us will go down the stairs once you've been taken up.”
Rocker grimaced as pain radiated through his leg. “Who's flying it?” he asked.
Hondo glanced from Rocker, to Deacon, back to Rocker. “Who's flying what? The helicopter?”
“No, the USS Enterprise!” He exclaimed, rolling his eyes. “Yes, the helicopter!”
“I don't know, Man.”
“Why does that matter right now?” Deacon questioned, lifting his hand ever so slightly to see if the bleeding slowed any.
“Just ask, please,” he groaned.
Hondo sighed, then got back on the radio. “Hey, is there a way you can find out who is flying the chopper?”
There was a pause, then Hicks replied, “Is there any particular reason?”
“Apparently. Just not sure what.”
Another pause, then, “Hang on.”
It only took a few seconds for Hicks' voice to come over the radio again, Rocker listening carefully. “Firefighter pilot Aaron Ferris.”
Rocker closed his eyes, sighing in relief. “Okay. Okay, that's good.”
“Why are you so worried about it, Rocker?” Hondo asked.
“Busy trying not to bleed to death right now, Hondo,” he bit back. “This is the last time I offer my services to 20-Squad by the way.”
“You're not bleeding that bad anymore,” Tan noted.
Rocker glared up at him. “You're still up here because?”
The sound of the chopper broke them all out of their soon-to-be argument. It hovered above the building and, a few moments later, someone began to descend from the helicopter.
Rocker eyed the person closely, especially once he reached the roof and unhooked himself and the spine board from the clips.
“Oh hell no,” he breathed out, grumpily shooing away Deacon's hand so he could press down on the wound himself.
Deacon was about to ask Rocker what the hell was wrong with him when the firefighter walking toward them took off his helmet. “What the-”
“Always knew I'd be saving your ass eventually, Donny,” The doppelgänger said as he knelt beside Rocker.
“You got something to share with the class?” Hondo asked Rocker pointedly.
“This is my twin, Tommy,” Rocker hurriedly explained. “You know what? Just leave me here,” he whined. “Let me die.”
Tommy batted Rocker's hand away from the wound, tearing his pants to get a better look. “Unfortunately, it's not that bad,” he said, noting the way it was barely bleeding now. ���Dad would also kill me if I let you die. He likes you, remember?”
“Oh don't even start with that! I haven't spoken to him in like a month.”
“Ha!” Tommy laughed. “Try three years, jackass. Now shut up and let me work.” He began to wrap the leg, just enough to keep the pressure on it while they transported him.
As he wrapped, a pain shot up Rocker's leg, causing him to moan. He reached out and smacked Tommy's shoulder. “Can't you be more gentle?! I literally just got shot!”
“You're such a baby.”
“You, quite frankly, have no idea what this feels like.”
Tommy stopped then, cocking his head to the side as he stared at his brother. “I don't? Really? I don't know what it's like to be shot?”
Rocker rolled his eyes dramatically. “You were overseas then,” he said. “And that was an explosion. It's different.”
“It's worse!”
“Says you.”
“Says everyone!”
Rocker motioned up at Deacon. “Deac, shooting or explosion, which is worse?”
Deacon looked back and forth between the two of them, a thousand questions running through his mind. Mostly for Tommy. “Explosion, Rocker. It's always explosion.”
Tommy grinned. “Haha.”
Rocker glared at Deacon. “You're a traitor, and this is the worst day ever.”
“What about-”
“Do not!” Rocker warned Tommy. “Never, ever mention that.”
“Mhm. Okay, come on. Get on the spine board so we can get out of here.”
“I- What do you mean, “get on the spine board”? You're supposed to put me on the spine board!”
Tommy sat back on his calves. “Are you really too weak to scoot your butt over six inches onto the board?”
“Would you really be asking this of anyone else in my current state, Thomas?”
“Anyone else in your current state would have already walked down the stairs and exited the building like a normal human, Donovan. Now, scoot!”
As soon as Rocker moved onto the spine board, moaning and groaning the whole way, he laid down and Tommy began to restrain him.
“We'll be going to Cedars-Sinai,” Tommy informed the rest of the group. “Maybe next time I see you guys Donny will actually introduce me to his co-workers.”
“Shooting victim!” Rocker reminded him. “Plus, it's not like you ever introduced me to your coworkers. Or your boyfriend! Or should I say ex-boy- Ow!”
Tommy pulled the final restraint, right over his groin, tugging extra hard, then clipped him to the rope so they could head up to the chopper. “If you don't shut up," he warned, "I'll release the clip halfway up and watch you spin around like a propeller until you hit the ground.”
Then, with a thumbs up, Tommy and Rocker began their ascent.
The rest of the team stood in silence for a moment, trying to take everything in.
“What the hell just happened here?” Hondo asked.
“Not a clue,” Deacon answered. “Permission to head to the hospital and see how this plays out?”
Hondo nodded. “Only if you give us the play by play.”
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i have always thought about what cas does in the bunker when dean and sam go to bed and have come to the following conclusions:
he gets bored as SHIT. so he tries to fill all the time with stuff(tm)
he’ll try a million different hobbies to fill the time but nothing sticks for him until he discovers knitting
he immediately hyperfixates on knitting and makes dean, sam, and jack a jumper each (claire has one too that he’s sure she’d be too embarrassed to wear so he buried it at the back of dean’s closet). he also knits a cute little throw blanket for dean that he keeps in the impala to sleep on the road and feel cas’s presence, even when he’s not there.
charlie comes over and sees jack wearing his jumper and immediately commissions cas for one (“they’re adorable! shut up and take my money, cas!”, she says). he is flattered she likes them so much and completes it in like an hour
but cas also does a lot of the cleaning in the bunker. it really helps that he’s telekinetic so it means he can be hoovering in one room and dusting in another while his vessel is doing the dishes. sam always thanks him in the morning and really appreciates the effort
after jack starts sleeping during the day so he can stay up all night with cas, they start having all night movie nights, or board game nights. it’s mostly for jack’s benefit, cause cas loves to see him happy, but he does end up really enjoying them and they both start learning all the cultural references dean makes.
they end up getting really into card games with the standard set of 52 cards, but they also discover uno and get so intense about it dean has to drag himself out of bed to tell them to shut up (he would have brought his gun for extra measure, but he couldn’t handle hearing a gunshot at this time of night). uno is now banned at night time.
that is all for now tumblr. i am very tired. if you have any additional thoughts feel free to rb or reply or whatever you want. enjoy this and have a good existence
#castiel supernatural#castiel#spn#supernatural#dean winchester#castiel spn#destiel#deancas#casdean#dean spn#jack kline#sam winchester#sam supernatural#sam spn#jack supernatural#jack spn#tfw#tfw 2.0#team free will#team free will 2.0#charlie bradbury#charlie supernatural#charlie spn#claire novak#claire supernatural#claire spn
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Transferrable Skills Part 1
Transferrable Skills Masterlist
Your therapist warned you about superstitious thinking. You've been working on it. In fact, you've been very good at catching it, challenging yourself to relax, and letting things go. Even before this big work trip, you consciously avoided the "unhelpful" rituals and reminded yourself that the little ones were just to make you feel secure, not to actually influence the future across an ocean.
"I'm very nervous," you had told Señor Snuggly two weeks ago. Your worn out stuffed lizard hadn't said anything back, of course. "That's normal, because it’s an international flight. So I'm going to give you a hug good-bye, and you're gonna stay here to watch the house. I know it's not going to change anything, but I'll feel better knowing you're here."
At the airport, you realized that you had forgotten your toothbrush. It had satisfied the part of your brain that was looking for one (1) thing to go wrong. Superstitious thinking, but the kind that helped you to relax and listen to music until you boarded.
Now, forced to sit on the floor, surrounded by shouting men with guns, your brain is stuck on your lopsided stuffed animal and blue toothbrush. Of all the things that could pop into your head, why those?
You almost let out a nervous giggle at the mental image of Señor Snuggly using your toothbrush as a shiv to save the day. And then the idea of what would happen if you started laughing right now almost startles you into another burst of giggles. You clap your hands over your mouth and curl into yourself a little bit more.
Next to you, your boss throws you a sympathetic look. "You okay?"
"No talking!" The nearest assailant yells in heavily accented English. You're pretty sure the attackers have been speaking Russian, but you could be mistaken. He brandishes his gun. "You want to die?"
"She needs to go to the restroom," your boss answers.
"No, I don't," you protest. You really, really do, and have for the last two hours. But being escorted out of the room alone seems like enough of a Bad Idea that your bladder can wait.
"No, she does not," the man confirms. "Shut up. Do not talk."
You meet your boss's eyes and try to silently convey, Why are you trying to get me killed?
His doughy face says back, I am a white man who goes to the gym once a week, and I really like the John Wick movies. I have delusions of being a hero. If one man takes you to the bathroom I have the mistaken belief that I can overpower two men with guns to save everyone. Also you're a black woman, so don't you have super powers? I believe in you, queen.
You may be projecting.
Ten minutes later, just as you're wondering if you should suggest a group field trip down the hall to the bathrooms, a series of gunshots rings through the building. The energy in the room goes from nervous to frantic in an instant. Your bladder shuts up. The Russian men start shouting and waving their guns, apparently too agitated to speak English. Two hostages start crying because no one else speaks Russian, just English, French and your half-forgotten, informal, Mexican Spanish.
Another three Russians come bursting in the room, snarling something you can’t understand. They grab at a couple of people, force them to stand at gunpoint and gesture to the rest of you. And then everyone is up and kind of moving in the direction of the door. But you can’t get out of the door because they’re blocking it, but they’re really agitated that the room is still full of hostages. And then some people are being pushed back down to the floor. Your boss ends up sitting back down again. A hard hand closes on your arm before you can get down, and you and four others are dragged out.
The leader says, “You all are dignitaries, yes? Your embassies will send money or they will watch you die.”
This is, potentially, the worst possible scenario. None of the five of you are even remotely important, let alone dignitaries. You’re not 100% sure about most of the others, but you’re an aid. An aid to an aid, really. The blonde woman with the remarkably sharp bob is a personal assistant. Today’s conference was about health data management, of all things.
You decide you’re not going to die with a full bladder. You look to the man holding your arm in an iron grip and point to the upcoming door on the right. “Can I please go to the restroom? I’ll be quick.”
He asks the leader something in Russian, and then you’re being shoved through the bathroom door. He doesn’t follow you into the stall, but it’s still so awkward to pee knowing that there’s a man with a gun waiting for you. You’re so glad you aren’t on your period - opening the wrapper on anything right now would feel louder than it has since middle school.
The door to the restroom opens just as the toilet finishes flushing. You hear a scuffle, an aborted shout, and then something heavy hits the floor. You freeze, heart racing. But then there’s no more sound.
You wait for what feels like an hour but must only be a minute before calling, “H-hello?”
You don’t get an answer. Unlocking the door and easing it open, you peek out and stifle a gasp. The man who had escorted you is on the ground, a pool of blood growing around him. His gun is gone.
You’re halfway through washing your hands before you realize you’re on autopilot.
It takes everything in you to fight down the urge to freeze in place and make yourself inch around the body to the door. When you poke your head out, the hall looks so normal that it makes you dizzy for a second. You try to decide what to do through the anxiety fog. You can’t hide in the bathroom with a dead body, and you probably can’t go back to the big room with everyone without getting shot. You have no idea where the other faux-dignitaries were taken. Apparently, there’s at least one person going around killing people in bathrooms.
You try to think of what your therapist would say in this situation. All of the options feel bad, she would say. So you can’t not do anything because it feels bad. Thank the anxiety for trying to keep you safe, then try to pick the least awful course of action.
“Fight, flight, freeze, fawn,” you whisper to yourself. Fighting is right out. “Flight, freeze, fawn.” There’s a body pouring blood right behind you. “Flight, fawn.” No one is around to appease. “Flight.”
Another gunshot and shouting. It sounds like it’s coming from the left, so you head right.
You shuck off your sensible kitten heels and fervently wish your otherwise sensible pantsuit wasn’t pastel purple in this very beige hallway. Not that a thicker-than-European-average black woman mincing around in a Swiss hotel and conference center would be inconspicuous in a black suit, your mind counters itself. You try to force your brain to shut up, with mixed success.
You wander a good five minutes, reminding yourself not to panic at every locked door you try. The halls are so quiet that you half convince yourself that you’ve gotten out of immediate danger. So of course, right as you’re about the round the next corner, one of the Russians appears, reeling backwards. And then he collapses, a knife sticking out of his neck.
You can’t really worry about that, though, because right after him comes one of the largest men you’ve ever seen. He must catch sight of you out of the corner of his eye, because his head snaps to look at you. You barely register the assault rifle in his hands because his eyes bore into you through the top half of a human skull.
Oh, I’m glad I already peed, you think, staring into the eyes of Death.
“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” the man says, growls really. “What are you doing here?”
“I… bathroom? Please don’t kill me. I’ll cooperate.” you squeak out. Oh, fawning! Cool.
“Price, I’ve got one of the hostages,” he says, nonsensically. “I’ve cleared the east wing.”
You jump when his walkie-talkie - of course it’s a walkie-talkie - squawks back an “Affirmative. Status?”
“She’s up and walking,” the man says, not taking his eyes from yours. “Seems uninjured.”
“Stow her somewhere safe.”
“Negative,” Death says. Before you can panic because what the fuck does that mean? he says, “Bringing her back with me.”
“Copy.”
When he takes a step toward you, you stop breathing. Everything in you is screaming RUN and DON’T MOVE at the same time. His second step in your direction results in a full body twitch. You get the impression that the gun is pointed at the ground, but the only thing you can really see is bone white over a black mask and what might be really pretty brown eyes, but the shadow from the overhead light really makes it hard to tell and your vision is going a bit darkaroundtheedgesandohI’mstillnotbreathingthat’snotgreat.
You’re shocked into gasping when a gloved palm touches the side of your face. The rough material helps you settle into your body, just in time to start hyperventilating.
And that’s when things get weird, because Death says, “Easy, lovie. Settle, f’ me, yeah? Deep breaths, like we’ve practiced.”
Your brain latches on to the familiar command to settle before you can even question why it’s familiar. The way the man makes a long, low shushing noise makes you so suddenly weak in the knees that you stagger where you stand.
And then it clicks. Holy shit. You know this voice. You know these commands. You’ve been listening to and learning them at least once a week for the last six months. He doesn’t even sound that different from over the phone or on a video call.
“There you go, that’s good,” Simon, the dominant you’ve been seeing online, tells you through his skull mask. “Keep breathin’. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”
It’s the second time in your life you’ve been surprised out of a panic attack. “W-what the fuck? Si?” you gasp. “What are you doing here? Did you kill that guy?”
“Questions are gonna have to wait,” he says. “Keep breathing. In for four, hold for two. In for two, out for eight. Can you do that?”
“Why are you in Switzerland?”
“Breathe,” he rumbles. “Settle.”
“No,” you hiss, even as your shoulders relax another fraction. The corners of your eyes start prickling with tears.
“This is a double red light situation,” Si says, staring into your eyes. “I know you’re scared, but I’m going to get you out of here. You trust me?”
“You are wearing a skull on your face.”
“And you’re wearing a purple suit,” he answers. “There are people who want to shoot both of us. You get one more outburst, then you’re breathing and following me. Acknowledge.”
What the fuck? “This isn’t a scene!”
His eyes bore into yours. “Might surprise you, but I’m aware. Acknowledge.”
A distant shout makes you flinch. You relent. “Acknowledged. Four in, hold two, two in, out eight. Follow.”
“Good girl,” he says, patting your cheek once. “Stay behind me.”
#dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction#transferrable skills#simon ghost riley#simon riley x you#kink fics#this turned out so much more humorous than i expected and is so much fun to write#manic pixie dream ghost
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love shot
summary. seungcheol loves playing cupid for you and jihoon because of you two dislike each other
warnings. good ol' e2l but also a mafia-ish setting so the usual: guns, gunshots, blood, cursing, telling people to die. also suggestive at some points !
word count. 7k-ish
author's note. idk whats this but enjoy!!! big shoutout to my beloved @wheeboo for proofreading and correcting my silly mistakes!!! ilysm mwah thank u from the bottom of my heart <333 ++ thank u @weird-bookworm for inspiring me like i wrote 5k of this in one sitting bc of u 🫵
the air in the room was heavy, everyone waiting in anticipation. there was some chatter, only from the most talkative members of the group, yet it was very quiet. the others like you, jihoon, or wonwoo sat in silence staring at the wooden table.
suddenly the door opened and seungcheol came in, dressed in a black coat and his luxurious watch.
this immediately stopped all noise and caused all eyes to look at him.
“our plug just gave us the information that the group is meeting up at an abandoned factory. we’re still waiting for the precise location but i want you all to be ready” he announced, voice stern. the leader of the group scanned all the faces “we suspect it’s the old factory that used to produce cigarettes. since it’s quite big, we’ll need to divide into groups. i’ll also call for backup if my suspicions turn out to be true”
you nodded, eyes scanning a board behind seungcheol’s back. it had all the evidence and necessary photos but by now – because all of the six months you’ve been trying to catch this criminal group – you knew all their faces by heart.
you were a crime fighting organization, one would call it the fbi. but you weren’t really… a government official. you often switched groups, just depending on who’s running low on staff.
some groups, like the one you’ve been working with, had their permanent squad. only because their leader seungcheol (nickname s.coups) had been injured, you were called in to replace him. maybe not in leader duties but your combat abilities were very similar to his… which gained respect amongst the organization.
you liked working with seventeen – that was their group name. they were all unique and special in different ways but also talented, skilled, and laser focused on their task.
you even got to meet them outside the work field, like going biking with soonyoung and seokmin in your free time. or taking a culinary class with mingyu and hansol. and many many others. you really liked them and contrary to other groups you’ve worked with, you were sure you’ll keep in touch with them after the work is done.
they all liked you too. except jihoon… you weren’t sure why but that was okay. he pissed you off too, like always using your mug even though you clearly stated it’s yours, constant snarky comments aimed at you (and your ironic ones fired back at him). you both just didn’t click… you tried to avoid each other, knowing that even a mere meeting on a hallway will cause a quarrel.
which is why you’re all tensed up, legs and hands crossed together, because jihoon was late. he had to sit on the spot next to you and of course he’s manspreading, fakely oblivious to the fact that he’s almost shoving his knee into yours.
the door opened and an intern, taehyun, barged into the room.
“u-oh. hello, everyone. our suspicions got confirmed, it’s the old cigarette factory. they should be there in an hour but we don’t know how many people will be there” he said, eyes focused on s.coups. the man nodded gently.
“thank you, taehyun. so we’ll bring back up, just in case. we don’t know if they’re armed, do we?” the leader asked the boy. taehyun hesitated.
“there’s no official information…” his voice trailed off.
“but?” seungcheol rose his eyebrows, crossing his arms.
“if you mind my honest opinion, i think they’ll be armed. they always carry at least a gun” taehyun said, face serious. seungcheol sent him a warm smile.
“good point. thank you, taehyun. go now and tell the staff to prepare our vehicles”
the intern nodded and left. if you weren’t used to sore muscles because of all the hours of training, your legs would start to cramp because of how squished your legs were in order to avoid touching jihoon.
“good. then, soonyoung you’re going as usual: jun, minghao and chan. wonwoo, mingyu and vernon go together. rest of the team as usual so seokmin, seungkwan, jeonghan and joshua” seungcheol nodded and you swore you saw a ghost of a smile dance on his lips.
“and me?” jihoon asked, leaning forward.
“you’re going with y/n. you’ll work as a pair to sneak from behind” the leader announced and before you could let out a yelp of surprise, he was already going towards the door. “let’s go”
the sun has already settled before you arrived to the location. the ride there was silent, everyone rather serious about the moment: will you manage to capture the drug boss? he always keeps running away, as sand slips through fingers. it was starting to get on your nerves and you were determined to put a stop to it.
arriving to your base, you noticed some extra cars. the backup arrived.
in your all black uniforms, heavy boots and hidden knives behind your belt (and extra one in your left shoe), your team was ready. well, jihoon.
“you’ll go first. entering from the back. we studied the building before so you should be able to know where to go more or less. as soon as you locate them, let us know” seungcheol said and put his hands on your and jihoon’s arm “and no fighting or i’ll fucking kill you”
“yes, dad” you snickered and patted his hand.
“and don’t die, alright?” seungcheol rose his eyebrows.
“as if i would let that happen” jihoon snarled and shrugged off cheol’s hand, leaving. the leader nodded and you followed your partner, hand resting on your gun.
you were lead to the building by the instructions in your in-ear. managing to slip in quietly, you were following jihoon.
the building was consumed by darkness, nothing but silence. going through the corridors, you checked in all the rooms.
finally getting to the main room with all the machinery, jihoon stopped in his tracks. he looked back at you, his dark eyes shining with pure focus.
“do you hear it?” woozi asked, voice below a whisper. you frowned and suddenly heard it:
distant chatter, footsteps, and a shuffle of something moving around. your eyes locked with his (and you became hyper aware that he had his gaze on you all the time), and you gave a small nod.
“i’ll try to locate them more or less. you go check the rest of the rooms… and let’s call backup” he ordered. his gaze lingered on you for a bit longer before he went into the darkness of the factory.
you did as he said, your hand ready to pull out your gun any second.
room by room – nothing. you knew the rest of the team already came inside since you could hear noises of combat. some shouts, things getting thrown. no gunshots… maybe they weren’t armed after all?
for a while your heart skipped a beat. are they all okay? even… jihoon?
you shook your head and while checking in another room, you didn’t notice anything strange. as you began to grow annoyed that all the action is taking place and you’re here, alone and without anything… you heard footsteps, rushed footsteps, as if someone was running away.
you returned to the door, peeking out since the sound came from the corridor.
“fucking beomgyu… i’ll kill him. i knew there was something wrong with that boy”
your eyes went wide, hearing the voice. it was the boss. you knew the voice (and him) too well.
“do we need to do it?” you grunted, arms crossed. a thundering gaze that was supposed to scare seungcheol was rather amusing for him.
“yes. you’re the only woman in our group” he said, shaking his head.
“well, so what? he can go with his friends? with homies for a drink!” you grunted and paced around the room “i respect you as a leader, cheol. i really do. but you know how much i just don’t get along with jihoon…”
“hm, do you? i already see that you started calling him by his name, not his code name” seungcheol wiggled his brows and you came up to him, punching his arm. chuckles left the buffed man’s body and you realised he doesn’t care, at all.
“fuck you” you grunted, grabbing your bag “you owe me a drink after this”
seungcheol’s laugh was the only thing that you heard even after leaving the room.
arriving at the restaurant, you sighed. joining the seventeen group you wouldn’t even think that you’d be send to a “date” with your enemy to spy on your actual enemy. and yet, here you are.
the chatter of people and clinking of glasses hit your ears, the inside of the building taking your breath away. it was so royal and rich, you felt small. well, no wonder that a mafia boss would dine here. and only here.
“hello, ma’am. may i ask who are you here with?” a waiter asked, smiling politely.
“oh. the reservation is set for kwak jiho” you answered swiftly. the fake name was so ridiculous “is he here?”
“ah, yes. mr. kwak arrived shortly before you. let me lead the way” the waiter nodded and you followed them.
there were so many stunning people. some of the faces you knew - due to their criminal record or just because they were celebrities. you made sure to check where your main concern was sitting. park chinhae was sitting there, in all his glory, sipping a drink.
your eyes widened when you realised you’re sitting at the table right next to him. the waiter bowed gently and left, leaving you with jihoon.
he stood up and walked up to you, grabbing your hand and placing a soft kiss atop of it. the action made you freeze, but nonetheless, you kept your façade as best as you could.
“you… you look stunning, my dear” he breathed out, eyes scanning over your figure.
well, you figured that it’s a lifetime opportunity: having seungcheol’s black card to spend on the attire. so you went crazy, as anyone would.
a little birdie (minghao) told you that red (especially the ruby shade) is one of jihoon’s favourite colours. so you picked a red dress, nothing too revealing yet having a nice cut to show your left leg. paired with a ruby lipstick and some pretty, sparkly jewellery off you went. you even decided to go to a professional hairdresser because who’s stopping you...?
and apparently, it worked. or maybe jihoon was so used to seeing you in sweatpants and hoodies that this elegant side of you unexpectedly swept him off his feet.
“thank you, baby. you don’t look bad yourself” you hummed and watched him put the chair away for you. jihoon was wearing an all black tuxedo and an expensive tie. his hair slicked back… he was quite handsome looking this way. not like you cared, of course.
once you were in your seat and jihoon returned to his, you crossed your legs. your heel brushed against his leg and he raised his eyebrow.
“i ordered some wine already, dear” he hummed and when you shifted your gaze to park chinhae, he just nodded. he knew.
the nickname caused a swirl of butterflies to storm your stomach and for the nth time this day, you cursed seungcheol in your mind.
you grabbed the menu that you already studied beforehand – the name of the dishes were code names for different question or orders.
“which wine did you choose?” you asked, tapping the table.
“château haut-brion” jihoon answered, eyes never leaving yours. nothing yet.
“i see” you nodded. suddenly your mind goes blank – what are you supposed to talk about with jihoon? the two of you never met outside work. duh, you barely even talked normally at work…
“what about the food? fancy anything?” he asked, shifting in his seat. you two had secret cameras and microphones that could catch the conversation happening next to you, so technically you wouldn’t have to do anything. however, you were curious if you’ll hear anything useful.
“i… i don’t know” you scoffed and put the menu down, biting your lip in wonder “i think i’ll wait for the waiter to recommend something”
jihoon was about to answer you when suddenly you heard a male voice.
“if i may interrupt…”
you looked up and noticed park chinhae looking at you with a smirk dancing on his lips. he was sitting relaxed in his seat, almost as if he owned the place.
“i couldn’t help but pay attention to such a beautiful lady and if you’re having a dilemma what to choose… i truly recommend lemony mussels with cherry tomatoes and potatoes” the man said, giving jihoon a look that you couldn’t crack. was it some sort of trying to assert dominance? or genuine help?
“ah… thank you mr…” you rose your eyebrow, waiting for his name.
“mr. park chinhae. but such a pretty lady can call me just chinhae” he smiled. you saw jihoon’s jaw clench. you leaned forward charmingly and tapped your red nails against the table.
“well, thank you chinhae. but i’m not a connoisseur of seafood, sadly. i appreciate your help though” you nodded with a playful smile.
“ah, no worries! then, let me take a guess: pork or beef?” he asked, full on ignoring jihoon. you couldn’t lie – the situation amused you.
“lamb” was your reply, eyes focused on the drug boss. he looked at the man he was with and clicked his tongue.
“a woman of a taste, i see. good. such lady is a true gem” only now park chinhae’s landed at jihoon. almost threateningly “then my choice would be rosé-marinated grilled lamb leg with walnut salsa fresca”
you gasped, dramatically covering your mouth with your hand.
“chinhae, you must be a regular here. that’s what i’ll settle for, then. thank you so much, i bet it’ll be delicious” you hummed. the man only winked in response and returned to his friend.
silence fell between you and jihoon, his gaze on fire. was he… pissed?
“what? there’s too many things to choose from” you chuckled and nudged his leg. almost as if to say ‘behave’.
“i’ll be sure to later remind you the dish name at my place” he snarled, his mask slipping off for a second. you let out a scoff, noticing the waiter.
“we’ll see if i even end up there” you teased and relaxed in your seat as the waiter came with wines.
“may i take your order?” they asked.
as you ordered the dish chinhae recommended to you, jihoon ordered sweet and spicy pork chops. a code name for ‘be careful’. you just rolled your eyes at him and once the waiter was gone, you saw a sudden glint in his ebony irises.
“so, aeri… what were you up to this weekend?” he asked, the fake name sounding strange in his lips.
“i went on a trip to yongin with my friends. we had a lovely time there” you hummed. with a corner of your eye, you noticed chinhae smile. well, it was his hometown after all.
“oh, really? what did you do there?” jihoon asked and suddenly placed his hand down, close to yours. looking him in the eyes, the air in the room began to grow heavy.
“we’re a little too old for amusement parks” you giggled and decided to start drawing shapes on his hand with the tip of your finger “so we settled to go see a traditional folk village and art museums, then we went to a bar or two at the end of the day”
jihoon was focused on you, as if the mafia boss next to you didn’t exist. the whole room felt empty, only you and jihoon on the room.
“and you? didn’t you miss me too much?” you teased and noticed the boss picked up his phone.
“i think about you every minute of the day, so obviously i missed you” he said ironically, drawing an eye roll from you “i just stayed at home and binge watched the series you recommended me”
“really? alice in borderland?” you asked, stunned. you didn’t recommend it to jihoon, to be precise, but to be fair you were talking about it a lot lately.
jihoon shrugged and from the side, you overheard a piece of rumble from chinhae.
“–all of it? you better, you smart beast. good job, i’ll see you at the usual, next week–”
“yeah, really. it wasn’t that bad” he shrugged.
shortly after your food arrived and while you chatted (and to your amusement, flirted a lot), jihoon occasionally grabbed your hand. you, trying to show him that two can play that game, from time to time rested your high heel against his leg and moved it slowly. you enjoyed the flushed look on his face, whether it was your antics or the wine.
you managed to catch some words like ‘magazine’, ‘6pm’, ‘make more income’ or some useful – new or old – names being dropped.
you came to a conclusion you wouldn’t get more information. he was in a public space after all.
“shall we have some dessert?” you asked “i’m craving tiramisu”
jihoon rose his eyebrows. tiramisu was a code for ‘let’s end this’.
“why? i mean– are you–?” his eyes widened. you rested your chin on your hands.
“i’m fine, i’m just in the mood for something sweet” you shrugged and jihoon couldn’t crack what you meant. then he just smiled playfully.
“hm, okay. i was hoping we could get some dessert afterwards” he hummed “but tiramisu sounds fine”
you scoffed and grabbed your purse.
“great. i’ll be right back, you can order in the meantime” you said and stood up, noticing park chinhae looking at you. he was talking but you sent him a gentle smile and went to the bathroom.
you took your sweet time, fixing your lipstick and hair. also checking the hidden camera and microphone (which, to be frank, you completely forgot about), you took a deep breath.
then the realization hit you. the whole team was listening to your and jihoon’s flirting.
smacking your forehead, you let out a loud groan. seungcheol will so need to buy you a drink. a couple, even.
reapplying some perfume, you zipped your bag and left the bathroom. only to see park chinhae in the hallway, leaning against the wall and being in the phone. he didn’t see you, back facing you.
“i need all the cargo by friday. ship it to the factory this time because i think someone is sniffing around us” he said, voice low but enough for you to hear “and check that intern. beomhan– ah, beomgyu”
you saw him move and before he fully turned around, you acted like you just left the bathroom.
closing the door and turning around, your heart sped up.
“i’m hanging up” was all you heard before there was a sound of approaching footsteps “hey there”
you turned around and faked a shocked face.
“oh, hello mr. lamb leg. it was delightful, thank you” the corner of your lips turned upwards. you noticed his phone in his hand was unlocked, showing the caller id number. you had to act quickly if you wanted the camera to capture it. and you had to shift your position.
“no problem, it was my pleasure to help such a beautiful woman. may i know your name, though?” he asked, eyebrows rising up. you playfully threw your hair back and crossed your arms, shifting your body weight to your left leg. you noticed the way his gaze lingered on it because the cut in the fabric revealed it.
“it’s aeri” you said and cursed mentally. it’s probably not enough “if you hit me with ‘a pretty name for a pretty woman’ i’ll have to give you a disappointing look”
he laughed and you suddenly leaned closer, fixing his bowtie. it was risky, you could see how he tensed up to your touch. but because of that, you were sure that the hidden camera captured his phone screen before it turned off.
“it was crooked. sorry, i’m a bit of a perfectionist” you apologized and leaned back.
“who would i be to despise a woman’s hands on me?” he flashed you a toothy grin. gross. “is your date boring? you can always leave with me”
your heart skipped a beat. you could. that way you could get more information… or what if he lead you to his place? no, probably not. but still…
“ah, i can see you thinking about it” chinhae hummed. if there was an in-ear in your ear, you’d probably hear seungcheol saying to not even think about it.
you were about to say something– anything.
“y/– aeri!”
you turned around and saw jihoon. fuck.
chinhae put a hand on your shoulder and it took you everything in your willpower not to shrug it off.
“here you are. i began to get worried” jihoon snarled, shooting daggers at the man touching you.
“anyways. my offer still stands, if you want to have some actual fun” chinhae whispered in your ear and began to walk away. jihoon walked up to you, wanting to say something but suddenly turned around.
“she’ll have some fun, don’t worry about it” he said. chinhae turned his head and scanned jihoon head to toe.
“with a man your size?”
you had to tug his sleeve. chinhae winked at you and left, leaving only you and jihoon in the hallway.
“calm down, lee” you grunted and when he looked at you, you just sent him a amused expression “i bet aeri would have some nice time with jiho. but there’s nothing left to do, we should go”
“agreed. i already paid, let’s just go” he grunted and gestured you to go first “i’ll drop you off and don’t even argue. that weirdo could follow you”
how ironic. while undercover at the restaurant, he was walking away from you. and now, he did the same yet now you were the one playing with him.
stepping out to the corridor, you debated your options: you could shoot him. you could harm him and capture. or just capture.
suddenly he took a sharp turn to the stairs that lead to the other floor. you managed to hide in one of the janitor rooms. only when the sound of his footsteps became quiet, you followed him as quietly as you could.
the open space allowed you to see the lights of flashlights far away. you noticed a glimpse of him going into one of the offices. why isn’t he running away…?
quietly placing your steps you approached the room. taking a peek inside, you saw that chinhae is rummaging through drawers.
“where the fuck is it…” he grunted, throwing papers on the ground.
“we’re done here. there’s everyone except park chinhae but he wasn’t even meant to be here, apparently. let’s leave. does everyone copy?”
you couldn’t answer – the man would hear you if you did, and your cover would be blown.
taking a deep breath, you checked if you had handcuffs with you. luckily, you did. swallowing with a beating heart, you walked in.
“hands up, chinhae”
the man turned around and frowned. the room was dark, only streams of moonlight sneaking through the blinds. you kicked the door close, gun pointed at him.
“whatever you’re looking for, it won’t save you” you said harshly.
“a woman threatening me with a gun. never would i have imagined i’d find myself in such a position” he laughed and started slowly approaching you. one thing was clear: you can’t kill him. or seriously injure him.
before you could act, he jumped towards you. and it hits you like a hard slap to the face – you didn’t unlock your weapon.
ducking his attack, you kicked him in the stomach. the man lost his balance and hit the desk with a thud. grabbing the first thing that was in his reach, he hurled a lamp at you. it hit your arm, making your weapon fall out of your hands.
before he could jump and grab it, you kicked it away. landing on the floor, he hastily pulled at your leg causing you to fall next to him. the man didn’t waste any time and grabbed you by your shoulders, climbing atop of your body. one hand cupped at your jaw. as he hovered above you, he tongued his cheek.
“you” chinhae grunted, scanning your face. the moonlight shined perfectly on your face, and you could see the puzzle pieces connecting in his head. in the meantime you tried to sneakily reach for your dagger tucked behind your belt.
he ripped your in-ear and sent it crashing against the wall.
“ah, i should’ve been more careful” he hissed and his hands moved down to your neck. his body weight was crushing you, your sweaty fingers mere millimetres from getting ahold of your blade “such a beautiful woman… what a shame i’ll have to kill you”
“i’d like to see you try” you snarled just when his hands tightened around your throat. the lack of oxygen hit your head, he wasn’t sparing any time. as his hold became tighter and tighter, you struggled to take out your dagger.
mere moments from all the air being cut off, you finally grabbed your knife and stabbed him in the arm, drawing a loud yelp from him. using the sudden shock you managed to roll him over and take a deep breath, followed by painful, hacking coughs. leaning on your hands, you tried to blink away your spinning vision. a sudden kick landed at your arm caused you to fall on the floor again.
“you’re alone, huh? where’s your date?” he growled ironically.
you stood up and noticed your gun. you reached for it, swiftly unlocking it. loud steps of his heavy boots echoed through the room.
“i told you to leave with me. you’d have way more fun, and wouldn’t end up this way” his voice was way too close for your liking.
you pointed the gun at him, standing up. before you could realize, the moonlight shone on his figure.
seungcheol stopped in his tracks, counting all his crew for the nth time. jihoon was talking to joshua, vernon and seokmin; wonwoo and mingyu were on the phone with someone from the company; minghao, jun and chan were comforting beomgyu; soonyoung, jeonghan and seungkwan were counting the captured men.
“what is it?” joshua asked, drawing everyone’s attention to seungcheol. even the backup people were starting to get worried.
“it was… too smooth. no guns, their boss not in sight… and i have a feeling that…” his voice trailed off and he suddenly noticed jihoon getting pale.
“did anyone see y/n?”
the silence that fell amongst them spoke volumes, the feeling of anxiety hitting them all.
“fuck, i knew it.. i’m still getting used to the fact there’s 13 of you now. y/n, do you copy?” seungcheol asked through the in-ear.
he was answered with only silence. but then unexpectedly, there was a gunshot.
the horrifying sound of it ripped through the empty space, causing everyone in the room to stiffen up.
“y/n, say something” jihoon ordered, tapping his in-ear piece as if that was supposed to help.
“the IT guys are saying that they don’t see her in the voice channel” wonwoo spoke up “but she’s in the building. the northern side, where you guys entered”
“jihoon, wait!” seungcheol yelled after woozi ran in said direction.
“always getting in fucking trouble…” he snarled to himself, trying to ignore the heavy feeling blooming in his heart. it wasn’t a gunshot aimed at you, obviously. how could it be? they captured everyone.
he checked all the rooms on the floor and with each passing second, when there was no sigh of you, his chest swelled with fear. hypothetically speaking if you were hurt, he was running out of time.
a sudden, dull noise of something – or rather someone – falling on the floor reached his ears. it came from… upstairs?
he noticed the stairs. fuck.
“she’s on the second floor” he said to the in-ear, almost flying through the stairs. kicking every door open, he finally found you.
you were putting handcuffs on an unconscious park chinhae, a growing pool of ruby blood between your bodies.
“thank goodness… is he alive?” jihoon asked, dropping to his knees.
“you’re worried about him?” you joked, relieved to see that jihoon is fine.
“why would i care about you?” he grunted. oh, so you’re back to normal. good to know.
he checked his pulse and noticed the knife in his arm. you just shook your head and saw dark spots in front of your eyes.
leaning your head exhaustively against the desk, your face twisted in pain.
jihoon should’ve seen that first. but the thing that caught his attention were two guns on the floor.
which meant the unconscious man had a weapon too.
“don’t even tell me it was him” jihoon said, a hint of worry in his voice. you shook your head and he just sighed, walking up to you.
he kneeled in front of you, gently grabbing you by your chin and forcing you to look him in the eye.
“please tell me it was you who fired” he repeated, voice stern and cold. emotionless on the surface but you felt the bitterness of it.
“i’m fine” you huffed, scrunching your face.
the silence spoke volumes and jihoon wasted no time helping you stand up. eyes focused on you, he tried to look for any wounds.
“you still haven’t answered my question. can you stop being annoying for once and tell me who was it?” his voice rose up a bit and you sensed genuine concern. your heart ached upon that but the pain was stronger.
“i’m sorry. it was too late when i noticed” you whispered and felt your knees go weak. thanks to jihoon’s quick reflexes, he caught you, arms wrapping around your body. and that’s when he felt it.
he couldn’t see the blood due to the black clothes and darkness in the room. but he certainly felt it on his hands, and his throat went dry.
“i’ll fucking kill you if you die on me right now” jihoon’s voice broke.
people barged into the room, immediately taking care of the mafia boss.
you just shook your head and jihoon felt more and more warm blood spilling on his hands.
“you’re such an dumb idiot, getting yourself shot” he rambled at this point. the next events slurred into one vague memory. him grabbing you in bridal style, seungcheol shaking your arms, a car ride to the base with jihoon’s fingers interlocked with yours. his voice repeatedly saying ‘don’t die’ and you, struggling to respond with an ironic moment and only managing to mumble a “try me’’ before passing out on his lap.
you slowly opened your eyes, the blinding brightness of the room causing you to close them again. trying again, you looked around the room. hospital room…?
once the events started slowly coming back to you, you noticed a fluffy ball next to your knees. then you realised it’s a fluffy ball of messy hair. jihoon’s messy hair. jihoon, who was sleeping next to you on a plastic chair.
you frowned and tried to look for the wound. with one hand examining your body, because the other… the other was held by the man next to you.
when your shaky fingers stumbled upon the bandage, you saw jihoon slowly rose his head up.
he looked at you, dark circles under his ebony eyes. then they widened in shock upon noticing that–
“you’re awake!” he gasped, back straightening. you could only nod weakly “do you need anything? water? does it hurt? should i call the doctor? are you…”
“water will be fine” you hummed in slight amusement, enjoying this caring side of jihoon. only when he stood up to get some, he realized he was still holding your hand. turning his back to you, so you couldn’t see his reddening face, he started looking for some water.
“what… what happened to park chinhae? you captured him, right? did he say anything?” you asked, fixing your posture. hissing when a sudden wave of pain ripped through your body, jihoon turned around immediately “also… how long i’ve been…”
“two weeks” jihoon replied quietly, placing a bottle of water on the nightstand. you went to open it but struggled, hating the way you were so helpless “you lost a lot of blood, the bullet stayed in your body. we got the best medic but you scared us all to death” he mumbled, grabbing the water bottle and opening it for you. when he handed it back, his caring gaze lingered on you.
“oh i bet” you mumbled before taking a sip.
“that’s what you do the best, apparently” jihoon bit back, opening the blinds in the room.
“i barely woke up and here you go again… will you tell me what happened to park chinhae?” you asked, looking at him.
“you captured him and knocked unconscious so we could transport him. then we had an interrogation, he–” jihoon let out an annoyed sigh, returning back to the chair next to you. he looked tired “he didn’t say shit. in fact, all he was saying was shit about you”
“oh?” you frowned. you were used to this, sadly, since it happened frequently but the way he said that was… hinting that he didn’t leave this in peace.
“yeah. so me and cheol taught him a little lesson about respect for women and then he started talking” he said with a playful smirk.
“jihoon, am i hearing that right? you stood up for me?” you teased, putting the water bottle away. he rolled his eyes.
“whatever. he said the name of his main dealer so we handed him to the police. after wiping out his money, of course” he smiled and his mouth hung open for a while, as if he was thinking about adding something.
but just when he seemed to make his mind and speak out, the door bursted open.
“Y/N L/N YOU IDIOT! YOU’RE AWAKE?” seungcheol yelled out, but you just shrugged.
just when he was about to rush and hug you, you shook your head.
“it still hurts, cheol” you mumbled. he sent you a reassuring yet worried smile, then his eyes shifted to jihoon.
“you’re still here?” he asked teasingly, crossing his arms. you rose your eyebrows “y’know, y/n, he wouldn’t leave your side when you were unconscious”
“can you not?” jihoon grunted, face stone-cold.
“you felt guilty, huh? i remember you saying ‘as if i would let us die’ but there you were, as pale as a ghost when y/n passed out on you” seungcheol snickered and stopped once he saw a dangerous glint in woozi’s eyes “jihoon, could you actually leave for a second? i need to discuss a private matter with y/n”
“whatever” the man sighed and before he left, his gaze lingered on you for a while longer. with a soft click of door closing, seungcheol sat down next to you.
“what is it?” you asked, scared.
“nothing, actually. i just wanted to ask if there’s something between you and jihoon?” he rose his eyebrows. you shook your head, frowning.
“absolutely not” you grunted, looking away. okay, he was good-looking and funny but… not annoying most of the time.
“ah, really? because he wouldn’t leave your side while you were unconscious. he made sure the nurses that took care of you and changed your clothes were female and… beat up park chinhae pretty badly when we interviewed him. and also he wouldn’t say it but i could see it on his face that he felt guilty that it happened” seungcheol crossed his arms “what i’m trying to say is… consider his weird behaviour”
you stared at the leader with a mixture of confusion and awe.
“are you trying to say that… he likes me…?” you mumbled. cheol just shrugged.
“dunno. he acts differently around you. i’ve known him for a while and i just know that something is going on. but he’d rather get shot than admit it” seungcheol scoffed and gestured at you “no pun intended”
you reached for the water bottle and sighed, mind racing. that was a lot to process.
“i’ll go and tell others that you woke up, m’kay? and i’ll also call in the doctor” the leader stood up and smiled, ruffling your hair.
leaving you and your thoughts alone, you stared at the hoodie that someone left on the chair.
jihoon paced in front of the door, his thoughts spinning around him. you were supposed to leave today since the goal was accomplished. everyone bid you goodbye, and even threw a small party. it’s not like you’re leaving forever – you’ll stay in touch with them or join them again. but physically, you won’t be here anymore.
he took a deep breath and knocked at your door. whatever. it’ll be fine.
“yes, come in” your voice chirped welcomingly. he smiled and pushed the door open.
he saw you packing your bags with… his hoodie on.
“oh”
jihoon frowned.
“what do you mean ‘oh’?” he grunted, crossing his arms. you just let out a chuckle and shook your head.
“you’re the last person i would’ve expected to come here” a hum left your mouth as you turned your back to him and grabbed a pair of socks “what is it? one last ironic comment before i go?”
you were met with silence, causing you to turn around and look at him. jihoon looked serious, ebony irises focused on you.
he was practising this. he memorised everything what he wanted to say, even the tone of his voice. but seeing you now caused everything to fly out of his head, lips moving on his own. and before he realized – it was too late.
“i like you”
the socks dropped out of your hands. you blinked slowly, mouth closing and opening like a fish that’s been out of water for too long.
“w- what?” you scoffed and shook your head, trying to bend down to grab the socks. yet, the state of your wound didn’t allow you to do it normally. letting out a hiss, jihoon rushed to help and grabbed it for you. placing the socks in your bag, you were able to see his face up close. to your amusement, you noticed his ears turning red.
“i guess seungcheol told you his assumptions. i like you, okay? the stupid gun thing made me realize that” he huffed, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.
“what do you mean?” you asked, playing with him. it’s a rare occurrence that jihoon gets so open and talkative, you might as well use it.
“it’s just… i felt guilty. you were dying on me and it suddenly hit me that life would be horrific without annoying you. and you, yourself. i’d miss you… and stuff. so i guess i like you. i’m not telling you because you’re leaving now but i… i just felt like it” he admitted bashfully, stumbling over his words, all while avoiding your eyes.
“jihoon” you couldn’t help your smile grow.
“and it’s my hoodie by the way” he pointed at the clothing, trying not to think how perfectly the hoodie fits you.
“jih– huh, really?” a gasp left your lips. you were sure it was seungcheol’s or… ah. jihoon probably left it when he was looking over you.
“you can keep it” he said softly and finally, your eyes met. for the first time, you saw that he’s anxious “i’ll get going. don’t die on your way back. bye”
“jihoon, wait–” you laughed and grabbed his wrist. he turned around and his stomach was stormed by butterflies when he felt your gentle hold. “it’s true, seungcheol made me realize this and that”
“that asshole” jihoon muttered, peering at you. you were… smiling.
“so i’ve been thinking about it. i told myself: i’ll be here for two more weeks. if until my leave jihoon won’t say or do anything, i’ll leave like nothing happened. if he does – i’ll tell him the truth” you said slowly, seeing how the gears visibly turned in his head. cute–
“what?” he asked, now being the one stunned.
“you like me. i… think i like you too. apart from being an asshole, you’re pretty sufferable” you grinned and poked his chest.
“what?” he frowned, his face contorting like you just spoke to him in a completely different language.
“don’t make me repeat it” you breathed out, the sudden realization that you said it hitting you.
“does… what…” his eyes suddenly fell on your lips “can i…”
“yes, you can kiss me” you whispered, finishing the sentence for him.
jihoon stepped closer, his hand leaving yours only to be placed on your jaw. the hold was gentle, almost as if he was afraid that he’ll break you.
then, his plush lips landed on yours. the kiss made your head spin – it was so unlike him but then again, so jihoon-y. nothing but tender and respectful, a taste of the chocolate cake that was served during the party lingering on his lips.
before you could deepen the kiss, he leaned away.
“i’m 100% serious about it. i know i’ve been acting like a dick but i couldn’t help it. it’s hard to act normal around such a pretty person” he snickered, thumbs caressing your cheeks “and as much as i’d want to kiss you again, chan was supposed to pick you up”
“but… we’ll stay in touch, alright?” you asked, pouting slightly. jihoon noticed the way your e/c eyes sparkled with hope and he couldn’t help but shoot you a genuine smile.
“of course. do you have any plans for the weekend? we could go on a date… like a normal one” he offered, stepping away.
you nodded with a grin, zipping up your bag. “i’d love to”
out of the blue, the door bursted open. chan was about to yell something when he noticed jihoon.
“what the fuck!” the youngest yelped.
“i hope you fall down the stairs, by the way” almost like a switch, jihoon snarled. however, this time you saw the amused smile on his sneaking lips.
“sure. you too” you shook your head and left with chan, giving jihoon a last goodbye look.
but only for now, because you’ll see him again soon.
masterlist <3
taglist. @mirxzii ,, @primoppang ,, @l3visbby ,, @nicholasluvbot ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @slytherinshua ,, @jiwuu ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @dazzlingligth
#svt soft hours#svt scenarios#svt woozi#svt fluff#svt#svt x reader#woozi#svt imagines#seventeen#svt au#svt pirate au#svt reactions#svt fic#woozi x you#woozi x reader#woozi x y/n#woozi oneshot#woozi fluff#woozi imagines#jihoon fluff#svt jihoon#sct drabbles#svt mafia#svt fanfic#svt lee jihoon#svt x you#svt x y/n#seventeen scenarios#seventeen imagines#seventeen fluff
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Video Killed the Radio Star - Tape #4 (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)
A/N: Y'all this chapter took so long to write. This is NOT proofread once again me and Grammarly were beefing because she doesn't understand fanfiction. Nonetheless, it is 12 am MST and here it is. Now for an overall warning, this chapter talks about so much that I was to let everyone know that I meant for this to be a dark series. That was my goal. I'm so sorry if some of these topics seem like they're too heavy for you. If you feel overwhelmed, disgusted, or just find it hard to read please remember that it is okay and you are loved. This chapter mentions miscarriages, eating disorders, gunshot wounds, suicide, etc. I love you all and stay healthy. I will try to post my 500 followers post soon! Not proofread because eepy. YOU'LL read my chapter unedited and you'll like it! (hopefully). Thanks for reading. -Love you all, Em.
Video Killed the Radio Star Remake Masterlist
Link to the Ao3: Video Killed the Radio Star
Previous Chapter: Tape #3 > Next Chapter: Coming Soon...
WARNING: miscarriage, eating disorder, catholic guilt, bisexuality mention??, period underwear, stalking, marital problem, divorce, sexual harassment, guns, knives, gunshot wound, This bitch shoots someone, suicide, mention of a skull, blood so much blood.
Tape Contents: We briefly dive into Heather's past. Adeline makes a call that gives the team a reason to visit the suburbs. Heather makes a decision. You see something other than pink for the first time in four days.
Word Count: 6,296
Seven to Four Years Prior- January 10, 20XX
Heather had to get out of Norfolk. She felt suffocated under her father’s watchful gaze and helicopter ways. He was a hard man to love and hard to be around in general. When he drank, she used to pray that he would forget about her, so she became quiet. She didn’t have many friends here anyway, so she took you out of the equation and knew no one else would know her name.
So, with a heavy heart, she moved her life away to Richmond. She changed her major to nursing and killed that quiet girl from Norfolk. She fabricated real lies that sometimes she couldn’t separate from reality. She stared at girls silently with longing and played it off as admiration if she was ever caught. Catholic guilt stopped it from growing into anything else.
She was slow to open up about her feelings and showed people an extroverted sorority girl nursing graduate who liked to go to bars on the weekend and let men’s hands pull at her hips desperately in dark corners.
Now, at twenty-four, she only thought about one thing: how good her stomach looked in this dress. She had thinned out tremendously since the move. At first, it started due to not having enough money to eat anywhere except the shitty university cafeteria. Then, it warped into something else. During its worst moments, she would log her calories or purge food moments after eating it. She could look into mirrors afterward and feel she was achieving something remarkable. Then, sometimes, she would also look at her face and think, ‘Is that what I look like’?
But tonight, she wanted to do something different, something fun. Having told her sorority sisters this, they all jumped on board quickly, agreeing to meet at the bar around 10 p.m. that Saturday. They were thirty minutes late.
Heather was gently fiddling with the hem of her short black dress, her eyes flickering towards the entrance every so often as she waited for them to walk in. This year, she wanted to be happier, less suffering in silence, and a little more smiley. So yes, she wanted to have fun with people she called friends. Despite all her efforts, she was sure they could see right through her sometimes. She swallowed nervously as she nursed a margarita.
The next time she looked at her phone, she saw texts from her former sisters saying that work had been hectic and that they needed to reschedule for another time. So now, Heather Alexander was right back at square one: alone. She glanced down at her dress and frowned slightly at its tight material. It was the kind of dress that made her uncomfortable but made men comfortable. Something always felt wrong with that. Heather always secretly knew that she felt an attraction to women and men, but she always felt guilty at the thought.
She sighed as she debated her next move when she saw him. He was the prettiest man she had ever seen. He had soft masculine features that almost looked slightly feminine, a uniform clad against his chest, and a charming boyish smile as their eyes met. Heather whispered a silent prayer that he would like her as he approached her and introduced himself as David Hernandez. How could she not fall for him instantly? Deep brown eyes, pink lips, dark skin, and a low rumble in his voice made her feel like giggling.
It wasn’t long before the two of them were getting married. They spent a few months together in domestic bliss. He got some time off from work, and she kept her last name, and they were… happy.
At least they were happy for six months, and then her world shattered around her as David was deployed to England. She cried herself to sleep the night she heard, and David stroked her back softly to calm her. Heather didn’t want him to leave her and see someone better overseas. She was sure that women would throw themselves at David’s feet, begging him to kiss them, touch them, fuck them, like whores in the street of Babylon. She couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else touching him, looking at him the way she looked at him, talking to him the way she did in his ear late at night. She begged him to try and find some way out of it, scared to lose what was rightfully hers, but he couldn’t. He left that week.
At first, it was just six months, but then it stretched out into a year of deployment—a year spent being faithful to a man across the Atlantic. She called him when she had time, wrote letters to him, sent him emails, and constantly contacted him in any way she could.
When he got home, it was clear that all her efforts had gone to waste. David was distant. He would sulk in corners of their home on his phone. He would lament on and on about how England felt like his home and how he missed it. She couldn’t stand it. This house they bought together was his home, and it always had been. Why was he struggling to see that?
The more he talked of his deployment, the more Heather became frustrated with him. Then he started to go out more. At first, it was just to speak with some Army friends on base a few spread-out weekends in the month. Then it was every weekend.
Heather found that the only thing that could keep him home was sex. So they had sex constantly, like animals in heat. Disgusting and rutting against each other any moment they could. However, the second that it was over, he would withdraw again. He would get dressed and say he had to get to the base.
Then he was coming late, drunk and slurring, as he pulled her to the edge of the bed and woke her up with sensual touches and dirty talk. She took this as a good sign he was coming home to his wife. He was fucking her and no one else. But slowly, he stopped coming home. He would call her late at night to tell her he would stay with a friend for the night. The following day, he would come home smelling sweet.
Heather felt lost, searching desperately for something to save her marriage. She was devoting all of her love to a man who no longer wanted it, and she could feel him falling out of love with her.
Her saving grace was the morning that she found out she was pregnant. She called David with tears in her eyes and told him softly over the phone, and she heard him laugh for the first time in months. And just like that, he was back.
His soft touches, kisses in the grocery store, and dancing with her in the living room were all back. Her devoted and dotting husband had returned home to her. She could feel the dark cloud of the past couple of months dissipate and the sun shining on her.
That light lasted a good three months. Heather sat up straight as pain coursed through her body, thundering in her abdomen as she shook David awake with tears streaming down her face. Something was wrong with the baby; she knew it. He drove her to the hospital as fast as he could, but it was too late. She had already miscarried.
Heather took a small sabbatical from work and took time to think about her life. She would stare out of their living room window blankly for hours. David was attentive at first, coming home after work and tending to Heather’s broken spirit. But he soon became bored of that routine.
When Heather returned to the pediatric oncology unit, David was notified that he was being deployed again to Okinawa, Japan. He was packed and ready by the end of that month. She didn’t see him off at the airport, picking up an extra shift at the hospital to distract her from the fact that he was leaving her again.
David called her two months into his leave to tell her he wasn’t happy. He wanted a divorce. Then he hung up before she could get a word in. That’s when it all started. Her obsession with consuming anything romantic was almost debilitating. She would visit bookstores and attend readings at the public library, sometimes calling off from work to sit at home with her romances. That’s when she saw you again. She thought that you would have stayed in Norfolk. You had once told her that you loved the water. You liked how it could look gloomy and promising on different days, with mist rolling off the surface.
She tried not to talk to you. She did. She didn’t want to scare you away like she scared David away. No, no, no, she was sure it would all work out this time. So she loved you from a comfortable distance, watching you from her car on the weekends at night, leaving you her gifts on your windshield—a silent courting.
She couldn’t help herself on Valentine’s Day. She had slipped into Nicole Smith’s room without Adeline recognizing her, and she gave the table with Adeline’s purse on it a gentle knock with her hip. Heather apologized quickly, telling her not to worry. She promptly dropped to the floor to gather the spilled contents from Adeline’s bag, and she slipped a labeled key connected to a keychain that read ‘or die’ into her pocket. Once she had copied the key, she quickly returned the original to its owner.
She felt electric when she entered your apartment on Valentine's Day in a dark outfit, a hood covering her face, and four dozen rose petals in a container. She breathed in your perfume as she perused through your bathroom. She traced the spine of every book she could touch on your shelves. She gently dove into your dirty hamper and quickly pulled out a pair of dirty underwear, blood on the inside of them as she shamelessly slipped them into her pocket. Then she got to work spreading the petals throughout your apartment. By the end, she stared at her work, panting lightly as she lay across on your rose-covered bed.
She had to have you.
Present Day- March 5, 20XX
Derek and Spencer managed to get to the public library an hour before closing. They pulled your coworker, Valerie, aside. She was a pretty brunette, glasses resting on her face delicately as she stared at the two men with a soft look of disappointment. She knew that if they were here, they had yet to find you, and the thought made her feel like breaking down in a fit of tears. She fought the urge to cry as Derek asked her a question, sliding a copy of the Polaroid you had received on your windshield. “Do you happen to remember anyone coming in with a Polaroid camera?”
Valerie stared at the Polaroid with a soft frown, trying to remember something helpful. Spencer spoke quickly, “Sometime around January fourteenth, maybe?”
Valerie chewed on her bottom lip before the memory washed over her, “Yes! Yes, oh gosh, she was blonde, I think. I remember telling her we didn’t like flash photography in the library. I only saw the back of her head, but I remember the back of her head and the flash of a camera.”
Spencer tilted his head slightly and nodded at Valerie’s words, processing the information silently.“Are you sure it was a woman?” Spencer asked softly before Valarie enthusiastically nodded.
“Yes, it was definitely a woman who took the picture.” She confirmed in a soft voice before she looked down at the Polaroid with a gentle tenderness in her eyes. “She baked me cookies last week, you know?” She looked up at the two men with a sad smile and tears in her eyes. “My cat is sick, and she made me cookies to make me feel better.” She laughed sadly as the tears started to fall.
Derek placed a soft hand over Valerie’s and gave her a tender look, “We’re looking for her,” The words caused a shaky sigh to escape Valarie’s lips as she pulled her hand away quickly and stood up.
Her cheeks were red as she cried out a soft “Excuse me.” before she turned on her heel and hurriedly left the room.
Spencer picked up the picture and stared at you in the photo. The way your hair shined in the fluorescent light, your eyes and smile trained directly on the person you were talking to. You were personable, and the thought made his stomach turn. He looked over at Derek as Spencer handed the photo back to him.
The two men walked out of the library silently, and Derek let out a soft sigh as he watched the sun starting to settle against the horizon. Spencer walked beside him with his hand stuffed in his pockets, and his head hung a little low in thought.
Derek broke the silence first, “We should get back to the station to see if JJ and Rossi have anything,”
And then they rode back in contemplative silence after that.
March 6, 20XX
You weren’t sure if it was day or night anymore. All you knew was that you were starting to feel uneven. Every creak of wood, settling of pipes, and rumble of the house had your back straightening against the bed. You were sure that Heather would fly in at any moment and touch you.
A million options weighed heavy in your mind at the scenario; you could fight back again, but that would get you sliced again or worse. You could go with it, zone out as much as possible, let her have her way with you. That option made your head spin with nausea. You had to find a way to get out.
You licked at the gash on your lip, gently exploring the cut with your tongue until you could feel the warmth of blood again. You pushed your tongue back into your mouth and looked over at your day-old apple on the nightstand, half-eaten and brown. You tenderly took a small bite that wouldn’t require you to move your lips too much.
You didn’t have much of the day-old meal left; a half-full water and this apple was all you had. You chewed softly, fighting off the nausea that threatened to creep in due to the morphine.
You tried to remember anything that could be helpful to you. It was hard to think of high doses of morphine. You had played with the knob often; when you were ready to sleep, it would go up, and when you were up, it would turn down. But lately, you just wanted it to be turned up.
You tried to think of when Heather came into the pink room. She always stuffed her keys into her pockets. A plan was in the making: Get her out of her clothes, and you could get the keys.
You nodded a little despite your discomfort with the idea of her touching you again. You just had to seduce her a little, which should be easy considering that she was ‘in love’ with you. The only problem with that plan was that you had a mangled ankle and a body running on morphine; she didn’t. Heather’s temper was quick when you talked back, and rage followed if you did something against her liking.
Maybe begging would work. No, you tried that already. Why would begging work? Perhaps you could hurt yourself just enough to force her to take you to the hospital. But that didn’t work either; she was a nurse. She wouldn’t incriminate herself like that, would she? Maybe total submission would be the key.
Convince her that you love her back and somehow ask to be let out with her supervision, but that could take forever.
You started to cry softly as you set down the core of the apple and laid down, wishing to pull your legs to your chest, but the pain of one ankle and the chain around the other made that physically impossible.
You cried until you felt your eyelids become heavy, tears still slipping out of your eyes as you fell into a morphine-induced sleep.
March 6, 20XX
JJ paced back and forth in front of the bulletin board, occasionally flicking her eyes over to the photos pinned to it as she tried to chase what was likely to be a loose end. The number that had called yours and left a message full of sobs had been a burner.
Spencer had tried to tell her to eat something this morning, but as the clock’s hands crept towards nine a.m., she still didn’t feel hungry enough to try. She sighed out another frustrated huff as Emily appeared in front of her. “If you sigh like that one more time, I think I might have to force a croissant down your throat.”
JJ gave her another dramatic sigh before she put her hands on her hips: “I’m sorry, I just feel like we have no leads. We know it's a woman, but Adeline isn’t likely to be the unsub, and all her coworkers have alibis. It just feels like we are running around with our heads cut off.”
Emily smiled and gave her a gentle nod of understanding, “I get it, but you pacing around like this isn’t helping anyone. Let’s get you a drink, coffee, or maybe something to eat.”
“People who eat breakfast consistently are twenty-five percent likely to be more productive at work,” Spencer spoke up from a desk not too far from the two women.
Emily pointed over at Spencer, “See? You’re making Spencer freak out.”
“I’m not freaked out,” Spencer frowned at the comment before looking back at a file on the desk.
JJ’s smile was slow as she let her hands fall to her side and let out a soft, “Fine.” She agreed as Emily walked over to the precinct's breakroom, JJ following her.
Derek was clicking a pen obnoxiously in an off-beat rhythm. He was about to say something when his phone started to ring on his desk. He didn’t recognize the number, but he answered it anyway. “Hello?”
“Hi, uhm, is this Special Agent Morgan?” Adeline’s voice was shaky through the phone.
Derek relaxed slightly as he set down his pen. “Yeah, Adeline. Did something happen?” He couldn’t think of another reason as to why she would call the number he had left with her if nothing happened. He was too focused on the case to think of any other reason anyway.
“Yeah, maybe? I was talking to one of the nurses about something today, and I recognized one of them. I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner, but it was an old friend from college. She was more Y/N’s friend than mine, but I talked to her a little.” Adeline’s voice dropped to a whisper as she continued, “I mentioned that she was missing, and Heather had a weird reaction. She smiled for a second. I swear, she said she was sad to hear that, but she looked… well, for a second, it just seemed like maybe she was happy.”
Derek picked the pen back up again, ready to write down a name. It wasn’t much, but they could visit her. “What was her name again?”
“Gosh, it was Heather something… Heather, Heather, Heather,” She bit her lip as she tried to think back. “Alexander! Heather Alexander.”
Derek wrote it down and muttered quickly, “We'll look into it, thanks.” As a goodbye, he let Adeline quickly thank him over the phone before he hung up and called Penelope.
Penelope, quick as always, picked up on the first ring. “Center of divine intellect,” was her greeting.
“Good morning to you, too, baby girl. Listen, could you get Heather Alexander's address? Adeline Smith called saying that she had a strange reaction to hearing about our girl going missing.”
“Easy,” was her answer before Derek could hear the sounds of keys being tapped against and a soft humming sound emitting from Penelope’s lips as she pulled up the address: “4432 Lake Margaret Pl., Chesterfield, Virginia.”
“You are an angel, Garcia.”
“I always aim to please,”
“And you never fail, baby girl.”
JJ had begged Derek with her eyes to let her go with Spencer. It was just an interview, not even an interrogation, just to see if the connection between you and Heather went deeper than old college friends. So why shouldn’t she go?
Derek wasn’t one to put up a big fight, so he let her with Spencer. It was only thirty minutes away anyway, so if they needed the team it wouldn’t take too long for them to show up, right? He stayed behind on the phone with Garcia, who was doing her best to see if Heather had any criminal history on her record.
As the car rolled around the cul de sac, Spencer’s eyes struggled to look away from the plethora of plants in the fenced-in front yard. Pink anemones were scattered amongst daffodils, and what looked like daisies were blooming side by side. JJ rolled the car to a stop, parking it against the curb.
“Pretty yard,” She muttered as she took the keys out of the ignition. Spencer nodded a little; he had to admit that Spring came in a close second to Fall as the superior season in his mind. The flowers growing after frozen earth had kept them dormant, the welcomed feeling of the sun getting slightly warmer. It was still somewhat chilly at ten in the morning as he stepped out of the car with JJ, but he had to admit, it was shaping up to be a beautiful day weather-wise.
His head tilted back a little as he stole a glance at the blue sky above them and smiled before stuffing his hands into his pockets and tilting his head toward the house. JJ smiled and walked beside him, happy to be out of the precinct and in the early morning air.
Heather was washing the paring knife she had used on you in her kitchen sink, facing a large bay window in her living room. She swiped at the hardened blood and frowned a little at the memory. Why was she so upset with you? She could hardly remember herself when she got angry like that.
It was almost fitting, her flying off the handle over something so simple as you not being ready for her love. Was she no better than a man? Had she gotten so accustomed to men's vile and sharp ways that she had somehow forgotten how to be gentle?
She felt her hands shake as a voice came into her head, whispering her worst fear: She was worse than her father.
She let tears blur her vision at the thought as she rubbed the knife harder with a sponge, shaking her head quickly. No, no, no, no. She was not like that man. She was not cold like that man. She was lovable. She felt love. She felt overwhelming love for you. She had felt overwhelming love for David.
Her downward spiral was cut short as she lifted her weeping head and saw a black SUV parked in front of her yard. She quickly wiped away a stray tear with the back of her hand and sniffled lightly as she gently slid the knife into the dishwasher, watching two people get out of the van.
Heather’s eyes were glued to the blonde at first, pretty and fair in the morning sun before her eyes flickered to the man beside her. She recognized him immediately. She was sure it was the same man she almost ran into at the hospital yesterday.
She dried her hands as she walked around the kitchen island. As they got closer, her head arched to see how close they were. Panic was running through her veins. Her gun was in her room upstairs, loaded. She just had to get upstairs; her feet were quick to try and run upstairs and stash it somewhere close before they could ring the doorbell. Just as the idea seemed plausible enough, the bell rang through the house.
Heather let out a silent scream of panic as she smoothed out her shirt, fixed her hair, and caught a quick glance of her pretty face in the mirror near the front door before she swung it open with a pleasantly fake smile on her face. Her eyes quickly scanned both of their faces as she smiled. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, hi. My name is Jennifer Jareau. This is Spencer Reid. We’re with the FBI, and we were just wondering if we could ask you some questions.” JJ spoke clearly as she flashed her badge at Heather, a slight smile on her lips as she looked into Heather’s eyes. Spencer recognized her, finding it strange that he had almost run directly into the beautiful woman at the hospital just the day before.
Heather laughed softly and nodded as she stepped aside, opening the door wider to let the two agents inside. “Of course,” Her hands were shaking, but she gripped the edge of the door tightly, half tempted to slam it directly in their faces and go upstairs to shoot Catherine and herself to freedom.
They weren’t on to her yet; she was sure of that– especially given their lack of people– just two against one. She was quick to shut the door behind them before leading the two of them into her living room. “Can I get you two any water? I have some juice.”
The two agents shook their heads in a polite ‘no, thank you’ way as they sat on the sofa across from Heather. Heather sat on a chair with a soft “Okay” as she eyed them carefully. “Am I in some kind of trouble here?”
“No, We just wanted to ask you a few questions regarding an old college friend of yours, Y/N L/N.”
“Well,” She smoothed out her long skirt slowly, remembering to breathe normally, “What about her?”
“Had you been in contact with her at all? Did she mention anything about someone following her?”
Heather let out a gentle laugh as she shook her head, “I haven’t really had the time to reach out to old friends lately,”
Spencer’s interest peaked as he joined the conversation, “How come?”
Heather’s gaze became a little pointed at the question. Of course, the man has to ask her, “I lost a baby recently, and my husband was deployed soon after, so forgive me for not becoming pen pals with someone I knew at eighteen.” The words were direct and vicious, but she couldn’t help herself. She blew out a soft sigh before she let out a gentle and timid, “I’m sorry,”
Spencer licked his lips nervously as he leaned back against the sofa slightly, trying to resist the urge to disappear into it. Self-isolation wasn’t uncommon for women who had recently suffered from a miscarriage. That feeling more than likely increased as her support system was ripped away from her.
JJ gently touched Spencer’s knee before she cut the tension. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Alexander. We’re just trying to piece some information together.”
Heather ran a hand through her hair before she gave JJ a tight-lipped smile. “I understand that; I’m sorry. Would it be alright if I ran upstairs for some medicine? I feel a headache coming on.” She spoke fast with a tense voice, trying her hardest to pass it off as pain with a rub of her temple. When JJ nodded, she stood up and headed upstairs as calmly as she could manage.
JJ looked over at Spencer, watching Heather walk away carefully. “She seems angrier with men than anything.” Her voice was slightly amused before Spencer frowned.
“Doesn’t mean she’s in the clear; stalking is often a form of intense infatuation, but it's also used as a way to control something. She’s struggling with two things that could be our stressors: she’s craving control or dependency. She-” The soft ringing of his phone cut off his whispered rant. He answered it, happy that at least it was just Garcia calling, hoping for a better lead than his ongoing hunch.
He stood and looked at JJ, who was mouthing for him to go outside, “Hey,” He answered as he slipped out of the front door.
“Hey, nothing is coming up anywhere on Heather’s record for criminal activity—sorority sister, wife, nurse, clean as a whistle. However, considering we don’t have much right now, I decided to see if she had any warnings at work.”
“Right,” Spencer looked over his shoulder at the front door as he walked away to stand in front of the garage.
“Well, last month, she got a write-up for stealing some morphine; her supervisor forced her to go see a therapist after Heather said that she was using it for some leftover pain she was experiencing after her miscarriage. But Heather never showed,”
Spencer was walking a little further down the driveway as he listened to Garcia talk on the phone, counting the number of windows in the house. His eyes narrowed slightly to try and block out the sun before he looked away. He licked his bottom lip gently before acting on his little hunch, “Could you check her credit report? See if there are any purchases that you can find that seem odd around March third?”
“Could I check her credit report,” Garcia repeated with a laugh, “Hold on, boy genius.”
Spencer could see the top of JJ’s head from the bay window, and he turned away slightly, finding ease in the fact that she was still there. Something felt off, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. “She went to the store, but nothing crazy. Bought,” He could hear typing, “Bleach and rubbing alcohol.”
Spencer chewed on the inside of his cheek as he asked, “When was her husband deployed again? Did she buy anything from a florist around Valentine’s Day?”
“Husband was deployed December first and,” she hummed gently before she sighed, “Bought some flowers on Valentine’s day, rose petals.”
Spencer felt that feeling when something connected in his brain, a rush of adrenaline as he felt his hunch slowly turn into a plausible accusation. The roses were just that, roses. But the bleach and rubbing alcohol? That’s a recipe for chloroform right there. And finally, Heather’s husband was deployed at the beginning of December, stressor number two. It made him feel slightly hopeful about walking back into the house. “Thanks, Garcia.” He said as his feet reached the end of the driveway. He hung up the phone, walking back towards the house at a fast pace when the familiar and startling 'crack' of a gun reached his ears.
His hands drew his gun out of the holster, running back towards the house. He pushed the front door open with his foot as he heard the thumping of footsteps running on the stairs. He rounded the corner to the living room before lowering his gun as he saw JJ bleeding from a bullet wound in her thigh.
“JJ!” His voice panicked as he reached her groaning side, kneeling low to the ground next to her. “What happened?”
JJ shook her head quickly, “I’m calling for backup. She ran upstairs. She didn’t even try to,” her eyes squeezed shut tightly as a sharp pain rattled through her inner thigh, “Just go!” She urged him as she reached down for the phone in her back pocket, her free hand pressing on her gushing wound to try and slow the bleeding.
Spencer’s eyes were filled with uncertainty as he let out a soft, “No, I’ll stay here until everyone gets-”
“Spencer, go!”
Spencer felt his spine straighten at the second command. He gave her a grim nod as he stood up, readied his gun, and started for the stairs. His footsteps were soft and calculated as he ascended, pink light flooding the floor as he approached the top of the stairs. He could hear gentle begging in a voice too soft and thick to be Heather’s.
“Please, Heather, please, my love. Don’t, please don’t.” Repetitive cries for mercy made his legs move faster until he approached an opened door. The regular-looking bedroom door gave way to a steel one just behind it before revealing the scene of what looked like a demented love nest.
Spencer swallowed a lump in his throat as he took in the scene. Gun pointed carefully at Heather as he spoke, “Heather, put down the gun. You love her. You don’t want to hurt her. You know that.”
Heather jumped a little at the sound, her pistol clicking softly as her sweaty palms tightened their grip. She was quick to turn her body around to face him with the gun aimed directly at him as she spoke. “Don’t pretend like you know me or her. You don’t know our relationship. She wants this just as much as I do.”
“You know she doesn’t look at her. Look at what you’re doing to her.”
Heather’s eyes drifted to you, chained to the bed, watching as you hyperventilate softly. Heather felt her bottom lip quiver before she looked back at Spencer. “She’s just scared. You’re making me do this. She knows you’re making me do this.”
Spencer’s eyes drifted to your crying form on the bed, trying to keep your sobs quiet as you stared at him with wild eyes. He glanced over at the morphine drip next to your bed before his eyes settled back on Heather. His lips parted to say something more, but she cut him off quickly, “Put your gun down, and I won’t do it.”
Heather’s body language gives her away as she motions for him to put his gun down, her eyes crazed and large, her hands shaking and rigid against her pistol. “I’m not going to-”
“Put your fucking, gun down, or she dies,” Heather yells so loud that it elicits a soft sob from your lips, your arms coming up to protect your head, ready for the shot to be administered and for your brains to be blown out in front of Spencer in that very moment.
Spencer holds up both of his hands at that; he swears he can hear the soft sounds of sirens in the distance as he lowers his gun to the floor slowly, his foot gently kicking the gun away with a soft ‘clack.’
“Now you,” his calm voice says as he raises his hands, inching closer. Tears stream down Heather’s face now as she shakes her head gently.
“I have to,” Is her tear-soaked reply as she keeps the barrel pointed at Spencer’s head, her fingers twitching lightly as they move for the trigger. Your shaking voice cuts through the scene, and Spencer is pretty sure it’s the only thing that is stopping him from diving for his gun a few feet from him.
“Heather, baby,” Your voice betrays you as you speak the pet name, coming off a little too forced, but you continue anyway. “He can help. You don’t have to hurt anyone else. We can be happy, and we can get away. He can help, right?” Your arms relax around your head slowly as you look over at Spencer, who nods silently.
“I can, but you have got to put your gun down.”
Heather chokes out a strangled sob as she looks over at you, watching as you smile at her. You know it’s forced, but Heather can only view it as the prettiest thing she’s ever seen—a great parting gift.
She feels spit thick on her tongue as she evaluates her options: kill Spencer and go to jail. Kill you, and she might not have enough time to kill herself. Killing herself seems like the best plan out of the three, so she holds her gun steady at Spencer as she looks at your now bleeding smile.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” Her voice is soft, almost so human that you feel your heart clench in pity before that clenching feeling turns into pure anxiety as you see the movement of her arm. Spencer’s feet aren't quick enough for him to tackle her to the ground as Heather raises the gun to her temple and pulls the trigger.
Her body drops to the edge of the bed, sliding down it as you feel blood coat your legs. Your ears are ringing, and your mouth is wide open as you scream. At least you think you’re screaming. You can’t hear much but a pathetic muffle of the sound as the ringing in your ears increases.
Your hands are quick to try and wipe off chunks of what looks to be part of a skull off of your exposed stomach, and you can’t seem to stop staring at Heather’s limp body at the edge of the bed. The image of her mangled head oozing blood has you gagging softly, feeling yourself getting ready to be sick before you feel two hands cup your face.
You’re screaming or sobbing; you can’t tell anymore as Spencer Reid’s face blocks the view. He keeps your face steady in his hands as you try to read his lips, your breathing heavy as he strokes your hair gently. His voice creeps in through the ringing until you eventually hear the soft repetition of, “I got you, look at me. Just keep looking at me; you’re safe.”
You feel your breathing slow, your arms reaching up to grab him before your eyes roll back as your body slumps against Spencer’s, and everything is engulfed in black.
Tag List: @dollykisses4reid @babyspiderling @cocobean16 @kodzukenie333 @mmmunson
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How to Plant Snapdragons | 10
Task Force 141, Keegan & Konig x Female Criminal!Reader
Previous Chapter / Masterlist / Discord
“This is ridiculous!” You exclaimed, sliding behind a boulder as the others proceeded down the mountain, leaving you behind. You inched away from the speeding bullet grazing the rock with a spark, before peeking back up and firing at the men at your sight.
“You're Mexican!” You shouted, running after the group, almost stumbling over the root of a tree. “And they're also Mexican! They'll fucking know wherever we are, ‘cuz you guys all know this place like the back of your hands!”
You slipped behind a tree, muttering a blaspheme when a bullet whistled past you.
“I didn't say they didn't!” Alejandro yelled back, the birth of his irritation about to explode by your constant comments—or complaints at this point, which were all very much salient. Nevertheless, he calmly led the group and the 141 down the hill.
“And they're fucking much more armored than we are!” You added, glancing behind the tree, eyes summing up the number of men.
Seven, eight . . .
You took out a smoke grenade from your stash. You hastily removed the pin, throwing it over your head. A hissing noise echoed alongside the gunshots in the air, and you peeked behind the tree, shooting at the shadows moving behind the smoke the grenade created.
Nine.
With a calculated aim, an estimation of where their heads were from the silhouette and the approximate height of where their bullets came from, and timing, you took down the rest of the men who took the same trail as you did, firing as you slid down a boulder as a makeshift shield.
Enough waste of bullets for wastes, when they were already wasting their time here.
You sat for a moment behind the boulder, humming as you hurled an empty magazine to the side, and rushed towards Ghost who bothered to shoot a look at you if you were after them. “I need a drink after this shit,” you muttered, but loud enough for him to clear.
“There’s a river down there, ya can take a sip,” Ghost remarked, making you face him and roll your eyes.
A river, alright. It could be a point of extraction as they said, but it could also be a place for confrontation. If the enemy soldiers were to part ways, splitting into two groups to push you on both sides of the rivers, you and your group would be presenting yourselves at death’s door. If lucky, he’s shooing you away, but with an army? Death would grin and welcome you in instead.
The only way to wipe off death’s grin, was for a variable to show up.
Phillip Graves, you thought as you followed the group. But an alternative is always good to have, but what . . . who else would step into this board?
Alejandro spared you both a peek over his shoulder, before glancing at Soap whom he led down the mountain track. “Is she trustworthy?”
Soap eyed him for a second, before focusing on the terrain ahead. “She hasn’t done anything suspicious, yet.”
“Yet,” Alejandro repeated. “She looks experienced,” he motioned at his fellow soldier to be careful and follow him down a narrow trail, covered in moss and rocks, where it could be dangerous if one slipped. “She knows more than she looks. The way she engaged on this, she is used to it.”
“We know,” Soap replied in a low voice and frowned as they approached a cliff.
“Well, I hope it will not backfire on you, hermano.” Alejandro dashed towards the edge of the land and motioned his hand. “We’ll have to jump here!”
Soap’s lips parted in disbelief as he watched the Colonel stop momentarily. Ahead, he spotted a lower edge than the one they were on, but still, it was so close to the corner that if you miscalculated, would go straight down to your death.
“Can we make that?” He questioned and raised both of his brows as Alejandro jumped without hesitation as if he had done it hundreds of times (he probably did).
Alejandro’s feet touched the ground and slid on the smooth surface, before standing up straight and heaving himself up a boulder.
“This ain’t the mountain climbing that I wanted to do,” you claimed, stopping behind Soap and eyeing the gap between where you were now and the lower cliff you were supposed to follow the Colonel.
“Me neither,” Soap mumbled, slightly bending on his knees and launching himself to the other edge.
You followed suit, eyeing the platform you estimated your landing, and slid on the ground. A whistle escaped your lips and you adjusted your grip on the gun in your hands. “If looking at it as a right triangle, the hypotenuse should be around 3 meters considering the time of the touchdown. To boot, the angle of the—”
“Ye seriously have time for mathematics?!” Soap shouted, looking back at you as he heaved himself up a boulder, following Alejandro.
“What about it?!” You exclaimed back, making a face and pointing at his back. “Math is everywhere! A bomb maniac like you should know that of all people!”
Alejandro pursed his lips into a thin line, stopping himself from joining the childish argument between you and the sergeant. Meanwhile, Ghost behind you could only let out a sigh, already used to your outlandish antics.
“I’m a demolition expert, not a—”
Johnny’s next words went in one of your ears and out of the other as you took in the unfamiliar surroundings.
The land began to slowly form a slope, rendering you and your group on a lower ground. You glanced up and heard the deafening noise of a helicopter from above, bringing in the wind, falling leaves, and flying dirt on your way. Definitely not from an ally you expected to give the rest of you an extraction.
Then, through the strong breeze, Soap’s loud voice surfaced. “Where’s the river?”
“Past the halo,” Alejandro replied in a calm voice in an instant. “Get to firing position. Let’s catch them by surprise.”
You advanced forward, watching a soldier jump down several meters before you. Without hesitation, you rushed forward, taking a stance behind a tree. Through your scope, you aimed at the person, firing a few rounds in the blink of an eye. Gunshots echoed alongside yours, your team taking down several of the enemies.
You moved to another tree, eyes pinning on your targets and leaving them as you took them out in a swoop, taking in all of the details you could draw out in your head.
Not enough. You blew another soldier’s head out and ran towards a fallen soldier.
Ghost and Soap snapped their heads at you.
“Bloody Hell,” Ghost muttered.
“Bonnie!” Soap exclaimed, frowning at your actions.
Above, a soldier aimed their gun at you, just as you picked up their fallen comrade, making the corpse your shield. You felt the bullets land on the body, the flesh—still warm—shaking at each impact. But these vibrations were nothing compared to the recoil of your gun as you blasted a hole through the man’s head.
A good hit at the top center gives you a better shield to switch to.
“What did she just. . .” Soap's voice trailed off, dying in the chaos surrounding them.
A woman who acted like a spoiled brat who was probably raised by mosquitoes, complaining about everything upon arrival on the base, yet unbothered when bathing in blood.
A ridiculous and hilarious lass who made the 141 question their sanity.
A smart person, whose mind he couldn't comprehend.
That amazing, beautiful woman whom he shared a night with, now feeling the dying warmth of a corpse.
Being a soldier, a dead person on sight would be normal. A pile of corpses would be normal. Being a soldier meant that you'd see twisted people along the way. He drilled that in his mind.
However, he would never imagine that you would pick up a soldier, use him as a shield against his comrade, and proceed to eliminate that person without batting an eye.
Where had you learned such inhumane things?
“Johnny,” Ghost’s deep voice echoed in his ears alongside the endless gunshots, making the sergeant look at the lieutenant. “Now’s the time to be distracted.”
Soap cleared his throat and looked ahead, following Alejandro up the slope. “Right.”
Within a short time, taking down the second wave of soldiers, you and the group finally cleared the path, running up the hill as fast as you could. Yet, they were still no visual for the supposedly extraction awaiting on the bridge. One of Alejandro’s men announced that the comms didn’t get through, while another warned the group the cliffs were stiff enough to make you fall to death.
You followed the men down the path by Alejandro’s lead as your eyes darted down the river, the trees along its side, and the scattered boulders which could be a good hiding spot for—
“Sniper! Move!” Ghost yelled, making his gruff voice ring in your ears.
Just as you took a step forward, blood splattered in front of you, and you watched Rodriguez, one of your temporary allies fall to the river. You clenched your jaw and took position, aiming at the direction where the bullet came from. You located a sniper hiding behind a tree, who directed their focus on you. But as you were about to tug the trigger, a person in black snaked an arm around their neck, knife flickering from the sunlight as they slashed the sniper’s throat open.
Your eyes widened behind the scope of your gun and your mouth parted in disbelief behind your mask. “Sniper . . . down,” you claimed, threading the path the group went.
“Bloody good shot, lass,” Ghost commented, making you pursed your lips.
A man in black. Face hidden behind black-and-white stripes of paint, shrouded in the darkness provided by the forest. One you would call your brother, your family.
The Hesh of The Ghosts stepped into the ring.
An alternative variable.
Ah, but wait. If Hesh was here, then Keegan and Logan would likely be also here. You glanced at the spot where Hesh disappeared as though he was never there and pulled a face. Should you start behaving for today?
Nah. That would not be like you at all. Chaos was your middle name, after all.
But somehow, you could feel their hits at the back of your head and their nags ringing in your ears, whenever you do something reckless (by their standards), especially Elias—Captain . . . Dad? He was the only one who wanted to get called Dad, anyway.
Ghosts of your past, your asscrack. More like, nagging crickets of your past.
But Keegan . . . well, Keegan, you guess? Keegan. Yeah.
Fuck Keegan. Hesh was the one here, not him.
BUT KEEGAN!
“You’ve led us to a dead end, Alejandro!” Ghost shouted, in both frustration and confusion, making you look down at the river below.
But oh, you now got to continue your complaints to make things lively.
“Oh, brilliant! After mountain climbing, now we go river swimming? Bloody brilliant!” You remarked, coating your voice with sarcasm, making Soap pull a face at you.
Alejandro, who seemed fed up with your comments, snapped his head your way. “Just take the jump!” He commanded and threw himself off the edge. “And don’t lose your weapon!”
You shrugged. “I guess this counts as high diving.” You kicked off from the cliff before Ghost or Soap and gripped your weapon hard just as you were about to hit the water.
The impact created a loud splash, and due to the coursing water and the tension on its surface, the hit did feel a bit hard. You opened your eyes under the water and quickly paddled to the surface, taking in a deep breath. “That would be a low score in the Olympics,” you coughed and swung your arms to swim along the current.
“Why are you so fucking random?” Soap questioned, sighing aloud as he heard you.
You didn’t bother batting an eye at him. “Is there a reason not to?”
“I guess not.”
The group moved down to the river, heading to the bridge ahead, while taking the rocks for cover. Your eyes flickered at the woods, trying to find a familiar, but you saw not a sign of him, and so, you focused on Alejandro.
Once again, he tried to talk to the comms, but to no avail. The deafening static was the thing that merely answered him. He clicked his tongue and repeated his practiced words until a voice came from the other side of the line.
“—Dow 1, do you—peat. . . do—cop—”
“The radio finally picked up something,” Alejandro said with a sigh of relief.
“Sounds like the Shadow dog,” you commented, making Soap look at you and gave a silent ‘shush’.
Just then, Alejandro exclaimed, “Weapons free, soldiers!”
You hastily dove underwater in a heartbeat, swinging your arms and feet to speed up rather than just letting the flow carry you. Hidden in the water, you made your way ahead of the group and swam up to the surface as the water started to get shallow. “Shallow waters ahead,” you mumbled to the comms and proceeded with the stream, then rolled your eyes at the sight of what you guessed to be a bridge, which looked more like a stick bridge made by a child not older than five. “What an architectural and structural disappointment.”
Then, you rolled your eyes once again as vehicles, with the usual army camouflage pulled over onto the bridge. “Vehicles on the bridge. Not ours,” you informed the group, which was answered by a bunch of curses.
“Get to cover!” Ghost yelled at you as he drew near and Soap grabbed you by the collar of your cloth, dragging you behind a boulder.
You coughed at the sudden force against your throat. “Fuck’s sake, MacTavish!”
“That’s yer punishment for going on your own earlier,” he barked back and in sync, you both aimed at the bridge, blowing bullets through the armor of the soldiers.
“Punishment?” You echoed. “How kinky—” A loud noise echoed as the vehicles exploded, giving birth to fire as the sorry excuse of a bridge fell. You whistled, getting out from the cover of the boulder. At long last, the original variable of the mission appeared. “Always punctual, Graves,” you huffed and scanned the surroundings.
“Oh, still alive?” Graves remarked on the other end of the line with a scoff. “And good to see you, boys.”
“You should have aimed those fires at me if you don’t want me waltzing around, sepulcher,” you replied as the 141 greeted the shadow boss at the same time. You followed Alejandro out of the water, spotting a couple of pick-up ahead.
You glanced over your shoulder to see if the Sergeant and the Lieutenant were following just fine but halted on your tracks as you saw a person with the same uniform as the Colonel floating on the water. You rushed back to the stream.
Ghost snatched the strap of your vest, stopping you from going further. “Where the fuck are you going?”
You shook off his grip. “I ain't leaving a fallen comrade behind.” You ran, fighting against the current of the water, and grabbed the man with a grunt. You quickly removed his mask and confirmed it was Rodriguez. You tightened your hold on him and started pulling him to the shore until a pair of hands grabbed onto the corpse as well.
You looked up at Alejandro with a huff and watched Soap begin to help as well.
“Quick,” he ordered in a low voice.
With the other two’s strength, you three managed to get the corpse to the land in a few seconds, and with clenched jaws, Alejandro picked up his fallen brother and threw him over his shoulders. He jogged towards Ghost who waited by the pick-ups, and the Lt. helped him put down Rodriguez behind.
“Hassan’s two clicks north from your position,” Graves advised. “Shadows will be on standby.”
“Cartel has a compound there,” Alejandro briefed the group as you made your way to the vehicles. He took the spot behind the wheel width Soap by his side, while you and the Lieutenant settled at the back seats.
Soon after you began to trail the road, Soap looked back with wide eyes which you equally mirrored out of confusion. “What even is se . . . sepuncher?”
“Bruh.”
Next Chapter / Extra Chapter / Archive of Our Own / Discord
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#call of duty#simon ghost riley#cod 141#cod mw2#kyle gaz garrick#john price#141 x reader#john soap mactavish#soap x reader#gaz x reader#ghost x reader#ghost smut#gaz smut#soap smut#keegan smut#cod mw#cod fanfic#keegan russ#keegan p russ#konig x you#konig smut#konig x reader#konig cod#phillip graves#captain john price#alejandro vargas#rodolfo parra#colonel alejandro vargas#sergeant kyle gaz garrick#141 smut
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Playing Nurse for the Batfam
Artist: https://www.instagram.com/twalxxart/ Twalxx
Summary: you are a nurse working for Gotham General Hospital. Batman has offered you a job. You are now a nurse for the entire Batfamily. There has been an emergency and you have been called into the line of fire. You have been injured by the Black Mask, how will Jason react?
Pairing: Slowburn Jason Todd x Female!reader
Warning: Adult language, mentions of gunshots and death
Word Count: 2.4k
Masterlist
Note: These characters are not my own they belong to DC. The only character that is 'mine' is the reader. I am going to be as nondescript as possible for the reader as well for physical attributes. This is a continuation series; I’m not sure how long it will be. Also for some reason, my replies to comments are not showing up. I’m not ignoring your comments Tumblr won’t let me respond :( But please, please comment I live for it
Part 9: If I Have to Throw You Over My Shoulder I Will
***********************************************************
Jason Todd
[Jason, please we need backup. We need you.] Dick had sent about ten minutes ago.
Some dark part of me wanted to do nothing. The part of me that was tortured and beaten. The part of me that was angry no one cared enough to avenge me. But I loved Dick like he was my flesh and blood. And whether I admit it to myself or not… I love Bruce the same way.
Often I think about how my life led me down this way. Was it fate? Was it God? Was it just dumb fucking luck?
There is one theory I keep circling back to. The Red String Theory. At birth, we have invisible red strings tying us to the people we are destined to meet. Was I tied to my parents? Bruce? Alfred? Dick? Tim? Barbara? Steph? Cass? Damian? Duke? Or even… him?
That’s too many. If that’s true, my fate lines look more like a messy evidence board. Or maybe a fucked up marionette puppet. Like I was made to be influenced by those tied to me. Pushed and pulled. Just a vessel of violence.
But the Red String Theory couldn’t be true. At least not for me. I’m so covered in red. You can’t pull a red thread out of a sea of blood.
My morbid thoughts halted when I saw Pizza Joe’s. I parked off to the side. In an alley, no one could see. I approached the gunshots, listening for Dick. Boy Wonder was nowhere to be seen, but I made mental notes of the men that were perched on the buildings.
I made my way discreetly around the building, toward the back. My heart stopped dead in my chest.
Y/n was pinned against the wall. With a gun in her mouth. Fighting with everything in her against the Black Mask.
Something in me snapped. Without hesitation I shot twice at his arm, severing the flexor digitorum profundus and rendering his index and middle finger useless. I shot through his stupid fucking masked head. I shot through his heart. I shot through the bastard's fucking dick. I shot. And I shot. And I shot. No one hurts her. Ever.
I barely noticed Bruce as I stepped over him. I could have checked his pulse, his status, anything. But all I cared about was getting to her.
Anger and fear surged inside me, at the sight of seeing her covered in blood. I started to panic. My chest felt like one thousand pounds of pressure was crushing me. All I could do to calm myself down was to pull her into my arms and hug her tight enough that I felt her heartbeat against mine. She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive.
I had stayed away from her this past week. Trying to keep her safe from whatever bullshit I would bring her. But here she was finding the danger all on her own. Without me to make sure she was safe.
Seeing her face, feeling her against my body, lit something up inside me. Anger surged.
“Why the fuck are you here?” I growled.
***********************************************************
Jason grabbed my chin, slowly moving it from side to side, inspecting my blood-spattered face. His mouth was moving but all I could hear was the damn ringing in my skull. Jason frowned and looked at both my ears. I felt a warmth run down the left side of my neck.
Jason leaned into my right side, his cold helmet brushed against the shell of my ear making me shiver. “You’re hurt.” The words were simple. But they were laced with bitterness and anger that went beyond reason.
I looked up at his Red Hood, “Dick needs your help.” I couldn’t tell if I was screaming the words or saying them at a reasonable volume. I couldn’t gauge Jason’s reaction either which annoyed me. I wanted to rip that helmet off and see his face.
“I’m looking at someone that needs my full attention right now. Grayson can handle himself,” he snarled the words at me.
Gunshots sounded loud enough for me to hear. My brain started spiraling into the worst-case scenario. A Dick Grayson riddled with bullets involuntarily entered my mind. “Please help him. Please, Jason.” I grabbed his arm as I begged. His bicep tensed under my grip.
“I’m not leaving you alone,” he ground out. “Get behind me.” Despite his harsh tone, he gently moved me behind him. His broad shoulders and generous height covered me completely. I kept a hand at the base of his hip. Ready to heal him if needed.
There were four shooters surrounding Dick, and three on the buildings, all pointing their guns at him. Jason opened a pocket on his thigh and reloaded his right gun one-handed. He was so smooth with the movement it was like he was doing something simple like buttering toast. He was dexterous at a level I can only describe as masterful.
Jason aimed at an impossible speed and precision. Seven shots rang out. Seven men fell. I don’t even think they realized Jason was enemy fire until they already had a bullet fly through them. It was seemingly impossible.
Jason didn’t give me a chance to assess Dick or Bruce before throwing me over his shoulder and walking away.
“I need to help them! Jason! Jason, listen to me!” I yelled and slapped the back of his leather jacket. He ignored me or I didn’t hear his response. Knowing him, most likely the former.
Suddenly, he moved me off his shoulder and straddled me onto his motorcycle. My mind was acutely aware of his large hands pinning my waist down.
“Grayson is fine. He will take care of Bruce and your car. I’m taking you home. Now.” He was leaning toward my good ear again, his voice was dark and commanding. Lighting a certain part of me on fire. Who am I kidding, my whole being burned.
“I am fine, Jason. Really. You got there in time. Just let me heal the boys and I’ll go with you!” I sneered at him.
“How about no,” Jason sneered back and straddled onto the motorcycle behind me. His firm body was flush against the entire back side of mine. My breathing became uneven when he reached his arms around me and revved his motorcycle before accelerating. I tried not to lean back into him. But he was so warm and I was so tired. Jason must have felt my tension. His hand found my hip, as he continued steering with the other. He pushed back, forcing my body to melt into his.
“I’ve got you,” he said, making me shiver.
Gotham was a blur of lights as Jason drove us back to the Batcave. In a record, 6 minutes. Which I tried not to take personally.
He rode us through the entrance, and as close as he could get to my workstation. He got off quickly as if trying to get away from me. But just as quickly scooped me up from my underarms and placed me on top of my examination table. I blushed at the firm way he moved me around. Like I was his to just grab and move as he pleased. He was an extremely strong man. He made it seem like it was no effort at all.
He roughly took off the Red Hood. His hair was a wild mess. His eyes were dark with what appeared to be anger and concern. His breathing quickened as he looked me over.
“What blood is yours?” He curtly asked, messily digging into my neat supplies. I tried not to cringe as he did. With his mask off it was a lot easier to understand him because I could read his lips and vaguely hear him.
I looked down at my red-stained hands. I curled them up and down. The blood was sticky and cracked. Suddenly, an assault of memories flooded my mind.
The hospital wing after the mass shooting—healing a man being tortured over and over for information—my mom's bloody nose—my bloody legs dripping into my sneakers. Breathing became sharp and rushed.
A hand gently caressed my face, “Hey, hey. It’s just me. It’s Jason,” his voice and touch was gentle. Easing my mind back to reality. When I was no longer trapped in my own mind I realized that Jason was once again cleaning up my hands. He washed the blood off of them until you never knew I had stabbed a man in the neck.
His hands were warm and calloused and thorough. For a moment he just held my hands in his. His thumb traced small circles on the inside of my wrist causing goosebumps to rise on my skin. Slowly, he trailed upward to my forearm, and an angry sigh left his mouth. Wordlessly, he cleaned and tended my cut. Wordlessly, he wiped the blood and brain matter from my face and neck. Wordlessly, he took off my stained hoodie and disgusting scrubs. Until I was left in my white undershirt and tight black shorts.
His eyes were hard and staring just above the curve of my breast. Right where my heart rapidly beat. Right where the Black Mask had made a small but deep cut. And then his eyes trailed upward. Toward my bruised neck, and burned cheek.
“I should have killed him slower,” he growled out. I hadn’t realized how close Jason was to me. Somehow he had gotten between my legs and mere inches away from my face. My cheeks heated, as I took in the oddly delicate features of this harsh man. He had a very light sprinkling of freckles across his nose. His eyes were more of a stormy gray than blue. His eyelashes were so pretty and long I wanted to slap him. And his Cupid’s bow was sharp and defined which highlighted his full lips. I swallowed roughly.
“Thank you, for—for helping me,” I whispered, afraid that if I spoke any louder I might scare him off.
Jason scoffed angrily, “You shouldn’t have been in that position in the first place. I’m going to beat Bruce with an inch of his life—”
Gently, I gripped Jason’s hand, “I chose this. Don’t be mad at Bruce. If anything, be mad at me. I should have been more prepared. I should have brought a weapon.”
Jason leaned his forehead in so it was just barely touching mine. I involuntarily held my breath.
His hands reached for mine as he traced along my old burns. “We are bad for you.” He whispered.
“You guys have given me a part of myself that I thought was lost forever. How could that ever be bad?” I lifted a hand hesitantly up toward his cheek. Jason leaned in like he was desperate for the contact. For comfort. For me.
“I can’t get you out of my head. I want—” Jason’s soft words were interrupted by the screeching of my car followed by the Batmobile. Jason practically jumped five feet away from me. I frowned at the lack of contact.
Well, Bruce is well enough to drive, that’s good. Pretty fucking shit timing though, Batboy.
I lowered myself from the table. I tried hiding my wince, but I saw Jason tense. He reached forward steadying me, before scolding, “Do not push yourself for them.”
Dick came out of my car with a large dimpled smile and a huge ugly shinner. Bruce looked pale but better. I motioned for them to sit where I was just perched. Ready to finish healing them.
Bruce was simple. I just had to re-patch him up. Finish what I started. Dick was a bit more complicated. Homie had the snot beat out of him. One of the bright sides was that he wasn't shot.
When I was done, both Dick and Bruce politely excused themselves to their rooms.
I slowly cleaned up my workstation. Jason silently helped me. His mouth was a firm line.
My hands shook with exhaustion when I was done. My eyes went in and out of focus. My head was pounding from the exertion and the physical trauma. I covered my bad ear, trying to will the ringing to stop. Jason noticed and gently pulled me to him. Before I knew it he had his arm under my knees and back, and he cradled me into the elevator.
I snorted at him, “I’m fine, Jason, really. Don’t go through the trouble of carrying me.”
“I think I want to rip that word out of your vocabulary,” he snapped. “Let me just carry you. Don’t make it a big deal.”
My heart sank, and I whispered, “Okay. I’m sorry.”
“While I’m at it, I’ll take that one too,” he said, pressing the button number 4. Our floor number. “Don’t lie to me and tell me you’re fine. Don’t ever apologize for existing.” He huffed and paused, “Please.”
I nodded, not sure what to say. The elevator ride went by shockingly quickly. He walked past his room and into mine. He set me down on my bed gently. He pulled my blankets back and covered me. I got deja vu as he did it. I smiled under my covers.
Jason pulled an armchair towards my bed. He angled it so he could see both the door and the windows. I looked at him, confused.
He shrugged at me, “I didn’t like seeing a man have a gun in your mouth. I actually don’t think I saw it for more than two seconds before everything went red.”
“So, that explains why you’re watching me in my armchair because…”
Hashbrown barrelled toward Jason. She rubbed her body on his feet demanding attention. Jason swiftly picked her up and held her on his lap. She seemed to soothe him as he pet her. The tension in his body decreased, instead of ramrod straight he leaned back. Almost comfortable, but not quiet.
“Because I need to make sure that you’re okay,” he said after a few minutes went by.
“Why?” I asked, needing an answer.
“I don’t like it when you’re hurt. Or in danger,” he answered.
“Why?” I demanded, again.
He roughly raked a hand through his messy hair, “I don’t know why. I just feel like… like you’re mine to protect. You put all your energy into healing other people. You deserve someone to care if you’re healthy and safe.”
I think only two people in the world have ever cared about that. Sam and my mom. His words were like wildfire to my mind and body.
Warmth bloomed in my chest, followed by boldness, “Do you have to protect me from all the way over there? Or can you protect me in my bed?”
Taglist: @soundsfunbutno @killxz @morpheus-girl @redhood414 @bungunz @conicoroahre @greenyofthegreens @taytaylala12 @theroyalmanatee @nym-0-s @sarahskywalker-amadala @bonesbonesetc @dreaming-of-the-reality @gone-batty-fics @thescarletcryptid @bakugosgf2005 @irregular-child @vythika96 @greenyofthegreens @mythicalmo @eccentricarabella-blog @princessbl0ss0m @ghostindeath @whirlwind2005 @the-lights-are-loud @00hellohello00 @tfygcdy @theblindhag @murkyponds @midnightecko @crookedmakerfury @cosmicqueenieb @deans-spinster-witch @princessbl0ss0m
If I missed anyone please let me know <3
Author's note: Thank you all so much for your kind words, comments, messages, and interactions!! They inspire me to keep writing. I hope you guys continue to enjoy the story, thank you again <3
Hashbrown Cam!
#batman#batfam#batfamily#jason todd#dick grayson#barbara gordon#duke thomas#tim drake#damian wayne#bruce wayne#alfred pennyworth#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#jason todd x y/n#nightwing#red hood#red hood x reader#red hood x you#x reader#female x reader#whump#whumptober 2023#whump writing#dc comics#dc universe#dc fanfic#fluff#angst
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Idea for dt clover monster
1- 6 shooter, where the board gets split into 6 sections and you have to remember how the rounds were loaded into it
2- buckshot, where clover will shoot the board with a shotgun but the rounds fan out like the astral dreamer attack
3- lasso and lazer where the board is lined up with a double barrel shotgun and the soul is tied to the center having to avoid each shot from each barrel
4- clover will slowly move their talons in and you have to fire at them to keep them away
Beyond that I’m not sure, maybe they use their wings to block attacks?
yall are way more creative than me with this kinda stuff AHDJSJCN but ill add my own thoughts!!
YELLOW ATTACKS; If you get hit with one of DT!Clover’s yellow attacks, your HP gets sucked out and used to heal DT!Clover instead (similar to Ceroba’s red attacks).
1) Six Shooter —> Russian Roulette: In a very similar vein, you watch a (yellow colored) round be loaded into a revolver; you have like half a second to react to a reticle being put on your soul before it’s fired and it’s either a live round (normal bullet attack) or a yellow round.
2) Buckshot: Huge shotgun attacks that explodes into stars. The stars explode into SMALLER stars. Very bullet hell.
3) Prey: Similar to Ed’s attack, you have to avoid Clover’s talons grabbing you; if caught, you are stuck in one place and aimed at by either feathers, stars, or revolver shots. Very difficult to move and avoid attacks if caught.
4) Blackhole: Extending their wings, their inner wings turn into the void of space, sucking you to the top of the battle box. You must avoid swipes from their claws or shooting stars coming out of their wings.
5) One Last Hurrah: Similar to Zenith Martlet’s attack where the screen goes huge and she flies towards you (idk the name lmao); Clover’s tail splits into four; they slam it into the battle box, yellow shards spraying. The main attack is DT!Clover’s SOUL charge up an attack and shoot towards you. They swat your bullets away with their tail, you can’t hurt them during this attack.
EXTRA CHALLENGES: As the fight goes on, lighting surrounds attacks that have things to do with DT!Clover’s physical body; such as their talons or wings. Extra damage, and occasionally yellow! A lot of simpler attacks also overlap, like how Zenith Martlet has like 3 different attacks going on every round. Things like TNT explosions, gunpowder lines you have to avoid (or else it will explode), and gunshots that shatter the battle box into segments (so you’re stuck in one section unless you take damage to move through the cracks).
You would have to aim for DT!Clover’s soul with bullets to hurt them! No other spot would damage them; just their soul. idk how all this would work in an actually game but this was fun to theorize and think up >:]
#monster clover au#asked and answered#undertale yellow#whew this was a big one!! but really fun!!!!#i think for their final final attack (killing no mercy clover) they would super level up LOLL#and their tail looking like a save point was accidental but it very much reminds me of predators that mimic prey to lure in their own prey#very fun thought!!!#mcau lore#mcau au#mcau doodle
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White Chrysanths for the Swallow
Rocky was waiting for her at the table at the Little Daisy, but this time he was especially eager. Even Ivy had stopped teasing him about the way he lighted up and hummed to himself as he waited for Mau to show up at the door of the café, and just smiled, refilling his coffee whenever it ran out. He almost daydreamed of handing Maura two tickets to tomorrow's musical: of her eyes sparkling, of her taking his hand and telling him he was the best in the world.
But time passed, and Mau wasn't coming.
In those few hours, Rocky had replayed the fantasy in his head hundreds of times, changing the lines and the scenery. At first, imaginary Maura was beaming with happiness, calling him affectionate names, melting in his arms like all those heroines on the stage of a musical theater in the arms of their beloved ones, but every time the fantasy became darker and darker. More disturbing. Mau no longer rejoiced, no longer smiled. Her bright lively figure was becoming more and more dim, and she more often sighed, frowned, did not accept the gift. She asked him to return the tickets, scolded him for wasting his money carelessly, told him some news, one worse than the other, and finally said she didn’t want to see him again. Never again.
It was getting unbearable to sit still, and Rocky abruptly moved away from the table, threw on his coat, and headed for the exit. Maybe a walk would clear his head a little…
“Miss Pepper, I have a very urgent task to attend to. If she shows up on the doorstep, don't let her out of here on any pretext. Lock the doors, board up the windows, show her every fashion magazine you can find, but don't let her leave here until I get back. I'm counting on your wit and exceptional charm.”
The way he looked intently into Ivy's eyes before he left looked almost threatening. He wasn't even aware of the desperation hiding behind that look. But Ivy saw it.
“Don't worry, I'm an expert at this,” she winked at him encouragingly.
The cold air blew across Rocky's face, and he shivered, pulling his scarf over his nose, the same funny skewed scarf Mau had knitted for him last Christmas. Sometimes, like now, Rocky thought he could still smell on it the very same scent of coffee and pastries that wafted from the Venza family's eatery. It didn't help distract him, though. Quite the opposite. After walking a few blocks in an attempt to escape his doubts, he spotted a small flower shop — Rocky's imagination immediately conjured up a lovely picture of Maura cradling a fresh spring bouquet on this cold, cloudy evening and he didn't notice himself stepping over the store’s doorstep. The frail old woman behind the counter put aside the newspaper and immediately chirped, offering him different flowers, and finally convinced him to take a few white chrysanthemums. She tied the flowers with a delicate pink ribbon and also wrapped them tightly in the newspaper she had read before.
“They mustn't be overfrozen. Or they won't last long,” she explained sternly.
Rocky walked back much more briskly. He was warmed by the thought that now he would be able to give Mau not one surprise, but two. Hiding the bouquet from a gust of cold wind, Rocky lowered his gaze to it and pressed the flowers closer to himself… when suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the headline of one of the newspaper articles.
“Shootout at the small Italian eatery Casa di Rondine shocked the residents… a bloody showdown in the neighborhood… occurred on the night… police identified the bodies of two…”
Rocky couldn't remember how he reached the familiar alleyway. How he threw the bouquet to the ground, swung over the barrier tape, and rushed to the entrance — a gaping hole instead of a small blue door. Shards of glass littered the floor, the formerly cozy, cramped hall was a real mess, the furniture was riddled with gunshots. Even the old tabletop radio was now on the floor, shattered to pieces.
“Stop right there!” a panting policeman grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. “What the hell are you doing breaking into a crime scene?”
“I… uh…” in his panic Rocky couldn't think straight, but nonetheless he blurted out: “I'm from a newspaper. Wanted to visit the crime scene myself.”
“A lousy reporter you are, then. Your buddies sniffed everything around here a long time ago.”
“I was just hired today and immediately assigned to this very intriguing case. So…”
“There's nothing intriguing about it. This Bianchi guy…”
“Who?”
“The renter, Augusto Bianchi, if that's his real name at all, apparently had a huge debt to pay someone. And for that, he got pinned down. There was a scuffle in the night, at least four assailants. The two guys we found here have a couple priors, but they're not in a condition to tell us who hired them. The amount of such cold cases we have…” the man hummed and passed his hand above his head. “We've already explained it all to your fellow scribblers this morning. And I highly doubt the landlord would want to tell the same story tenth times over to another newspaper weasel. The only thing he's interested in right now is getting money from the insurance company.”
“And the girl?”
“What girl?”
“The waitress. Who worked here. What about her?”
“Considering how much blood there is, they're probably both either in a ditch, scattered in pieces, or feeding fishes somewhere at the bottom of the Mississippi… both father and daughter, if you meant her,” boredly remarked the other officer, who had quietly approached them, lighting a cigarette. “There's nothing for you to do here, boy. Henry's right — there's absolutely nothing of interest in this case. People might have chattered about it in the morning, but the very next day they'll forget all about it. Go home, don't add to our workload. And quit the paper that sent you here. If your editor doesn't realize that news like this must be broken in the heat of the moment, believe me, their business will burn out faster than a short match.”
Rocky tried to get anything else out of them, at least a little bit, to look in the kitchen of the eatery, to slip upstairs to Mau’s and Augusto's apartment, but the policemen were adamant. On unsteady legs he made it to the nearest bench and collapsed on it, staring blankly into the dark November sky. He could have screamed, could have destroyed everything around him on a single painful impulse, but the emptiness that engulfed him was far more frightening.
His silence was more frightening.
Years would pass. Would flow, as before, from night to night. The world won’t notice his loss. The world won't notice any loss at all. In the place of his beloved swallow house, other birds will build a nest. Freckle and Ivy will eventually stop opening that wound with their questions. And one day, perhaps, he will stop gazing into the crowd, hoping to find among the unfamiliar faces the features dear to his heart, and stop flinching when he hears someone say amore mio. He knows how it happens — it was not the first time. All he has to do is smile and everything will work out. It'll wear off, getting back to the way it was. One day.
But the bouquet of chrysanths will still remain rotting on the cold ground.
#this ficlet was written in july and was supposed to become an announcement of a pause (or more like a full stop) to my fandom activities#because i was feeling sad and insecure for a long while about my own arts & texts (still are sometimes) and wanted to take a break#i planned to finish all the ideas & asks i had left; post this and go but i failed the task; the 'finishing' period stretched too much haha#and due to some recent events and a very meaningful talk i had with my best friend tonight i feel that this ficlet is not relevant anymore#it was posted on ao3 and ficbook in july but now i want to post it here anyway just to be here (for the history so to say)#and as a reminder that i almost allowed myself to abandon what brings me so much joy because of insecurities and overthinking#or maybe even if some of these 'overthinking voices' speak truth i'll try to find inner strength to be indifferent now (at least learn to)#anyway thank you for being here with me and supporting me fellas#you don't know how much all your support means and how grateful i'll always be for your care#heldig writings#lackadaisy#romaunce#maura venza oc#maura venza#rocky rickaby#lackadaisy rocky#rocky lackadaisy#ivy pepper#calvin mcmurray#calvin freckle mcmurray#augusto venza oc#augusto venza#lackadaisy oc#lackadaisy ocs#lackadaisyoc#lackadaisyocs#lackadaisy fanfiction
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Things I Love and Dislove About Ikemen Games
These are my opinions!
CONTAINS ADULT CHARACTERS
You don't know how much this means to me because most of the time I try finding shoujo mangas I end up with stories that involve high school kids.
I'm a die heart fan of demon romance but majority of the shoujo manga that explores supernatural beings involves a 1000 year old demon king falling in love with a 16 year old high school girl. This sickens me not only because of the age gap but one of the party is a freaking minor.
As an adult, I'm so happy the Ikemen Games doesn't involve younger characters or at least characters that are 'minor' as a romantic partner.
MC's ONLY JOB IS TO SIMPLYFY THE STORY
I have said this before, MCs are just props to simplify the story and characters to us because the writers think we're too dumb to understand what the character is saying. They're like Paimon so that we don't use our braincells to understand the characters better.
I wish they didn't do that and have MCs backstories that describes their personality. I mean, all the MCs want to 'prove' to the male leads that they wanna be 'strong' but I'm tired of this trope.
Why does MCs have to always be innocent and prove themselves? Why does she always want to 'understand' the male leads? Can't we...for once have a romance that doesn't involve MCs teaching male leads true love?
Also STOP give MCs odd jobs! Book stall employee...letter carrier? I mean who is happy and satisfied doing this? How about giving the high-paying jobs like Auditor or Businesswoman or Scientist or etc etc...I know Mai is a fashion designer and businesswoman and Mitsuki is a travel agent turned maid. Alice is a baker and Yoshino is a pharmacist. The only MCs that continues to follow the path of their dreams is Mai and Yoshino.
MATURE ROMANCE
I enjoy seeing two adults slowly fall in love.
There is something different about teenagers falling in love vs adults falling in love. The romance is more realistic. They don't talk about how they're gonna plan their future together or which college they're going to go instead their chat is much more deep and that's refreshing.
NO BAD ENDINGS
Happy endings are nice. Everyone deserves one! But when there are no bad endings, the story won't have stakes.....and when there are no stakes, I can't take any gunshot sounds, blank screen and MCs saying 'Is this the end?' seriously.
Just stop being cowards writers! Put some bad endings!!
FAIR SHARE OF ROMANCE
Although I have played my fair share of Maiden games, majority of them are not that romantic.
I love cute romance moments to lighten up the mood and I really need them. Ikemen games delivers that too well....way too well...
I do have some criticism for random steamy scenes, I don't mind as long as they have context and mood.
The story is not so story focused all the time and also has time for mischievous romance which I like! It helps in calming me down and enjoy at the same time.
BULLSHIT GACHA SYSTEM AND NON-EXISTING GRINDING SYSTEM (Not very F2P friendly)
Even though Genshin's gacha system is shit (you need mf 90 wishes to get a guaranteed 5 star and 180 wishes to get the limited 5 star you want!) I still think it's ways better than the gacha system of these Ikemen Games.
Yes I agree that both the games are different in genre, one is an open world anime rpg and other is a maiden game with gacha mechanics. But that doesn't mean that I have to always pay to buy limited gacha tickets!! At least genshin gives us an open world to explore and grind primos (even though its time consuming)
Yes they do give limited tickets when you enter an event or complete the mission board but that's only ONE TICKET and you need 50 LIMITED TICKETS to get your guaranteed limited 5 star card. On the other hand, they give out many standard tickets but what am I gonna do with it if they aren't gonna update the standard banner?
These games are NOT F2P friendly and if you wanna...like say, want rank no.1 in an event you'd have to save a lot of items.
Ofc I know about the subscription thing and you do indeed get a lot of items, but the most essential thing for me is limited gacha tickets and diamonds because I wanna collect as many beautiful cards as possible and you don't get them from these monthly subscriptions. It's a waste of $5 very month. I'd rather buy a nice hair care or skin care items from that.
INTERESTING SETTINGS
I have my criticism in some of their stories but I can't deny that I LOVEE their story settings. Their premise for each game is solid to the point it makes me wanna actually try it.
This is something I find very rare in 'shoujo' genre.
For example, I don't like Vampire themed games because they suck! (both figuratively and literally) but Ikemen Vampire interests me because they take real historical figures and makes them vampire, which is a really cool idea! You don't know but I'd die to get myself in situation like that because it would be an honor to meet some great historical figures, chat with them and make them lose all their brain cells just like me. I would die to meet especially Isaac Newton and grill him for making those torturous physics theories that gave me brain tumors in my school.
Very cool setting! I can't wait to see what's in store for us in the future!!!
EVENTS ARE INSANELY BORING
I've never enjoyed a single story event from Ikemen Villains. They are boring and makes me fall asleep immediately at chapter 1. I think that kinda spread to Ikemen Prince because I barely open Ikemen Prince app now.
I honestly don't find the stories of these events interesting at all. It always feels like 'I have seen this before' maybe in some other game or some other manga.
And the Collections events.....yeah, I hate them! I wish they never existed!!! They keep the fan-loved characters at the butt-end of the list where 90% of the players don't even make it unless they burn their whole month's salary. I know that's why they do these anniversary elections because I bet if Sariel was the most voted character, his story would have been the most expensive one to get.
VERY LIKEABLE MALE LEADS
This is a personal thing but I love charismatic male leads a lot! Male leads with a lot of suave and beauty! Yes I care about these things when I play gacha games okay! I play gacha games to look at hot guys (because I know I'm never gonna get one in real life!)
But I also love that the devs puts an effort to make them feel good too. So I wanna give a shoutout to them!!! 'KEEP GOING!!! JUST DON'T MAKE TRIGGERING MEN WHO SAYS 'I'LL KILL YOU'!!!
#ikemen series#otome#otome game#ikemen villains#ikemen game#ikemen prince#ikemen genjiden#ikemen sengoku#ikemen revolution#ikemen vampire
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8.Poet
Lena's favorite poet was always Shakespeare. She did enjoy some of foreign poets as well, such as Pushkin, Neruda, Lorka, etc. But Shakespeare's sonnets were her absolute favorite. Wich was the cause of neverending tease by Sam, Andrea and even Jack, friendly tease of course. What was said by Lex thought, or her other classmates in the boarding school was...not so friendly.
When she first got a little piece of paper in her lunch box, which Kara was so kind to give her secretary to transmit to Lena, because you need to eat, Lena, a cup of coffee is not a food! - she was confused. Inside was a little poem. A Shakespeare sonnet, to be exact.
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
She was shunned. How did Kara know? Did she read her diary? Did someone tell her about Lena's favorite poet? Later Kara's said that it is her favorite poet as well and also this poem reminds her of Lena. And if the brunette blushed and also cried a little at home, she will never confess to anyone.
When they were fighting, one evening, just after their talk about villains and hard choices- Lena had found a piece of paper on her table, when she woke up next day. It said:
When my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her though I know she lies
And nothing more.
It was like a gunshot to her chest.
But her favorite piece of poetry, she received from Kara, was the piece, she heard on their wedding.
Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
Perhaps there were tears (happy tears!) after, hugs and many many kisses with her most amazing wife afterwards, Lena will never confess. But maybe, just maybe, these poems are right sometimes.
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Speak Now (Hotch's Version)
Chapter Three: Haunted
"Don't go, don't go, don't leave me like this..."
Word Count: 1,400 (another short one, sorry!)
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader
Warnings: Criminal Minds level of violence, gunshots mentioned, reader gets injured
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Eight months had passed since you’ve started dating Aaron, and you couldn’t be happier. You had met Jess a few weeks into dating, and a few weeks later, you met Jack. You adored the kid and he always seemed happy when you were around, which made Aaron happy, which made you even happier. You had now been a part of the BAU for almost nine months now, and you were happy. Things were never better.
You had spent the night at Aaron’s the night before, due to the water in your apartment building being shut off. You had gotten back from a long case, Jack at Jess’s, and you barely even remember walking through the door a little after midnight- just to be woken at four o’clock with another case.
“Do we have to?” You whined as you rolled over, and you draped yourself across Aaron as you felt him start to sit up. Aaron carded his fingers through your hair, a tired chuckle leaving his lips, and he leaned down to kiss the top of your head.
“I know,” Aaron’s voice was soothing, deep and raspy from just waking up. “Hopefully you can sleep on the jet.” You mumbled some incoherent response and dragged yourself out of bed. God you hated these early morning calls. You stumbled through your getting ready routine, and you sipped at the coffee clutched in your hands like it was a lifeline.
Not even an hour later, you were on the plane for a flight to Los Angeles. You laid on the couch, your legs draped over Emily’s lap. Aaron was half asleep, head leaned against his window, and the usual antics you and your teammates got into were abandoned for rest. You had a feeling this case, a serial killer who abducts his victims then holds them for a few days of torture before brutally killing them on the fourth day. You had a feeling this would be another long, hard case.
And you were so, so right. Word had gotten out that the BAU was working the case, and your unsub went silent for nearly two weeks. On day eleven, he acted again and he had devolved exponentially. Two bodies were found in the alley near the precinct, and none of the nearby cameras got a clear enough image to identify the unsub. You hadn’t seen anything like it in your time at the FBI, let alone the short time you’ve been in the BAU, and you felt discouraged. This was a mutual feeling across the board with the team, and you could feel the tension as you walked into a room. It was hard enough to mask your feelings when talking to families and local detectives, and you could barely hide your frustrations with the case when you walked into your hotel.
“Do you want to shower first?” Aaron asked and you shrugged as you fell face first into your bed.
“Wanna shower but also just want to melt into this mattress and not get back up,” you said, your voice muffled by the comforter. “You can shower first, I just. I need quiet and the shower feels too loud right now.” Aaron’s footsteps sounded through the room, followed by the click of a light switch. The room was enveloped into darkness, and a second later, the bathroom light was turned on, giving a light glow to the room. “Thank you.”
“Do you need anything else?” Aaron asked and you thought for a moment.
“‘M okay. Thank you,” you turned your head to offer a small smile to Aaron and winced as your head throbbed.
“Migraine?” Aaron asked as he walked over to his suitcase and you groaned in response. “Need water?”
“Nuh uh,” you said and Aaron took your hand before he tucked two pills into your hand.
“I’ll be quick, then you can shower. Hopefully get some sleep,” Aaron pressed a kiss to your hair and you leaned into the touch. Aaron gently rubbed your shoulder once before he walked to the shower, the door shutting behind him, and you welcomed the darkness. You sat up to swallow the pills and hoped you’d at least get a little sleep tonight.
As if your body had read your mind, you barely got any sleep last night. The migraine had dissipated to an easily ignored ache, but your brain refused to shut off. There was so much noise outside your hotel, Aaron’s usually happily welcomed cuddling tendencies had become too much sensory wise, and you were stressed. You clutched your thermos as if your life depended on it, and you felt seconds from snapping at the next person that breathed in your direction. You, Aaron, and Emily were in the SUV to follow a new lead and Emily’s humming in the backseat was slowly grating at your nerves.
“Can you just? Shut up for one minute?” You snapped and Aaron glanced over at you with a concerned frown and Emily hesitated, taken aback by your tone. Aaron said your name and you barely fought the urge to huff like a scolded child. “I’m sorry, I just don’t get what there is to be humming about right now. This is a shit case and I don’t mean to be an ass, but-” You were cut off by Aaron saying your name again, this time in his ‘boss’ voice.
“That’s enough. If you can’t control yourself better than this, I’ll send a cab to take you back to the hotel. We don’t need you out in the field today if you can’t control your temper.”
“I can handle it, sir.” You didn’t mean to be sarcastic, but the words slipped before you even processed what you were saying. Aaron put the SUV into park as you reached the house you would be checking out, and Aaron’s jaw was clenched. “I’m sorry,” you said, but you knew it was too late.
“We’ll discuss this later. Stay in the car, we shouldn’t be long.” Aaron said and he started to get out of the car. Emily followed and you leaned back in your seat, drinking some more of your coffee that now tasted sour. Grounded to the car, like a child. You took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm yourself down and sat in silence for a few minutes.
-
“Is everything okay?” Emily asked and Aaron let out a slow breath. The house looked empty and the two spoke in faint whispers as they did another light sweep.
“They’re just… overwhelmed. Doesn’t excuse it, but tensions are high. It’s nothing personal.” Aaron said. Another clear pass through the second floor and the two agents made their way downstairs. When another sweep of the downstairs revealed nothing, Aaron and Emily started to make their way outside until BANG BANG BANG. The sound of gunshots had Emily and Aaron ducking, and Aaron covering Emily.
“It came from outside,” Emily whispered in horror and Aaron’s heart stopped. Aaron ran outside and his years of training were almost forgotten at that moment. The SUV door was opened, and the unsub stood over a body a few yards away, gun in hand. Aaron barely recognized the body as your own before he raised his own gun, a shot to the chest sending the unsub to the ground. A weak cough sounded and Aaron ran to you, immediately dropping to his knees.
“No, no, no, no, no,” Aaron mumbled and your eyes were hazy as they met his. “Hey, hey. Stay focused on me, okay?” Aaron’s voice wavered and your breath hitched as your eyes watered. Aaron pressed his hands to your wounds, hoping to slow the bleeding until medical could get there. He just had to keep you alive until then, just had to keep you talking.
“I, I saw him- Tried to, to get away. Couldn’t… couldn’t let him. M sorry for leavin’ the car.” Your eyes blinked a few times, like you were trying to focus. “Cold.”
“I know, I know. You’ll be taken care of soon, and they’ll fix it. You’ll be okay, you just have to stay awake. Just a little longer,” Aaron pleaded and your hand reached out for his. You rested your hand on top of his own, your speech slurring.
“Love.. you… Aaron.”
“I love you, too,” A choked cry left Aaron’s lips and the sound of sirens sounded faint as they started to approach. “Hey, hey, keep your eyes open.” A panicked cry of your name was the last thing you heard as you slipped into darkness.
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