#fbi!au

[northernbluetongue]

🐺🐺🐺

MY SON STILES IS IN THE FBI!!!!!!! MY DREAM AU HAS COME TRUE!!!!

[kjwaikiki]

You know how Eli looks like Stiles. Well I have a headcanon and it is not that Stiles got pregnant through magic.

My headcanon is simply that Eli’s mom looked a lot like Stiles, which could be considered a little mundane until you consider the comedy involved with a stepdad Stiles and Eli being out together in public.

People assume Stiles is Eli’s biological father until one of them corrects said person. I want it to be Eli in which case he can go two ways (both are hilarious)

1. Eli jokes about his dad having a type.

2. Eli jokes about how he always knew his dad and Stiles would get together because look at him (Eli gestures to his own face and then to Stiles) it wasn’t rocket science to figure out the old man was a little hung up on Stiles.

I just think the implications are hilarious. Stiles would never feel insecure ever. If anyone asks him how he remains so secure in his relationship with Derek all he would have to do is gesture to Eli.

All I’m saying is it takes a special type of pining to have a son that looks and acts scarily similar to this one high schooler who you went through multiple brushes with death with, saved their life, had them save your life, and shared many very emotionally charged (possibly tender) moments with.

[xulips]

at first it was a quick mfen doodle. and somehow. i don't know how. it became a full fledged shitpost au

[zylev-blog]

Jazz is Special Agent Fenton of the FBI. She doesn’t go by Fenton when she’s out on a case though; she uses Nightingale. She does this because it keeps her identity secret.

Jazz is investigating a series of crimes. One of the other agents goes undercover to try and set them up in a sting operation. Things go south and now Jazz is going to Gotham to view the murder scene.

When she gets there, GCPD try to stop her at the crime scene barrier. She flashes her FBI jacket and her badge and is given access. She walks over to the police commissioner, a man named Gordon. Gordon obviously doesn’t recognize her, and neither does the vigilante with him—Batman.

“This is a closed crime scene, Miss…?” Gordon asks.

“Nightingale. FBI.” She shows Gordon her badge. “You and your men can clear out. This is our jurisdiction now.”

“We haven’t gotten approval to—“ Gordon stops, but was interrupted by an officer walking over to Gordon and whispering something in his ear. “Fine.” Gordon grumbled, and started telling his men to leave.

“You too, Spooky. I don’t need a vigilante’s help.” She waves off the man without another thought, but Batman doesn’t move. Instead, he completely ignores her and starts walking towards the crime scene. “Obviously, you didn’t hear me.” Jazz scowled. “If you don’t leave, I will remove you with force, Batman.”

Batman turns to look at her. “That isn’t how things work here, Agent Nightingale.”

“It is now.” She kept her expression neutral. “Clear out, or be removed. Your choice.”

Batman tried to look intimidating. Jazz refused to bow. The two stared each other down before Batman took another step towards the crime scene. She reacted instantly. Pulling out a taser, she placed it on his back before he could even react.

He reacted quickly, and sent three batarangs at her in rapid succession. His movements were a bit slower than normal after getting tased. She dodged two of the batarangs, and opted to catch the third in her hand. She flicked it away lazily and cracked her knuckles with a small smile. “I love it when they choose force.”

Batman didn’t react to her comment. He seemed to understand he wasn’t going to be able to get around her without a major fight. He let out an annoyed grunt and grappled away.

Three days later, they meet on the roof of an abandoned building. It seems like Batman was still on the case after all. Jazz was not happy about it. She felt that he was going to ruin the entire operation. She couldn’t trust someone to have her back if they didn’t show their face. She doesn’t let the annoyance show on her face as Batman joins her at the edge of the rooftop.

“I thought I told you to stay off my case, Batman.” She said quietly.

Batman gave a quiet grunt. If she had to put it to words, it would translate to a ‘I do what I want.’

She didn’t speak to him again, but she didn’t kick him out, either. The two didn’t speak a word as they sat for two hours, inspecting the warehouse across the street. It was nearly morning by the time Batman left. She did make sure he left, too—she watched him grapple down the street and heard the roar of the Batmobile pulling away before she breathed out a sigh of relief.

Watching the building was doing nothing. She was going to have to get closer. She was going to have to go undercover herself. The thought didn’t make her any happier, even with knowing what happened to the last agent that went undercover for this operation. She also knew that to keep her tracker on her at all times, she would need to shove it inside a place that nobody would look for it. And boy was that uncomfortable.

Two days after she met Batman did she meet Brucie Wayne for the first time. By now she had been undercover with the modeling agency for a day, and it was going well so far. She was playing her part perfectly, but it could take weeks for them to trust her enough to give her information that she needed to know.

She had been hired to be arm candy for a wealthy man in Gotham. It wasn’t Brucie, though she knew he had a few models on his arms as well. She had gotten through most of the night without incident before she ran into Brucie. Quite literally. Brucie’s champagne spilled down her dress, and she gave a mock scream of outrage.

Brucie tried to clean up her dress, but she swatted his hands away and went to the bathroom to clean up. She never noticed the tracker that Bruce put on the nape of her neck. When she came back out, she noticed her date looking for her. She rejoined him and the rest of the night went smoothly.

A month into the operation and she finally was getting some results. She had been moved from building to building more than once, but she finally got breadcrumbs for what she needed to take them down. It took her another three weeks after that to gather all of the evidence she needed.

At the final takedown, she was joined by none other than Batman. She had half-expected him to show up after she noticed the tracker on her neck six hours after it was placed. She didn’t know when she had even run into the Batman at a stuffy charity gala. She had debated crushing it, but she didn’t have backup and she figured his help was better than nothing. She still didn’t trust him, though. She made sure he knew that, too.

Bringing the tracker up to her lips, she whispered, “Don’t you know it’s rude to listen in on a lady, Batman?”

Together, she and Batman took down the traffickers. They had been using models and trafficking them all over the world to be used as sex slaves. She feels a certain satisfaction while watching everyone be escorted out in cuffs.

“Nice work.” Batman says, figure tall and dark.

She hums. “Thanks.” The silence stretches on for a few minutes before she adds in, “Thanks for having my back.”

“I thought you didn’t need a vigilante’s help?” Batman teased.

She didn’t look at him, but she could hear the teasing on his voice. She smirks and crosses her arms. “I don’t. But you’re harder to get rid of than a ghost in a net.”

Batman didn’t respond back to her, and it takes her a few moments to realize what she had said. She was of course, referencing her parents ghosthunting activities. But he didn’t even know her real name, so how would he even know what he was talking about?

“When do you leave?” Batman asked.

“After everything’s wrapped up. Why, you going to miss me?” She finally turned to look at him. She wished she could run facial recognition and figure out who was under that mask. The psychologist in her wanted to know just why a man would put on a bat mask and fight crime.

“I have a case that could use your input.” Batman deflected her question.

Was that a compliment from the Batman? His way of telling her that he trusted her opinion? Or was it an olive branch?

“Mine or the FBI’s?” She already knew the answer to his question, but she wanted him to say it.

Instead, he just grunted in annoyance. She rolled her eyes and pulled a card out of the pouch that she kept her FBI id at and handed it to him. “That’s my office phone number.” She tapped the card with her finger as he held it. “If you want my personal cell, you’ve got to earn it.”

He nodded and tucked the card into his utility belt. She could see the beginnings of a smile from Batman as he disappeared into the shadows and grappled away.

Surprisingly, it only took Batman a week to call her. She had gotten settled back into her office in DC, and had mostly forgotten about the encounter. She had to report Batman’s appearance in her report, but beyond that, she didn’t have to explain that he helped her take down the ring.

She made a flight back to Gotham the next day. Batman brought her into the Batcave and told her everything she needed to know about the case. She didn’t know where the Batcave was, as Batman had blindfolded her, but she was impressed with his initiative.

“Im not wearing that.” She glared at him with all of the venom she had—which was quite a lot.

“You can’t go out in your FBI jacket.” Batman deadpanned.

“Wasn’t planning on it. Do you think I’m a rookie?” She shook her head and gestured at the costume that the vigilante had made for her. “That doesn’t give you the right to—to—ugh! Im not your Batgirl, or Batwoman, or whatever! I came out as a consult. I don’t dress up in latex, and I don’t wear costumes!”

The costume itself was gorgeous, not that she’d ever tell Batman that. It was solid black, had a red bat on the front of it, and was fully equipped with a utility belt, knife holsters, and a taser. It had a full cowl like Batmans, along with the pointy ears on top.

“I don’t see the problem.” Batman’s voice had undertones of offense in it.

“Look.” She gestured at the costume. “Im honored, truly, that you want me to watch your back. But I’m not a vigilante. Nor will I ever be!”

She had watched what vigilantism had done to Danny, Sam, Tucker, and Valerie over the years. Sure, she’d gone out with them more than once. Without a mask. But there was something more complex about the costume sitting on the table in front of her.

“You said you were going to help.” Batman’s gruff voice got closer as he took a few steps towards her.

“And I did.” She gestured to the Batcomputer. “I already gave you my opinions of the case. I dedicated a weekend of PTO time to be here. But this is as far as my help goes.”

“What about the last operation? You owe me.”

“Owe you?!” She exclaimed, thumping her finger against his chest. “I told you to get lost. You still stuck around. You could’ve cost me the operation!”

“It worked.”

She groaned in frustration. She was close enough to him now that she could smell the faint smell of Kevlar and aftershave from him. She rubbed a hand down her face as she thought over what had happened last time she was in Gotham.

“What about all your other winged vigilantes? You had uh.. Nightwing, and Robin, right?”

“It’s only Nightwing.” Batman responded. “He’s unavailable.”

“I could’ve sworn you had a Robin, too.” She looked up at him and noticed the stiffness of his body.

“Robin has moved on.” Batman replied.

Hmm. Touchy subject. She wasn’t going to push. It wasn’t any of her buisness.

“You must be really desperate if you’re trying this hard to get me to go out in that.” She smirked.

“Things could go wrong.” Batman said with a quiet sigh.

“Don’t they always?” She tilted her head.

“Not always.” Batman mimicked her actions, clearly studying her. “What will it take?”

“If I put that mask on,” She gestured to the table behind her, “You take yours off.”

“No.”

“Fine. Deals off, then.” She pulled her phone out and immediately started looking for flights back to DC.

“Why?” He questioned.

“I can’t trust someone who won’t tell me who they are.” She shrugged.

Batman let out a quiet growl. As he took his cowl off, he scowled. “You would know, wouldn’t you, Miss Fenton?”

“Holy shit.” Her eyes got wide.

Bruce Wayne was the Batman.

[rizlowwritessortof]

All the way up to the president? Wow. Can't wait to find out the 'devilishly delightful' plan!

amoralism | seventeen

SUMMARY: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: Chuck. Short chapter.

Song Inspo: Feeling Good by Michael Bublé

SERIES MASTERLIST

egotism

Chuck Shurley liked to think of himself as a man of routine, a person of simple tastes despite the complicated world he occupied. Running a country wasn’t easy, but some things could be counted on to stay the same. Like breakfast. No one could mess with his breakfast.

He sat alone at the enormous dining table in his residence, wearing his favorite plaid bathrobe over a pair of faded pajama pants. A steaming mug of coffee sat beside his plate of toast, eggs, and bacon. Chuck always ate the same thing for breakfast. Not because he particularly loved it, but because it required no decision-making before the caffeine kicked in.

He reached for the toast, then paused to inspect the slight over-toasting of the edges. "Again with the burnt crusts," he muttered to himself, his eyebrows knitting together in mild disappointment. "I swear, they’re trying to ruin me one piece of toast at a time." He sighed and took a bite anyway, wincing slightly at the crunch. He'd have to have a word with the kitchen staff later. You’d think the President of the United States could get perfectly toasted bread, but no, that seemed to be asking for a miracle.

As he worked his way through the rest of his breakfast, Becky, his assistant, entered the room. Becky Rosen was efficient to a fault, carrying a clipboard like it was a weapon and wielding it with the precision of a fencing champion. She had a spark in her eyes that sometimes bordered on unsettling, but Chuck had learned to appreciate her, enthusiasm and all.

"Morning, Mr. President!" Becky said, almost too brightly, her smile like the sun peeking over the horizon. "Big day ahead! You ready to dive in?"

Chuck raised a single eyebrow at her cheerfulness, sipping his coffee. "Becky, it’s barely seven. How are you this chipper already? Did you have a breakfast of espresso beans and optimism again?"

She ignored his comment and plowed on, flipping through her clipboard with the kind of vigor reserved for game show hosts and emergency responders. "You’ve got a cabinet meeting at nine, then a briefing with the Joint Chiefs at ten-thirty. Lunch with the Belgian Prime Minister at noon—please don’t make any more jokes about waffles this time."

"Well, what else do they even do?" Chuck grumbled into his mug, muttering about syrup diplomacy. Becky gave him a look that managed to convey both exasperation and fondness.

"After that," she continued, "there’s the energy policy speech at two, then a fundraiser dinner at seven." She paused, her eyes flicking up from the clipboard to meet his. "And remember, sir, try to keep the jokes about solar panels to a minimum. Not everyone finds renewable energy as hilarious as you do."

Chuck leaned back in his chair, sighing dramatically. "It’s a crime against humanity that more people don’t appreciate my sense of humor. Do I have to wear a tie for all of this?"

"Absolutely," Becky said without missing a beat. "And don’t forget the photo op with the children’s charity this afternoon. You need to look like you care."

"Perfect," Chuck said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Kids. My favorite. Do they come pre-stickied, or do they just ooze jam on contact?"

Becky didn’t dignify that with a response, just handed him his schedule and turned on her heel, leaving Chuck to his now lukewarm coffee.

With breakfast done and his day outlined in painfully precise detail, Chuck made his way to his dressing room. The space was a cavernous expanse filled with suits that could have outfitted an entire department store. He stood there, hands on his hips, staring at the rows of ties like they were enemies that needed to be defeated in some twisted neckwear combat.

"Alright, which one of you will make me look like I’m competent today?" he muttered to himself. He finally settled on a navy suit and a maroon tie—classic, authoritative, but not too stuffy. As he buttoned up his crisp white shirt, he caught sight of his own reflection in the mirror. For a moment, he allowed a smirk to cross his face. "Looking good, Mr. President. Looking good."

Just as he was about to adjust his tie, his phone rang, the shrill sound cutting through the quiet of the room. Chuck’s brow furrowed as he reached for it. Very few people had this direct number, and even fewer had the gall to use it at this hour.

He glanced at the screen. The name simply read: Lucifer.

Chuck blinked, then rolled his eyes to the ceiling like he was looking for divine intervention. "Oh, great. Of course." He took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for whatever chaos was about to unfold, then hit the answer button.

“Lucy!” Chuck said, trying to keep his voice light. “What a surprise. How’s the underworld these days? Still hot and full of despair?”

There was a pause on the other end, then a smooth voice, dripping with amused malice, responded. “Chuck, my old friend. Still trying to play the role of the charming statesman, I see. You know, you’re not fooling anyone with that tie. Maroon? Really?”

Chuck forced a laugh, tightening his grip on the phone. “What can I say? Red’s a power color, and it hides the bloodstains when things get messy. So, what can I do for you, Lucifer? It’s not every day the Prince of Darkness gives me a ring.”

Lucifer’s voice was as smooth as silk and twice as dangerous. “Oh, nothing too major. Just a little business proposition, let’s call it. Something I think you’ll find… tempting.”

Chuck’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his tone remained light. “Tempting? Lucifer, you know that’s your whole brand, right? I mean, if it didn’t come with a side of betrayal and eternal damnation, you might’ve made a great salesman.”

There was a low chuckle on the other end of the line. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Chuck. But this is strictly business. I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

Chuck’s playful demeanor slipped for a moment, replaced by something sharper, more calculating. He knew that tone, knew it all too well. Whatever Lucifer was about to propose, it wasn’t going to be simple. And it certainly wasn’t going to be good.

“Well, Lucifer,” Chuck said, his voice losing its casual edge, “you’ve got my attention. What kind of deal are we talking about?”

And just like that, in the space of a breath, Chuck Shurley’s morning went from a mundane blend of burnt toast and tie dilemmas to a potential crisis involving the literal devil. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, his tie half-knotted, and muttered under his breath, "Why can’t it ever just be about waffles?"

The line crackled with a hint of static, and Lucifer’s voice dripped through the receiver, smooth and menacing. “Oh, I think you’ll find this deal quite… devilishly delightful.”

Chuck rolled his eyes again, a half-sigh escaping his lips. “Oh, good. Puns. This is going to be one of those days, isn’t it?”

And with that, he braced himself for whatever nightmare Lucifer had in store, already lamenting the loss of his predictable, if slightly burnt, breakfast routine.

TAGLIST:

@goldngguk @sweetpeachbombshell @slut-for-stiles @staple-your-mouth @daddyscrimsstuff

@dob-4-life @marcis-mixtapez @nonoreas0n @gabrielasilva1510

@lucyholmes13 @pandadork-blog1 @nicolstancu @malusinhaaaa @dybalabandolero

@a-cup-of-nightshade @tomatoessoup @sh0rtcakee @fall-06 @mckaykay-fandoms

@b3th13

@demonxangelomegaverse @deanwinchestersgirl87 @capailluiscedove @i723l-interrupted2323 @niyomiii

@all-the-fan-fic @eviekinevie8 @sunflowerlover57

@1-800-dean-winchester

@darichvep @idk-usernme @supernaturalmarvel3000 @ega2025 @deanbrainrotwritings

@targaryenluvs @bucky-hydra-hoe-barnes @leigh70 @aintnowayboi @ripoffsteveharrington

@gleefulleve @sacrosankta

@riteofpassage77 @eevvvaa @thedevilortheangel @thorsballhair @barbienotdoll

@4e1h3r @wolfieblue03 @kianaleani @vicky199625 @sassyslut2003

@impyrz

@didisull @miwp @lastcallatrockysbar @rizlowwritessortof

@zepskies @angelbabyyy99

@autisticgothic

@yourgoldengirls @deansobsessedgirl @mrsjenniferwinchester

@aylacavebear @lailawinchesterr @brightlilith @arcanaa @hobby27

@lyarr24 @ximm19 @deanbrainrotwritings

@a-girl-who-loves-disney @jeneelsworld @deans-spinster-witch @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @kayleighwinchester

@k-slla @muhahaha303 @suckitands33

@dean-winchester-is-a-warrior

@katherineeekai @freefallthoughts @angzls @deans-baby-momma @syrma-sensei

@cheynovak

[zu-is-here]

<– • –>

[imagine-sterek]

Stiles is an amazing liar and in the fbi he really can’t tell people that he spent all of high school fights with werewolves so anytime someone asks anything about him he just gives them a random movie plot and acts like its his life. People don’t really catch on even when he says he helped a town get rid of a dancing ban (footloose) or he spent a summer in time and became a pop star for a while (the Lizzie McGuire movie) or he survived his cruise sinking by floating on a door (titanic). During office parties he invites Derek and his coworkers ask Derek about stiles and he goes along with whatever lie he’s told people. It takes a few years before people catch on.

Rafe is sitting in the background knowing he can’t call Stiles out on the lie, but it takes him forever to work out what movie he’s referencing.

One guy even tracked down the Sheriff and asked him if Stiles really did what he says he did, and his dad goes along with it, telling Titanic guy that Stiles’ friend died in that sinking boat because he knew Stiles couldn’t swim and the door wouldn’t hold both of them, or telling the Footloose guy that he once had to arrest his own son for dancing.

[bunnieswithknives]

Alive Beetlejuice AU that I am rotating in my brain rn. He is so so bad at acting human, he doesn't even bother looking the part and he has no idea how much money is worth.

[fangdokja]

He knows your favorite color, your childhood fears, and how you’ll look in a coffin.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! FBI Agent x Reader

♡ Oneshot. #1

♡ Word Count. 865

The fluorescent lights hum above, sterile and cold, casting sharp shadows on the concrete walls. You’ve been sitting there for hours, hands trembling in your lap, wrists raw from the biting metal of the handcuffs he fastened too tightly. The air reeks of copper and disinfectant. His scent cuts through it all—cologne muted by sweat and iron. It clings to your skin, branding you, suffocating you.

He watches you from the other side of the table, an impenetrable wall of muscle and authority. The tailored suit stretches taut over his shoulders, framing a chest that could crush you. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing forearms veined and powerful, the kind you could imagine snapping necks without hesitation. His jaw is tight, shadowed with stubble, lips curling around a cigarette he’s not smoking. He doesn’t need to. The threat lingers in his silence, in the way his narrowed cold eye studies you, dissecting every inch of your quivering form.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” His voice is gravel, low and cutting, a razor against your ears. “Every breath you take, every blink, every time you clench those pretty little thighs—I see it. You think you’re smart, playing coy, hiding behind your trembling innocence. But I’ve been watching you for years, sweets.”

The way he says it sends a chill ripping down your spine. Years? Your stomach lurches, bile rising in your throat, but you swallow it down. You try to meet his gaze, defiance flickering behind your panic, but the way his lips curve into a predator’s smirk makes you regret it instantly.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He leans forward, the heavy oak table groaning under the weight of his arms. His eye gleams, sharp and calculating, a hunter reveling in the sight of his trapped prey. “Unless you want me to punish you right here. Is that it? Do you want me to break you down where the cameras can see? I can. I will. But you’re mine, and you’re smarter than that, aren’t you?”

His knuckles crack as he flexes his fingers, the sound echoing in the empty room. He slides the recorder off the table with a flick of his wrist, the device shattering against the floor. His calm dissolves in the blink of an eye, replaced by something feral, volcanic, terrifying. He’s standing now, looming over you, the chair scraping the floor behind him like a warning.

You try to shrink back, the cuffs clinking as you press against the chair, but his hand darts out faster than you can react. His fingers tangle in your hair, jerking your head back, exposing your neck. His breath is hot, acidic, on your skin as he leans in, speaking directly into your ear.

“Do you even understand what you’ve done to me?” His voice trembles, not with vulnerability, but with the strain of holding himself back. “You’ve made me into this. This thing. This monster who wakes up every night imagining what your blood would taste like on my tongue. You don’t know what it’s like to feel this way, to be consumed by you, to want to rip apart anything that touches you just so I can glue you back together with my own hands.”

The hand not tangled in your hair drags down your arm, leaving a trail of bruises in its wake, his thumb pressing cruelly into your wrist. “These little hands…what were you thinking, trying to run with them? As if you could open a single locked door I didn’t personally design to keep you exactly where you belong.”

You’re sobbing now, silent tears streaming down your cheeks, but he doesn’t stop. He revels in your misery, his voice dipping into something dangerously soft, almost sweet. “Do you know how beautiful you are when you’re afraid? It’s fucking intoxicating. I don’t just want your body, sweets. I want your soul. I want to mold it, twist it, own it until the only thing left is me.”

He steps back suddenly, releasing you. You crumple forward, gasping for air like you’ve been drowning, but the reprieve is short-lived. His massive hand claps your shoulder, dragging you up to your feet like a ragdoll. His eye bores into yours, the weight of his presence suffocating, inescapable.

“You don’t have to like it, sweets,” he murmurs, voice a low, rumbling storm. “You just have to remember one thing: there’s no world where you exist without me. None. I’ll find you in every lifetime, in every corner of hell, and I’ll make you mine again. And again. And again.”

The lock clicks. You realize it isn’t the door—it’s the shackles he’s just fastened around your ankles. He tugs the chain once, hard enough to pull you off balance. His laughter fills the air as you stumble, the sound dark, amused, and utterly devoid of humanity.

“That’s better,” he muses, gripping your chin and tilting your face upward to meet his. “Now, why don’t you thank me, sweets? For saving you. For loving you. For making you perfect.”

[rosie-tyler]

Daniel LaRusso and Johnny Lawrence work as police detectives in the Los Angeles Police Department. Everything changes when Daniel becomes the obsession of Terry Silver, a criminal mastermind.

[decentsoupperson]

Serial Killer x FBI Agent Au

Part 2

Adam is determined to find out if Lucifer and his secret admirer are one in the same. He showed him the text he sent that was later deleted.

Lucifer knows he fucked up, he used the wrong phone.

Lucifer: Oh no. Now what?

Lucifer didn't respond to the text, but Adam could see that it had been read.

Adam: What are you hiding, Morningstar?

[stsgluver]

tags. criminal mind!au, gojo x reader, unestablished relationship, mentions of blood, slight angst

"stop hovering."

there had to be at least two dozen emergency staff buzzing around you, ranging from medical to the fbi. everyone had a role to play in aiding the injured and ensuring no one else died tonight.

your job, for the most part, was complete. you'd profiled and detained the unsub and, although the adrenaline racing through your body had you on high alert still, you were more than ready to climb into your hotel bed.

"gojo," you called out the name of your white-haired colleague after he didn't respond to you. he wasn't listening, too focused on the movements of the paramedic who was sterilising the cuts on your arm and forehead. luckily, you didn't require any stitches. "satoru."

his first name, which you ever so rarely used while on duty, had him at least making eye contact with you. he wasn't injured but he definitely needed to shower - there was dirt staining his face and hair.

"i’m fine," you repeated for what felt like the millionth time. you loved your team, you really did, but you all worked the same dangerous job that came with the same dangerous risks. you came out of the ordeal as unscathed as you possibly could've been and while you were grateful for their concern, there needn't be any.

“barely," gojo muttered, electric blue eyes tracing the cut on your forehead that had yet to be cleaned, the blood still staining your skin.

you lightly shook your head, "that’s an exaggeration."

that set gojo out of whatever daze he'd been in as he frowned at you. "is it? what if i’d been another thirty seconds?"

out of everyone on the team, gojo was your favourite for several reasons. whilst yes, there was the obvious closeness between the two of you as your similar age had meant you'd quickly become close friends, there was also his attitude. it was rare that you ever saw gojo so serious, always finding a way to lighten up the mood no matter how dark or twisted your job gets.

this, however, was not lightening any mood, and you felt a pang of guilt that you were the cause of his unease.

"but you weren’t," you countered softly, trying not to sound like you were arguing or dismissing his worry.

you'd entered the building alone - inside was the unsub and a hostage and no one else would be on site for at least a few more minutes. the kidnapped girl did not have that time so you risked it.

after an altercation with the unsub, the hostage had managed to run free but you'd been left pinned down on the ground with a gun pointing at your forehead. no amount of negotiating could talk them through the psychological break they were experiencing so it was very likely that had gojo not shown up and put a bullet through him that you may died tonight.

but he did show up. he always did.

"yaga didn’t give you clearance."

"i know he’s already lectured me." it was exactly what you had wanted as gojo had helped you out of the building. he'd even stood by you as yaga spoking, supporting most of your weight as you'd twisted your ankle. "i don’t need to hear it twice."

"don’t you? i-" gojo stopped himself for a moment, running his hands through his hair as he so often did when he was frustrated. "we could’ve lost you." you felt bad for the poor paramedic who probably just wanted to get their job done and not have to listen to your quarrel.

"i’m fine satoru." you felt like a broken record.

your insistence wasn't enough for him to overcome his anger towards you and you had to fight off any tears as you watched him storm off into the crowd of people around you.

[artyandink]

magnetism

FBI!AU

Summary: You and Dean Winchester, the best Major Crimes has to offer. You’ve been assigned on the same case, but even though you two maintain a certain level of moral integrity, you can’t help but let that go in the hotel room you’re both staying in. Just one moment can’t hurt, right?

A/N - This is for the Jensen-A-Thon and could also be the prequel for another series I have in mind, might be titled something similar hehe. Stay tuned and let me know if you’re interested!

SERIES MASTERLIST

This was supposed to be professional.

“You goddamn tease.” Dean growled in your ear before nipping the earlobe, his calloused hands smoothing up from your body to reach your chest, grab hold of your blouse and rip it apart, buttons clattering to the floor and eliciting a gasp from you, low chuckle from him. “Workin’ me up all day in that tight skirt and goddamn heels- d’you know what you do to me, darlin’?” You were marked with an array of small and large purpling bruises down your neck and behind your ears as well as his cologne all over you, the musk of coffee and floral washing detergent only adding to the dizzying mix.

Your head was tipped back, as a result of him pulling roughly on your hair to give him the access he wanted. “Dean…”

“Yeah, just like that, baby. Love hearin’ my name from those pretty lips.” He threw your legs apart as wide as they’d go, standing between them and grinding into you so you’d feel him through his slacks, his teeth gritted as he felt the warmth through your dampened panties. Or maybe soaked, he couldn’t tell.

He’d find out soon enough.

He ran his nose along the length of that pretty neck that he now owned, littered with his marks and clouding his better judgement with the perfume you had on, the morning espresso and sweet pheromones that tore his inhibitions piece by piece.

Dean had snapped five minutes earlier, straight lifting you onto the kitchen island, the only brace being the edge of it. From there, you’d felt his lips on yours, hand moving up to rest on your throat, movements hard, demanding, as he grabbed your shin and pulled you closer.

Now he was kissing down the valley of your chest, kneading one in his palm over the fabric of your bra as the other snaked around to undo the clasp. He looked up at you as the bra and torn open blouse fell away, lipstick smeared, hair all messed up and no longer neat, with your skirt bunched up around your waist and showing your clothed pussy, the material covering it soaked.

There was a switch in his brain.

He began kissing every freckle he could reach on your body, his index hooking into the band of your panties, pulling and snapping them against your skin, making you jolt and whine his name. “So damn sensitive.” He chuckled, the words sending vibrations against your skin. “Don’t get touched much on the job, huh?” He slapped your thigh when your only response was a whimper. “Words.”

“No, Dean.” You replied shakily, and Dean bit his lip and groaned, though you didn’t catch the first part as his mouth was hovering above your collarbone. But then he raised his head up to face you, and you saw the extent of what you’d done to him. Hair sticking up in different directions, lips swollen and reddened, neck covered in your lipstick prints, tie no longer there and shirt partway undone. He looked like a wet dream.

He grinned slightly, nudging your nose with his before nipping your bottom lip. “S’what I like to hear.” Then he bent by your ear, removing your panties with a flourish. “Be loud for me, sweetheart. Wanna hear you scream-”

“Hey, you listening? Homicides and organised crime across the States not interestin’ enough for you, princess?” You stopped staring at the wall, the apparently very interesting wall with its boring, cream, floral wallpaper, and your eyes landed on Agent Winchester sitting on the bed, scratching his scruff in irritation, the laptop set on those powerful thighs in the slacks which looked like they were practically painted on. Green eyes set on you, eyebrow quirked, long, thick fingers resting on the keyboard of his laptop. Shirt straining on that broad chest in a way that should be illegal. Ironic because you’re the FBI of all people. Had you not worked together, you’d have straddled him on that bed, unbuttoned your blouse and- “Cause I’m not repeating this once more after this.”

Of course it was your imagination.

“Y-Yeah, go ahead.” You nodded, doing a quick check of yourself. Blouse intact, skirt was firmly ending at your lower thigh as usual, and by your discreet mission to rub your thighs together, you gathered intel that your panties were still on. Albeit soaked through.

You were gonna have to change those before it became a distraction.

Oh, boy, sweet Jesus, holy guacamole, you were in trouble.

But at least you could revisit that daydream at night. And maybe have him finish off the job the next time around.

This was so unprofessional.

I’d appreciate feedback in the forms of comments and reblogs, lovelies! Thanks for reading!

TAGLIST: @k-slla @deans-daydream @lyarr24 @hobby27 @agentmstark @kaya-mohr-blog @mohrkaya-blog

[mrhotdog95]

various doodles and aus…. random alien au me and my bestfriend came up with and beastars au hehegrhehe…

[xulips]

my love interest suddenly disappeared and came back to me as my suitor?

more under the cut!

we are back with the yapping. apologies everyone but i like to yap about yuri. it's not vbs this time (surprisingly

[r0-boat]

İ would give my lungs for ghostface Leviathan pls plspls

All right fine just this once I will humor you

Sorry about your Boyfriend

Ghostface!Leviathan

Cw: murder, Yandere behavior, jealous ex, stabbing, blood, strangulation.

Human au!!

He thinks it's so cute that you think you're done with him. He thinks it's utterly adorable that you can just break up with him, and you'll be done with him just like that... How dare you cast him aside like worthless trash. He wonders if you notice his intense gaze from across the street as he watches you smile and flash those eyes that were only meant for him at another. And those friends of yours... Those two-faced snakes, hissing their little lies, trying to split you two apart.

Your friends finally convince you to host a college party at your place. You aren't much of a party person, But when they dragged your new boyfriend,, a happy-go-lucky Golden retriever type Who always loved seeing smile,s, You couldn't say no. Your friends, delighted to see you finally broke out of your shell, did not worry you with planning, prepping, snacks, and everything. They got everything handled. You smile. Lucky to have great friends. You've been through a lot; they've been with you through everything.

He planned this night meticulously. It had to go right. Even now, he was thinking of you as he dawned a black cloak and an iconic white mask with a few chains, small ones just for looks... You've always loved old horror films. He remembers how his face would always twist in jealousy as you talk on and on about people who you can't even see their faces and don't even know.

The Hunt begins. With a phone call.

"Hello?"

Your sweet voice he misses but it does not quell his anger

"Who is this?"

His voice sounds slightly different... Smooth yet husky, there's something about it that you can't quite put your finger on.

"Who you trying to call?"

"What number is this?"

"Well What number are you trying to reach?"

He could hear the smile in your voice His heart pounds,him wants to talk to you more He yearns for more of you.

"I don't know..."

"well you have the wrong number..."

He couldn't hide a smile as it slips into the phone.

"Do I~?"

You hang up your phone and place it on the counter before returning to where your friends are. He watched you through the window. You always were the forgetful type with everything, placing things down and forgetting them, and he was always there to bring them to you. As much as he nags and calls you worthless, it's adorable how much you need him... That's why he must do this. He turns on the cell phone jammer in his pocket. It's a good one, an expensive one. He got this from his wealthy roommate at his frat, so it better do its work.

He carefully places it in the bushes. The radius is wide enough to cover the entire house. He won't need it after tonight, and it's better if it's not in his hands, just in case.

The backyard blinds were closed, so it was easy to sneak around the back to cut the power. Then, with a spare key, he comes in from the door to the garage. All your friends were either asleep, drunk, or watching a movie with you. You're cuddled up to your new boyfriend when the power went out.

As you go to check the power, Levi purposely avoids you. He doesn't want you to see him yet. First, he wants to get rid of everyone that made you sway away from him. Simply stabbing and drawing blood wasn't enough. Especially to your fucking boy toy. The anger and jealousy consumed him As he wrapped his hands around his muscular neck and strangled him till he could no longer breathe.

He couldn't help but let out a little throated chuckle. I saw the fear in your eyes when you watched the situation unfold. He's never seen that look before... That look of panic and anxiety. Perhaps he understands why you like masks so much. He couldn't help from his words slipping. "Sorry about your boyfriend... All that struggling didn't help." He hissed the word boyfriend. The word alone made him sick. Knowing that he was talking about someone else other than him. You could have noticed him from his voice, but it seemed like you were so choked with fear. All you could do was scream and run.

When he sees something, he chases, and you are always like a magnet to him, brandishing a knife to get your blood pumping until you lock yourself in the bathroom. No matter... He could always return to you. He has other victims.

Your hands shake your entire body was shaking As you hear muffled screams from God knows where and you don't even want to think about where they're from. You must have the courage to try to at least find your phone to call the police...

The house was eeriely quiet and dark. The rain patterning against the windows and your heart thumping in your ears as every creek from your light steps sounded like thunder. But he was quieter It was almost as if he was supernatural stalking you in the shadows like an apex predator You're so engrossed and trying to get your phone to work You didn't notice the gloved hand slipping around your throat.

He laughed at your pitiful attempts the struggle before placing a knife right against your neck. It was cold and soaked with red as tears rolled down your face. That's when he finally took off his mask to kiss your tears away.

Your eyes widen at the sight "Levi..."

"Yes my love?"

His voice was sickly sweet and he used the pet name that he'd always give you when he was in a good mood which is rarely of ever. Everything he ever wanted was back in his arms. All you could do is cry.

"please don't kill me..."

His eyes widen before giving you a soft smile His fingers rushing against your cheek.

"Oh I'm not going to kill you..."

His smile a smile that you'll probably see in your nightmares from now and forever reaches into a pocket pulling out a purple collar.

"Now you will always be mine! And no one will ever come between us~"