#inner circles overlapping

[mafaldaknows]

Instagram: johnp.shanley

[clockwayswrites]

5 Times the JL Learned Batman was Married and the 1 Time They Met the Spouse.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. + 1

“What is going on?” Batman asked the group as he swept into the room.

John stayed focused on the circle, not wanting to mess up now. It would be a lot of faff for nothing if he did.

“Constantine believes he has a contact to help us with our current issue,” Superman explained. “He is working on the summoning circle now.”

“Is that safe to do on the Watchtower?” Batman asked, as cautious as ever.

“Yeah, mate,” John answered for himself. “This one is a good one. Haven’t met them myself, but real helpful sort of fellow from everything I’ve heard. Or at least real helpful for the things that they can help with.”

Careful not to smudge any lines, John moved backwards out of the circle and gave it a good look over. The rest of the lot were talking about something, but if Batman hadn’t stopped him yet, John figured he was good and intended to keep working. A little slice to his finger, a few drops of blood, the right words, and it was done.

The white markings of the circle seemed to shudder and warp, like the lines on a desert street. Then they snapped a bright green and the inner lines seemed to fall away into an endless void. The void rippled and suddenly a hand reached out of it. The claws made the worst sound as they gripped into the metal floor.

Another hand joined it.

And then the being pulled themselves out of the summoning circle.

John knew better than to try and comprehend what he was seeing. It was all shadow and green flames and fear anyways.

“Who dares to call upon the Ghost King?” the being asked. The voice echoed through the room, through John’s head, through his soul. It sounded like a thousand screaming voices of the dead speaking all at once.

Toxic green eyes in the black mass swept over the group. It was like they were being seen; their souls, their very beings, every aspect of them flayed open and on display for this other worldly entity. John swallowed reflexively when the eyes paused on him for a moment. He wasn’t scared, but there was still a primal part of his brain that said he should run.

Then the gaze landed on Batman and stayed there. Superman stepped forward, slightly, as if to shield Batman from the being’s view.

The being didn’t seem to care and leaned forward up to the edge of the circle. “B?”

Batman inclined his head slightly, “Phantom.”

“Shit. This Justice League approved, huh? Sorry about the dramatics. Usually I only get summoned by cultists who want Pariah Dark, the old king, to give them power or cleanse the world of life or blah blah blah. Best to show up and put the fear of me into them,” the being said, motioning to themselves and all their horror. The reverb of their voice had settled some, now only like a few voices overlapping.

“Understandable,” Batman agreed, seemingly unaffected by it all.

John could only shrug incredulously at Superman’s questioning gaze. Fuck if he knew. Sure, Bats was unflappable, but everyone knew he avoided the supernatural stuff if he could.

The being pulled the last of itself out of the portal which sealed with a sickening squelch. “You could have just called though. Like, I get summoning is a quick way to travel, but it's a little painful."

“Painful?” Batman asked, turning to stare at John, who swallowed nervously at the cold tone.

“Yeah. This was a pretty clean circle though, props to the maker—”

“Thanks, I think?” John mumbled at he watched the being start to shift. It was like watching a black hole collapse in on itself.

“—so it's not that bad, but still it feels like ripping some duct tape off my skin or something,” the being continued. They were much more human shaped now, though they still smiled with an alarming number of very white teeth.

“We'll keep that in mind in the future. I was unaware of who, exactly, they were summoning.”

The rest of the roiling darkness settled on their shoulders like a half cape— one that seemed to hold the infinity of the night sky inside it. The vortex of flames settled into a crown of fire that floated above a head of stark white hair. They flexed their claws and the limbs settled into normal hands that they tucked into pockets of their three piece black suit with its sharp white accents. Then they stepped over the live of what was supposed to be an unbreakable summoning circle.

Like it was just waking through a door.

Like it was nothing.

John took a reflexive step back. This kind of rule breaking shit was exactly why he liked to avoid the Infinite Realms when he could; they were too chaotic to easily manage.

“All good,” they said with a shrug and a fanged smile. “So, what did you need the Ghost King for?”

-

Bruce watched Phantom scan the meeting room as they entered. Their eyes caught, just for a moment, and a million thoughts ran through Bruce’s head. Did he want to do this? Was it time? He trusted the Justice League. They had issues and conflicts, like any group, but they were heroes through and through.

Revealing this also did not mean revealing either of their civilian identities.

The nod was barely any movement at all, but Bruce knew that Phantom had caught it and understood. After so many years together, they hardly needed words, which Bruce often appreciated. Words had never been easy for Bruce. He worked on it for his family. He had to after…

Bruce forced himself not to think about that. Danny had saved Jason, even if the resulting years without Danny there were some of the hardest for the family. They were together again and better for it. Bruce let out a careful breath and took his normal seat.

“Thank you for your assistance, King Phantom,” Wonder Woman started. Phantom held up a hand.

“I didn’t say I could assist. I’ll listen and help if I can and see fit, but there are a great many things that are not mine to aid in,” Phantom said sternly, though his voice was carefully kind. “My influence is only over those closely tied to death and of the Infinite Realms. The living are outside of my jurisdiction.”

“Of course,” Superman said quickly as he could without rushing the words. “Listening is a great start. If you’ll take a seat.”

Phantom nodded and strode right past the indicated seat. With a casual ease that Bruce had always envied, Phantom sat on the arm of Bruce’s chair.

“Um, King Phantom, your majesty?” Flash started nervously. “Batman doesn’t really like to be touched?”

“Really?” Phantom asked innocently. Bruce couldn’t see it, but knew exactly the smirk Phantom had as he leaned back to lounge against Bruce’s shoulder. (Bruce loved that smile.)

Bruce schooled his expression as he watched Flash and Hal exchange looks and frantic hand signs to each other.

J’onn tilted his head curiously as he took his own seat. Bruce could see J’onn come to an understanding as his eyes flickered down the the black metal brand around Phantom’s ring finger in the shape of a flying bat.

“Ah,” J’onn said softly.

“Ah? Ah what?” Flash asked, his words almost a whine. “What do you know?”

Bruce rested his hand lightly on Phantom’s hip, well aware that the motion was in sight of both Superman and Wonder Woman.

“Ah,” Wonder Woman said with a little smile. “J’onn knows something we all know, though not in this context. It is good to meet you, Phantom.”

“Good to meet you also, Wonder Woman. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Phantom said as she sat down next to them.

“I wish I could say the same,” she said with a teasing smile directed Bruce’s way.

“Hn.”

Phantom just laughed, the sound echoing like a ringing bell. “It’s okay, I know what B is like. Trust me, that you know anything at all is a big deal. He’s just bad at doing things the normal way.”

Bruce held back a sigh and just pinched Phantom’s side again, making the other squeak and backhand Bruce in the chest.

“Holy shit!” Hal jutted a finger at Phantom. “You’re Batman’s husband!”

“Guilty as charged,” Phantom said.

“Wait, no, you’re what?” Flash asked and zipped closer to the table. “Huh. You are so not what I expected. I mean, I guess ghost plus Spooky works but you’re so… lively! Wait— is that like, offensive to call the dead lively?”

Phantom laughed again and shook his head. “No, but not everyone in the realms will take it as a compliment. I don’t mind and besides, I’m only half-dead.”

“Half-dead?” Superman asked with his brow furrowed worriedly.

Phantom just waved the concern away. “It’s complicated. Mostly it just means that I still get to live out my human life as simply a human. Ghosts move slower, having eternity and all, so there’s not too much for me to do as the king other than attend to summons and make slow changes.”

“So,” Hal started, ignoring Bruce’s glare and sliding into a seat finally. “You’re married to Batman in your civilian form as well?”

“Of course, it would be silly otherwise,” Phantom said and then added, “and no, I won’t tell you who B is. That’s for him to choose.”

“Okay, but like, we can talk to you, right?” Flash asked, eager as ever.

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I? But work first. What do you think I can help you all with?”

Bruce moved his hand to rest on the small of Phantom’s back and watched his husband command the room like the king he was.

--- AN: and here's the last part! The JL finally meet Batman's husband, or at least once side of him!

[highladyandromeda]

Shadows of the Heart

Prologue

Azriel x Reader

Summary: After years apart, Y/n returns to Velaris, bearing the weight of sacrifice and secrets from her past. Reunited with Rhysand and his Inner Circle, she navigates the complexities of rekindled friendships and unresolved tensions. 

Y/n’s powers are inspired by Scarlet Witch from Marvel. She is a sorceress living in Vallahan, with her family hailing from the night court. 

Word count: 1k-ish

Warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, but nothing particularly graphic

Azriel stood off to the side, quietly observing the cozy scene in the House of Wind's living room. There was Feyre, nestled comfortably on Rhys's lap, her giggles echoing softly as she leaned in to catch his whispered words. In the corner, Amren made an art out of lounging, a smirk playing on her lips as she peered over her wine glass. Cassian had wrapped an arm around Nesta, her head bent together with Gwen and Emerie, engrossed in a lively discussion about their latest read. The ambient buzz of conversation, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses filled with Rhys's impressive wine, created a backdrop of contented harmony.

Azriel tried his best to shove aside the twinge of jealousy that crept up on him, watching his brothers and their bliss. He didn't want to feel like just an onlooker, basking in the warmth of their happiness, yet here he was. His mind wandered to Elain, who had opted for an early night. Would her presence have allowed him to drift away from this feeling, to find solace in her gentle smiles and tender gazes? It seemed chasing fae after fae with hearts as bright as the sun was his lot in life. Yearning for a sliver of light in his shadowed existence, a beacon like Elain, or Mor, someone to take him out—that's when he noticed it—his shadows, usually so still, began to stir anxiously around him.

In danger, in danger, they whispered, urgency threading through their murmurs.

In pain. Falling, falling, the ones closest murmured, their voices escalating into a desperate shout.

Springing to his feet, Azriel scanned the room, brushing off the puzzled glances thrown his way. Then, a sharp thud echoed, quickly followed by a cry that cut through the relaxed chatter. In a heartbeat, he was dashing towards the balcony, with Rhys and Cassian hot on his heels, all three propelled by the sudden urgency to uncover the source of the disturbance that had just intruded upon their peaceful evening.

Bursting through the balcony doors, Azriel was met with a scene that defied all expectations. Chaotic runes smeared across the floor in hasty, overlapping strokes forming an intricate magical circle. At its heart lay two figures: a faerie kneeling, her skin so pale it shimmered with almost ethereal light, ebony locks sprawling untidily about her. Her eyes, aglow with an intense crimson, matching the runes surrounding her, pierced through the night. Dark stains marred her robes—wounds, he realized, still seeping blood from her arm and leg. She cradled Mor’s head in her lap, their gazes locking in a moment so profound, that Azriel felt the world around him come to a standstill. He swore he felt his heart stutter, a memory long forgotten trying to urge its way out. Mor, his attention snapped to, was equally pale, her lips tinged a sickly shade of blue.

“What did you do to–” Just as Azriel began, he saw the female look behind him, exclaiming, “Rhys! 

“Y/n?” Rhys ran to her, his hands frantic, unsure of whether to hold her or lean for Mor. 

“Rhys” She began again, her breaths coming out in spurts. She grabbed his hand as he leaned down to hold her, “Poison…she’s been poisoned, needs tonic–”

Barely finishing her sentence, her eyes rolled back and she collapsed, Rhys’s hands halting her from hitting the floor. 

“Call for Madja” Rhy yelled. “Mor’s been poisoned and perhaps Y/n as well.”

Before Azriel could react, Cassian stepped up, carefully lifting Mor, while Rhys carried Y/n, both moving swiftly back into the sanctuary of the house.

They found a bedroom with two twin beds, laying one on each. 

Madja, a whirlwind of expertise, raced around both, focusing her skills on stabilizing Mor's precarious state. Meanwhile, Rhys was tasked with a grim duty, pressing down on Y/n's wounds, which despite the salves and a plethora of cloths, continued bleeding relentlessly.

"It's the runes," Amren interjected, her voice slicing through the turmoil like a blade. All eyes, save for Madja's, who momentarily lessened the fervor of her tonic mixing, turned to her.

"She utilized ancient magic," Amren stated, her declaration hanging in the air, dense with implications, yet devoid of further explanation, prompting Rhys to press for clarity.

"And that means?" 

The urgency lacing Rhys's voice caught Azriel off-guard. Who was this female, who seemed so familiar and why was she so important to Rhys? He felt a spark of anger at the way Rhys held her, despite knowing Rhys's heart belonged to Feyre.

"It means she offered her blood as a sacrifice. Likely to transport herself and Mor here. Inspect Mor for runes," Amren directed without pause.

Before Amren's words could fully settle, Madja cut through the sleeves of Mor’s dress, revealing an arm ensnared by crimson runes, mirroring those that marred the balcony. 

It was then that Azriel's senses sharpened, recognizing the scent that pervaded the air—a metallic tang he had initially overlooked in the chaos. Blood. Those runes, those symbols, all wrought from blood. Recollections of the massive circles they had traversed to enter this scene played back in his mind, causing his stomach to churn. It was reflected in Feyre's gasp as she rushed to aid Y/n, while Rhys was overtaken by a wave of nausea.

The room, already tense with fear and uncertainty, was engulfed in a silent horror as Madja's voice, though trembling, broke through the silence. "She's correct. The blood serves as an anchor for Morrigan's soul. The runes must bind Morrigan to..."

"Y/n's," Rhys provided, his voice steady in the thick silence.

"Yes, to Y/n's very essence," Madja concluded. "This means Y/n will continue to suffer, to bleed, until Morrigan shows signs of recovery. In exchange.”

A heavy silence settled over them, punctuated only by the rhythmic thud of Madja grinding her herbs, as the gravity of their situation unfolded.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's note: Hi everyone! I’ve been a lurker in the acotar fandom for ages, this is my first time writing, so do let me know what you think. I'm not totally sure how far I want to take this series, but I do have longer chapters planned ahead.

[gothcsz]

Dangerous Woman | Javier Peña x Fem!Reader | ~9k wc | Part 2 of the Fantasize series | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Javier does something that warrants a second visit.

Tags: stalking, lots of dirty talk, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (we're taking it raw), some plot snuck into the porn (sorry not sorry), spanking, light slapping, slight breeding kink..., some physical descriptions but overall it's pretty vague, no use of Y/N, reader is a photojournalist, reader speaks spanish, we're altering canon timeline just a bit, other shit i’m probably forgetting.

A/N: primas (gn), we're back to being delusional! thanks so so so much for all the lovin the boy is mine got like i'm on my knees for each and every one of u fr 🧎🏽‍♀️ hehe i do plan on posting a final part to wrap this up btw. love the dynamic between these two 🖤 did javi match your freak?! did he match your nasty?!

DIVIDERS CREDIT: saradika

You quit going to his apartment entirely. He expects you to meet him there again, and while the urge to return and take things all the way is enticing as hell; you keep yourself from doing so.

Well, technically, you did go by one time and that visit was the reason why you swore the rest of them off.

You watched from the front seat of your car, further down on the other side of the street, as he rested his forearms against the railing; a lit cigarette between his lips while he stared off into the distance.

Your handsome man who somehow looked sexier under distress. Even from how far away you were you could see those defined, prominent wrinkles between his brows.

He was waiting for you. Looking out into the city and wishing that you were prancing your way back to him.

You wondered then if that was a new ritual of his. If he stood out on his balcony every night in hopes of seeing you again. It made your heart soar and goosebumps to erupt along your skin. 

But you want to drive him crazy with your absence, to have him question if what happened that night in his bedroom was as real as it felt. Gaslighting himself into believing it was all just a dream, something his conscience had made up to relieve him temporarily of the hardships of his job.

Part of the sick enjoyment you get comes from your cat and mouse game, with you being the gamemaster. The one who sets the rules and decides when plays are allowed to be made.

You want him to be vigilant, to shine a light against every shadow that crosses his path in hopes that it’s you, the sexy little thing that’s been preying on him for longer than he knows. 

You want to edge him with the anticipation of your next move.

This move won’t happen until further down the line. Things have been tense in the circumstances that overlap both of your careers. Government distrust grows more and more by the day, the drug traffickers get richer by the second.

You just haven’t had the time to follow him as thoroughly as you have been.

Which is why you sunk your claws into someone in his inner circle, a Neil Stoddard that works directly beneath your agent. It had taken you a few tries, causally bumping into him at the market or during a morning jog, until enough rapport was built and you finally convinced him to feed you information on DEA operations.

He was hesitant at first, but you’ve been told that you can be very persuasive; always knowing exactly what to say, which cadence to use and how to shift your body language to match the conversation. Showcasing your skill, you manage to get just about every little detail that you can from the younger agent before anyone else.

It benefits you both in your career and in your efforts to keep tabs on him.

You wonder if he thinks about you in the same way you do him. Does he constantly replay that rainy night in his head? Does he fuck his fist and close his eyes to think of you, the mysterious woman who broke into his apartment just to get on her knees for him? Swallowed his soul in its entirety and then disappeared off into the night?

Fuck, you hope so, because with each day that passes–– you fall deeper in love with Javier Peña.

You’re walking home from work one day, an extra pep in your step at the good news that one of your projects from graduate school is being looked at by some big name publishers back stateside. The excitement of getting your work published by a well known and reputable paper further inflates your ego and the passion that you have for your career.

So you decide to buy something nice for yourself, a materialized pat on the back for being so good at what you do. You enter a quaint antique store that’s nestled in the small plaza a few blocks from your apartment building, eyeing some of the merchandise they have on display.

You’re contemplating whether you want to purchase a set of stained glass table lamps when a distinct glint catches your attention from the corner of your eye.

You turn to see a beautiful engagement ring on display behind the glass counter, its shimmer immediately drawing you to it. You set the lamps down carefully, walking over to the counter to get a better look at the piece of jewelry.

The ring’s silver band is elegantly slender. Intricate filigree work adorns the outer surface with delicate patterns of vines and tiny flowers that spiral gracefully around it. 

At the center sits a stunning marquise cut diamond, its facets catching the light in a soft, romantic sparkle.

You stare at it in awe, imagining it around your finger after he slips it on, still on one knee, while those captivating brown eyes of his stare up at you in nothing but pure love and adoration.

His fiancée. His wife.

Calling the attendant over, she happily lets you try it on incase it needs to be resized.

It doesn’t. It fits just right, making your hand look very lovely. You wriggle your fingers, giggling as it catches the light.

You purchase it, obviously, having her place it in a small, velvety box that you slide into your bag as you thank her for her help; leaving the shop just to walk a few stores down to where they sell lingerie.

There, you buy a new outfit–– this one much more risque than the leather dress that’s neatly tucked away in your closet.

With a small dent in your account, your career on the path of blossoming, and your delusions for him reaching another peak; you go home and plan your next move.

Stoddard tells you about the raid planned to capture Miguel Rodríguez and the fake out involved, since the last time they had targeted him–– bureaucratic bullshit had gotten in the way and prevented the arrest. Something involving the man hiding in the walls and a DEA agent using a sledgehammer to get him out.

Apparently there’s a mole within the Colombian government that’s making it hard to bring the narcos to justice. What’s new? Amidst all this, he mentions how the boss is going to stay behind while everyone else in the department travels to Cali.

This bit of information piques your interest but you keep your reaction neutral. The velvet box in your bag is burning a hole through the leather, reminding you of its existence. You haven’t worn the ring since you tried it on, saving it for the perfect moment.

Like the one that’s just manifested itself.

You get the details of this operation, specifically paying attention to the times so you know at what pace you’ll have to work with.

If your calculations are correct, he’d be all alone in the office well into the night.

You’re an adrenaline junky, clearly, since the idea of sneaking into a government building just to seek pleasure from the DEA attaché has your entire body crackling with electricity.

You thank him as you go your separate ways. The raid is in two days, which will give you more than enough time to get prepared.

Getting ready mellows you out entirely, the only nerves you feel are those of excitement at the prospect of seeing your agent tonight. You’re currently in the bath, your favorite candle lit and on your second glass of wine.

It’d be a massive win for him if they’re able to follow through with the plan. Two of the head honchos in cuffs and behind bars, even if it was the lax walls of a Colombian prison.

Surely it warrants some kind of reward. You did tell him that he’d see you again whenever he did something that was worth your presence. Worth your body.

It could have come sooner, but between the disappearance of Guillermo Pallomari, Christina Jurado’s kidnapping and then Franklin Jurado’s death; fate had other plans.

He just couldn’t catch a break. For his sake, you hope they’re able to get that motherfucker tonight.

Finishing up in the bath, your skin is smooth like the delicate petals of a flower and you smell like a candy shop, all hydrated and plump and ready to be ravaged.

You go through the motions of doing your hair and makeup, this time aiming for a bolder look.

Sharp cat eye liner, classic red lip, thick lashes. You want to mimic the sultry models you see in the high-end magazines.

Dolling yourself up for him is part of your foreplay. You enjoy watching your own transformation, going from a steadfast journalist to a seductive minx at the wave of a makeup brush.

Would he find you attractive? Not your feline alter ego but the real you. The one that camps out in her car more often than not to stalk him, fast food wrappers littering the seats. The woman who broke into his apartment and masturbated using his pillows. The woman using his subordinate to get information about him and his highly classified work operations.

Would the illusion break after so many encounters? Would the allure of your salacious activities dim until that fire is completely smothered with the reality of what you’ve been doing?

Would he even want you if he knew the truth?

You stare at your reflection in the vanity mirror, not even realizing your eyes have glazed over with tears at these thoughts. Your heart aches at the nonexistent rejection.

No, snap out of it. Now is not the time to be thinking of this shit.

Shaking your head, you swiftly get your act together and change into your outfit for the night.

The lingerie set is the epitome of classic elegance with a sexy edge. It consists of a bra, panties, and a garter belt, each piece meticulously designed to celebrate your natural curves and skin tone.

The bra is a balconette style, the cups a luxurious black lace with intricate floral patterns, sheer enough to tease yet opaque enough to leave some things to the imagination. The underwire provides a gentle lift, enhancing the shape of your breasts, while the straps, adorned with tiny satin bows, add a touch of femininity.

The matching panties are a cheeky bikini cut. The front panel is made from the same black lace as the bra, with a subtle scalloped edge that sits gently against your hips. The back is a sheer mesh, offering a tantalizing glimpse of skin with a small satin bow at the waistband. Your ass looks so good.

The garter belt is the pièce de résistance, tying the entire set together. It sits high on your waist, cinching in to create an hourglass silhouette. Four straps extend down, each finished with satin ribbon accents to hold up your thigh-high stockings securely.

You add the accessories: diamond earrings gifted to you by your grandmother, your simple black stilettos and finally–– the ring you purchased at the antique store.

Now in front of a full length mirror, you can’t help but run your hands all over your body. Fuck looking like the high end models from Vogue–– you resemble a god damn Playboy star; sexy enough to warrant your very own centerfold in the magazine.

Maybe you should invest in some bunny ears. Try and be a conejita for one night.

This is what you’d wear on your wedding night, you think, eyes not leaving your reflection as the ring twinkles beneath your bedroom lights. You wouldn’t even wear it in white, the black lace an homage to the erotic start of your relationship with the DEA agent. Your husband.

Your cat mask sits on the bed, right next to your polaroid camera. After you finish eye fucking yourself, you crawl onto the matress and slip it on; obscuring your face in the sexiest way possible.

With all the fuckery he’s had to deal with as of late, you decided you were going to leave some souvenirs behind. A few visuals for him to look at during lonely nights instead of lolling around on his balcony like a neglected puppy.

You begin taking the photos, contorting your body into different erotic positions, getting the best angles. It all comes to you naturally, you’re good behind and in front of the camera.

After a dozen or so snaps of your tits, your ass, your thighs and some cheeky ones of your pretty cunt, you let them develop and take the mask off, putting on a basic satin slip dress to hide your lingerie. 

You were going to be out in a more public space, you didn’t want to risk something happening and for that to leave you basically naked in the streets of Bogotá.

Tossing your belongings into your bag, you drive to the embassy, parking around the back to keep your vehicle hidden from any prying eyes. How ironic. 

The familiar trench coat sits on your shoulders, tied close to keep your naughty outfit out of sight. Your bag hangs from the curve of the inside of your elbow, the kitten mask nestled at the bottom, just waiting for you to don it once more.

In this moment, you feel like one of those cliché romance tropes: surprising your husband at work with skimpy clothes under a fucking coat.

You snort at the realization, but you’re kind of loving this.

When you push open the door to the building, you notice how quiet and empty it is. At the large front desk, an older officer straightens his posture at your entrance.

“Identificación, por favor.”

You bite your lip, praying to god that this works, and dig into your bag to pull out your press lanyard. It has your name on it, what paper you work for along with a photograph that was taken your first day on the job.

You hand it over and he eyes it then you suspiciously, taking in your done up appearance.

“I’ve got some photographs developing in the lab here. Lost track of time at the office which is why I’m stopping by so late. I’ll just be in and out, no worries.” You explain in English with a gentle lilt, hoping that your status as an American will sway him into letting you up.

He hands you back your lanyard. “I’m not supposed to let anyone who isn't employed here in after a certain time. Lo siento, señorita. Regresa mañana.”

Your eye twitches in annoyance at the denial, your skin prickling with frustration.

You have to see him tonight. No matter what. This senile idiot isn’t going to stop you.

“I didn’t want to do this…” You begin with a sigh, leaning forward against the desk and your coat opens up just enough for him to get a good look down your cleavage, “But I’m also here to visit my fiancé, mi prometido.” You bring your left hand up for him to see the ring that adorns your finger, “He’s been having some tough days and I wanted to surprise him. I’m sure you know him. Javier Peña.”

Now this gets his attention, snapping his gaze from ogling your cleavage to meet your eyes.

“Ah, si, Javier Peña. El jefe de la DEA.”

You nod, seeing his resolve dissipating, and he lazily waves his hand, signaling that you’re good to go up.

“Muchas gracias señor, que tenga buena noche.”

Fuck. Yes. Your nerves morph into excitement as you step into the elevator, hitting the button that goes to his floor.

Pretending to be his to a complete stranger has put you further into a mood, feeling your pulse quickening at the idea of doing it again. Of deceiving the world, warping reality to play into your delusions of being happily engaged to a man who doesn’t even know what you look like.

The elevator comes to a stop, the silver doors opening up to a narrow hallway with various rooms and offices on either side. If you recall correctly, his is further down the hall which is perfect because you need to set your belongings down before making your grand entrance.

You find a place for your things behind the stairwell door, knowing that’s how you’re going to make your escape tonight. You didn’t want to walk past the security guard again and you didn’t want to give him enough time to chase you down into the elevator.

You strip the satin dress, stuffing it into your bag and leaving you just in your undergarments. The polaroids you took are nestled into an envelope and put into the pocket of your trench coat once you have it back on, pulling out your mask and gently bringing it over your face. You apply one final stroke of red lipstick and slip the mesh gloves over your fingers before sneaking your way down the hall.

You press your back against the wall, the tap of your heels muted due to the carpeted floor. Fluttering your eyes close, you force your brain to focus on sound— trying to discern if he is here alone or if he has company.

After a few minutes of listening, you come to the conclusion that he is alone so you just barely poke your head around the corner, eyes scanning the dark room.

It looks like a typical office. Desks sprawled about, a bigger one at the front which you assume to be the secretary’s. The usual fluorescents are dimmed, bathing the room in a transparent darkness.

Across the space is his personal office. It looks like a giant fishbowl at the end of the room, giant windows lining every wall. The blinds are open, giving you a good view of him sitting at the edge of his desk, the phone pressed up to his ear while his large hand nurses a glass of his favorite amber liquor, the familiar cigarette hanging from pointer and middle finger.

You hum diligently. How is he always so fucking handsome?

With catlike suaveness, you move across the room and closer to his office, noticing that the door is ajar, giving you the opportunity to listen in on the call.

Your eyes flit up to the analog clock that hangs on the opposite wall. They’re about to move in on Miguel. 

The tension of this moment, the pure suspense does nothing but aid you and your sexual desires. Whatever news he gets, whether it’s good or bad, you’ll be here to console him… with open arms, and open legs, and an open mouth.

Now that you’re closer, you get a better look at him in his typical work outfit. Rolled up white button up, midnight blue slacks and a loose tie. You wonder if he took off the jacket recently or if he’s been walking around like this for a few hours.

Small details like that matter to you. 

You can’t make out the garbling coming from the phone, but you do see the way he exhales and how his shoulders drop. He closes his eyes letting his wispy lashes fan across his skin. Tension rolls off his body in pure relief as he hears that Miguel Rodríguez has finally been arrested and Salcedo was able to get his family safe. 

He returns the phone to the receiver after a few moments, his thick fingers dragging along the plastic and the simple action has a puddle gathering in your panties.

Standing, he makes his way to the large window that overlooks the downtown area of the capitol, the bustling nightlife illuminating the black night sky.

His back is to you, much like the first time you did this dance, smoke from his cigarette curling around him as he takes lengthy drags in self reflection.

You just watch him, once more under his spell while you remain crouched in the shadows.

He’s been through so much, you know this. All the shit with Escobar, getting into bed with drug dealers and murderers just to catch him, only to be taken off right at the end then returning to finish off Cali. 

God that must have been so… depressing. You wish you would have known him then, before the job molded him into more of a cynic.

You just want to comfort and hold him. To love him with every molecule of your existence. 

Don’t worry, mi amor, I’m right here.

With that, you make your appearance, slowly standing and opening the door further.

The shift in the air at your presence has the hairs on the back of his neck standing and he turns his head to the side, catching your silhouette from his peripheral.

“Hola, gatita.”

His voice is smooth and it drips straight to your clit.

“Hey handsome.” 

You close the door behind you, leaning against it as he fully faces you. His brown eyes scan you from head to toe before he moves to sit in the large chair behind his desk, stubbing out his cigarette against the overfilled ashtray.

“You know…” He grunts out, resting his forearm atop of his head lazily as he leans back, “I prayed tonight’s operation would play out as planned. Not because of the metaphorical nail in Cali’s coffin, but in hopes that the win would lure you out.”

“Is that so?” Your heart is racing at his words and his evident craving for you. You try not falter as you slowly make your way around his office, shutting the blinds as you go.

There’s six windows. You’ve got five more to go.

“Mhm,” he hums, glossy eyes following you around the small space, “I just got confirmation that Miguel is in cuffs. On his way to Bogotá. And not even a few minutes later… well, here you are.”

“Here I am…” you flirt, moving on to the next window.

Then the fourth… third…

“How did you know?”

Only two more until you’re secluded in a little bubble of privacy.

“Call it a woman's intuition.”

His jaw ticks, not liking the answer but also not making a fuss out of it. Yet. He wants to enjoy you tonight, to become the keeper of time so he can drag out the hours and devote himself wholly to you. 

He’s missed you entirely too much. It’s a different feeling, this yearning that nips at him. Hardly ever does he think twice about the women he sleeps with.

But there’s something about you and how you popped up in his life so suddenly. How you turned his world on its head.

A kitten size hole has been left in his heart since you left him on his bedroom floor like a toy you weren’t interested in playing with anymore. 

You finish shutting the blinds, turning to face him as he manspreads himself out on his leather chair, rubbing his palm along his clothed thigh. It makes you want to pounce on it, to rub your wet pussy all over him in the same way you had gotten yourself off on his pillow.

You can practically feel his muscles contracting, the slight flex snapping a sharp orgasm out of you. 

“How are you going to thank me tonight, gatita?” His demeanor is vastly different than last time; he’s exuberating some of that dominance you know he possesses.

You remain silent, your gloved hand digging in the pocket of your coat as you pull out the envelope with your pictures in it, bringing it up to teasingly wave around.

His name is neatly written in cursive against the paper and his brows raise in surprise. He hadn’t expected an actual, tangible token of appreciation.

“This is for all your troubles. I know how hard it’s been in your world recently.”

He doesn’t know what to make of that. Granted, anyone can observe that his job is fucking difficult without knowing the specifics.

But it’s the way you said it, as if you know more than what you should.

You place the envelope in between your teeth, some of your red lipstick smudging against it as your gaze remains locked on his. Your hands make work of the belt that’s kept your trench coat closed, tugging at it until it’s undone. 

The air is charged in pure lustful electricity as the fabric falls from your shoulders and pools around your feet.

“Congratulations on your arrest, agente.”

The grip on his whiskey glass tightens, golden eyes turning an onyx color as he drinks in your scandalous appearance like a man who’s been denied the basic necessity of water his entire life.

“You’re killing me here, bebita.”

You giggle, scrunching your nose beneath the mask and the sound of your flirty laugh has his lips pulling up into a small smile. 

“Come closer. Let me get a better look at you.”

You comply obediently, placing one foot in front of the other before he abruptly stops you.

“Gatea como lo hiciste la última vez.”

Oh shit, your legs turn into jello at the command and immediately you fall to your knees, feeling the scratchy carpet through your stockings. 

“Good girl. Me encanta cuando haces caso.” He praises and you moan softly, crawling towards him on your hands and knees, the envelope still between your teeth.

He takes a sip of his drink, still lounging and keeping a cool demeanor, yet not relenting with the heavy stare he’s laying on you.

His eyes make out every curve of your body, how the shimmer from your lotion makes you glimmer like a shooting star. If he could close his eyes and make a wish right now, he’d wish to know who you really are.

You stop once you’re in between his legs and he stares at you for a good long minute before leaning forward, finishing off whatever was left of his whiskey and setting the empty glass aside.

His thumb and index fingers pinch your chin, moving your jaw to tilt upward so he can look down into your lovely eyes. The pair he sees every time he closes his own.

“Let’s see what you’ve brought me.”

He pulls the envelope from your mouth, your saliva leaving it damp but he doesn’t give a damn.

He opens it up, eyebrows quirking at the sight of the polaroid photos as he carefully analyzes each and every single one.

You’re hanging on to every reaction he gives, the way his eyes map every inch of your figure and how you photographed yourself for him.

It’s there, in the pictures, that he sees it. The ring. His brows pull together in confusion, his gaze flickering down to your hands that are resting on your thighs.

“Let me see your left hand, baby.”

The statement has a warmth blossoming in your stomach. You’re certain he can see your heartbeat pounding against your chest.

Tentatively you bring your hand up, resting it on his knee. 

He sets the photos on his desk then delicately removes the glove, calloused fingers taking your hand in his as he eyes the beautiful ring.

“This wasn’t here last time… ¿te comprometiste, gatita? Been giving that dirty mouth and pussy to someone else, hmm?” He places a kiss on the diamond, his dark eyes now boring into you.

Your thighs clench together at the intensity of the moment and you shake your head earnestly, wanting to dispel those thoughts from his mind entirely.

There is no one else. Just you.

“No. It’s all for you Javi. I just—” Your words get jumbled up, lost on your tongue as the sexy facade slips for a moment while you try and find the right words to explain your possessive, matrimonial fantasy to him.

“All for me, huh?” He’s getting a kick out of your nervous state, dropping your hand and motioning for you to give him the other as he takes the glove off of it too.

“All for you. I’m yours.” You say in a shaky breath, “This ring… it’s my way of pretending that it’s all real… that you’re mine too.” That you want me the same way I want you.

Silence cloaks the both of you, his face set in an unreadable expression.

“You don’t have to pretend, gatita. It can be real. Just let me see you.” He goes to unmask you again but you turn your head to the side to keep him from doing so.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It won’t be fun anymore.” Translation: I’m fucking scared that you’re not going to want the real me.

“So? We could have so much more fun without all this.” His pointer finger traces the lacey cat ears, “Not that I mind this. It’s sexy as hell.”

You look at him again, seeing the sincerity in his stare but you just can’t bring yourself to do it.

“No,” you repeat, a little harsher, “And if you try to take it off again I will disappear and you will never see me again.” 

You rise from the floor, trying to regain some of the control that’s slipped from your grasp. His jaw sets, hands coming up to grip your waist, pulling your body to him until his curved nose runs along your belly.

You gasp softly.

“Tan mala mi gatita bella. Luckily for you I like to work for it.”

He begins to place open mouthed kisses all over your midriff, biting the garter belt and pulling on it so it snaps back onto your skin with a delicious sting.

Your head falls onto your shoulder, enjoying the feeling of his lips. You bring your fingers down to run through his hair, enjoying how silken it is.

His strong hands move from your waist around to your ass, digging his nails into the supple skin while he kneads it, groaning at how soft you are. 

“Didn’t get to touch on this pretty body last time. M’not gonna make that mistake again. Bend over the desk, muñequita. Ahora.” He slaps your ass harshly and you squeal, feeling a fresh wave of wetness soaking your folds.

He relinquishes his hold on you, rolling his chair back to give you room to situate yourself in the position he wants to see you in.

You bend at the waist, your heels making the posture look extra sensual as your breasts press against the wooden surface. 

You hold your breath, anticipating what he does next. 

He gets up from the chair, his touch light as a feather as he traces from the top of your spine down to where the arch in your back is. His hands then go to grip your wrists, moving them so they’re pinned at your lower back.

“Gonna have to keep those pretty pictures on me at all times, gatita. Can’t risk someone else seeing what’s mine. I’d have to kill them.”

His possessiveness further turns you on, and now you want for those pictures to fall in the wrong hands. Just to see how he’d react.

He leans over you, placing kisses on the back of your shoulders, moving your hair to the side to expose more of your flushed skin to him. You turn your head, resting your cheek against the desk as you briefly make eye contact with him.

“That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” You reply and he smirks, kissing the corner of your mouth.

His lips trail down the same path he just traced, working his way down until he’s kneeled behind you, his breath fanning over your sopping pussy.

Your hips twitch instinctively, the pressure between your legs becoming unbearable. You need to feel him on you, whether it’s that sinful mouth of his or those deliciously thick fingers. Something, anything.

As if reading your mind, he brings his hand up to grope your backside enticingly, running his fingers beneath the band of your stockings, your skin feeling like melting butter beneath his touch.

“Been thinking about this since you left me last time. I should have kept you from leaving, should have buried myself in between your pretty legs instead.”

You lick your lips, “Then stop talking and do it.”

He wastes no time in landing a harsh slap against your ass, the skin rippling beneath the touch and you yelp out in both surprise and excitement.

“Eres una gatita tan traviesa. Voy a tener que domesticarté nena.”

Another harsh slap, then another, then another. With each sting you feel yourself getting closer and closer to your orgasm which is a bit pathetic since he hasn’t even touched you like that and you’re already a buzzing, dripping fucking mess.

Each mewl that falls from your lips urges him to continue until he’s satisfied with the flush on each of your cheeks.

His fingers then move to fist the flimsy material of your panties, harshly tugging it until the thin fabric disappears in between your folds and the slight burn from it digging into your sensitive flesh does wonders for the throbbing at your core.

“Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy, bebita, just like I knew it’d be. Look at her, all wet for me. You like getting spanked, don’t you?”

You moan loudly, completely at a loss for words as you nod your head, cheek still pressed to the desk.

“Use your words, sweetheart. Had so much to say last time.” His palm connects with your ass again, coaxing a verbal reply from you.

“Yes Javi, fuck I love being spanked. Love feeling your hands all over me.”

He hums in content, slowly pulling down the ruined underwear off your legs until you’re fully exposed to him. “Since you won’t let me see your gorgeous face, I want you to show off this sweet cunt of yours. Spread her open for me, gatita.”

Exhaling shakily, you move your hands from your lower back until you've got a good grip on your own body, spreading your pussy open so he can see all of you.

For a split second you feel self conscious, not being able to see his reaction as you lay open and vulnerable to him.

That dissipates quickly, however, when you hear his satisfied keen then feel his nose skimming against the plush skin of the back of your thighs, kissing your wrist.

“Now I’m going to taste you.” He repeats your own words back to you, his voice low and deep and fuck are you in love with this man.

His hot, wet tongue licks the length of your slit and you can’t control the noise that you make, sighing his name out. Your skin erupts in chills when he does it again, the coarse hairs of his mustache prickling against your swollen cunt.

“Tan dulce. Dunno how you’re going to pull me off of her.”

And with that, he fully immerses himself in your pussy. He’s desperate, licking every inch of you that he can, savoring the tangy taste of your sex. He sucks onto your folds before hardening his tongue and rapidly flicking the tip against your clit. This has you struggling to keep yourself spread open for him, writhing at his ministrations.

“Oh my fucking god Javier your tongue, holy shit…” You babble, absolutely blissed out as his strong nose nuzzles against your entrance, the tip of it inside of you.

He groans, absolutely pussy drunk, rendering him a scrambled mess as he further buries his face into you, his big strong hands working your thighs, this time actually ripping your stockings.

Making out with your pussy passionately, your arousal drips from his mouth and down his jaw. He pulls back, a stringy glob of your fluids following like a cut open aloe vera plant. His thumb brushes against your clit as he spits onto your cunt, smearing his saliva all over before he slips two fingers inside you.

You clench immediately, crying out his name as his digits stretch you open. “So fucking tight gatita. You gonna squeeze my dick like this?”

Your knees just about give out at the promise of feeling his impressive girth inside of you. You hadn’t planned to actually fuck him tonight, not wanting to spoil the erotic nature of your visits by just giving him your pussy.

But now, as he’s ravishing and fingering you with such vigor and your vision beginning to blur as a sign of your incoming orgasm, you’re back tracking on that decision entirely.

You need him to fuck you. You might just die if he doesn’t.

He curls his fingers at your lack of response, the tips of them brushing up against that spot that makes you jolt, your chest rising from the desk while your thighs tighten.

“Stay put and answer the fucking question,” His free hand moves to roughly push you back down, his mouth joining his fingers on your pussy.

“Fuck yes baby. Gonna squeeze you til I milk every single drop out of that fat fucking cock.” You whimper like you’re in an X rated film, rocking your hips back against him as your stomach tightens. You’re so close.

Content with your answer, he slips in a third finger and harshly sucks your sensitive clit into his mouth, moving his head side to side. That’s enough to have you spill all over him, your body trembling while a mixture of moans and sobs and cries of his name echo out of you like a cock-obsessed woman that needs to be sedated.

Your acrylics dig into the skin of your ass, leaving crescent shaped marks on the flesh.

He continues his relentless assault on your cunt, eating you out through your orgasm. The blood rushing in your ears keeps you from hearing all the filthy things he’s chanting against your skin.

The ring looks so beautiful next to your spent pussy, querida. All mine.

Pulling his fingers from you once you’ve come down from your high, he places a final, more gentle kiss against your clit and you twitch from the oversensitivity.

“Did so good muñeca.” He rises from his kneeled position, the soft sounds of his joints popping having you blink away some of the haziness from your eyes, your body completely limp against his desk.

His hands run along the length of your body before he’s tenderly flipping you over so you’re on your back, the edge of the desk uncomfortably digging into your waist.

Noticing this, he clears some space to make room then lifts you until you’re fully sprawled out on his desk looking absolutely wrecked.

His mustache is damp with your release, lips swollen from him losing himself in the taste of you and drinking all that you have to offer him. Brown eyes remain dark, gaze swimming with longing.

“So handsome…” you mutter dreamily as he hovers over you, his thumb gently caressing the part of your cheek that isn’t covered by the mask.

“I wish you would let me get a good look at you, gatita.” He leans in, kissing your chin then your jaw until he’s trailing down onto the soft skin of your neck.

“Javi…” you sigh out, not only because his lips feel fucking divine but also because you don’t want to have this conversation again.

“I know, I know. You’ll disappear and I’ll never see you again. I got it the first time.”

He cups your breasts in his hands, gently kneading them as he licks down your sternum. He snakes a hand behind you and you arch your back, letting him expertly undo your bra.

The straps are delicately pulled down your shoulder until the garment is completely off, your nipples pebbling as the cool air of his office nips at them.

He wastes no time in wrapping his pouty lips around the sensitive peak and suckling softly. His tongue traces around your areola, grazing his teeth against your nipple which causes you to whine and bring your fingers to entangle in his hair, pressing your chest deeper onto his face.

Repeating the action on the other, he lavishes your breasts with attention from his skilled muscle. His facial hair is an added stimulant to your pleasure and your clit pulsates, body ready to have him inside of you.

You roll your hips, feeling his erection brush up against your naked pussy and your breath hitches in your throat.

It’s then that you realize that he’s still fully clothed while you’re practically naked. The only things that adorn your body are your ripped stockings and the garter belt along with your heels.

Tugging him away from your tits, you bring his face up to yours, noses brushing against each other. You can smell your sex on his lips, so you lean in to kiss him, tasting yourself and moaning.

“I need you to fuck me, agent.” Your lips brush against his as you speak, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer to you.

His chest rumbles at your request, hands antsy as he caresses and gropes; memorizing all your curves and the feel of your body.

“S’that what my gatita wants? For me to fuck her sweet little pussy?” 

Your answer comes in the form of another passionate kiss with a nod, your tongue intertwining with his then sucking on it softly.  He’s such a good fucking kisser, you could make out with him until your lungs burn from the lack of oxygen.

He pulls back, quickly beginning to unbutton his shirt in which you assist him, your french tipped nails taking over while he makes work of getting his pants undone and off.

Sliding his shirt off his broad shoulders, you pull him back down to you, lips quickly kissing all over the freshly exposed skin, savoring the warmth radiating off him.

You feel his naked cock pressing against your wet slit and your head cants back, a breathless whimper pushing past your lips while he lets out a deep groan.

“You make such pretty noises, muñeca. Wanna hear them all the time.”

He rubs his plush head against the length of your sopping pussy, collecting the wetness of your arousal.

“Gonna let me fuck this pussy raw, gatita? For all I know you’ve been spreading your legs for half the fuckin’ city.”

Your head spins, body overstimulated by his touch and the words that leave him. 

“Need to feel all of you, Javi. I think about it all the time. No one else. Just you.” You whisper out, once more clenching your thighs around his hips and rolling your own to entice him into slipping inside your tight and needy heat.

He curses, his teasing finally getting to him as he slowly sinks his thick, hard cock inside of you.

You both sigh out in pleasure in unison, your fleshy walls contracting around his length and swallowing him in, almost in the same manner in which your throat had all those nights ago. 

Every part of your body is eager to feel him somehow, your obsession and insatiable craving convoluting your being into nothing more than just something to bring him pleasure.

“Goddamn nena te sientes tan rica. Este cuerpecito está hecho para mí.”

He still hasn’t bottomed out and you feel so incredibly full. Your wet dreams have nothing against the real thing. 

“Javiiii, I need you to move. To fuck me hard and fast.” While you know having him rock into you slowly and sensually would feel better than winning the fucking lottery, you need to drop your own self respect and have him take you like the whores he’s so fond of.

He bares his teeth, straightening his posture so he’s no longer hovering over you. He readjusts your legs to sit higher on his waist.

“Was goin’ slow to give you the chance to get used to me baby pero la gatita quiere mas and I can’t help but spoil you, hermosa.”

Without warning, he snaps his hips into yours and you gasp loudly, the burn of him stretching you out adds vicious heat to your already hot cunt.

“Oh just like that Javi please…” you sob as he begins to fuck you just as you asked. Hard and fast. 

“Pobrecita. Can’t even take what she’s asking for.” He fucking pouts, mocking you and you’re certain that you’ve died and gone straight to horny heaven.

The desk moves with every thrust; pens, papers and other items hitting the floor. 

He roughly takes ahold of your bouncing tits, using them as leverage to keep splitting you open on his cock, your arousal leaving a creamy ring against his flesh and the sight has him going feral.

“Fuck this is the best pussy I’ve ever fucked, querida. So tight and fucking perfect. Bet you’ve never been fucked like this before, huh? S’probably why you came to me. Knew I would take good care of you.”

Your hands grip the edge of the desk, knuckles flushed, to keep you from falling off. The scratchy hairs on the base of his cock brush against your sensitive clit, having you shut your eyes out of pure ecstasy.

You never want this to end.

“Abre esos ojos gatita, you’re already denying me so much by not letting me see your lovely face. At least let me look into those beautiful eyes while I fuck you.” One of his hands leaves your breast, lightly slapping you to get your attention back on him.

As if it ever wavered.

Your eyes blink open, the slight sting across your cheek only bringing you closer to your orgasm.

“D-Do that again.” You plead with a small smirk, squeezing your walls around him and he grunts, slapping your face again.

You moan and he matches your smirk, basking in your reaction.

“Ay nena, eres mi dream girl. Where the fuck have you been all my life?”

His praise paired with the harsh snap of his hips driving his cock deeper is enough to have stars blinding your eyesight as your pussy tightens and your orgasm begins to shoot up your spine.

“Aqui, Javi. I’m right here baby.” Your words slur, absolutely cock drunk.

His torso looks perfectly fucking sculpted, like a god walking amongst men. Different muscles tense and jolt at his movements; you want to bite into his triceps and lick all over his prominent collarbone.

He shifts again, this time throwing your legs over his shoulders and the change in angle has you moaning out like a seasoned pornstar. He places gentle kisses against the inside of your knee, trailing his tongue against the nylon of your stockings before doing the same on the other leg.

This has your pussy feeling tighter and you watch as his own orgasm begins to overtake him.

It’s the hottest thing in the world.

Your left hand trails down the length of your torso until it’s at your pulsating clit, the tips of your fingers beginning to rub small circles against the pearl.

His dark eyes fall onto your movements, his tongue running along his teeth slowly.

“Tan hermosa, nena. Look at how that ring looks against your pussy. Do you touch yourself pretending it’s me, tu esposo, gatita?”

You nod, no longer feeling shy about your perverse delusion of belonging to him in a matrimonial sense. “Si, all the time. Think about you coming home to our house and fucking me on our bed. Ay, Javi I’m about to cum.”

His balls clench, jaw ticking as he too begins to slip into this fantasy of yours. “I’d take such good care of you baby. Make sure all of your needs are, fucking christ,” his thrusts stutter, “met. I’d do anything for you.”

And just like that, your orgasm topples over and your back archs off the desk at the intensity of it. Your vision spots, ears ringing as you douse his cock with your cum.

He fucks you through it, muffled words of praise not reaching you since you’re trying to focus on not passing out from pure bliss.

His cock twitches inside of you, feeling you come undone pulling euphoria out of him too.

“Where do you want it, gatita. You better tell me before I cum in this pussy and make you a mamita.”

Oh fuck, while the offer sounds enticing as hell, you know you need to think with a somewhat clear head so you just say, “Cum all over my clit, please.”

You don’t need to tell him twice, he pulls out just enough for the hot ribbons of his spend to messily land on your exposed clit, some of it getting on your knuckles and ring as you lazily rub it in.

He’s cursing up a storm, a tight grip on your thigh as he empties his balls all over your flesh. 

You both are left panting, his cum dripping down your fingers and pussy onto his desk. Blinking slowly, you meet his gaze and bring your digits up to your mouth, sucking them in and humming in content at the taste of your mixed release.

“Sucia,” he spits out before falling to his knees again, giving you no time to fucking react as he buries his face in your freshly used cunt.

“Javier!” You shout, literally shout, as he eats your cum and his out of your sweet pussy. Your fingers shoot down to tangle in his mussed hair, yanking on it without caring if it pains him or not. 

You don’t even realize it but you’re actually crying. The tears falling from the corners of your eyes beneath the mask and onto your cheek.

You’ve never felt this good. Never had a man, or anyone else for that manner, make you feel as sexy and wanted as the agent that’s currently in between your legs. 

When he finally stands, you’re left an incoherent mess and all he does is smirk.

“We taste good, muñeca.”

You whimper, not knowing how the fuck you’re going to recover from this and if you’ll even make it down the flight of stairs that awaits you for your departure.

Javier’s after care consists of placing soft kisses all over you, whispering sweet words to help bring you back to him. He caresses you again, this time being mindful of your over sensitivity.

He kisses along your thighs and tummy then moves up to each breast. His fingers graze along your skin and when he’s finally at your mouth, your lips meet in a kiss that surpasses any of the other ones you’ve shared with him.

Your mask makes it a little awkward at first but neither of you seem to care, too lost in the feeling of the other. It’s sensual and slow, all the unspoken things felt between the two of you being relayed during this interlock.

He pulls back, resting his forehead against the lace and plastic of your kitten mask. Your red lipstick is smeared all over his handsome face.

The lust in his brown eyes has now been replaced with something else that you can’t quite put your finger on, and that’s enough to snap you out of your trance and you gently push at his chest.

“I have to go.”

He scoffs, not moving from over you, “You don’t.”

“I do, Javi.” You say, a little more forcefully, which gets him to pull away.

Your panties and bra are on the other side of the room and you slide from the desk to retrieve them, wobbling as you go.

You’re going to be feeling him for days.

“How many more times are we going to do this? What’s the endgame here?”

You pull your underwear up your legs, cringing at how uncomfortable the damp material feels against your swollen core.

“There is no endgame. We’re just messing around.”

With your bra back on, you move to retrieve your trench coat which means you have to face him now.

He’s leaning against his desk like he had been when you first arrived, pants undone but up on his hips again.

“So that’s it? You’re just going to sneak in whenever you need a good fuck?”

You laugh dryly, crossing the room to get your coat but he grabs you by the forearm once you pass him; halting you in your spot.

“Javier,” You warn.

“You’re breaking my fucking heart, baby.”

You stare at him, wanting nothing more than to rip the mask off and confess to him how much he means to you despite this being anything but a conventional relationship.

As delusional as you’ve tended to be as of late, you know he’s way out of your league. He doesn’t go after girls like you.

Girls that are easy to dismiss and forget in the pouring rain.

“Same rules as last time: you’re not going to follow me out or stop me. Are we clear?”

He tightens his grip on your arm and you narrow your eyes.

“Are we clear?”

He’s silent but finally lets go and you don’t hesitate to grab and put on your coat.

You’re so eager to leave that you don’t notice your press lanyard has slipped out of your pocket as you’re making your way to the door.

He stands from his seated position and you brace yourself for yet another attempt at him trying to change your mind.

But it doesn’t happen. Instead, you hear the flick of a lighter and that’s enough to get you to turn the doorknob and leave without another word. 

Javier smokes the entire cigarette to calm his racing heart before he lazily begins to clean up the mess you two made in his office.

He’s lost in his thoughts, all consisting of you, until he spots the lanyard in the corner.

Picking it up, he looks at it quizzically before flipping it over. His jaw tightens once he sees your face, the familiarity of your lips and eyes luring him in.

He’s got a clear view now and it strikes him entirely, heart fluttering as he takes in your appearance. 

He reads your name, as if tasting it on his tongue, and the outlet you work for out loud. He recognizes you from somewhere but he just can’t remember where.

This is going to pick at him like an unhealed scab. But at least Javier knows who you are now.

Of course she’s a reporter. Things are starting to make more sense.

Translations:

Identificación, por favor - Identification please

Lo siento, señorita. Regresa mañana - I'm sorry ma’am. Come back tomorrow

El jefe de la DEA - The head of the DEA

Muchas gracias señor, que tenga buena noche - Thank you very much sir, have a good night

Gatea como lo hiciste la última vez - Crawl like you did last time

bebita - baby girl

agente - agent

muñeca - doll

Me encanta cuando haces caso.

¿te comprometiste, gatita? - Are you engaged, kitten?

Tan mala mi gatita bella. - My beautiful kitten is so bad

Eres una gatita tan traviesa. Voy a tener que domesticarté nena. - You are such a naughty kitten. I'm going to have to tame you baby.

Tan dulce. - So sweet

Goddamn nena te sientes tan rica. Este cuerpecito está hecho para mí. - Goddamn baby you feel so good. This little body is made for me.

pero la gatita quiere mas - but the kitten wants more

Abre esos ojos gatita - open those eyes

esposo - husband

sucia - dirty

[thefanficmonster]

Casual

Colby Brock x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Referenced Sexual Themes, Swearing

Genre: FLUFF, Mild Angst, Romance, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: It's hard being casual when the inner circle decides to play matchmaker

NOTE: Sam and Kat are still together in this fic. This detail is in no way meant to be disrespectful to Sam or Kat or their current partners

You're a creature of habit. Routine. This routine starts with the blaring of your alarm clock which today you failed to wake up to. Instead, the sound that reaches you through your slumber is shuffling around the room.

For a brief moment, you're panicked. You live alone so it's only understandable why you're alarmed. However, when your eyes open to reveal the beige ceiling above you, it fills you with a sense of relief. It's a ceiling you're familiar with. In a room you've slept in too many times in the past four months.

You sit up, hand coming up to push your messy hair away from your face. The sheet draped over you is providing very little coverage to your naked body, and even less so when your motion causes it to slide down your chest. You hurriedly readjust it, provoking a laugh out of Colby.

"Don't worry. Nothing I haven't seen before." He teases, pulling a shirt over his bare torso.

You roll your eyes at him, wrapping the sheet around you tighter to preserve what little dignity you have left over from last night. "Not in broad daylight, you haven't."

Again, your statement makes him laugh, the masking of humor keeping him unaware to how bitter you are surrounding that topic. To how true your words are. It's been almost a year now since this arrangement was kicked into motion, four months since it became more of a regular occurrence. But still, anything between you and Colby was always scheduled for after dark. Escapades by night. Undercover, cloaked in darkness, right past the radars of all your respective closest friends. There's no overlap to your friend groups, thankfully. Otherwise you would've already been compromised. Which you're unsure if it would be for better or for worse.

"First time for everything." Colby shrugs, noticing your furrowed brows as you scan the nightstand and floor in search of you phone. He spots it first and hands it to you.

It is indeed the first time for something - as confirmed by the white numbers displaying the time on your phone screen. It's 11 AM. Your jaw practically hits the floor in realization.

You're typically in and out of each other's places before dawn. Colby's a lot more lenient with it because, as mentioned, you live alone. You are a lot more strict with it, knowing that he too is grateful you never stick around long enough to be spotted by either Sam or Kat. He doesn't want to have the conversations that will most certainly follow them seeing you. So, avoidance is the best solution.

"Shit! Why didn't my alarm go off?" You curse, quickly swinging your legs over the edge of the bed in a hurry to get dressed and be out the door - or possibly window at this point. You're willing to climb down from the balcony if it means avoiding the other people in this house.

"It did. But you turned it off, rolled over and knocked out again." Colby explains, tossing you your bra which had somehow made its way halfway across the room in last night's rush to remove all garments.

You motion for him to turn around before dropping the sheet around your chest, "Then why didn't you wake me up?"

He tosses you your underwear with his back turned to you, missing out on the funny sight of it landing on your head. "I was the one who wore you out, the least I could do was let you sleep in." You hear his sly smirk even though you can't see it. And you let him know so by hurling a pillow at his head.

But that's just how it works between you and Colby. You are, in short, fuck buddies. And I'm using 'buddies' very loosely here. Because you have a lot of fun together and I don't just mean in the sheets. You have your golden moments like the occasional pillow fight, movie night, ungodly hour McDonald's runs. I'm not saying that all these instances were before or after sex, but it goes without saying that they usually were. But neither of you mind. It's just the nature of your relationship and you're happy with it. Well, you were, up until four months ago.

You live for those moments of just being goofy idiots together. Nothing between you goes neither far back nor down deep but it's fun for what it is. You believe you'll be better for it eventually. It's just unclear when that 'eventually' will happen.

"Go stand guard. Tell me when the coast is clear." You make quick work of your shoelaces, ticking off all your belongings from your mental list as you pick them up from the floor, rushing past Colby like a gust of wind.

"I'm not doing that." His scoff-like chuckle stops you in your tracks, causing you to whirl around and give him quite an offended look to which he shrugs his shoulders, "It's not that deep, Y/N. Plus, I doubt they're up already."

See, it is that deep. To you, at least. You realize you're blowing it up out of proportion for yourself but hearing him say that rubs you all the wrong ways. Of course he doesn't care. Sam and Kat have probably witnessed so many girls dashing out the front door in the morning. You're probably one of dozens. Or at least that's what you choose to believe in order to extinguish any possible spark of hope remaining.

You don't have it in you to argue so you just shake your head. "If you say so..."

Well, he did say so. He just happened to be terribly wrong.

As soon as you step foot downstairs you run directly into Kat. She's momentarily surprised to see another person in the house but a spark of recognition quickly ignites her eyes, a bright smile lighting up her face.

"Oh my God, hi!" She laughs, recalibrating from the initial shock, "Y/N, right?"

It's your turn to be taken aback at her correct guess of your name. Clearly an educated one - or, not that you know yet, but not a guess at all.

"Um, yeah. I'm Y/N, nice to meet you." You offer a polite response, still puzzled as to how Kat knows your name. You're not given much time to ponder that before getting enveloped in a hug you instinctively return.

"I'm Kat. Holy crap, I can't believe you're actually real! After all that talk and nothing to show for it we genuinely though Colby was fucking with us." She says as she pulls away but one of her hands remains holding yours, giving it a small tug and motioning toward the kitchen, "Come join us for breakfast."

You're unsure whether she simply doesn't notice or pretends not to but your eyes are wide and a very particular mix of emotions is painted across your face. You don't have time to unpack all that right now, though. Not when you have to come up with a quick excuse to let her down slowly. Under different circumstances you'd love to stick around in the lighthearted and warm company that is Kat but with how things stand... "Oh I don't-...I can't..." Yeah, you're not too quick on your feet with it.

"No, no - stay. No excuses." The voice comes from behind you, diverting both yours and Kat's attention to the staircase where Colby is standing, observing the interaction between you two. "Didn't you say it's your day off?"

If looks could kill, he'd be dead. If they could speak, the one you're giving him would be screaming 'what the actual fuck, dude?!'. Thankfully, Kat can't see it. So, she happily tugs you along, "Perfect! Come on now, you two, Sam is gonna starve because of you."

Your eyes never leave Colby and his all-too-smug, all-too-amused self. Once you're both out of sight, he doubles over in laughter, so pleased with his antics and your reaction to top it off.

What you missed is the whirlwind of hand gestures and glares Colby sent Kat from behind you, pleading with her not to out him the way she did. Not a single word was a lie, though, and he knows it. It's almost pathetic the way he's transformed into a lovesick puppy in the past few months. Your name is so frequently dropped in conversation that Sam and Kat even made a drinking game out of it.

But you don't need to know that, at least according to Colby. Kat is all the more willing to spill the beans. In her mind, it's for the best for all sides.

In the kitchen, you find a still very sleepy Sam - hair toussled, eyes barely open. He's picking at the food on his plate, clearly restricting himself from wolfing it all down before the rest of the table joins him. His disdain for table etiquette and politeness disappears when he sees the fourth person entering the kitchen - more so being dragged inside. The devilish smile on Kat's face is all the information he needs for the dots to be connected in his mind.

"Morning!" He greets you, his face lighting up - all sleepiness gone suddenly. His smile mimicks Kat's when he sees an exhausted Colby following suit behind you two. Although tired, there is a pleasant lightheartedness that's relaxed his features. It fills Sam with a sense of almost parental pride.

Recently, he couldn't help but take note of Colby's 'dry spell'. By that he means he hasn't seen his best friend bring any girls home for the past four months. Mostly because he's been bringing back the same one and always under his roommate's radar.

The one he hasn't been able to keep out of conversations.

It's almost like meeting a celebrity, finally having a whole person to connect to the name and loosely dropped information Colby has sprinkled completely unprompted.

"So you're the infamous Y/N." Sam grins and Colby can practically see the horns popping out from beneath his blonde locks. He knows that look - one that promises ruin to his reputation on count of entertainment. Colby has no time to try and tackle him before he keeps talking, "We've heard so much about you."

"Yeah....I've gathered that by now..." you can't help but laugh. Kat has already made sure to let you know that Colby runs his mouth about you freely - and sometimes unintentionally so Sam's words come as no surprise. "Hopefully nothing that could be held against me in court, though."

Sam laughs at your response, getting up out of his chair to grab you a plate, "Don't worry, it's not court admissible, but it's enough to blackmail you into dating our trademark third-wheel."

You're pleasantly taken by surprise by that remark. Lord knows you wouldn't need much blackmailing at all - but you obviously can't say that to his closest friends with him standing right fucking there, looking too cute for it not being even noon yet. So, instead, you opt to finesse, "I choose the reputational ruin any day, thank you kindly."

"Hey!" Colby whines, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger before giving it a tiny tug to put the spotlight of your attention on himself, "That's just rude."

"Hit you right in your cold, cold heart, did I?" You smirk up at him, tilting your head back to be able to meet his eyes with that challenging glint he's sending you returned ten fold.

Suddenly, that smug, enticing look on his face is wiped clean off when a crumpled napkin collides with his head - curtesy of Sam.

"Either get a room or sit your asses down, some of us are ready to resort to cannibalism with how hungry we are!" He says through laughter, childishly amused by the offended look his best friend is giving him from across the table. The laughing fit is only made worse when Kat lightly smacks the back of his head as punishment for having ruined the moment

Despite the magnetic field between the two of you, drawing you closer with every synched breath, you part - or at least you were going to but Kat has taken the seat beside Sam, leaving the two of you to sit beside one another and somehow, in some extraordinarily strange way, you find this - sitting at a table with his closest friends, your thigh brushing up against his every once in a while under the table - to be far more intimate than waking up tangled up in his sheets and arms.

* * * * *

The illusion of casualness is soon erased when you spend the entirety of breakfast chatting with Sam and Kat like you've known them all your life. And the fact that Colby's hand periodically finds yours under the table to give it a reassuring squeeze isn't helping you upkeep the reality of the true nature of your relationship with the guy sat beside you.

"So, Y/N...", Kat grabs your attention with a clap of her hands as she rests her elbows on the table, "I have an invitation for you and feel free to say no although I'd be devastated if you did so."

You chuckle and mimic her stance, leaning in as well as if what she's about to ask you is top secret, whispering theatrically in response, "Strong opener, go on."

Kat's thrilled to have you matching her energy, her smile widening with hope, "Ok so, these two...", she waves a jokingly dismissive hand at the boys, "...are dragging me to yet another haunted hotel this weekend and I'd love nothing more than to have some level-headed, sane company to even them out. So, what do you say? You in?"

The question catches you entirely off-guard. A notification sound plays in your head - the reminder of what your relationship with Colby actually is and how this trip Kat is inviting you to might potentially throw a stone at the glasshouse of tranquility you two have built around this label-less, undefined relationship.

The truth, however, is that you'd love to go. More than anything. And under any other circumstances you'd be jumping at the opportunity. Not just for the obvious reason to spend more time with Colby outside the bedroom you two tend to confine yourselves in; not even just to bathe in the sunshine that is Kat's aura - but simply because you're a fan of the paranormal, always have been. That's how you found Sam and Colby in the first place.

Yes, you were - and still are a fan. However, at this time, you didn't know about Colby's tendency to mess around with fans. And here we are now, three years later, the flirtations have moved past DMs and clothes and bedroom doors. Unfortunately, they've also crashed through the barricades to your heart as well but you'd be damned if you let him know that.

"Um...", you hesitate to answer, your gaze immediately fleeting over to Colby, trying to gauge his reaction to the idea but he's giving you nothing. He's either a master at upkeeping a poker face or genuinely has no particular reservations or even a spec of excitement at the idea of you joining them on this trip. And you can't tell which is worse.

"Hey, hey! Don't look at him. Who gives a shit what he thinks? I'm the one inviting you on mine and Sam's behalf although I bet you my life savings that Colby will thank me for this right as soon as you're out of earshot." Kat says sternly - or as close as she can get to it with that adorable smile of hers, "So, eyes on me - what do you say?"

While looking at Kat, you can almost pretend that all this isn't nearly as undefined and messy as it actually is. You can pretend that the feelings wreaking havoc on your brain and heart are justified and organized instead, properly directed at the man sitting beside you who you can pretend, even for a split second, is your boyfriend. And in this play-pretend scenario, the answer is so obvious. With these lines between reality and wishful imagination blurred, your ideal answer bleeds into the current, very real moment.

"Fuck it, why not"

* * * * *

About an hour or so later, you are forced to leave due to other plans you have scheduled for later in the day. All of which you know will be tinted with the thrill of anticipation for this upcoming impromptu trip you just agreed to.

You exchange warm goodbye hugs with Sam and Kat and Colby walks you to the door as the proper gentleman he is. A proper gentleman you'd like to sock in the face - just as much as you'd want to kiss him - for putting you in this situation.

"Hey, um, is me coming to this trip a problem to you in any way? If so I can find a way to worm out of it." You finally find the will and words to bring up your uncertainties once the two of you step out onto the front porch into the somewhat cloudy afternoon - perfectly resembling your mood.

Colby, ever the charmer, manages to skewer your heart in an instant with the easy, lopsided smile he flashes your way as he shakes his head, displacing a few locks of his already mess brown hair. "Nah, don't worry about it, I don't mind. It'll be fun...." he trails off for a second before continuing with a shrug, "...casual."

And that's when the other shoe drops. That's when those lines between wishful imagination and reality you'd let yourself blur become bold and sharp again, entire walls protruding where said lines once stood, forming firm and unbreakable barriers. Barriers for your own safety of mind and heart, to keep you from straying over in dreamland again. Barriers as thick as the ones around your heart he'd somehow managed to crash through.

"Right, of course." You reply almost automatically - you've gotten far too used to him reminding you of the casualness of it all but there is something vastly different about his friends being in the picture and accepting her so easily and naturally. "Well, thank you for having me for breakfast. Text me the details of the trip." You say, knowing full well you'll be thinking of excuses to opt out of said trip in the car all the way home.

"Of course, can't wait." Colby replies with a more sincere smile this time, catching you before you could turn to walk away, pressing his lips to your forehead.

As soon as your car is out of view - which is rather quick considering you're practically hightailing it out of there with a slight disregard for the neighborhood speed limit - Colby goes back inside.

He finds Sam and Kat still in the kitchen with the former washing the dishes from breakfast and the latter working on her laptop at the kitchen island.

Colby comes to stand behind her, leaning down to whisper in her ear and make sure Sam doesn't catch wind of it, "Thank you."

Kat instantly knows what has warranted this gratitude. She replies with the brightest grin known to mankind and a conspiratory wink.

*sigh* If only he'd shown this enthusiasm in front of you. If only you didn't take his words at face value. So many 'if only's. But that's usually how it goes with love stories telling the tale of two ships in the night - missing each other by that much.

[milllersfae]

perverted loser bff!ellie headcanons

content warning: perversion, teasing, intoxication mention

a/n: your girl is BACK(?)! again i wont be posting as often, but be assured you'll see me atleast once a month. enjoyyy!

sfw

ɞ when you walk through big crowds, she puts a hand to your back to guide you through the traffic. "i gotcha" she whispers, hand drifting to your waist.

ɞ likes ordering the same thing you get at restaurants, just to feel for the things you like.

ɞ always opens your door for you when you get in her car, wanting to make sure you get in easy.

"i'm not six you know!" you joke, nudging her arm as you close the door.

"i don't want you fucking up my door is all." she was lying bad. she thrived on treating you like hers.

ɞ when the two of you hang out, she always asks you how her outfit looks. "well—what do you think?" she stammers, awkwardly twitching her fingers as you stared at her. you smile, wrapping a shoulder around her. "you look great, el."

ellie nudges you off playfully, resisting the hugest urge to kiss you.

ɞ everyone already thinks the two of you are dating. it’s hard to change anyone’s mind, not with the way with she reaches for your hand in public with awkward reassurance.

nsfw

ɞ loves asking to come over just to be in your presence, being in your bed. she’s daydreamed about parting your legs and eating you passionately as you clung to your own sheets.

ɞ loves when you ask her what clothes to wear. her cunt grows hot as she watches you try on skirts and shorts, the frilled pink thong you wore hypnotizing her waking thought. “i think those shorts look nice…” she utters out, awkward grin hiding her arousal. she loves your reaction to her approval, smoothing the shorts over your hips as she stares at the curve of your ass as you bend down to pick up the remaining bottoms from the floor.

ɞ offers to drive you everywhere; making you her private passenger princess. she’ll reach over to get your seat-belt, face flushing red as she catches a glimpse of your chest to fasten you in. she can’t seem to help to linger her free hand onto your thigh on long drives, thumb rubbing the inner, laying a thick, flushing stroke of heat into your core.

ɞ she gets off work one night, coming over to ease the ache of her long day. you let ellie stay the night, the two of you squishing into your cramped queen bed. you know how she gets into the habit of laying a kiss on your shoulder, gripping you close with the overlap of her forearms. ellie eases a hand under your tank top, pinching the bud of your nipples, making you her own little stress reliever.

ɞ she likes to take you to slummy parties, nervously showing you off to anyone in her sight. the taste of flavored vodka eases down your throat, intoxication lingering on your tongue as ellie slowly inches her way toward you on the velvet-couch. her eyes dart against the sheer of your sundress, putting a securing arm behind your back. you can smell the hot of her alcohol-ridden breath as she rests her drunken face against your cheek.

“you’re so clingy when you’re drunk.” you laugh, face warming at the soft press of rouging skin. her face closes in on yours, lips millimeters apart.

“yea, ‘cause can’t stop myself around you.” she whispers, the press of her upper lip wrapped around yours, a slippery kiss bringing the both of you closer. her hand can’t help but inch under your skirt, a fidgety hand kneeling circles into your clit as your cling your thighs together to hold her in.

taglist | @zahraaziza @millersaurora @ccinnamongrl @ellabsprincess

want to be tagged? go under my masterlist and post reply below!

[anjaelle]

Hello darling 💙

Would you consider writing for Count Vronsky from Anna Karenina?

Pairing: Count Alexei Vronsky x Foreign Socialite!Reader Warnings: Borderline Toxic Infatuation, Vintage Slow Burn, (almost) Infidelity Summary: A foreign born socialite/heiress visits a friend in Russia and meets a straight up demon. For @bettytaylorversion (AU where Anna doesn't go back to Vronsky and chooses to stay with Karenin.) Word Count: 2.3K a/n: I remember that Tolstoy made this character so straightforward that you can kind of play around with him as much as you like without changing much about who he is at his core. I can't be left to my own devices. That being said, I don't want purists yelling at me. So I hope everyone takes some of my choices here with a grain of salt.

--x--

Everything about Russia felt intimidating to you: the language, the size of the country, the power of its military, and the show of their aristocratic wealth. You were wealthy. But this was a different kind of wealth. You came to visit your close friend who was another socialite that you met through overlapping inner circles. It'd taken you a while to accept the invitation as you weren't sure how kindly they'd take to a foreigner.

You understood some of the language based on what your friend taught you, but you still weren't confident enough to converse in just Russian. Instead you opted for French, which seemed to work well enough. You knew your native language was a lost cause. While some people in the parlor were polite, others had no interest in speaking with you. A small number seemed interested in you and your home country. Or maybe they just noticed your Very New and Very Parisian wardrobe with your collection of gifted jewels. They decided you were important enough to talk to.

When she introduced you to Count Alexei Vronsky, an officer in the army, you felt her grip on your elbow tighten just the slightest bit. You knew about him. She told you all about his affair with the married woman from Saint Petersburg. You weren't sure how you pictured the man. She said he was handsome, but you lived in a world full of beautiful people. How much different could he be?

That was a terrible miscalculation. The minute he met you, he watched you with the intense interest of a fox stalking its prey. You felt your cheeks warm and your heart thud when he pressed his lips to your gloved knuckle. You averted your eyes when he rose from his bow, not really wanting to convey anything uncouth about the interaction.

The first time he found you alone, you were in your friend's library looking at a map pinned to the wall. He told you about every country he'd lived in, every country he'd traveled through, and which ones he'd be eager to see soon. When you pointed out your country on the map, he licked his lips and an easy smile graced his beautiful face.

"I suppose I have no choice but to come see you now." He said in his thick accent.

You realized, then, that he reminded you of angels you'd see painted on the walls of grand, gilded churches. You told him that you and your fiance would be happy to invite him to your engagement party.

"Hmm." he said, eyeing the map. "Fiancés..." he finished the statement in Russian, so you couldn't understand him.

Before you excused yourself to go find your friend, his fingertips gently grazed the back of your hand, stopping you in your tracks. "Your fiancé is incredibly lucky to have such a beautiful, clever woman."

The second time he found you alone, you'd been exploring the estate and decided to rest in the garden among the wildflowers. As you raised your face to the summer sun, he made his presence known by clearing his throat, causing you to jump to your feet in surprise.

"Good afternoon, startled rabbit." He chuckled, and you rolled your eyes at him.

"How long have you been standing there?" You warily asked, anxiously adjusting your skirts and brushing the grass from your hair. He cocked his head, studying you, "Long enough to notice that your beauty in parlor candlelight cannot compare to how alluring you are in the light of day."

It was interesting to see him dressed so casually compared to the night before. You wondered what he was still doing at your friend's estate when you knew he had a home of his own. You quickly glanced at her window to see the curtains still closed.

When you boldly asked him if he'd been watching you, something akin to amusement danced across his face, "You like the idea of that? Me watching you?"

"I have a fiancé."

He took a step closer, "That doesn't answer my question."

“You didn’t answer mine.” You countered, looking him square in the eye.

That wasn’t particularly ladylike, and you weren’t sure how anyone would react if they happened upon you and Vronsky standing so close in the garden without a chaperone.

As if reading your mind, he glanced down at your lips, then his eyes fell lower to your bodice. Your engraved gold locket rested on the top of one breast, with your fiancé’s initials glittering under the sun.

“I wasn’t watching you. I was…preoccupied.” His eyes met yours again and you felt like you’d been splashed with icy water. “Your husband—my apologies—your fiancé…he is a man of means? That necklace of yours is exquisite.”

You weren’t stupid. He didn’t care about the necklace. “That is a very inappropriate question to ask.”

“So he is not a man of means.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Who gave you that necklace?”

“Why does it trouble you to know?”

“You deserve a better one.” He murmured. You were unsure if he was still speaking about the jewelry. His fingers ghosted over the exposed skin of your forearm, "I could do that for you. If you wish." You took one large step back and glanced again at your friend’s window to find her watching you both suspiciously.

For the remainder of your stay in Russia, your friend treated you coolly. Though she was kind in private, she wasn't as warm in the company of others. Specifically, in the presence of Count Vronsky who seemed eager to appear more often during your stay and even more eager to get you alone. You reminded yourself that it was a temporary trip, and that you'd be back at your father's estate--and back in your kind fiancé's arms--in no time.

"It's truly fortunate that you're betrothed," your friend said as you gathered your belongings to meet the carriage in the courtyard, "or it'd be a shame to see your name added to the Count's incredibly long list of jilted lovers." There was an edge of bitterness to her tone, but you chose not to bring it up. Instead you marked it as an incredibly odd ending to an otherwise enjoyable trip.

A month later, you nearly fell down the stairs when your father called you down to the foyer to greet his newest client who arrived that morning from Russia. Count Alexei Vronsky bowed as you descended, but you could see the mirth dancing behind his eyes when he righted his posture behind your father's back.

"He says you spoke extensively about my craftsmanship. He felt compelled to come by the shop for his own fitting while he was visiting!" Your father exclaimed merrily, pulling you in for a kiss on the forehead, "My brilliant girl. This will do wonders for us. I knew I could count on you."

Sure, you had spoken highly of you father's tailoring and shoemaking, because as popular as your father was it never hurt to expand the reach of his influence.

That being said, you were sure Vronsky wasn't there for that conversation, and you never continued any form of contact after you departed Russia. You assumed he learned about where you lived through mutual friends. You swore under your breath when your father left you alone to get his sketches from his workshop in the east wing of the estate. Vronsky eyed you briefly, then redirected his interest to the art and artifacts decorating your home. Ever the son born of Russian ice and stoicism, he looked out of place in the warm atmosphere of the home you grew up in.

"Your country is beautiful," he said, arching a dark brow, "a bit too hot for my liking. Though, it is nice to see you in your natural element. I don't think wildflowers like you belong in the comparative cold of a Russian summer."

You felt like you were being tested, but you decided that there wasn't much he could do in the confines of your home. He was, after all, in your territory. Your shoulders relaxed and you chanced a small smile his way, "You'd be surprised to know how resilient I can be."

Surprisingly, he laughed, "I don't think I'd be surprised at all. I know you better than you think I do."

You felt like you'd regret it, but you decided to ask anyway.

"What do you mean by that?"

He began to stroll through the hall of your foyer, pausing every so often to examine a portrait or vase as you trailed behind him.

"You attended your fiancé's nameday feast a few years ago. Of course, he was not your fiancé, then. He was merely your father's apprentice and a quite talented shoemaker from my country who moved and quickly fell in love with...your country." He chuckled to himself at a joke only he seemed to know. "I remember you. I remember that you were an absolute vision in white, and you danced with everyone in the room. Though you were incredibly quiet when you weren't wrapped up in the melody of the orchestra." He glanced over at your confused expression, fighting a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, "Like I said: startled rabbit. Always quiet. Always watching. I remember the way your dress hugged the delicate slope of your shoulders, and the way your necklace caressed your neck. That may have been the first time I craved to exist within the confines of a jeweled pendant. And though I was otherwise...occupied with someone...I do remember the way you consistently laughed when he whispered things to you. A kind gesture, as he's never been that funny."

"So you know him. You were there that night." You whispered, feeling chills running up your arm.

"I was," he shrugged, stopping again at a more recent portrait of you and your father, "as was my duty as his elder brother."

You felt your heart stop in your chest and your brain short circuited. Your fiancé never told you about any siblings, let alone an elder brother. You knew your fiance's father was possibly dead, and that his mother raised him alone in Russia. Was he lying about his life? You weren't sure what was conveyed on your face, but Count Vronsky turned to address you directly.

"My father was not an honorable man. He forbade us from speaking to my half-brother or acknowledging him. Of course, Father is dead now, and God hasn't struck me down for disrespecting the wishes of a dead man. This also isn't the first time I've ever sinned." He grinned widely at you and took a step closer, though you were too shocked to move. "From the minute I saw you, I knew I had to have you. And every time I've seen you since, I regretted not stealing you away for myself."

"That doesn't make any sense..." you murmured, hiding your anxious hands behind your back, "I've never met you before. I'd know. I'd remember."

"You make your presence known at those silly little soirées the ladies have. I never stay for very long, but I've always..." he took another step closer and you realized you'd been backed against a pillar, "I've always noticed you. Dancing. Laughing. Drinking. Sometimes smoking. Does your father know you smoke?"

You glanced down the hall over his shoulder, and in a small voice that surprised you, you whispered, "I don't always do that."

"Mhmm." He reached out to run his warm, slightly calloused fingers along the chain of your necklace, stopping just before the pendant that rested in the valley of your cleavage. Your chest involuntarily heaved, and your knees felt weak, "What other bad things do you 'not always' do?"

You parted your lips to attempt something sharp, but instead you swallowed hard and said, "I'm to be married."

"But you are not married." He was so close, "Do you know how badly I've wanted to come see you since you left?" You could smell the sweet wine of your country on his tongue as he whispered lowly to you, "The thought of his hands on you made me want to abandon all of my obligations to cross the sea. Did you think of me?"

Your gaze fell to his lips, slightly stained red, and then back up into his piercing blue eyes. God, he was beautiful. He caught the action.

"You did."

"I didn't."

"Your eyes betray you, wildflower." His hand grazed your hip above your skirt, and his lips ghosted over your own, "I thought about you every night. I think about how you'd look spread out for me on those expensive sheets your father bought you. Waiting for me. And you're wearing that charming necklace my brother gave you while my tongue is deep in that sweet little--"

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and Vronsky swiftly turned away from you to examine the nearest vase again, as if nothing happened. You hadn't realized that your hands were grasping your skirt in your fists and that you were squeezing your thighs together.

You realized then that it'd been so long since you were last touched.

When your father entered the hall, he shot you a curious look before handing Vronsky his latest sketches.

"Here you go, young man. Let me know if these are to your liking. We can begin as early as tomorrow afternoon."

The blond shot your father a charming smile and bowed graciously, "Thank you for taking the time to help a stranger on such short notice."

The conversation sounded like white noise in your ears as you willed your heart to slow down. Even as you composed yourself and released your skirt from your hands, you still felt out of sorts.

When he turned to you and bowed again, he rose and allowed his eyes to trail down the length of your body.

"Always a pleasure to see you again."

[mariacallous]

The tragedy of New York Mayor Eric Adams, who’s facing a dizzying number of investigations targeting him and his inner circle, was foreseeable. Indeed, it was foreseen. 

“We all know you’ve been investigated for corruption everywhere you’ve gone,” a rival candidate said to the then-Brooklyn borough president during a mayoral debate in 2021. “You’ve achieved the rare trifecta of corruption investigations.”

That didn’t deter Democratic voters, and Adams — an ex-cop and native son of the city who ran on his biography and a promise to restore public safety after crime rates and fears shot up during the pandemic — eked out a victory in the party’s closed primary, which made him a sure thing to be the city’s 110th mayor and just its second Black one. 

nce that was official, Adams proclaimed himself the “future” and the “face of the new Democratic Party.” He also started publicly partying all night at clubs, sometimes with felonious friends, when he wasn’t talking about how God had told him 30 years ago he’d be the mayor in 2022 and should share that good news with the world — something he’d never publicly mentioned before winning the election. 

The new mayor immediately brought in a crew of cronies with sullied records, including a deputy mayor for public safety overseeing the NYPD, Phil Banks, who’d abruptly retired as the chief of department in 2014. 

Banks left that post about a year before it came out that he’d been an unindicted co-conspirator in a case involving two guys who went to prison for bribing the previous mayor. One of them testified they’d treated the police chief to plane trips around the world and the services of a prostitute when they weren’t smoking cigars and storing their diamonds in the chief’s office at One Police Plaza. 

Banks, who’s denied any wrongdoing but says he regrets the association, had his home hit and his phones seized in the FBI’s synchronized early-morning raids last week. Again, he said through an attorney he’s done nothing wrong. 

Those raids, though, are a sign that this new probe is far enough along for prosecutors to go public with it — and get a federal judge to sign off on their concerns that the deputy mayor for public safety and the police commissioner might destroy evidence if given the opportunity. 

Last week’s raids were reportedly distinct from earlier raids of top Adams allies in two previously reported probes being conducted by two different federal prosecutors, who both needed sign-off from Justice Department bosses in Washington, D.C., to go after the mayor of America’s biggest city. 

There’s the ongoing investigation into Adams’ travel and ties to Turkey, along with campaign cash that appears tied to the Turkish government. And the ongoing investigation into Adams’ travels and ties to China, along with campaign cash given through secret donors. The mayor had his cellphone seized by FBI agents last year as part of that case. 

And now two new investigations that appear to be about influence schemes involving Adams’ appointees at the highest levels of his police department and administration steering public money to family members.

In just three years, Adams has bested his old corruption probe trifecta: There are now four separate, though possibly overlapping, federal investigations targeting his inner circle and the mayor himself.

No one has been charged with any wrongdoing in those investigations, and Adams says he always follows the law while asking the public to respect the process and withhold judgment. 

New Yorkers might know more soon, as the feds have already impaneled at least one grand jury. With the city’s primary next June, prosecutors are up against long-standing Justice Department guidelines about not having cases interfere with elections.

But New Yorkers are already rendering a verdict in the court of public opinion. Adams at the end of last year hit the lowest approval rating ever recorded for a New York mayor as voters have been choking on all this smoke, also including the corruption trial of his former buildings commissioner, the guilty pleas from members of a crew including another ex-cop and old friend of the mayor’s for their own straw-donor scheme involving his campaign, and the guilty plea of a Chinese billionaire who also sneaked money into his campaign, as well as those of other American politicians. 

Tim Pearson, another ex-cop and old friend of Adams’ who now runs a shadowy new mayoral oversight agency, also had his phones seized by the FBI last week. Pearson has been accused in multiple civil suits of ruining the career of a police officer who wouldn’t sleep with him and the supervisors who tried to protect her while hunting for “crumbs” of his own from city contracts. Taxpayers are covering his legal bills at the mayor’s behest and over the objections of the city’s former top lawyer, who was then pushed out. 

So many of Adams’ problems seem to involve the gap between his mantra of “stay focused and grind” and his need to swagger and test limits. 

Polling shows New Yorkers still like much of his agenda but don’t like him or how he’s executing it. He keeps repeating “crime is down” but not saying down from when or how much, and the data is mixed and most New Yorkers don’t really believe him. 

It hasn’t helped that Adams’ police department is increasingly unhinged in its public communications, with one reporter at the cop-friendly New York Post getting attacked this week as a “f---ing scumbag” and the official NYPD account even giving me the wannabe Trump-y nickname “Harry ‘Deceitful’ Siegel” earlier this year. 

No wonder Democratic challengers are lining up to take on Adams next year, assuming he’s still there, in what would be the first contested primary against a Democratic incumbent since David Dinkins upset Ed Koch in 1989. 

Asked at a news conference Tuesday what he would do if he were indicted, Adams said he intended to remain as mayor and run for re-election before adding that he wouldn’t engage with hypotheticals.

The tragedy of Eric Adams is that he’s done this to himself.

[ethelcainlvr]

Wicked Game Pt 2 - Armando Aretas

Armando Aretas x Black! OC (Helena)

Part 1

After each fight, he’d sit down at the bar, cuts and scratches littered on his face and arms, discoloring his perfectly tan skin.

They’d exchanged naught but a few words since he popped up three months ago, most of them pertaining to whatever drink he ordered, his low raspy voice sending shivers down her spine all the same.

That all changes one evening.

It’s a few hours before Spades opens for the night. Despite the fact that she’s off for the day, Helena makes her way through a back entrance. She waves to the bartender in her place once she’s inside, along with a few of the dancers she’s come to know, all getting ready for the long night ahead. 

Javier’s “office” (she’s yet to see any work being done) is crowded like usual. His posse is gathered around the pool table, playing, drinking, talking. 

Helena notices him first. His reserved demeanor is a stark contrast to the crew he’s with. 

Helena watches Armando, settled on the arm of a chair right beside Javier. His eyes find hers quickly, as they tend to do, like he can sense her or something. He smiles, raising the bottle of beer to his full lips. 

The sound of her own name breaks Helena out of her trance. Javier’s in front of her all of a sudden, blocking Armando from her view. He’s staring at her expectantly, a question in his furrowed brows, giving Helena the impression she’s completely ignored something he’s said.

“I got what you asked for,” she supplies, taking her best guess. 

In lieu of a response he steps her out with her into the hall. The overlapping chatter and underlying music dim, and they're out of earshot of anyone still in the room.

Javier looks around the empty hallway, then stretches out his hand.

“What did you find?”

Helena places the slim thumb drive in his open palm. 

“Everything you asked for.”

Javier closes his fist around the drive, rubbing his thumb across its surface thoughtfully as he nods, his sharp jaw flexing. 

Helena’s come to know Javier as a relatively quiet man. Most of their conversations are just like this one, consisting of few words and many gestures. 

“Thank you.” His voice is grim when he replies finally.

Helena’s good with computers. In a way that allows her to blur the lines between public and private information.

In places like Spades, to people like Javier, information is invaluable. 

When Helena, a 23 year old grad student, moved to this city, she’d needed money badly. She was more than grateful for the job, but bartending simply didn't cut it, when you factored in school, and the medical expenses her type one diabetes racked up. 

Watching the kind of people that flowed in and out of Spades, from low level drug runners to the most powerful politicians in the state, she’d quickly learned the signs of status, the value of taking in information from all around her, and how and when to use it. 

Javier, with his similar skill of discernment, had quickly taken notice of her, and they soon fell into a simple sort of arrangement. 

Cash, for information. Names, addresses, bank statements, even blueprints like the ones on the flash drive she’d just handed over. The most important part of this arrangement is that, however tempted she may be, she never asked questions, never asked what he needed the information for, who it was going to.

 It kept her from falling in too deep, allowed her to keep what she did at this club in a small compartment of her life, kept her from having to ask herself the tough question of what exactly she’d be willing to do for money.

“He workin’ for you now?” 

It’s likely the reason, when she asks this, Javier stops in his tracks and shoots her a quizzical look.

Helena has been around long enough to have somewhat of an understanding of how Javier operates. He keeps his inner circle tight, and from the looks of things, Armando has managed his way in, in just a few short weeks. She tries to convince herself this is the extent of her curiosity, but Helena doesn’t need to turn her head to know Armando is staring, she never does, and she’s felt his eyes on her for weeks. She wants to know why exactly he’s so interested in her.

 She nods subtly in his direction for Javier’s benefit.

He glances inside, following her lead. 

“Something like that.” He replies, as cryptic and dismissive as ever.  

Helena takes him turning away as a sign the conversation is over and despite the fact that her question remains unanswered, she turns to do the same. She should have known better than to expect a straightforward answer from Javier.  

She’s all the way by her car, after stopping to grab some things from her locker when she stops in her tracks. 

There’s no reason, scientifically at least, that you should be able to feel someone looking at you. 

And yet, inexplicably, when she turns around he’s there.  

Leaning against the back wall of the bar, arms crossed over his chest. 

There’s a beat. Just a moment of the two of them watching each other. Then he stands, nods to the right, and steps out of the light, gradually disappearing in shadow of the rapidly disappearing sun.

She waits until the curiosity overcomes her, before she follows him into the quickly expanding dark. 

[irvingcoded]

freed some rambling litving thoughts from earlier off my priv and figured i might as well share them here as well... (transcribed below the read more + cleaned up slightly for readability!)

something about the li(t)ving dynamic to me is just so... LIKE jirv is probably one of the very few people on either ship who unreservedly seems to respect and value little's leadership and instincts (the amount of times the two of them exchange Significant Eye Contact alone...!) , probably in a big part because it seemed as if crozier during that period of time mostly relayed any real info/orders thru his inner circle which, of the lieutenants, only really included little (& jopson of course). compare that to how we mostly saw hodge & irv getting tasked with gruntwork and relatively simple errand boy tasks while little otoh regularly got shouldered with 3 lieuts worth of responsibility instead, INCLUDING having to basically be hodgson & irving's de facto command in lieu of crozier ever communicating much with either them directly or trusting them with tasks they'd absolutely have been capable of.

so anyway yes, imo jirv would very likely follow him anywhere if it came down to it. and as a ship i am always Thinking About like... sub top little and jirv very gently domming him by just being very nice to him and telling him how handsome and special and good he is, but also taking over the decision making if/when little is too stressed to focus... but at the same time still trynna encourage him to express what he wants and what he's thinking (yes yes, pot meet kettle etc) because maybe other people don't really listen to him or take him seriously enough but jirv does...

(& then also the reverse too because little is surely more aware than anyone that's kind of how crozier(/command in general) treats hodgson and jirving for most of the expedition as well)

AND YES MOST OF THIS CAN SIMILARLY APPLY TO ANY COMBINATION OF LIEUTENANTCULE TBH but thats why they're so great...!! they definitely share some overlapping weaknesses here and there, but put the 3 of them (or even just any 2 of them!) together and they balance each other out almost perfectly because when one of them is struggling then the other(s) can and usually will step up to compensate

[mafaldaknows]

Forgot to add:

[talonabraxas]

The Flower of Life

There really is some deep rooted symbolism behind this captivating image. Some say it’s representative of the union of the sacred Masculine and the Divine Feminine, the connectedness of all living things, and others see it as the cycle of life, death and rebirth. Let’s explore the depths of the topic.

Origins & Symbolism The origins of the Flower of Life trace back to the dawn of civilisation, where it is believed to have emerged as a symbol of cosmic order and divine harmony. Its precise origins are shrouded in mystery, with some attributing its creation to ancient cultures such as the Egyptians, where it was found in the temple of Osiris and said to contain a ‘secret code’ (underpinning the basic building blocks of the universe), and also the Sumerians, and the Greeks.

At its core, the Flower of Life is composed of multiple evenly-spaced, overlapping circles, forming a mesmerising geometric pattern reminiscent of a flower in full bloom. Within this pattern lies a myriad of geometric shapes, including triangles, hexagons, and pentagons, each imbued with its own symbolic significance.

The Flower of Life is often associated with sacred geometry, a branch of mathematics concerned with the study of geometric forms and their spiritual, philosophical, and symbolic meanings. It is believed to represent the interconnectedness of all living beings, the fundamental unity of existence, and the underlying order of the universe.

Spiritual Significance In spiritual traditions around the world, the Flower of Life holds profound significance as a symbol of creation and interconnectedness. It is often regarded as a visual representation of the divine blueprint of the cosmos, with each circle representing a stage in the process of creation.

Within the Flower of Life, one can find various sacred symbols, including the Seed of Life, the Tree of Life, all 7 Chakra systems, and the Metatron's Cube, each carrying its own symbolic meaning and spiritual power. These symbols are believed to hold the keys to unlocking higher states of consciousness, facilitating spiritual growth, and connecting with the universal source of energy and wisdom.

Healing & Transformation Beyond its spiritual significance, the Flower of Life is also associated with healing and transformation. It is believed that meditating upon the pattern of the Flower of Life can help to harmonise the mind, body, and spirit, promoting health, balance, and inner peace.

In recent years, the Flower of Life has experienced a resurgence in popularity, with many people incorporating its imagery into their spiritual practices, artwork, and jewellery. Its intricate beauty and profound symbolism continue to inspire awe and fascination, serving as a potent reminder of the interconnectedness of all things and the infinite possibilities that lie within the universe.

Modern Interpretations In the modern era, scientists, mathematicians, and artists have continued to explore the mysteries of the Flower of Life, uncovering new insights into its geometric properties and mathematical significance. Through computer simulations and mathematical algorithms, researchers have gained a deeper understanding of the complex patterns and symmetries inherent in the Flower of Life, shedding light on its underlying principles of order and harmony.

Furthermore, the Flower of Life has found its way into various fields beyond spirituality and art, including architecture, design, and technology. Its geometric principles have been applied in the construction of sacred buildings, the development of advanced engineering techniques, and the design of innovative products and structures.

The Flower of Life: Mysteries of Sacred Geometry:

[statistically-spencer]

Fortunate Dream PT. 2

Summary: Your dream of joining the BAU was becoming more and more real. How will you handle sharing a private jet with your favorite characters?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader (eventual), BAU members x reader(platonic)

A/N: Sorry for the long wait on this one! I finished Calculus 1 in 4-weeks while also being in a musical so I ran out of time there for a bit. Enjoy!

w/c; 783

Part 1 here

As confused as you were, you were having a great time experiencing the relationship that dream-you had with the members of the BAU. Everyone seemed to like you just fine.

On the jet, you found a place to sit in the window seat on the opposite side of the isle, where Derek sat, leaving an empty seat next to yourself. Derek gave you an assuring smile. You wondered how many traits that you, and this version of you had that overlapped. Did the team know about your fear of flying? Did they know about your raging crush on Dr. Spencer Reid? Did they know that you had absolutely no idea what you were doing and that you totally should not be there right now?? 

Glancing up, you made eye contact with Spencer, who seemed to be walking suspiciously close to your row.

Oh.

You tried to act natural as he took a seat next to you. 

You didn’t have to act natural for long, though, because in an instant the jet began to roll forward, faster and faster.

You swallowed deeply.

“Are you okay, Y/n? I know you never like flying but you seem like something is really off.”

“No, I’m okay.” You lied, “I’m just... I just didn’t sleep much last night and I’m really tired.”

“Oh, well you know, there’s no need to worry about turbulence. If anything, we should really be concerned about-”

“Spencer, no offense, but if you’re about to tell me about how what we should really be concerned about is the onset of a thunderstorm, contributing to the possibility of microbursts, I’d rather not hear it.”

You heard a chuckle and looked up to see Derek standing next to you. 

“Oooh, she’s got you figured out, Reid. Better be careful.”

You blushed. You were only remembering something Spencer had said in an episode of Criminal Minds. Had that episode happened yet in this timeline? 

“Oh no... I was just... I just don’t need to be any more freaked out than I already am right now.” You cleared your throat. 

Spencer smiled at you, “We’ll be fine.”

You were trying to think of something to say to the man. Anything. This was your chance to talk to the love of your life and you were drawing a blank. You couldn’t think of one clever thing to say to him. You just kept looking up at him, and whenever you looked, it seemed like he was looking, too. Which was probably a good sign, right? Instead, it was mostly silent. With you making the occasional attempt to look fine whenever there was turbulence. 

In the midst of everything, you forgot that you were, for the time being at least, a real FBI agent. And, you were in fact, actually dealing with criminals. However, those facts became extremely apparent when Garcia phoned in with details about the case. 

It was hard to focus when Spencer was sitting next to you the entire time. Being so real. So cute. So... Good smelling somehow. 

“-Well, we know hardly anything about the suspect.”

If you had been in a laughing mood after hearing all of the gruesome details of the case, you would’ve laughed at Emily’s statement.

“Male. Thirty-five-”

You froze, realizing that you and Spencer were saying the same thing.

“...Keeps within his inner circle.” You finished, looking Reid up and down slowly.

A quick glance around the jet told you that this was not an uncommon event. In fact, the knowing looks that were being shared by the rest of the team said quite the opposite.

Spencer blinked, trying to come up with more information.

“Also he definitely has children.”

“Obviously.” You blinked, looking around.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

Luckily, the look on Spencer’s face wasn’t disgust like you expected. He looked... Proud? Happy?

Wait a minute. You were so caught up in information about the case that you didn’t stop to wonder how you came to that conclusion. Was that normal for you? Were you also a super genius? Perhaps. It was highly plausible, now that you were thinking about it. You were obviously young like Spencer was. Why else would you be on the team at that age? Huh. You liked being smart. It was cool.

“We’ll need to split up upon arrival-” Hotch interrupted your thoughts, “Prentiss you’ll be with Morgan, you’ll share a room at the hotel as well. And Y/L/N, you and Reid will be staying in the other room.”

Oh.

You stole a quick glance at Spencer. The over-confidence you had both been showing had disappeared in an instant.

“You got it, boss.” You tightened your lips.

Why would you say that?

[finsandflintlocks]

Name: Fins & Flintlocks (FiLo)

Started: November 23rd, 2024

Type: Speculative Fiction, Adventure

Pages: N/A

Summary: Two fish, a dog, and a boy—sounds like the setup to a bad joke, right? Welcome aboard the WestBound Nautical Trading Company, where the lower ranks of the crew—Quartermaster Jean-Samuel Dubois, Technician/Assistant Cook Ludwig Bauer, and Deckhand Idris Bashar—are just trying their best not to sink the ship. With wildly different motivations and personal baggage, they scramble to keep the ship afloat while their reserved, often troubled Captain, Delmor Boucher, grapples with his own mental and physical battles. Together, they navigate the dangerous waters of trade, rivalry, and adventure, all while circling the globe, one chaotic mission at a time. Can they survive the madness, or will they sink trying?

---

Overview:

In this world, all races are collectively considered to be under the classification of “human,” even if they do not appear traditionally human on an individual level. Their distinct forms and ways of life do not make them monsters but simply variations of humanity. They share the same intelligence, emotional depth, and societal complexity. The central conflict revolves around differing racial ideologies, technological advancements, and the occasional manipulation of these societies by powerful individuals.

The world and universe of Fins & Flintlocks began as a Minecraft-inspired setting known as "Brass & Dust" but evolved into its own unique creation, offering greater creative freedom. While it still holds subtle influences from Minecraft, it has transformed into an entirely original setting.

---

Racial Classification and Lifespans

Tall-Men (80): Tall-Men are the standard human race, widespread along with the others across various regions with diverse cultures and societies.

Harpies (80): Harpies are winged humans with feathers all over and talons for feet, often perceived as delicate for their hollow bones, which they have to achieve flight.

Lupinites (80): Lupinites are wolf-like humans with fur, claws, and tails, They are unique in where men and women are indistinguishable from one another, both having facial hair similar to beards or moustaches.

Gillborns (80): Gillborns are humans with fish-like features, such as gills and long tails, living near land where water stretches for about 50 miles.

Serpentfolk (600): Serpentfolk are humans with snake-like lower bodies, long lifespans of up to 600 years, and a deep connection to ancient wisdom. They are distinct by their long, slender necks, and lighter colours in the inner sections of their hair.

Sirens (600): Sirens are humans with fish-like lower bodies, known for their mesmerizing voices and enchanting beauty. living up to 600 years.

---

Lifespan Dynamics and UAM

The lifespan of each race influences its societal development, priorities, and role in the world of Fins & Flintlocks. Cultures with average lifespans (80–100 years) are characterized by steady progress, innovation, and generational overlap. In contrast, long-lived races (200–600 years) are deeply entrenched in their traditions, often slow to innovate but acting as custodians of ancient knowledge. Along with being the races with the smallest population, these long-lived races are deeply rooted in history, and their societies change extremely slowly, usually only in response to external pressures.

The Universal Age Measurement (UAM) system standardizes the measurement of age across different races, accounting for their varying lifespans. This system ensures that societal expectations and maturity are accurately portrayed.

Formula

Assuming the human lifespan is of 80 years as a basis:

Human Age = (Characters Actual Age/ Race Lifespan) × 80

Nonhuman age = (Human Age / Conventional Lifespan) x Race's Lifespan

---

Magic & Alchemy:

In Fins & Flintlocks, magic as it is typically known in fantasy settings doesn’t exist. Instead, magic is tied to rare phenomena, artifacts, or forbidden knowledge that produces effects mimicking magic. There are no widespread magic users, and individuals who claim to wield magic are either frauds or rely on extremely rare or dangerous means to produce what might appear as magical effects.

The closest "equivalent" to magic-users would be potion makers or alchemists, who can brew potions using ingredients from the world around them. Potions are limited in power, with effects that are typically mild unless rare ingredients are used. Their usage is on the decline due to the scarcity of necessary materials, and modern medicine has taken over much of their role.

---

[a-ladyman-in-waiting]

Ceramics Vase!!

I've kept this project on the back burner for quite some time because I didn't want to showcase the mess that was the vase prior to painting.

Plus, I didn't keep a good track of it...

Lore below

The ceramics professors taught the class how to start making a vase, where she first demonstrated using a large metal roller to flatten a large clay pile into a flat slab.

However, the clay pile that I picked up had a tear near the inside, where I struggled to cut a decent circle on top of a turn-table thing. The misalignment forced me to redo it once.

Next up, the professor rolled up a thick piece of clay into a relatively thick string of clay. She wrapped the clay around the circular base and overlapped one end over the other. She then cut into the top end into the bottom end to link the two cut ends together. The professor called them coils, or coil.

I struggled so much with making them and it didn’t help that I was arriving pretty late.

The professor also demonstrated how to properly stick the coils together; she gently pulled pieces of clay downward from the inner side with the tips of her fingers on one hand, while she supported the overall shape with the other. (It’s to prevent the coil from moving around).

Sticking coils together with the tip of my fingers was a tedious process where my hands were uncomfortable.

—

At some point in the class, the professor introduced us to the process of widening the vase by wrapping longer coils on the outer side of the previous smoothed out coils.

It was at this point that my vase turned out to be asymmetrical in shape. My coils were inconsistent because I had very little space on the table that I worked in.

But the main reason as to why my vase was asymmetrical was because I continued to struggle with rolling coils, as they clumped into flat shapes and dried up from overuse.

But I had to press on, especially since I made the rookie mistake of making the thing as wide as possible. The professor had to help me carefully shape it into an upward curve to prevent it from falling apart.

—

Not gonna lie, I was stuck with this shape for a long while. Plus, I had to make a side project where I cut a shape into a slab. Hexagonal plate/bowl 😎

Occasionally, I worked on it as much as I could within the next week.

—

Now I don’t have an image for the final shape because I didn’t take a picture of it.

I managed to shape it past 9 inches of height, but before I could paint on it, I had to smooth it out.

I spent minutes flattening out bumps and smoothing out grooves, often going over the same spot more than once.

Once I was done, I made a quick sketch of the vase decorated by clouds and a moon on the large part and a city on the small part.

I then colored the night sky, dark blue.

With only an hour or so left, I started painting the scene on the vase. I started by applying blue paint on the top, making sure to cover enough of the area, then I added white on the bottom.

But once I started painting simple clouds and a moon, it was weird at first.

—

Then I painted the black skyscrapers on the white bottom.

But as I painting the clouds, a familiar painting habit reawakened, a habit that allowed me to define the volume and space of a subject.

I borrowed grey paint and defined the shadows, gave depth to city, and then applied excess black paint to the buildings before I gently painted the clouds to give them most volume in their respective space.

Once, I was nearly done, I placed little ‘yellow’ stars (yellow paint didn’t show yellow tho).

Then another idea struck me, ‘this reminds me of my old art’, so I drew a silhouette of Madeline and then carefully painted her silhouette on the clouds.

After a few finishing touches, I had finally done it, I painted a scene.

It received a bunch of compliments from the other classmates and the professor.

For now, I pray that the vase will survive the kiln and not explode.

[papikyoo]

(Same with the latest anonymous discussion) There's no need to be sorry! My gf and I approached fandom with our personal experiences and then somehow developed a connection to its story TOO MUCH but It's fun this way tho who cares?

100% agree at first, I didn't understand him but my gf, who loved Falin, tried to unpack Kabru's persona for me. And I just 'Oh...' sounds like this mf doesn't has anyone like his truest friend (with Rin is totally diff, he's a guy GUY towards her so much...poor Rin) and now I love this character so much. Mind you, the only thing I can relate to Kabru is the control freak?????? part of him too??????

One last thing before I shut up lol do you have any other fav  duo/trio dynamic in this series which no romantic feeling between them? I thought Falin-Kabru's interaction would be fun. The way they treat people around them very well but also have something they're gatekeeping for themselves with their priority connection or their ideal relationship or Rin-Shuro they'd be embarrassed to see themselves in each other lmaooo

Also, hope everything is going well for you and your gf!

My exact same thoughts lmaooo after I read all his interactions with his own party... I'm like... "damn this guy is so friendless", my gf also said so. yeah, we can say he doesn't have a "true friend".

It's not like he doesn't have a rich social life, he has meaningful relationships with many people. He's just judgemental and distrustful, you can see in his relationship chart.

People always say something about Mithrun's relationship chart, "he only sees his own party members for their practical use." My guy, so is Kabru. His opinions of them are mostly "neutral" as he put them in a stereotype, sorting them into a box based on interactions and impressions. these answers are also kind of distant, like something he'd answer without actually thinking lol (like, Awwww rin :-) , Dia's cute, Holm is a spirit guy, Mickbell is a bitch, well Kuro is... a kobold)

and it's so funny, because yes he cares about them, he just don't think they'd understand him deeply so he put a distance between them, he's already decided how trustworthy these people are. But don't mistake that for him not being genuine, that's who he is when he's having fun, he just have a specific use of different friend circles. The party also knows him well as there's already a joke that they go "this fake ass bitch" every time they see Kabru approach strangers. At the end of the day, Kabru just don't think these people are really for him in a sense that he'd share his inner world to them.

Back to the question, I have a lot of other fav platonic dynamics in this series. So true... Falin-Kabru / Rin-Shuro would be so interesting to see. it's a shame that we don't get to see much about Falin, because yes she also has a rich intimate personality and values that she only keeps them to herself, so I really like her conclusion. I think Falin and Kabru can have a deep understanding talk with each other but they won't keep each other in their close friends list lol... Like, having that one talk and go back to your friend circles which don't overlap, that's beautiful...

one of my favorite platonic dynamics are Pattadol and Mithrun... and my gf once said that Mithrun has more friends than Kabru and that's so true lmao, I like that Pattadol genuinely cares about him that she cries when Mithrun is moving again and he also seems to like spending time with her in the modern AU. I also like Hien and Benichidori's interaction in the extras although it's a shame that we don't see much of Toshiro's party.

I also think Marcille and Kabru would be a great entertaining workplace friendship.

Actually, I think a lot about Kabru-Rin, I really like their relationship... Kabru is protective of her, she's one of the plot points which Kabru takes a duty to ensure safety to people he cares, it was assigned to him since he's a kid that he must comfort her. she is his first girl friend, so yeah I think he doesn't know better and he's immature towards her lol. imo Rin affected who Kabru is as a person, it's a meaningful relationship to him. but then I don't want to overestimate their romantic feeling because it's like... something that's already established to both of them that this is how it is and Rin knows it. She's also protective, she's very worried about him, the nagging comes from her own self preservation. and with someone like Kabru, that can make him feel trapped. He's stubborn in his own way and only listens when there is a reasoning presented to him. (like how Mithrun reflects to him that telling his story to Laios wouldn't work.) So like, yeah I think if they mature enough in the future, they can be a family to each other or drift apart to have their own life...

I'm yapping so muchh lol, thank you for the ask, I hope things are good to both you and your gf too! :D have a nice day