#new to criminal minds tumbler

[neverendingford]

.

[ominouspuff]

Kote’s House

Kote’s first house is a pathetic thing, and he is incurably proud of it. The twi’lek he purchased it from very evidently could not make up his mind what to do with a man that grinned while he haggled, but it was the first time Kote had haggled over a purchase of his very own. He had thoroughly enjoyed it.

The house is built for one being, and a compact being at that, but Kote doesn’t have much. Moving in is quick, and most of his efforts during the next few days after go into attempting ambitious repairs for things he doesn’t know the first thing about. 

His plumbing is an issue, he knows. Something is getting blocked up. Somehow while trying to fix the kitchen tumbler, his fresher spout explodes.

He hadn’t kept his new house a secret from anyone by any means, but it is still surprising when Fox barges in through his jamming front door. He finds Kote on the floor in his cramped kitchen while the fresher rains water in the adjacent room, laughing so hard and so crippled with delight that he can’t get up.

He tries to explain how wonderful it is —

“I-I have to fix my plumbing on my own, vod—”

—but judging by Fox’s single raised eyebrow he knows it doesn’t translate.

Fox, it turns out, is moving into the neighborhood. Kote doesn’t ask about the house Fox already has — the house he has visited, which is very nice and fancy — or point out that Fox’s contract there cannot possibly be up, which begs the question of why he’s here in Kote’s neighborhood — except that Kote already knows the answer to that question. So he doesn’t ask.

Fox doesn’t show him any grace or forbearance, though.

“Don’t even know how to fix a damn pipe, front lining show-off—” His brother snarls, but it is muffled; his top half had to go down beneath the floor they’d pried up to get at the plumbing issue.

“So that’s what they had you doing all these years.” Kote says, because he really is in a criminally good mood. He barely ducks the foot-long pipe Fox throws at his head, feeling giddy.

He makes dinner that night in thanks. Fox stays, ostensibly because now that he’s fixed the fresher he intends to use it, because his new house isn’t hooked up properly yet to all the supply lines and power grids. 

They choke on homemade tiingilar (vode-style; Kote can’t pretend at the real thing yet) so heavily spiced it’s got grit to it that sticks between the teeth. It’s disgusting, but Cody had bought fifteen different spices and while usually he likes to keep his approach to the unknown more cautious, more methodical, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do more than use them all at once for the first time. 

Wolffe joins them not long after; brings a few others along by recommending the apartment he picks out, so that soon most of the complex is taken up by vode, Kote hears, but he doesn’t visit yet. Everyone’s too busy coming over to his house, it seems; filling up his kitchen and asking why he hasn’t fixed the trash disposal yet, why he doesn’t have a couch, doesn’t he know they’re all the rage among civilized folk?

Kote fixes the trash disposal with Rex, who is better at it than he is but says it’s only due to Skywalker’s influence on managing all things mechanical. 

“How is Skywalker?” Kote asks, and gets more than he bargained for over the next hour. At first he’s a bit off-put, because he’s trying to get dinner sorted again and he’s not been very fond of Skywalker at the best of times, but Rex is snorting out a story and laughing and it’s contagious, so Kote just resigns himself and settles in to enjoy.

Skywalker has little ones, now. Obi-Wan is the only one that can get them to sleep. Ahsoka is distressed; she knows better, but every instinct in her is apparently in agony over the little ones’ inability to eat meat yet. She obsesses over nutrients in their diet — which, given what tiny natborn humans primarily ingest in the early stages, makes for some slightly awkward conversations.

Rex helps with dinner afterward, and they take turns being incredulous over natborn baby facts, shoving around one another in the tiny, uncomfortable kitchen.

“What’s your next project?” Rex asks at one point, glancing sidelong with a cheeky look, and Kote levels his vegetable knife at him (he’s got a vegetable knife. Specifically for vegetables. It’s a very new concept). 

“I make everyone’s dinner on Tuangsdays.” He says. “I’m productive.”

Rex’s sharp-toothed grin turns thoughtful. “Yeah” He says. “Everyone loves coming here, you know. You could be the new 79’s.”

Kote knows. He plans and plots, and puts more work into researching recipes than he’s put into any research whatsoever in months. It feels a bit like coming out of a shore leave; his thoughts quicken and his excitement grows. He hunts down a market. He brings a bag. He shops, bargains, and returns victorious.

He sends out a few comms., and can’t help but shake his head and grin at how different the responses are. 

What a marvelous idea, Cody. His general — ex-general — says.

Yus pls, Ahsoka sends back, with some sort of strange tooka vidclip that dances with wiggly gyrations Kote can only assume indicate excitement.

Where is your house, Anakin says, blunt and to the point, and Kote can appreciate that. 

He sends the address. He cooks all day. The sun sets, and Fox and Wolffe arrive, already bickering, Rex trailing behind with a long-suffering look sent to Kote, begging commiseration.

“Ugh, don’t you ever stop smiling, now?” He gripes when Kote just grins at him. 

“Nope,” Kote says, unrepentantly.

He leaves the soup on the stove, simmering, and takes his cup of caf to the window. He leans on it, breathing in cool air, and just listens — listens to the squabbling as Wolffe gets on Fox’s case for not washing Kote’s dishes correctly the last time they visited. Hears the soft thumps of Rex sneaking into the cramped room Kote has set aside for plants and the sole pet he has; a pastel goullian, fins swaying ever so gently, permanent scowl in place. Thinks he catches, distantly, the sound of his remaining three guests (Padme couldn’t attend, and had made him feel very awkward by how thoughtfully she apologized for it) plodding up the hill. 

��Cody!” Ahsoka cries, coming into view and waving. 

Kote’s cheeks have stopped aching from all the smiling he’s gotten used to, so it’s easy to let another through.

[demonicbaby666]

hi pookie🥰 any chance you’d write a fic where fem!r has never had an orgasm and Emily thinks she can change that?!

Never Have I Ever

One shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Words: 2.9k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, oral sex, fingering (r!receiving), top!Emily, bottom!reader, reader is also a bit yapper, there's like the tiniest bit of fluff if you squint at the end

Summary: A history shadowed by unfulfillment and shortcomings in the bedroom was an unfortunate reality for you. It was why one night, when you found yourself alone at a bar at the centre of a certain stranger's attention, it didn't seem so outlandish to give something new a try.

A/n: She's backkkkkk! and probably not gonna post for another month UwU... Also, thank you as always to the lovely, amazing @hotchscvm for reading it through and giving me live reactions MWAH <3

The music, that’s what you remember: the sound of smooth saxophones, sweet piano chords and the occasional tick of a snare drum. It played perfectly in your ears as you sat alone at a local bar, nursing an exceptionally balanced martini on that sublime Friday evening. The weather was pleasant, and the previous company was friendly after a tiresome day—interesting enough to engage you but casual enough not to exhaust you. And it all ended with the quiet buzzing of a vacated table and an inviting presence beckoning you to the bar. 

End the night at an appropriate time, take an Uber home and perhaps dodge a frightful hangover or walk over to the exceedingly beautiful brunette sitting alone, get close enough to her lips to smell the rich whiskey that was being lazy swirled around in her tumbler, and perhaps taste the sharpness of the distilled grain on her tongue? It was your decision to make. 

Her eyes, the bitter shade of coffee, sweetly called for your attention, flickering to and from the empty seat beside her. It was not so much a command as it was a challenge. The playful glint in her eyes told you as much. She studied you with piqued interest that was far from unwelcome and filled your stomach with a reverent fire you had not experienced in quite some time. You ached for more.

Mind made up, you grabbed your drink, slung your purse strap over your shoulder, and walked over to this enticing stranger. And as you did so, you took care in matching the sway of your hips to the lulling melody of a saxophone, enjoying the view of the brunette’s pink tongue peeking out to wet her lips. The fire in your stomach roared.

You set your drink down and slid onto the bar stool, noting how you were observed. It was neither clinical nor invasive. It was more inquisitive. Like the older woman was trying to figure you out without so much as asking you a question, and honestly, with how her eyes squinted and her lips curled ever so slightly at the edges, you believed she might already have you read. 

It was nothing short of intimidating to feel so bare whilst completely clothed, well completely clothed with a generous helping of cleavage. There was an itch to be on evening footing with this illustrious stranger, enough to start a dangerous game. 

“Never have I ever…” you purred. 

The game was well received, and you found that Emily, you discovered was her name, was rather bold. She didn’t shy away from any question you threw her way. If anything, they seemed to amuse her. By the time she’d come to ask you the question that turned the evening’s tide, Emily was coming close to needing a third drink. 

“Never have I ever slept with a woman,” she said, her gaze so attentive it was almost unnerving to leave your drink untouched. 

She was disappointed. You saw it in her eyes, in the way she threw her head back to down the remainder of her whiskey. You knew she wasn’t grimacing from the burn. No, the ice had melted a long time ago and watered down the rich liquor. The lines of displeasure around her mouth came from realising the evening was probably all for nothing, that she should have gone home instead of trying to find stress relief in the bed of another stranger. 

“It’s not that I haven't wanted to,” you began, trying to find the confidence to continue in her shifting expression. “I’ve never really had the chance.” 

Emily wasn’t giving you anything, and unfortunately, in an effort to drive away the awkward silence, you kept talking. “I find women attractive, and god knows I imagine it.” Blabbering was more appropriate. “Not in a weird way. I mean, is there not a weird way? What I mean is I seem to attract men, specifically ones with an aversion to loyalty, which is crazy as none of them could get me to,” You cut yourself off, far too embarrassed to even look the older woman across you in the eyes. “Please say something before I dig a hole deep enough to bury myself alive in.” 

“No.” Emily drawled, suddenly glowing with a newfound sense of purpose. “I want you to finish. What could they never do?” 

You looked up at her wide eyes, then carefully around the bar as if one of your aforementioned exes was hiding in plain sight. 

You muttered, “Can’t you put two and two together?” 

“Oh, I can. I’m just desperate to hear you say it.” 

Did you want to answer? No. But there was something niggling away at you—the feeling that this woman would not let this go. She seemed like the determined type. 

“Fine,” you huffed, looking down at your drink, using your straw to stir the clear beverage. It was painfully obvious you were avoiding Emily’s eyes, but you couldn’t care less. “None of them could make me cum.” 

There was another bout of silence, stretching long enough for your cheeks to turn to fire. You took small sips of your drink, trying to occupy your mouth before you started blithering on again.

“I could change that.” 

Your head snapped up.

“What?” You asked, winded, slightly dazed, and mildly alarmed that if you had swallowed a second later than you did, you’d probably have spewed your drink all over yourself and Emily.

“Never have I ever let a stranger give me my first orgasm.” And the way her eclipsed eyes twinkled under the overhead light left no doubt in your mind that Emily had found a goal for the night, one she would not easily let go of. 

“Okay,” you whispered. 

—

Leaving the bar together, standing side by side in the chilly evening breeze, Emily took out her phone. One sideward glance told her all she needed to know. Your hands were clasped together, fingers desperately grasping at the sides of your trousers. Your jaw slung to the side as your teeth gnawed the sides of your mouth. Your eyes followed every moving vehicle that sped past, though Emily suspected you didn’t see much of anything beyond the subject that seemed to plague your mind. That’s when the older woman passed her phone over to you.

You shot her a puzzled look, to which she simply rolled her eyes teasingly enough to colour your cheeks rouge. Apparently, it was obvious what she wanted from you, though you seemed to miss the memo completely and continued to stare blankly at the lit screen. 

“You’ll be more comfortable somewhere familiar,” Emily wittingly sighed. 

A meagre ‘oh’ was your only response, that and finally taking the phone from Emily’s outstretched hand and entering your address into the blinking search bar. When you handed it back, you didn’t miss the humoured smirk on her face or the little shake of her head as she slid her phone into her back pocket and looped an arm around your waist. 

As it turned out, Emily was right. The moment you stepped into your apartment, your anxieties did not disappear but did lessen. The excitement of your predicament bubbled in your stomach, no longer masked by nausea, excitement that only grew with each kiss Emily placed on the back of your neck. 

It felt a bit like being young again, staying out past curfew, playing tag with friends and toppling over one another in and among all the excitement. Hell, you almost did fall over on the way to the bedroom, laughing and wrangling with your trousers until Emily calmed you, dropping to her knees and pressing light kisses along the outskirts of your thighs. She helped you out of your pants, making no effort to get back up. Instead, she continued to map both your legs with her hands, kissing up and down and occasionally marking the spots she found you most responsive to. 

“Lay back on the bed,” Emily instructed, finally standing up. 

Despite spending the last year of your life in that bedroom, you couldn’t quite remember anything. Not where your wardrobe was, not where your bedside table was, and not where the end of your bed started. That’s why when you greedily tried to continue to kiss Emily, walking back, you completely misjudged the distance between the back of your knees and the edge of your mattress and went tumbling back. 

It would have been slightly mortifying had the look on the older woman's face been anything less than thoroughly amused as she followed you onto the bed. You met her eyes with a shy smile, in contrast to your brave hands that led her to your breasts. Once there, Emily squeezed and kneaded them till you were sure you’d go mad if you didn’t feel her touch directly against your skin. The older woman seemed to have the same thought, with fingers at the bottom of your shirt pulling it up and up and up till she had to break away to remove it. 

Then there you were, in your bed, in only your bra and underwear, a stranger above you admiring the contours and curves of your body. What you expected was that uneasy feeling deep in your stomach, which people usually get should they find themselves in a position in which they are singled out, like a deer caught in headlights. Instead, what you felt had a stark resemblance to waiting in line for a ride. There was, of course, some unease churning in your stomach, a sprinkle of fright hastening your heart, but unsurprisingly, excitement seemed to be the dominant emotion. It bubbled away in your chest, rumbled low in your tummy, left your head dizzy, and it was perfect. 

You were smiling like an idiot by the time your senses came back to you. A moment short-lived and stolen away when Emily decided it was time to do away with her clothes, ridding herself of them piece by piece till she too was left in only her bra and underwear. 

She was perfect, from head to toe, pure perfection that it became a challenge to find something to settle your eyes on. There were her shoulders, toned and balmy, begging to be touched; her breast, firm yet soft like silk, demanding to be kissed; there was her heat, hot against your thigh with only a piece of lace shielding her arousal from wetting your skin. It was a new sensation, but not an unwelcome one, and as if possessed by the need for more, you latched onto her ass, pushing her firmly against you and tasting her tongue as her mouth fell open in a silent gasp. 

Emboldened, you raised your thigh, pressing it to the growing wet patch of Emily’s underwear. You relished the small moan that came from the older woman, how it echoed into your throat, but that was as far as you were allowed to press before control was seized from your grasp, quite literally. In a flurry, you found your wrists pinned beside your head, Emily sitting up above you, smiling like a Cheshire cat, though you were not oblivious to the rapid rise and fall of her recovering lungs. 

She took a moment to gather herself, letting her eyes wander over your body. The brown pools of her irises had eclipsed black with lust, forcing a whole-bodied shudder to traipse down your spine. She looked hungry, needy, and determined. 

The pressure eased over your wrists, and you were given a look that told you enough not to move but instead observe Emily freeing her breasts from the shackles of her bra. And that you did. You watched, enraptured, breathless and in awe, and said nothing when she leaned down to reach behind your back. With practised ease, she pulled your bra from your arms, tossing it to the floor and turning back to give attention to your air-kissed nipples. Her teeth played around one pebbled tit whilst her fingers taunted the other. 

Foreplay was something you had experienced, but Emily was taking the trophy home for stretching it out to perfection. Already, you could feel the beginnings of your arousal slick between your thighs. There wasn’t a second where her touch left you as she wormed her way down your torso, her fingers tickling the sides of your belly, the underside of your breast, her mouth insistent on kissing every inch of your skin. Her warmth surrounded you like a blanket. 

Eventually, when she reached low enough to come face to face with your panties, did she raise her eyes to your own and ask without so many words to remove the last barrier standing between her mouth and your waiting sex. 

“Never have I ever let someone go down on me.” 

She waited for your nod of approval, small as it was, to peel the soaked panties down your legs. 

There was a moment’s pause when the evening air of your bedroom kissed your tender flesh, forcing the emergence of a little gasp to leave your throat. The inhalation and pleased sigh that came from between your legs beckoned your attention, but there was nothing to do but throw your head back when cold was replaced by warmth—the tickle of Emily’s breath and the tip of her tongue slipping between your sex. 

Bated breaths were all you knew. Breaths that chiselled away at your lungs till they both felt simultaneously deflated and full, till the first appearance of sweat glistened over your brow, and the dawning of slight tremors shook your belly. And only when a single digit was eased into you did you finally breathe again, a breath so sharp it felt like your body was reawakened. 

Vaguely, you registered the shuddering of your limbs; you weren’t so far gone to have lost all control of yourself, and the soft caresses of Emily’s tongue against your clit weren’t enough to have you writhing. They were, however, enough to pry small whimpers out of you. 

Being vocal had never been your thing, though, in truth, it was hard to be vocal in earnest when you were gaining nothing out of the inconsistent jamming of a cock inside you or the never-ending cycle of a vibrator pressed against your cunt, buzzing and buzzing till you felt as though maybe you’d tip over the edge, only to come to a standstill and a slow torturous come down from nothing. In those situations, it was hard to get even a moan out, excluding the fake pornographic ones men go crazy for. Emily, however, was successful in changing this. 

One finger suddenly became two, then three, and whimpers and little gasps were a thing of the past. For a moment, you thought the neighbour was banging against your wall, screaming out, only to be muffled by the dense wall dividing you. That was, of course, till you realised the banging was the blood rushing and thudding in your ears, and the screams were none other than your own. They were loud and boisterous, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care because this was surely heaven. The perfectly paced pumps of fingers, the sucking, licking and occasional nibble against your clit, and most importantly, the encouraging squeeze of Emily’s hand against your chest, it was all heaven. 

Every grain of pleasure you felt was monumental, simmering and exploding inside you over and over again. It felt like you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything other than simply exist under the tense pressure that was reaching a colossal peak. Your hips moved purposefully, matching Emily’s rhythm until the push and pull between the both of you was symbiotic. 

The closing act, the final push, was the press of fingertips curving against a spot within you so sweet you tasted honey on your lips, sugar on your tongue and nectar spilling from your sex. 

When you came, you cried.

It wasn’t an outburst of pouring tears nor a cry of eternal joy. It was simply a few tears running down the sides of your face as you smiled and let out a sigh of contentedness, one, perhaps, you had been holding in for years. Years of bending to people’s wishes, even if it meant giving up your pleasure, years of shameful attempts at fucking yourself to exhaustion only to gain no reward, years of yearning for precisely what you were just given. 

“You’re loud,” Emily whispered against your belly, kissing the small divot of your belly button. 

You waited for a spell, colour draining from your face. Dawning on you was the realisation that whilst you may have thoroughly, thoroughly enjoyed yourself; your counterpart may not have. 

You shifted uncomfortably, turning your head to mask your blush. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, hoping the blotchy red patches on your cheek mirrored ones of exhaustion, not embarrassment. 

Emily shook her head, making no rush to work her way back up your body. Each kiss felt like fire and ice. 

When she finally did meet your eyes, she gave you a small smirk.

“I like it. It’s refreshing,” the brunette muttered, touching her lips to yours, painting your mouth with the tang of her tongue. 

If the kiss wasn’t reassuring enough, the next thing Emily said ensured she would find pleasure only momentarily. 

Slipping her underwear off to her ankle, she flicked the offending garment far across your room and sidled up your body till her sex was waiting directly over your mouth. 

“Never have I ever…”

Tags: @ssa-sapphic @red1culous @sapphicprentiss @five-bi-five-mind @whosprentiss @asolitaryrose3 @imlike-so-gaydude @maybe-a-humanbean @bossofcriminalminds @jareguiromanoff @lovelyy-moonlight @storiesofsvu @mrs-prentiss @romanoffsho @waitaminutebaby @jarexuslover @lesbodietcoke @milfsincrime @noahrex @pnsteblnme @girloversstuff @ratsnestinmyhair @propertyofemilyprentiss @chloeelou02x @gayestswiftie @waitaminuteashh @chestnutninny @evelinearmani @luv-unknwn @lesbodietcoke | click here to be added to my taglist

[snowdropluck204]

A Date With Death - Spencer Reid x Unsub Fem! Reader - Pt 2

Hiya my lovelies... It's been a while... Mainly because I've been trying to write an original book, but hit a snag, so I'm back to my criminal minds centre of my brain to try and get some inspiration, hopefully this works... Anyway! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Xxx

TW: Murder, gore, blood, mentions of rapists, paedophiles, abuse, y/n being mistaken for male, assisted suicide.

Tag List: @vexis-world @inexplicableeee @flowercrownsandtrauma @alysianc @btsiguess-kpop @devilslittlebabyxx @delusional-4-fake-people @mega-kittyglitter-1 @esposadomd

(y/n) pov

I watched from around the corner of the hallway, waiting for Isabel Jackson to come home, waiting for her to stumble back to her hovel as she did most nights, either from her graveyard shift or from a night of drinking. This particular woman, wasn't as bad as a lot of the people I had previously disposed of, she hadn't killed anyone herself, but she was the reason for two young men, taking their own lives.

I sighed, thinking about the news articles, I remembered this case, it happened about two years ago and was thrown out of court. Because a woman couldn't possibly be capable of raping and abusing four, strapping young men? Could she? Granted the public believed that the person killing all these people was a man, probably not thinking anyone participating in such gruesome events could be a woman. I sighed once more. This was all for one purpose.

I watched, through the camera doorbell, as the woman came home, stumbling into her apartment and promptly passing out, as I could see all the cameras' feeds on my tablet. I waited, for around an hour, before walking up to the door, my mask on, I had decided to lean into the press and media, wearing a mask again, but this time, one of my own design. It was a kabuki mask, one of a skull, bright, innocent colours, like that of my original candy skull mask, but this one was mine. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a long, black rectangular box, a device I had invented, I waved it across the door lock, hearing the soft kachunck as the tumblers fell into place. I looked up at the camera, knowing that the police would be able to see me, I waved.

I opened the door and stepped inside. I took great care in disabling the security system, the cameras, the alarms, of course it wasn't difficult, I was the one who had designed the system, I had been the one to sell them to her...

3rd Person pov

The police, and therefore the BAU, had been notified of finding another body, matching the unsub's MO. A man had called the police, stating that he had just come off his shift at the graveyard, the same one the body was found, when he saw someone leaving, couldn't see a face or clothing, it was barely lit in the early morning. But he walked over, feeling the whole thing was rather sketchy, seeing a dead body just outside the gates of cemetery.

The victim still carried his I.D, whether it was left on the body by design or the killer had forgotten about it was unknown. The man's name was David James, he had been previously convicted of domestic assault, and later, sexual assault and paedophilia. Spencer called Garcia, asking for a background check on the latest victim and receiving a call, not two minutes later with what she had found.

Spencer put the call on speaker phone, holding it up awkwardly, so that Morgan and Hotch could listen into the call, "Go ahead Garcia," Spencer said, eagerly awaiting what she had found.

Garcia sighed, coming through the phone crackled and morphed, "This guy was creepy, not like Hannibal creepy, but just icky kinda creepy. He was arrested a few years ago, police having gotten a call from the neighbours that they heard screaming coming from his place, he was taken in by the police, his wife was bloodied and bruised, with broken fingers, obviously he'd beaten the stuffing out of her, poor woman. There wasn't enough evidence to make it stick, because without the wife's testimony, apparently the rest of the evidence was circumstantial... Morons." Garcia groaned.

"But then there was a sticking of one charge, being sexual assault and paedophilia... Ew... Apparently he molested his own daughter when she was ten... He spent only a year in jail, he made a deal and walked with no parole, that was about five years ago, and unfortunately his daughter couldn't deal with the trauma, she took her own life in a foster home, two years ago. Her mom ran away when she found out her husband was released from prison... She was found a year ago, overdosed, they were buried together at Linwood Cemetery." Garcia finished her deep dive, Spencer was intrigued.

"Wait, Linwood Cemetery?" He asked softly. Garcia confirmed. "That's where the body was found," He informed her. "So the killer knows the specifics about his crimes, knows where his family and previous abuse victims were buried and left him outside the graveyard?" Spencer asked, crouching down to look at the body, seeing a note on one side of the corpse. "That's new..." He said, wearing rubber gloves and picking up the note.

The note read, "No entry for sinners."

"A note from the unsub?" Hotch asked, looking over Spencer's shoulder.

"I don't think so," Morgan responded, "The guy who found the body works here, he seemed to be a pretty big fan of the unsub, he was wearing a pin that said "Don't fear the reaper." Like that song?" He said, "I think this is just that weirdo trying to get fifteen seconds of fame." Morgan rolled his eyes at the idea.

Garcia had been following the media response towards the unsub, most people were completely enamoured with him, that he was doing work that should have been taken care of.

Spencer leaned back towards the body, taking care to look through every aspect of the scene, the body was facing up, arms crossed over his chest, a white lily laced between the fingers, cleaned of most of the blood, which hadn't leaked much onto the ground where he was lying, so the unsub had cleaned up most of the blood at a separate location, most likely the victim's home, before bringing him here. This could have been a sign of remorse... Or a way of leaving less evidence.

The garrote was once again, wrapped around the neck, digging painfully into the skin, leaving deep, bloody grooves in the throat and the handle had the word paedophile carved jaggedly. The carving seemed different to the other victims, this one was angry and harsh, you could see just how much pressure was forced into the wood. Spencer's brow furrowed in concentration, "The unsub seems to have a connection with paedophiles, either they were assaulted as a child or knew somebody who was being assaulted and didn't do anything, that feeling of guilt probably followed them into adulthood and they're trying to compensate for their lack of power then, by forcing their will on these types of felons now.

This kind of unsub is especially dedicated, I doubt he'd stop until he's caught, there's only a finite amount of people he could kill, eventually the felons would become harder to locate, or the unsub would simply get too old... Either way, we need to catch them or he'll just continue..." Spencer finished, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Hotch looked on at him in worry, seeing him so befuddled was odd, to everyone on the team.

When they were ready, the team went back to the local station, ready to give the cops the profile they were working with. Standing in a circle around the group of desks in the bullpen, each member of the team filled in the police on what they knew. "We believe we're searching for a man in their mid twenties, not necessarily poor or well off, more middle class, probably has a job working with parts, computers, cars, something he can have control over." Hotch began.

Morgan stepped forward, to continue, "We believe something happened to this man in his childhood, either he was sexually abused or someone in his life was and he was powerless to do anything about it, now he's taking the law into his own hands to fix what he couldn't fix back then."

Elle began to speak, "He won't be open about his feelings on the news and the press, this isn't about fame and media portrayal, this is personal, he has a target in mind, we just don't know who that is yet, but we do know that he won't stop until this object of his obsession is taken care of, or until we catch him."

Spencer watched his teammates thoughtfully, he was conflicted about his feelings regarding these killings, it was obviously a horrible thing to have to look at the string of victims this unsub had left behind, but these were bad people, so maybe they deserved this kind of end? He stepped forward, "This unsub is most likely calm and collected, someone you could tell your troubles to, someone you can share secrets with, someone charismatic and easygoing. They might be religious, probably some kind of old druid or pagan religion, and they're the kind of person to feel deeply upsetting about hearing about the loss of a person, even if they didn't know them."

Spencer was frustrated with himself, most of the profile wasn't conclusive. The unsub might not be religious, they might have just been incredibly intelligent and throwing the police off by adding a religious format to the killings... They might not have been sympathetic towards their victims, but want to seem as though they are... Everything about this profile felt... Wrong...

One of the local cops came into the room out of breath, "Sorry to interrupt, we've found another body, almost half a mile away from the last..." He said anxiously, Spencer glanced at the rest of the BAU, Gideon meeting his tired eyes. Each time he thought they were getting closer, the unsub seemed to be at least three steps ahead of them...

They were probably on their next victim already...

(y/n) pov

Isabel Jackson, wasn't difficult to deal with, she was so wasted that she barely woke up before I slit her throat, the feeling of her blood seeping into my clothes made me feel ill, I couldn't help the shivering and retching as got back to my car. I sighed, realising there was still someone else I had to visit, someone who wasn't on my list necessarily, but was someone I genuinely did care about.

When I saw the text I was left, I couldn't ignore it, I drove to a suburb neighbourhood, mostly populated by elders, this house was no different. I stepped in through the gap in the back fence, walking through the backyard under the cover of night, I used my key to get into the house through the back door, walking through the house I'd known all my life. This house in particular belonged to a lovely old man named Reggie, he was just the sweetest old fellow, but now...

I walked into the room that was once a cosy living room, now it had been converted into a bedroom, after Reggie got too weary and frail to handle the stairs, the room was now filled with bottles of pills and ointments, heart monitors, IV drips and Reggie... Poor, poor Reggie.

Stage four, terminal pancreatic cancer, he'd beaten cancer once, when I was still small, but he was exhausted, too tired to fight, I stepped closer to the bed, seeing Reg, sleeping, even sleeping he looked tired, each breath looked like it was agony to take. I sat next to him, taking his cold hand in mine, "Reg?" I said softly, trying not to choke on tears and the lump in my throat.

He startled awake, seeing me, he settled back against the pillows. Being that I was inside the house, the curtains were closed, I had taken off my mask, showing my face, I probably looked almost as tired as he was. He smiled weakly, raising his hand from mine to cup my cheek, "Is that my little duck?" He asked, teasingly, that same glint in his eye from all those years ago that never seemed to fade. I smiled, nodding.

When I was a child, from when I was five til I was about eight, I had an obsession with ducks, I had shirts with them, I wore a onesie with a bill and duck tail, apparently I even spent a good few weeks quacking at people... Reggie never let me forget it, I remember when I was a teenager I would roll my eyes at his teasing comments, now, I couldn't even laugh. I leaned into his hand resting against my cheek.

Reggie took in my appearance, a small frown came onto his face, "Never expected my lil duck to become a murderer..." He mumbled. I sighed, nodding, even though it pained me to hear his comment.

"I know Reg... But I have to do this... for everyone that they hurt, or could hurt... For chick..." I told him, my eyes filling with tears, struggling to keep them from trailing down my cheeks. Reggie's eyes grew sad when I mentioned her, he knew exactly who I was doing this for. "When I got the text from your daughter... I didn't know what to do... I didn't know if I would be hearing your last words or taking them..." At that, I broke, leaning my head against his bed, soaking the covers with my tears, my chest sore from my sobs.

I felt Reggie's shaky hand rest on my head, I looked up at him, "You know what I want you to do, but don't feel you have to... I don't want this resting on your conscious." His voice was almost pathetic, quiet, he was simply ready to die...

I sighed, pulling open my bag, the kit I brought out was relatively lightweight, but the gravity of what I was about to do seemed to be pulling my down. I pulled out some syringes. "I got these from a nurse friend I have, they'll put you into a sleep you won't wake up from..." I told him, trying to be stoic, but I could feel myself breaking. This man was like a grandpa to me, to chicky... We would play here after school when our parents were working, hell even when they were, Reggie would chase us about, we'd play tag, hide and seek, and Reg would make us hot chocolate with a horrific amount of marshmallows and whipped cream as he'd tell us stories about monsters and dragons and princesses that were sick of being saved.

Reggie leaned back, closing his eyes, as I injected the serum, "Thank you, my little duck..." He whispered, as his eyes fell closed and his face went slack. I sighed, the dam breaking as I sobbed over the loss. After a few minutes, I laced the flower between his fingers, kissed his head and turned off the beeping monitor, I wiped my face, pulled down my mask and left the house, not even bothering to hide from anyone that could have seen me. I got in my car, and drove, I didn't know where I was driving until I got there...

I was in the field me and chick used to visit, meadow and streams everywhere, my knees began to ache, like they couldn't hold me up anymore. I fell to the floor and began to dig with my gloved hands, I felt like I'd been digging for hours, but I leaned over and screamed. I screamed and screamed until my voice was raw, all the sound being swallowed by this hole in the ground...

Hope this chapter was okay, this was more about setting out a background for your character! Hopefully it won't take me too long to write part three, granted I say that every time... Wish me luck! Xxx

[caesariawritesstuff]

I would like a story on the topic "jealousy" with .... of course Scarecrow :3

A Flicker in the Dark

Summary: After his encounter with you, Jonathan realizes he might just want you for his own. A slight continuation of Damaged Goods.

Content Warning: Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Minor spoilers for Cat & Mouse.

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: A slight continuation of Damaged Goods. Not canon to the official Cat&Mouse!Verse, but it might be one day? My brain is a mess now that I've got the Detective x Jon brain rot. Someone send help.

The GCPD was still. An odd thing, for this time of night, but there was an eerie silence cast over the entire precinct. Jonathan Crane was quiet as he packed up his things, stuffing his work papers into his briefcase: documents all on the latest case that he had been pouring over for hours, trying to figure out the chemical compound this new criminal was using. He was getting closer to discovering it, but still; pain throbbed behind his eyes, a dull ache in his damaged retina. His entire face often ached from the numerous surgeries he’d had, and from the brutal assaults from Batman. He frowned at the thought of the Dark Knight, and yet, there was still a sick sense of satisfaction bundling in his stomach at knowing he’d won three years ago.

It felt like so long ago now, but Jonathan shook the thoughts from his mind, finished gathering his things, and quickly headed out of the GCPD. A dozen eyes averted from him, and numerous people leaned to whisper things to one another, but he ignored their stares. Not like he cared much about what people thought of him. He had far too much on his mind, anyways – but as he came into the lobby and headed towards the front door, something caught his eye.

He lifted his head slightly, gazing through narrowed eyes as he watched you and Edward wander down the hall, arm in arm, whispering to one another as his footsteps came to a slow stop. He couldn’t help but notice the way you clung to Edward, so tightly, as if you needed him to ground you to the very stone underneath your feet. Edward leaned down, whispering something into your ear, that made you laugh. Even from here, Jonathan could see the flush that crept across your cheeks, a rosy hue. He knew you were involved with Edward – well, the whole precinct knew – and Jonathan couldn’t deny his fascination and curiosity as to why someone like you would be involved with someone like Edward. Of course, the little incident he’d had with you down in the forensics lab had answered some of his question, but it didn’t quite fill the void he was seeking. A void, which Jonathan discovered, he could not quite explain.

You and Edward disappeared out of the GCPD and into the night. Jonathan tightened his grip around his briefcase and continued on his way, his thoughts once more straying back to the case at hand he’d been recruited to help with. But as he called a cab and made his way back to his court mandated apartment, he found his thoughts once more straying back to you. He could not deny that you were an attractive woman; even someone like him could see that. Not that he paid attention to such things, but he couldn’t deny that you’d caught his eye.

As he arrived at his apartment and made his way inside, he shut and locked the door behind him, taking a look at his bare, empty apartment. A cold chill clung to the air, and he sighed, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it on the coat hook beside the door. He rolled up his sleeves and headed into the kitchen to pour himself a stiff drink. He filled a tumbler with ice, and some top shelf whiskey, taking a slow sip, letting the flavor linger on his tongue. Glass in hand, he wandered over to the window and took a long look out at the city, a city he’d once bathed in his fear toxin, desperate to show them all how ruled by their own fears they really were. He’d wanted this city to be his domain, their King of Fear. Interesting how things had changed so drastically in the last three years, and he found himself picking apart the events in which they’d happened – and how he’d come to be here.

Taking another sip of his drink, he found his thoughts straying to you once more. It’d been an interesting conversation he’d had with you, and a part of him found himself curious to pick apart your fears once again, to get to know you better, to understand just what made you tick. He wanted to study you, and if it was up to him, he’d slip you a nice little injection of his toxin and relish in just what your nightmares might show him. But the more he began to think on it, the more Jonathan began to question these strange feelings stirring in his stomach, awakening something foreign within him he had not felt in a very long time, something even he was struggling to understand. But what was it?

He turned away from the window and sat down in the nearby recliner, bathing himself in the darkness as he swirled his drink around in his glass. The clinking of ice filled the silence. And yet, no matter how hard he tried to vanish you from his mind, he found he could not keep his thoughts from straying back to you. You’d stared at him with such defiance in your eyes, a fire that burned brightly – a fire, he suddenly realized, that he wanted to consume for his own.

And that was the moment Jonathan suddenly understood what he was feeling.

Jealousy.

It was jealousy stirring in his stomach. An emotion he had not felt in years. Jonathan was not a jealous man; in fact, it was an emotion that often alluded him entirely. Jealousy was simply a symptom of someone’s fears, and he had mastered his long ago.

So why was he feeling it now?

He had not experienced such an emotion in so long that it was hard to pinpoint where it was stemming from – but the more he pondered it, the clearer the issue became: he had come to see why someone like you would capture Edward’s attention, but he could not understand why someone like you would give him your attention at all. Was it the simple fact that you feared no one else would give you attention like Edward did? Or was it rooted in something else, some deep-rooted trauma you tried to suppress? And what was it about Edward that held you so tightly in his grasp? Jonathan knew the man was egotistical, full of bravado, something which annoyed him more often than not, but he’d learned how to navigate Edward’s ego long ago.

But…Jonathan knew Edward would not let you go so easily. The man was possessive, and he would not share you. But if Jonathan wanted to understand you for himself, if he wanted to come to consume your fire and study it under his own gaze, he’d need Edward out of the way.

Another bolt of jealousy stirred within his stomach, spreading through his veins, blossoming in his stomach like a balloon. Your fire was enough to bring a man like Edward Nigma to his knees, and Jonathan wanted to exploit that for himself: your vulnerability, your fears, your fire, the things that he knew he could bring to the surface and exploit for his own. It was simply too bad Edward had gotten to you first – and another sliver of jealousy rippled through Jonathan’s veins, wondering what it would have been like if he’d have met you before Edward, if he’d been approached about this silly reform first.

He took another slow sip of his drink, and when he lowered it back to his lap, a smirk touched the corners of his lips. His jealousy was like a flicker in the dark, a match lightning gasoline, a small flame being stoked to life.

And that was the moment Jonathan realized he wanted you for himself.

Everything about you – he wanted for his own. To consume. To nurture. To help you master. To take and exploit, to mold you into the image he wanted you to be.

His own Mistress of Fear.

All it would take were a few words, a few whispers, a few thoughts planted in your head. He wanted to watch you squirm, to watch those fears rise from the depths of your soul, and when he finally hade you where he wanted you…

He would take you for his own.

[elenor222]

A Kendall Roy (Succession) Series

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: faint mentions of established relationship, sexual tension. All characters are of age. This story is 18+.

part 1

NEW YORK

3.12 AM

Emily stares at the white flushed screen of the newest shitop available in the market. She’s deciphering the flow of the shares today. Her glasses are turning blue with all the big numbers and the emails flowing through the system. There’s an untouched tumbler of souvenir matcha sitting on her desk. Her room’s illuminated a pale white with white lilies on her nightstand and an empty buzz from her phone. Emily rubs her temple, according to the entire finance department of Waystar, the Roys will take the company down with them by a decade. The lavish living and black dog services come with a price. A price they’ve long since forgotten to repay. Emily grunts and bites back her tongue. She looks up at the cerulean walls of her home painted with the same blood as them. Her chestnut eyes gleam, she dreams of Sicily and lush cherries. Bruised corridors and bluer skin. She turns towards the New York sky, cracking her knuckles and wonders how ground hog criminal she must’ve been to witness the corporate red with her own hands.

The next morning, a tall man with pale beach skin and visibly rich eye bags sits with four or five of his advisors and a bunch of younger executives. Emily does not accompany them. She stalls in her own office looking at the sugary buyout. She’s about ninety percent sure that Lawrence, the eldest son’s new venture, will and soon fuck Waystar. She lets out a giddy laugh in her mind and stays put at her cabin, chivalry gleaming in her eyes. Her posture is sleek, not too laid back but neither very professional. Kendall, suited up with cocaine in his back pocket, looks engaged, and rightly denounced, a little too lively.  

“This is a merger offer. Not an acquisition. We love what you do.” Kendall appears really passionate about the deal going through. His hands are clammy. He stares right through the upturned eye of the media guy.

“I get it. Of course, someone is always boss. And I don’t think that would be me?”

Kendall’s eyes briefly meet Emily. She’s intensely watching how this playdate plays out. Kendall can’t seem to focus between her glass of white wine at 11 am and that too tight white skirt riding up her thigh. He pretends to fix his tie. Hands imitating her face full of his length. He’s gone. Lilacs and bright Italian skies take over his vision. He’s sucking in another breath. So gone.

Kendall nullifies the rest of the conversation from his head. His eyes juggling between his two memento moris. There seems to a notable disagreement though, Emily senses it before she sees it. Her lip twitches as Lawrence stands up to leave. Kendall abruptly follows, seemingly surprised at the turn of the events. They walk next to each other down the wide corridor that border glass offices with venetian blinds on each side. He’s even wearing those knuckle deep expensive boardroom shoes, Emily peeks. Kendall steals a glance before the elevator door dings. She’s looking back at him with remorse. Soon, Lawrence whispers something inexcusable in his ear and the board sees him visibly loose his composure. He leaves the floor’s eyeshot rattled in fury.

LONDON

10 AM

“It’s inappropriate. It’s a fitness, thing. It’s - it’s basically a heart rate monitor. It’s a fucking abortion.” A broad shoulder man squeals. “is that what you give your 80 year soon to be father in law? To your boss? As a gesture of obeisance? When you’re looking for promotion? Or is that, say, like giving him a colostomy bag and a viagra? The optics are fucking horrible.” He keeps rambling on to the redhead beside him. She takes no notice of the priced-up suit or her satin shirt shining in the harsh auburn sun. Two black Mercedes line up bedside them.

Shiv, instead, is focused on a text.

Shiv: you coming?

Em: maybe :/

“Tom. It’s fine. Yeah, my Dad doesn’t really like things.” She advises him to throw ten to fifteen grand at some posh shop that sells sea shells. She’s staring at her phone with pursed lips.

NEW YORK

1PM

  “So, last call guys. We happy?” Kendall frantically looks around his team. Emily sits there looking uninterested at their long faces and sheets of robbery. Jess took an appointment, filing “wife needed for support” for her to be there. Back in the day, rose would’ve tainted her cheeks. Now, she only sits there. Stoic, unimpressed. She knows all too well that this was just another tactic for her to see him win. He’s bitter. And he hopes she knows.

Frank reassures him, ”If the committee play straight, we win. If they don’t, we go legal.”

“And we don’t want to just bump the number another point?” Young Alessandro, the investment banker looks towards Emily almost questioning the authority of her presence.

“You’ve already over ridden your Bali beach numbers. Although, I can give you an extra mil to demonstrate a knuckle fuck to Frank” Emily looks Kendall dead in the eye as if scolding a child. She crosses her legs and sits up straighter. Alessandro witnesses the change in power dynamics.

“You wanna call your Dad?” Alessandro offers.

Kendall looks like someone’s punched him in the nuts but he refuses to react. Emily only juts out her lips. She’s almost on the verge of enacting the scenes from their college days. Kendall gives her a so much so a threating look in response. His eyes dart to her mulberry pink lips. His mind fickle enough, churns him back to those same hot days with Emily on her knees.

 “Do I want to call my Dad?” he glares at the board.

“No” he comprehends. “I don’t want to call my Dad.”

“Do you want to call your Dad?” he bites back.  

“Does anyone want to call their Dad?” Silence surrounds the cascading white room except the timely tapping of Emily’s jimmy choos.

“Okay. No one wants to talk to thier Dad. So, let’s get in there, buy this fucking company and go top ten, shall we? I’m pushing the bid to 120. Okay?” Emily lets out a sigh in disapproval. Kendall pays no mind to her wandering gaze down his body. She wonders how she can put this in the mad bear’s plate without pissing him off.

1 AM

“What’s the number?” logan’s call disrupts Kendall in the midnight. Kendall did know, there was going to be consequences to raising the bid. He only hoped Emily had flower petaled logans fuck over shoes to bendable China. He dabs his forehead with a white tea cloth to soothe his nerves.

“I’m going to one twenty.” He intakes a sharp breath, eyes blown and sitting upright. he prays that his quaver of tone isn’t detectable. He fists his bedsheet into a stress ball. A minute goes by where you can hear the chaotic New York night pass by. He’s untouchable; how does the teen spirit bubblegum wrath seep in?  He speaks further in a fever dream, “Good. Look are we still good for tomorrow? Today?”

“Uh-huh. Yeah.” Logan is tapping away on his mouse. Unfocused eyes cram in all the emails from the week.

“Cos it’s gonna get out there?” Kendall’s eyes twinkle. They perfectly reflect the times square brightness.

“We’ll announce.” Logan rolls his eyes. His right hand is reaching for the will in his drawer.

“Great, so I can pre-floating to like Frank and Emily? If I need to. Cos it’s getting soft-floated.” The line goes dead. Kendall closes his eyes. He’s breathing raggedly. Theres a voice in the back of his head telling him he’s going to fuck it up. He blinks. Hard.

authors note: engagement of any sort is greatly appreciated. will try to update the next part this week itself <3

part 2

[liz-allyn]

sugar and vice - epilogue

[continued from Part 23]

FOUR MONTHS LATER

Ice clinked against the stainless steel of her coffee tumbler like hollow wind chimes. She brought the pastel pink container to her lips, taking a careful sip. She’d already spilled some of it in her lap, and now brown spots dotted the yellow of her dress. Carefully, she set the tumbler down beside her, taking a moment to glance up at the scenery around her.

It was a golden-yellow summer day with a cloudless sky, save for the smog hanging over the city. Despite last week’s heat wave, the temperature was more moderate today, giving New York a much-needed break. From a bench in Central Park, she sat beneath the canopy of towering oak trees. A breeze rolled through that chilled her skin delightfully, aided by the icy beverage in her cup.

Nearby, a flock of pigeons scavenged for crumbs. On this particular Saturday, construction sounds were minor, reduced to distant echoes. The bright sounds of a street musician’s violin floated on the wind from nearby in the park. She heard a whistle from a group of children in the distance as they practiced soccer kicks. 

Soccer would be good for Bella, she thought. The seven-year-old girl had tons of energy and legs that were longer than she knew what to do with. Ever since the Olympics and watching Space Jam: A New Legacy, Bella had been obsessed with becoming the next WNBA champion. She described LeBron’s performance as a masterpiece. 

Her aunt knew better than to let her personal opinion spoil the girl’s fun.

That had been a good day. Today was a good day. She mused to herself as she took a breath. She was aware of the fact that the day wasn’t technically over. And perhaps there wasn’t anything particularly different from yesterday. But as her muscles relaxed beneath warm rays of sun on her shoulders, she found peace.

“Mind if I sit here?” a kind voice said from behind her. The muscles in her neck pulled taut. Her heart seized up and tripped over itself.

She glanced over her shoulder to find a pair of doe eyes fixed on her. Cherry lips twisted into a lopsided smile. 

Impossibly, Peter Parker looked younger than the last time she saw him. The only sign of age in his creamy smooth skin were tiny lines at the corners of his eyes, and a faint pink scar blending with the wrinkles above his brow.

Without the beard, he looked criminally soft. Big, bright amber eyes were fixated on her in a way that made her heart want to burst. She felt like she was floating in space and plummeting through the atmosphere. 

At the same time, the primal part of her brain screamed out shrill sirens. Just the sight of him and his soulful eyes felt like she was tearing off a broken limb. Watching as his teeth pinched his pouty lip gave her the sensation of ripping apart nerve endings. Her stomach soured as her heart ached. 

Beneath the heart, lava boiled in her belly. Her eyes were open wide, they could even be mistaken for shock. It wasn’t shock, however, but sheer rage burned in her eyes. 

Peter Parker, the persistent paradox. 

The only man that could stir every emotion in her, like the sun conjures every color of the rainbow out of drops of rain. He painted her world in vivid colors, and yet she was colorblind to everything but the golden hue of his eyes.

Peter Parker, who could make her feel stronger and weaker all at once.

She burned for him, in every sense of the phrase.

And at the present, he was holding his breath, waiting for her reply. She gazed up at him as emotions warred within her. He waited patiently, ready to accept whatever fate she thought he deserved.

She pursed both her lips tight, eyes narrowing. “I’ll allow it,” she said. 

His lungs came to life once again, as if he’d been spared the guillotine. Gently, Peter rounded the park bench and sat down in the spot to her right. She kept her nose forward, eyes focused on anything but him.

“Whatcha reading?” he asked gently, gazing down at the pamphlet in her lap.

She bit her lip, hesitating for a moment. “A brochure.”

He observed the glossy tri-fold sheet with a nod. “I see that.” Instantly, he recognized the pictures and logo on the pamphlet, recalling how he once read the same words. “ESU, huh?” he noted with a half smirk, observing the ivory towers of the campus nestled in Midtown Manhattan. “Thinkin’ about classes?” He bit his lip anxiously. “What d’you wanna study?”

She held still, remaining silent as she stared down at the brochure. She wouldn’t meet his gaze, and it felt like razors being shoved into his eye sockets. 

“Dunno,” she answered with a gentle shrug. “Interior Design, maybe.” She cleared her throat and spoke with a little more volume. “Thinkin’ about applying for a grant for this fall.”

A smile warmed his eyes, though melancholy weighed down the corners of his lips. “What’s in the cup?” he asked, pointing his nose towards her coffee tumbler.

Lashes fluttered, she followed the end of his fingertip down to her beverage, almost having forgotten that it was there. “Oh,” she said meekly. “It’s a Mauna Kea.”

Peter quirked up a brow. “A what-ya-saya?”

She pinched her lower lip between her teeth to keep it from curving. “Mauna Kea,” she repeated slowly, enunciating the syllables. “Means ‘White Mountain’ in Hawaiian.” She hesitated for a moment, licking her dry lips. “It’s the name of the tallest mountain on Earth,” she declared, mustering confidence, “from peak to summit.”

A crease formed in Peter’s brow. “I thought Everest was the tallest mountain?”

“Tallest by altitude,” she divulged with pride. “Mauna Kea is bigger.” She flicked her eyes over to his and was immediately captured by his soulful gaze.

“No joke?” he replied with a thousand-watt smile and rosy cheeks. 

“Yup,” he answered, as butterflies filled her belly.

He gazed at her as if he were witnessing the sunrise for the first time. “So, you’re drinkin’ a ‘White Mountain?’”

Her heart skipped a beat. “It’s a cold brew. Blended with honey, macadamia milk and ice, topped with coconut milk foam.” She intended to look down at her cup. Or at the pedestrians. Or the trees. Or the sun. She intended to look anywhere but at him. She really tried. “I made it myself,” she said, feeling heat crawl up her neck.

His eyes glowed, further enamored by her mere existence. “Wow. All this time, all I’ve been drinking is black coffee.” A smile glinted in his expression while his blush gave him away. “Just black coffee. Bitter. With extra sadness.”

She fought the smile her lips formed. “That’s a shame.”

“It is. People tell me I should take more risks, though. Go out on a limb.” His eyes wandered across the park before shifting back over to her. “I’m Peter, by the way. Peter Parker.” He chewed on his lower lip for a moment, and in his eyes she could spot his trepidation. If he looked young to her before, now he looked like a blushing boy asking his crush to prom. He gazed at her with the same terror, his heart in his throat and on his sleeve. “What’s your name?”

A fire burned bittersweetly in her heart as tears burned behind her eyes. She gazed at him, feeling her emotions swell. “Mari,” she answered, truthfully. She studied the bourbon and topaz facets of his irises and the lovely curve of his cupid’s bow. “But all my friends call me ‘Honey.’” 

Peter’s lip trembled at that, eyes glistening despite his attempt to control it. “Honey,” he repeated with a murmur, as if chanting a prayer, or a protection spell. As if it was the answer to everything in the universe. In his universe, at least. “It suits you.”

A bittersweet smile warmed his features as he gazed at her, lost in the universe and freefalling towards her singularity. Her eyes went glossy as she mapped the pores, freckles, and scars on his face like the constellations in the sky.

“I missed you,” he said, endearingly.

Her heart throbbed at the pain in his voice. “I know.” She licked her lips, sadness filling her expression. “You hurt me,” she said somberly.

With misty, red eyes, he whispered back, “I know.” He swallowed hard, tears swimming in his gaze. “I’m sorry for that. M’sorry for a lot of things. But I don’t regret a single moment.” 

Eyes glistening, a warm smile overtook her features, lighting up her gaze. She nodded in silent reply.

The sight of it made him want to die of joy. “If it doesn’t sound too forward,” he began gently, speaking with measured formality, “I was gonna ask you to come home with me.”

Home, he said. The significance of the word wasn’t lost on her. A tear rolled down her cheek, sliding along the curve of her grin. “Already?” she breathed out a laugh. “Geez. That was fast.”

His smile faded; he melted into enraptured awe. “No,” he whispered, eyes glowing with admiration. He leaned forward, breaking the invisible barriers between them. Her eyes fluttered shut as his calloused fingers brushed over her jaw, triggering a shiver down her spine. “I’ve waited years for you, remember?” he quietly rumbled. “I’ll keep waiting. For the rest of my life, if I have to.”

The sweetness of it all made her dizzy. It made her feel like her heart had spilled open and she would bleed out on the grass. “I’ll take it,” she sniffed, as Peter thumbed the tears from her cheeks.

“Take what?”

“The rest of your life.” 

He melted in her gaze, staring down at her lips. “Sweet girl. You are my life.”

Without hesitation, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. The sensation made her heart flutter, her mind soar, and her brain sizzle. It made her wounds heal and her soul sing. It made life worth living. It made hope real.

When they parted from the kiss, they were breathless and dizzy, hearts thrumming together in sync.

The honey hues of his chestnut eyes were fixed on hers. “So,” he said, thoughtfully. “Mauna Kea. Ever see it up close?”

She smirked. “Nope. Never been to Hawai’i.”

“Me neither,” Peter shrugged, his eyes alight with life. “Wanna change that?” 

End of Volume 1

A Note From Your Storyteller:

Whew. That was long.

I can't believe this has come to an end. Before I began writing, I was skeptical about this story, but honestly I could've never anticipated or expected the overwhelming support and love that I've gotten. People have made art from my art. They have showered me with gifts for my gift. If you'd say any gift is an expression of love, then gifted art is the ultimate expression of devotion. I love that you care about my characters, and about me!

What's next?

Good question. I've been at odds with this answer, and now it feels like I really need to commit to a path. My imagination is full of many more places that Honey and Peter can go. I could probably write 2-3 novels about these two with all of the effort I put into making these characters come to life. Realistically, I'm a mom with a baby, and I'm about to be a one-person band for the next few months. I'm excited to share these stories, but I'm not sure when or how, or even what that will look like.

The best thing you can do to interact with me is to keep your eyes on my updates from my Ko-fi page! I'm hoping to allow that to become a place where the S&V 'fandom' (wtf that sounds so weird what happened what is this life I am not worthy) can gather and where I can share updates.

In addition to S&V-related news, I'm going to post writing tips, best storytelling practices, AMAs, my favorite fics of the week, answer questions, and maybe even offer commissions. Keep in mind, none of this will be gatekeeped (gate-kept?) or behind a paywall. Even if you're not a regular... er, um, patron?... (barista?) on Ko-fi, you can still hopefully find some interesting stuff to check out.

But even if you don't do any of that, because... who cares, right? I do want you to do one thing for me. One tiny thing that will make the world better. One small thing that could end up changing someone's life.

The next fanfic you read, if you feel any emotions about it at all, please hit "reblog."

You don't have to write a long review, or leave a comment, or add any tags to it. You don't have to do anything more than click the reblog button. But please reblog. When you reblog, you get to share the gift fanfic writers make with someone else, regardless of whether you know them. And subconsciously, you tell the writer 'yes, I see you, and I think other people should, too,' and that small thing can save someone's life one day.

Forget engagement, forget likes vs comments vs reblogs vs community labels vs filtering settings—

Stories are gifts. They are expressions of love put to words. They are emotions lived, repackaged, wrapped in a bow, and then shared with others, along with a kind little note that says 'here's this moment of my heart, I hope it moves you the way it moved me.'

Reblog. And fill the world with a little more love.

[fixomnia-scribble]

For @smittywing! Since we're sharing unpublished Criminal Minds snippets, here are Prentiss and Morgan, in December Season 7, getting gently toasted and trying to reconcile their friendship with Emily's undercover past. Derek interrogates, Emily rambles, Clooney snores in the corner.

December 18, 2011

They were drinking again, looking out over a slushy December night in Virginia. Morgan's place, because while Sergio was content with his box, Clooney couldn't wait. They’d taken Clue for a chilly walk, letting the dog amble at will and set the pace, while Emily told him stories about the haute doggy culture of Paris. And then, back home, Morgan had spun the cap off a half bottle of scotch and tossed it somewhere behind a desk.

“Sergio can hang tight until morning,” Morgan reminded her. In case she needed to talk and drink all night, and crash somewhere she didn’t have to keep one eye open.

"Nah, I do have to get home sometime tonight," Emily said. Lightly glowing on her second dose of two and a half fingers in a comfortably heavy glass tumbler, she stretched her toes for the mohair blanket over the arm of the couch, and pulled it towards her. "And I need to spend time with my boy. Garcia's stolen his fickle feline heart away. But this is good for now. Really good. Thanks."

She rubbed a careful palm over the top of her chest, under cover of tugging the blanket up over herself.

"You've been scratching again." Morgan told her, from his easy chair near the window. He’d never ask her to sit with her back to a window or a room, ever.

"I know I've been scratching again."

The brand was worse than the surgery site below. At least she could be careful, and scratch delicately around the tender skin, while she was awake. Even if she managed to resist the subcutaneous phantom itch of burned nerves, during the day, she still woke up some mornings with blood smears on her sheets and under her nails, and another patch of angry new scab. So much for proper aftercare. But then, getting branded on her poor left boob was hardly a body mod she would have chosen.

"Anyone touches you here, you'll think of me," he'd said, calmly and coldly, as her flesh smoldered under the iron's tip. He wasn't doing this for enjoyment. This was a means to an end. She was only a safe to be cracked. Until she cracked him, instead.

That's when he saw her clearly again, and set about killing her.

"You could get it fixed, you know, Em. Plastic surgery." Morgan reminded her.

"It would probably hurt more. Plus, I'd lose more sensation and a patch of skin from somewhere else. I think I'm going to let it stay. Bastard did a decent job, all things considered. Maybe I'll get it tattooed, make it my own. Think that'd be hot?"

"Tough girl." he returned, unfooled.

"It's mostly bullshit." she admitted. "You didn't see what a mess I was in Paris, when I had nothing to do but think and drink. But my past is part of me. I don't want to pretend anymore about who I was. Scars and all."

"You never had to."

"Yeah, I did. You would, too, if you'd been doing that kind of work. Derek, I was in deep cover. International covert ops cover. The kind you're never supposed to admit, even fifty years later. Trust - " she shook her head and lifted her scotch for a sip. "Trusting you had nothing to do with it. I trust you with my life. You held my life in your hands and wouldn't let go. I would do the same for you. God forbid it happen, but I would. But I couldn't speak about it. I still can't tell you everything we got done, how many conflicts we prevented before they had a chance to flare up. Even if it might help you understand..."

She heard Morgan sigh, and shake his head, leaning over his scotch. He was trying hard. Which spoke volumes about the respect that had grown between them in the relatively short time they'd known each other, and how deeply he'd let her into his guarded inner circle. 

Of them all, Morgan and Reid were having the hardest time adjusting to her reappearance, she knew. Morgan, because he so rarely gave his trust, and Reid, because he trusted too easily. Reid was alarmed and confused and ashamed of his reactions to the whole bleak scenario. Her death, having to admit and learn to navigate his overwhelming grief, and now her reappearance. Of all the team, Reid was the one who needed to know he had some bedrock under his feet, in order to function in the world. 

She'd try to get through to Reid soon. Probably somewhere in the open, where he could get up and walk away if he needed to, and not feel trapped or obligated to talk. Soon. Tonight was about mending fences with Morgan.

"Did Hotch know?" he asked, refilling his scotch. "There must've been some gaps in your resume."

"He knew I was undercover with the CIA, and he confirmed the dates I gave him with the Agency. He never probed farther than that." She managed a smile. "He did ask me how many languages I spoke. When I asked him if he meant idiomatically, academically, or just enough to cuss someone out, he shut me up."

"I guess being your mama's daughter had some uses after all."

"Yup." she raised her eyebrows and blew out a breath. "But you know - the more I think about it, the more I think Lauren kicked ass, and I don't mind remembering her. She stopped a terrorist from engaging in more than a few major raids, and made him think it was his decision. She never once broke cover. She kept a little boy from harm in the middle of hell, and put him in a safe place. And Dec…Derek, even in that insane world, Declan trusted us. We all kept him so safe, and gave him so much love, that it never occurred to him not to trust us. He let me..."

A small tremor started in her hands, and she set her glass on the coffee table before rolling onto her side, and tucking herself deeper under the blanket.

"He was only four, and he trusted me so much that he let me hold a gun to his head and spray pig blood all over his face and hair. All I told him was that we had to pretend he'd been in an accident, so that a really mean man wouldn't try to hurt him or his father. I told him it was like making a scary Hallowee'en movie to scare the man off. Louise was too frightened to say a word. I think she wondered if I was going to kill them both, no matter what I said."

The tremor set in deeper, creeping up her arms and through her middle, and she pulle up her knees and crossed her arms and pinned her hands in her armpits to stop it.

Morgan did not miss this. He didn’t comment upon it. "I think I just got something I needed to get," he said, leaning forward. "Prentiss, I'll tell you straight up, I was pretty shocked. Not that you'd been working at that level, but where you let it take you. Not just into Doyle's business, but - "

"Into his bed." she said flatly.

"See, I know you. I know you'll use whatever you can to fight a good fight, but I couldn't wrap my head around that part till now. It was Declan that kept you there. Not Doyle. Not really."

"It was Declan that kept me there," she agreed. "It's not a pretty business, my friend. You get that Lauren was an arms dealer too, right? That was my in. I didn't expect him to...to offer me so much access. He wasn't psychotic. He was obsessive, hypervigilant and manipulative, but he treated the people close to him like royalty. So yeah, you can say I fucked Doyle to get into his sentimental little heart, after I got into his head. I did that. I'm hardly the first to use sex, and I won't be the last, and I saved a lot of lives by putting myself there. And it wasn't all a lie. He really treated me very well. Does that make me a whore? Or just a damn good agent? Honest to God, I don't know. I could sure as hell name my price with him. Anything I asked for. He tried to give us a good life. But yeah, if there hadn't been Declan, I don't know how much longer I'd have stayed. I'd have had to fake my death sooner or later. Ian would never, ever have let me go. But with Declan there, I was almost his...Well. He thought I was…he was so little, it only made sense to him. How would he know anything else?  But there wasn't much I wouldn't have done for him. So I stayed. Most days I just lived and breathed it all in. And occasionally reported in to my operator while I was supposed to be having my hair and nails done."

"My point is," Morgan said, slowly, "It's the mom-thing you got inside you. I've seen you go there. One of your babies is in danger, you turn mama-bear and get all eaten up inside until you know they're safe. That Kira. Honest to God, I think if her aunt hadn't been found, you really would have taken her in, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, like you and Ellie? You even had the paperwork ready to bring her across the country. I saw it. Cross-jurisdictional guardianship application, signed and witnessed. And I know she still e-mails you." Emily smiled at him, a little wet about the eyes. “That mattered, you know. Ellie knew you were fighting for her. That mattered, even if she found her home.”

"I do know. That's why I get it. I gotta be honest, I've been wrestling with the whole undercover sex thing, but you're right, it happens. I know it does. But hearing you talk about that kid - maybe it's just a handle I can wrap my head around, but I get it a little better."

"It wasn't any kind of Stockholm syndrome, you know." she cautioned him. "That’s a made-up bullshit thing some shrink came up with to get interviews. I knew what I was doing."

"Yeah, but didn’t it..." he paused. "Em, didn’t it wear on your soul? Or was it really just the job?"

"Fuck, yeah, it did. But maybe less than I'd like to admit. Women have been using sex as a power tool since the very beginning." She held his gaze. “It was a game I was trained to win and I won, Derek. D’you get that?”

“Except it wasn’t a game, and you lost nearly everything. And we lost you.”

“That’s also true. And I’m sorry for that part. Again.”

"I guess I've spent my career trying to protect women from being used like that, so it's...I just never knew anyone who...you know, worked at that level."

"High class all the way, baby." She raised her glass in a mirthless toast. Morgan didn't smile. She shook her head and tried again. "I'm sorry if it changes your opinion of me," she said. "But sometimes that's how the world is. If I hadn't consented freely and knowingly to be what Doyle wanted, he'd still be alive, there would be well-armed conflicts in parts of the world you don't even want to think about getting hot, and Declan would be training to be his successor."

"He is a pretty great kid." Morgan admitted, after a moment.

"And I hope he stays that way. At least now he has a chance."

"Tell me about Declan. From the beginning."

So she did.

[crowzwritingstore]

Hello! Plz i need help.

So I’m getting a new kindle right, and i have discovered (before the old one decided that half the screen was going to become the void…) that you can get fucking ao3 fics in there! Either using the web page or fucking downloading them to you laptop then transferring them!

And currently my brain just needs some good ol’ fluffy fics as i want to tear my own skin off and burn my bones :))

So,

If anyone has any ao3 fics from the following fandoms, please can you like recommend me some 👉👈. I don’t mind the genre but i would love fluff or hurt comfort!

please from the following fandoms/ specific characters... xx

The Bad Batch

The Clone wars (mainly just the clones plz)

Call Of duty mw2

Spiderman

Avengers

Marvel

Hermitcraft (Ik this one is going to not exist but hey cant blame a guy for trying)

The walking dead

Mandalorian

BatFam

Hannibal

Stranger things

Hazbin Hotel

The Boys (Amazon)

Peace maker

Znation

Jurassic world

wolverine

arcane

Our Flag Means Death

Jschlatt (DO not ask...)

Joel miller

bbc Ghosts

the lost boys

the punisher

daredevil

bowser

supernatural

Criminal minds

moon knight

the witcher

overwatch

please if you have any recommendations please!

i am going to make a post about fanfics i have read that i have loved on Ao3 but im still tying to figure out tumbler. (lets not talk about how ive been on here for like 3-4 years now lol)

[constantlyembarrassed]

About Me <3

Hi! I thought it was time I introduce myself on this platform!

I'm a university student (will not disclose were lol) currently undecided in what i'm studying.

I have been a tumbler user for YEARS on diffrent burner acounts and finaly decided to start posting. Yay! On that note, I have some issues with spelling and grammar. I check all my writting with grammarly, but there still could be some mistakes. Please let me know KINDLY. Friendly reminder, studies show there is no corlation between intelgence and spelling. I took a full schedual of AP classes and can not tell what your to use.

I will take requests! (I have no ideas ever) Please interact with my acount I LOVE meeting new people, reading new fics, discovering more media (music, movies, tv) ect. Please don't be shy :)

I will NOT write about real people. It just makes me uncomfy, sorry. No hate to creators that do though!

This blog MAY have diffrent posts, but let's face it my Criminal Minds phase is never ending. Going on year 5! Here are some of my intrests. I HIGHLY doubt anything else will be posted on this acount.

Film: Criminal Minds(!), Horror Movies

Charecters/Actors: Spencer Reid (!), Anything Aubrey Plaza, John Mulaney,

Acdemic: , Nuerosience, Psychology, Ocean Life, Marketing, Environemntal Conservation, Fashion

Music: Mitski, Fiona Appel, The Gaslight Anthem, Janis Joplin, Elvis

Update: Ngl I am probs not going to be active anymore my social life has been crazy and Acdemics even more so!

[rcfanfics]

New here! Hi !

I’m new to writing on tumbler, so bear with me while I try to get a grip on this new platform. That said I’ve read many, many fanfics on here and have written a hand full of them on my google docs. Many of which I’m exited to post. I have posted two on my Wattpad and two on my A03 but wanted to stretch my horizon. So with that let me know which ones you would all be interested in reading. Hell, I might do request who knows! 

Fast and Furious

Z Nation

Supernatrual

The Walking Dead

Criminal Minds

Shameless

Peaky Blinders

The Witcher

Teen Wolf

The Arrow

The Flash

DareDevil 

The Punisher

Marvel 

Shadow Hunters

Pirates of The Caribbean

Twilight 

Batman 

Superman

[psycho-killer-writer]

Hey everybody I'm new to tumbler and wanted to start writing.

My interest include: supernatural, stranger things, the originals, Harry Potter, Hunger Games, divergent, stranger things, House MD, The Boys, Gilmore girls, NCIS, Criminal Minds, SO MUCH MORE

Please don't be shy text me if you want me to write anything specific I'm working on a few things so hit me up ;)

[cobbparkwaylocksmith]

How to Prevent Lock Bumping and Other Lock Picking Techniques

How to Prevent Lock Bumping and Other Lock Picking Techniques https://www.cobbparkwaylocksmith.com/how-to-prevent-lock-bumping-and-other-lock-picking-techniques-10/ How to Prevent Lock Bumping and Other Lock Picking Techniques Lock bumping and lock picking are two of the easiest ways to gain access to a lock without having a key. Lock bumping involves using a specially-made key to vibrate the pins and tumblers in a particular lock and open it without needing to have the actual key. Lock picking is a manual technique that uses a pick and special tools to open a lock. Both of these techniques are used by burglars and other criminals to gain access to people’s homes and possessions without them knowing. Fortunately, there are ways to effectively prevent lock bumping and other lock picking techniques. Here are a few tips for how to prevent these techniques: Install Security Locks Install security locks that are designed to be bump-proof, pick-resistant, drill-resistant, and torque-resistant. Choose locks that are certified by Underwriters Laboratories or other reputable organizations. Make sure these locks are installed by a qualified locksmith. Change Your Locks Regularly Make sure to change your locks regularly – at least once a year, or any time you move into a new house or apartment. For added security, opt for deadbolts that have a cylinder guard or rotating collar disk to prevent manipulation of the locking mechanism. Choose locks with features such as emergency re-keying capabilities and key control systems. Implement Access Control Install door hardware with access control systems such as keypads, cards or biometrics. These systems are more secure than mechanical locks, and are designed to track who has access to your property. For added security, pair these systems with a camera system so that you can monitor who is coming and going. Use Anti-theft Devices Invest in anti-theft devices such as window bars, security guards, or motion sensors to alert you if somebody is attempting to break in. These devices can help deter thieves and give you peace of mind. Install anti-climb devices such as spikes or razor wire to make it more difficult for burglars to climb up to your upper story windows. By following these steps, you can effectively protect your home and possessions from lock bumping and other lock picking techniques. It’s also important to be aware of the threat of lock picking and to take all the appropriate measures to protect yourself. With the right security measures in place, you can sleep soundly knowing that your home is safe and secure. The post How to Prevent Lock Bumping and Other Lock Picking Techniques appeared first on Cobbparkway Locksmith . via Cobbparkway Locksmith https://www.cobbparkwaylocksmith.com/

[babygirl-187]

Caught In The Act (Derek Morgan x Reader smut)

Description: Derek and Reader have to share a room while away on a case and things get steamy until they're caught in the act.

This is set durring the episode "Exit Wounds"

Requested by: @haarrrys

Warnings: Smut, Oral sex (female receiving), pet names, mild dirty talk, vaginal sex, kinda sorta semi kinky but not really, getting caught.

"It looks like we'll have to double up." Hotch says to the team. "I'm not sleeping with Reid." Morgan stated. That's how you ended up sharing the room with Morgan, it was almost like some cliche fan fiction trope - Sharing a room out in the middle of nowhere with your hot coworker. And there's one bed. Granted the fact that you're here to catch a serial killer puts a bit of a damper on those romantic vibes.

Unbeknownst to your friends, you and Derek had been hooking up off and on since you joined the team.

It really wasn't a big deal for you to share the bed.. Until he came out of the shower looking like that. Just a towel, soaked, his abs on full display. Holy hell, there's no way this man is real you think to yourself. You look him up and down utterly speechless. He raises a brow at you, "Y/N?" He says snapping you out of it. "Yeah.. I.. Yeah." You said stumbling over his words and you finally meet his eyes, seeing his smirk, "Don't act like you aren't teasing on purpose." You half joke, "Oh it's absolutely on purpose, Sweetheart." He says confirming that he did indeed know what he was doing.

"Maybe you should lose the towel." You suggest, and just like that he does. Derek Morgan new he was sex on legs, not in a bad way but in a way that draws you in and makes you need more. He approaches you, his touch feeling like lightning as he begins to undress you, the small touches lingering and driving you mad. Soon you're down to your panties, his arm snakes around your waist from behind and he kisses and nibbles at your neck as he teases at the band of your underwear. "Fuck.. Derek." You moan, "Shh, princess. The team might hear you." He responds, shifting you to the bed, he drags your panties down your legs and tosses them to the side. He slowly, torturously kisses his way up your thighs and settled between them, his mouth attacking your clit and lapping at your folds. All sorts of sounds escape you, you never could hold back when he does that. Derek Morgan can do powerful things with his tongue. Soon you flew over the edge, your orgasm rocking your body. "Such dirty sounds from such a sweet girl" He teases as he flips you over, leaving you face down ass up with little time to recover before he plunged into your soaking pussy. He pounded into you relentlessly, hard enough that the sounds of the headboard hitting the wall and the knock at the door blurred together for you. The door swung open mid act to an absolutely mortified Reid who instantly averted his gaze and an absurdly amused Prentiss. "Oh.. my.. shit.. we just wanted to make sure you two weren't being murdered." She quickly explained. To be fair, again you were there to catch a serial killer, in a tiny creepy ass inn and you were making some noises reminiscent to those of someone in an 80s-90s slasher film.

The two of you had quickly repositioned and pulled the cover up when you noticed you were no longer alone. You were speechless. Poor innocent Reid was fluttered and scarred for life, Prentiss was going to tease the both of you for the rest of eternity, Morgan was unreadable. "I guess I've proven myself worthy to know about that sin to win weekend now." Derek joked, Emily chuckled and rolled her eyes. "Sorry again" She said pulling the door closed.

"That did not just happened" You said stunned. "I guess we'll have to gag you next time." Derek says pulling you into a passionate kiss. "Round two?" You asked, "I'll go lock the door" He smirked.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Two Minds, One Body || Mafia!Bucky [pt2]

Mafia!Bucky x fem!reader

Chapter Summary: Now that you are a permanent fixture in Bucky and Winter's life they treat you as their queen. Have mercy on anyone who disrespects their queen. Warnings: 18+ only, smut, mafia typical threat of violence WC: 2864

Main Masterlist || Bucky Masterlist || Part One || Part Two || Part Three ||

When you had been asked to pack a bag for a night away, you had thought you were going somewhere further than New York City. The confusion had been clear on your face as your driver parked outside a gated brownstone, but before you could ask why you were there the front door opened to reveal Bucky. His usual business attire had been ditched in exchange for a dark blue cashmere sweater that set his eyes alight and the way it hugged his chest had you itching to run your hands over it.

The only sign that he wasn’t as relaxed as he tried to appear was the crystal tumbler of whiskey hanging from his fingertips and the way his hair tipped to one side, the result of his fingers constantly brushing through the strands. Your driver was at your side and opening the door just as Bucky cleared the gate and you stepped onto the pavement and into his waiting arms. He may have only been gone one day but it was more than enough to have missed his presence at home.

“I’m so glad to see you, doll.” Bucky whispered quietly into your ear as his eyes scanned the street. “Let’s get inside.”

Whatever timeless age the outside held was gone the moment you stepped over the threshold. High ceilings and open spaces were modernised and surprisingly minimalist compared to the decor of the mansion upstate, but it was just as stunning. Bucky’s hand was low on your back as he guided you through the foyer and down a hall to his office at the back. You were suddenly nervous as he closed the door behind you and placed his glass on the mahogany desk.

He dropped heavily into his chair and turned his attention to the wall of glass that overlooked the private backyard and shimmering pool. A tension hung in the air and you were surprised Winter wasn’t making his way to the surface as Bucky chewed on his bottom lip and twirled a pen mindlessly in his hand. Suddenly he dropped the pen back on the desk and patted his lap, your movements slower than normal as you tentatively approached him.

“I need your help.”

Whatever you thought he was going to say could not have come close and your lips parted as you took a breath and sat on his lap. “Whatever you need, baby.”

“A warehouse of mine was raided today. There was meant to be an auction tonight.” He said as he tipped his head back and sighed as your hands massaged the tight muscles on his shoulders. “We are sitting on $100 million cash and this auction was how we were going to wash it.”

You didn’t know where he was heading with it as he reached for his whiskey and swallowed the amber liquid back, sucking his teeth as the alcohol burnt down his throat. “I need to know if you were serious when we met.”

You nodded as you remembered what you said in an attempt to hopefully save your life. “You can launder money digitally without losing, I'm sure. I had a lot of time to think of business and criminal ventures when I was trapped in that marriage.”

“I need you to show me how, doll. If I can’t get rid of this cash quick we are all fucked.”

You stood up and turned around so you could sit facing his computer, already bringing up different websites. “You’re familiar with cryptocurrency, right?”

“Some of our overseas partners use it.” He nodded. “We have wallets with Ethereum, Litecoin, Cardino and a few others.”

“Good. What about NFT’s?” He shrugged and you brought up an image that looked like a child had made on Microsoft Paint. “Buying, trading and selling of unique digital media. It can be as basic as this shit or actual art but they are legitimate sales and can be almost completely anonymous with crypto.”

He leant forward to look closer at the website and scanned over the information, his mind processing it efficiently. “I’ll need a few more shell companies, but that's simple enough to do.”

“Buy a few of these cheaper ones and sell them to yourself for a few hundred thousand.” You nodded. “Crypto takes care of the rest, money washed.”

“Set it up.”

“Wait, what?” You gasped, spinning around to see if he was joking.

“This is your baby.” He reclined back with a smile, reaching into his pocket for his phone and wallet. “Get whatever you need to make it happen.”

No one had ever trusted you to do, well, anything. You had just been an item to trade and barter with and now Bucky was treating you as his equal. Sensing your hesitation, he pulled you closer and cupped your face as his lips brushed softly over yours. Your body relaxed in his embrace, moulding into him as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“If you need any help, I’ll be right here.” He reassured you as he broke away, leaving you to catch your breath.

You took a deep breath and nodded, mentally telling yourself that you could do this. You had made a million plans in your head on how to hide money on the off chance you had been able to save some up and escape your previous marriage that you knew you had the idea right, you just needed to execute it. Turning back to the computer you were stopped and Bucky shook his head.

“Start tomorrow, doll. I asked you down here so I could take you out. How does dinner and dancing sound?”

“Sounds like you are trying to court me.” You teased him as you twirled your fingers around the hairs hanging longer at his nape. “I think you are just trying to get me in your bed.”

His rich laugh sent warmth pooling between your legs and his hand trailed up your leg as if he could sense it. “Definitely. In my bed, in my shower, on my desk…everywhere.”

═══════☆═══════

Bucky’s eyes darted around the room that was far too busy for his liking, there were too many exposure points and he had precious cargo with him. Everybody that brushed too close to you had his fingers inching closer to the gun on his hip and you stepping closer under his arm.

“There something I should know?” You asked as you noticed the stiffness that was usually reserved for Winter.

“No, I just don’t particularly like it here.” He said as he continued his survey of the nightclub’s ground floor.

“You don’t like it?” Your laugh briefly pulled his attention away and your hand resting on his chest had his cock twitch. “Honey, you own it.”

“I own half this city.” He pointed out before spotting a familiar face and his eyes darkened to azure.

“Win, what’s wrong?” You asked as you noticed the switch, following his line of sight to your ex-husband. Your evening had been going so well, starting with dinner at Chef’s Table then a few cocktails at Little Branch before heading to the nightclub for some dancing. In an instant the mood was gone. “Fucking marvellous.”

“I’ll deal with him.” Winter said chillingly. “Go with Nico and order a drink while I take out the trash.”

“Don’t take too long, there’s only two names on my dance card.” You whispered as you tiptoed to reach his ear, placing a quick kiss to his racing pulse.

“Kukolka…” he groaned as he fought the urge to take you to his office upstairs and fuck you on another of his desks.

“Sorry.” You said with a soft chuckle.

“No you’re not.” He said before snapping his fingers at Nico to get his attention and leaning down into your ear. “I’ll deal with you later, now go.”

You drew your bottom lip between your teeth as you imagined just how he would deal with you and you couldn’t wait. Two drinks later you were squirming on your bar stool. Between the music and the thought of Winter you just couldn’t sit still. Climbing off, you felt the room slightly spin and decided not to finish the half full glass.

“Would you like some water, ma'am?” Nico asked as he watched you grab the bartop.

“I think that is probably a good idea.” You admitted as you tried to act sober and failed.

After a refreshing glass of water you decided to make your way into the crowd filling the dancefloor, needing something to distract you from the absence of you boyfriend. A moment of insecurity hit you as you swayed to the music and you noticed the crowd move away from you. You didn’t think you had stood on anyones toes and the dozens of bottles of perfumes Bucky had bought were mouthwatering so it wasn’t that either. Turning around though, you saw exactly what had sent them spilling to the edges of the room.

Winter’s air of dominance was almost palpable as his eyes roamed your body, your hips begging him to grip them tight as he showed every man exactly who you belonged to. He had seen the way the others had been eyeing you up, and if Nico hadn’t been there to stop their filthy fingers from getting close he would have been splitting his knuckles on another man. He had only just left your ex-husband unconscious against the dumpsters out back, he would have no problem adding more bodies to it.

Your body was burning for his touch as he continued to watch, his chest puffing from the fight he had just had and the sight before him. Holding your hand out, you curled your finger in invitation and his lips teased a hint of a smile that only you could see. To everyone else he looked cold and unfeeling and he stepped closer like he was stalking his prey, this was the deadly mob boss with a reputation of getting his hands dirty. To you, you saw the fire in his eyes and welcomed his touch, your thumb softly brushing the fresh bruises on his knuckles before they came to rest on your hips.

“You started without me, kukolka.” He murmured low into your ear just loud enough to be heard over the music.

Turning in his arms so you could roll your hips and grind your ass over his cock, you leant back into his chest to look up at him with a smirk. “You were taking too long. I had to get your attention somehow.”

You should have known he would be a good dancer, the way he held you close and rolled his body in time with yours should have been illegal. It almost was illegal some of the things his hands were doing but he just stopped short of fucking you on the dancefloor. Just. The build up was leaving you dizzy and you could feel your arousal pooling in your panties with every beat of the heavy bass playing around you. Filth fell from Winter’s mouth between the kisses and sucks he was trailing along your neck and you felt like you could almost reach bliss without a single touch to your needy cunt.

“Win, unless you want everyone here to know how I look when I cum, we need to leave.” You begged as the throbbing between your legs left your chest rising and falling rapidly with sharp breaths.

“Upstairs.”

You could barely keep up as he raced towards the stairs that led to his office above the club and his fingers almost slipped from yours twice before you made it there. His hand was just about to turn the doorknob when Nico shouted over the music. A deep groan escaped his gritted teeth as he turned to find Nico holding his hand over his phone, worry indenting lines across his face.

“Got a situation, boss.”

Winter’s barely audible curse left you hiding the disappointment you felt, knowing your night had come to a halt earlier than planned. You gave him a small smile in return for the apologetic look he was giving you and he held his phone out to accept the call of whoever was on the other line. “This might take a while, doll. Nico, call the car around.”

He was about to head into his office where it was quiet enough to take the call but you pulled him to a stop, stealing your kiss goodnight before he regrettably pulled. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

He bit his lip as your hands trailed down his abs to hover over the bulge trapped in his pants. “Then you’ll deal with me?”

“Oh, doll.” He chuckled. “I’ll do more than just deal with you, I’m going to ruin you.”

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You could hear Winter’s angry rock music leaving you a trail of aural breadcrumbs to follow and you found the sound escaping the doors to the gym. Sweat was beading along his forehead as he lay there bench pressing an insane amount of weight, his legs spread wide to balance himself. The ropes of muscles in his arms strained to push the bar back up but still he kept going, so focused on finishing his reps that he didn’t notice you slipping inside.

“I missed you last night.”

You straddled his waist and he locked the bar over the hook so his hands were free to roam your body. You were still in one of his shirts you slept in, the edge riding up your thighs as he looked down to find you weren’t wearing anything underneath. His cock was already straining against the loose shorts he wore and you rolled your hips to sate your need for friction. You had waited up but after the dawn rays broke through the gap in the curtain you gave in to your exhaustion, it must have been important if it kept him out all night.

“Had some shit to deal with.” He tone admitted he missed you too as he felt the heat of your core calling to him.

“I had to take care of myself.” You pouted, reaching up your shirt to tease your nipples. “That’s how much I missed you.”

His chest vibrated with a possessive growl and he lifted you from his lap just long enough to push his shorts over his hips, impaling you with one well aimed thrust.

“Oh fuck.” You cried at the sudden fullness, swearing that you could feel him as your hand pressed to your stomach.

“Show me.” Winter grunted as your feet lifted off the ground with each sharp rut up into you. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

Your jaw went slack with ecstasy and you ran two fingers over his full pink lips until he opened his mouth for them, tongue working around them until they were nice and wet for you. Your heavenly sigh filled the air as you teased your clit and rolled your hips, riding Winter as he laid back and enjoyed the show. Your free hand tweaked your stiff peaks and the residual feelings from the nightclub plus everything he was doing quickly had you falling into your first orgasm.

Your pleasure was like a naked flame, your body the fuse and Winter the explosive. Seeing you ignite sent Winter into action. His large hands splayed across your back and he pulled you down, chest to chest as he took the control back. His hips pistoned furiously into you and your body had no time to recover from the first orgasm, the waves continuing to ripple through you, pussy gushing around his cock and down your legs.

“Fuck, Win, oh god, too much!” You cried as your legs fell slack around the bench and you gave yourself over to him.

“Wanna feel you come around me again.” He panted as he starved off his release to feel yours first.

Your head was shaking, but you couldn’t find the words to deny him as your walls began to flutter and tighten more with every rough pound of his body ramming yours. You tried to pull away as ghostly touches of fire spread over your skin but he took your hands and pinned them behind your back.

“Fuck, fuck, Winter, please.” You begged as tears sprung to your eyes.

“Take it, kukolka, you take it so well.”

You sagged with relief as your pussy began to pulse and he groaned as your body milked his cock, the hot ropes releasing with his heavy breathes that blew cool air across the fire that consumed your body. His hands released the grip on yours and pulled the limp limbs up to his neck so you could play with his hair while you recovered.

“I always liked waking up alone, until now.” You murmured as your mind remained in a cum-clouded haze.

“I wish I could promise that it wouldn’t happen again but our line of work makes it impossible.”

You looked up to see Bucky, his softer touch running soothingly up and down your spine.

“Then I’ll be content with the nights we do have.”

Click here for next part.

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The Proposal

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Warnings: Mild spoilers, sentencing, prison mentions, drinking

Word Count: 1324

A/N: Here’s part 2 of Convenience! Thank you to everyone who commented on and reblogged part 1, it really means a lot. Anyway, I hope you like it!

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Headcanon Requests Open!

Y/N’s parents were sentenced to fifteen years each for their involvement in Maroni’s drug operation, racketeering, and money laundering. She chose not to attend the trail and Alfred had been helping her avoid her parents attempts to reach her by phone call. It was all too fresh and she knew she would explode if she talked to them. Bruce respected her decision to distance herself, as always there was an understanding between them that did not need to be spoken. They supposed that was what happened when you grew up together with few other children to call friends. They had always been closer to each other than they were to the other children of Gotham’s rich and powerful. But she had always found it easier to connect with other people than him, especially after his parents deaths.

Maybe that was why it was so shocking. While she relied on Bruce most of the time throughout the trial, in an effort to not burden him with everything, she had tried to reach out to some of the other friends she felt the closest to. All of them had only taken her calls as a formality, hanging up the phone as soon as they could. And that was only the start of it. Bruce had insisted on replacing most of her things, but the shops she had shopped at her whole life had not so gently suggested that she was no longer welcome. Bruce’s heart broke for her with each rejection, but the worst was yet to come.

He was sat in the living room watching the news about the last of the Maroni trials one night when he heard angry footsteps retreating into the drawing room before the door was slammed shut. As he walked to investigate he heard the faint clinking of the whiskey tumbler. He pushed the door open slowly.

Y/N was sat on the floor in front of the fire place, prodding at the logs with a poker to try and get the fire going. The whiskey tumbler and a full glass sat on the floor next to her. Bruce could tell by her posture that something else had happened.

He grabbed a glass from the tray and walked over to her before dropping down to sit next to her. “What happened?” He asked as he poured himself a glass.

She dropped the poker on the hearth and took a sip of the whiskey. “They fired me. Said the company couldn’t be associated with my family name.”

“I’m sorry.” He studied her face, the way she just seemed numb to it all now. He knew how much her job meant to her, how much she enjoyed the work. He also knew now was the time to make the suggestion that had been playing on his mind for the past few weeks. “I think we should get married.” He was prepared for the look of shock she gave him.

“What?” Her head shot up to look at him, waiting for him to say that he was just joking.

“It would be a marriage of convenience. You would get my name, which I don’t think anyone in this city has the guts to try and come after, you’d be protected financially, could keep living here without anyone raising any questions. It just makes sense.” He said it so nonchalantly, as if they were just talking about something like the weather.

“What’s in it for you? Isn’t a marriage of convenience supposed to benefit both parties? What on earth could you gain from marrying someone whose parents have just been put in prison for helping one of the city’s biggest criminals?”

His lips turned up in a half smile, he could never get anything past her. “For one thing, the journalists might leave me alone about when I am going to get married. It also protects this company if anything happens to me. And it gives me peace of mind, knowing you’re protected. It can last as long as we need it to. If we meet other people or we feel like it’s no longer working, we can easily divorce.”

She furrowed her brow. “You’ve really thought about this.”

“I know. And you don’t need to answer now, just promise me you’ll think about it.”

She nodded. “I will.”

****

Y/N tossed and turned all night, Bruce’s proposition running through her mind. When she could not stand it anymore, she climbed out of bed and pulled on a jumper. Her bare feet padded on the carpet as she walked down to Bruce’s room. She hovered outside his door, debating on whether she should just go back to bed. But her need for further clarification won out and she knocked on the door three times.

“Yeah?” Bruce’s voice was heavy with sleep and she felt bad for waking him.

She opened the door as he turned on the light. “Please tell me you don’t sleep naked?”

“No.” He chuckled and ran a hand through his messy hair as she walked in. “Everything okay?”

She pushed the door closed behind her and walked over to the bed. Bruce was sat up in bed, and while he may not sleep naked, it appeared he did sleep shirtless. Y/N was slightly thrown off by how well built he actually was, but she pushed those thoughts out of her mind and sat in front of him on the bed.

“I have some questions.”

“About what?”

She played with a loose thread on her jumper sleeve. “About the arrangement you proposed earlier.”

“And it couldn’t wait until morning?” She shot him a look and he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. Since we’re both awake now anyway, ask away.”

“How would it work? Like would people know why we’ve decided to get married? How would the ceremony work? How would everything work after?”

“You’ve really thought about this?” He repeated her words from earlier. “But no, I don’t think it would be wise to tell people the real reason we’ve decided to get married, the ceremony would just be like normal, and after, well nothing has to change from how it is now. Just any events we really can’t get out of, we’d have to attend together.”

She was quiet, he could see the cogs moving in her brain. He let her think it through.

She nodded, her eyes moving from staring at his bed side table to meet his. “Let’s do it then.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” She nodded again.

“Okay.” He threw off the covers and swung his legs out of bed. Her eyes followed him as he walked over to the desk in front of the window and opened one of the drawers. When he returned to the bed, there was a box in his hand. He opened the lid and handed it to her. “That was my mother’s engagement ring.”

“Bruce-”

He held a hand up to stop her. “No, I know what you’re going to say, but I want you to have it. It doesn’t matter that we’re not actually getting married, I think she would want you to have it as much as I do. Consider it a thank you for always being there for me over the years.”

“You already repaid that by being there for me these past few months.”

“I also think everyone will expect me to give it too you as well. It will help convince them that it’s real.”

She slipped the ring out of the box and placed it on her ring finger. “Okay.”

Bruce’s heart jumped as she slid the ring on, but he did not let it show. “Does that mean I can go back to sleep now?”

She laughed and shook her head, but stood up from his bed. “Yes, goodnight, Bruce.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

Part 3