#sounds live feels live manila

[avis-writeshq]

omg omg please for track four of your event 🙈 we know that sparks fly!reader calls spencer ‘Walter’ but can we get the first time he calls her ‘angel’ please???? 💕💕

l.d.s.k – spencer reid [bonus 'sparks fly' chapter]

summary: in other words, the first time spencer calls you an angel pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff warnings: rated 15+ for general criminal minds violence, canon compliant with s1 e6 ‘L.D.S.K’, a hint of Derek slander oops, not beta read wc: 2.2k a/n: many many apologies for the delay anon! i hope this can live up to your expectations! sparks fly masterlist | event page

“Reid failed his qualification,” Elle tells you as she makes her way into the bullpen looking flawless as ever. 

Her words bring you out of your daily crossword puzzle, your brows furrowing. “He failed?”

“Well, he can re-test in two weeks,” Gideon says dismissively, making his way over to the water dispenser.

Elle shrugs, craning her head to look at him. “They took his gun this morning,” she replies. She looks back over. “Be gentle.”

“I’m always gentle,” you tell her, harshly erasing a wrong answer in your puzzle. “Was that not already obvious?”

“I’m not talking to you,” Elle responds swiftly, her gaze set on Derek’s forehead. 

Derek is quick to raise his hands in surrender, but the glimmer of amusement sparks in his eyes. You narrow your own just as Spencer comes walking through the glass doors with Gideon following behind him. The young doctor looks dejected as ever, the grip he has on the strap of his bag so tight that his knuckles blanche. 

He slumps down onto his desk beside you, turning the computer on with a scowl. You open your mouth to say something, an attempt of making him feel better, but Derek beats you to it.

“We’re all here for you,” Derek says, noticing the way Spencer avoids his gaze. “I’m serious.”

It starts off well. Spencer finally begrudgingly looks Derek in the eye, an unimpressed look on his face.

“If you ever need anything,” Derek continues, fishing something out of his pocket. You lean over the desk divider to get a better look, but apparently you don’t need to. A shrill whistle sound fills the air, and Morgan snickers in jest. “Just blow on that.”

Spencer’s face falls into a stern frown as he hurries to rip the whistle off his neck, throwing it onto his desk. 

You try once more to offer any form of condolences but your efforts are once again cut off by JJ carrying a stack of manila folders and passing them off to the team. You don’t pay much attention to what she’s saying (something about a shooting and three victims?), your gaze fixed on Spencer’s troubled face. The others rattle off about long distance serial killers and profiling, and you can’t help but feel a little bad for your lack of contribution, but your thoughts are filled with more pressing matters. 

After the briefing and Hotch saying a simple, “Wheels up in twenty”, you turn in Derek’s direction as you stuff your bag with files and random pieces of stationary. Elle sits within earshot, packing her own things. 

“Why are you so mean to him?” Your voice carries no malice and you don’t look in his direction at all, head down as you furrow through your go-bag.

Derek’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“To Spencer,” you clarify, “like, just now. He was already in a bad mood. You didn’t really have to say much else.”

“I’m just… toughening him up,” Derek says with a shrug. 

“This job would do that by itself. Spencer doesn’t need to ‘toughen up’, and this job doesn’t need your help to do that, either.” You lift your shoulder noncommittally. “I think you’re just insecure.” 

Elle cackles at that, stifling her laughter behind her fist while Derek snaps his head in your direction. “Alright then, I’ll bite. How am I insecure?”

“You’re a classic alpha male, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing, but you’re an alpha male who is in a work environment where almost every other man is also an alpha male. Spencer is the opposite; he’s more timid which, again, not a bad thing, and he’s also more intellectually gifted.” A wry smile spreads across your face as you hoist your bag off your desk and sling it over your shoulder. “You’re insecure that he’s smarter than you and because he’s the quote-un-quote ‘weakest’ of the pack, you just can’t help but pick on him.”

“Reid and I are friends,” Derek says defensively. “And come on, you can’t tell me that you don’t his ramblings a little bit annoying.”

You hum. “I don’t find them annoying. Even if I did, I wouldn’t cut my friends off when they’re talking about something they find interesting.”

Spencer doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. He swears that it was never his intention– he just forgot his wallet on his desk after everything that happened that morning. Regardless, hearing you defend him in such a way is enough to make his stomach flip.

He’s barely known you for two years. He joined the team a little after you did, granted, he was a permanent addition to the team while you at the time was just interning as a part of the course you were taking. It was only after a very long discussion with Hotch that you became a solid member of the BAU (you told Spencer all of this while you shook out your hands and by extension the nerves you experienced when you were seated in front of your boss’s desk with your resume. It took everything in him to not grab onto your hands and hold them firmly in his). 

Even when you were an intern and only at work two out of the five workdays, Spencer was able to find solace in you. He didn’t really understand the logistics of it, much to his chagrin, but he has chalked it up to you being a little younger than him and feeling that slight twinge of ‘protectiveness’ over you. It doesn’t make sense, he gathers upon second thought, you don’t need protecting. Despite that, he finds himself gravitating to you as if you were the earth and he was the moon. You, full of life and all things wonderful, and him, a dim light that he hopes could brighten up your darkest nights. 

He doesn’t think that that comparison is accurate enough, is the conclusion he comes to when he hears you chastise Derek for his lack of compassion. It isn’t so much ‘chastising’ as it is stating a fact. Spencer thinks you’re an angel and that everyone should kiss the floor you walk on. His head spins with facts about angels and their origins. He mumbles the facts under his breath, considering all the different backgrounds of angels and the connotations of viewing you as such. Spencer scrunches his nose in annoyance. He’ll be thinking about this the entire flight. 

*** 

You sit next to him during the flight. Your hands are in your lap as you fiddle with your fingertips, almost as if you’re contemplating something. Spencer glances at you expectantly from the corner of his eye, ignoring the book he is supposed to be reading.

“I know I shouldn’t really have to say this, but don’t worry about Derek,” you tell him through a hushed whisper. “He’s just being an idiot.”

“Yeah,” Spencer says, trying to not look fazed about the situation. “I know.”

You shift again in your seat before playfully flipping his collar upwards. “I like this shirt on you. Red is totally your colour.”

He thinks it’s pathetic, the way his eyes light up and the way he physically preens at your compliments. “There have been studies on the colour red and how it may impact one’s perceptions of others. Actually, it has been found that seeing the colour red can cause an elevation in blood pressure, enhanced metabolism, and a spike in heart rate which are all physiological changes associated in increased energy levels. Another study showed that those who wear red are perceived to be more sexually appealing than those who wear other colours.”

His cheeks flare in embarrassment upon realising the insinuation of his words and he hurriedly backtracks. “Not that I was expecting anything! It was just interesting and–”

“Walter, it’s fine.” You laugh, rolling your eyes. “It’s okay! You’re right, it is interesting.”

Spencer doesn’t think you’re an angel anymore. He knows it. He manages to crack a smile. “You think so?”

You nod enthusiastically, looking over at him. “Tell me more.”

He thinks that he might faint.

*** 

The hospital is under lockdown. Your head spins when you see SWAT making their way through the lobby, armed in heavy bulletproof uniform and guns that are at least half your height. You’ve never had to work a situation where they had to be called and the severity of the situation sinks in. 

“Hotch and Spencer will be okay, right?” You ask worriedly, glancing over to where Gideon is trying to negotiate with the captain.

“They’re good at what they do,” JJ reassures gently, squeezing your arm. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

Gideon returns with a disgruntled frown, gesturing with annoyance towards the SWAT team. “They’re taking the ER in three minutes.”

“That’s it?” Your words are quiet as you try not to attract the attention of the people in said team. “So, what, Hotch and Spencer need to talk down a crazy armed sociopath in three minutes?”

“It’s like they don’t even want our help,” Elle says through a grumble. “What’s the point of asking us here if they’re not even going to listen to us?”

Somehow, those three minutes are both the longest and shortest three minutes of your life. There’s nothing you can do except wait and even then, the hospital is borderline silent. You’re not necessarily sure if that’s a good thing. You watch with the others as SWAT trek up the stairs in formation, and you wring your hands out nervously. Time continues to tick by and just when you’re sure that you’ll be stuck here for the next however many hours, a loud bang rings through the hospital. It’s so sudden that you jolt on the spot, your head snapping towards the door. 

A few civilians, all accompanied by SWAT agents, make their way through the doors and towards the ambulances stationed outside. You follow them out, taking in a breath of fresh night air while a shiver runs down your spine from the cool breeze. Everything seems to be in order and everyone seems to be calm and collected. That must be a good sign, right?

Spence grimaces from his spot on the back of an ambulance, rubbing at his lower torso. The pain isn’t that bad anymore, but it does feel a little raw from where Hotch repeatedly kicked him. His face is bruised from where Phillip Dowd hit him with the back of his rifle. The gun he used feels heavy in his pocket and he genuinely isn’t used to it being there. 

“You alright?” Hotch asks. He’s using a softer tone, one that Spencer isn’t particularly accustomed to.

Spencer nods, his arms crossed over his stomach. “Yeah.”

“Nice shot.”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “I was aiming for his leg.”

Hotch looks a little amused before he continues, “I wouldn’t have kept kicking but I was afraid you didn’t get my plan.”

“I got your plan the minute you moved the hostages out of my line of fire,” Spencer says genuinely, nodding.

“Well, I hope I didn’t hurt you too badly,” Hotch says guiltily.

Spencer can’t help but laugh quietly. “Hotch, I was a twelve year old child prodigy in a Las Vegas public high school. You kick like a nine year old girl.” He pauses, offering the gun back to him.

“No, keep it,” Hotch says, patting Spencer squarely on the shoulder. “As far as I’m concerned you passed your qualification.”

Spencer offers a smile as his boss walks away, his gaze meeting yours as you hurry over to him. “Hey–”

“Walter, your face,” you lament with a frown, reaching a hand out to brush against the bruising.

Spencer flinches, hissing softly and you pull back. “It’s still a little sore.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, glancing again at his injuries, worry laced in your tone and etched upon your features. 

“You’re an angel,” Spencer says softly in a daze, watching the way the flashing lights from the ambulance.

Heat travels up towards your cheeks at his words and you press the backs of your hands against your face in an attempt to calm yourself down. “I’m not an angel.”

He’s in too deep to try and backtrack so he nods. “You are,” he says honestly, looking up at you from where he sits on the ambulance. “And if you can call me by my middle name, doesn’t that mean I can give you a nickname too?”

“Well, I guess,” you relent, your heart still aching at the sight of the bruise on the side of his face. 

He beams at you as he pockets the gun. “Alright, then, angel.”

Your cheeks grow hot again and this time you feel the blood rush to your ears. “It’ll take a while to get used to it.”

He laughs. “But you’ll get used to it.”

“I heard what you did in there,” you say swiftly, effectively changing the subject. “You don’t need that whistle anymore.”

Spencer nods and smiles. “Yeah. Thanks, angel.”

“Anytime, Walter.”

reblogs are always appreciated!

sparks fly masterlist | event page

[aangell333]

hi<333 can i do like a fluff and smut request for aaron hotchner? a virgin//very innocent reader (18+, ofc) who’s maybe spencer’s sister or something, and she meets aaron and he knows she has a crush on him? super flirty banter and lots of touching until it drives the reader crazy, but she won’t admit that it makes her horny? eventually aaron, who’s always so blunt, asks if she’s horny at that moment, and they have a talk about her wants and needs? maybe daddy issues! reader? obv eventual full smut

idk i’m a sucker for daddy! aaron taken innocent readers virginity

thank u <333

how you managed to land a job at the bau, the behavioural analysis unit, at the f-b-fucking-i is beyond you. you’d answered an ad, filled out a form, did a quick interview and boom. you’d been appointed to a team.

granted, it was only as an assistant, most likely running the team’s coffees, but still. that’s running coffees for the fbi. how many people can say they do that for a living?

you walked in on your first day a bundle of nerves. you’d chosen your cutest-but-still-work-appropriate outfit and genuinely tried to walk in with your head held high. but the whispers and mutters that followed you through the bullpen left you more nervous than you’d started. willing yourself not to run, you sped up your pace slightly and trotted up the stairs that lead you to your new boss’s office.

you knocked on the door quickly, trying to soothe your racing heart.

“come in.” a deep voice called you, commanding and loud. you cracked the door open and stood awkwardly at the threshold. your eyes widened as you took in the scene.

the man that sat before you was nothing you’d ever seen before. it was as if he’d been crafted from the purest marble sent by the gods, chiselled away at by the most experienced and meticulous hands. he was incredible, deep, black eyes that matched the neat hair on his head, the quirk of his questioning eyebrow as you gawked at him.

“m-mr- detective hotchner. I’m y/n y/l/n, your new assistant?” you squeaked out, trying not to cringe at how shaky and scared you sounded. his face cleared, like ripples calming on a pond, leaving it smooth and glassy. like a pond who’s lips you wanted to capture on yours and-

“ah, of course! come on in and take a seat,” he rose from his desk and held his hand out with a soft smile.

your feet moved of their own accord, moving you closer to the beautiful man as you placed your hand in his. his other hand came up to clasp yours as they shook, yours disappearing beneath his. once he released your hand, you both sat down at the same time. the guest chair situated at his desk was slightly uncomfortable and you tried not to squirm in the plastic.

“would you like a tea? coffee?” he asked you, closing the manila folder on his desk and tucking it away.

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” you joked with an airy laugh and you tried to fight the swoon that threatened you at the sound of his own chuckle.

“don’t worry about that just yet. let’s get you acquainted before we start rushing you off your feet,” he said with a quick smile.

the two of you then started discussing your boundaries. what you were willing to do, what you’re a little more less experienced in doing. he assured you multiple times that you would be kept well away from any unsubs, no matter who requested what of you.

“I don’t want you in any danger, y/n. it is my responsibility to keep you safe.” he’d said in a serious tone, making himself clear to you.

a week later, you found yourself in an nypd precinct, listening to the detectives spitball theories. you were perched on a spinny desk stool offered by mr hotchner - having not yet got past addressing him as his formal name, no matter how many times he insisted you call him hotch - as he perched on the desk behind you. his hands gripped the edges of the desk, knuckles ever so gently brushing your back each time you squirmed in your seat.

“…targeting women much like this young lady here,” you flushed as the captain of the precinct gestured a hand towards you. he chuckled and winked at mr hotchner above you. “better keep your assistant safe, detective hotchner.”

he went on to give more details of the case to his team, but you couldn’t listen. your breath was caught in your chest and anxiety curled itself into your chest.

“hey, hey, it’s ok.” mr hotchner mumbled from above you, leaning down slightly towards your ear. you felt his knuckles gently skimming up and down your back. the action calmed you slightly and you leaned into his touch. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

the words made you swoon… and strangely… made your core clench? a frown briefly furrowed your brow and you wondered what caused such a reaction down there. you had rarely felt anything down there apart from pain during your period, and you hadn’t felt such a… tingly feeling since your teenage years.

the captain dismissed his team and he and the rest of the bau came over to you and mr hotchner. their appearance made him sit back up and move his hand back to gripping the edge of the desk.

“so, what’s the move, hotch?” derek asked, folding his arms and adjusting his stance.

mr hotchner hummed and frowned, bringing a hand up to his mouth. you gently rolled your chair to the side a little so that you weren’t in the way, not liking how the attention on him made you feel out of place. mr hotchner began reeling off his plan, giving jobs out to the members of his team. his tone was commanding and firm, leaving no room for argument as the team started their investigation for the case.

“..and, y/n, could you collect some menus from restaurants in the area for us all to look over so we can decide on a place for dinner?” he asked you, his voice significantly softer and kinder with a gentle hand on your shoulder. you nodded and gathered your things, heading over to the briefing room where the team had set up.

throughout the day, you couldn’t shake that ache and tingle in your core. you lay back on the hotel bed, staring at the ceiling above you with your hands folded on your stomach. your core was throbbing by now, begging for… you didn’t know what for. but it throbbed. and ached.

you’d never… done anything down there. never touched it or had it touched. back in high school, your friends would always tell you about their sex lives and who they were sleeping with. but you were always too… shy. too nervous to do any of that. so you stuck to yourself, no matter how people teased you for being a virgin. and you had always had that in the back of your mind whenever anyone had tried to initiate anything with you. how inexperienced you were. how you didn’t know what you were doing. so you’d stop it all entirely. and that’s how you ended up here, 26 and not once touched.

maybe mr hotchner wouldn’t mind… you found yourself thinking. you often found yourself thinking of what mr hotchner thought of you. if he liked you at all. you were pretty sure he did, he was very nice to you and gentler with you than he was with everyone else. he was almost like a father to the group…

he was more of a father than your own was. your father came and went from your home as he pleased, leaving you to care for your sick mother yourself. and when he was home… it wasn’t very pretty. you cringed at the amount of times you had to pick your own bedroom lock after he’d left again so that you could tend to your mother. you were scared of your father, knowing he could find you whenever he wanted to find you. the thought made you sick to your stomach.

you huffed and shifted onto your side, pushing the duvet off of you. your eyes drifted to the digital clock you’d brought with you, 12:46. not great considering you had to be up at 6am the next day. but sleep seemed like a foreign mystery to you at that time, so you decided a cold shower would help shake this unusual feeling from your core. so that’s what you did, kicking the duvet away and padding over to the en-suite.

you sat in the briefing room of the precinct slightly dazed the next day. you’d slept in by accident, and the sound of derek banging on your door was what woke you up. at 6:57am.

mr hotchner sat beside you as he watched the captain at the front of the room, describing his theories. your tired gaze was fixed on the pot of pens in the middle of the table as you zoned everything out. the strange tingly feeling was back in your core, poking at your entrance. it had started when you were making coffees for everyone and mr hotchner had leaned over you from behind to grab you the pot of sugar you couldn’t reach, his hand placed gently on your waist. the interaction had left you breathless and… throbbing. you squirmed in your seat and pressed your thighs together, praying it would go away.

you screwed your eyes tight shut and opened them again, your eyes flitting to the movement you saw in the corner of them. mr hotchner had his hands folded on the table, wringing them together. his knuckles and fingers flexed, the veins in the back of his hands popping. his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his pale forearms and the large vein that struck out there. you blinked your eyes hard again, not understanding why this only increased the ache in your core and made your hole clench up tight.

your attention was drawn back to the room as everybody began rising from the table, heading to do their tasks for the day. you followed, grabbing leftover books and folders. a hand encircled your upper arm and you came face to face with jj giving you a soft smile. the door clicked behind derek, leaving you and jj alone in the room.

you liked jj. she was a lovely girl. the two of you had quickly become close and she was the first one - besides mr hotchner - to ask you to run an errand that wasn’t coffee. the two of you often gossiped with penelope garcia and sometimes elle greenaway too, the girls more of them than not sharing their ‘sex-capades’ as penelope likes to call it. jj was one of the first to really trust you.

“hey, sit down for me,” she said, sitting in the seat beside you and retracting her hand. you sat down too, following her actions mutely. “you ok? you’ve been a little… out of it. hotch asked me to talk to you.”

you cringed a little at that, not liking how mr hotchner had acknowledged your not-all-there-ness.

“I-I’m fine. I just… dunno. things have been a bit… different lately.” you said, folding your legs and pressing your hands together.

“different?”

“yeah. I just… you know you were telling me about that guy you met. the one who… slept over at your house.” jj chuckled a little at your euphemism but nodded.

“yes, I remember. why, has a guy slept over at your house recently?” excitement gleamed in her eye a little but you quickly shook your head.

“nono! no… but… you remember you said you felt… achey down there? the good achey.” you said and jj slowly nodded.

“well… i’ve just been… feeling that. and… I don’t know what to do about it.” you mumbled. “and… I don’t wanna… touch myself-“ your voice dropped to a whisper and you cleared your throat “-but… it needs to stop.”

jj chuckled a little.

“okaaay, well. do you know what caused it?”

you hesitated before nodding quickly but stayed mute.

“do you… wanna tell me?”

you shook your head quickly.

“right. well. whatever or whoever has turned you on-“ you cringed “-is most likely what will help to get rid of it. and yes, y/n, that means sex.” she chuckled fondly at the way you cringed again. she stood up, placed a hand on your shoulder and kissed your temple lightly. “you’ll be fine, y/n/n. I believe in you.”

and with that, she left the briefing room.

for the rest of the week, the tingle mostly stayed with you. on the jet back to quantico, you sat at the very back, thighs pressed firmly together and head fuzzy. your eyes stared straight ahead but were unseeing and your plush lips were parted but soundless.

your eyes flickered over to the movement in the corner of your eye, catching mr hotchner as he stepped out of the bathroom while shaking his hands to rid them of the lingering water droplets. his eyes met yours and he sent you a quick, fond wink with a smile. you swooned internally at his large presence, wanting nothing but for the older man to swoop you up and-

you stopped yourself and looked away before your thoughts could become any more explicit.

your eyes widened as you realised mr hotchner was walking towards you. he wore a kind smile as he took the seat beside you and placed a hand on your forearm. he gently unclasped your hands as you anxiously wrung them together and moved the one nearest to him to the armrest that separated his and your seats, his large fingers softly encircling your wrist.

“hey, did jj talk to you?” he asked you, voice politely low to keep your conversation private. you could only dumbly nod your head, eyes lost in his. “good, good. is everything ok?”

you actually swooned slightly this time at his protectiveness but managed to force your voice out of your throat.

“u-uh- yeah. I’m fine just… bit of a strange week,” you were glad mr hotchner took your words the way he did, assuming you meant ‘strange’ in regards to this being your first case.

“I agree,” he chuckled. “and an awful unsub to be your first, please understand that not everyone in the world is like that.”

you giggled in response.

“do you need me to grab you anything, sir?” you asked him, wondering why he was taking an interest in your well-being; no older male had ever done that for you. his brow furrowed.

“no, no, I was checking if you’re ok. the health of my team is important to me. you’re important to me, y/n.” his face was full of sincerity as he spoke and his eyes twinkled. your own eyes, on the other hand, threatened to fill with tears as a ball settled in your chest. your throat was suddenly raw and your head ached.

“oh…” was all you could force out.

“y/n, are you ok?” you nodded quickly and bolted to the bathroom, stumbling down the aisle of the jet.

in the toilet, you could feel your breath shortening rapidly. he cared about you. no man had ever said such words to you, and if they had, it was never to your face. but for some reason, you panties felt… sticky. and that familiar ache settled in your core. you tried to muffle your whine of desperation as the feeling returned, desperately trying to figure out just why you were feeling distraught and… turned on, as jj had called it.

once the jet landed, you grabbed your bag from the overhead locker and hurried inside of the bau building to dump everything at your desk. you sat in your desk chair and took a big sigh. mr hotchner had asked you to stay a while in case the team needed anything, so you did just that.

you checked the time on the big clock opposite your desk. 5:34pm. nice, not too late. mr hotchner said the team didn’t take long to debrief after a case, unless fbi time and civilian time worked differently.

which you assumed it did, because the team didn’t leave the briefing room until 6:15. you had pages and pages of notes that mr hotchner had asked you to take.

your distress had passed now, but that ache was refusing to leave. you sat back at your desk and huffed, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to shift the tension elsewhere.

from the desk near yours, derek shot you a quirked brow.

“you ok there, sweet girl?” he asked and you couldn’t help but flush at the nickname.

“I told you not to call me that.” was all you could mumble as you dumped your notepad in your drawer. derek grinned and pushed his chair over, leaning his beefy forearms on the desk.

“why? cuz it makes you all flustered?” he teased. you sat back in your chair and huffed.

“normally, it’s a compliment. but I’m not really in the mood for compliments right now.” you sighed, pushing a bouncy ball penelope had given you around your desk. you gently flicked it to him and he stopped it with his fingers before flicking it back. the two of you played the little game of rolling the ball between each other as you talked.

“why? cuz you all frustrated?” he smirked and you frowned, still not lifting your eyes to his.

“I’m not frustrated, I’m just… flat.” you said and he chuckled.

“no, no, I mean… sexually frustrated.” you blushed a deeper red at his words and sat up straight in your chair.

“I-I am not! shush!” you scooped the ball up in your fingers and bounced it against his forehead. he flinched slightly and chuckled with a grin.

“come on, the whole bau can see you got it bad for hotch. we’re behavioural analysts. and, if it helps, he’s got it bad for you too.” he winked at you and bounced the ball across the desk to you.

“no he doesn’t.” you grumbled as you swung your chair side-to-side slightly. derek chuckled again and rolled his eyes.

“whatever you say, sweet girl,” he grinned, winking again before he rolled his chair back to his desk. you frowned, easily seeing that he didn’t believe you.

eventually, people began drifting home. penelope was the first to leave, humming a tune and loudly calling goodbye as she went. then it was jj, and then derek. gideon left soon after, quickly followed by elle, leaving you and spencer in the bullpen.

mr hotchner was tucked away in his office working on some paperwork. he had come down a few times while the team were dispersing to refill his mug and grab a snack. his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his tie loosened. his forearms were on display, that one vein running down making your head foggy.

at one point, as the temperature in the bullpen dropped as the night went on, he had noticed your shivering and draped his blazer around you. he had stood over you with a fond smile as he helped you slip your arms into the blazer. your cheeks had flushed red and you were unable to tear your eyes from his. once he’d walked off, spencer had thrown you a look before quickly looking back to his folder.

the action had once again settled an ache in your core, your entrance clenching tight as his scent invaded your senses. you fought every urge tugging at your nerves to bring the blazer up to your nose and inhale.

“night, y/n,” spencer said with a quick open-handed wave before he clutched his satchel to his stomach and left.

“see ya later, spencer,” you smiled at him as he walked away. the elevator dinged, indicating his descent, leaving you and mr hotchner alone in the building.

you glanced over your shoulder to his office. the blinds were drawn and soft light spilled from beneath the crack of his door. you sighed, fiddling with the hem of his blazer. you sighed and turned back to your computer screen, looking at the game of solitaire you were playing to distract yourself from your throbbing and wet core. you glanced at the clock on the bottom of your screen, 9:54pm. damn… a few minutes later, mr hotchner’s door opened and his footsteps descended the stairs.

“spencer went home?” he asked. you hummed in response, tearing your eyes away from the cards automatically flitting up to their correct spaces and giving him a smile. mr hotchner smiled as he saw your screen. “nice game.”

“thanks, beat my record.” you suddenly blushed. “sorry, I shouldn’t be playing games on company time.”

“that’s quite alright.” mr hotchner said with a smile, leaning on the edge of your desk and folding his arms. “you don’t have any tasks to do.”

you would’ve nodded, if you weren’t too distracted by the sight of his arms almost right in front of your face. you shifted in your seat as your core throbbed with heat and your mouth suddenly filled with saliva.

“y/n?…” the sound of mr hotchner’s deep voice calling you back to reality snapped you from your trance.

“I-I’m sorry- I- I was distracted-“ “y/n, are you horny right now?”

your mind blanked. you stared at his face with a surprised expression, your brows raised and lips parted. you couldn’t think, only embarrassment coiling in your chest.

“I-…” you trailed off, not finding the words to answer your boss’s such blunt question. your core ached again, however, and you could feel wetness gush into your panties. his fingertips gently grasped your jaw and he leaned down to you a little.

“I asked you a question, y/n,” he commanded with a slight smirk, clearly enjoying the power imbalance between the two of you. you swallowed and tried to fight the feeling of your eyes glazing over. “are. you. horny?”

“I am.” your voice came out in a whisper.

“what was that? I’m gonna need you to speak up, sweetheart.”

“I am. I-I’m horny, sir,” mr hotchner’s smirk grew at your words and his fingers caressed your jaw.

“good girl! using her big girl words.” you lapped up the praise tumbling from his lips and subconsciously shuffled closer. he chuckled at this. “so eager. you want your big boss to help you?”

“please…” your hand came up to hold his wrist as he squished your cheeks in one big hand and gently tilted your head up a little further. he hummed in faux sympathy before chuckling.

“come to my office. i’m going to sit down and you’re going to lock the door and close the blinds.” his hand moved to cup your cheek before he went to sit behind his desk.

you scrambled to fulfill his order, hurrying quickly after him. you stood at the door, fingers fumbling around the lock before darting to pull at the blinds. the warmth between your legs was now hot and poking at your untouched hole.

“sit.” mr hotchner ordered, gesturing to the seat before his desk. you did so, pressing yourself into the plush cushions. “now. let’s talk about what you’re comfortable with before we start. what kind of things are you into?”

your mind blanked.

how did you know what you were into if you’ve never done anything?…

HERE YOU GO SORRY ITS SO LATE!!!

PART TWO WILL BE LINKED HERE 🩷🩷

[ubescoups]

this is what home looks like

stubble is visible in his face. this is what home feels like—it's when he doesn't have to live up to the public's expectations and is all yours to keep. a free-spirited wonwoo gets to greet you every morning with a grin as he has spent the early hours of the day walking outside, basking in morning dew and inhaling the scent of wet grass as it drizzled a little on his way out.

"love, i bought you some pandesal. let's eat na."

that's the sound of home. the wrinkling and the crumpling of the brown manila bag as he fished out the small breads out of it can be heard along with stirring of the coffee you poured on your mug just now.

wonwoo removes the black cap he's wearing and hangs it on the hook placed on the wall as he makes his way to your fridge. he gets the butter for he knows it's the only thing you spread on your pandesal before dunking it on your coffee—a thing he used to find weird until he tasted it and has become a thing you both enjoy.

this is what home feels like.

this is who your home is.

[cherryredstars]

Cherryyyy that angsty part in husband simon hcs really fucking hurt i need more😭😭😭 maybe a one shot based on it where they're fighting and she tells him how she feels also tells him about the divorce papers then both of them are so fucking heartbroken and decide to try harder to make it work simon needs to get his shit together😒

Husband!Simon Headcanons (context)

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of Divorce, Some Comfort?

Unedited

There is only so much silence a room can hold before it becomes deafening.

You and Simon sit across from each other at the table, a half-full folder of documents thrown hazardously between the two of you on the rich wood- teetering on the edge. The other half is scattered on the floor, out of order and long forgotten. Neither of you make an effort to pick them up or to rescue the manila folder. Leaving everything half in, half-out and on the verge of falling apart. Simon had made an effort to catch it when he first threw it, but quickly retracted his hands when he saw it stop just short of falling.

Maybe there is something symbolic in that. In this sad, lonely picture formed between the two of you. In a place that used to be so warm and loving, now left cold and dirtied.

You haven’t looked at Simon since he had joined you at the table, and he doesn’t seem to be looking at you too. His eyes are far off, here but gone at the same time. Like always- like the nature of his life makes him. In his mind, he recalls the moments that led up to this. Slightly fleshed out images that dance in front of his eyes like war flashbacks.

The sound of his rough steps following after you when he had confronted you with the folder- clean and pristine, sitting by itself in a drawer he never knew you used- echo in his ears. He can see the dimly lit hallway the two of you walked down as you tried to escape into the living room, only stopped when he had extended his arm and grabbed you by the wrist.

“How long have you had these?”

…

“So what, huh? You’re not going to say anything to me now?”

“And say what, Simon? What can I say to you? You’ve never listened to me before. Do you want me to beg you for something? Haven’t I done enough begging in my lifetime for you to do something?”

“…When were you planning on giving these to me?”

“I can’t give something to someone who’s never here.”

Simon doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the sob that had clawed itself through your chest, or the way you had turned so sharply away from him as you walked away. He had been frozen in his spot, helpless in trying to soothe you. His own words trapped behind muscle and denial as they screamed I’m here! I’m right here.

Now he finds himself lost, floating in a sea of dark, murky water with no land in sight. Buried under dirt with nothing to crawl out with. Trapped and panicked and suffocating. His heart craving to go home, but his mind telling him there might not be a home to go back to.

Not unless he fights for it.

You keep your gaze forward as his chair creaks. Wood worn in from time and not use. Simon walks over the pile of paper, smooth under his feet. A path, a bridge, a connection.

Simon’s torso fills your vision. Then his chest, and his neck, and his face. Then he’s gone again, out of your line of sight as he kneels before you. The weight of his head falls onto your lap, the crown of his head pressing into your lower stomach. His arms- usually heavy- are like feathers around your waist as he simply holds you. Your hand drifts to his hair, and you run your fingers through it in comfort.

“Simon.”

“Hm?”

“Your back and knees will hurt later.”

“I know.”

Your eyes drift down to him, watching the way he closes his eyes and simply breaths you in. Like he’s trying to remember and engrave something in his mind. You sigh softly, a tie between tired and fond of this large man.

“The papers are still all over the floor, Simon.”

“I’ll clean it up. I promise.”

“You promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“Okay, Simon. Okay. I believe you.”

You look away again, scanning the mess on the floor and the folder on the table.

“Make sure you take out the trash when you finish.”

Simon squeezes you tighter, and you ignore the way your pants are starting to collect raindrops.

“Thank you.”

[starzshopoflove]

Sweetness

(Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader)

Notes: fem reader! i hc ghost doesn't wear a mask when he's off duty, this is just whatever rot my mouse brain creates.

WC: 2.3k

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Ghost has been weird lately—really weird. He’s not yelling at recruits; he’s not entertaining Soap's stupid arguments; he doesn't get irritated as quickly; and more noticeably, he’s been far more brutal on the field.

Ghost never hesitated to use himself as a shield, letting himself take the pain he thought they didn't deserve. He still did, but now it was different; he was a wall of muscle, but now he pushed for them to get out of fire asap. He’d kill the enemy with more prejudice, like they had already killed his most cherished friends. The look in his eyes was more wild; the adrenaline in his blood was more like fire than it was chemical. Pumping around his big body, he chanted “Protect, Protect, Protect,” which he liked much more than when it used to say “Kill Kill Kill.”

They always loved Ghost as the no-nonsense in-and-out man on the field, the one who always puts others before himself during missions, a man who'd welcome death with open hands if it meant the rest of 141 would live. They loved Simon, the man on base without the skull of a man hiding him, the one who wore a less scary baklava, the man with scars and cuts on his face when they went to the pub, the man with horrible jokes, the man who'd make the base's shitty tea somewhat edible. Simon was different too. Simon ate faster, talked a little more, and rushed to get alone as soon as he could, locking his door and not letting anyone in past dark.

Price got tipped off when he saw the little line of white peeking out of one of his vest pockets on the chopper back to base after the whole Las Almas mission. Short square over his heart under the flag that he proudly wore on his vest. He couldn't see the photo, of course, but he could tell what it was.

A captain should know everything about his force—their past, present, and future. Price knew his past and possibly knew more about his present when they weren't on duty. He knew Simon had shifted flats, moving closer to the city center, when Simon told him to update his address on his off-base database file in order to get any checks or documents for future missions. Simon didn't tell him why. Price assumed probably better rent, or maybe he was sick of the shitty neighborhood he once resided in, or maybe he was sick of walking a half hour for groceries.

Price was getting an itch—an itch he didn't like. Price hated not knowing; of course everyone was entitled to a private life, but not when it put him off.

He felt dirty snooping in Simon's office, betraying his lieutenant's trust. He waited until Simon went back to his quarters, slipping in and shutting the door behind him. Nothing felt different, and nothing looked different either. The burning fluorescent lights flickered every now and then, but the air was still stale. No photos, no knicknacks on his desk, bare. Absolute bare, devoid of any personality, anything that would tell you about him, anything you could use against him had the enemy invaded the base.

Pacing around the room, Price checked under the desk and in the drawers twice. He winced at the squeak of the steel on the wheels and how loud it sounded. He snooped through documents, flicking through them quickly, only seeing the same pen and paper against the Manila folders. His eyes scanned the room again and again, only making him bubble and sigh in frustration, running his hand through his hair and gripping his hat in the other.

He stared at the metal closet, almost like it was staring back. Open me. Open me. I have what you want. As if it were beckoning him to spill every secret inside. Everyone had the same one. No one liked opening it; doing that meant leaving, meant war, and meant more time on the field. The field where you were going to get killed or killed, feeling less human every time you shoot. You welcome the gnawing, snarling, vapid ache that takes up all the space in your lungs when you try to breathe when you open that closet.

He hesitated at first, turning the little lock handle before opening the door gently, trying not to focus on the squeaking. Everything stared back, and Ghost stared back. The mask, once plain fabric, is now soaked in years of war; the blood of war dogs saturated it, and the skull of a man no one knew was tightly bound to it.

Grim, dirt, and filth

Guns that had killed more men than one could say, knives clean but still holding the smell of iron and sweat, boots with soles dirtied with soil and dust, and his vest Almost the same one wore the UK flag stitched neatly on with the same little rectangle shape pressed behind, right over the heart.

He wanted to shut the door, he wanted to leave, and he wanted to do everything that would allow him to pretend nothing happened and that he was never in here. He didn't, justifying in his mind that he was doing the right thing.

I'm not doing anything wrong

Unhooking the vest from the inside holding it in his hands, heavy.

I'm just worried

He set the vest flat on the desk, burning holes into it with his eyes.

I just want to know whats happening

His hands almost shook, sliding 2 fingers in the pocket, a soft grip on the polaroid, a feeling that confirmed everything he thought on the heli.

I'm doing this for you

The photo was small, almost choking him when he saw it. When he saw you, A big, bright smile pulled on a young woman's face—a toothy smile you only make when you're in love. Your eyes shut so tight, your hair is messy from the wind, framing your face so delicately, and the big bouquet in your hands is held so tightly that the stems may have bent. You were beautiful, no doubt, but his eyes lingered over to the man next to you before they glanced down at the writing in the ink pen.

Simon and I, 2.6. Manchester flower festival

Simon was staring at you in the photo, not even bothering to pay attention to the camera. Even if the photo wasn't high quality, anyone could see his eyes melting at the sight of you, how relaxed his shoulders were, and the crease next to his eyes from how he was smiling. Simon was smiling, not grinning or smirking like he does after everyone groans at his awful joke; he was smiling like he'd won the powerball.

Swallowing his pride and shame, he carefully tucked the photo back in and just as cautiously put it back. Backing out of the office, he could feel every question creeping up from the back of his brain.

“Who is she?" “What was her name?”

“How old was she?”  “What does she do?”

“Does she know?"

He pushed his thoughts back down, shaming himself for suspecting anything about Simon, mentally noting to sneak him some better quality tea as a silent apology.

___

Simon isn't stupid. He can tell they're all being weird.

Is he going to ignore it? Absolutely. 

They’re all cramped up in the corner of the shitty pub booth, drinking the shitty beer, and having a shitty night. Waiting for the night before leave starts is both exciting and irritating; each of them is counting down the seconds until they're home, be it alone or with family. Anything is better than a night on their cot in a cold, soulless room on base.

Simon was letting his skin breathe, finally taking off his plain balaclava when they were far enough off base to nurse his pint while the ball of his foot anxiously bounced his leg. He needed to be home, needed to be with you, needed to hold you; he just needed you. Inside his head, he was practically foaming at the mouth, snarling at himself, trying to make every second go by faster than it should so he could finally get his fix.

While he wasn't showing it, he couldn't hide the impatience basically seeping out of his pores, eyes hazed and uninterested in anything around him, his mind drowning out the sounds of the group's conversation with all the noise in the pub combining into a numbing chatter. He was so lost in his own head that he couldn't hear soap talking to him until he felt an elbow on his side.

“Awright? a'm talking tae ye?” 

“Sorry. Say it again”

Bad choice. Soap had that stupid look on his face, a teeth-baring grin with his eyebrows slightly turned up, like he knew something he shouldn't. That alone made his eyes move on Gaz next to him, then Price. Gaz looked constipated, brows furrowed together, nostrils flared as he focused on his own pint, and suddenly Price was doing the same. Soaps eyes bored into Simons while the other 2 men had a new intense interest in their drinks.

“Said ye leek lik' yer thinking aboot yer bird”

“Don't know what your saying”  

“Och c'moan dinnae lie tae us, a' body kin tell.” 

Suddenly Simon also understood what was so interesting about his pint, bringing the drink back to his lips while his eyes gazed off at the wall next to him. He could feel his back itching and shifting in his seat, his shoulders tensing back up as he bottomed out with his drink, letting the glass sit back down on the table.

“Said, I don't know what youre talkin’ about.”

“Right, 'n' a'm king o' scotland.”

Soap was getting too close and cocky for comfort, too loudly sniffing about where he shouldn't, and poking the bear with a stick too short. Leaning back in his seat, he crossed his arms over his chest, letting the black fabric stretch as he puffed out his chest still with that fucking grin.

“Heard ye talking tae her.”

“No you didn't.”

Price's interest in his pint redirected to the tense conversation on his left; he knew he shouldn't know, but he didn't know Soap knew. The guilt from earlier that was frigid in his mind thawed a little at Simon's denial. If he was lying, that means he was right to search, right? You should never lie to your captain, after all.

“Really? Haven’t got a bird at home?”

“No.” 

“Dinnae ye know lyin a’ sin”

A gutted groan left Soap as he folded over to hold his own knee from the sudden kick under the table. At this point, there was no use lying. If anyone was going to find out about you, it was better for them than anyone else. Mental gymnastics were set aside as he made a list.

On one hand, they could act as insurance; god forbid anything happens to him, you would be safer with them alone, never knowing what happens, and maybe now you would stop pestering him about meeting his friends (he doesn't have any but them). On the other hand, the possibility of you being compromised would finally exist; that thought alone could make him sick.

A long drag of stale air settled in his lungs, slamming his eyes shut as he let that same breath out. Straightening his back and resting his arms on the table, he let them flutter open and fall on Soap.

“You get one question each. One”

Giddy laughter bubbled up out of Johnny; he was just so happy he could finally open up Simon's brain and have a peek. Shooting down both Price and Johnny's question with a quick answer of your name and age only to result in Johnny giving him a wolf whistle that rewarded him with another kick to the shin. Gaz let his nervous shifting settle now that the cat was out of the bag, with his question filling the air with a new strain of tension.

“Can we see her?”

Hair. On. Ends. 

What does he mean by can they see you? Do they want to meet you? Just a picture? Or will that put you in more danger than them now knowing you exist? Maybe it’ll be safer?

“One picture, than nothin else outta you lot for tonight” 

Digging through his album of you in search of a simple photo was tougher than he thought; most were in your shop working, you asleep, some in a more compromising position than he’d like to share, but granted, he finally found one.

You were sitting on your shop counter with your hands settled on the wood supporting you while you had that same teeth-baring smile, eyes open this time, and hair not whipped by the wind. In all honesty, Simon thought you were perfect like this, makeup or not; he loved seeing you like this. You could wear neon-colored jumpsuits for the rest of your lives, and he’d still think you're gorgeous.

It was always you to him. Anytime he sees you, he thinks he could go limp. He was hopelessly devoted to you, ready to drop to his knees and confess all his sins if it meant he could drown in you. You invaded all his senses, unearthing parts of him he didn't know were still alive. You calmed that sick mess festering in him that used to wait until it was dark to sink its teeth into him, reminding him how disgusting he was. You dragged him out of that soulless apartment and breathed life into him. Every time you flood him with ambrosia and honey with the sound of your voice or the heat of your skin.

Well, now he had to let them meet you. A photo could never do you justice.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

can u tell i let this chapter get away from me a bit near the end

[writer-komaru]

.♱ 𓆩𖤍𓆪 ♱. Moonlight Kisses ｡✧ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ﾟ｡⋆ 𖤐

✧Rating: Fluff + Smut

✧Characters: Edgar Allen Poe

✧Word Count: 3.9k

✧Summary: Headcanons about Poe and Karl because they’re precious.

Platonic + Romantic + Sexual + Karl

.𖤣 .𖥧 𖡼. ⚘.° :Platonic

✿ Poe’s main interest in life is to write. More specifically, write a mystery novel even the great detective Ranpo can’t crack to get his sweet, long-awaited revenge.

✿ He spends hours, long, grueling hours, slumped over his desk with adorable raccoon freind curled up on his lap, writing none stop. His feathered pen flutters through the air as its ink soaked tip etches Poe’s ideas into words. It’s almost beautiful.

✿ His sleep deprived eyes struggling to stay open, hyper focused on the air taking shape in front of him

✿ Just like a sculptor, he chisels away at the manila paper with the hopes of soon creating a magnificent statue to stand the test of time.

✿ That uplifting dream helps keep his head high and his pen working overtime

✿ But even a talented writer like him often has his off days. Days where he feels his river of rushing inspiration run dry; days where the negation of his health finally finds the opportunity to pounce.

✿ Usually when he finds himself stuck at the bottom of an ocean of despair, he hesitatingly leaves his room and takes a stroll around his mansion.

✿(btw I headcanon, I’m pretty sure it’s cannon but idk, he lives in a secluded mansion on the outside of town with a view of the ocean by his window and a lush garden of roses in his front yard. He usually doesn’t take very good care of it cuz he spends most of his time writing but sometimes he likes to stop by and admire the new buds)

✿(I also headcannon he has tons of shelves and climbing equipment set up up the wall and on the ceiling of his study so if Karl gets bored he can scamper up there and have some play time)

✿He takes note of anything that catches his eye; whether that be intricate designs of the wooden trim on the walls, the feeling of smooth tiles under his shoes, the sounds of leaves rustling against the windows, the faint scent of mahogany and spruce hanging in the air from the numerous candles he likes to light.

✿ Although these senses may sound boring, all it takes is a small spark of intrigue to set of an explosion of fireworks in his mind that leave him rushing back to his chamber to jot it all down, Karl scampering after him excitedly.

✿ But on days he doesn’t even have the will to get out of bed, it leaves Karl with the duty of getting him back on his feet.

✿ He’ll give him tons of fluffy cuddles and licks on the cheek, deliver him snacks leftover from Ranpo’s last visit, and eventually yank him out of bed by the sleeve of his pajama shirt when it’s time to get some sun.

✿ He’s perfectly content with this lifestyle and finds comfort in his solitude. Big crowds of loud, unfamiliar people make him uncomfortable and afraid. All he really needs is his writing, Karl, and Ranpo.

✿ There’s just one thing. The more he ventures outside of his sanctum, the more he begins to long for something.

✿ It’s a solemn feeling; Like the sad cry of a lost wolf pup, endlessly marching through a thick and dark forest, calling out for any signs of its pack. He can practically feel the cold biting at his torn paw pads and the thicket’s thorns scratching at his back.

✿ No matter how many sweet nuzzles Karl gives him, the feeling still persists.

✿ That was until he finally ran into you. In that moment where his eyes gazed into yours, his breathing stopped. The heavy, painful feeling of loneliness suddenly falters, like the metal cuffs weighing from his wrists and ankles unlock.

✿ Even though he has the conversation skills of both a theater kid and a wet rag, he does his best to keep up.

✿ His long, dark locks covering his eyes don’t do much to shield the slight red glow of embarrassment from his cheeks

✿ When he gets nervous, he likes to glide his fingers loosely through Karl’s dense fur. He makes sure to give him a nice brushing when it gets too tangled so it’s usually in pretty good condition. The quiet action helps steady his nerves, and Karl’s almost too willing to get some extra attention.

✿ After meeting you, he begins to leave the house more often.

✿ He loves to rant to you about the next chapter of his novel and how the newest twist will finally prove itself too difficult for Ranpo to deduce. He’ll go into detail, explaining each and every complexity, red herring, and hidden meaning of his writing which will probably go straight over your head. Following everything up with a villainous cackle.

✿ After noticing your lost expression, he apologies enthusiastically and laughs it off.

✿ When Ranpo learns of the new friend Poe made, he will invite both of you out with him to a local arcade. Even though he acts all cheerful and aloof as he urges you to play games with him, he secretly hides the fact he’s just using this as an excuse to scope you out.

✿ He can’t have some unworthy person try to come along and steal his close friend away from him, no matter how childish that sounds. He also just wants the best for Poe.

✿ If you pass his vibe check, you’re now added to the list of people Ranpo actually enjoys spending time with (good for you)

✿ Now that you’re officially a certified friend of Poe, you’ll have to take on some of the responsibilities Karl once did when Poe gets stuck in a stupor of blank pages.

✿ Make sure to get him some groceries (using his card ofc with his consent) and kind words.

✿ Sometimes all it takes to displace the dark, thunderous worries in his mind is a pat on the shoulder and a few words along the lines of “I’m proud of you.”

✿ He’ll look back at you with such a sickeningly sweet smile as tears gush from his shining, dark eyes.

✿ Expect a neatly folded envelope with a ruby red seal and a few jet black raven feathers decorated under it on your doorstep. In it contains a handwritten thank you letter from Poe. (He’s so extra I love him)

✿ But can you blame him? He’s just so glad to have another friend he can count on! <3

° .; ʚ❤︎ɞ ‘｡˚ :Romantic

➷ Having Poe as a boyfriend has to be one of the most exquisitely beautiful yet taxing experiences in the world of dating

➷ He’s a major hopeless romantic and would always find him mind drifting off to thoughts of you while trying to work on his novel.

➷ When he eventually realizes he got off draft he’s already covered the whole page in praises, poems, and hearts. He grumbles to himself for making such an embarrassing mistake and tears out the page.

➷ Right when he was about to crumble it, he stops himself and instead tucks it neatly into his desk, never to see the light of day again.

➷ He turns to a new page and takes a deep breath to calm his mind. Yet, his pen remains stationary. His eyebrows knit together as he tries desperately to push away the surplus thoughts of you and his love for you out of his mind.

➷ “Why can’t I just focus on what’s in front of me…?” He groans in defeat as he flops against his desk. Karl brushes his fluffy tail over his back, nudging his ear with his nose.

➷ “I’m fine, Karl. Just a bit distracted, it seems,” he mumbles, covering his growing blush with his arms.

➷ Is he really reduced to a complete flustered mess, just by the mere thoughts of you? He whimpers at the idea.

➷ Just give him some time to wallow in self pity and he’ll finally pull himself together.

➷ He decides to vent out his feelings into stacks upon stacks of love letters, poems, and sketches, all embodying his undying love for the beauty known as you.

➷ Now that his mind is free of clutter, he can begin work on his novel once more. But, out of the corner of his eye, he doesn’t quite catch the faint blur of gray fur that swipes one of the poems and speeds off to an unknown location.

➷ After around two hours, Poe wipes his brow and stands up from his desk, finally ready to take a needed break for some food and rest. When he reaches to his shoulder to pet Karl, the spot he usually rests while cuddling around Poe’s neck, he finds it worryingly empty.

➷ The adrenaline spike of a mother’s primal instincts shoots directly into his veins like a drug as he jumps up from his chair and scrambles all over the house in search of his beloved friend.

➷ Sooner or later he finds Karl curled up by the fireplace with nearly folded piece of paper in his mouth. Poe gently takes it from him and gasps as he reads it. It… it was a poem… with your name on it? Did Karl steal one of his love poems?!

➷ Without fully reading over the poem, he hurries back to his study and shoves it into his desk, along with the rest of the incriminating material of his love.

➷ “Not a soul shall hear of this, especially not t-them…” He murmurs to himself before preparing a cup of tea to calm down his racing heart.

➷ After a large quantity of time goes by and he warms up to being more open with his love, he’ll make it his duty to write one poem for you each day and have Karl deliver it to you. He could be swamped in work, suffering from a fever, or caught up in a fiasco with the guild and he would still find the time to jot down a few words for your eyes and heart only.

➷ Plus, he makes sure to give each letter a stamp of approval from Karl by dipping his paw pad in some animal safe ink.

➷ No matter how much time he spends with you it’s just not enough for his poor enthralled heart.

➷ Often, he’d find himself lying awake a night, thoughts and dreams of you echoing and spinning through his mind like a carousel.

➷ Just a light touch on the hand can turn his poor cheeks bright red. The picture of his blushing, flustered face barely concealed by his unkempt dark hair is enough to make anyone want to tease the life out of this man

➷ On days he’s not as busy and a little more confident than usual, he’ll take you out somewhere nice. And when I say nice, I mean NICEEE.

➷ We all know this guy is loaded and he’s 100% willing to spend every dime of it on you.

➷ Thousands of servings of food, luxury clothing brands, sparkling jewelry, spa trips every day, fuck it, even a private jet if you really wanted. Just remember to not be too demanding because he can get pretty reckless with money.

➷ One time you told him how much you loved bunnies and the next time you went into your living room it was completely full of bunny merch of all kinds. Plushies, blankets, clothes, I could go on for days.

➷ All and all, his love language is most definitely giving gifts or words of affirmations.

.༺ཐི♡ཋྀ༻. :Sexual

ღ This guy is such a bottom in the kindest way I can put it. Everything about you sends currents of love streaming through his body, setting it ablaze. He’s completely at the mercy of this feeling, at the mercy of you.

ღ The only time he won’t be a bottom is when he’s going through a spout of confidence from either one upping Ranpo somehow or syncing himself up. But even then you won’t get anything more than a service dom.

ღ Let’s start of with his bottom side.

ღ He’s always pining for you, daydreaming about how lovely you are to him and how angelic you look. But his thoughts don’t always stay pure and fluffy.

ღ On days he’s especially pent up from working long days and nights on his writing, he can often find himself sucked into the honey trap of more… explicit fantasies of you.

ღ Sometimes it’s him tied up with you looming over him, sometimes you’re stroking him under the table during a guild meeting, sometimes you’re giving him head under his desk when he’s supposed to be finishing his novel, and sometimes you’re littering his pink tilted skin in hickies and lipstick stains.

ღ He whines in annoyance at the prominent bulge in his pants he now has to take care of.

ღ But maybe, if you’d be fine with it, you could make some of his fantasies come true…?

ღ He let’s put a yelp as he feels your hands slide up his thighs and your smirking face appear between them.

ღ his workaholic brain tries to resist the temptation in front of him in favor of working just a little bit more but… as soon as his fly is down and your intoxicatingly warm tongue laps against his head, he’s once again completely at your mercy.

ღ Even though he may have needy fantasies about you, I don’t see him having a very high libedo. You can expect to have sex maybe every week or so, adjusting around your needs instead of his.

ღ This brings me to discuss his service Dom side.

ღ When he’s in his confident mindset, you can find your back pressed against his mattress and his hands interlocked with his own as his lips trace against your jaw.

ღ You didn’t hear it from me, but his dirty talk is leagues ahead of most people in BSD.

ღ “What an alluring temptress I have below me, if I wasn’t the gentleman I am I would have taken you against every surface of my mansion until we’re both breathless and shaking~”

ღ “I can’t wait to bathe every inch and curve of your body in so much love and pleasure to the point your crying my name so loud even the angels in heaven will get jealous~”

ღ “Just like that, my beautiful goddess, I- Hahh I’m devoted to you and you only. I’ll pray and worship you every… se-second, hour, day of my life, I promise- Promise promise promise I’ll serve you! I’ll please you, I’ll make you feel an unending amount of ecstasy I swear to you!”

ღ “My angel, my love, my life, my everything, let your burning love out!! Nghhh~ Let it burst from your cunt, drip onto the mattress. I’ll clean it up later, I swear! J-just relax and cum for me, I-I Aghh!!! I just can’t hold on much longer! Please cum please cum please- Aghh!!~ I-I gonna cummmmm!!~”

ღ I totally see him as a virgin until he meets you. Either you’ll have to teach him or you’ll try to educate himself.

ღ How will he do that? Well, let’s just say there’s a certain shelf of his room no one, not even Karl, is allowed near. After exploring the world of more… erotic writing, that’s when he started to have fantasies about you.

ღ If you have a corruption kink, you better get to him before his private writing collection does~

ღ It’s pretty easy to make him lose his mind if I’m being honest.

ღ it can be done by giving him a sudden, deep kiss on the lips, a hug from behind where your hands wander further than his stomach, maybe even having him catch you in nothing but a bra and panties.

ღ Now that’s a great way to stay in his mind for hours~

ღ One of his guilty pleasures is marks. Hickies are his favorite because the pain that comes with scratches and bruises takes him out of his romantic mood. On days where he’s out and about with his dearest friend Ranpo and he catches the faint glimpse of a reddish bruise under the pearly white collar of his button up. Dread seeps into every corner of his body like a rock sinking to the bottom of a pond as a sinister smirk stretches across Ranpo’s face.

ღ “My my my, did someone have some fun last night?~ I never took you for the-“ Ranpo’s smirk widens as a hand quickly covers his mouth.

ღ “D-Don’t… allow me to keep at least some of my dignity…” Poe stammers out, using his other hand to cover his incriminating blush.

ღ But he could be caught in the act a million times before he ever even for a second regretted the nights of sinful passion you two spend together. Reaching a new level of nirvana with you proudly riding the life out of him makes him the happiest, most lucky man in all of the world. Even if you tease him, deny him, even degrade him, he’ll still love you more than anything.

ღ “Look at how desperate you are, cumming back to back like this is the best pussy you’ve ever gotten. Is it good? Do I make you feel good, my love?~” You coo to him, stroking his heated cheek.

ღ The lovesick expression on his face, drool dripping down his chin, a cherry red blush, his clumped locks sticking to the sweat of his forehead, it all says more than even a million, trillion love poems could ever hope of communicating.

ʕ(◕ᴥ◕)ʔ Karl

꩜ He absolutely ADORES both you and Poe

꩜ I'd like to think the story of how Poe met Karl is a long and detailed one, but I’ll try to keep it short

꩜ One day after being rejected by the 27th publisher, Poe began his sad walk home.

꩜ He knows he shouldn’t give up home and that soon enough someone would be interested in his stories, but the crushing despair of not being good enough ate away at him.

꩜ he keeps his head low and to the ground, to ashamed of himself to meet anyone’s eye. That was until he noticed the hard concrete sidewalk had now turned into a loamy, grassy mix.

꩜ When he looked back up, he found himself lost in a dark forest of looming trees, pointed thickets, and changing owls.

꩜ All around him was a never ending void, disturbed by only the chirping of small animals and the rustling of bushes.

꩜ He was completely lost.

꩜ After checking his phone to of course find it has no signal and the path he had just taken was now covered in thick bushes his blood went cold.

꩜ Was this his destiny? To get rejected from every publisher in his city and die alone and hungry in the forest at night?

꩜ He sank to the ground and hugged his knees to his chest.

꩜ Tears he has been fighting back for hours finally spilled down his cheeks, swamping the first floor in dirty, murky mud.

꩜ That was until he felt a strange tickling sensation against his back. His head whipped around to find an unexpected acquaintance.

꩜ It was a small, furry raccoon with large, black eyes. It cocked its head like Poe was a weirdly rock and chittered softly.

꩜ Poe backed away slightly. He knows the animals of the forest were never ones to be messed with, including a baby raccoon. Whenever there’s a baby, an angry mom is always nearby and ready to pounce.

꩜ But instead, the raccoon squeaked again and turned his back to him, shaking his tail side to side. Was it… trying to tell him something?

꩜ Suddenly, it began to march away, it’s tail swinging behind him. Did it want Poe to follow it?

꩜ Without any over ideas, the two began to make their way through the forest, weaving between thorny brambles and suspicious ivy. After only a few minutes the glowing lights of the city finally illuminated from the clearing of the forest.

꩜ “Little raccoon, you saved my life. How can I ever repay you?” Poe knealt down on the ground and gave the kind creature a sincere bow.

꩜ The raccoon chittered back at him and stood on its hind legs, reaching up to Poe. The writer’s poor heart is pierced with an arrow of affection for his new furry friend, scooping him up into his arms and carrying him back to civilization.

꩜ Karl was born into a little of cute, healthy raccoons, owned by an unknown russian author.

꩜ But one day after playing with his siblings, he suddenly found himself picked up by the author and sold off to a family looking for an unusual house pet.

꩜ After a series of events, Karl escaped and scurried off into the forest.

꩜ He may finally have freedom, but since he’s still so young, he doesn’t know how to find food or protect himself.

꩜ Just as he was about to curl up in a pile of leaves and sleep, he heard unusual sounds coming from deep in the forest.

꩜ That’s when he found Poe.

꩜ Back in present time, he spends all his time either resting on Poe’s shoulders, curled up by the fireplace, or nestled on your lap.

꩜ His favorite treats are nuts like cashews, acorns, and peanuts. He also likes blueberries, sunflower seeds, and grapes.

꩜ (don’t give him cotton candy he will cry and Poe will scold you)

꩜ Poe won’t let you feed Karl too many snacks in fear he might get even more chunky, but if Karl gives him some big, sad eyes and whimpers, Poe will eventually cave.

꩜ He loves to chase laser pointers and you may or may not have used that to lead him on a wild chase all over Poe’s study. (It was of course Ranpo’s idea)

꩜ You too giggle to yourself like little gremlins as Poe races around the room chasing Karl like a madman.

꩜ Poe makes him wear little boots when it rains and he hates them so much, always tries to pull em off so he can splash around in the mud.

꩜ Surprisingly love baths and will purr the entire time like the attention loving stinker he is.

꩜ Has been caught digging in Poe’s and your trash on occasion. When caught he stands on his hind legs and freezes, slowly backing away with an apple core in his mouth.

꩜ Cuz Poe’s so wealthy he often buys him tons of dog and cat toys, testing each out to find what he likes most.

꩜ Karl loves feathery cat toys to swat at, squeaker dog toys to chew on, and remote control mouses to chase. But his favorite toy has to be Poe’s long jacket and anything shiny or jingling on your outfit.

꩜ Always vies for pets and cuddles, hence why he’s always snoozing away on Poe’s shoulders or lap. He’s like a little baby you both raise together and he couldn’t have better parents <3

Reblog + Comment + Like if you want to see more Bungo Stray Dogs or Poe specific content!

(After taking a few days to recover from writers block I’ve FINALLY been able to finish this. Phewww!~ The schedule I’ve been experimenting with is still being worked on but I might be able to post it soon along with another question. Cya all then!~ <3)

[bvckleyydiaz]

a little preview of what’s to come 🫣

“Well,” you hear Derek’s voice call out before you’ve even entered the conference room, “Look at who finally decided to grace us with their presence. Not like you to be late, Y/N.” Your friend grins at you boyishly from his chair. You’re going to miss seeing it every day. Don’t give in, don’t show any resistance. It’s the only thing that will save you now.

You offer as much of a smile as you can. “Guess there’s a first time for everything, Der,” you murmur, trying and failing to sigh away the prick of tears behind your eyes. Your gaze travels to a spot on the far back wall, just between Spencer’s and Emily’s shoulders. You can’t let yourself look them in the eye. If you do that, this will have been for nothing. “I...” You try to swallow the growing lump in your throat, “I want all of you to know that I love you with everything I have left in me, and... that’s what makes this so fucking unfair.” You take a deep breath to steady your voice, tears already seeping through and breaking down the walls you’ve built. “I didn’t want to do this, but I see no other choice.” You unclip your badge and place it and your gun on the table. You then take the manila folder out of the bag hanging heavily on your shoulder and slide it across the table in front of Aaron.

The sound of your heartbeat thundering in your ears muffles all other sounds around you, and you fear that you’ll break your hand if you clasp them together any tighter. It’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. Aaron’s voice brings you back, the folder opened and his eyes stormy. “What is this?” The sound of his voice makes you shudder. You’ve known your boss long enough to know that if he raises his voice any louder, all the restraint he has will be out the window.

“My resignation,” you tell him and watch his left eye twitch, “Effective immediately.”

Five bodies stand all at once, spines ramrod straight. Rage, desperation, bewilderment, and a few other emotions that you can’t quite decipher mix into a cocktail of misery on their faces.

“You’re leaving?” Derek demands, his tone harsh. “Just like that, no second thought?”

“I said that I didn’t want to do this, that I had no other choice, and I meant it,” you stress. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life hating myself for what I’m giving up. But... I don’t see any other way out.”

“Can you at least tell us why?” Penelope asks, and you feel the knife in your chest twist. You never wanted it to end like this; hell, you didn’t want it to end at all. You remember the text you got earlier this morning, right before you walked into the building. You’ve made your choices. Now, live with them.

“Somehow, confidential information from one of our cases—one of my files—was leaked,” you lie. “The Brass wants someone to blame. And they’re going to blame me because my name was attached to that file.”

“Do you have any idea who could’ve gotten ahold of that intel?” Emily asks. You shake your head.

You knew exactly who it was.

“Why wasn’t I told about the leak?” Aaron asks, his Hotch voice making an appearance. “That’s something I should’ve known.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you tell him, and you are sorry. Just not for the reason he thinks. “Strauss said that the director wanted it handled quietly. This was the fastest way to do that.”

“So, some asshole is going after one of our own, and we’re just supposed to do what?” Rossi asks, his shoulders tight. “Sit with our thumbs in our asses until he’s brought in?”

“Dave’s right,” Aaron agrees. “Y/N, you’re not going anywhere, I won’t let you. I’m going to talk to Erin.” He takes a step forward, but you place a hand on his chest to block his path.

You feel his heartbeat under the tips of your fingers. It’s quick. He’s angry. “Sir, don’t. Please. I’ve already caused enough trouble. I need to just... take it with grace, I guess.” You try to give him a reassuring smile, but it does nothing to ease him. “Thank you for trying to fight for me.”

With that, you take your hand off his chest and walk out of the room without another word. Your palm still tingles from where it laid on Aaron’s chest.

[apollodarling-writes]

pls that one pulse motion fic pt2 with könig or ghost from cod I am BEGGING 😭😭🙏🙏 any reader idc I JUST NEED MOREEETETE

tws: possessive behavior, slight delusional behavior, reader is cornered, konig uses intimdation tactics, very obvious threats, slight manipulation??, kind of bloodthirsty könig, mentions of creeps, könig bypasses his coding and his eyes change :)) lmk if i missed anything.

you glide the tips of your fingers against the scratchy material of könig’s arm, marveling at how sturdy his bicep was with burning cheeks. in his left hand was a manila folder titled handling and instructions. you pry it out of his grasp, struggling a bit against his stiff grip, but succeed in acquiring it. you settle beside him, sitting in a position most comfortable for prolonged seating, and scan over the instructions.

you flip through a few pages, going over what all your cyborg needs to be properly functional, finding that he only really need charging once a week and he will inform you of any updates that he needs. könig doesn’t require any food, but he is able to eat if be so desires. basic information about updates, coding instructions for people who are into that, blah blah blah…

"ah! there it is."

you follow the instructions step by step. first, press and hold the button on the top of his head for five seconds. you lift his mask, turning your head and blindly sifting through locks of his hair to find said button. it takes you a few frustrating minutes to find the small button embedded at the very top of his scalp, huffing as you push it. you quickly place his sniper hood back into place, keeping your eyes elsewhere. second, state your first and last name. third, state your preferred pronouns and state your use for him. then, enjoy!

you hear a faint hum as the cyborg whirrs to life, eyes lighting up behind his sniper hood and taking in his surroundings.

“you must be [name].” könig says, a thick german accent showing in his vowels. könig stands and you follow suit, extending a hand with a giddy smile.

“yes, that’s me. it’s a pleasure to meet you.” you murmur, dazed at how tall he was compared to you. the two of you spend the rest of the day getting to know each other, finding that you get along swimmingly, and when you turn in for the night, you fall asleep with a smile on your face.

months fly by with the large man by your side, your crush on him growing more and more apparent by the day. you felt a little perverted— he was a cyborg. wouldn’t it be wrong to be with him? did he even feel the same way? and so, to move on with your life, you decide to find someone else, downloading a dating app while sitting in the living room and setting up your profile.

swipe after swipe after swipe, you struggle find someone that matches your preferences. after another thirty minutes, you finally find someone. ecstatic, you quickly swipe right and within minutes the two of you matched. the conversation goes exceptionally well and with the two of you hitting it off quickly, you set up a date for tomorrow night.

“what are you doing?” königs voice startles you, sounding slightly strained. you flinch at the sudden appearance, spinning around and excitedly telling him about your plans for tomorrow evening. könig is oddly quiet after that.

“…könig?” your voice sounds small as he slowly rounds the corner of the couch, his footsteps silent as he moves. he comes to a halt in front of you, leaning down as his breathing grows labored.

“why would you go out with that… man when you have me?” könig grits out as he places each arm on either side of you, caging you between his broad chest and the cushions of the couch. your eyes grow wide, your throat drying up as he utters his next sentence. “oh, i see. you’re just playing hard to get aren’t you? you wanted me to be jealous, didn’t you?”

könig straightens up, laughing a bit before his eyes narrow. “if you go out with that man tomorrow, who knows what will happen, kleiner hase*. you don’t want to find out… do you? it will be on your hands after all.”

könig’s hand shoots out and snatches your wrist, your mind reeling. wasn’t there coding that prevented this? surely he couldn’t have altered his coding… right? you have to send him back. you need to get him fixed and maybe you’ll even keep him gone altogether. this isn’t-

“schätzen*, you chose me. that means you love me, right?” the cyborg’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. your eyes instinctively meet his, realizing that what once glowed with the company’s symbol was now not glowing at all, and in fact looked as if the symbol had never been there in the first place. how was this even possible…?

a shiver ran down your spine as könig’s eyes squint behind his mask— seemingly smiling. you hadn’t been aware of his intimidating presence before, even when he protected you from creeps on your grocery runs. but now that you were on the receiving end, you couldn’t help but regret ever letting your friend talk you into this.

notes:

*kleiner hase — little bunny

*schätzen — treasure

[fueledbysano]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐋𝐀 with Mikey

Mikey's life in Manila with you ♡

♱ a/n: this is for all the Manila Mikey lovers and Filipino girlies ♡ (belated) Happy birthday to our man ❤️‍🔥

🦇 @hiraethsdesires @sukunassuka @anahryal @half-baked-biscuit @fuyuluvr @iluvizana @saenora

Mikey sat in his tiny apartment in the heart of Manila, looking at the photograph of his late brother on the wall. He had dreamed of this moment for years, ever since his brother told him of the bustling streets, the delicious food, and the warm, tropical islands of the Philippines, his favorite destination. It had taken time, but Mikey was finally here, living in the place of his brother's dreams. And then, the doorbell rang. It was [ Y / N ], the love of his life. “You look beautiful,” he said to [ Y / N ], smiling as he held open the door for her. “Thank you, Mikey,” she smiled. “You look wonderful yourself.” she blushes, eyeing down Mikey’s simple black pants and camisole outfit; layered with a plain white button-up shirt that exposed his toned shoulders.

They usually plan to have a date around Manila, a city that Mikey had only ever imagined. During jeepney rides with Mikey, he would let [ Y / N ] rest her head on his shoulder and hold her hand the entire ride. And on occasions when the wind blows harshly through her hair, he reaches around her shoulder to hold it for her.

Getting street foods and strolling around the park is a regular occurrence in the relationship. Given that everything that Mikey loves is in it; cheap and delicious food to satisfy his sweet tooth, the town, and you! Mikey’s favorite has to be the pink, frozen dessert, Ice scramble and Turon. And on times when he misses the dorayaki and taiyaki back home, he would just take [ Y / N ] to Mitsukoshi Mall, a big Japan-themed mall in the southern part of the Metro.

But Mikey and [ Y / N ]’s favorite place in the city is Intramuros. While it was now mostly a tourist attraction, there was still a sense of history and beauty in the air. They walked through the ancient walls and narrow streets, passing by old churches and museums, each one with a story to tell. Carriages run by horses still strolled the roads of the historic city, making Mikey ang [ Y / N ] excited to be on a date around Intramuros every time.

The two of them climbed into the classic, horse-drawn Kalesa and settled into their soft, leather seats. The driver smiled and called out a greeting in Tagalog, and the couple greeted back. The Kalesa began to move through the quaint streets of Intramuros, and Mikey and [ Y / N ] watched as the city came to life around them in a unique, old-fashioned way.

Mikey never had a deep interest for the fine arts, but when [ Y / N ] asks to visit the National Museum, he couldn’t pass it up. As they walked through the museum, their hands entwined, they felt the weight of history pressing down on them. It was almost as if they were walking through the pages of a history book, each exhibit a new chapter in the story of this incredible country.

After spending some time exploring the museum, they made their way to Fort Santiago, a historic fortification in the heart of Manila. As they walked through the ancient halls, their footsteps echoing with the weight of history, they knew that they were standing on sacred ground.

As they wound their way through the city, they passed by ancient doorways and carved archways, the scent of incense wafting in the air from the nearby churches, and they made a stop on perhaps the most famous one. As they entered the church, the air grew thicker still with the weight of history. The stained glass windows cast colorful rainbows across the floor, and the faint sounds of prayer and song echoed through the ancient halls.

Mikey and [ Y / N ] found a pew near the back and sat down, hands entwined as they looked around. They marveled at the intricate carvings and the ornate altar, feeling like they were in a different world entirely.

As they sat in the dim light of the cathedral, their hands tightly intertwined as they admired the beautiful architecture and the historic artifacts. Mikey couldn't help but feel a deep sense of love and adoration for her, and he knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. As they sat there, Mikey leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “I want to marry you here.”

[ Y / N ] stood still, stunned by his sudden confession. But she had always known that Mikey was special, and truly meant what he said. “Mikey,” she whispered back, feeling tears well up in her eyes. “I would love nothing more.”

Mikey and [ Y / N ] return to the Kalesa, watching as the ancient city of Manila passed by. They had had a beautiful day, exploring the National Museum, Fort Santiago, and the San Agustin Church, and now they were ready for one last adventure.

The driver of the Kalesa pulled up to the shores of Manila Bay, and Mikey and [ Y / N ] climbed out, eager to take in the sights and sounds of the ocean. They walked along the coast, watching the waves rock parked yachts and crash against the shore.

The sun was setting, casting a golden glow across the water, and the lights of the city glittered on the horizon. They made their way to the edge of the water, where they found a quiet spot to sit and enjoy the view. They watched as the sun began to sink below the horizon, turning the sky into an endless canvas of red and orange, and the waves crashed against the shore in a steady rhythm.

As they sat there, taking in the beauty of the moment, Mikey leaned in close to [ Y / N ] and whispered, "I want to spend every sunset like this with you. You make me feel like the luckiest man in the world."

[ Y / N ]'s eyes widened in surprise, and she turned to look at Mikey, her heart aching with love and joy. "I feel the same way," she said softly. "I never imagined that I could find love like this, in this place, with you."

As they sat there, hand in hand, surrounded by the beauty of Manila Bay and the magic of the sunset, they knew that they had found something truly special. A love that would last a lifetime, and a lifetime filled with memories of this quaint place that had brought them together.

[rogloptimist]

when i first saw you, the end was soon

Primoz has been here before. He knows these hours like the back of his hand, he can trace the minutes like a signature, every second he has lived so thoroughly that simply moving through time is like walking home— until now. Until this. Amber tufts of hair. Gray eyes sharper than a scalpel. It’s as if he’s lived from birth knowing daylight, but for the first time in his life, has been shown a sunrise. Brightness is redefined.

He understands Icarus now. It was neither hubris nor stupidity that sent him barreling towards the ocean’s unforgiving waves, but the thrill of discovering a marvel you thought you already understood. If they put wings on his back and told him to fly, he doesn’t think he could resist the urge to touch a miracle either, whether or not it burned.

heeey guys i needed to perform an exorcism as assassin!rog + time loop!pogrog has been haunting my mind like i disturbed a grave so here it is?? non-summary fic is below the cut, you can read it here on ao3

Primoz comes to as his hand shakes off the dripping plaid umbrella in his grasp. His vision lags for a moment, the droplets seeming to scatter in slow motion before his senses snap into place like a rubber band pulled taut and released, and the world comes into abrupt focus. He’s standing in the middle of a concrete staircase, the gentle sunlight streaming through the rain-slick glass dome above him hitting like a punch as the warmth registers all at once. The sound of hurried phone calls, pattering rain, and intercom announcements rush into real time like a slow clock hand catching up with the second. He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking off the dazed feeling collecting in his temples. Three uniformed schoolboys bolt past him, cackling and grabbing at each other’s collars to pull themselves up the concrete stairs— he sidesteps as to not get trampled. On his wrist, his watchface reads 5:14:37 pm. About 15 seconds for his mind to connect stimulus to his body. Not a personal best, but it’ll do.  

His black loafers click rhythmically against the ground as he begins to walk down the remaining steps. The air is sticky with humidity, making his white dress shirt cling to him like wet paper. He appears to be decked out head to toe in corporate attire- a nondescript black suit utterly unsuited to the weather, mahogany tie tied slightly too loose, still-wet umbrella in one hand, and leather briefcase in the other. He hopes there’s a firearm inside-- or a knife, at the very least. With his luck, though, it’s likely manila folders full of legal jargon. He stops at the base of the steps and cracks the latch open to confirm his suspicions- nothing but stacks of papers in what looks to be a language he can’t even understand. 

That’s fine. He can improvise. He clicks the case closed and continues forward. 

A quick turn around a bricked wall reveals a few things he doesn’t like. First, more people. There are masses of people flowing up and down the stairway and through the small shops littered throughout the station. From the looks of it, it seems to be the beginning of an evening rush hour. He doesn’t like killing in a crowd- too many eyes, not enough space, and it becomes a pain to reach the target in the first place. The effort typically isn’t worth his odds-- even less so without a decently subtle weapon. 

Second, he’s inside of a subway station. Moving vehicles, particularly ones that he isn’t driving, add infinitely more variables to trailing a target. Not to mention it appears all the signs are in the script written all over the documents he’s lugging around- Korean, he thinks. Upon closer inspection, there are English translations underneath, but he’s still not pleased-- being unarmed on the job during a foreign country’s rush hour is likely a grand total of no one’s forte. He fights the urge to curse himself for taking work nearly exclusively in Europe for the last few years of his career. Panic makes him sloppy, and he can’t cover his own bet on an unsteady hand. As he approaches the turnstiles blocking off the remainder of the station, he swallows the beginnings of alarm creeping up his throat. He checks his pockets for a ticket, transit pass, a wallet- anything to get him onto a train legally, for the most part. Shockingly, he finds a crisp, one way ticket from Myeongdong to Apgujeong in his breast pocket. He lays the slip on the scanner, allowing himself a small sigh of relief, and silently crosses breaking and entering off his list of chores. Once through the turnstiles, he checks his watch. 5:18:57-- he has about 22 minutes. Time to pick up the pace. 

As he follows the signs directing towards Track 3, he melts into the crowd around him. This is where he’s most at ease: floating in his environments like shadow through liquid. Back at the agency, there was ongoing confusion and debate as to whether he was a control freak, or simply didn’t care. The answer? Both. Primoz craves a gamble-- but unlike most junkies, his obsession lies in carefully reconstructing the odds around his bet. The thrill comes from engineering the chain reaction, not the explosion itself. He likes to test himself. Controlled risk. An intercom announces that the train will arrive in 10 minutes as he rides the wave of people towards the glass-gated tracks, barely even corporeal. For his own schedule, he’s down to 19 minutes. He settles against a pillar and does what he is best at-- he waits. 

* * *

The train is utterly packed. Every time he thinks it’s about to empty as passengers flood out, just as many people (or inexplicably more) board the train for the next stop. He’s been wedged in between a little old lady holding a massive icebox and a college student who looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks for the last eight minutes- the latter of whom keeps nodding off and falling into Primoz’s back. As best as he can without pummeling anyone in his immediate vicinity, he checks the time again. One minute. He begins to scan the train car for signs of anything unusual. He’s curious as to how things are going to play out this time around- practically nobody has the space to move, and the train isn’t due to stop for an additional few minutes.

Or not. Suddenly, his body is jerked forward as the train grinds to a violent halt. The intercom buzzes to life over the rising wave of confused chatter- first in Korean, then Japanese, and finally English. “Due to technical difficulties with the vehicle, we are currently unable to depart from our current location. We apologize for the inconvenience and ask for your patience as we address the issue.”

Well. There’s his sign. Like clockwork (which, upon second consideration, it quite literally is), he spots a bright green and navy blue jacket slipping through the yellow car door in front of him. Primoz snaps into action. He begins pushing through the sea of bodies, apologizing as he squeezes through the mess of limbs and heads. Through the glass, he can see the back of his mark doing the same. Good, he thinks. Better if we’re both slowed down. He reaches the door and bursts through, just as the figure pops out the other end of the horde. Apologies forgotten, he bulldozes his way through the crowd and pulls the next car door open. 

This one lacks a window of any sort, and it takes him aback when he opens it to see the car is nearly empty. Green jacket is nowhere to be seen, and there’s about 6 people scattered around all looking curiously on guard. Seeing as to how they all draw blades or battering rams of sorts the moment he stumbles into the car, he can guess as to why. Stupidly, his first instinct is to check his watch and think, six minutes earlier than usual, giving an excellent opening for the nearest man to lunge. It’s only muscle memory that makes his right leg kick out towards his attacker. Luckily for both parties, however, at that exact moment, the train jolts into motion. “We apologize for the delay, and hope you have an excellent remainder of your trip!” the intercom chirps as both men tumble to the ground. Their eyes meet in brief and mutual mortification before the entire car jumps back into action. Various deadly objects begin flying at Primoz, and he barely has time to block a knife whizzing towards his face with the briefcase (if he had one, he would take a moment to thank his past self for not abandoning it in the station) and jump to his feet before the assaults redouble. He stands, slightly crouched, and six bodies descend upon him in a frenzy. 

As is commonly understood, the human body’s near universal response to immediate threat is to fight, flight, or freeze. However, it’s been in Primoz’s job description for nearly the last quarter of his life to reject all three. He is paid to turn the tables, to swallow his pounding heart, ignore the blood rushing through his ears, and instead become the threat. He has painstakingly trained himself to remain perfectly level despite an onslaught, transforming from a man tasked with murder into a perfectly oiled machine. He responds to each strike with surgical precision. Every punch is meant to crush a windpipe, every knife he disarms from an assailant he puts to good use against throats and arteries. There’s not a swing that misses, not a single movement that goes to waste. The briefcase also continues to be remarkably useful- he takes two of his assailants to the floor with a crushing bash to the head, and hears ribs crack when he swings it at another’s torso. The umbrella, not so much. The thing breaks in half upon impact, but the broken metal pole makes for an excellent stake to the eye. In the back of his mind, he savors the violence. This is as close as it gets to being home.

And as quickly as it began, all the movement in the car ceases with a finishing knife to the back. Primoz scans his work. Certainly not his best, judging by the amount of blood on the floor. He much prefers to be the instigator of a conflict; being caught off guard makes him messy. He purses his lips at the caved in skull near his foot. He’ll have to do better next time. 

Scratch that-- if he does well enough now, there won’t be a next time. 

After shedding his blood-stained jacket, he escapes to the next car over. Thankfully, no one seems to have taken heed to whatever they were hearing next door. Or the train has excellent soundproofing. Either way, he goes unnoticed as he does his best to compose himself while pressed against a wall. And as luck would have it, the train rolls to a stop at Apgujeong. He follows the flood of bodies out the doors as a cheery voice thanks him for his passage over the speaker. He looks around, and doesn’t see much that’s new-- more concrete tunnels and tiled walls.

Okay, he thinks. What now? 

By instinct, he looks at his watch. After no longer being able to rely upon basic truths of his environment, he has learned to live solely by time. He’s dissected the constant reiterations of the various worlds he is thrown into by the second-- although he may be in the middle of an abandoned amusement park one day, and a salt marsh the next, he has the patterns of events carved into the back of his eyes. If he doesn’t know how disaster will strike, he sure as hell knows when. 

Which is why it is deeply disconcerting when he looks down and the analog face reads 6:02:19. Again, ahead of schedule. By about 11 minutes, in fact. The initial onslaught after the first moment of crisis ends at exactly 6:13:29- no earlier, no later. Never. He looks around, feeling as if he’s forgotten a limb on the train. He scans the space for anything suspicious, but sees absolutely nothing. Are there things embedded in the walls? Drones? Once, the loop put him in some sort of space station where an army of microbots swarming through the vents and cracks between metal plating bore through his skin and crawled through his lungs. He particularly hated that one. He finds an empty plastic seat nailed to the wall and pretends to go through his briefcase as he eyes the woman who he momentarily thought was staring right at him, before she began walking in the opposite direction. He shuts the lid much harder than necessary. He’s been thrown off his rhythm-- he feels like he's been blindfolded and told to steer a bike off muscle memory, he-- he sees something. In the corner of his eye, a flash of green and blue darts up the stairs. Recognition blares like an alarm bell as he begins sprinting in pursuit, subtlety utterly forgotten. 

The figure weaves through the crowd, deft as a pianist’s hands. Primoz silently thanks whoever it is he’s chasing for choosing to don the most crass of greens on their shoulders that morning. The oversaturated windbreaker sticks out like a sore thumb, his eyes locking onto it instantly. The two are nearing the stairs heading up to the busy street above when the target suddenly takes a sharp right turn away from the exit, and Primoz briefly loses sight of them. In a panic, he follows in the general direction. Fortunately, the individual quickly returns into his line of sight. Unfortunately, they’re now inexplicably on the other side of a set of turnstiles. Primoz pats himself down for any more tickets, or perhaps a slip of cash that he missed earlier, but no such luck. Not that he’d have the time to buy a new pass anyway, though. He looks at the green and blue-clad torso getting smaller in the distance, then at the attendant assisting a young tourist at the ticket station next to the turnstiles. He mutters a quick apology and leaps over the metal bars, hardly hearing the shout of surprise and ensuing multilingual demands for his return as he runs forward and disappears into another crush of people. 

The pair snake their way through the station at a distance as if connected by bungee cord. Every time Primoz tries to get closer, someone stops directly in front of him and blocks his way, every time he’s on the verge of losing the trail, a path miraculously opens. They make their way through the concrete halls like this, bouncing around equilibrium, until they arrive at Track 5. 

He skids to a stop just as a few stragglers board the closing train. The glass doors separating the station from the tracks are nearly shut, and Primoz thinks he finally has his moment, when the figure sharply dives toward the leftmost door, just barely making it inside. Primoz on the other hand, isn’t quite fast enough to bridge the gap from the turn in the tunnels to the departing vehicle. Astonished, he watches as the train begins to inch forward. The figure turns around and meets his gaze through the glass. A young man-- barely in his early twenties, with a shock of spiky honey colored hair and slate gray eyes. He cocks his head at him, slightly, then the train snaps into its full speed. Primoz almost thinks he sees him smile as he disappears into a blur of color down the dark tunnel. The last thing he notices about the train itself is a large ‘131’ printed into a white circle on the doors of his mystery mark’s car.

That was the door? It’s hardly six!

Flabbergasted, he checks his watch. For a moment, he sees nothing but black screen, until the white digits begin to flash erratically. He watches the pixels jump across the small, rectangular face before they come to a stop, reading ‘83:29:41��. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he feels like he remembers the six digits from somewhere, but he can’t quite place it. He stares at the empty tracks, dumbfounded, heart pounding from the chase. 

“What the fuck?!”

He has just enough time to hear his voice echo on the tiled walls before, hours ahead of schedule, everything goes black. 

[sirthisisa-wendys]

hellooo!! i just found your account and all of your works got me so addicted. it's so good, i'm not lying. so i found there's this one old fic of yours about the Bonten men get caught cheating on the reader and their reaction to reader leaving them. it's the "You Should Go : bonten trio x reader". I wonder if we could get a full one shot of the ran's part. I would like it to be really angsty. it got me hooked, like i have reread the ran's part many times. so i wonder if it's possible for u to make a full version for ran :D

Thank you so much for the love! I'll go ahead and give you a final part of the Ran incident. (don't know if you read part 2, but it's right here.)

You Should Go (Part 3): Ran Haitani x Fem!Reader

wc: 764

tw: smut, angst

masterlist

(Part 1 Part 2)

"I want to make things right between us."

Clink, clink, clink. Ran's eye twitches as he listens to the sound of your fork and knife cutting into the expensive steak platter.

"Did you hear me?"

"I heard you," you quip, eyes still focused on the food, not him. Not him. Ran wants to show his displeasure in the most childish way, but he refrains from doing so and just looks away, sipping his wine with a steady hand. He can't show how bothered he is. Not now.

Silence is the third guest at the table, and you eat your entire meal without so much as a 'thank you' or a glance at him. What did you think you were doing, tormenting him like this? Once the check is brought, Ran pays for the meal, then looks up at you. You're dabbing at the corners of your mouth and clearing your throat, and for a second, Ran imagines his hand wrapped around it...

Applying just enough pressure to scare you but not enough to frighten you. Just enough to arouse the dangerous feeling you both once shared during illicit meetups and rushed sex in the back of his car.

What he wouldn't do to feel that flood of dopamine once again.

But something changes as soon as you both get in the door. You turn around and pin him to the wall, your fingers wrapped up in his dress shirt. "Kiss me, Ran." He wastes no time in pressing his lips to yours, feeling the plush skin of your mouth with a mounting sense of accomplishment.

Maybe, just maybe...

Wrinkled dress shirts, dress pants, a skirt, a dressy top, and other undergarments are strewn out across the floor as Ran leans back on the bed and watches you ride him seventy ways to Sunday.

"Holy fuck," he mutters as he drives his hips into your warm cunt. Nothing can stop him at this very moment - not even a priest. Ran's body flushes with heat at the sight of you writhing on top of him while you lean back and steady yourself on his knees. "Y/n, I... you..."

"I hear you," you echo, biting your lower lip. "I hear you, Ran."

"Please, y/n," Ran whines before you wrench an orgasm from him, wringing him dry for what he can only assume is a full hour and a half. His cock throbs endlessly between your fluttering walls, the blessed warmth milking him for all he's worth.

Ran pulls you against him and falls asleep almost instantly, his nose nestled into the sweet-smelling scent of your flesh and face cradled between your breasts.

Ran awakens the following day with a sense of renewal and peace. He rolls over in bed and is greeted with...

Nothing.

Ran strains his ear for the sound of the shower running, water in the bath, or perhaps the sound of coffee being made. Ran makes his way down the stairs to inspect the living room (empty), the foyer (cleaned), and the kitchen (bare). Ran's breath catches in his throat, but he shakes the feeling of dread that sinks into his core as he looks around the kitchen.

Things are missing.

And there's a manila folder lying on the kitchen table, all alone and sad among the other kitchen items.

Which one of these is not like the other?

Ran reaches for the folder and frowns, feeling the weight of it. His name is on the tab, but that's the least worrying thing about it. Inside, he can see the various signatures - your signatures - and the papers flutter to the table in a heap before he can decipher exactly why there's a long squeeze in his chest.

"No..."

Reasons for divorce: infidelity.

"No."

Ran scrambles for his phone, dashing up the stairs and slipping more than once in his haste to get to his device that's lying on the night table. He picks it up and types in your number, only to be met with a message that tells him the number is no longer in service.

Ran feels the bile in his throat rising, and something in him snaps. His feet propel him toward the closet, and for the first time, he sees the emptiness as it is. He sinks to the floor, his knees hitting the carpet as he realizes that you're truly, finally, utterly gone. When Ran looks up at your mirror, he spots the neon green sticky note with Sharpie scrawled on it in your handwriting.

Ran, I realized... maybe I should go this time.

[sessayyys-corner]

GOMBURZA (2023) - MMFF REVIEW

“Vivan Los Filipinos. Mabuhay ang mga Filipino.”

This film is the story of the three martyr priests. Three Filipinos who were part of the native community who were once under Spanish colonial rule and oppression. If you have been updated, or have been listening in your elementary Philippine history classes, it’s GOMBURZA, not MAJOHA. 

Despite it being produced by Jesuit Communications, the film was able to execute (No pun intended) a factual depiction on a turning point of Philippine history without overused emphasis of religion. It was able to capture how the Catholic faith was used as an instrument of oppression during the Spanish colonial period (This was especially ironic considering how return of the religious orders, including the Jesuits, were the reason for the silencing of the secularization movement). What also impressed me is that almost every single detail in the movie, even in the dialogue, came from actual events in history. It is evident that enough research was made to make this film as accurate as possible.

The film’s cinematography was able to capture life during the period whether it was amongst the Filipino liberals, the Spanish priests, the Governor-Generals, or even the three main characters in our story. With every other scenes of the film shifting from light to dark atmospheres, this symbolized the reality of Spanish colonization — warmth, acceptance, and friendship amongst fellow Filipinos; and ruthlessness, inhumanity, and oppression from the Spaniards (and even traitors). Adding emphasis to GomBurZa’s (2023) cinematography is its sound design. Just by feeling the cinema floor rumbling and the deeply-voiced voiceover in the film’s ending segment, this film can come to a point where it deserves its own IMAX screening.

Dante Rivero and Cedrick Juan showcase over-the-top stellar performances as Padre Mariano Gomez (played by Rivero) and Padre Jose Burgos (played by Juan). Both actors have embodied their roles, not only due to the fact that they, especially Juan, share a slight resemblance with the real life Mariano Gomez and Jose Burgos. It is also because that they were able to portray their emotions from having a friendly conversation, to later condemning their unfair arrest, trial, and death.

Pepe Diokno's time and effort in conducting research and including every important detail in the production is evident in the whole film itself, as it was not only ACTUALLY based on true events, but was able to evoke emotion and outrage, just like how the Filipinos of the 1870s did at the time.

With all of this said, GomBurZa (2023) is not only a history lesson, but also an immersion into the Spanish colonial rule and the lives of the three priests. Being a history nerd and a cinephile who has since learned the names of the three martyr priests as a little girl in elementary, I can definitely say that this was one of the only film experiences where I had witnessed the breaking of the fourth wall. The whole time I was in the cinema, it felt like I was part of their conversation, like I was a witness to their lives and execution.

What also added to this experience was that I watched the film on Rizal Day, and what better way to commemorate our national hero's contribution to Philippine independence than to learn about where it all started? Like what I always preached to my family:

Without GomBurZa, there will be no Jose Rizal. Without Jose Rizal, there would be no Andres Bonifacio. Without all of them, the Philippines and the Filipino would not exist.

GomBurZa (2023) is a cathartic experience that is definitely for the family. This film is a testament to the importance of appreciating and learning our history. Hopefully it serves as a reminder of our collective past, national identity, and the importance of our freedom.

[Metro Manila Film Festival 2023]

(my film review of "GomBurZa" is also available on letterboxd!)

[searchingsomewhere]

All Too Well: Cursed Narrative, 6

{"In another life, home feels like home. I've mourned you now longer than I've known you."}

poly!Gojo x OC x Geto

Cursed Narrative Masterlist

Part 5

The manila file landed in his lap with a plop.

Suguru began flipping through it. The shuffling of a coat as it was brushed aside signaled to him that his guest sat down on the bench behind him. A cool summer breeze rolled through, blowing his shirt around. He had dressed rather casual for this meeting, long hair pulled into a bun.

"So, you think it's one of mine?" Suguru said, eyes darting around the pages.

A serial murderer, hunting down children. It looked like the connecting factor in each case was the child victim themselves; Each one was between nine and eleven years old, with dark hair and light eyes.

"You tell me," Satoru said over his shoulder. "Do you think any of your Curse Users would have a reason to do something like this?"

The tingling sensation of Satoru's Cursed Energy made his mouth water. It was barely traceable, only noticeable if he really focused. God, it had been so long since he had felt it.

And Miho. She was more beautiful than he ever remembered. She still wore her bracelet. Did Satoru? Did she see that night that he still wore his? Could she tell how often he thought about them? How his fingers twitched, aching to run through her long hair? Suguru inwardly scolded himself for being so giddy. He needed to show some level of restraint.

His response was instant, his voice cool. "Of course not. Random murder is pointless."

"And you're sure?"

"You're smarter than that, Satoru. You already know I'm not involved," Suguru chuckled, closing the file. "...Yet. So, what did you have in mind?"

"Our Curse User will strike again. I'd like you to take a look at the energy trails and tell me what you think."

"You must be desperate, working with the enemy," Suguru said. Could the white haired man hear the smile in his voice?

"'Enemy' is a loose term and you know it."

His grin only grew.

"Where do you think they'll strike first?" he asked.

Satoru sighed, resting his elbow on the back of the bench. It lightly brushed Suguru's shoulder, sending sparks up the dark haired man's spine.

"The last attack was in Yoyogi Park, and the ones before were in specific parts of town. I think it's possible whoever they are, they're following someone."

---

Tsumiki and Megumi had little to their young names. Most of it was their parent's possessions, left behind when Toji abandoned them. Miho and Satoru had gone through most of it already, donating what they could and moving anything Megumi and Tsumiki needed into his apartment. All that was left was the children's clothes.

The more they delved into Toji's life as a father, the more Miho's animosity for him had ebbed away. Somewhat. He did in fact try to kill all three of them and left them with a lifetime of unresolved trauma, and he had given her irreparable nerve damage, but at the very least, the bills for the small apartment his kids were living in had been paid for years in advance.

Miho took Megumi's hand in hers. He stared ahead with dark blue eyes. Even so young, he bore a striking resemblance to his father. He didn't acknowledge her, but held her hand tightly. Tsumiki, the older of the two, walked ahead of them with their suitcases. She was more outspoken, yapping Miho's ears off as they exited the apartment complex.

"Where is Satoru?" she asked, turning to look back at them.

"Working," she said, smiling at her, "He'll be home for dinner, though."

Outside, the sun was beginning to set. Miho frowned, ushering them along. Satoru had warned her to get the kids home before dark.

Cursed Energy spiked next to them. Screaming erupted just to the left, in an alley they were walking past. It stopped abruptly. The three of them froze. Miho's hand tightened on Megumi's.

"What's wrong?" Tsumiki asked, obliviously looking between them and the street corner.

A low growl sounded beside them. The White Demon Dog pulled itself up from Megumi's shadow, growling and snapping it's jaws. The dog pressed Megumi against her leg protectively. Megumi's wide eyes were looking down the alley, at the man standing near the back.

Miho followed him. Her eyes widened.

There was a child cowering against the alley wall. The man was crouched down in front of him, the metal glint of a blade flickering in the setting sun in his hand. Behind him, a large dog-like curse was sniffing a woman's limp body.

"Miho," Tsumiki said quietly, grabbing her pant leg. "W-What's he doing?"

The man turned his head at the sound of her voice. Miho bristled, shoving the kids behind her. She angled her pointer and middle finger up.

Emerge from darkness, blacker than darkness.

Part 7

[kalanisposts]

“I couldn’t do it,” she cried.

“I know. And that’s okay.”

-

Captain John Price

holding a tight grip on your sniper, you had a steady crosshair following your assigned target that instead of a description in a Manila envelope was now a face and this face was no terrorist. you knew the real monster too well and you’d gone under Captain Price’s wing following this case when the main mission was to destroy the enemy and burn their existence down. his voice in your ear as you watch this boy no older than 12 be used as a child soldier guarding the door between them and the target.

“come on, kid, move,” your urged, your finger on the trigger as 141 made moves to close in on the building. from where you laid, you could see them making progress but if the kid even raises that gun at your friends, you knew what you’d have to do.

“y/l/n,” Price’s voice sounded in your ear which made you tense and grip the tripod with a sweaty hand.

you didn’t want to answer and he knew the position you were in. you swallowed hard and put your finger to the trigger, “copy, captain,” you grit, aiming your crosshairs for a quick death but as if he knew, the kid’s wide eyes looked in your direction and you knew he could hear your team moving in. his doe like eyes caught the breath in your throat and you felt a burn behind your eyes.

thankfully he dropped the gun and pressed himself to the wall, Price taking hold of him and waving in your direction, a choked sigh leaving your body in relief. you started feeling tremors as you watched through your scope, covering the hall for your team but you could hear Price getting that kid to safety.

cursing under your breath, a horrible feeling washed over you as you heard the child’s voice and it broke you to think you could’ve ended his life. “I couldn’t do it,” you admit, holding back tears til 141 called it back in target aquired.

“I know.” Price reassured to you, feeling just as shaken but holding steady as he hated making your hands dirty for sake of the mission. “And that’s okay. come down, we’re leaving.” he says gruffly before he said much softer to you as you pack up your tripod and gun, “drinks on me tonight.”

Erwin König

KoTac was a less than savory alternative job offer for a military linguist like you. it paid well but at the constant cost of your life as you tagged along with this specific group. for the past year, you’ve learned to be light on your feet, even helping carry a medical kit with you although you don’t wear much tactical gear besides a bullet proof vest and comfy camo pants. you were against holding guns but did satisfy König’s protectiveness by having a knife strapped to your belt which hardly ever came out of its sheathing besides when he’d take it from you to sharpen it.

today’s mission was strictly to observe and report for intel and leave the fighting for another day. but time was running out. you spoke to some of the locals at a church where a suspect was last seen leaving and you were getting a bad feeling about their choice in dialect. like how you know someone is country without the accent, just their mannerisms spoke volumes and you had a bad gut feeling about the man you were just talking to.

you and König were the only ones in the room with him as KoTac took charge of clearing the church. you turned around and gave your Commander a look, signing to him quietly about you suspicions when suddenly you heard a gun shot and every dropped down.

it happened so fast, König sprung up to his feet and made quick work tackling you down on the ground, narrowly escaping another wild bullet from the suspect who was getting anxious and just wanted to leave. he wasn’t as big as König, no one could be but he was fast and caught him in his shoulder before he could take his gun out and shoot back. horrified, you stayed in the corner he put you in but watching him fighting for your lives with no backup froze you in your mind.

a gun slid to your feet and König yelled at you in German, knowing you understand his urgency. you trembled as you took the gun and raised it, the suspect noticed you and how poorly you held the gun. he got cocky and stepped towards you to put a bullet between your eyes point blank but you were struggling with the safety and even then you couldn’t bring yourself to shoot.

before you knew it, blood splattered across yourself, dropping from the walls above you and spraying more from the massive hole König put in this man’s chest. you saw his insides and then his eyes roll back in his head before he dropped dead, a scream ripping out of you before König could pick you up from the corner and wipe the blood from you tear stained face.

shock took your body and you clutched to his vest as he took account of your body for any wounds, petting your hair of the blood. “I couldn’t do it,” you gasped shakily, fearful eyes looking at him and expecting anger or disappointment but were staring back at you with worry and confusion.

“I know, Schätzchen. und das ist okay.” he sighed, holding you to his chest as he looked around the room for anymore threats, swearing he won’t let it get this close again.

Simon Ghost Riley

the door burst open and Ghost was the first through the door, a machine gun in his hands strapped to his shoulders as he scanned the room for movement followed by the Captain, Soap, and Gaz. a small red light lit in front of the motel room they just barged into, followed by a pillow of smoke that escaped your red lipstick stained lips. you sat in a chair facing the door they just collapsed, your hands and chest covered in blood. behind you were two beds and on each laid the dead bodies of the targets 141 were hired to gain intel on the missing girls of a Nigerian school rumored to be trafficked from this town. your mission was to pose as a girl meanwhile Gaz was your “pimp”, a guise so you’d get into the auction and only get intel then leave and let the big boys take care of things.

somehow you were separated and gone for an hour until you used the motel phone to call them. it took thirty minutes for them to find you and you spent all that time making them regret what they’d done to those girls. what you didn’t know was that before realizing you were gone, they found all the girls at the event but Gaz was in too deep in the middle of it all to go get back to you. when Ghost saw Gaz without you, his knees buckled as rage filled him. he had a bad feeling about all of this when he saw you in that red dress and hated how he couldn’t even put a microphone in your ear so he can couch you through it but the security was tight and Gaz barely escaped with his life.

Ghost holstered his gun and advanced to you but you raised the lit cigarette at him, holding back tears as he noticed a slap mark across your face and the pain in your eyes. he’d left you unarmed in a room full of monsters, had you been anyone else then you’d have been worse off than you are now. “I couldn’t do it,” you said shakily, dropping the butter knife you used to wreck havoc in this room, Ghost dropping to his knees at your bare feet. disappointment filled you at the weakness you felt being kidnapped from the event.

“I know,” he croaked, regretful for letting you down but proud for how well you handled yourself all on your own, “and that’s okay.” he knew this mission touched home with you so he grabbed your free hand and pulled you into his arms where you all but collapsed and let him carry you out. “good work, soldier. let’s get you back,” he says, glaring forward as he got you to a medic first thing and held your hand, even taking your cigarette and holding it to your lips for you. he hated the smell but seeing you calm down with each draw made him stare at the smoke in relief.

[r0semultiverse]

“Tape recorders & Manila folders” LMAOO now that was a reference (or she’s related to someone who worked at the Magnus institute)

Skin turned into butterflies?? Insect phobia? Also curious about the zombies one vaguely mentioned earlier in passing too.

“Every case about being buried alive or meat or whatever” WHO ARE YOU RELATED TO FROM 20+ YEARS AGO CELIA CMON NOW!

oxfordpeoplestrust.org is also not a real web site that I could find anyway

HILLTOP?!?!

Hilltop center branch sure is a name, wonder what happened during the 6 months! 👀

Wtf happened to Derek Chambers??

That’s one suspicious walk-in applicant... wonder who that is. Knows the hilltop center better than anyone.

A pot with a shouting human face??? Weird.

A friend who wants to volunteer? Also damn, C Clayton is either incompetent or dead! 👀

​Why are these 2 so cheerful?? That is very strange. I don’t think he’s on sabbatical. Lmao

Just bringing in all the creepy cryptid people now, aren’t ya? Though I’d also do that shit if I was understaffed so eh. 🤷‍♀️

“All for a good cause,” it sounds like they’re a hive mind collective of some sort to me.

Oh, they are bringing these items in to sell?? Ahh okay. Also, I feel like C Clayton is definitely dead & these creatures took his keys.

They’re like lemmings or something, holy shit. Also is this a pawn shop I just realized?? Oh a charity shop! Someone just merked a bunch of these guys, holy fuck!! 👀 These are some secret cryptid hunters, gods damn!

Celia: “The voice threw me.” “Do you know who voices Chester?” “Just thought I recognized it for a moment.”

CELIA HOW DO YOU KNOW HIS VOICE?!?! HELLO?? WHO EXACTLY ARE YOU??

AN EMAIL FROM JON?!?! WHAT?!?!!!!

CLAUS?? WHO? GWEN HAS EYES EVERYWHERE HUH?? REALLY LIVING UP TO THE BOUCHARD NAME!

[andrbllts]

My Cousin Just Commited Suicide

Last night, while I was at work, packing my bag for my flight back to Manila the next day, in my cold, spacious hotel room here in Cebu, I received a message that sent chills down my spine. It was from Gab’s yaya, and what she said left me shaken: my 21-year-old cousin, Oneil, had just tried to take his own life. For a moment, everything felt unreal. Then she told me that Oneil was saved in time by his older brother, Regil. Relief washed over me, but the shock stayed. I immediately asked for more details.

It was around 11 PM, and the whole house was asleep when Regil woke up to a strange crackling noise coming from the bathroom, followed by the disturbing sound of someone choking. Something didn’t feel right. He got up to check and saw a sight no one should ever see: Oneil, hanging from the ceiling with a thick nylon rope around his neck, eyes wide open and red. He was on the brink of death. If Regil had been just a second too late, we would’ve lost him.

The whole house erupted in panic. Tears filled the room as they realized what almost happened. But the question lingered-why? Why would Oniel do this?

It felt all too familiar. Four years ago, Oneil’s 2nd older brother ended his life in the exact same place, in the exact same way, at the same age. Maybe it was the grief he carried—his mother’s death, his father’s stroke that left him bedridden, or the passing of our grandmother just last December, whom Oneil was very closed to. Maybe it was stress at work, a rough breakup, or the pressure of becoming a father so soon. There are countless possibilities, but none of us really know.

Oneil was always quiet, but he seemed fine. Always smiling, always kind. He was never the type to show when something was wrong. After the attempt, family members tried to talk to him, to remind him that we love him and he’s not alone. But he just stared blankly, no emotion on his face, not a single word. We’ve decided to give him time, but we’re making sure he’s never alone.

And then, as if the universe wanted to drive home the point, I saw a post from a friend’s partner about someone else who just committed suicide awhile ago. It’s becoming a painful pattern, and I can’t help but wonder—why does this keep happening?

I’ve known people who have taken their own lives. I’ve attended their funerals, seen the grief they left behind, and watched families break apart. I remember asking myself, “How could they do this? Didn’t they see the people who loved them?” But deep down, I understood. Because I’ve been there, too.

I know how those dark thoughts can sneak up on you. I know what it’s like to be overwhelmed by pain, to feel like you’re drowning with no way out. I’ve mourned for those who couldn’t keep going, and I’ve also stood at the edge, wondering how I would make it through.

But why? Why does it get that bad? There are so many reasons—life trauma, depression, anxiety, feeling like you don’t belong, or just being exhausted by the constant struggles. Sometimes, there’s no explanation at all. Sometimes, the pain just doesn’t make sense.

I remember a service I attended at Victory Church The Fort. Pastor Gilbert Foliente spoke about suicide awareness and the battles we all face in silence. He told us that we need to be there for each other, to pay attention, to listen. He emphasized that suicide is never the solution. It’s a permanent response to a temporary problem. And for the people left behind, it’s a wound that never truly heals.

There will be days that feel impossible to get through. Days when it seems like everything is falling apart. But those are the times you need to hold on the most. Because there will also be better days. I still have moments when I feel like I’m suffocating, like every time I try to breathe, I get pulled back down. But in those moments, I think of the people who love me—my family, my son. I think of the dreams I still want to chase, the places I still want to see, the person I want to become.

If you ever find yourself in that place, reach out for help. Talk to someone. It doesn’t have to be a professional—just someone who will listen. Try new things, pick up a hobby, listen to music that makes you feel alive, take a walk, or hold on to something—anything—that gives you hope. Don’t break someone else’s heart by leaving your own behind. Even if you can’t see it now, someone out there needs you. Someone loves you. Stay alive long enough to see how your story unfolds. Keep going, even when it’s hard. Keep fighting, even when you want to give up.

Because you’re worth fighting for. You matter, even if you can’t see it right now. And your story isn’t over. Keep living, keep fighting, someone out there is bound to genuinely love you for who you are despite your shortcomings and always remember to never let the darkness win.

PS:

he's now safe and well. TYG. ❤