#HE WAS SO CLOSE TO SAYING SOMETHING (chews on the keyboard)

[wolfsong-the-bloody-beast]

- You know, I see my fair share of ruins and death, too. Maybe that means we’re perfect for each other. - You tease, but… There’s nothing more for me here, but we can talk back at Skyhold, and I… I have to think.

[hoshigray]

𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭 𝐌𝐞, 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 | gojō satoru

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: bully! Gojo x afab/fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! you + Gojo are college juniors - first kiss - fingering (f! receiving) - sqüiřtıng - virginity loss - corruption kink - missionary + deep impact positions - clitoral play - unprotected sex (psa: wrap the willy, you sillies!) - premature ejaculation - pet names (baby, crybaby, cutie, princess) - itty bitty possessiveness - mention of spit/drool and tears.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.6k

“Yo.”

“Yes, Satoru?”

“You never had your first kiss, huh?”

Gojo Satoru takes pleasure in being your bully — nothing in his third year of college gives him much joy than being your one source of torment. Sure, he’s got everything: being the campus’ grounds #1 heartthrob, a star player on the men’s basketball team, and an excellent scholar in all his courses despite being a dickhead. But, even if he possesses the things that put him at the top of the class body, his other fountain of entertainment comes from something - or someone - that playing ball or dormitory parties can’t produce the same level of internal enjoyment. 

You and he were alone in his apartment, umbrellaed under the instruction of working on an upcoming project this month. Of course, boredom is evident in the tall one’s heavy sighs as he looks through multiple articles on his laptop. Cerulean orbs wander away from the device’s screen and land on the other side of the couch; another figure glued to the armrest is concentrated on typing their keyboard to notice the prying survey. 

Gojo’s ennui begins to flicker out the moment he sees you, wanting nothing to do with this damn assignment and just to mess with his favorite pushover. This is precisely why he prompts himself to ask you a question, and judging by how quickly your fingers stop typing, now his attention is hooked onto a matter way more fascinating.

He spots your flattened lips. “…Wh–Where did that come from?”

“Just curious, a random thought that came to my head.” 

“Why was that the thought that—“

“Hey, aren’t ya gonna answer the question?”

You stammer. “What makes you think I never had my first kiss?!”

He lifts a brow; his round shades shine when he smirks. “So you did have a first kiss?” Your lips open with no voice, and both silver eyebrows rise from the silent answer you’re giving, only for you to close your mouth and avert your gaze elsewhere. Gotcha, he stifles a chuckle. “Thought so, you terrible liar. Embarrassed I called you out? Haha, hilarious.”

Your eyes may be on the words of your document on your laptop, but the heat on your cheeks and the uncomfortable knot in your gut kept brewing. You chew on your lips to focus on something other than the guy getting a kick out of your lack of experience — the guy you don’t hear close and place his computer on the coffee table.

“Hey,” the closeness of his voice takes you aback, and you’re surprised to see him sit closer enough to bring a hand to close your laptop. “Wanna kiss me?”

Mortified eyelids shoot wide. “Wanna—Wh-What!?!” What the fuck is going on?!? “Why would you ask me—“

A nonchalant shrug adds more weight to your shock. “Why not? It’s just you and me, alone in my apartment at 8 o’clock. Sounds like a perfect opportunity, doncha think?” 

“Yeah, to do work!” Your emphasis fails as Gojo takes your device to add to the table surface. “I-I didn’t come here for you to question me and ask to—“

“You got someone else you’re waiting for?” He uses a hand to cage you from escaping, a knee between your legs. He knows he has the upper hand, observing behind shielded sunglasses as he awaits your response. 

“I–W-Well,” God, what did I get myself into? “Not necessarily…”

“So, do you not trust me with your first kiss?”

“That’s…That’s not the point—“

“You’re deflecting!”

“Satoru,” the way you say his name — low and soft, a pleading whisper — makes something switch for Gojo, looking at your bashful expression with hesitant hands, barely pushing his chest. “We shouldn’t…Let’s get back to the assignment?”

That wasn’t working on him; he’d never want to stop teasing you, especially now when you look too cute. “Let me kiss you one time, ‘kay? Then, we’ll go straight back to work.” He can see the cogs work in your brain, deciphering whether he is genuine. Was he? He couldn’t tell; all he was thinking about was how your lips felt. “I promise, princess.”

You didn’t mean it to happen, but you scan from his shades to his lips; now, it’s all you can see. The bob of his Adam’s apple, when he gulps, has your breath hitch, and after a few silent seconds with no movement, he begins to descend his face lower, and your lids swiftly close. So does his as he gently places his pillowy lips onto your plump ones, and a hushed squeak doesn’t go neglected.

Cherry — that’s the flavor that Gojo can taste. It has to be from the lip gloss you plastered on your lips that made them inviting to gawk at, pretty lips that the tall other couldn’t stop peering occasionally. He licks the bottom, taking in more of the taste with a soft groan. You yelp, gaping your lips further to give the man above an idea, and chew on your bottom lip. More whimpers slide past your control, hands gripping his sweatshirt as he peppers you with soft kisses, latching onto yours for longer seconds from one after the other — so much for one kiss.

You’re the one to break it off, hesitantly backing away from him to breathe. Hot skin returns to the cold air, and intimate huffs fuel into the space. You open your eyes slowly, half-lidded with knitted brows and scorching ears. You examine Gojo’s neutral expression; orbs that were once filled with reluctance are now replaced with a...wonder.

An innocent wonder that nearly has Gojo shut down from seeing as your hands steadily ring around his neck. There it is again, another switch flipped. This time, a spark ignites his brain, curiosity coursed to a more indecent field after what it feels like taking your first kiss. Because the way you’re looking under him — entirely submitted to him and his touch — wasn’t something he expected to rock his core. And all he can think about now…

…Is what taking all of your firsts would be like.

“—Taaahhh, haah…! Satoru, w-wait a min—“

“Hey, baby, tell me, what’s it like having my fingers inside you?”

Gojo’s little experiment delved into different extremes; your first kiss was the starting point of the many thoughts that perturbed his thinking. He wanted to know more about your potential firsts. For example, such as right now, how you’d be if he were the first to touch your privates. 

The atmosphere around the living room became hotter; the tepid silence switched with the erotic sounds and squeals that exited your system. Your legs spread apart, Gojo in between your thighs as his big, calloused hand swims under your panties to shove away and meet the bareness of your cunt. You were so wet, your liquids effortlessly coating his fingertips with barely any push. An entire mess between your inner thighs and labia. And that made Gojo’s mind go wild.

“Holy shit,” he chuckles in a heavy sigh. “So fucking wet and tight���Heh, you’re all like this because of a kiss, huh? So adorably pathetic.”

Refutation is impossible as he curls his forefinger inside, scraping your upper wall in a manner you never envisaged. “Sator—Mmmph…!” He keeps pushing the digit to the knuckle, touching crevices of your inner channel you could never reach. “O-Ohhh, Jesus…”

“Mmmm, fuck, you're twitching like crazy,” and Gojo was loving every second of it. The taller junior then decides to test something and creeps his middle finger near your opening, smearing itself with your come as lube. 

You sense him push the finger in, nerves heightened. “W-Wait, Satoru, I can’t—“

“Oh, yes, you can.” He interrupts you with a cheeky sneer. “You’re practically asking for it with you twitching so much. Watch.” Gojo pushes the middle digit leisurely; your beseeching babbles become increasingly incoherent when he adds the whole thing with the other finger. Now, both of them have you shrilling from their intrepid fashion, grazing on your vaginal walls with every pull and shove until his knuckles smooch your labia.

Good God, the place is so hot, your face is hot, your body’s hot, your insides feel hot — everything is just too hot for you to handle! And your brain cannot hold itself together as the seconds go. You throw your head back, your eyes sewn shut, “OhGod, ahhck! Wait, stooop! Go slow, go slo—Ohhh!” Gojo does the exact opposite; the pace of his fingers surges to a tempo you find difficult to ride through. Your entire frame locks together, preparing for the inevitable to slip past your hold, and tremors course around you as your orgasm hits you like a train.

Simultaneously as Gojo continues to rut your soapy cunt, a clear liquid disperses out of your urethra and sprays outward. Sprinkling onto the skin of your thighs and drenching your underwear. Although you’re not the only one who gets caught, Gojo at the front gets a genuine display of you showering his forearm with your essence, damping his sweatshirt in the process, and even a bit on his sunglasses.

It happens the third time: something snaps inside Gojo once he sees your oddly beautiful teary face. It’s at that moment that something in his core breaks and permeates his entire body with a force that’s been itching to get out when he kissed you earlier. He swallows thickly because the next thing he does after this will eat him alive, a queerly anticipated feeling for the white-haired man.

Of course, Gojo is astonished at what transpired, the shock in his eyes concealed by the shades. “Did you…just squirt on me?” His ears pick up the sound of you sobbing, your hands covering your face as you whine.

Massive tears roll down your cheeks, “I—hic—I told you to wait…!” 

It’s a no-brainer that Gojo pulls you off the couch and leads you to throw on top of his bed, stripping himself off his pants and briefs to free his raging erection and crawling up on top of you after chucking his shades off. A gasp leaves puffy lips when his pink glans meet the folds of your vagina, burrowing between your labia to coat with your slick.

“Satoru, wait,” you voice. “D-Don’t you have a condom?”

“Sorry, ran out of them.” Lies. Gojo knows he has rubbers tucked in his nightstand. However, the intention to use them is nowhere to be found. Because tonight – knowing completely and damn well you’re still a virgin – he had to fuck you raw. The drive to do so sent shivers up his spine. “Don’t worry, cutie. I’ll promise to pull out.”

Yet again, another deception.

Gojo pushes the tip in as he counts your breaths, watching every wince and contortion of your expression as the cockhead ventures and seeks shelter inside your slit. Your body is squirming through every exhale, and Gojo’s coaxes to relax your rigidness are somewhat helpful as you intake air. Before you know it, your mouth goes to a permanent ‘o’ shape once the tip is inserted, the act of breathing stops, and your body recoils and tenses as he slowly forces the foreign limb to carve your tightness inch by inch.

Oh, fucking shit…!! Oh yeah, Gojo thanks himself for not putting on a rubber. The firm grasp of your walls around his length nearly has him lose balance, sinking into your warm wetness clenching onto him so deliciously. He bites his lip to composure, a futile attempt as he throws in a few slow thrusts, and the snug of you has him in a chokehold. Then, when he hits your cervix, you instinctively grip onto him tighter and wrap your legs around him, and Gojo almost chokes. 

“F-Fuuck, wait, wait..!” He curses, submitting to a release way too early; his hips tremble as his cock ejaculates into your vagina. Shocks rattle his brain, rolling his eyes to the ceiling at the sensation of pooling himself into you. “Shit, oh shiiiit…this fucking pussy is driving me crazy.”

It really does because Gojo, still keen from his climax, dials the cadence, rutting into you with purpose. The sudden movements have your shrieks bouncing across the bedroom walls, and hits to your womb are frequent and cause more tears to strike down without your comprehension. “Nnnmm! OhhhmyGod…! Mmoohh!!”

“Heh, look at you cryin’,” Gojo teases you from above, licking a tear before kissing your cheek and ear. “Guess that’s expected for your first time, huh…Hnnnm, God, you’re clenching my dick so much.”

“Th-That’s because you’re—“The curve of his shaft has the tip graze your walls in an angle that makes your back arch. “Ahhoooo!! I’m fuull; you’re making me fulll…!!”

“Awww, am I making you full, crybaby?” He mocks you in your ear, the snicker sounding too salacious to the drum. “You full with my dick that it got you whining and crying for me?”

I can’t do this! Your brain dissolves into mush, and your face is too hot to construct adequate consciousness. “I can feel it, I can feel…”

“What is it? I can’t hear you through all the sobbing,” Gojo unscrews your legs to maneuver one for him to straddle and the other to lie on his shoulder. The new position gave him a directed way to piston his pelvis into your aching cunt, your squeals turning into screams as pokes to your womb come with the feverish pacing. He’s hitting so deep you can’t catch up! “What, you think you’re about to cum?”

You nod hurriedly. “Yes, yesss!!”

“Oh, that’s what you want now?” The snow-headed man chortles before sneaking a hand to your vulva, where his fore and middle finger swipe on your clit. “Tell me, is that what my pathetic angel wants?” You nod again, so he pinches your bud. “Tell me properly~.”

“—Ahhnnn, ohh, Sa—‘Toruuu!!” You pan to him. “Pleaseee, please make me cum, I wanna cum…!!”

God, this was a picture worth savoring. The image of you being all desperate for release, wanting nothing but to succumb to your wanton desire. You looked so ruined, like a completely different person compared to the meek exterior Gojo used to. And it’s all because of him – his words, his touches, his lips, and his dick – that you’re like this. A fact that only propels him to hammer his hips into you harsher. 

“Good girl,” he bends down to close his face to yours. Surveying you make such erotic faces as he keeps playing with your clit is food for his soul. “Enjoy yourself, princess,” and he steals your lips once more for another kiss.

Your orgasm comes to you quicker than ever, thanks to the work of Gojo’s hips, the hits of your cervix, the pinches on your clitoris, and the sloppy makeout session. Your body freezes and lets the aftershocks jolt you to a rocky clarity, your head in a dense fog, and your vision just about blurry. Your legs quiver with heaving breaths, and Gojo keeps thrusting as you soon fall out of your euphoria. 

The cold air blankets both of you once tense muscles calm down and bring you two back to reality. Silence befriends the lack of words aside from the pants of breath, and Gojo sluggishly withdraws his cock out of your wet chasm, whistling at the sight of his load slowly protruding out of your essence.

“Hey,” your face forms into a helpless expression. “Bet you never tried anal before.”

Tonight was dedicated to conquering all of your firsts. And Gojo means that with every bone in his body!

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ⊹ transparent edit made by me + dividers from @animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[mooooonnnzz]

holy shit world/insure made me sob. would you consider doing a part two ? i’m imagining stan and ford telling dipper and mable childhood stories with the reader. they’re vague about it, saying stuff like “they aren’t here anymore” so the twins just think read died. then reading coming back through the portal and they connect the dots. omfg i’m obsessed with this concept.

Word/Insured Part 2

Stanford Pines x Sibling!Reader/Stanley Pines x Sibling!Reader

☆ GUESS WHO FINISSHHHEDDDD!!!

☆ this'll have 2 parts so it's easier to digest, since it's lawnngg so if it abruptly ends, that's just me splitting it

☆ 4,5k words

☆ gender-neutral reader

☆ possible tw: drinking to cope, mentions of suicide, gagging and descriptive chewing? and just angst

☆ srry this lowk kinda took long to write both keyboard and mouse just died on me when i was writing this so i had to find an old keyboard oops

☆ if this does well, i'm considering on making hcs of reader adjusting back to their home dimensions and diving deep into the twins n their trauma !!

☆ that's all. i hope you all enjoy! :3

✶ Stan and Ford hadn’t talked to each other since your disappearance. The anger and hatred that Stan held onto was enough to deter him from even granting a glance at Ford who tirelessly tried to get Stan to talk to him. He’d begin the conversation with ideas he’s thought through the night prior, ideas that most likely secured a chance on bringing you back. But Stan wanted nothing to do with him. His head was shrouded with your screams, the way you yelled out for Stan instilled such a soul-crushing guilt on Stan; he wasn’t sure he’d properly function as a normal human being after this. Not to mention, you and Stan were two peas in a pod, spending 10 years together after the collapse of their family truly brought the pair together, closer than they’d ever thought they would be. And now Stan is going through the same grief he felt when he was kicked out of the house, Ford doing nothing but sparing a sorrowful glance to him as he shouted for his brother, anticipating Ford to do something; to clean his name and everything would go back to normal. But instead, he turned his back on him. The situations were massively different but the pain was eerily still the same. 

✶ Stan would spend majority of his nights clutching your belongings close to his chest. He didn’t care if it looked weird, those were the only things that he had left of you at the moment. Nights were spent crying himself to sleep, envisioning different scenarios where he had caught onto your wrist and pulled you back to the ground, where it was safe, where he was there to protect you. He couldn’t let his mind linger on the idea of you being stranded in another dimension, helpless and lost, not knowing what to do or where to go. The mere thought of it sends his heart crumbling down to his palms, all shredded and shattered beyond repair. He was your big brother, he was supposed to protect you. To keep you safe from harm's way, he betrayed that very promise by leading you to the place where you were taken away from him too soon. And that alone gutted him. Ford would hear Stan sobbing into the night and all he did was lay there in his bed, submitting himself to the torture to hear his brother’s wretched cries. Because, this was his fault. Stan wasn’t shy to tell him that almost every waking moment of the day when he has the chance. The guilt haunts him.

✶ Verbal arguments were pretty common between the pair. Stan mainly started them when he was pulled out of the haze he was in and roughly back to reality. A reality where you weren’t around anymore and that irked him, because who else was at fault other than his idiotic brother? “Do you ever wonder how more lively this house would have been if ya hadn’t pushed [Name] inside the portal?” His tone was harsh. They carried thick venom to them, his words permanently burning their way into Ford’s brain. “Not this again,” Ford’s heart quivered. He had just recollected himself from yesterday's fight and now Stan wants to barrel through another one? Ford avoided Stan’s glaring eye contact. “Stanley, I told you many times before. I’m sorry! I’m sorry for screwing up, I’m sorry for being the reason why [Name] isn’t here anymore.” Ford’s head tilted back, his eyes staring longingly at the ceiling. “You don’t know how much this eats at me, Stanley.” He blinks away the tears threatening to escape, his head lowering back down to meet Stan’s fiery stare. “But I beg of you, please. Don’t hate me for it. I can’t lose you again, not after losing [Name].” The look in Ford’s eyes was something Stan would never be able to forget, no matter how hard he tried. He looked so broken, so shattered, the shell of someone who once was a prodigy at everything he touched was now crushed to bits; pieces of him scattered, lost to time. Stanley’s anger faded into a mellow irritation. Shifting his hands awkwardly on his chest, his face softened ever so slightly. “Fine,” He grumbled, rushing past Ford, their shoulders roughly rocking against each other. Ford sniffed, wiping the tears off his face. This was a new development. A spark of hope flickered in Ford. 

✶ Alcohol and cigars were Stan’s life vest. He’d rob a few packs of beer and down them within two days. It wasn’t healthy, but at least it distracted him from everything that was happening, right? Stan was pretty much drunk every day, and if he wasn’t, he was out on the porch smoking cigars, hoping that one day Ford would find him dead on the floor with beer cans surrounding him, his last moments spent thinking about how much he missed you. Stan wasn’t an angry drunk much to Ford’s surprise, considering how he spent his times where he was sober yelling at Ford, rather he’d rot away on the couch or floor, silently crying to himself in a puddle of his own tears. Many times Ford would have to pick up Stan, rest him on the couch and try to sober him up. And it wasn’t an easy task to do, picking up Stan with his weak arms was a workout for Ford. “Why couldn’t I save them?” Stank drunkenly babbled out, his head swaying side to side. “Don’t move too much, Stanley. You’ll give yourself a headache.” Ford warned, propping his head up with a pillow. “If I wasn’t so slow, [Name] would still be here.” Stan hiccups, his eyes glistening with tears. No matter how many times Ford hears Stan painfully talking about you, it still hurts the same and even more. “It’s not your fault, Stan.” Ford said, pulling a blanket up to his chest. “It’s not yours either.” Stan’s hand patted Ford on his face, thinking that it was his head. When Stan pulled his hands away, tears were streaking down Ford’s cheek. Hearing Stan tell him that it wasn’t his fault healed a piece of him and that quickly triggered the waterworks. “There, there, brother.” Stan patted Ford’s back as he sobbed into his hands. “It’s not my fault,” He repeated in loud sobs. “It’s not your fault.” Stan echoes. 

✶ Ford handled his grief and stress by huddling himself in the lab, isolating himself from Stan’s drunken state and researching his work. Trying to find loopholes that he can tie them close with a workaround, with a quick fix that would bring you back. Cans of beer were discarded around his lab, just the same as upstairs. But he wasn’t downing beers like Stan, he chugged one or two to dull out the ache in his heart, to keep it from distracting him. He knew when to stop and limit himself. He wasn’t dependent on alcohol. Sleep was something Ford considered useless. That would only distract him from his work, from his progress. Stan walked into the lab, puffing a gray smoke of air out onto the air. Your absence has bestowed so much despair onto the pair and he hadn’t realized until this very moment. Walking over to Ford, he placed a hand on his back. He was messily sleeping on top of his work, glasses hanging off his face, mouth open, drool dribbling down to his arms and paper. His dark circles were so dark and he was unshaven, chin stubbly with hair. Has he been getting any sleep? He wouldn’t know because he’s always drinking the day away. Stan internally groaned at himself. Not only has been neglecting himself, he’s been neglecting his brother. Burning out the cigar, he grabbed a blanket from upstairs and draped it over Ford. “Sleep tight, Stanford.” He said, gingerly squeezing his arm. Stan sat right next to him, wanting to keep him company and dozed off. When morning came, Ford awoke to Stan’s head colliding with his chair. For that one morning, Stan’s snores were music to his ears. 

✶ “S-Stanley!” Ford’s body lunges up from the couch when he sees Stan briskly pass by him and into the kitchen. “I-I’ve done some research and I-I think I found a way to get [Name] back!” He stumbles over his words, the lack of sleep weighing heavily on his foggy brain. The only thing that is keeping him up as of now is coffee he had been taking in shots for the past few days. The way he moves is fidgety and erratically and Stan takes notice of that. Pouring a cup of coffee for himself in a mug, he leans his back against the counter. “You need sleep, Stanford.” He brings the rim of the mug to his lips, his eyes never leaving Ford’s trembling figure as he takes a big gulp from his coffee. Ford couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Stan spoke to him! It was measly four words, but that’s more than he has ever said in the past five months, that wasn’t angry nonsensical words that were being thrown at him or depressing drunken babbling. “No, there’s so much to be done.” Ford runs a hand through his unkempt hair. “You need to hear me out. We need to find the other two–” Stan shushes him. “I won’t talk to you until ya sleep, Stanford. Don’t you bother trying to back out from this.” He looks at Ford with a stern expression, almost the same one Mom wore whenever he warned Ford to not do anything stupid in the backyard with Stan. “B-But!” Stan doesn’t hear his weak objections, he’s already out of the kitchen before Ford can conjure a good enough excuse. With a groan, Ford trips over his own feet while he makes his way back to the couch. Pushing all his research and books off the couch and onto the floor, he topples over the couch. When his head crashes on the soft plush of his sofa, his body automatically shuts off, revealing how dangerously tired he was. His eyes fluttered close and it didn’t take long for him to crash out on the couch. Stan came in to check on Ford and was pleasantly pleased to see his twin at last getting the rest he deserved. 

✶ Clinking his fork idly on the ceramic plate, Stan watched Ford make breakfast. Originally Stan was going to prepare breakfast, but Ford saw he was cooking and pushed him out of the kitchen, telling him that it was “his treat,” Stan couldn’t even utter a single word to him. He just wanted simple scrambled eggs and toast and now he’s left to fear for his life as Ford concocts a science experiment for his breakfast. “And for you breakfast, Stanley.” Ford swoops in, leaning forward as he shuffles the plate of food onto the table. “Scrambled eggs and buttered toast,” Ford smiles knowingly, placing his breakfast down. He had the same breakfast but the crust of his toast was cut off. “I don’t even know why I doubted you.” Stan scoops up the scrambled eggs with his fork and shoves it in his mouth with giddy excitement, a display of emotions Ford hadn’t seen in over 10 years. Who knew a simple breakfast would get him so happy? “Still being a baby about the crust?” He points to Ford’s crustless buttered toast with his fork, mouth muffled with food still being chewed in his mouth. Ford cringes at the sight of mashed up food in Stan’s mouth, suppressing a gag as he nods his head. “Chew your food before talking, Stanley! We’re not kids anymore.” He rasps out, his palm covering his mouth, his body shuddering with full body heaves. “Alright, alright!” With a loud gulp, he swallows his scrambled eggs. “Happy now?” Said Stan with a roll of his eyes. “Maybe not,” Using his other hand, Ford pushes the plate of eggs away. “Don’t want to eat anymore,” Stan shrugs, pouring the scrambled eggs on the plate. “More for me!” As Stan is chowing down on his eggs, Ford regains his composure. Though, he couldn’t watch Stan eat his eggs without the image of the yellow goopy food in his mouth so he averted his gaze to his hands. 

✶ “[Name] sure had grown up the last time I saw them.” This was Ford’s feeble attempt at sprouting a conversation with Stan, but he soon regretted what he said when he realized the fragility of the topic. Stan blinks, stunned. A beat passes and Ford’s ready to divert the conversation to another topic when Stan replies with a weird look on his face Ford can’t quite catch. “Well, yeah,” Stan looks off to the side. Ford lets out a breath of relief, Stan wasn’t upset at the mention of you. “They left with me when you and Dad kicked me out and we haven’t seen each other since then.” There’s a distant look in his eyes when he speaks, his words carrying a light anger to them ever so slightly. “How were th–” Stan shoots up, the chair skidding behind him. “Just because we’re all chummy now doesn’t mean you get to ask all about [Name].” The sudden shift in his emotions slapped Ford right in his face. “I’m sorry.” Ford whispers. Stan clicks his tongue, uttering to himself before shaking his head. “No, I’m sorry.” Stan rubs the sides of his head with his fingers. “Let’s not talk about them right now, okay? I don’t think I’m ready yet.” Stan pulls the chair to him and sits down. He rests his head on his fist, eyebrows pinched together with a long frown on his face. “I didn’t mean to blow up on ya like that.” Stan looks Ford in the eyes, and he could see the sincere sadness swimming in his eyes. “It’s okay, Stanley. Why don’t we talk about what you do for a living?” With that, they eased themselves into a comfortable conversation, with a few hiccups here and there, but in the end, the twins both had a soft smile adoring their faces.

✶ The repairing of the portal was a stepping stone that repaired Ford’s and Stan’s relationship. They weren’t going to lie and say that their relationship now was perfect, they still had their moments of anger and differences, but with a lot and a lot of patience, their bond was soon regaining its spark. “Whaddya think, poindexter?” Stan slapped a sloppily written plan on how to fix the portal in front of Ford. “What is this?” Ford looked at the piece of paper like it was garbage. “A plan to fix the portal, isn’t it obvious?” Stan snatched his paper back up, eyes speedily reading his work, doubting his work. “Stanley, that is unnecessary. I have the blueprints to fix the portal.” Discarding his plan, he slapped his hands enthusiastically, rubbing them together. “Alright! So where are they?” Ford sucks in a breath. “In the other journals.” Stan nodded his head slowly, as if that information was already obvious. “And where are the other journals?” Ford coughs into his fist, speedily saying; “I hid them.” Stan looks at him weirdly. “Can’t we just unhide them?” Ford rubs a hand up against his prickly cheek. “That’s the thing. I may or may not remember where I hid them.” Closing his eyes, he braced for the gust of angry yelling. “you WHAT?!” Stan’s hands flew to the side of his head. “How do you forget where you put them?!” Stan made a mental note to mark down how many times Ford screwed up, so far he has two. He has a long way to go before he could be anywhere near Stan’s record. “I was in a flurry of panic! I wasn’t thinking straight.” Stan groaned, smacking his face with his hand. “Was it at least in Gravity Falls?” Stan had his fingers crossed. “Yes, obviously.” A triumph “Yes!” leaves Stan. “Okay, let’s get digging then!” 

✶ Stan severely underestimated how truly difficult it would be finding one of the books in a forest that seemed like it stretched out for miles. Every turn looks the same and whenever he’d think he’s making progress, he’s right back where he started, at least he thinks he is. Frustrated, he bangs his head on a tree. The sound of metal clanging rang in his ears and shook through the tree. He groaned, holding his head with one hand as he curiously examined the possible metal tree. “Stanley!” Ford came running to Stan’s side, panting heavily. He wasn’t used to running for more than 5 seconds, and that was evidently proven with his flushed face and out of breath wheezes. “This tree is metal,” Stan notes, taking a few steps back, winding his leg back and hammering his shoe into the tree. The tree simply shook, the metal sound nowhere to be heard. “What?” Stan can feel his brain heating up, he couldn’t make any sense of this. The tree he kicked felt like a tree, not some metal contraption. It was only when he knocked his head—An idea springs to mind. Leaning his head back, he slammed his head on the tree. Shocked noises sputter out of Ford as he watches Stan rub the sore spot in his head. “There’s something here,” He gestures to the general area where he smashed his head in. “I can see that!” Ford walks up to the tree, knuckles gently knocking on the metal plate that was disguised as a tree. His hands move around the tree, searching for a way to open the plate. His fingers snag on an elevated piece of tree and with his fingertips, he swings it open, revealing a control panel. The memories of constructing this rush to his mind. “I remember now!” He flips a switch, his head turning over to where the large log rested. In front of it, a patch of grass was pulled back to unravel the hidden place where book three was. Ford eagerly snatched the book in his hands, showcasing it to Stan. “Great job, Stanford!” He claps Ford’s back. “So where’s the other one, you remember?” Unfortunately for the both of them, Ford doesn’t remember. He had seemed to bury most of his memories after meeting Bill Cipher, anything beyond that point was an empty mess for him.

✶ With the two books in hand, they managed to tinker and repair the damage to their best efforts. After each exhausting night in the lab, he’d attempt to pull the lever in hopes that whatever they did that day would work and to their utter disappointment, it never dislodge from its spot. “Man,” Stan wipes his forehead with his forearm, sweat glistening on his arm. “For a brainiac like you, I would’ve never imagined you being terrible at building this!” Stan barked with a laugh. Ford scoffed, his attention laser focused on fixing a part of the machine. “How did you manage to build the portal in the first place?” Stan wondered, the flashlight he was using to help Ford see what he was doing began to steer away. “Stanley,” Ford snapped. “The light!” Stan jolted up in surprise, the light quickly going back to Ford. “Sorry,” He sheepishly said. “But seriously, how did you build this?” He looked at Ford curiously. “I had an assistant.” Ford mumbled, a leak of oil dotting his clothes. He hissed, grabbing a tool off the ground to fix whatever started leaking. “Had? What happened?” Ford hummed happily. He had fixed the leak. Placing the tool back down to the floor, he directed his attention to Stan. “He quit.” Ford scratched his head, unintentionally smearing oil on his cheek with his hand. “Why?” Stan tossed him a piece of clean cloth, silently motioning to his cheek. Ford took it, wiping his cheek with the cloth. “He, uh,” If Ford told Stan that he went inside the portal momentarily and came out completely traumatized, Stan would go berserk on him knowing that you went inside the exact portal that mentally ruined Fiddleford. Ford did not want to go back to the arguing and suffocating silence so he lied. “He just thought what I was doing was unethical.” That wasn’t a complete and total lie, but it was far from the truth. Stan bought the lie fortunately for Ford. “Glad at least someone had the brain to call a quits!” 

✶ Before they knew it, they were tremendously low on money. Stan was the unfortunate one to discover this revelation. On a quick supply run, Stan had gone to the grocery store and stock up on some food. When the cashier rang up him, totaling his price to 30 dollars, Stan had pulled out a penny, paper clip and a wrapper. Mentally cursing Ford for spending all his money on unnecessary science stuff, he weakly smiled at the cashier. “Can you hold onto my groceries for a quick second?” The cashier nodded their, a big bright smile on their face. “Of course, stranger!” And right when Stan was going to snag the groceries bags in his hurried rush, a woman spoke from behind him. “Hey, that’s no stranger! That must be the mysterious science guy in the woods!” She points, gathering a crowd around Stan. “Ah, no. That’s my nerdy twin brother.” Stan says, causing the crowd to coo in interest. “There’s two of them?” Someone in the crowd asked. “He probably cloned himself just so he could do two things at once!” Someone else said. “That’s probably what happened. I’ve heard strange stories about that old shack.” Toby Determined spoke up. “Yeah! Mysterious lights and spooky experiments!” Daryl added. “Gosh, I’d pay anything to see what kind of shenanigans you get up in there!” Pa said. Susan perked up at that. “Oh, me too! Do you ever give tours?” 

✶ A sly smirked pulled to Stan’s face. He had the perfect idea. “Yes, I do give tours! Ten…no-no fifteen bucks a person!” The crowd erupts in cheers, waving their green bills around. “Is it possible we get to see the man of mystery himself?” Susan questions. “Hmm, I’m not sure.” Stan eluded them to think that there was no possible way to get to Ford to gauge their reactions. And what they gave him sent adrenaline rushing through his veins. “You know what?” The crowd lightens up with hope. “Fifty bucks if you all want to see the man of mystery himself!” Another boisterous cheer from the crowd. “And what did you say your name was, twin of mister mystery?” Stan smiled proudly. “Stanley, Stanley Pines.”

✶ The crowd bustles into the shack, ooo’s and aaa’a left their mouths in awe of the place. “Step right up folks to a world of,” he pauses for a moment thinking. “A world of enchantment!” He gestures to all the wild findings. Grabbing a dial box with two antennae, he showcases it to the crowd. “Behold! The um, nerdy science box.” Susan looked at it with interest. The device rumbled to life and zapped her in the eye, rendering it closed. “Ah, my eye!” She covers her closed eye, stumbling back. “Uh, I can assure you, that is no way permanent!” He offers an uneasy smile. “I paid sixty five dollars for this!?” With Susan’s comment, the whole crowd erupted in complaints. Quickly thinking, he grabs a skeleton and makes a half-assed joke where the last customers didn’t make it out alive. The crowd laughs at his horrible joke and Stan smiles. “What is with all this ruckus?” Ford walks in, irritation evident on his face. “Is that him?” Someone excitedly shrieks from the crowd. “Oh my god, it is! Take my money!” Wads of dollar bills get thrown at Stan who was making a great effort to make sure he caught all of them. “Stanley, what did you do!”

✶ After answering a few questions he was coaxed into, (they stroked his ego), he kicked them out, accidentally saying that they could return another time before closing the door, smacking himself in the head. “What was that?” Stan turned over to Ford,  buckets of money shoved inside into his shirt. “I got us money! And look how much we got!” He pulls a ten dollar bill from his stack in his shirt. “Stanford, this the best thing that’s ever happened to us so far.” Ford looks at him, unsure. “I’m not a fan of ripping people off,” Stan’s hands fall to his sides. “It’s their choice to throw money at me like a madman. Listen, if we get more money, we can stock up on good materials to fix the portal, like really good parts and we can finally bring [Name] back.” Ford stewed in his thoughts for a little more. He hated to admit, but Stan was right. With a little more money, they could be sailing straight to victory with a higher chance of your return. Ford let out a defeated sigh. “Fine, but I don’t want you to mess with my stuff, got it?” Stan beamed brightly. “I promise!” He broke that later on. 

✶ Gradually, the scary shed in the woods turned into a tourist spot people would frequent. Together, they advertised the shack by plastering various signs and posters all over the woods. They even went as far to tape advertisements onto people’s windows. Ford wanted to use actual beasts he had found in the woods to show to people, but in the end they all ran away, horrified for their lives. Ford was respectfully peeved because when he’d glance over to Stan, he had somehow had the crowd hanging on to every word that spilled out of his mouth. And when he’d show the crudely sewed animal he had made within five minutes before the tour started, they all gasped in delight, their money flying to him. “How do you do it?” Ford asks as Stan closes the door, reveling in the pool of money he had made. “I just say whatever comes to mind.” Stan shrugs. “But none of your stories make any sense logically! How did they believe in a half beaver half bat?” He gestures to the taxidermy animal. The beady eyes were slowly sliding off its face, leaving a trail of glue. “Hey, the people love to spend their money on things that are obviously fake, weirdly enough.” The door rattles with a knock. “Wanna take this next crowd? I gotta sort this money.” Against his will, not really, Ford opens the door and flashes an award winning smile he had learned from Stan. Cash was already being shoved in his face. At least he earns money for looking good. Ford attempted Stan’s whole shtick and to his very surprise it worked! It wasn’t as good as Stan’s performance, but it worked well enough that people were swarming him with cash. His bitterness from before was quickly washed over and he continued on his act. When the crowd dispersed, satisfied with their tour. Stan was there in the middle, clapping widely. “That was some good acting there, Ford!” Ford smiled, waving him off. “Yeah, yeah. I’m only doing this cause we need the money.” 

Taglist: @boredwithlifeatthispoint, @lovexsage, @teddycricketdream, @theilluminatidragonqueen, @raventeen @cedarmoonzz if you wanna be added to my taglist, dm me or comment! <3

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[cimmanonrowl]

Don’t Blame Me pt.2

Part One | Masterlist

The moment you laid eyes on SSA Aaron Hotchner, you just know that man will be yours one way or another— no matter what it takes. And if Penelope Garcia was on your trail trying to track you down, no one would blame you for crossing all the lines just to get a split second of Aaron Hotchner’s undivided attention.

Pairing: aaron hotchner x stalker!reader

Theme: smut heaven

Contents: age gap, dom!aaron, unprotected rough sex, messy blowjob, gagging, spitting, daddy kink, degradation, filming, breeding, powerplay: boss/subordinate relationship, stalking, obsessive behaviour.

Something was wrong.

Judging from the look of surprise in their eyes as you stepped inside Garcia’s office, you knew immediately that something had happened.

You initially pushed the door open with a smile, only to find that Garcia wasn’t alone— unlike the past few weeks that you’ve been visiting her. There is a box of freshly baked croissants cradled in your arms as you wander your gaze around the room. Reid and Morgan are there too, huddled together around her desk, now staring back at you as you stand motionless by the doorway.

“Good morning,” you greeted with a hesitant smile, holding up the box of croissants like an offering. “I didn’t know you guys would be here. I brought breakfast for Pen.”

Garcia looked up from her computer upon hearing what you said, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “Oh, you wonderful, gorgeous human being! I could never say no to that.”

You mirrored her adoring smile and invited yourself inside. As you handed Morgan the box of warm croissants— which he and Garcia quickly opened and bantered about— you caught Reid following your movements with subtlety. You noticed that, of course. As you always do with every hint of suspicion from anyone. So you perked your eyebrows to feign innocence, feeling a rush of blood cursing through your veins.

His eyes traveled to the croissant box and smiled briefly at you. “Thanks. We could actually use a break.”

“Break from what? It’s only 8 in the morning…”

Morgan nodded with a quiet hum, leaning against Garcia’s desk as he chewed on his food. “We were just talking about Hotch,” his voice tinged with worry as he explained. “He’s been acting really weird lately.”

“Weird? Why?”

Just like that, you knew the nagging feeling was right.

Something has definitely happened.

“Yeah,” Garcia’s fingers never stopped their dance across the keyboard as she sipped her tea. “It’s the fourth time he’s changed his phone number in the past few weeks.”

Your heart skipped a beat, nearly choking you with your own saliva. Yet still, you maintained a facade of curiosity.

“Really? That’s strange…” you said in the best worried tone you could muster. “Any idea why? Did he tell you anything?”

Reid shook his head, his eyebrows furrowing in deep thought. “We think something might be bothering him, but he hasn’t said anything to us. You know, it’s unusual for him to be this closed off.”

You watched Morgan and Garcia nod in agreement.

“Whatever it is, it’s got him on edge. We’re worried about him. It’s like he’s dealing with something he can’t talk about...”

Garcia sighed. “Maybe we should talk to him,” she suggested hopefully, looking around at her friends with wide, expectant eyes. “Let him know that no matter what happens, no matter what’s bothering him, we’re always here for him.”

“Babygirl, he knows that already. And may I remind you that’s exactly what you just said to him last night on the elevator.”

“Well, it won’t hurt if we remind him again.”

“Girl, come on,” Morgan chuckled, the corner of his lips tugging to a lopsided grin. “Really?”

“Derek! You’re not taking this seriously!” Garcia exclaimed in frustration. “Hotch just changed his phone number. Again. Doesn’t that scare you at all?”

“Hey now, don’t be like that—”

“Well, we know him. He’ll talk to us once he feels like doing so,” Reid cut them off swiftly, his eyes focused on one of the screens of Garcia’s computer set, his eyebrows pulled together in a curious frown. “What are you doing, Garcia?”

“Oh, this? This is modern magic unfolding before you, boy wonder.”

“I told you to stop calling me–” Reid sighed in defeat, shaking his head. “Okay. What are those satellite photos for?”

“I’m tracking the activities of his last number.”

Your eyes widened a fraction, glancing around them in a slight panic you hoped could be seen as a look of curiosity.

“Is that legal?”

Garcia chuckled at your baffled expression. “Mon amour, if I do things legal do you think I will be hired by the FBI?”

Your lips twitched in the corner as you smiled at her.

“And what do you know so far, Garcia?” Reid leaned forward, his eyes squinting a little.

“Oh! Glad you asked, boy wonder. I know that... that he’d been receiving calls from three deactivated numbers.”

“Three?”

“I know right?” Garcia mumbled in agreement. “Maybe a group of cyber gangsters ganging up on him. What a bunch of losers! Look, these are different numbers. I’ll need to check in with cell service providers and ask.”

Reid shrugged, sighing as he leaned back on his seat. Then for some unknown reason, his eyes landed on you and you had to look away. You had to. While Morgan took a big bite of his croissant before speaking again, a shit-eating grin on his lips.

“We’ll leave it up to you then, gorgeous. We have to go.”

You swallowed thickly.

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that, Pen. If there’s anyone who can do this thing, it’s you…” you forced out a smile, trying to appear supportive while a heavy weight nested in your chest.

“But do you?”

You whirled your head to where Reid was sitting, his doe-like eyes watching you carefully. The vein in your temple started pulsating at the insinuation of his simple question.

“D-do I what, Dr. Reid?”

“Appreciate it?”

“What? Of course, I do,” you said quickly, awkwardly, as you let out a surprised chuckle. “It’s good to know he has friends like you who care about him.”

The duality you’ve been playing started gnawing at you. To these people, you’re just a young technical analyst intern who craves mentorship from their star employee. Beneath, you’ve been the source of Aaron Hotchner’s distress and anxiety in the past month. You would’ve been embarrassed and ashamed as the severity of your action dawned on you... until you remembered how quickly Aaron read your messages and watched your video last night.

The one where you were bouncing like a cockdrunk bunny on a pink vibrating dildo, squirting multiple times until your legs gave up on their own, the taste of Aaron’s delicate name hanging from your lustful lips.

That night, as expected, sleep eluded you completely.

And for the first time, it’s not because you’re too occupied imagining how it would feel like having Aaron’s girthy cock pounding in and out of your desperate cunt.

The night grew deeper with silence, the only sound audible in your apartment is the steady ticking of the clock on the wall. You were lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, rest chased away by the worry that have taken root in your thoughts.

You can’t stop thinking about the conversation earlier in Garcia’s office. The way Reid’s eyes seemed to linger on you a moment too long– too intently for your own liking, the subtle but palpable tension in the air. Your heart pounded as you imagine Garcia, fingers flying over her keyboard, tracing the activities of Aaron’s old phone numbers.

If she finds out, if Garcia connects the dots…

Fuck.

Fuck.

“No,” you whispered to yourself, your voice trembling in the quiet room. “No one can ever take you away from me, Aaron.”

The thought of losing him, of being exposed, crumbled your logical thoughts. What will happen if you get caught? Will you be taken out of the internship program? Goddamnit. Of course, you will be. And no amount of political connection or bribery would save your reputation from this scandal.

You pictured Aaron’s face wistfully; the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he’s deep in thought, the way he commands the room with his presence. He’s everything to you, the love of your life, your reason for being. He’s the only man you can see your future with. And the idea of him slipping away, of him not caring about your existence, is unbearable. Dying would’ve been less painful.

You sat up in bed with your breaths coming in shallow gasps. The darkness of the room pressed in on you like the world was slowly caving in. You grab your phone from the nightstand, your fingers trembling as you scroll through the messages you’ve sent him. Each one is a piece of you, your body, a way to keep him close, to remind him that you’re always there.

For him.

For his pleasure.

For his needs.

For the taking.

“Reid’s suspicious,” you muttered to yourself, your mind replaying this morning’s events as vividly as you would’ve wanted. “He knows something. Fuck. He fucking knows. That fucking guy!”

You bolted up from your bed and started pacing the dimly lit room, your thoughts spiraling as you bit down on your nail. Seconds ticked and you could taste the faint trickle of blood on your tongue, feeling the way your teeth sank into the thin flesh nervously, over and over again.

If Garcia tracks the activities, if she cracks your location, if Reid digs deeper— everything could come crashing down. You’ve worked so hard to stay hidden, to keep your actions in the shadows. But now, you saw threats looming over your head. You knew those two wouldn’t rest until they saw you punished.

You know you were smart, you have always been. You kept one step ahead of everyone. But the fear, the obsession, it clouded your judgment. You’re afraid those only made it hard to think clearly.

“No one can ever take you away from me, Aaron,” you repeated to yourself, the words becoming a mantra in your head. “You’re mine. Only mine.”

You stopped by the open window, staring out at the city lights. The world outside seemed so distant, so little and so far removed from the thoughts inside your mind. You’ve always been so careful, so meticulous. You had to remind yourself that you did everything as you planned. You won’t be caught.

Not by FBI’s genius technical analyst.

Not even by fucking Spencer Reid.

No one.

The sky loomed dark and heavy when you woke up the next morning. Sipping on your hot coffee, you made your way down the hall, the sound of your stiletto hitting the floor creating soft click-clack noises. The office was already busy despite the early hours: several coffee machines and dispensers whirring, beeping fax machines, rustling of papers, and agents preparing for their duties.

But your thoughts remain fixated on Aaron Hotchner.

As you turned a corner, you almost bumped into another figure— JJ. She was walking briskly, a coat draped over her arm and a phone pressed to her ear. For a moment you wanted to scream at her for having you nearly spill your hot coffee on her, but quickly thought better of it. She’s one of Aaron’s friends. You have to be nice to her the way you were with everyone else.

“Oh, shit. Sorry— No, no. I need those files now. Yes, it’s urgent. Just make it happen,” her words spilled out in a rapid flow.

You quickly notice her expression is one of concern, eyes wide with urgency. She’s speaking quickly into the phone, her voice a hushed mix of panic and annoyance.

She gave you a strained smile.

“Hey, I need a favor,” she said, pulling the phone away from her ear for a moment. “Can you take this coat to Hotch? He’s about to leave with the team. I’d do it myself, but—” She gestures to the phone, her voice trailing off as she returns to her conversation.

You nodded eagerly, taking the coat from her. “Sure, I can do that.”

“Thank you,” JJ said, her attention already back on the call as she hurried toward the elevator, the urgency in her steps evident.

You turned and headed in the direction of the team’s meeting room, the coat heavy in your hands. As you walked, a wave of temptation washed over you like a plague— hearing whispers echoing inside your head tempting you to walk in the direction of your office instead, stuff the coat into your bag, or take a sniff in the middle of the fucking hallway.

You fought hard not to do any of that.

This is Aaron’s coat. You can feel the warmth of his presence left on the fabric, the faint scent of his cologne lingering like flowers in spring luring in the butterflies. The thought of holding something so personal, something that belongs to him, made your cunt clench in so much anticipation.

Fuck.

If only you could grind your wet pussy on this coat—

Jesus Christ. Who’s stopping you, anyway?

By the time you reached the conference room, the team was already gone. The room was empty and the only signs of their recent presence were the scattered documents and half-finished coffee cups on the table. Your heart sank as you realized you’d missed them, but the coat in your hands was a tantalizing alternative.

You glance outside the room, ensuring no one is watching, and then you bring the coat closer to your nose, inhaling deeply.

The scent is intoxicating; a blend of his cologne and the faint smell of something leather. It feels like a piece of him, something intimate and close. Your mind raced with the dirty fantasies in your head, the thrill of having something so personal in your possession.

The temptation to keep the coat was impossible to resist. Despite the risks, the potential consequences, you couldn’t bring yourself to let go of this moment.

You clutch the coat tighter, your heart pounding with intense exhilaration– so intense you could barely breathe. You know it’s dangerous, that if anyone finds out, it could unravel everything. But the need to feel closer to Aaron, to have a piece of him with you, overrides all sense of caution.

“I’ll bring it back,” you told yourself, a weak justification that does little to quell the guilt gnawing at you. “Just for a little while.”

With one last look around, you went back to your small office and slipped the coat into your bag, all while imagining all the fun you’d be having tonight. Fucking hell, you’re so wet already.

After a long, grueling day in the office, you finally made your way back to your apartment. Exhaustion and sleepiness weighed heavily on you, but an undercurrent of excitement pulses through your veins at the thought of having Aaron’s coat in your hands. It’s a small victory, a piece of him that you can hold onto... even just for tonight.

You unlocked your door languidly and stepped inside.

But as soon as you closed the door, a chill ran down your spine. Something feels off. The silence felt strained and heavy. And so you paused, scanning the dark room with growing unease. The usual order of your belongings seemed undisturbed, but you knew. You knew the small details that only you would notice.

“Hello?” you called out, taking slow and cautious steps.

Your heart raced as you moved further into the apartment. When you reached the living room, however, you stopped dead in your tracks. A shadowy figure is sitting on the single couch, watching you from the hallway. The dim light from the street outside casts eerie shadows, but you recognize the silhouette immediately.

“Aaron…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

You felt the anger exuding from him as he stood. His eyes are dark, piercing as they lock onto yours. “I’ve been waiting here for hours.”

A wave of terror crashes over you, unable to respond quickly.

“Aaron, I—”

He cut you off with just a step closer. “You really think we wouldn’t know? You think you’re that smart?”

Panic gripped you with the way his piercing gaze found your eyes, your mind racing for an escape.

“No, you don’t understand,” you pleaded, desperation seeping into your voice. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Aaron. I just—”

“Just what?” He snapped, his expression hardening. “You’ve been harassing me for a month. You invaded my privacy. I had to change my number several times because you won’t fucking listen.”

You took a step back, the walls closing in around you. The reality of being caught, of Aaron knowing the truth, of his anger being directed at you; it was suffocating.

“Aaron, please, sir… I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I just... I just wanted to be close to you.”

His eyes narrow, a mix of anger and disgust etched into his features. “You think this is about wanting to be close? What are you going to say next? That you’re in love with me?”

But you are.

Tears blurred your vision as you tried finding the right words, but nothing you say could change the truth. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

Aaron takes another step forward, shaking his head. “It’s too late for apologies now, don’t you think?”

“Please, Aaron...” you begged in desperation, your voice barely audible. “Don’t turn me in. I’ll do anything— just don’t be mad at me. Don’t send me away, sir. Anythi—”

“Kneel.”

Your knees buckled with that, quickly following his order. With your hands intertwined and perched on your lap, you watched him silently as he took in your submissive position. All while your cunt clenched at the sight of him in front of you— so domineering and commanding. The anger in his eyes, the coldness in his voice, the fact that he was too big and too strong that he can toss you around and fuck you like a ragdoll if he wanted to.

You shut your legs tightly, creating a soft friction on your aching clit.

“Come here,” he ordered as he took his seat once again.

And so you did, eager and desperate as you scrambled on your knees, crawling to him.

You glanced up at Aaron with a shallow sigh, blinking almost innocently as you took your place in between his legs. Your hands were itching to touch but you didn’t want to anger him anymore. You have to be good. Remember, Aaron has to like you.

“You fucking slut,” He spat angrily, undoing his belt as he stared down at your trembling body. “Take off your clothes. I don’t want to see you wrapped in anything.”

Maybe it was his voice, or the predatory look on his face, or the fact that he’s the love of your life that made you so pliant to his commands. You had your dress shirt removed instantly, unbuttoning it with your shaking fingers. You are trembling with anticipation and fear. But the heat was pooling in your cunt as you reached for the zipper of your tight skirt.

You tossed your clothes to the side as you removed them, quickly reaching for the clasp of your white bra. “T-this too, d-daddy?”

“Stupid whore, what did I fucking say?”

You whimpered. “Y-yes, sir.”

His belt came undone as you finished unclasping your bra, placing the belt on the armchair. The cold should’ve seeped right through every pore of your skin but as soon as you saw Aaron unzip his pants, you knew your world was ending, and no cold could ever dampen the lust lurching at the pit of your stomach.

“Look at these...” There’s a dark glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he scanned your naked body. He pinched your nipple in a sharp, fleeting moment before slapping both of your tits.

In which you only moaned.

“C-can I...” you mumbled pathetically, your eyes directed at the growing bulge in his pants. “Touch, sir? Please. Can I touch you?”

His rough hands gripped your chin tightly, his eyes mocking when he said: “Beg.”

As if that would embarrass you.

You fucking waited for this.

You smiled softly at him, your voice as dewy as honey. “Please, please, daddy? Can I taste you? I’ll be good, daddy, I promise. I’ll make you feel so good…”

You reached for his hand, batting your eyelashes slowly— enticingly.

But Aaron Hotchner was a man hard to impress. You yelped when he roughly gripped your hair and forced you to crane your neck upward, warm tears flooding your eyes with the sting and the pain.

“Open your mouth.”

Quickly as you did, he spat on you. Twice– once in your mouth and once in your face, reaching your eyelashes and cheeks. Pleasured moans escaped your lips as you closed your eyes, relishing the feeling of his saliva on your skin.

You were never good with pain, but the moment his palm reached your cheek with constrained force, you felt the wetness in your neglected cunt drenching your inner thighs even more. You could feel your pussy clenching in desperation but you couldn’t bring yourself to focus on your own pleasure.

He slapped your cheek again, this time harder, his fingers still tangled in your hair.

“You wanted this, huh? This is what you want, you fucking whore?” He said tauntingly before he took out his leaking and girthy cock from his pants. “I’ll give you what you fucking want.”

You barely registered everything when he forced his length on your waiting lips, down to your throat. He started pounding on your mouth, guiding your head like you’re nothing but a mere fucktoy. You felt yourself splutter and gag as you relish the burn- the stretch of your mouth to accommodate his big cock, and the feeling of his tip hitting the back of your throat.

It was too much.

And too good you wish he won’t ever stop.

You tried your best to suck him, tears dripping down your cheeks while he continued ramming his cock in and out of your mouth.

“Open wide, baby. Come on... just like that... good girl.”

You nodded eagerly, feeling both of his hands gripping your head, keeping you in one place as he assaulted you with force. Tears were now streaming down your face in a steady flow, while Aaron groaned in the sight of you struggling to take in his length.

“D-daddy—” your voice broke into a sob as he pulled your hair harshly, a string of saliva connecting your lips and his wet, veiny cock.

Without warning, he spat on your face again, loving the way you moaned and closed your eyes while catching your breath.

“Thank y-you, daddy…” you mumbled dazedly, wrapping both your hand around his length and rubbing the wetness of his cock across your face. “Love this… love you…”

“Continue sucking, whore.”

You nodded quickly, frowning at the effort of welcoming his huge cock on your mouth, and confusion when you felt his belt wrapped around your nape. Just a few moments after, you felt the rough burn of leather on your skin, forcing your head to go back and forth as he pulled the belt and bucked his hips.

Your hands clawed on his clothed thighs as you tried pulling your head away from his cock, but the belt on your nape was restricting your movement. You had no other choice but to take it in, whimper, and claw on his thighs, on his arm, on his stomach. You feel so lightheaded you can barely think.

“Fucking hell, baby—” He pulled you away from his cock, his eyes wandering on your face. Your lipstick was smudged messily on your chin, your mascara running down your cheeks. “Look at this whore, didn’t you say you wanted that?”

You nodded weakly.

“Oh, you can’t speak now?” He laughed mockingly, slapping his hard cock on your face, chuckling at the distant look on your eyes. “Well, fucktoys don’t speak in the first place, anyway.”

You nodded again, whimpering as his fingers tangled in your hair.

“Is this what you were imagining all those times you’re fucking yourself in front of your camera?”

“Yes, y-yes, daddy…”

“And if I say I film this and show this to a jury, would you like that, huh?” He said in a whispery voice, caressing your cheek almost lovingly before slapping you with light force. “Huh, would you like that? Answer me, whore.”

“Yes! Yes, daddy. W-want them to s-see…” you rambled quickly. “Want them to see w-what slut I-I am for your cock…”

You were sure you never felt pleasure like this ever before. Your past boyfriends, your fingers, your sex toys. Nothing comes close to the feeling of Aaron’s cock pummelling in and out of your tight cunt, his fingers circling on your sensitive nub. Which he also said so; he’s never fucked a young and tight pussy like yours ever before.

That being whispered dirtily in your ear was enough to send you to your second orgasm.

Your body trembled as you reached your high, your knees buckling and trembling as you struggled to keep yourself standing. You were already on your tiptoes as Aaron continued fucking your cunt from behind, slapping your ass every now and then. Every time you’d clench around his cock, a growl would ramble low from his chest and do it all over again.

“So fucking tight–” He said breathlessly, his voice hoarse and raspy. “You’re making me feel so good, baby. Look at the camera in front, come on, baby.”

“Oh, my- g-god… daddy!” Your legs trembled again as you struggled to be on your tiptoes, your eyes fluttering close at the overstimulation.

Aaron was too tall and too big. The camera was set up in front of you, but with the intense pleasure, your vision was blurry with unshed tears; the pleasure so blinding your eyes crossed while your mouth hung open, saliva dripping down the side of your lips and to your neck. You looked so fucked out you don’t even know what’s happening around you.

“You like whoring over an older man’s cock, huh, baby?” He taunted as he pistoled his hips roughly. “Is this really why you wanted to join the Bureau? You wanted my big cock to ruin this tight cunt?”

You mumbled dumbly, hoping Aaron understood. He slapped your ass again, moaning at the feeling of your pussy clenching around his girth.

“Wanted to- wanted your cock to ruin me, d-daddy...”

“I’m close... you’re so warm and tight...” He rambled to himself, his chest heaving with effort. “I’m gonna cum inside this fucking pussy. Gonna mark you, baby. Fuck, you’re m-mine.”

“Yes! Yes! D-daddy, right there! P-please…” you squealed in pleasure, pushing yourself more on your tiptoes so he would hit the bundle of nerves again. “R-right there! Oh, Aaron!”

The sound of your high-pitched moans and his deep voice tangled together in the air. You rolled your eyes as tremors shook your body, feeling his warm cum painting your walls. He released too much cum you feel a portion of it fill your belly. All while his hips pounded your cunt with slow yet sharp trusts, his jaw tight as he craned his neck to the ceiling, his eyes closed.

“A-aaron–”

“Shut up, whore. I’m not fucking done,” He exclaimed loudly, hooking your waist only using his one arm before tossing you to the larger couch. “I’ll decide when will I be done fucking this cunt.”

I know you guys didn't ask to be tagged on the next part but I really appreciate the support for Part 1 so here we are! I hope you don't mind me tagging you!

And thank you everyone for the reblogs and likes. See you on the next ones!

Tags: @urbrazysimp @pastelpinkflowerlife @mrs-ssa-hotch @222hwilsss @roseydoesypoesy @cqsmowrld @dynavol @barbeddreams @everythinglizzy @aaronlovesava @starshinegarcia @downbad4reid @mega-kittyglitter-1

[teencopandthesourwolf]

“Why did you ask me that?”

“Huh? What's that, big guy?” Stiles mumbles, answering the query with one of his own without looking away from Derek's laptop screen. The laptop Derek kind of bought for Stiles for when Stiles is at the loft.

Whatever. 

There's a ballpoint pen shoved in the kid's mouth—God, that mouth—and another slid behind an ear, the latter ready and waiting for Stiles to click to death in the In Between Typing Times.

The others dispersed a couple of minutes ago. Apart from Derek and Stiles, only Lydia and Deaton now remain at the loft and they're deep in conversation about the preliminary theory of who or what is killing the humans of Beacon Hills this week, and are standing at the opposite side of the open-plan space, making more coffee. Scott and Malia left to rally the other ʼwolves—not answering their phones as they're at a cinema screening—plus find and talk to Argent to arrange a pack meeting proper about the situation, so they can all work on devising a plan. Granted, there is Peter to consider—who's probably still lurking somewhere, what with lurking being one of his favourite pastimes, and can obviously hear any and all conversations that are, or could be happening inside of the building. Sadly, Derek has never been able to hide much of anything from his uncle though, so.

He thinks about elaborating on the question he asked Stiles, but can't.

He tries not to stare at Stiles, and fails.

Stiles is squinting at the screen with intent and looking like he has forgotten that Derek said anything at all. Or that Derek is still hovering close by. Or that Derek, you know, exists.

Derek is just standing there, all difficult and awkward in his own fucking home and his own fucking body, looming over Stiles like a creeper as Stiles taps away furiously at the keyboard and violently zig-zags a fingertip across the mousepad like an actual lunatic.

Derek almost laughs at that.

The Boy Who Runs With Wolves.

“Why wouldn't I?” Stiles now asks, still mumbling around the chewed ballpoint Derek is trying not to be jealous of. 

“I—what?” Derek's caught off guard; always and only by Stiles. 

Stiles doesn't skip a beat, unlike Derek's heart. “Why wouldn't I ask?” he adds.

Oh, right.

“I, uh, I don't... ” Derek trails off pathetically, swallowing any confidence he had previously mustered and looking away from Stiles, even though those big, brown devastating eyes aren't actually looking at Derek because they are, of course, still zoomed-in on whichever web page is currently yielding the most information.

Dusk is quickly closing in and all around them and the light filtering through the loft's huge window has begun to dim somewhat, so that the glow of the computer screen is now filling Stiles' eyes with bright, dancing sparks and arrhythmic shapes as they flicker like lightning from one tab to another, then another, then another. And as mesmerising as it is to watch—Stiles looking as though he is brimming with magic—the sight becomes too much for Derek, and looking away feels like his only option.

It doesn't last.

Stiles' long, large-knuckled fingers still their rapid movement just as Derek's eyes find their way back.

Derek watches the kid some more, like a lifeline.

An anchor.

Then, Stiles is taking the pen from those perfect lips as sneaker-toes slowly spin the swivel chair around, so that Stiles is now facing Derek where he stands with arms crossed reactively over his chest.

His heart.

“I asked if you were alright because I wanted to know if you were okay, man," Stiles divulges, as if that's nothing at all. As if it's something Derek hears often. He tilts his head to catch Derek's eye, which works, of course, because it always works, no matter the nature of the moment they're caught up in. "Like, I was concerned, y`know?” 

Derek feels guilty just for looking. And not only because he wants to touch but because he wants to let Stiles care.

“I care, dude,” Stiles says on cue and Derek tries to self-implode while Stiles waits, probably for Derek to look at him and say don't call me dude and hoping not to have his head bitten off or his throat ripped out. 

Derek does look again, just not for long. Barely a glance. He can't afford himself too much Stiles, not when Stiles is looking directly back at him. It's safer that way—self-preservation and all.

“You do know that, right?” Stiles tries again. “That I care.” 

Derek wants to ask Stiles if they can talk, if Derek can tell Stiles things. Derek wants to ask Stiles if he'll stay, and if he'll let Derek spill his secrets, let him tell Stiles everything, like Derek never does with anyone these days, and if Stiles will hold Derek's hand when Derek cries about it, like Derek doesn’t allow himself to anymore. Derek wants to ask Stiles if Derek can touch him and hold him and if Stiles would hold him back, if Stiles would ever want that, if Stiles could ever be his.

“Don't call me dude,” is what he actually says because he can't not. But then he steals himself, head staticky and heart thumping as he dares himself to add—after what is undeniably too-long a pause—“And yeah. Maybe I do.” 

Then they just look at each other.

Just—look.

Look and look and look and look.

They each keep looking at the other, for a very long time. Definitely too long for two people supposedly not much more than acquaintances. Allies, maybe. Comrades at tenuous best.

Then they look for longer. Look for more. Look until it starts to feel as if they are the only two people in the room, in the building, in the world.

Whatever happened to self-preservation?

Something is starting to happen, and Derek is pretty sure it's not just happening to him, and he finds he is equally stunned as he is thrilled as he is completely fucking terrified about it. 

Eventually, Stiles says, “Derek, we're friends.”

Then he's licking his lips and looking Derek up and down, shameless, adding—with a nonchalant shrug of one shoulder—“Till we're not.”

The latter part is spoken like a secret, but one without the slightest hint of malice. That's not how he means it. It's more promise than threat, if Derek is remembering correctly what genuine affirmations sound like.

The sparks from Stiles' eyes are then flashing blue in Derek's and Derek could swear he hears every every one of his neurons firing inside of himself, all at once, as each of his mutated cells flare into overdrive; nail beds and gums tingling, the short hairs on the back of his neck and arms and hands standing up on end.

He feels utterly alive.

It's honestly a struggle not to keen and whine like a pup, and Derek has truly never been more happy of the fact that Stiles is unable to scent chemo-signals because Derek would be so fucked right now.

He has a reply for Stiles but it's caught in his throat, the sentence forming then solidifying, fast as a quick-drying glue.

Derek is just—standing there. Statuesque. Alternating between trying to swallow his words down and attempting to speak them, like a first class dipshit. Just looking and looking and looking at Stiles.

In an entirely mortifying turn of events, it is actually the sound of Peter's low, mocking chuckle from some tucked-away shadowy place in the loft that is the thing that forces Derek unstuck, and it takes all Derek has to not roll his eyes to the back of his skull and growl out I'm going to kill you again now, Uncle. 

He takes a breath, un-clenches his fists and tries for a smile—or at least a hint of one. He doesn't want to freak the kid out.

Derek then manages to repeat Stiles's words back at him, no more than a whisper.

“Till we're not.”

Stiles is just looking and looking and looking at Derek, before he's asking, “Can I stay for the evening? You can talk to me while I research. I always work better with noise. It'll be soothing,” like he's ordering pizza instead of answering all of Derek's prayers.

Derek notes how the kid's usually erratic eye-contact is weirdly as unwavering as his usually erratic heartbeat, which is now weirdly steady as a metronome.

That's a lot of weird. 

Derek fights the urge to bite into his lip with his fangs. He wants to draw blood, and to taste it.

He embarrassingly feels his eye twitch and his breath hitch as he dares himself to do this. 

He sputters, “What do you want me to talk about?”

Stiles slowly swivels back towards the light of the laptop—ethereal milky skin and dark moles once again luminous in its white-blue glow—at the very same time as the evening's first moonshine peeks through clouds and seeps in through the loft's huge skylight.

Derek is memorised. 

Stiles starts annoyingly clicking away at the Clicking Pen, while shoving the other back between those beautiful lips of his, now mumbling his words around the thing once more and speaking them as if they are the most obvious thing in the universe.

“Everything, Der.”

.

for @poebin for asking <3 (unedited, soz)

[papaya-twinks]

red hot chilli 🌶️ - l.n - part 2

Warnings: slight obsessiveness, kinda stalking, swearing

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

other parts

“Ah, there you are, Y/N,” a voice said behind Lando, and he looked up, seeing his friend Carlos standing behind him. Carlos knew who you were? Lando was not about to ruin any chance he could possibly have with you in front of Carlos. 

“Lando, this is my little sister, Y/N,” Carlos said, his familiar Spanish accent seeping through as Lando’s eyes widened. Sister?! Oh fuck…out of all the girls Lando decided to have a major ass crush on, it just had to be Carlos’ sister.

“Less of the little,” you said with a click of your tongue, snapping Lando out of his thoughts about you. It seemed to all be coming back…the crush he’d had on you when Carlos was in McLaren…how could he forget you so easily?

Well, it was hardly his fault. After all, you had had your nose buried in a book half the time, and all he could ever see was whatever renaissance book cover you had up. It was cute, to him, how you always had yourself buried in a book. 

“Yeah, we, uh, we’ve met,” Lando said, his hand scratching on the back of his neck. “Yeah, he walked into a pole,” Alex giggled from behind you as Lando shot her a glare. “Too busy staring at something else,” she continued with mock wistfulness in her voice. 

“Do shut up,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his perfect, chocolate curls. “Well,” Lando said to Carlos with his usual, lopsided grin, “I best be off now. Need to walk my sunflower,” Lando mumbled, trying not to seem suspicious and failing miserably.

And so, with a sheepish and half-apologetic smile to you, he left, speed-walking his way down the pit lane and towards his motorhome. Oh fuck….no, he could feel his old crush coming back…but was he entirely against it? Not at all. 

As much as Lando wasn’t entirely alright with the idea of you being the sister of his best friend (and on-track rival), it made finding your socials much easier. Stalking? Exactly the word. In Lando’s mind (more to convince himself this wasn’t a bad thing), it was just ‘researching’. 

y/n.sainz

Cute. Lando was sitting in his room, the curtains drawn closed, his laptop perched on his lap. He’d changed out of his team polo and into a comfy plain white t-shirt and light grey joggers. “Wow…” he muttered under his breath as he scrolled through your profile. 

There were hundreds of photos, some of you with your books, some of you in front of beautiful pieces of renaissance art (though Lando found you a hundred times prettier). Chewing his lip, he clicked the bright blue ‘sign up’ button in the corner, and entered his email. 

How the hell could he message you out of the blue and say ‘Hi, I’m Lando Norris’? Absolutely not. In the box labelled ‘first name’, he entered the name ‘Luka’, and left the surname blank. It was the first name he could come up with. 

Tapping his fingers onto the keyboard, he waiting so few seconds for the app to load, and then stared at the new, blank account. He changed the default profile picture to one of a cute puppy he found online (girls loved dogs, right?). 

Luka: Hi! Is this Y/N?

Lando had formulated a plan - in which he would pretend he was looking for a Y/N he’d ‘met at a club’, and he’d ’accidentally’ messaged the wrong girl. Lando’s breath hitched for a second as he saw three pale grey dots appear on the bottom of the screen. And then…

Y/N: Hi! I’m busy right now, but I’ll get back to you soon!

…an automated message. “Fuck,” Lando cursed to himself, he should’ve known! You were a gorgeous girl, of course you’d have hundreds of guys (and probably girls too), trying to get into your DMs. 

He was damn lucky you hadn’t tuned off your DMs. All he could do was stare at the message and hope maybe you actually would reply and wouldn’t shut him off as some guy who wanted to try their luck with you. And then another message…

Y/N: Hi, this is Y/N, how can I help?

Wow. How the hell was Lando in awe of a damn message? Everything about you was so fucking hypnotising, and Lando couldn’t deny that he loved it. He did. It was enchanting…god he was falling for a girl he’d seen for a few seconds…plus the years of McLaren before. 

Luka: Hey, I’m looking for a Y/N I met at a club, is that you?

“Please, please, please don’t block me…” Lando thought to himself, hoping you wouldn’t. He hadn’t through that through. What if he messaged you and you just blocked him? Fuck!

Y/N: No, I haven’t met a Luka at a club anytime soon, sorry!

Luka: ah that’s shit, sorry to bother you

Y/N: it’s totally fine, it’s nice to finally have someone who isn’t sending dick pics or something haha 

Luka: don’t worry, haha, I’m not here to do that!!

Y/N: thank god, finally haha :)

Luka: well, it’s nice to meet you y/n :), your photos are rework pretty btw 

Y/N: you as well, and thank you!! your puppy’s really cute too :)

There was this fuzzy little feeling inside of Lando, one he couldn’t quite place as he bid you goodnight, telling you he’d message you again the next day. Like butterflies were fluttering round his body.

And so he closed his laptop, going to bed instead, trying to keep you out his mind. When he’d see you next? He didn’t know, he didn’t care either. Well he cared, yes. But he knew he could talk to you…even if you weren’t there in person. 

How he wished you’d come to the next race in Japan…and then all the other races…and he’d charm you so well…make you his. In less than a day, you had already sent Lando into a feral spiral, his mind thinking over nothing but you and your pretty face. 

There was a part deep down inside of Lando that felt a little…guilty for doing this. Like he was tricking you and making you think he was someone he wasn’t…but the feeling of desperation was overtaking it way quicker than Lando ever wanted. 

And, well…Lando wasn’t sure if it was desperation. The more he stared at your photos, the more he became hypnotised, fixated on one thing. You. This was desperation. No. This was an obsession. 

[dare-to-dm]

I've had multiple people express to me in the past month that "cats are basically impossible to train". And I just have to reply "skill issue", because it's not that hard, and you absolutely should do it to improve your quality of life and safety for both you and your pets.

I am by no means an expert, but here are the things I've managed to teach my cats:

not to jump on the kitchen counter

not to hover around exterior doors and try to slip through them when opened

not to scratch my furniture

not to chew on cords

not to walk on keyboards

how to snuggle me without hurting me

how to go through a door when I point at it (which is why it's funny to me that the phrase "like herding cats" is meant to describe something difficult)

Neither of my cats are food motivated either, so I can't use treats to teach them. One is motivated largely by pets, playtime and perches with good views. The other is most motivated by snuggles, getting brushed and sink drinks. He likes brushes and sink drinks so much that I actually taught him how to do a trick in order to get them (specifically to give head boops).

It's a matter of finding out what your cats like, what they don't like, and also finding replacements for their more destructive behaviors.

Spraying with a water bottle is a good deterrent for many cats because it annoys/upsets them without harming them. But that's not the case for all cats, so you need to get to know yours well. Something that both of my cats hate is being held, so I use "punishment hugs" to help teach them what I don't want them to do. Maybe your cat hates a particular noise or having their fur rubbed backwards or having air blown at them or something else.

As for replacements, there are some cat behaviors that simply need to be redirected. It's normal for them to want to scratch things, so you need to provide things that are okay for them to scratch in strategic locations. It's normal for them to want to jump on things and be up high, so you need to provide appropriate perches for them. It's normal for them to want to be as close as possible to you while you're working on your computer, so make a comfortable spot specifically for them nearby.

Like I said, I'm not an expert, but I have to say that the efforts I've made have made my cat owning experience a better one. Now if only I could train them not to throw up on the carpet, I would be perfectly satisfied (that's not a joke, if anyone has tips on how to do this I'd love to hear them).

[sanjisjuul]

Therapist Law!

Summary: Law is a kinky therapist

Cw: fem reader, cursing, spanking, fingering

Note: if you've seen this before it's because its from my old account! i'm working on recovering all my fics and thanks to @pileofmush this one has been located in its entirety!

Word count: 3.2k

Mdni 18+

the ticking of the clock on the sad beige walls reverberates through your eardrums as you bounce your leg up and down in anticipation. a metallic taste tingles your taste buds as you draw blood from how hard you're chewing on your lip. 

therapy. something you've wanted to do, but simultaneously put off for years. a recent break up that you initiated caused you to finally seek a doctor. your past lover, while a good person, didn't provide the affection you so much craved. you felt ignored, a bother almost, everything you put in was almost consumed rather than given back. not to mention sexually you were more than less satisfied, your partner always getting their needs met and not bothering to give yours any attention. 

now you're sat in an uncomfortable leather chair, the squeaking making you cringe internally as you shift around. you try to search the walls for any distraction to calm your nerves, but the barren office offers absolutely nothing. 

"y/n?" the soft voice of the receptionist breaks you from your inner thoughts. you look up at her and hum in question as she smiles softly at you. "dr. trafalgar is ready to see you, he's in room 5 whenever you're ready." 

you stand slowly, the crack of your joints causing a jolt of pain to run through your body. you pull the sleeves of your sweater over your hands before heading down the hall in search of the room. blank white doors stare back at you as you trudge down the hall. each door with a large black number plastered on it. you come to a halt when seeing the door with a number five. you reach your hand to knock, but the creak of the door causes you to jump in place.

"come in," a deep man's voice speaks, quietly, but enough for the entire hallway to echo around you. without looking up you push past the door before closing it softly behind you. you turn around slowly, getting a glimpse of the room. Dr. Trafalgar's back is turned to you, he sits at a dark wooden desk adjacent to the door typing something rapidly on his computer. floating shelves litter the walls, filled with books, fidget toys, and what seemed to be action figures. a few posters hang from old movies and comic books which contrasts the sterility of the rest of the building, giving you a sense of comfort. there's a black leather chair sitting in the corner which rests next to a large monstera plant to which you take a seat. 

"you must be miss y/n." the doctor speaks his large back still turned to you. you fidget with sleeves, "yes," you smile although he still cannot see you. "alright then," he presses enter on his keyboard before swiveling around in his chair to face you. you almost choke on air upon his front side coming into view. piercing grey eyes bore into yours, a raven mop of hair sits atop his head styled a bit messily. his cheekbones and jawline defined with pretty pink lips and a black goatee resting on his chin. your eyes shamelessly trail down his body as yours heats up. he's dressed business casual, black slacks, black loafers, and long sleeved black button down. he wears two gold hoops on each ear, but what you least expected are the two large tattoos covering each hand, surprising to say the least, but you certainly aren't complaining. 

"so tell me," he breaks your trance, spreading his long legs to rest his elbows on each thigh, holding his face in his knuckles as he leans forward, eyes never leaving yours, "what brings you in?" he licks his lips, almost as if he's reading your mind. you could have sworn you saw a ghost of a smirk before you start speaking. "well um basically i just want to better myself. i just left a long relationship and want to understand why i stayed so long, why i put myself through so much mental anguish." 

dr. trafalgar nods his head, eyebrows furrowed as he actively listens to what you have to say, "well let's start with this. tell me about your last relationship. what occurred, and how it ended." he reaches for a notepad, pen and reading glasses on his desk, before sliding the glasses on and reassuming his previous position. 

you stumble a bit before starting your sentence, the glasses on his handsome face distracting you as you try to recall your memories. "um.. well yeah, i basically felt ignored, almost an afterthought," you start. you go on a long rant recalling all of your frustrating memories, the times you felt like a bother, the constant effort you put in to get none in return, and the way this affected you which ultimately led you to leave.

dr. trafalgar takes notes as you go, looking up every so often to give you a look of understanding, not one of pity which you've received far too many times as of late. you catch your breath as you finish, feeling a sense of relief as you finish your recollection. 

"well, if i'm going to be honest, he sounds like a complete idiot." dr. trafalgar starts, before leaning back in his chair. "i'm glad you were able to leave without many complications. it takes a lot of courage to leave something long term as you just have." 

you smile at his statement before continuing, "to me it should have ended long ago, being with him was more of a past time, i was just scared of being lonely. which in hindsight was a bit stupid because i have friends who have been there for me more than he ever was." 

your doctor smiles at you, "that isn't stupid miss y/n. many people fear being alone, it's completely normal. i am very glad to hear you have friends that support you" 

"i don't know,' you start. "it just feels like my life was on halt for such a long period of time. if anything i'm glad to be single now so i can actually explore other options." 

he cocks an eyebrow, "options?" 

you feel the blood rush to your cheeks upon answering, "options... as in other sexual partners, romantic or not." you close your eyes momentarily as you feel embarrassment creep it's way through your body. 

"were you not satisfied sexually?" he sets his notepad on the desk besides him, and removes his glasses, running a large hand through his raven locks. you try not to linger your stare on his long fingers, each digit tattooed, making you feel... things. 

"well to be completely honest no." you advert your gaze from your sexy ass therapist and chew on your lip before continuing. "it's just going back to effort. he didn't make effort for me emotionally, physically, nor sexually. i always made sure that he was taken care of.. if you know what i mean."

dr. trafalgar pauses for a moment, "well if you're comfortable we can go through that aspect of the relationship as well. just remember, this is all on your terms miss y/n." he locks eyes with yours once again, his face stern as he speaks. 

your face heats up as you look down. you planned on talking about this with your doctor, but didn't expect him to be so... attractive. you feel his gaze on your face before you sigh. you lift your head to meet dr. trafalgars gaze, to which he stares intently back at you.

his silence makes you continue, "in two years how do you not make somebody cum?" you question frustratedly. "he didn't even try, he even blamed me at one point, can you fucking believe that?" you sigh in anger. "i used to excuse myself into another room to take care of myself,"  you laugh in disbelief, "it was just so frustrating." you finish, if you were in a cartoon steam would be seeping out from your ears. 

"may i ask?" dr. trafalgar moves his chair a few inches closer, "when was the last time somebody besides yourself made you cum?" you're taken aback at his question, but not uncomfortable in the slightest. you lean forward resting your chin in your hands before pondering, "s' been years, i can't even remember to be honest with you."

your doctor bites his lip before speaking, "and would you say, that has caused some sexual frustration on your end?" you nod, too distracted to vocalize an answer as you watch him chew on his lip. 

"while in that relationship did you ever consider pursuing any other sexual partners?" he shifts in his chair crossing his legs. 

you pause in thought, "yeah, i honestly did. i never acted on those thoughts though, i would have felt terrible."

dr. trafalgar clenches his jaw, "how about now? do you have any desire to fulfill your needs as of late?" he leans back in his chair, legs still crossed as if he's hiding something. 

you feel feverish at this point, his line of questioning mixed with the pure aura of sex he exudes is too much for you to handle. "i-i... um yeah. i'm just waiting to find someone who is willing to do the same with me."

"can i be honest miss y/n?" he questions, his icy eyes trained on your lips before darting back to your face. you nod once again as you stare back in awe, nodding. 

"i find you to be incredibly attractive," he rolls up his sleeves, revealing more ink along his forearms. "fuck professionality, i want to make you feel good." 

you stare back in shock, your lips part slightly and your thighs clench together as you feel the heat in your body settle at your core, dampening your panties. you can't form a sentence even if you try as he stares back at you in dead seriousness. 

he rests his hands on his knees before standing, his stature making you feel small as he approaches you, bending down face level with you. . "let me repeat myself," he brushes your hair back, goosebumps forming at the warmth of his large hands. "i want to make you feel good, could i do that for you?" you shudder as his lips meet the shell of your ear, his hand resting on the nape of your neck, other in his pocket as he leans over you. 

"please," you squeak, eyes trained on the floor in embarrassment. you feel his other hand reach for your chin to which he tilts up, forcing you to look him in the eyes. his half lidded eyes meet yours as he bites his lip, "look at me when you speak miss y/n." your chest heaves at the proximity, his hand leaves the nape of your neck to grab a fistfull of your hair, holding it firmly to keep your gaze on his. 

"please," you whisper, your eyes darting down to his pretty lips, "make me feel good." he smirks, tugging your hair softly, "good girl." 

he closes the distance by pressing his lips onto yours. the kiss is soft and passionate. his hand stays wrapped in your hair as his lips dance on yours. he softly prods his tongue to tease your bottom lip. you open your mouth to accept his offering to which he presses his tongue fully in, savoring your taste.

you sigh at the intrusion, the feeling of being kissed correctly felt so foreign to you yet so fucking amazing. your tongues collide as you feverishly make out in his office. you gain the courage to grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer to you, however you didn't realize your strength as the first two buttons of his shirt ripped off completely.

you break the kiss to marvel at his bare collar bones, also littered with tattoos, you groan at the view to which he smirks. "miss y/n," he says in fake surprise, "didn't know you were so eager." you fake pout at his response and he chuckles before removing his hands from you to slowly undo the buttons of his shirt. as each button pops open, your gaze goes further down his body, taking in as much as you could. every muscle, every speck of ink prominent in your eyes as his shirt dropped to the floor. 

you reach your shaky hands up slowly to rest on his ab muscles, to which he grabs your wrists, planting them on his torso. you curiously glide your hands up and down, feeling the taut and warm flesh as your slick starts to seep through your yoga pants.

abruptly, he steps back from you, returning back to his chair and taking a seat, reassuming his manspread position. you now understand why his legs were crossed earlier, his cock is painfully erect through the fabric of his slacks. 

"cmere," he grunts, and you do as you're told, stepping closer until you're stood directly in front of him. he reaches his hands up to you, wrapping his arms around your torso, bringing you closer. "miss y/n," he speaks, causing you to look down at him. his face is yet again serious, his eyebrows furrowed. "we can stop at any moment you'd like, tell me if it's too much." 

you nod your head at his statement, smiling softly, "okay," you whisper. Dr. Trafalgar starts to kiss your stomach through your sweater, his hands raking down your back before reaching dangerously close to your ass. he suddenly halts, "want you bent over on my lap," he grunts, removing his face from your sweater to look up at you. "mhm," you hum as you position yourself over his lap before laying down. your ass is directly below his face, and your face almost touches the floor, but he holds your hair back to prevent that from happening. 

"i'm going to start now, tell me if this is okay," Dr. Trafalgar speaks before you feel his hand start to slide up the back of your thighs. he squeezes every so often, causing jolts of electricity to run through your body. once he reaches the crest of your ass he pauses, "this ok?" he questions. 

"yes, please continue," you pant out. he hums as his hand slides over your ass, he grips the flesh in his hand squeezing softly before letting go. "such a nice fuckin' ass," he growls before placing a soft slap on your right cheek. you moan in pleasure as he repeats the action to your other cheek. "hmm whats this?" he questions, moving his hand in between your legs, "this wet already miss y/n?" he starts to rub you through your pants collecting the juices that leaked through, humming in the process. 

you twitch as his hand makes contact with your clothed cunt. he rubs softly, the teasing driving you mad as your body slightly vibrates under his control. "so sensitive for me yeah?" he questions, before slapping your ass again, harder this time, causing you to moan loudly. "feels s'good doctor," you whine as he places another harsh slap on your ass, causing you to clench around nothing. "you can call me law sweetness," he sounds before spanking you again, this time leaving a stinging sensation behind. 

your clit starts to pulsate through your panties, your juices start to coat not only your opening, but now your thighs as well to which law notices, "you like it when i spank you miss y/n?" you yelp as another slap is placed on your behind, "fuck-law yes i love it." he chuckles above you, "good girl."

you feel his hands move up your ass and hook around the waist band of your yoga pants, "ass up," he commands to which you oblige. you arch your back as he slides your pants down your legs, revealing your soaked panties. he hums as his fingers come in contact with your cunt, rubbing circles around the area around your entrance, before slipping one finger inside the fabric. 

you shudder as he swipes his finger up and down, collecting as much wetness as he can while creating a delicious friction on your clit. "you like that huh?" he questions as he slips one finger inside of you. you twitch at the feeling, his long and slender finger moves in and out of you, pumping slowly as to warm you up. "y-yes," you pant out as you clench around his finger. 

before speeding up any further he slips another finger past your panties and into your entrance, stretching you out so good as you wail out. his grip on your hair tightens as you lose composure, your eyes screw shut in pleasure as his fingers work in and out of you. 

when his fingers hook over one particular spot, you twitch involuntarily causing him to chuckle, "so that's the spot huh?" he continues to hit the same spot, his fingers repeatedly hooking in and out of your hole as pressure builds in your lower stomach. curses and moans leave your mouth as you feel yourself losing complete composure. drool seeps from your lips as your body vibrates under his touch. 

just when you think it can't get any better he slips his thumb through your panties and onto your clit, rubbing circles as he continues the pace of his fingers. "f-fuck law," you cry out as a tingling sensation overtakes your senses. "yeah? tell me how good it feels," he groans. "feels so fucking good, keep going g-gonna cum," you whine out between breaths. he keeps the pace he set, not speeding up nor slowing down. he releases your hair as your head falls limp he reaches his forearm to catch you, hand moving down to your chest and flicking your nipple through your shirt adding a third point of stimulation.

"say my name," law commands as your climax approaches. your body spasms atop him, "wanna hear you fuckin' say it." you manage to choke out his name, "l-law oh fuck law gonna cum, please please please," you wail your legs shaking harshly. 

"that's it baby, cum for me," he grunts as your cunt flutters around his fingers. you cry out as your orgasm washes over you, the triple stimulation giving you the most astounding feeling ever. fire erupts all over your body as your juices coat his hand. his hands keep working you, making sure you ride out your climax fully, as your whole body shudders underneath him. chants of his name leave your mouth as a mantra as you pant for air.

he slows down his movement slowly but surely until he completely stills. your body lays limp on top of him almost collapsing on the floor before he catches you in his arms, pulling you to sit on his lap, wrapping his strong arms around you. you bury your head in the crook of his neck, gasping as you catch your breath. "how was that miss y/n?" law questions, his voice muffled by your shoulder, you feel the rasp of his voice rumble through your spent body. "so. fucking. amazing." you sigh becoming almost limp in his arms.

"i'm glad to hear that," you can feel his smile through the fabric of your sweater which causes you to reciprocate. he pulls you off his shoulder to look you in the eyes, smirking, "so, let's schedule your next appointment."

love, bia ૮ • ﻌ - ა

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

hiya, can you write something fluffy with Roy Kent where he’s dating an author and he wakes up to her not being in bed beside him, he gets up and sees her still working at her desk in her office, so he does something like hugs her from behind but he gets a glimpse of the book she working on and it’s based of there love story (someone falling in love with a grumpy but secretly loveable footballer) ❤️❤️

Happily Ever After

Roy Kent x Reader

0.7k words

Warnings: Language

Ahh I loved this!!! Bonus points if anyone can peep the Taylor Swift reference I threw in there!

~

Roy turned over and stretched out his arm. Eyes still closed, he frowned when he grabbed a handful of sheets. He took a peek at the clock on his nightstand; it was one in the morning. You should be in bed; you’d said you’d be finished after one more paragraph.

With a hmmph, Roy hauled himself out of bed and shuffled down the hallway. Sure enough, he saw the light on in your office and heard the clickclickclick of your keyboard. Stifling a yawn, he leaned in the doorway and watched you.

There you were, wearing shorts and one of his old Chelsea jerseys, your hair tied up sloppily. He loved it when you got like this, all focused and typing away. Even with your back to him, he knew your nose was scrunched in concentration and you were chewing on your bottom lip. He stifled a chuckle when you tilted your head to the side- an adorable habit you vehemently denied doing every time he pointed it out.

Doing his best to keep quiet, Roy strolled across the room, relishing the small squeak that came out of your mouth when he wrapped his arms around you.

“How’s it going, Shakespeare?” he hummed, planting a kiss on your cheek.

You laughed and leaned your head against his. “Good. I’m on a roll, actually.”

Roy smiled. “I noticed. It’s past one.”

“No way.” Your eyes widened as you looked at the clock on your computer. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

He quickly shook his head. “Not at all. Just, I don’t fucking know, missed you.” He glanced at the computer screen. “What’re you working on anyway?”

Your hands covered his eyes as you laughed. “Oh no! You can’t see!”

With a growl, Roy pulled your hands down. “Come on. Let’s have a look.”

Face burning, you knew there was no point in arguing. It wasn’t like you could ever say no to Roy when he looked at you with those sleepy eyes. He’d given you those same eyes the night he rolled over in bed and asked you to move in with him. Or when you woke up to him gazing at you, just before he told you he loved you for the first time.

Now those sleepy eyes trailed down the computer screen, taking in the words you’d been working on all night. You chewed your lower lip, a bad habit that had you buying ChapStick far too often, as you watched for his reaction. The reason you’d been up so late was because you had finally gotten to your favorite part of any story: boy gets girl back. You were a sucker for declarations of love, runs through the airport, kisses in the rain, all that cheesy stuff that made Roy roll his eyes playfully.

But he didn’t roll his eyes this time. Instead, he smiled as his cheeks reddened. His breathing slowed and he let out a little hum as he read before finally turning back to you.

“Is this about us?”

His face shone with amusement as he waited for the answer. As if he needed you to confirm it. Your book, which you’d avoided talking too much about, even with Roy, was about a writer and a grumpy footballer. The scene he’d just read concluded in a heated kiss on a football pitch.

“Yeah,” you murmured, ducking your head. “I mean, it’s inspired by you, I guess.”

A breathy chuckle escaped Roy’s lips as he squeezed you tight. “Fuck. I love it.” He kissed your temple. “You’re so fucking talented. What a mind.”

You shook your head, embarrassed by the praise. “Roy-”

“No,” he insisted, tilted your face towards his. “You are fucking amazing. You see a blank page on your computer, and you create an entire world. You make people feel things with your words. Fuck, no wonder your publisher’s been hounding you for this thing. It’s going to sell even more than your last one.”

The sincerity in Roy’s face eased the tension in your shoulders. Sometimes, you felt silly with the things you wrote, all romance novels and fluff. You wondered if Roy actually liked reading it, or if he just did it because he was your boyfriend and it was his job to be supportive. But seeing the pride on his face as he spoke, you knew. This wasn’t boyfriend duty. He really meant it.

He picked up the laptop and shrugged towards the door. “Come on. You can read me some more of this in bed. I want to know what happens after the happily ever after.”

You smiled as he led you down the hall, back to your room. What happens after happily ever after? You were living it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Once Upon a Time 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Andy Barber

Part of the Bookstore AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You don’t mind working evenings during the week. In the hour before closing time, it’s pretty slow. There isn’t much for you to do much follow the tune of the instrumental jazz and lean on the counter behind your till. Management is hidden in the back office so you don’t even need to pretend to work.

So it is that you’re startled at the unexpected figure strutting around the table of stationary and novelties across from the checkout. You stand straight as you smile at the man, not letting it falter as you recognise him. You brace yourself and swallow as your mouth runs dry. He’s been here almost every day this week; at least, when you’ve been in.

“Oh, uh,” you don’t notice anything in his hands aside from his cell phone, “Mr. Pine isn’t here, sir. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t reply until he’s at the counter. His blue eyes bore into you as he rests his hand against the edge, gripping his phone tight. A small furrow scrunches between his brows.

“I didn’t ask,” he smiles.

“Well, er, sorry, I thought…” you chew your lip nervously. Each time he’s been in, he’s asked for the store owner. You assume he knows him. And he’s of the demographic who likes to make a fuss when he doesn’t get what he wants. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“You shouldn’t have,” he agrees, still grinning.

You squirm and run your fingertips over the keyboard. “Well, is there anything I can help you find? We’re closing up soon–”

“You’re trying to get me to leave?” He challenges.

“Not at all,” you croak. “Sorry, sir.”

“Andy,” he pulls his hand away, instead crossing his arms and leaning his elbows on the counter. He reads your name tag, “it’s fine. I was just looking around. Figure a book might help keep me busy.” 

He has a very intense way of watching you. Very on the point. He speaks directly to you, but you’re more the type to focus above someone or past them.

“Do you have a favourite genre?” You prompt. It’s easiest to talk about work and you have a dozen suggestions.

“Not really. You know, I work a lot and I never really had a chance to read much outside of deposition records,” he shrugs and raises his eyebrows, “don’t make my mistakes. Don’t waste your life working overtime. Enjoy the small things. Like books, you’re never gonna find a fairytale in real life.”

You feel a bit bad for him but try not to show it. You don’t want to insult it and he seems to pendulum between amiable and unapproachable. You nod and put on your customer service smile.

“Oh, thanks, I guess you’re probably right,” you eke out, “do you like thrillers? They’re pretty popular and we’re having a special.”

“Hm, I suppose that’s somewhere to start,” he rubs his beard, the hand clutching his phone against the counter as he leans on the same elbow, “what do you read?”

You give your usual answer, vague and not entirely false, “fantasy, mostly.”

“Like The Hobbit or whatever?” He wonders.

“Sure, I’ve read that,” you say.

“My wife– ex, now, she was a Tolkien fan,” his lips slant, “twenty years, no kids. Got nothing to show for it.” He pushes himself straight, “I’m sorry, you caught me on a bad night. I, whatever you suggest, I’ll take it. I need something to get my mind off of… everything.”

“Oh, sure, well, we have our best sellers down here,” you point over the counter and the racks between each till, “Conrad’s always a good choice.”

He hums and backs up. He peruses the books silently as you twiddle your fingers impatiently. You’ve had awkward encounters with customers before, almost daily, but something about him is a bit too cringe for you. You hate to even think like that. You feel mean. He’s just going through some things. And who isn't?

He plucks up a book and comes back to your till. He lays it down and slides his phone into his pants pocket, then reaches under his jacket. He takes out his wallet and pauses as he unfolds it, “wait, do you get commission? I could grab a few more.”

“Um, no,” you login and scan the barcode on the book, “but there’s a survey on you receipt. If you fill that out, I get credit for that.”

“Oh, sure, a survey,” he agrees as he slides out a card.

“And did you have our rewards card?” You ask.

He shakes his head, “what’s that?”

Great. You peek at the time in the corner of the till screen. It’s getting close to closing.

“So, for purchases you collect points. Kinda like air miles. When you buy items that are part of a promotion, you receive double, and for prestige members, there are triple point days. You can collect points to earn store credit.”

He nods and considers it. He tilts his head as his cheek dimples, “so, that costs money?”

“Yes, twenty-five dollars for paperback level and forty for prestige.”

He weighs the options. You expect the amounts to deter him like most customers. He taps his card on the counter, “you know what, I’ll do the forty. I’m looking to get into reading so I’ll be back for sure.”

“Oh, uh, right, okay,” you say with surprise, “I’ll just get you registered.”

You reach past the till and grab one of the cards displayed behind it. You scan it and go through the whole routine; name, phone number, email. You get all his info in and offer him a bag before you turn the debit machine towards him. He taps his card and the approval chirps loudly.

“Great, so, if you wanna do the survey,” you say as his receipt prints out, “you can scan this QR code and it will direct you straight to the survey.” You tear off the receipt and circle at the bottom, “my employee number is here, you’ll have to enter that and the transaction ID.”

You fold the receipt and hand it over. He takes it and looks it over with a squint. He raises his chin and gives a half-smile, “um, this QR thing? How do I… I’m sorry, I’m a bit slow. Could you show me?”

You want to say no. You want to point to the clock and tell him to have a good day but he’s actually going to do the survey. You need a good review.

“Sure, um, I’ll show you. Just on your phone,” you step closer as he digs his hand in his pants pocket, “let me see the receipt.”

“Thank you so much,” he says, “you’re so patient with me.”

[lionofstone]

some of my personal favourite sections from BODYSHARE, my novella about a musician who agrees to share his body with the devil in exchange for a successful career. Out now!

image description below the cut!

[ID: a series of five images, each including an excerpt from Bodyshare by Leandra Inglis.

The first: He gets his blond hair from his father, who never set foot in this house.

The second: This should be enough. He knows this. He has a family who loves him, a best friend who answers every text he sends her no matter what time, a music career that's just starting to take off with a hit that plays on the radio every day. But there's a yawning cavity inside of him, an expanse with teeth, that chews at his gut and claws at the inside of his skull, demanding more, demanding affection and attention in equal measure, demanding that he chase them to the point of exhaustion.

The third: I know, the devil says. I am proud of you. He stops, frozen in place and unsure how to respond to that. The devil, apparently, does not expect a response, as it leaves without getting one.

The fourth: They do share. It hasn't even been forty-eight hours since the devil took possession, and they're already finding a sort of balance. He might be unsettled by the sensation of the devil existing beneath his skin, but it's also very cool. It takes control of one of his hands and he watches his fingers move without him telling them to. Those fingers reach for his keyboard and play out a few tentative notes. "Come on," he says, grinning with their shared face. He's not sure which of them is smiling, but it doesn't matter. "I thought you were the angel of music. You can do better than that." Not without you. The devil takes both of their hands, positioning them on the keys and sucking in a shaky breath. It's nervous, which is just about the last thing he would've expected it to feel.

The fifth: "I haven't made a deal like this before." Something warm blooms in his chest, something entirely separate from the devil itself. "So I'm special, then?" "You are...unique, in this. I wouldn't allow just anyone to get this close to me." He grins with his tongue just barely poking out between his teeth, the expression one he used to pull when he was feeling especially playful, teasing his cousin or his best friend. "So I'm special." "If that is how you want to think of it," the devil says, and it sounds fond.

END ID.]

[xxsksxxx]

Almost Heaven

Summary:

Mulder’s attempt to find more exciting cases to investigate while stuck in the bullpen turns into another weekend trip to the forest.

Meanwhile, Scully is faced with a tempting offer that could change both her future and their lives.

Notes:

This little story has been stuck in my head for almost a year. It’s taken more than one change of direction over the last months until I was happy with where it was going. I hope you'll enjoy reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it.

And if you want to leave kudos or a comment—no matter if it’s an emoji or several long paragraphs—that would make my whole month.

I also want to say a huge THANK YOU to the wonderful @baronessblixen!

If it hadn’t been for her, and her constant encouragement to continue working on this story and her questions about its progress, I'm sure this story wouldn't be the same. Your input and excitement for this spark of an idea during a Sunday evening chat about something completely unrelated was invaluable. Thank you, my friend!

This story is complete, and I’m going to post one chapter a day.

AO3 | @today-in-fic

Chapter 1: To the Place I Belong

J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington, D.C. FBI Headquarters – Bullpen Friday, November 27th, 1998, 3:30 pm

“Any plans for the weekend, Scully?” Mulder placed a sunflower seed between his teeth and looked at Scully questioningly. He leaned back in his desk chair, slowly bouncing backward and forward, returning Scully’s questioning glance with an innocent look.

Mulder was completely bored after spending days doing nothing but paperwork and sorting files. He knew Scully was bored too, even though she didn’t mind doing reports half as much as he did.

Scully reached for her coffee cup and sipped the hot liquid, closing her eyes in appreciation. Mulder grinned; he loved watching Scully enjoy her coffee. Mulder could tell she was frustrated by their punishment, which was exactly what was happening. They were being punished. This was also why he had started making an extra effort to get her a cup of coffee just like she wanted every morning and afternoon. She had stoically navigated his frustration with their current situation over the last few months, keeping him in line. And it hadn’t been that long ago that he had had to reassure her that she played a major role in his life. If getting the perfect coffee for her made her happy, he was all for it.

Scully opened her eyes and hummed appreciatively before looking back at him, and he gave her a knowing look. She blushed a bit but didn’t avoid his gaze, her eyes full of warmth. “Did you finish calling the letters ‘H’ and ‘I’ already, or are you planning on spending YOUR weekend catching up?” she quipped and turned back to her keyboard.

“I don’t care about any ‘E’s and ‘I’s. No one is going to follow up on this, anyway. They just want to keep us busy and off any real cases!” he said emphatically, pushing off the floor with his foot and bouncing his chair back and forth again.

“’H’ and ’I’, Mulder. Not ’E’ and ’I’. You did the ’E’s’ last week already. Remember that report I had to rewrite for you because you couldn’t help but add your opinion on why you consider this pointless?” Scully took a new file off of the pile and gave it a cursory glance before sighing.

“Aha! See? You’re just as bored by this as I am, Scully!“

She slowly rotated her shoulder and neck before turning back around to him. “I never said I wasn’t. Of course, this is pointless. None of these people ever so much as stole a chewing gum, much less organized a terrorist attack. But the more we protest, the longer they’re going to keep us assigned to this, and we’ll never get the X-Files back.” She gave him a sympathetic look. “Let’s just focus on getting this over with. If we keep our feet still long enough, they might trust us with the X-Files again.” She smiled tightly, and he knew she was trying to sound confident.

He gave her a long look before sighing and turning back to his overflowing pile of folders. “I hope you’re right, and we’re not wasting our time expecting they’ll forget about us.”

He knew Scully was hoping for the same. He despised sitting around, working on senseless tasks, following up on even more useless information when he could be on the road or talking to people who had actually seen something related to the truth.

“Well, at least Kersh didn’t make you recheck your report this time. Maybe he’ll give up sooner than later,” Scully joked, looking away from her monitor for a second.

“Yeah. By the way, thanks for going over it. I doubt I’d have gotten the same reaction to my original draft. You’re a lifesaver!” Mulder gave her a half-smile and pursed his lips.

She returned his smile with one of her own before turning back to her task.

“So, about those weekend plans—” Mulder began, only to be cut off by the ringing of his phone. “Hello?” he said into the receiver, grimacing at Scully when he recognized the voice of Kersh’s assistant. “Yes, we’ll be right there,” he clipped before hanging up and getting up from his chair, grabbing his jacket. “We’re expected in the Deputy Director’s office asap, Agent Scully,” he parroted, not waiting for her before taking off towards the open reception area of Kersh’s office.

He could hear Scully sigh, but she followed him without comment. What now? he wondered. Nothing good ever came out of being called into their boss’s office.

Office of Deputy Director Alvin Kersh

“Have a seat, Agents,” Kersh greeted them without looking up from his note-taking. His tone was as unreadable and impersonal as ever.

Mulder glanced at Scully, but she wordlessly took one of the two seats in front of their boss's desk.

The minutes passed slowly, and Mulder counted the ticking of the analog clock hanging on the wall at the side of the office, which signaled the passing of time. Kersh was making them wait, and Mulder hated every second of it. Just as he opened his mouth to ask if they were keeping him from his work, Kersh looked up and put his pen aside.

“I have a new assignment for you,” he began, giving them both a calculating look. When neither agent reacted, he slid a thick brown folder across the desk towards them. “There have been reports of some nighttime activities down at the Waterfront Resort. I want you to investigate those reports and ensure that nothing illegal is going on there.”

Mulder reached for the file and started to read the top sheet. The more he read, the angrier he got. “Nighttime activities, sir? From what I’m reading here, there have been reports of some kids staying out past their curfew down there. That’s not an actual assignment, a security guard could easily take care of this.” He angrily snapped the file shut and threw it back on the desk.

Kersh’s eyes narrowed, and his tone became even colder if that was possible. “What is an assignment and what isn’t is still something for me to decide, Agent Mulder. Are we clear on that?”

Scully quietly cleared her throat and reached for the folder. “Yes, sir. Agent Mulder and I will take care of this.” She quickly got up from her chair, placing her hand on Mulder’s arm.

Kersh nodded, his eyes still piercing Mulder’s with a cold glare. “Very well, Agent.” He took his pen back in his hand and began writing again, dismissing them wordlessly.

Mulder stood up abruptly, and for a moment he was tempted to have Kersh have it. He was so tired of being roadblocked every step of the way. A gentle squeeze of Scully’s hand on his arm kept him quiet, though, and with a last glance at their boss, he turned around and headed for the door.

FBI Headquarters – Bullpen

Mulder watched as Scully sank into her office chair, her exasperation clear. Another day, another senseless task, he thought.

Mulder frustration was close to exploding. The longer they worked under Kersh, the worse it seemed to get. Scully glanced over at him, and Mulder realized he had been morosely staring at his monitor. He started to bounce his leg, trying to get rid of some of his anger. He’d definitely have to go for a long run tonight, he mused, or his head would explode.

“Mulder, stop fidgeting!” Scully slapped her hand on his bouncing knee, forcing the offending appendage to stop moving.

Mulder sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to stay still. “I just hate this, Scully. We’ve been sitting around, doing nothing, for weeks now.” He slowly moved his head from his left shoulder to his right, trying to stretch out the stiff muscles. “And now this! We both know this assignment is just to keep us sidelined. I don’t know how long I can stand waiting around! What are they even planning to do with us at this point?”

Scully nodded, her own frustration evident. “I don’t know, Mulder. I just know fidgeting is not going to change anything. What I do know, however, is that we have to play along for now, or this is going to escalate even higher up, and then we won’t ever get the chance to get the X-Files back.”

Mulder turned to face her directly. “It’s just so frustrating! We should be investigating real cases, not watching some teenagers commit the unspeakable crime of underage drinking.”

Scully gave him a sympathetic look. “I know, Mulder. And I’m just as frustrated as you are. I didn’t choose the FBI to do this kind of grind work either. I want to find the truth just as much as you do.”

Mulder didn’t reply, his eyes firmly fixed on Kersh’s reception area, where the Deputy Director had just appeared and had started laughing with his assistant. Mulder deflated once again, dropped back in his office chair, and gave Scully a pointed look. Kersh had them right where he wanted them.

Scully returned his look grimly before turning back to the folder with their assignment and started rubbing her temples.

He watched her for a few long moments before jumping up and grabbing her arm, pulling her with him. She let him drag her out of her chair, hissing, “Mulder, what are you doing?!” while taking a cursory glance around the large office space. No one was paying them any attention.

Mulder reached for his jacket from the back of his chair, shrugging it on. “This assignment is going nowhere. I’m pretty sure no one has even glanced at this file in the last several weeks. Let’s get out of here, Scully.” He grabbed his keys from his desk and slipped them into his pants pockets before putting his arm on her shoulder, squeezing softly.

She gave him a long look before sighing. “Might as well,” she added, grabbing her coat and putting it on.

Mulder placed his hand against her lower back, and together they walked down the hallway towards the elevator.

[brucewaynehater101]

Cooked up an AU based on the Power Rangers & Digimon asks

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Power Rangers Digital Division

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Introducing Timothy "Tim" Drake, Batclan fan extraordinaire

Seriously, you should check out all those hero photos he's caught

And you wanna know what's better than being way too young to stay up all night for one special interest? Two special interests!

Particularly these weird .mon files he keeps finding on his journey to hacking mastery. He can't decipher them quite yet, but they look so interesting and there's so many designs

It's only when screen-of-death blue and ones and zeros climb from his keyboard to his arms and the rest of his body does he realize that biting off more than you can chew is very, very real

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Introducing Subject "Thorn" 13, escaped clone extraordinaire

Hard to not be the very best escapee when you're the only escapee. Same with being a thorn to child protective services

Good thing he got out of Metropolis soon as he could, Mr. Lex had nothing good to say about Superman back in the lab, and given the horror he was also experiencing second hand about mere cops? he trusts those tales

There's a reason he keeps kryptonite on his person, hearing and smelling and hearing so many horrible things is too much

Eat the rich, but they're good for some things

He paused his thoughts to look at his one and only companion. well, not really, but he can barely take care of himself, so a digital alternative is much preferable

Thorn was proud to say he stole it from the labs themselves. People called it an off-brand tamagotchi, but he'd say it was even better

Yuramon. It was even more plantlike than him. Demanding he be near quality soil and bath it's screen in sunlight in the real world

Sunlight on his skin, nobody questioning his presence, and no acts of cruelty nearby, he's never felt safer . . .

Ding!

[Yuramon is ready to digivolve and it wants you to see it up close and personally!]

[Will you plug in to an internet connected device?]

[Yes] / [No]

Say no to that? Hell no! He had a phone right on his person

He quickly ran to a vacant alleyway. He wanted to keep this special moment all to himself!

Connecting to the local library's wifi, he was careful to not break anything as his devices connected

Yuramon was right there on his phone screen, ready to Digivolve! Grow!

It's when his screen began to glow brighter than the highest setting and his hands were irremovable from the screen he realized something was up

Yeah when it felt like he was being sucked into the glow he had an idea where this was going

He was going to become a missing person, they'd figure out a child who stole Luthor tech vanished because of it, and Superman would get on his case

Oh come on! He stole his phone from a cop! Why is he suddenly getting the "hero learns a moral" treatment?

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Bart, frankly enough, didn't trust this world. past present or future

There was a reason the Earth was cooked if his memories and this time period's social study books were any indication

Not even the digital world faced world ending threats as often. granted, it kind of already ended itself . . .

But with him and Terriermon by each other's side, they'll find a way back; They're in this together!

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Pursurimon! Pursurimon! Pursurimon!!!1 Cassie blasts onto the keyboard

Could you blame her? Her mother just uncovered a wicked (recent!) artifact and she already got permission to blab

She attached a picture of the rusted item to her message

[Pursurimon] Woah!

[Pursurimon] My friend found one as well

[Wondrland] huh??///

No fucking way

[Pursurimon] Can I show you through the screen?

Accept Pursurimon's Request?

Yes / No

a video chat she had to assume. They've known each other long enough that she's comfortable with it

Going off topic, this forum needed to get itself together. the team might be small, sure, but not everyone could put cryptic pop-up messages and clues together

It's only after clicking yes and getting dragged through the screen with claws, that Cassie thinks there was probably more to internet safety than she thought

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This AU is takes ideas from both Digimon animes, and various Power Ranger series

Short explanation. Tim accidentally digivolved a .mon while messing with a DigiMorpher through the screen. using the digivolution energy, the .mon dragged him into the digital world cuz it was curious

Cassie's mom found a DigiMorpher and Pusurimon thought "it's fate!" and asked a friend to drag her in while it was busy draggin in Tim. Cassie & Pusuri met through the forum

Cassie coming in with her own DigiMorpher digivolved Pusurimon to Herissmon

Luthor was poking around the digital world and decided to try and raise a loyal digimon from birth. The baby wasn't even meant to hatch yet, he intended to have it be a designer baby

Thorn stole a very vulnerable prototype. When it's time to Digivolve at last, Yuramon used the vulnerabilities to meet it's partner face to face at last w/ the help of a DigiMorpher

Bart and Terriermon already had their own & figured out how to turn it on at long last (for whatever reason it would not turn on), this allowed them to reenter the digital world

This is also the eighth's first meeting altogether

In a nutshell; Tim and Commandramon, Cassie and Herissmon, Thorn and Petimeramon, Bart and Terriermon

confused? Me too. I'm jumping from section to section typing this up as we go along

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I didn't make a backstory of lore lol

Basically, the four are the DigiDestined chosen to wield DigiMorphers, special Digivices that not only Digivolve their partners but also allow the wielders to DigiMorph into the Power Rangers of the Digital Division; Digivision for short

They are a special group of Power Rangers meant to protect the Digital and Real World from threats connected to the Digital World or will have a negative effect on it

These DigiMorphers come with the ability to transport their holder and whatever/whomever they choose between the two worlds

Furthermore, as their partners, the four Digimon get this for free, no DigiMorpher required

Oh frick, the actual Power Rangers part

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Tim Drake - Virus Ranger, suit's main color is blue camouflage just like his partner's

Thorn - Data Ranger, suit mixes yellow & orange w/ accents of red

Bart Allen - Vaccine Ranger, cream with a secondary green

Cassie Sandsmark - Free Ranger, silver with golden accents

When transformed, their partners will gain pieces of armor matching or similar to the ranger's suits. in Commandramon's case, a full wardrobe change

I was agonizing over what classic colors to give the four, until I realized it was completely unneeded, canon is our bitch

DigiMorpher suits are designed to integrate traits and colors of the ranger's partner

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Team dynamics!

// Bart is from a dystopic future and was placed in a virtual reality to experience growing up in a body matching his mental age. Except he got booted into a post-apocalyptic Digital World. Oh, and he could use the speed force without restriction here

There he met Terriermon and they've been partners ever since, they also found an inactive DigiMorpher. It's a mystery they've spent forever trying to solve

By the time his mind caught up with his body, the two got booted again to what the rest call present time. Likely due to the two experimenting with the speed force or using it for something else for whatever reason, maybe it was even intentional

Due to growing up and only remembering the digital world, learning about Earth through lingering data, Bart is the de facto leader for any operations dealing with Digimon or the Digital World

However, the Digital World he and Terriermon knew was post-apocalyptic, and they know next to nothing about their Earth, much less it's history-now-present

They have their work cut out for them relearning and learning so much. Feeling out of place in their home will probably also be an angst point even if the digital world truly is better this way than it was in the future

// Tim Drake, by virtue of extensive parental neglect and a load of natural curiosity, knows the most about superism and the Real World, missions taking place there or regarding it falls onto him to work with

// So Bart and Tim are co-leaders of sort

// Cassie—by virtue of her divine lineage—is best suited for conversing with Digimon of divine/irl cultural origin. Direct relation to the Zues puts a foot in the door. She's close with her mother and has learned plenty of several cultures so the knowledge will help as well

((see the wikimon's page for list of mythological refs in digimon))

All there is to worry about is how much she knows in the first place and the cultural differences of the cultures of an entire digital world!

// Thorn—seconded by Bart—has the most learning to do

Whereas Bart has to relearn a familiar but unfamiliar world and a brand new one, Thorn has to learn two new worlds at once

Thorn is a clone fed so many lies by Luthor and he's only just figured out that some of his world is built on lies

He and Petimeramon have a long way to go, but him telling the crew his backstory may just give them a head start to listing down their future rogues gallery 

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if Jason still dies and Batman spirals just like in canon, instead of Tim cleaning up after him—

Well Tim is still gonna make sure the victims are recovered from his rampage, but he's not going to become Robin. he has his own team

Instead he and Dobermon (less obvious artillery and thus less likely to make Batman think bad of them) are going to force Batman to listen to them and maybe request their teammates or other digimon they can recruit for backup

This is an intervention. Batman will either put up the cape and only come back if he attends therapy and genuinely recovers enough from his grief to be a sufficient hero again

Should Batman continue brutalizing Gothamites however, they will chase him down and have him imprisoned legally for as long as the law allows

"Do you want to keep being a hero Batman? It's yes or no."

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Attributes!

Ever since entering the Digital World (with Bart being an exception, we'll get to him when we get there) the four gained Attributes which they share with their partners. Thank the DigiMorphers for that

// Tim has the Virus attribute, as he has been hacking and distorting data for a good while

Plus Commandramon can camouflage in real time, something Tim had to learn to get Batphotos

// Cassie has the Free attribute, since she's descended from Zues who existed before technology, much less attributes, ever existed

Herissmon stores treasures in its fur only shared with close friends, a nod to Helena's archeology career

// Thorn ignores his Kryptonian heritage, wants nothing to do with supers, and tries to pass for human for his own personal peace, hence the Data attribute

His partner starting off as a petimeramon in the Baby II stage instead of Child stage like everyone else's is also a metaphor for how much learning they have to do

// Bart has a Vaccine Attribute due to having future knowledge and can thus act against threats that otherwise would have succeeded ahead of time

Oh, and a big reason for the apocalypse the Digital World went through was the X Program, which Bart and Terriermon only knew the aftermath of

Terriermon was born into the Digital World with a dormant X-Antibody of its own while Bart got that and his Vaccine attribute after the two agreed to be partners

The X Program has been dormant itself too, but better safe than sorry, the surviving digimon of the apocalypse say

I haven't come up w/ exact details but when in the Digital World, or in Ranger form, their attributes become more prominent in some way, shape, or form. Doubly so doing both at once

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They are the second generation of the Digivision, and even if information on their predecessors exist, it leaves a lot to be desired

So instead they must turn to the morphers themselves; Tim takes it upon himself to try and crack—maybe even jailbreak—them

It's up to the writer how much information they can yield from the morphers, plus the intricacies of the task (for example, say Tim need the morpher's wielder presence or even aid to avoid meeting an even greater firewall), but it's going to a tough and long ride 

Maybe there's episodes where Tim or others fuck up when he's hacking places in the Digital World or the DigiMorphers or even the mechas and hijinks ensue as they cope with and try to fix their mistakes

I don't even know how they figure out the whole DigiDestined and Power Rangers deal 💀💀💀 we can worry about that later lol

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"Power Rangers, Digitize!" that's the transformation phrase

Maybe because the morphers were found rusted, in a destroyed Digital World, and otherwise left to rot for a good while

That could be a plotpoint, all the DigiMorphers are damaged in their own unique ways, repairing them requires different solutions but unlocks stronger features over time

Initially they can only transform or Digivolve, neither at once

but as their Morphers get repaired they unlock transforming and digivolving, weapons, biomerging, and the obligatory mechas

Except I want it to be a blend of biomerging and my memories of typical power ranger mechas

And I think I have a compromise. When it's time to bring the mecha out, the respective Ranger and Digimon have to be biomerged, turn into pure Data, and then they can go into the mech as data, and pilot it from there

So they effectively become the mech in a sense

When making the obligatory megamecha, it's basically eight people synchronized into one until it's time to unmerge

Said mechas are scattered across the Digital and Real world, so the team has to learn/know they exist, find them, and first time using them manually transfer them across worlds if they want to.

Later on as Morphers get repaired they can summon their mechas across worlds and to their coordinates with a command, but early into using them, this time sensitivity is going to be something they have to manage

Idk what they'd even be called I just know they exist in this au

I got nothing else lmao 💀💀💀💀

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So the DigiDestined are like, really young here, like somewhere around ten to thirteen, which begs the question

Do they look like adults in Ranger form or are obviously kids?

The former gives secret identity security + identity shenanigans + dramatic irony, while the latter can be used for Outsider POV angst and humor as kids whoop their elders asses

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Also as the Power Rangers Digital Division make a name for themselves, I think they'd try to make connections in the Digital World and maybe the real one too to gain manpower and ease the weight off their shoulders

Since they have to focus on the duties they got dubiously selected for, any other time spent outside of obligatory Ranger and DigiDestined stuff would be spent doing volunteer work and other lowscale street level stuff, like so low scale it's barely even crime fighting

I'm taking saving cats from trees lowscale

If anyone argues against them being so low-level in the super scene, even by streetlevel standards, people immedietely point to the rare times a gigantic monster popped up which only the eight were equipped to fight against via their own megamecha

and the statements where they said they're very focussed on fighting threats before they reach the kaiju vs megamecha point of fighting

its even worse if they are very clearly children

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Tim does not tinker with a digimon data on the principle that he is not playing god in a way that can go dramatically wrong but he does learn how to observe the data. Data he can record

Later on, he learns when transformed &/or in the digital world, he can view their own DNA as if it were data and some of that data in Terriermon's and Bart's is the X-Antibody they've talked about

If he can activate it, he can unlock more digivolutions and security and a major leg-up against their foes in general

Maybe he can even give it to his whole team and other allies giving them an edge in battle

And they don't need to worry about the X Program at all if they play their cards right, right?

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Wait how does this affect Young Justice/Teen Titans and canonical relationships---?

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Extra notes

Petimeramon digivolves into a candmon the first time in hopes of giving back the sunlight Thorn gave them; alas, they became a Data Attribute who couldn't

But maybe later down the line, they can become a Coronamon and give Thorn that sunlight they want to give back

Came up with Thorn's name when figuring out a believable shortening of "Thir" in "thirteen"

Heck ya boy isn't gonna like that they share a villain with Superman from the very start, that guy said Superman would have him killed!

But Cassie and Tim can teach the facts of Luthor's villainy, just how deep it goes, and the truth to contradict the lies he lived trusting

Heck if digimon based on irl mythology and the real deals interact, wtf is gonna happen? Cassie my girl, will you be okay?

Remember the post about Tim not seeing himself as obligated to follow Batman's morality? Dobermon, who Commandra can digivolve to, has the power to steal abilities and destroy Digicores, which sound up his alley when push comes to shove

idk if other power ranger groups exist here or not but the crossovers between would be fun

I mean, the words Digital Division implies other groups so that can go into the team's research as well

Heck maybe some Power Rangers are retired and or still active and there's a sideplot where after learning of the Digital Division, they try to track them down to give their own guidance and support

The wikimon is your savior if you dunno anything about digimon like me

Main thing that made me drop the idea of doing ranger colors is the fact that Bart or Tim are both team leader at least at the start

I was like "how do I make them both red & thus leader?" then I remember that fanfiction is all about heresy against canon lol

This is basically Digimon with Power Rangers tacked on, maybe the Digital Division was formed when previous rangers met digimon due to threats to the two joined together and stuck for a good long time? idk my brain is cooked

I think seeing Barbara duke it out against Digimon or the Power Rangers and even manage to get herself her own Digivice, maybe even a DigiMorpher, perhaps even a DIY version, would be fun

Barbara getting her own Digimon and being an outside context problem the Power Rangers don't even anticipate would be fun af to explore, even more her diy-ing a digivice or even morpher

While the digimon start off in one evolution branch with the same attribute as their partners, later on they will experiment with their entire trees

Speaking of evolution tree's, all I got for go-to adult stage evolutions at the start are Dobermon for Commandramon and Galgomon to Rapidmon for Terriermon

Feel free but not pressured to add onto this as you wish!

I know absolutely nothing about Digimon and only a slight bit more about Power Rangers. However, this was fascinating to read.

Some aspects I loved about this AU:

Kon's name being Thorn. Since he never meets Superman, that makes so much sense! Fics where Kon has a different name would be cool to see/explore (especially if he was glancing at alternative versions of himself).

The digital world with YJ was a very interesting concept to think about. Idk much about Digimon, but there's a ton of cool ideas to explore just with the notion that YJ has to protect an alternate dimension (dimension meaning one connected to their world but not easily accessible by the populace [like hell, virtual internet, some shit Raven sees, etc.])

Barbara would become God if she got her hands on this world, and I am here for that. That woman deserves to be worshiped and praised

The attributes are hella cool and definitely fit the characters well

Threatening Batman with jail time :D

YJ meeting sooner than canon. It's just such a cute concept

The nod to Spider-Man with the smaller level crimes

There's more, but those stuck out.

I really loved your little comments throughout and "canon is our bitch" specifically made me laugh.

I am curious about the other yj members. Would they have this AU's powers temporarily while they are part of the team?

[mikhailwrites]

Keep your Sergeant happy / Ghost x Soap

Kinktober #18 - Cooking (from the SFW prompt list, made a bit NSFW)

Soap stares. Shocked out of his wit, which is almost unheard of. A confused “You… cook?” is the only response he’s capable of.

“I do. Been told I’m rather good at it, too,” Ghost adds, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Two weeks. Soap and Ghost are holed up in a safe house in the middle of nowhere for two weeks, and the Sergeant is seriously starting to lose it. They don’t even know if they’re really in danger; all Price told them was, “There’s been a leak; lay low, don’t return to the base until you hear from me”. It’s just their luck they’ve been out on a deployment to Germany when it happened.

They’ve been living off canned food and stashed MREs for too long, and Soap’s had just enough. He looks into the cupboard for the umpteenth time as if he doesn’t know what he’ll find there. More cans. “Ah swear Ah will throw up if I have tae eat one more canned meat.” Johnny groans, going through the stash in hopes of finding something else.

Ghost hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything encouraging or otherwise. Soap is sure his Lieutenant could live from berries and roots if it came to that. Or hunt a rabbit with his bare hands or something. He’s seen Ghost’s survival skills first-hand many times. Fuck, Soap would kill for a rabbit. Or a fish. Or anything other than a disgusting piece of pseudo-meat in the sleazy gravy. But there’s nothing else, and his stomach has been growling for over an hour.

By the third, slowly chewed bite, Soap is willing to call this shit worse than actual torture. Closing his eyes as he feeds himself another piece, Soap feels his face contort in a mixture of disgust and apprehension.

“You look like you’re about to die, Johnny,” Ghost says without a hint of emotion.

Soap sighs, putting the dreaded can away as he hopes the few bites would be enough to calm his stomach and give it at least an illusion of sustenance. “Might as well if I have to eat one more of these.”

Ghost chuckles, shaking his head slowly. “Any food is better than no food, trust me.”

Soap knows, truly, but that doesn’t mean he can’t bitch about it, does it?

“Tell you what, if you can manage two cans a day, I’ll cook something nice for you when we get back,” Ghost offers and… he sounds almost cheerful as he says it.

Soap stares. Shocked out of his wit, which is almost unheard of. A confused “You… cook?” is the only response he’s capable of.

“I do. Been told I’m rather good at it, too,” Ghost adds, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Only the sly glint in his eyes betrays the truth that he enjoys teasing Soap.

“What… uh… okay? Alright.” Soap stutters and reluctantly takes the half-eaten can.

Ghost nods his approval. “That’s the spirit, Johnny. So… what’d you like? And I swear to God, if you say haggis, you’re not gonna live it down.”

“Why? Ye cannae do haggis?” Soap teases but quickly reconsiders as Ghost turns to him fully, casually flipping a knife. “Alright, alright! I dinnae even like haggis, ye British twat! Tikka masala fine with ye?”

“Butter chicken it is,” Ghost agrees, hiding the knife away.

The following week is a blur. They get back, Price briefs them, and then they have to catch up on the piles of work that, somehow, could wait up until then but couldn’t wait any longer. Johnny was looking forward to returning home, but now that he’s home, it’s not as happy a reunion as he hoped.

Soap is just finishing up for the day, tired, apathetic and irritable. For the first time ever, he’s seriously considering taking a few days' leave. Ghost’s voice stops him as he reaches the door. “Soap, meet me at the mess hall at 2300.”

It’s a weird request at best, and Soap blinks a few times before he turns around. The Lieutenant doesn’t spare him a glance, still typing away on his keyboard. Maybe Soap didn’t hear right? “Come again?”

“Mess hall, 2300, be there,” Ghost repeats without any further explanation.

Soap nods, too tired to bother. “Sure.”

As a matter of fact, he’s too tired to ponder on it. Ghost tells him to be somewhere, Soap does it, easy as that—no thinking required.

The moment he steps into the mess hall, five minutes to eleven, he realises what’s going on. The smell of masala, garlic and turmeric is enough to make his mouth water immediately. He remembers Ghost’s promise now.

Entering the kitchen, he sees Ghost dressed in his usual black attire, with a white apron. The balaclava is tucked up on his nose because, obviously, he needs to smell and taste the sauce. Nobody would ever believe Soap if he told them.

“You were actually serious,” Johnny says as he leans against the counter, watching in astonishment as Ghost prepares the meal. No, not Ghost, it’s Simon now. And Simon’s moves in the kitchen are just as steady and well-practised Ghost’s on the battlefield.

Simon chuckles, stirring the sauce. “I was. Now, hand me the plates.”

Soap does, feeling a bit nostalgic. He used to help his maw in the kitchen when he was but a wee kid. He watches Simon fill the plates with rice, pouring a generous amount of sauce over it and adding a healthy amount of chicken on top. “Here you go, one chicken tikka masala.”

They sit at the table; it’s a bit weird being the only two people there, but Soap doesn’t mind. This feels nice. Unsure of what to expect, he scoops some rice with his fork, adding the sauce to it, before he tenderly tastes it.

“Holy shit,” Soap utters in disbelief, staring first into his plate, then at Simon, who looks very pleased with himself as he eats his own portion. “This is so good!”

“Thank you,” Simon smirks. “Told you I can cook.”

It’s true, but for some reason, Johnny really thought he was joking. Ghost. Cooking. And acing it, as he aces pretty much anything he does. On a closer inspection, it shouldn’t surprise him. Soap opts for not saying anything and just enjoying the amazing treat. When he tastes the chicken that was probably soaking in the marinating sauce for some time, he moans obscenely. The food is honestly much better than it has any right to be. So good, in fact, that it strips Soap of his brain-to-mouth filter. “If you’re at least half as good a lay as you are a cook, I wanna marry ye.”

Simon pauses, fork with another bite lifted halfway. His eyes are wide with surprise.

“Oh fuck…,” Soap breathes out as he realises not only what did he just say but to whom.

Simon smiles, one of his slightly scary, feral smiles. “Technically, this could count as a dinner.”

Soap is fighting the overwhelming mixture of confusion and panic. He has no clue what’s going on, but Simon doesn’t seem offended, which is good. In fact, he looks… intrigued. Okay, Soap can work with that. “You think me some easy lad, letting you have your way with me after just one dinner?”

“It’s a damn good dinner,” Simon shrugs. He watches Soap intently, and the intent is dark and hungry.

Johnny slides his foot under the table until it nudges against Simon’s. It’s a safe touch, nothing overt or inappropriate. “Aye, it is. Makes me want to ask about the dessert.”

Simon’s foot nudges him right back with more strength, forcing Soap to spread his legs a little. Bleedin’ Jesus, is this really happening? “I might have something… back in my room.”

Soap finishes his plate in a record time, feeling genuinely sorry because it was definitely good enough to savour. Maybe he could convince Ghost to cook for him again. He’s determined to try.

It’s a small miracle they make it to Ghost’s room without any incidents. The moment the doors close, however, Simon is already yanking the balaclava off, mashing their mouths together as he wrestles with Soap’s clothes.

Johnny helps with that and then promptly returns the favour, eager to touch every inch of exposed skin, to kiss and taste everything Simon offers. And he offers plenty. They kiss, and they rut against each other, desperately trying to relieve some of the tension. However, it’s not that easy because it has been building up for months. The banter, the flirting, the seemingly innocent touches. It all culminates right here, at this moment.

Johnny has no idea when exactly their dynamic shifts, but at one moment, Simon is kissing him, licking his way into Johnny’s mouth, and the next, it’s Johnny, pressing on, forcing Simon to take a step back, then another, until they get to the bed. He’s never imagined Ghost as anything other than pushy top, but it seems that he was wrong. Still, he needs to clarify. “You want me to…?”

“Yeah, Johnny, fuck me,” Simon says, almost painfully blunt but perfectly clear. Johnny pauses to take a deep breath.

“It’d be my absolute pleasure, Simon,” Johnny grins, pushing Ghost back, causing him to fall on the bed. Ghost could immediately turn the tables if he felt so inclined, and it turns Soap on. He gets Ghost to cook for him, he gets him to be manhandled, and he gets to fuck him. He might just be the luckiest lad in the whole fucking world.

It’s good, so good. Simon is far from passive; he wants Johnny, and what Simon wants, Simon gets. Slowing down and speeding up again, changing the angle ever so slightly, they work together in nearly perfect sync to prolong their pleasure. Despite their best efforts, it cannot last.

Johnny is the first to succumb, gasping, only barely managing to keep reasonably quiet as the sweet respite takes him. Simon is close behind, grunting and arching his back as he grinds against Soap.

They lay on the bed, side by side, sticky and messy, yet unable to do anything about it for the moment.

“I’m doomed. You are as good a fuck as you are a cook,” Johnny laughs, quiet and light, tracing invisible patterns on Simon’s skin.

“I’m not marrying you, Johnny,” Simon retorts in a tone just as light.

“You say that now, but wait until the second date.”

[allthatmay]

Okay, look, I literally couldn't stop myself. (I just tripped and fell into my keyboard?) Here's the unpolished intro to the Sugar Baby Ace fic I may or may not be writing...

Ace creates the profile as a joke, partly—or, so he tells himself, anyway. It’s easy enough to pick a nice picture of himself with his face partially hidden by his signature hat, and fill in the relevant details: aged 20, gardener by day, bar worker by night. When it asks his sexuality, he puts, “As gay as the day is long,” and cackles about it for an unreasonable length of time, undoubtedly brought on by the undiluted tequila sitting in his stomach.

“This is stupid,” he says to himself, hiccuping, and then throws his laptop into the empty space beside him. Sighing, he lays down, eyes heavy, gaze swimming, and reconsiders his entire life. Then, remembering the contents of his bank account, he sits back up. “I'll at least have a look...”

As it turns out, scrolling through the profiles of rich, privileged men is not something Ace cares for. Plenty of them are handsome enough—some of them he even considers with desire—but none of them truly catch his attention. He spends ten minutes scrolling, scoffing, sighing. However, moments before he’s about to give up, he hits upon a really interesting profile.

“Shanks…?”

Saying the name aloud does not dispel the illusion: Ace is looking at a profile of Shanks, his brother’s distant but cherished role model. Luffy has admired Shanks ever since they met by happenstance over a decade ago. What the hell is he doing on a site that connects sugar babies with daddies?

On a whim, Ace clicks on Shanks’ profile. It’s one of the nicer one’s he’s seen; Shanks has chosen a handful of handsome photos of himself. One particular photo of him half-naked at the beach has Ace staring for a long, embarrassing minute as he admires the shape of the sunbeams across Shanks’ bare chest. He swallows the unknowable feeling in his throat, then returns to reading Shanks’ profile. For a man so loquacious, he’s written very little about himself.

I don’t take myself seriously. You’re a different story.

Something about its simplicity has Ace chewing on his bottom lip, contemplating the idea of reaching out.

“This is insane,” he says; it’s easier to parse his inebriated thoughts aloud. “Fuck, what am I thinking?”

Of course, looking back at Shanks’ profile doesn’t help. The man has an irritatingly eye-catching and infectious smile, and his gaze pierces through Ace, even though he’s nothing but an image on a screen. Ace considers what Shanks might say if he adds him, but draws a blank; he’s only met Shanks a handful of times, and he’s always been surprised by the man’s countenance.

That thought, in the end, is what has Ace pressing the “Send Friend Request” button. The deed done, he closes his laptop and puts it on the floor, dragging himself drunkenly under the bedsheets for a night of dreamless sleep.

[koala-fluff]

Tickletober Day 4: Weak Spot

Fandom: Percy Jackson/Heroes of Olympus

Special thanks to @tickle-beans for helping out!

-Enjoy

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

"Annabeth? Aaaaanabeth?"

"What?" She snapped, looking up from her computer.

Percy smirked and held up a crudely drawn photo of Hera with a cow head labeled 'the queen'.

Annabeth chuckled and rolled her eyes. "We're supposed to be working on college applications, Percy."

He frowned. "But we've been doing that for hours! Can't we take a break?"

"No. The sooner we get it done, the sooner we will finish." She replied, focusing back on her computer.

He sighed, slumping into his chair. He shoved a few blueberries -courtesy of the wonderful mother of demigods, Sally Jackson- in his mouth and tried to focus. He tapped his foot and squinted at the screen, chewing the berries quite aggressively.

Annabeth glanced at him as he exhaled loudly and adjusted his posture. "Fine, you can take a break." She relented, typing away.

"But I want us both to have a break!" He muttered, closing his laptop. "When do you think you'll be done?" He asked a little louder.

"Soon." Was the only answer he got. He sighed and flopped onto his bed, ready to wait.

After five minutes, he decided he wasn't ready to wait that long.

He stood up and inspected his girlfriend. She was slouched slightly, her foot tapping in a steady rhythm. Her gray eyes were dark as she stared at her screen. The tapping of the keyboard seemed to be the only thing she could hear.

Percy slowly moved to stand behind her. Despite her demigod training, she didn't notice him peek over her shoulder.

Her cursor was speeding across the Word document way too quickly. He tried to follow, but the words were too big and his brain was already fried from working on his own essay.

He pinched his nose. How to interrupt a child of Athena from sharing their knowledge? From his experience, there were only three ways to accomplish that with minimal casualties.

First, a monster attack, which Percy himself didn't want to deal with. Second was something he didn't feel like doing right now. The last thing was…

Percy smiled from ear to ear and crept a few inches closer, his hands slowly moved towards Annabeth. He paused a moment, making sure she truly was lost to the computer, before latching his hands onto her sides.

She gasped and froze. Percy could see her reflection on her screen. Her eyes were wide.

"Percy…" she said, like talking slowly would save her from her fate. "Don't. You. Dare."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He said as deadpan as he could manage. "I'm just watching you work. So keep going."

She hesitated, glancing up at his face through the reflection. He assumed he did well at keeping a straight face, cause she looked back at her document.

He let her type approximately ten words before he slowly curled his fingers. She froze again. A shuddering breath exited her lungs and she arched away.

"Percy." She said, a little more sternly.

"What? Why'd you stop?" He blinked innocently, uncurling his fingers just as slowly.

"Percy!" She yelped, finally twisting away. She turned in her chair to face him. There was quite a fearsome scowl on her face. "Stop it!" 

He tilted his head. "Stop what?"

"Tickling me!" She replied, her face going a slight shade of pink.

Percy let his grin show. "Well, I wasn't tickling you before, but I can now!"

He turned her chair, making her yelp again. She tried to stand up, but Percy caught her in a hug. He pulled her close, squishing her face into his chest, and dug his fingers into her sides.

Her knees buckled instantly. "PEHERCIHIUS JAHACKSOHON!" She shrieked as he followed her down. His grin widened and he carefully put her down on her back before continuing his attack.

"That is indeed my full name." He said as she failed to escape from underneath him. "Any other mind blowing information you'd like to share?"

Evidently, she only had a few Greek curses to say. Or were they curses? It was hard to tell with the hysterical laughter in the way.

He paused, letting her catch her breath. "Are you gonna stop working and take a break?"

She glared at him. "No, we haHAHA! PEHERCY!" He dug his fingers back into her sides, his thumbs wiggling against her bottom ribs.

"Just take a break!"

"NAHAHO!"

"Don't make me do it, Wise Girl!"

"DOHOHOHON'T YOUHO DAHARE!"

"Agree to take a break, and I won't."

"WEHE GOHOTTA FIHINISH-"

Percy ducked his head and blew a raspberry against her side. She screamed and tried to push his head away to no avail.  The Son of Poseidon would not be refused.

"FIHIHINE!" She relented, her laughter starting to go silent.

Percy stopped and helped her sit up. He patted her back as she caught her breath.

"Youhou suhuck." She stated, glaring at him. It would be scary, except for the fact that her face was red and she couldn't stop smiling.

"I know." Percy replied, smirking and wiggling his eyebrows. "But you love me anyway."

She rolled her eyes and kissed his cheek. "I guess I do."

"You wanna go downstairs for water?" Percy asked after a short pause. "And to tell my mom that I didn't murder you."

Annabeth nodded. She stood up and Percy followed suit. When they got to the door, she put her hand on his chest.

"Oh, and Percy?" He gulped at the look in her eyes. "When we get back up here, we are going to work on the essays. Or else."