#Hank Morgan

[queer-ragnelle]

New Adventures of a Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court (1988) || For Whom The Bell Tolls by John Donne

[idkaguyorsomething]

any retelling of the arthurian mythos could be vastly improved by the presence of hank morgan in its story. ¿bbc merlin? needed an episode where a 19th century engineer with a gun tries to usurp uther for his crimes against the common people. ¿camelot the musical? could’ve used a song where a connecticut yankee sings about all the bicycles he’s going to invent to improve this place’s infrastructure. ¿disney’s sword in the stone? ffs they already have a time-traveling wizard who introduces anachronistic technology and modern ideologies to king arthur. there is no excuse.

[masterwords]

Hi, I’d like to order a 32 please: A kiss while someone watches 😙

Coming right up! How about 2500 words of heart trouble that leads up to a heart-racing finish with a LOT of someones watching? Chicago retirement universe, football, sappy soft old men. This is unedited and scrappy, so please forgive glaring errors and halfway correct medical nonsense - I used to work in a coumadin clinic and with a cardiologist so I have some (probably outdated and definitely sketchy at this point) knowledge and that's about where we sit here. Forgive me for errors, I tried to remember things without trying to dive too far into research just to get them to kiss. We're in the CM universe, this is probably still closer to accurate than most of the show was. LOL (I'll put this on AO3 tomorrow. I have to go clean my house and get ready for a football game filled weekend of my own now.)

Warning ⚠️: heart problems & procedures, mention of death/implied abusive household (hotch's father)

(Send me a kiss (or LOTS of them) and I'll write you some hotchgan!)

**

Hotch hadn’t been to work in months. Summer vacation provided a clever cover for his ailing health, he thought. Usually he would pick up a summer course or two, just to keep busy, but it wasn’t required and this year he didn’t even consider it. His heart had begun to act funny sometime around spring break – nothing he hadn’t experienced before. Since Foyet, he’d had random periods of erratic heartbeats. Too fast, sometimes alarmingly so, but always over quickly. A few scary minutes accompanied by a seasick feeling and then back to normal. He would think about it for an hour after, sitting and waiting for the next one, for the Big One.

His father, riddled with cancer though he were, died of a heart attack right there in front of his eyes. One minute he was sitting on the couch talking, complaining about how dry his sandwich was (his mother made it without mayo, just meat and bread, because his body couldn’t tolerate the fat anymore) and then...everything stopped. His eyes went wide, his jaw went slack and he was gone. His heart just stopped, at least that’s the way Hotch remembered it. It was possible it didn’t go quite that way, he was young enough and filled with enough teenage vitriol that if he compared notes with his mother, it might look completely different. He didn’t care to find out, though. The idea that his father’s ticker just ceased to function one minute had always brought him some kind of strange comfort, scared as he was of it happening to him too. Like no matter how terrible a person he was, his clock had run out. His time was up. (Sean asked if his heart exploded, later, after the funeral. The image became ingrained in him, even now as an adult – a heart attack meant that your heart exploded gore in your chest, meat and blood everywhere. In relation to most people he hated the thought, but in relation to his father...well it seemed a fitting end.)

It came and went over the years, sometimes for days at a time, but his doctors assured him that it wasn’t anything to worry about. There were medications and treatments if it became persistent, if it didn’t reset on its own. It always did. He would worry his time was up, and then his heart would say no, not yet. You get another day, another week, another year. Just making sure you remember I’m here and I’m in charge.

But he was older now, and just before spring break as he taught a class on Criminal Law to his to his grad students, he felt his heart begin hammering in his chest faster than it ever had before. He put his hand on his chest and swallowed hard, that had always worked before somehow (maybe only by coincidence) but it only served to make him feel faint. Stubbornly, he pressed on and turning toward the white board, he looked up, squinted to read the words he’d written and grabbed for the red marker he intended to use.

The next thing he knew he was waking up on the floor with a sea of concerned faces staring down at him.

Most people could go a whole lifetime without collapsing in the middle of a presentation, yet he’d done it twice now. Where was the justice in that? The only silver lining was that this time he happened to wake back up before he was in an ambulance with an oxygen mask obscuring his face. (Just barely. The EMTs arrived just a few minutes later and he was alert enough to insist on standing with their help and walking to the ambulance rather than ride on the stretcher through the hallway of his university.)

This time, it didn’t reset on its own, not for hours.

This time Derek was called out of his classes, leaving his baseball team to the assistant coach so he could rush over and sit with Hotch while they attempted to get his heart back into a normal sinus rhythm. Even then, it was precarious. They didn’t expect it to last, not with the onslaught of concerning symptoms that brought him here in the first place. He went home with a pile of new prescriptions to try and treat it medically, all of which failed spectacularly in everything except making him feel like garbage. His least favorite was the re-introduction of blood thinners into his life. The last time he’d taken them was the months after Foyet when they feared that he was at risk of stroke due to the severity and location of his injuries, and the lasting effects those same injuries had on George Foyet himself. Hotch had argued that Foyet had stabbed himself more times, that he’d practiced, that nine was a lot less than what Foyet wore but he had taken the blood thinners dutifully then and he did now too. He suffered through weekly appointments to check his INR, make sure that everything was looking like it should, and because he had Jack and Hank and Derek looking at him like that...wondering if he was going to have a stroke...he never missed or rescheduled a single appointment even if it meant throwing his entire day into disarray. He limped himself along to the end of the year on sheer determination, refusal to cut and run before his students were finished with the courses they’d all begun together. He’d seen them this far, and if his last couple of lectures were given while he leaned heavily on the podium (or sat at his desk on one particularly bad afternoon) then so be it. They always forgave him.

As soon as school was out, he scheduled himself in for an ablation – a procedure to try and go at it from the inside. They assured him that he might feel bad for a while after while he healed, but it was likely to be the ticket. The way to get him back to feeling like himself. The way to get him off of the blood thinners.

The whole time he just felt tired. Not necessarily sick, just unable to do much of anything. His normally active lifestyle had become difficult and sometimes impossible. He and Derek would ride bikes on the weekends or run in the morning and he tried to maintain it, his doctors told him it was in his best interest to be as active as he could be, but some days were just too hard and he couldn’t keep up. No one in his family made him feel bad about it, he did that plenty on his own.

He was miserable, watching summer slip by without getting to do much more than lie in a lounge chair in the backyard and soak up whatever sun Chicago provided him with. He missed out on their usual big summer trips to wherever Savannah was working, he’d said goodbye to Derek and Hank and Jack as they flew to southern Mexico to spend two weeks with her at the ocean. He wasn’t up for the flight and knew they’d all just spend the whole time worrying about him if he went at all. He was better off at home, spending afternoons playing cards with Anthony and Fran while Cindi was at work or going to movies with Desiree and Sarah. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t enjoy himself, he just had to stay close to home because when the exhaustion hit him it hit hard.

Once he had the procedure, things would be better. He was certain. At least after the healing period which would probably make him seem worse, and for the most part, he was right. He’d still decided not to work for a while, to take the first semester of the year off. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the time built up. He probably could have worked, but he didn’t need to and he wasn’t in the habit of killing himself for his job anymore. Things were already looking up a few weeks after the procedure. His energy was slowly returning along with his appetite and his desire to get out and be part of the world. The ever present fear that he would collapse again in public started to slip back into the recesses of his mind. He wasn’t feeling good, necessarily, but he was feeling better. There was hope that he was on the upswing finally.

Occasionally he overdid it and there were setbacks, but he was being good. Taking his medication on time every day, not missing appointments, things his younger self would have deemed impossible. A luxury he didn’t have. Well, now he had it in abundance. He’d spent the day before in the backyard, getting it ready for winter while he had the energy to do it. Derek had started the job but he had no love for these tasks and would avoid them as long as he could – Hotch wanted to do it, he wanted to push his hands into the cold soil and prepare it to sleep. But being outside all day had come with an evening of exhaustion like he hadn’t had in weeks, and the next morning he could barely pull himself out of bed. His body was scolding him again. “Rest today,” Derek said, kissing him on the top of the head. “Please. For the love of everything holy, rest.”

“Yes sir.”

He did. He didn’t exactly stay in bed all day but he did take it easy. He was motivated to take it easy, he had a reason. And when Derek came out of the bedroom and saw Hotch standing near the door dressed in the highschool’s colors, bundled up with Derek’s beat up old ball cap on, he couldn’t really understand it. Not after the way he looked that morning. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Hotch asked, checking the time. Derek frowned.

“It looks like you think you’re coming to the game. BOYS HURRY UP!” The last part was shouted as Derek turned back toward the hallway, a hallmark of dad-mode. Being able to carry on two simultaneous conversations, in different pitches and intensity, without skipping a beat. Jack shouted something back and something crashed against the floor, but Derek had already turned back to Hotch.

“I am coming to your game.”

“Like hell you are. You’ve been sick all day.”

“If I can sit at home then I can sit in the stands at a football game. It’s the state championship, Derek. You guys worked your tails off to get here, I’ve hardly seen you in months. How long has it been since your school has won?”

“Thirty years. We won when I was a senior.”

“Thirty years and I’m going to miss it because I’m tired?”

“Aaron…”

“Don’t Aaron me. I’m coming to watch you coach your team to a championship.”

“DAD!” Jack called, rushing down the hallway with Hank dangling upside down from his arms giggling. He was wearing his football jersey, minus the pads, and a pair of jeans that looked about two sizes smaller than Hotch would have preferred but he supposed that was the style these days. “You’re coming?!”

“Yes, I’m coming.”

“DADDY COMES!” Hank shouted, wiggling almost to the point of Jack dropping him.

“See? It’s settled.”

Derek gave him an unconvinced, almost exasperated look but he didn’t have the time to argue, he just took the whistle that Hotch extended to him with a smile and ushered them all out to the car in the cold October evening. They were playing on the Northwestern field, and some part of Hotch was a little worried – he’d taken the semester off to recover, to try anyway, and hadn’t seen his colleagues in months. He hoped they wouldn’t pay him too much attention.

The game moved fast – the crunch of shoulder pads, the shouting of gruff coaches and screaming of fans, the bright lights catching the freezing rain as it fell to the field and whipped around in the wind. The announcer called out name after name, and he watched Jack on the sidelines in his uniform cheering his friends on, holding a towel and wiping off game balls for the referees, helping keep the team hydrated. He was hoping to make Varsity next year, but his entire Junior Varsity team was there to cheer on the big guys and Jack was working a little extra hard to make sure his contribution was noticed. He couldn’t get onto Varsity by slacking, not with his dad coaching. He had to work twice as hard. It looked to Hotch, as he squinted at the full university stadium, that the whole city of Chicago had turned out to watch these boys from the south side bring home the title.

And when it came down to a field goal, when the whole stadium held its breath and watched that ball soar through the uprights, and when Derek was jumping around like a mad man amid shoulder pads and helmets and shouting crying teenagers, Hotch stood and cheered just as loud as anyone. His heart beat faster, thumped intensely in his chest, but it felt normal. The good fast. The kind that reminded him that he was alive and his body was built for a lot more than he gave it credit for sometimes. That he might be tired tomorrow but he would never get tonight back.

Being alive sometimes meant being uncomfortable, he realized as Derek bounded up the metal stairs taking two and three at a time, as he launched himself through the bleachers until he reached Hotch at his comfortable perch and practically threw himself at the man. “WE DID IT! WE DID IT! THEY DID IT!” He was beside himself with excitement, the pride of knowing what his kids had achieved, the memory of achieving it once himself so long ago he thought he’d forgotten but it felt the same now as it did then. It made his skin prickle, shock waves that made his bones jump, his head screaming for joy. The stadium had erupted in so much noise, but Hotch even with his bad hearing managed to hear him loud and clear, and when Derek wrapped him up and kissed him hard right there he didn’t put up a fight. He found his arms sliding around Derek’s waist, pinning them both in place, and the air sucked from his lungs, the beat in his heart all but stopping now. The stadium got quiet around them, the sound sucked into a vacuum, and then slowly a new sound erupted, a different kind of cheer, led by the football players on the field hooting and hollering. Hotch peeked one eye open to see the two of them kissing on the big screen right above the scoreboard, right above the score proclaiming their victory. He smiled into the kiss and closed his eyes again as fireworks began, and he let himself believe just for a moment that those fireworks were for them.

Being alive never felt so good. “Congratulations,” he whispered against Derek’s lips. “I love you.”

“Hot damn! I love you too baby! WE WON!”

[pd-characters-of-the-day]

Here is a public domain character,Hank Morgan from A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court

[vicontheinternet]

When we eventually get a third spin off of criminal minds with jack henry and hank as adults>>>

[sublimegentlemanalpaca]

I wonder what would happen if Don Quixote after some severe head trauma found himself in Camelot in stead of our beloved Connecticut Yankee. Alternatively, if Hank found himself squire to the good Lord of Lamancha in place of Sancho or a certain badger. Either scenario sounds interesting. Like…what if Don Quixote crossed paths with King Pellinore? Imagine that

[natti-ice]

for the universal blurb can you do breeding kink please? thank you!! <3

18+ mdni

cw: breeding kink, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, cum eating

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated<3

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

“please baby?” His voice was pure sex and you knew you couldn’t resist him, you loved him and the idea of letting him do this to you made your heart pound. The sweet pout on his face when he begged you to let him cum inside you was almost enough to make you say yes- almost. You watched him reach for the condom that you had placed onto his throbbing length, just itching to take it off.

“On one condition,” you started then paused to make the anticipation around you two thicker, you could practically see the desperation seeping out of his pores. A sinister grin spreads across your face as you say, “you have to lick it out when you’re done” his eyes widened in surprise but his grin matched yours quickly. “Deal.”

He immediately pulls the condom off of his cock and lines himself up with your dripping entrance, teasing it with the tip and lets out a needy groan. He slowly pushes past your entrance, working himself in and out inch by agonizing inch, your back arched off the soft sheets as he bottoms out inside of you. When he feels you’ve acclimated to his size he begins to thrust faster, both of your pleasured sounds fill up the spacious bedroom- anyone walking by would be envious of what’s taking place behind your bedroom door.

After your second orgasm you could tell he was getting close, his cock twitched against your walls and his thrusts became sloppy, “c-can’t wait to breed this little pussy” he grunts as his head falls back, his hips twitch as he releases inside of you. He pants hard as he slowly pulls out of you, the feeling of emptiness makes you whimper but when you feel his cum slowly drip down to your ass another wave of excitement hits you. You look up at the hot disheveled man who just gave you one of his best fucks to date, you giggle softly as you say “your turn now.”

Without hesitation he drops his head down to your pussy and gives it a slow long lick, you moan as you look down at him and see the white coating his tongue. His eyes meet yours as he swallows his own load, you’ve never seen something so hot before, you could probably cum off the sight alone. He doesn’t back down, he goes back for more and brings you to your third orgasm of the night.

[mx-pastelwriting]

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Hello! I am doing Kinktober this year; here is the month's menu. For every year I will make my own and it will be open for anyone to use for a list prompts.

Minors do not interact!

1 ☆ 𝙎𝙩𝙪𝙘𝙠: 𝙎𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙪𝙨 𝙎𝙣𝙖𝙥𝙚

2 ☆ 𝘽𝙧𝙪𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝘾𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙡𝙚 𝘾𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙣

3 ☆ 𝙐𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙬𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙧: 𝙂𝙖𝙣𝙜 𝙊𝙧𝙘𝙖/𝙆𝙪𝙜𝙤 𝙎𝙖𝙠𝙖𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙖

4 ☆ 𝙊𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙨𝙢 𝘿𝙚𝙣𝙞𝙖𝙡: 𝙉𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙣 𝙎𝙢𝙞𝙩𝙝

5 ☆ 𝙆𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝙀𝙙𝙙𝙞𝙚 𝘽𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠 & 𝙑𝙚𝙣𝙤𝙢

6 ☆ 𝙒𝙚𝙩 𝘿𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢: 𝙅𝙤𝙝𝙣 𝙋𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙚

7 ☆ 𝙋𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙎𝙚𝙭: 𝙃𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙗𝙖𝙡 𝙇𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧

8 ☆ 𝙃𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙘𝙪𝙛𝙛𝙨: 𝙎𝙤𝙣𝙣𝙮 𝘾𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙞

9 ☆ 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙩: 𝙍𝙚𝙢𝙪𝙨 𝙇𝙪𝙥𝙞𝙣

10 ☆ 𝘿𝙧𝙮 𝙃𝙪𝙢𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙚𝙡 𝘽𝙖𝙧𝙗𝙖

11 ☆ 𝘽𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙟𝙤𝙗: 𝙈𝙖𝙧𝙘𝙪𝙨 𝙑𝙤𝙡𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙞

12 ☆ 𝘾𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙧/𝙇𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙝: 𝙇𝙪𝙘𝙞𝙪𝙨 𝙈𝙖𝙡𝙛𝙤𝙮

13 ☆ 𝘼𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩 𝙖 𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙡: 𝙅𝙖𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙑𝙤𝙤𝙧𝙝𝙚𝙚𝙨

14 ☆ 𝙑𝙞𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧: (𝙋𝙧𝙚-𝙒𝙖𝙧 & 𝙋𝙤𝙨𝙩-𝙒𝙖𝙧) 𝘾𝙤𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙧 𝙃𝙤𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙙 (𝙎𝙚𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚)

15 ☆ 𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙚: 𝘾𝙖𝙞𝙪𝙨 𝙑𝙤𝙡𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙞

16 ☆ 𝙋𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙤: 𝙃𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝙋𝙖𝙡𝙢𝙚𝙧

17 ☆ 𝙉𝙪𝙙𝙚𝙨: 𝙇𝙚𝙚 𝙍𝙪𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙡

18 ☆ 𝘿𝙚𝙨𝙠: 𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙙 & 𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙚𝙮 (𝙎𝙚𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚)

19 ☆ 𝘾𝙪𝙢 𝙋𝙡𝙖𝙮: 𝙏𝙤𝙣𝙮 𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙠

20 ☆ 𝙂𝙡𝙤𝙧𝙮 𝙃𝙤𝙡𝙚: 𝘼𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙪𝙧 𝙈𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙣

21 ☆ 𝙋𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙤𝙣𝙚: 𝙃𝙚𝙞𝙢𝙙𝙖𝙡𝙡

22 ☆ 𝘽𝙖𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙮: 𝙆𝙡𝙖𝙪𝙨 𝙈𝙞𝙠𝙖𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙤𝙣

23 ☆ 𝘿𝙧𝙮 𝙃𝙪𝙢𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝘼𝙡𝙛𝙞𝙚 𝙎𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙢𝙤𝙣𝙨

24 ☆ 𝙇𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣: 𝙀𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙤𝙧/𝙀𝙣𝙟𝙞 𝙏𝙤𝙙𝙤𝙧𝙤𝙠𝙞

25 ☆ 𝙍𝙪𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙊𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙨𝙢: 𝙑𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙍𝙚𝙣𝙯𝙞

26 ☆ 𝘽𝙚𝙜𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝙂𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙩/𝙎𝙞𝙢𝙤𝙣 𝙍𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙮

27 ☆ 𝙌𝙪𝙞𝙚𝙩: 𝙅𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 𝙀𝙨𝙘𝙪𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙖

28 ☆ 𝙒𝙝𝙞𝙥 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢: 𝘿𝙖𝙧𝙮𝙡 𝘿𝙞𝙭𝙤𝙣

29 ☆ 𝙇𝙖𝙥 𝘿𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚: 𝙃𝙖𝙣𝙠 𝘼𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣

30 ☆ 𝙎𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙤𝙧 𝙃𝙪𝙡𝙠

31 ☆ 𝙐𝙣𝙞𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙢: 𝘼𝙡𝙡 𝙋𝙖𝙥𝙖 𝙀𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙪𝙨 (𝙎𝙚𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚)

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

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[multi-fandom-imagine]

Christmas Morning and your man walks out wearing these

What would you do?

<Suck his fucking dick thats what!>

{Greg House, Joel Miller, Stan Pines, Arthur Morgan, Bruce Wayne, Billy Butcher, John Price, Sam Drake,Bigby Wolf, Hank Anderson, Chris Redfield, Decker, Johnny Mactavish,Russell Adler,Frank Woods,Jayce}

[scivors]

"maybe I'm not so mentally ill" be so fucking for real your comfort characters are literally the worst people on this planet..

[queer-ragnelle]

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court by Mark Twain | More quotes at Arthuriana Daily

[apocalypse-shuffle]

PENELOPE GARCIA (criminal minds | ᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀʟ ᴍɪɴᴅs: ᴇᴠᴏʟᴜᴛɪᴏɴ)

— — —

“As Always” (Penelope Garcia x Fem!Reader)

| You reassure Penelope about her choice in outfit for y’all’s group night out (that’s really a double date) after she gets a little too in her own head about her appearance. As far as you’re concerned though she looks fine…very fine.

| SFW, getting ready, established relationship, the reader-insert is absolutely taken with Penelope (the feelings are mutual)

| Source: Criminal Minds & Criminal Minds: Evolution

| 700+ words

“Are you sure this’s okay? I really don’t want to be one of those women that shows up overdressed to an event on someone else’s big day,” she snaps her fingers, eyes widening behind her wide-rimmed cat-eye glasses, before her hands go back to smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from the skirt of her dress. “Like wearing white to someone else’s wedding— oh my god! Is there too much white on this dress? Do I look like some hack attending a wedding who’s wearing white out of pettiness?”

At the rush of her words you don’t even bat an eye, raising a single brow at the other woman.

“Penelope, Sweet Girl, it’s just the club.”

“Yes, but it’s also Derek and Savannah’s first night away from baby Hank. I don’t want to make it weird by showing up dressed too sexily.”

Penelope wasn’t wrong per say. Savannah had bounced back crazy good after giving birth, only retaining baby fat in ‘all the right places’ according to Derek’s forward ass, but she’d still undeniably transitioned to dressing more like a “mother” than she used to.

Only slim fitting pencil skirts and the occasional maxi length dress for y’all’s girl now.

Where you’re sitting on the edge of the bed in Penelope’s room, and watching her check herself out in the mirror, you don’t stop yourself from running your eyes up and down her body in response to what she’s said.

She’s staring at you when your eyes travel back upwards and her reflection meets your gaze in the mirror.

You grin, throwing her a wink.

“Mm, that’ll be impossible to help. You always look sexy.”

In real time you watch the tips of her ears shift from their usual pale to blush pink to the most poignant of reds.

Penelope laughs and waves you off with a little snort and a, “Stop it.”

“No thank you,” you respond cheekily, pushing yourself to your feet so you can walk over to her.

Once you’re standing directly behind her and you’re able to run your hands down her arms you rest your chin over her shoulder.

Lashes fluttering, she gives you this tender little smile and leans into your hold. You squeeze her wrists then rub your hands up and down her forearms.

In her kitten heels, bright colored corset, and short skater dress and matching jewelry she looks to die for.

You press a kiss to her cheek. You’d happily give a hundred peoples lives to keep that smile on her face. Not that you’d ever tell her that, obviously.

“Now stop worrying. You’ll get nothing but compliments about how cute you are right now from our friends, and you know it.”

She huffs, blonde curls bouncing with her movement and briefly obscuring your sight. You chuckle through the curtain of golden strands before delicately brushing her hair back over her shoulder and pressing yourself even more securely to her back.

“But—”

“Uh uh,” you click your tongue, “Unless you have a legitimate concern then there are no ‘buts’ here, Penny Poo.”

She pouts.

“You suck when you’re right.”

Nodding, you let go of her arms to circle your arms around her waist with a brief squeeze.

“Oh, I know,” you coo and blow a raspberry into her shoulder. “It’s a curse.”

“It’s hot is what it is.”

For a second you're helpless but to choke on your spit, you’ve sucked in such a sharp breath.

“Jesus, fuck, Penelope,” you cough, eyes watering, and back away from her so you can hack into your fist.

Her evil laughter meets your ears just as you’ve cleared your throat and then her soft hands are on you.

She rubs at your back until you're good and meets your eyes the moment you’ve straightened.

“Oh ho no, My Lovely Stunning Woman, you are not getting out of this now. Let me make you swoon like you make me everyday.”

Though it doesn’t show against your darker skin, you flush. “Right?”

“Hell yeah.” She grins then moves her hands so she can cup your face between them both, light hands ever gentle against the dewy brown of your skin. You shiver, blinking at her through your lashes in wonder. “You gonna let me kiss you, Honey?”

“I’d be crazy not to.”

“Yes,” she laughs, “yes you would be.” Then her lips are on yours and every ounce of the world around you that’s not solely narrowed in on your partner falls away.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!!

I figured I’d add to the Pen x Reader cache on here because, why not, I love Penelope’s character. We’ll see how much traction this gets because I can’t even guess.

[masterwords]

every day is a start of something beautiful

Summary: It's time for the leaves to be cleaned up. When kids are involved, you have to be ready for anything.

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan

Warnings: a few casual mentions of Hotch's childhood not being idyllic, a reference to Foyet, and references to Hotch having chronic pain/ailments.

Words: 2.3k

Notes: Comfortember Day 3 - Leaves. I couldn't resist Hank here. As with everything else this month, this is part of the Chicago Times universe. I hope you enjoy!

**

Hotch couldn’t actually remember the last time he raked up autumn leaves.

Maybe because the last time he raked up leaves was when he was a teenager. That was an awfully long time ago, judging by the faded edges of his memories.

He could vaguely remember waking up in the morning to the sound of his father hollering about the damn leaves. “Why in God’s name do we have so many damn trees?” It never failed, he’d be shouting about Hotch cleaning them up before he’d even wiped the sleep from his eyes. It would be a quick breakfast and then out the door with a thermos of hot cocoa for a long day of hard work. The icy breeze would bite at his fingertips through his wool gloves and his hands would be bleeding and blistered and bright red by the end of the day. During the course of his time outside, he would have picked up three or four more jobs – neighbors who were older and couldn’t do the work or simply wanted to outsource. He preferred those, they got him away from his house for days at a time. His weekends would be occupied with what he considered easy money during that lull between the glory of football season and the horrors of basketball – a sport he was truly terrible at. He was hardly more than a bench warmer or someone whose shoes squeaked on the court only when their team was so far up in points that they could put their third string kids in, but it was better than the nightmare of wrestling and it kept him busy and away from the house. He would rake for free, but everyone paid him. It kept his gas tank full and he was able to buy Haley flowers and snacks and maybe even one nice date without touching the money his parents gave him.

After University, they lived in apartments, never quite settled. A nice condo in DC when he was appointed as a Federal Prosecutor, and a grungy little dump in Seattle when he took a steep paycut to pursue his dreams as an FBI Agent. While the trees planted to line the streets had falling leaves, he never had to touch them. He only watched them flutter to the ground and be scooped up by city trucks, that was the same no matter which side of the country you inhabited. The type of trees might have changed, but the behaviors never did. When they moved back to D.C, they hired a lawn care service, and again when they moved out to Alexandria. Haley didn’t want to do it on her own and he didn’t have the time. They installed sprinkler systems, did all the mowing and all of the cleanup while Hotch worked his long hours and never saw any of it. Then came two apartments back to back, and lawn care services that would come and go in an hour, sucking up all of the beautiful decaying leaves in their big riding mowers and move on. It was impersonal and loud, and when it was all cleaned up he missed the joy of the colors the leaves brought. There were children who lived in his building who would play in the leaves until they were cleaned up, and the sound of their laughter and the rustling got him through a lot of long lonely days after Foyet’s attack.

Now, he and Derek had a house. Well, Derek had a house and was kind enough to open his doors to Hotch and Jack, inviting them to move in rather than see them go back to Virginia when they were released from protective custody. They were still taking things a little slow, poking along, living together but not saying words like love too often. (Even if it was always heavily implied.) Derek’s divorce was still fresh enough to be a wound and the year of witness protection, the loneliness and fear and physical decline, were still wearing on Hotch in ways he couldn’t cope with some days.

But then the leaves fell, and he felt grounded and connected and useful just thinking about doing something mundane and simple. Something people just did at a certain time of year. Something that meant he belonged.

The front lawn was not just scattered with leaves, it was covered. At least a foot existed between the crisp upper layer and the damp, darkness of the bottom layer that was killing the small patch of grass they called a front lawn. Maple leaves and Oak leaves married in a sea of velvet orange and yellow and brown. The acorns pelted the sidewalk and made walking a hazard. He hadn’t even bothered to look at the backyard yet, those trees were still dropping leaves. They had another week or so before he could look at it as a project.

“I’ve got the riding mower,” Derek said, kicking his feet up with a beer in front of the TV. He was ready to watch some football and relax, and Hotch was about to join him. At least for the relaxing bit, he couldn’t tell you who was playing in the game. It was more about settling in beneath a blanket with Derek, resting his cheek against the mound of his shoulder, and maybe even falling asleep. “I’ll just take it out.”

“Too many leaves and acorns, it’ll clog it all up. I don’t want to lose a window to an acorn. I’ll do it, I have tomorrow off.”

Derek eyed him and scrunched his nose, shaking his head no. Like he’d considered the offer and instead of making a counter was outright refusing it. “I’ve used that mower the last two years. It’ll be okay.”

“I’d like to do it,” Hotch said, recanting his previous offer and rewording it. He was a lawyer in another life, he could do this all day until he found a loophole to exploit. Derek wasn’t an idiot, he knew what Hotch was doing and he kind of liked it. This sort of back and forth almost always led to sex, and it had been a few days since they’d had any...he was ready for that outcome. He’d even give up watching football for it.

“How about we wait until the weekend? We’ll get the kids out there playing and it’ll go quick if we work together. Then we can walk down to Lem’s and grab a bite to eat.”

“You don’t have to help, it’s a small yard. This football season has been exhausting, you deserve a break.”

“I got all winter, bud. I’m not coaching wrestling or basketball, just overseeing. Don’t worry about me.”

“But you’re worrying about me.” Hotch could feel his upper hand slipping away as his feelings crept in, knowing now that Derek was only concerned about whether he could do it at all. They went out running most mornings together, went to the gym, played all sorts of sports with the kids and Derek was worried his body suddenly couldn’t handle raking leaves? It hurt a little and he didn’t bother to hide it.

“Of course I am. I know we’re pretty active as a family, but that’s exactly it. As a family. You’ve had ticker problems since Foyet, don’t you dare pretend you haven’t. I know we don’t talk about what’s up with your body after Foyet much, it’s your business, but I think about it all the time. Plus your back’s all jacked up, you’ve been walking like an old man all week. I’m not letting you do it by yourself.”

“You’re making it sound like I’m an invalid.”

“No, I’m preventing a reasonably healthy middle-aged man from putting himself in the hospital because he’s stubborn. There’s a difference.”

Hotch scoffed at that, but when the weekend came and they were all bundled up under the bright morning Chicago sun he was glad for the help. And the company. The yard looked larger than he thought as he stood on the porch scanning the job with the last of his coffee warming his hands, and the sound of Jack and Hank playing catch with a football nearby made him feel instantly warmer. Derek was right, loathe as he was to admit it. This was a task better suited to the whole family.

He and Derek began at opposite ends of the yard, raking big piles of leaves, smelling the sweet decay, that smell of fall that’s so intrinsic and almost cathartic it was hard to put into words. It signaled to Hotch that it was time to hibernate, to hunker down in a way nothing else could. He imagined another night on the couch, probably with his heating pad nestled against the ache in the small of his back (because Derek was right about that too), a mug of tea or a nice dark beer and a movie – sharing a blanket and a laugh with Derek. This was the good stuff.

It would be the reward for a job well done.

They managed four giant piles in the front yard. “Not bad for a days’ work,” Derek announced, grabbing Hotch triumphantly by the hand and walking him back toward the garage for the carpenter bags to stuff the leaves into. They spent a little extra time in the garage, kissing in the shadows beside the shelves of fertilizer and tools. Warm lips and cold hands, safe from the biting wind for just a few minutes. “Aren’t you glad we did it together?”

“Yes,” Hotch smiled into another kiss before insisting they get back to the yard and finish up because he was starving. When they returned to the front yard, they found Jack throwing Hank wildly into the piles. Screaming and squealing, arms in the air, hair flying wildly where a knit cap had been moments before. That knit cap was now in the mess of leaves, what remained of their nice neat piles. Hotch couldn’t find it in him to be angry, even if they had undone much of the work he’d effectively destroyed his body for. He’d be in pain for the next few days, and it was worth it, but it would have been nice not to have to do it all over again.

“Again! AGAIN!” Hank was squealing with delight, throwing his arms wide, giggling madly when he hit the pile on his belly and sent a spray of leaves around him up into the air.

Hotch stopped and folded his arms, just watching with the ghost of a tired smile. Derek, on the other hand, dropped his bags and rushed forward, diving right into a pile himself. He didn’t need an invitation to the fun, and he certainly wasn’t going to be upset at work wasted. Jack tossed Hank down on top of him and soon they were both laughing and throwing the little guy, taking turns. Hank’s appetite for flight was insatiable.

“Come on Aaron!” Derek yelled and Hank rushed, covered in scraps of leaves and dirt and grass, toward Hotch. The leaves in his hair caught the sunlight and gave the impression of a golden crown, Hotch thought as he watched the kid run toward him.

“AGAIN!” Hank shouted, raising his arms like Hotch knew exactly what he meant. And, in spite of how badly he wanted to preserve the piles because of all of their hard work, he couldn’t resist playing. He looked at Jack standing there, a brand new teenager, and realized he’d never done this with his own son. He’d never thrown Jack into a leaf pile. Had Jack ever played in one? He didn’t know, but he thought maybe not. And when had he last done it himself? Those memories were faded sepia and silent and slow. His grandfather had tossed him into one, he thought. Yes, his grandfather played with him in the leaves, long before Sean was born. Never his father (or his mother). His father hated the trees, hated the leaves, hated it all. And he’d always been too busy with teenager things to play with Sean. What a waste, he thought.

Resigning himself to the fate of doing the work all over again, he lifted Hank into the air, gave him a kiss on the nose that made the kid giggle and launched him toward the pile. Derek raised his arms and caught his son, burying them both in the leaves quickly while Hotch walked up behind Jack and shoved him in. Just toppled him right over into the last fresh pile, watching him sink in with a look of surprise that eventually melted from teenage too-cool-horror into a smile.

So, they would have to rake again. Maybe Hotch would let Derek get the riding mower out for the second time, make short work of it. Hotch did like watching Derek out on that thing, he had to admit. There was something about it that felt so domestic and sweet he couldn’t help it. He always managed to sit on the porch and watch Derek looking so pleased with something so silly. But when he and Derek began throwing leaves at one another, he didn’t think about all the work they’d put in or all the work they’d have to do again. It wasn’t easy to take his mind away from it, he had a way of getting on a loop of work done before fun, but Derek wasn’t having any of that. “You never have the fun,” Derek would remind him when he got so caught up in the work that he couldn’t see his way out. “Sometimes fun before work is fine.” That attitude was infectious. His smile managed to pull Hotch in and get him playing too.

He’d be itchy, would definitely have to suck down some benadryl when all was said and done, but even he wasn’t immune to ending up in a pile of sticky wet leaves and enjoying himself.

“AGAIN!”

[wandering-gambler]

18+ -I don't usually write these-

(I may or may not have added like 80% of the characters i like... This was also lazily done so excuse any errors)

This may sound weird but, for a female reader (or other), I just need him to play with my boobs. Not in like a sexual way, but more like I sit between his legs on the bed as we watch the sunset outside the window, and he wants something to have in his hands to play with, kinda way.

-----

Characters: (GI) Wanderer Zhongli Lyney Xiao (HSR) Dan Heng Boothill Blade Veritas Ratio Jing Yuan (DBH) Connor Hank Anderson (RickAndMorty) Rick Sanchez [and whoever else you want tbh] (RDR) Arthur Morgan and Dutch van der Linde |\| And whoever else you see fit

Does that make sense?

[miguel-owhora]

MASTERLIST GALORE

to be regularly updated :)

ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE

MIGUEL O'HARA - PETER B. PARKER

CALL OF DUTY

JOHN PRICE - KYLE GARRICK - SIMON RILEY - JOHN MACTAVISH - PHILLIP GRAVES - KONIG - VLADIMIR MAKAROV

MOON KNIGHT

STEVEN GRANT - MARC SPECTOR - JAKE LOCKLEY

RED DEAD REDEMPTION 2

ARTHUR MORGAN - DUTCH VAN DER LINDE - HOSEA MATTHEWS - MICAH BELL - BILL WILLIAMSON - KIERAN DUFFY - SEAN MACGUIRE

MISC

OTHER SHIT - MINOR CHARACTERS - TASK FORCE 141 - AUS - MODERN COLLEGE!MORBELL/REACTION YOUTUBER!MICAH AU

© MIGUEL-OWHORA

[jazzandother-blog]

Bobby Timmons with Hank Mobley and Art Blakey at Van Gelder Studio in Hackensack, New Jersey, on March 8, 1959.

"Just Coolin'" recording session by Art Blakey & The Jazz Messengers.

Photo by Francis Wolff

Just Coolin listen here:

Drums: Art Blakey

Piano: Bobby Timmons

Tenor Saxophone: Hank Mobley

Double Bass: Jymie Merritt

Trumpet: Lee Morgan

Source: AFRO BLUE CATS