#TY AGAIN FOR ASKING this was so fun to write

[mercless]

does high noon talon indiscriminately enjoy human suffering or do they avoid certain kinds of people ( ex. children , the elderly , people with disabilities ) ? inversely , do they revel in any specific type of suffering , whether from a certain type of person , or a specific kind of emotion or tragedy ?

All is fair in the world of human suffering; everyone's got something making their life harder then it has to be. Seeing how they do - or don't - deal with it was... is, Talon's favourite pastime. The only thing worth of note that's different is that they don't often see too many kids out on the open road, more often than not it's with families who would rather keep them safe then help a stranger out, and just ride on by their act. Most kids need more time to experience life anyway, to understand what true suffering is and what to be afraid of. To fear death. They're a great tool for tormenting those who care about them, though. Beyond that, age doesn't mean much compared to their drawn out existence. Talon probably doesn't even know the average age a normal human can reach (looks at yone after rell calls him an old man, this is now what old means in human terms nods.)

Not one to make encounters with typical humans last too long beyond a few hours, let along have a history, Talon doesn't care too much to learn about their personal history beyond why they're out on the trail. Maybe get the latest news or fabled hearings their victim knows, though it's not their only way of keeping up with the times. Owing debts is an uncomfortable feeling to most demons, so once they've paid their 'saviour' in kind with whatever they see fit for typically the shared water or rations, Talon will make their finishing move.

Falling into typical demon nature, Talon prefers tormenting those that have a lot further to fall into despair, or those who haven't known what it truly means to be unlucky. Getting to cause their unluckiest experience, and get the most of their terror? Like a fly to honey. The sweetest tragedies is when someone is about to reach a new chapter in their life, a few steps away from finishing a goal. It's all the easier out on roads on their way to and from the larger settlements like Progress. People both ways with big ambitions. Their go-to trick of someone's act of goodness being their downfall hasn't lost it's touch in generations, thinking they're reaching out to help someone in need... Well, it might make something in their chest pang with a thing called guilt now, and their grin lasts for a shorter amount every time, but they'll think of something new when it's run its course. At the very least there's a new kind of confused terror when their corrupted form is revealed, their victims unsure just what kind of foul abomination is about to strike them down.

But still, there's gotta be some kind of bad deed out there that doesn't make them feel conflicted, right?

[drainbangle]

wait omg i’m curious about your unpopular thoughts about temenos writing wise.. i love when people discuss octopath writing it’s really enriching to see what we all have to say about certain story elements. plus you’re like a temenos representative to me. your thoughts about temenos make me go “so true!”

Aw, thank you! It took a while for me to decide on what to write here, since honestly I could go on for… frankly any aspect of this guy, especially in regards to treatment in fanon. But for now, I'll focus on my thoughts regarding how people treat tragedy in Temenos' story— namely, Crick's death— and why I personally dislike it as a writing decision and why I disagree with the idea that it is necessary.

Note: Goes without saying, but this is my personal opinion. If you believe otherwise, then that's all good. I'm not writing this to say that any one person is wrong, just to talk about an issue I have with the game's writing itself.

To start, I'll say that my main reason for disliking Crick's death in SH route is a matter of practicality. Killing him off causes Temenos to lose the main person that he had a fantastic relationship and banter with, and in my opinion, Temenos works best when he's bouncing off another person; not unlike most under the Sherlock-archetype.

Also, genuinely? It works wonders to keep Crick alive, if just because it provides a fantastic avenue to explore Temenos' institutional trauma. Having a character that's lived a different experience but within the same harmful institution opens up ways to explore the scope of its harm. And yes, this is for Crick specifically; not Ort, not the travelers, but Crick.

I think it really adds something that Temenos was raised by the church while Crick converted as a teenager during a really difficult time in his life. These two are good for each other. Crick sure as hell makes it a lot easier to write Temenos in fic.

(If you have a different experience, again, that's cool. I'm glad for you. I, however, will never fail to take the easy way out.)

(This is a lie, I'm over here making up fantasy church law for fic stuff but that's not related to this answer.)

I won't pretend that disliking Crick's death is an unpopular opinion. I mean, "Stormhail Fix-it" is an entire genre of fic on the OT2 Ao3 tag. What I do feel tends to go unaddressed though, is the fact that the idea that Crick's death is canon, therefore it is necessary, therefore it is the best decision; an idea that I wholeheartedly disagree with.

Within the text itself, Crick is killed off in order to give Temenos a personal reason to pursue Kaldena, thus putting him at odds with Kaldena's motivations being driven by her ideology and worldview that, "because humans committed the massacre, it was the gods' mistake to put us here". I also won't pretend that Kaldena's writing here isn't fucking awful, because Crick's death is also a device to make the player want Kaldena defeated even though she is just as much as a victim of the church; and that's to say nothing of her portrayal as an indigenous and dark-skinned woman.

These decisions are ones I disagree with. Killing Crick off was unnecessary to give Temenos reason to pursue the culprit, because Temenos already had someone close to him killed; and that's Pontiff Jörg. He raised Temenos from infancy, but due to the lack of focus on him outside of banter conversations, it's never relevant to his motivations outside of the desire for truth because a crime was committed. 

We also didn't need to kill Crick off to show that the church was a terrible institution, because Roi already went missing in action. The Sacred Guard is the main body of law within Eastern Solistia, it's not unreasonable to think that the reason why Temenos dislikes them is because they clearly didn't do shit to investigate his disappearance.

However, one thing I really don't agree with is the idea that Crick's death is necessary because Temenos' story is a tragedy. And if you asked me why, I'd ask this in turn: why is death the only form of tragedy? Furthermore, why must a tragedy contain only tragic events? That in mind, what gives anything value in a tragedy, then?

Pretend we cannot completely rewrite Temenos' story. Even then, changing Crick's death to a permanent injury, a coma, or whatever is still a tragic event; and that's nothing to say of living with the consequences. Isn't losing your faith a tragedy? Isn't losing something you worked for years to do a tragedy?

Similarly, I'd still argue that it's more valuable to make Stormhail a near-death experience because not only does it show Temenos succeeding in making someone question the church but also the terror that is feeling like you're doomed to repeat tragedy. Even if you really aren't, it's hard to dismiss that feeling; especially when it has to do with being victimized by institutions.

And before someone says, "but bad things happen to good people in real life", I'm not treating these characters as living, breathing people who are subject to things like gravity, hunger, and exhaustion. I'm treating them as choices, and choices made that I disagree with. 

It's why I make different choices. I choose to make Crick have to deal with chronic pain onwards. I choose to make Temenos realize change is still possible. I choose to let them both leave Stormhail alive. Are these better choices? I don't know. But I'll never stop questioning the ones made by the writers regardless; much less stop disagreeing with them.

So, in summary: I dislike Crick's death. I dislike Temenos having to spend the rest of the story without someone he can talk to so easily because Crick's absence weakens a lot of his scenes in Temenos 4. But more than that, I dislike the idea that tragedy is necessary on top of the idea that it is superior. Tragedy's good, I adore the genre; but written in mindful doses and all that.

[actuallyitsstar]

WIP word game: Hope, unwilling, anxious, and unresponsive?

✨ send me a word & find it in my wip! ✨

And Maverick believes it with every shred of hope left in him, every piece of love tied in knots so tight he can’t quite untie them, but experience is a harsher, crueler teacher, and its lessons are much more easily recalled.

And, while Maverick is unwilling to lead when he’s unsure of how to reach the destination, he’s even more against letting their chances pass without making a grab for them.

Bradley often wants to insist that Mav should go to bed first, eyes always anxious upon his godfather, but he doesn’t- because how could such insistence seem appropriate in the wake of so many years of anger and regrets?

and regretfully i don't (yet !!!!!;) have anything for unresponsive!

[skelecentral]

Just saying I LOVE your drawing style, I just gotta say my favorites are Nightmare and Killer. Mainly because their designs look like there from a nightmare and look killer. (See what I did there?)

AAAAAA TYSM YOURE SO KIND!!! AND FUNNY AJSJNSJS!!! Softens my dusty old heart and makes me feel like a dream💞💞

[cerealmonster15]

omg kiss prompts ... 4 for oakworthy could be so so real i think :D or 1 for some of your twisted wonderland guys. biased because a bunch of fleeting kisses is my ideal of all time (me <- guy who has done it irl and will do it again because its CUTE)

HI since someone already gave me exactly Prompt 1 For My Twst Guys i will give you OAKWORTHY. thank u. i wanted to write them for so long but i got scared and needed the push LOL.

Summary: Hermie and Normal run lines for the school play together. Hermie INSISTS that they are NOT going to practice the kiss part, but…

Prompt 4: An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose.

[SORT OF spoilers if you havent reached roughly ep34. Not really plot spoilers but hermie's attitude might not make sense if you arent that far]

[Link to Ao3] [Prompt List] [EDIT: LINK TO FANART INSPIRED BY THIS FIC!!!]

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Hermie said, arms crossed firmly across his chest after handing Normal his script. “And remember- we’re NOT actually doing the kiss. Just lean in to mime it so we can still get the pacing right. Got it?”

“Uh, r-right,” Normal said as he took the script from Hermie and looked it over. “I, uh, kinda got it the first three times you told me, Hermie.”

Oh. Huh.

“...Well, I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea. This is a strictly professional practice,” Hermie continued as if he wasn’t trying to cover the blunder of overcompensation. “I’m only asking you because I know the others would complain. You’re simply the least difficult option, and I’m not going to let a few inconveniences get in the way of getting my roles.”

“Right, yeah, I understand,” Normal nodded, his head remaining slightly bowed as he looked over the script. “I’ve been keepin’ up with doing my homework and updating my fanfiction the whole time, too, so I get it. And I’m still happy to help! So, uh, let the show begin…?”

Hermie sighed, and the two began the scene. 

Really, Normal wasn’t the worst rehearsal partner in the world. He honestly put a lot more passion and enthusiasm into reading for his character than most would if they weren’t trying out for a role themselves, and Hermie couldn't deny potential where he saw it. Sure, Normal wasn’t great either- he leaned a bit TOO far into passion and definitely oversold a few lines, and had a tendency to stumble over his words when he got too excited and started talking too quickly, but it was clear it all came from a place of genuine enthusiasm…

As Hermie put it once before, Normal really was the heart of the group.

He cared. And he cared to a fault, really. Hermie didn’t understand how one person could burn so much energy towards caring about other people - what they said, what they did, what they thought of him, how they were feeling… It was all exhausting to Hermie, but to Normal, it seemed to be second nature.

Hermie leaned in on cue.

Normal mirrored him, leaning in and pausing about halfway as previously discussed.

Hermie, lost in thought and used to committing to his roles 100%, did not pause. In fact, he hadn’t even realized his own blunder until he heard the soft and surprised gasp escape the lips that his own had just bumped into.

Normal was looking at Hermie with wide eyes, and backed up a few inches moments after their lips brushed together. “I-I’m sorry, Hermie!” He said, anxiously fidgeting with the script in his hands. “I thought I stopped far back enough- Did I go too far!?”

Hermie remained frozen in place, his own eyes widening in surprise as he looked up into Normal's flustered face. He said nothing for a moment, watching, processing…

“...Hermie…?” Normal asked quietly after a few beats of silence. “A-are you alright? I swear, I really didn’t mean to-!”

Normal’s anxious prattling was cut off by Hermie’s lips gently, yet intentionally colliding with his again, Hermie’s hands moving to cup the sides of Normal’s face.

Hermie thought Normal’s eyes couldn’t have gone any wider than they already were, but that was apparently a lie, as when he pulled away again, Normal had the most bug-eyed expression on his face that Hermie had ever seen in his life.

“Wh- Buh- Hermie?! Wha?! Hermie!?” Normal sputtered, face flushed as beads of sweat began to form on his brow.

“Yes, that’s my name. Don’t wear it out.” Hermie responded plainly.

“I-I thought… You said you didn’t wanna do the kiss! And that time was DEFINITELY you that leaned forward!”

Hermie huffed a sigh in response. “I’m aware, Normal…” He could feel a grumpy pout forming on his face and his heart hammering in his chest… Yeah, it didn’t make sense, but…

Well, Hermie didn’t want to think about the details. Not now.

Right now, all he wanted to do was… Practice…

“I changed my mind,” Hermie shrugged. “So… Let’s do that again, from the top. All of it.” Hermie eyed Normal as he spoke, gauging to see if perhaps the poor guy would be too overwhelmed to continue.

But, in typical Normal Oak fashion, Hermie was met with a strange mix of bewilderment yet determination. 

“...Uh, yeah. Yeah! Let’s keep… Practicing…!” Normal said with what he probably thought was a confident smile.

Hermie elected to ignore the fluttering in his chest at such an awkwardly endearing sight, and started their scene again from the top.

[the-stove-is-divorced]

Hello! Just discovered you tumblr account so I thought I'd take the opportunity to ask a question if you don't mind.

Do you have headcanons about Bruce's ability to cook? Some say he burns water on the stove, others say he's a five-star cook but what do you think?

(Then there's this heartbreaking version I read once. It's about how Bruce actually just mimics failure in the kitchen because Alfred used to be a bad cook himself. The two would learn side by side and that was pretty much the only time they spent together, so Bruce would sabotage their recipes to squeeze out more time with Alfred. That backfired though because Alfred declared him useless in the kitchen and from then on just forbade Bruce to cook because he would find a way to 'burn water on the stove'. And since Bruce never voiced his desire for parental attention but did this sabotage tactic instead, he knows that revealing this to Alfred would devastate him, so he simply messes up anything he cooks intentionally from then on.

:((((( I'm unwell, your honor.)

( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡ OMG tysm for the ask!!! I love rambling, I don't mind at all!!! ♡♡♡ I absolutely have headcanons about Bruce and cooking, omg! I personally loathe the (popular, I believe?) headcanon he can't cook because that never made sense to me! (」＞＜)」 Mister overthinking, contingency planning, kind of paranoia can't cook? Ridiculous. You're telling me the guy who trained to be a vigilante, never learned how to cook a meal properly? The guy raised by Alfred? HOW??? o(>< )o Firmly in the Bruce can Cook and Cook Well camp.

I think one way of bonding for Bruce and Alfred was cooking. Firmly believe Bruce got some of his bad direct communication issues from Alfred, so while they struggled to show appreciation/affection verbally, bonding over cooking/meals/snacks etc was very common!

Plus, no one can't tell me Bruce wasn't the MOST curious kid. People watcher and avid book consumer, if there was a task existing in this world, he wants to know how you did it. Absolutely would help Alfred in the kitchen.

As Bruce got older, they would tackle trickier and trickery recipes and desserts! Nice sense of accomplishment, and again, really fun bonding for the both of them! They can cook and bake together pretty smoothly! Had their fun little chats, talked about their days, little jokes and the like.

Usually, Alfred enjoys cooking alone but Bruce? That's his son right there! Come join him in the kitchen this instant. Enjoying each other's company while they talk, or Bruce works on a case, or even younger Bruce doing homework??? Peak pleasant afternoons.

PLUS: Alfred also really enjoys cooking for Bruce, no matter how old either of them get. I think it could be fun teasing if Alfred called Bruce "bad" at cooking, when in reality he's good at it (largely because of Alfred) but just so happens do it exclusively with him, especially when considering how busy he can be, so the batkids never really get to see him to cook could come to that assumption.

BONUS IDEA: Bruce helping Alfred meal-prep at least once a week, and that's when they can chat the most! Usually very early in the morning so hardly anyone's awake!

Most self indulgent HC tho? In my heart and soul Bruce helps make the kid's lunches. Maybe puts notes in them. But it's Bruce, so stuff like "You did well on patrol" and "Looking forward to [insert upcoming event like a school showcase or parent teacher conference]." The kids can assume Alfred makes them, and Bruce writes the notes, but no, it's Bruce at like 4 in the morning.

That and while Bruce used to be a pickier eater as a kid/teen/young adult, once he did his whole Batman training, he forces himself to be able to eat anything even if he doesn't like it, but Alfred still keeps track of his favorite foods. I am a Bruce will indulge in a sugary sweet treat truther. It's a rare event but he is absolutely delighted by sweets. No one knows this like Alfred, though.

AND OOOO that's such a fun angst idea! Personally, I believe younger Bruce was too much of a perfectionist to sabotage himself in the kitchen (in my head, for Alfred, cooking/teaching Bruce how to cook was the easiest ways to spend time with the child post-parent death so it started when he was rlly young), but I think that can be fun too! I love a good angst idea, and the lack of communication skills and misunderstandings? Hell yeah.

Thank you so much for the ask, I love talking and rambling and stuff, haha! ( 〃▽〃) I have so many opinions about Bruce. Too many.

[becauseplot]

hi hello! i am once again having thoughts about the most normal roommates!

specifically, the bit in your reply about felps having to learn to navigate social situations with cellbit around others because it’s just. this has such funny potential.

like, them at the grocery store? cell is Overwhelmed. he got assigned to pushing the cart and felps is just trying to get the groceries as quickly as he can. they pull up to checkout and felps tries to put himself between cell and the cashier’s line of sight. he knows cell is fiddling with the knife in his pocket and he has to smile like this is fine :) don’t mind my friend we’re all normal here can we take our groceries please :)

(praying that the knife Does Not come out and they can leave in peace and why did he let this situation happen??)

they run into someone that felps knows from work and he’s just uh hey this is my roommate. he’s shy. (trying to sidle past as quickly as possible) cell will Not shake hands and felps narrowly avoids disaster by pulling him along. (he himself nearly loses a limb for it but! they’re friends and friends don’t do that. such normal friends.)

yes cell is trying not to actively murder people. at first so that he doesn’t get caught, and later for felps/growing morals reasons, but he really doesn’t know how to person and social interaction is just overwhelming.

he’s just. it’s like felps has been adopted by a feral cat who is /only/ civil to him and Will maul anyone else given provocation.

and now he has to gingerly socialize cellbit and i think it’s very fun to think about. their situation is so funny

saga!! o/ belobed rabbit!! so sorry for taking 547839 years to answer your ask, i saw it and meant to reply but then got distracted and got distracted and got distracted and binged some osnf and went to bed. twice. trust me i have been thinking abt this it's been in my brain.

ANYWAY. yes it does have funny potential!! they're trying to pass as normal so goddamn hard but one of them hasn't known normal in years and has a general "i'll just keep my head down and do my thing and try to maneuver my way through life" response to tough situations and the other has never known normal and has a general "i'll stab / snap at anything that even tries to threaten me"(<-thinks everything is a potential threat) response to tough situations.

also that situation of Felps running into someone he knows from work is right on the nose. like that's pretty much exactly how i imagine it. (how did you get in my brain whhat are you doing in there.) Cell will not shake hands because his hands are stuffed in his hoodie pockets thumbing at his emotional-support knife while eyeing the person up. and Felps is trying to end the interaction as soon as possible without being too awkward because he likes this person and wants them to like him too (he's a bit short on friends atm) but he also know Cell's got a social battery that's in the floor and is basically a ticking time bomb so sorry we're in a rush we uhhhhh left the stove on bye have a good night see you at work tomorrow!!

it can also lead to the angst of both of them being stressed. like i said, Cell's social battery is in the floor, and he treats every situation with people who are not-Felps like it could very easily end in a fight, which is exhausting for him, even if he doesn't realize it. and Felps having to constantly navigate these situations and do the Social Thing for two people on a semi-regular basis and there is always the small possibility Cell has an outburst and he takes the brunt of it and god he kind of just wants things to be normal again, whatever that means. and so they grate on each other! and they argue and shout and say things they don't mean and say things they do mean but shouldn't have said anyway. oftentimes Cell will storm out, grabbing his backpack (he always keeps it ready to go, even when he starts staying at Felps’ place for longer stretches) and marching out the door. on a couple rare occasions where it gets really bad, Felps is the one who storms out, leaving a bewildered Cell standing alone in the apartment.

even worse, maybe one time Felps is at his limit and just shouts at Cell to leave, just leave, get the hell out of my apartment, and Cell is so caught off-guard by this that he. he does. he doesn't even think to grab his backpack, he just goes. and after they've both cooled off and their heads have cleared, Felps finds he’s hating himself for it and Cell finds that he’s hurt by it. which is. certainly a development for both of them. because if Felps from a year ago had managed to scare off Cell that badly, he would've relished in it, said good riddance. and Cell from a year ago wouldn't have given a fuck and been happy to cut his losses (or cut Felps) and get the hell out of there. in reality, what ends up happening is that Felps grabs his shoes and goes out looking for him and Cell sits town on a park bench nearby and doesn't get very far at all.

Cell always winds up back at the apartment, one way or another. this is just the first time Felps has gone out of his way to bring him back in, because he wants him there; and this is the first time Cell has been relieved to be invited in, because he wants to be wanted. and god. isn't that a thought.

[lanternlightss]

a fake title... "sleepless nights and daydreams" ?? that sounds poetic, yeah ??

THAT SOUNDS SO COOL !!!

for some reason thinking about rosaria specifically for sleepless nights but also !! hm. amos staying awake and daydreaming about what could be…. perhaps………

percy in the lightning thief maybe……. wondering about his mom….. oooo or maybe a continuation of the au thing where sally accidentally gets eebie deebied??

indecisive </3. let’s see…. something along the lines of these?

(once again under the cut because !!! they got a little long, ehe…)

The tile is frighteningly cold, even with the boots on. Still, she trudges forward, pulling the hood of her cloak down further.

These nights are always the coldest—when He refuses to listen.

Everyone in the city is getting antsy, is getting reckless (she thinks not of the bard who has a rather unfortunate track record with jail, who continues to greet her with a startled, “Ah, Miss Amos! I promise I was trying to stay out of trouble!”)

She refuses to entertain the smile tugging at her lips. Looking out the arched window, it falls on its own accord.

He is…. trying different measures. He did not listen to her pleads to lessen the winds, as the crops are beginning to wilt, and the trades are beginning to falter.

No one wants to come near a whirling wall of wind. Yet He does not listen. So desperate to keep them all safe, to keep them from everyone and everything, that he has begun to tighten the bolts to their cage.

Amos sighs, a little frustrated, a little aggravated.

Walking up to the window, she lays a gentle hand against the still, and leans against one side. A particular biting breeze decides to cut past her, then.

How…. ugh, lovely.

She cannot help the crestfallen look that crosses her face. If… if only—

(Amos dares not to hope, but.)

If only things were different. If she could convince Decarabian to see her way, to see the people’s. They are slowly dying.

If… if she could convince him to bring down the walls. If she could convince him to step from that throne of his, to see the world as mortals do. If she could….

If she could see the ocean…. with them all.

See, this afternoon, she was talking with the bard, and the warrior. They had told her the reasons of wanting out of this city.

The bard, to see the skies and birds.

The warrior…. he had not given his reasons, truly, but the wistful look in his eyes as the bard talked…..

Perhaps he had wished to be able to travel again. He had once said he was something of a wanderer before.

And she… she, Amos, one of the best archers there ever was….

She had wanted to see the ocean, the forests. To see the waves as they gently crashed against the glittering sand of the beach! To see greenery of all kinds spread around her, of bushes and flowers and trees of all kinds!

She kept this to herself, but she wanted to see it all with them, too.

To see the bard play around and splash in the water, spraying the warrior. To see the knight stand off to the side, quietly laughing as the two of them chase the other around. To see the wisp distract the warrior by blowing his hair this way and that….

To even see… perhaps, Decarabian with them all, too. A distance away, she is not sure how the others would respond to him, but there all the same. Awkward and trying and telling her—

A shudder wracks through her body. She pulls the hood, and cloak, closer around her in an attempt to stave off any more cold.

Amos will admit to a bit of grumbling. (She will not admit to nearly shouting a curse to the heavens.)

Quite a cruel reminder, no?

—

No matter what, Percy can never quite get adjusted to the feeling of sand. Sure, it’s fun, and he’ll admit, even a little cool, but then it just gets everywhere and—

He groans, hopping on one foot to try and grab his shoe. Not again.

It’s popped right back on after a moment of shaking and shaking, and wincing at all the sand that falls out, but he’s right back to where he was—that is, he has no idea where he’s going.

Okay, a vague one. Percy wants to be at the beach, it’s… comforting. Especially now.

So the beach he goes!

He can’t find a place to sit down.

Maybe…. close to the water? That way, if anything tries to sneak up on him…. okay, yeah, mind made up.

Scanning the beach, he spots the perfect place—it even has a rock that he can put his shoes on, yes—and begins to jog right over.

Then, when he gets to it, with all the fanfare he can manage (which is to say, absolutely none), he flops right down onto the sand.

Not a good idea, by the way.

Yeah, you know how he was talking about sand getting everywhere?

He spits up sand. Gapes and frantically tries to get any out of his hair (he just took a shower, come on, dude. Spare him!) Eventually decides that tonight will be a double shower night, and goes back to laying sprawled out on the beach.

Admittedly…. he’s really tired. And the gentle sounds of the waves very nearly lull him to sleep.

So he pries those eyelids back open and stares into the sky.

It does remind him, though, of something his mom used to do—and, ah, does that remind him of why he came out here! His heart twists a little, and he reaches up to lay a hand over his chest.

Still….

When he was a kid, she used to put on this playlist—something called “Ocean Sounds To Sleep To, Ten Hours Long”?

It worked wonders, no surprise there. But he thinks that her singing might have helped, too.

His mom had an amazing voice. She did! And that’s not even his bias showing! (Okay, maybe a little.)

She always sung (sings, she always sings) so gently and…. melodically. It’s wonderful to listen to. Percy is more than grateful he got to hear it so many times.

Again, his heart sinks, and twists, and his face scowls.

He’ll hear it again.

He will, this is a promise he’s making. He will not let the Gods keep her, and he will not let them take her ever again.

Once this whole—thing is over with, he can go home to his mom, Smelly Gabe won’t be there, and….

She’ll hug him. And hold him. And won’t let go.

And he’ll hug her back. And hold her. And refuse to let go.

And she’ll sing, but there won’t be any waves to accompany it, but that’s okay because she has an amazing voice and—

Percy rubs at his eyes.

She’ll sing that one lullaby he liked, about that one hero who always got a happy ending. He had a name like Percy’s.

She sung it to him a lot, and he thought it was a little corny at first (really, he got the meaning behind it really early. He also did cry over his mom wishing he got a happy ending as well, even if he was a little confused.)

And it’ll be great.

No gods, no weird quest, no Gabe.

Just them.

He settles back into the sand. The stars twinkle, and waves continue to fall back and crash, gentle in their movements. As if they wish to preserve this moment of peace. (Silently, he’s a little thankful.)

Percy stares at the sky a little longer, trying to see if he could make out a constellation. Then, sighing and shrugging, he closes his eyes, and listens to the ocean, the sky, the land.

It’s good. It’s…. nice.

Well, that is, until wave crashes over him.

Percy will gladly and readily admit that he loudly called his dad a bastard for putting a fish in his mouth.

[rillette]

What are hal jordan best era or run you find interesting? Im trying to read more of him :)

Omg ok so!! Hard traveling heroes is really good if you haven't read it! Space traveling heroes is the follow up, and it's also really good! idk if it's on rco yet, but it collects the GL/GA issues from the flash run! O'Neil's entire run in general is very good, I like it a lot. Marv Wolfman's run is okay, it got a bit boring at times to me but it is worth reading and it has some great Carol moments. Honestly Hal's best era to me is the 70s to the 80s (pre Engelhart)!

Also literally anything by Christopher Priest. I love Christopher Priest's Hal, he really truly gets it for real. Also anything by DeMatteis!

[skitskatdacat63]

6, 13, and 22!

Thank you for the ask!! I am feeling very talkative and hyper atm so I am very grateful <3

6. (What do you use to keep your place when you're reading a book?)

I have very pretty bookmarks which I really love and I try to use them but I inevitably always forget. So either those, hopefully, or slips of paper, like any paper that's in my surrounding area I'll use. Or just close the book and hope I remember where I was 🫣

13. (13. Do you prefer to write in pen or pencil?)

Depends on what I'm writing! I only use pencil for taking notes in class or doing homework, bcs I always inevitably end up misspelling stuff or like just writing the completely wrong thing bcs my brain short-circuited, and I cannot stand leaving it wrong, yknow? But anything else, like jotting down stuff or my F1 note keeping lmao, I love to use pen. Pen just feels so swoopy and smooth and fun to write with and I'm very dramatic with writing(because learning Russian cursive is just permanently in my brain and handwriting now), and pen is fun bcs you can be very dramatic with it, if that makes sense?

22. (Iced or hot drinks?)

I guess somewhat depends on the weather? But cold drinks mostly! I drink a lot of hot coffee at home but if I'm out, I only drink cold drinks honestly. I am the type to buy and drink a frappuccino or something iced while outside when it's literally freezing out 😭

[fourteenfifteen]

🌻 :)

aw hi jun what’s going on dude 💕

i’ve been having a lot of fun writing original fiction recently! finished a decently long short story like two weeks ago and have been picking at a couple other things since (including that writing prompt i did on here the other day). i love writing in general like it’s very calming and satisfying and makes me happy but it’s been fun to try out something new! it’s especially cool like the freedom that it gives me like ok obviously but also yeah it’s nice that i can do literally whatever i want and all that really matters is enjoying myself and trying to make the coolest shit that i can. mixed feelings bc i haven’t actually felt super up on the quality of my work the last little while lol and original fiction does a little bit feel pointless and/or like screaming into the void compared to fanfic but also seriously it is so fun. like actually sitting and working on it and making a little story that can be whatever i want it to be. it’s good stuff. definitely bringing out my creative ambition too like i feel very playful and experimental without like the knowledge that the thing i’m working on is gonna go on ao3 lol

[glupblorbo]

"who gave the depressed emo kid a lightsaber (spoiler alert: belos did)" for the ask game

Snippet below! and more worldbuilding info below the cut! ///

“And why are you not delegating such mundane tasks to your inquisitors?”

Why, indeed. The apprentice swallows again. “I– they don’t…they won’t listen to me, my lord. But I promise, with more time, I can—”

“I have no use for excuses, Apprentice.” Belos is quiet, and that scares him more than any outburst of anger. He’s survived enough scarring; he can easily handle more—it’s the deafening silence that digs at him the most. “If you do not wish to be replaced, then you will get a handle on your subordinates, and you will rededicate yourself to the much more pressing matter at hand—that of tracking down the missing kyber shipments. Do I need to clarify myself any further, Grand Inquisitor? Or have you at last decided you are capable of doing your job?”

His mouth is dry, yet he still tries to swallow, gaze still on the polished floor of his office. “I– I understand, my lord. I will not fail you again.”

Belos scoffs. “See to it that you do not.”

///

so! star wars toh au, as you could probably tell from the title. hunter is the grand inquisitor in this, belos is the emperor, flapjack is a very cute and adorable droid called F14P made by caleb, and there's lots more to it too! it focuses primarily on hunter, and also eventually/in addition to raine -- they're more similar in this au than you'd think ;)

other various things about this au: - eda is a togruta - terra is an inquisitor - evelyn was a jedi - belos does still consume palismen in this au...sort of - amity is currently on track to being one of the youngest naval officers the empire's ever seen

[sysig]

what's your favorite part about making art?

Getting it out of my head (lol)

To give a more complete answer haha, each step has its own charm! Sketching is nice to have it Out of me, alleviates the itch of having a Thought or Feeling that just needs to be Out and onto paper already

If I'm drawing digitally, lining has gotten rather meditative, or if my sketches are particularly scribbly then it's like a puzzle haha

Toning on paper is a fun exercise in tool usage - I have specific pencils I switch back and forth between to get The Effect I'm looking for, or filling in with the same pencil for the whole piece is nice to just have it done all at once, it's satisfying both ways

Editing has kinda fallen by the wayside for me lately (as evidenced by my lack of uploads - I keep wanting to share, but there's a stopper in my brain that says "No, they're Not Done!" which is like......half correct? It's done when I say it's done, but they haven't been edited "properly" so) but it also has its good points! It took a bit to find the fun again because editing is definitely Not my favourite part of the process - it's not Creative or Exciting or Expressive in the same way as the other steps but it is something I can do for my art that makes it appear how my hand, eye, and brain want it to - my hand is messy, my eye is very particular, and my brain parses between the two, takes away the lines that muddle the final image until there's only The Picture left :) And sometimes it's all I have the energy for! Sometimes all I can do is take my backlog and make it pretty rather than make something new - but it's still Making Art :)

The only part I really don't like is scanning lol, it's just annoying, why can't my pictures be uploaded in perfect quality directly from my sketchbook to my computer haha

And most of this is to do with drawing since it's still my main art form, but a lot of the same applies to writing and papercraft and whatever else I try my hand at - it's nice to Have and Do and see where it gets me :)

I'm doing well! I've been writing more than - ever? I think? I think this is officially my up-to-now peak of Finished Writing by wordcount and time spent on it lol, it's been very fun!! And also a little overwhelming haha I still haven't quite found a New Normal about it, it being The Most haha, but I want to work towards that balance! More practice means more time to implement it so lol

[lulunothulu]

“So you think I’m hot?”

Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: Tyler has gotten on your last nerve and you finally snap, leading to an ego boost on his end.

Contents: light teasing, cockiness, maybe swearing, fluff

A/N: for the sake of this fic, just pretend Kate and Tyler didn’t meet and it was you instead

“So when are you gonna let me take you out on a chase?” Tyler asks from his truck bed. “You know, actually have some fun instead of being a stick in the mud over there?”

You were on your way to your base camp a few cars down, Kate and Javi were waiting for you to give them your report for their data sequencing. You push a loose strand of hair behind your ear before smiling sweetly.

“How about when you acknowledge that what you do is reckless and irresponsible?”

Tyler smiles softly before saying, “Well if I did that, then you’d never join us on a chase.”

You only squint out a smile before rolling your eyes and walking toward where Kate and Javi wait.

“What was that all about?” Kate asks, a knowing smile on her lips.

“Tyler being Tyler,” you say. To Javi, you ask, “So all you guys needed was the report right? I kinda wanna catch some sleep for tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Javi says. “I think we’re all set here. I’m just gonna put it into the computer and then call it a night.”

“Alright, sounds good. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

You begin the walk back toward your hotel room, sighing when you realize you have to pass by Tyler again.

Though you find him aggravating, you can’t help but admire his audacity and fearlessness. The man knows he’s hot shit and uses it to his advantage, playing it off as a high ego.

“Hey, Y/N!” You hear Tyler call out again.

You stop in your tracks and slowly face him, your face schooled in your famous resting bitch face.

“What?” You respond.

“I just wanted to say I think you should smile more,” he tells you, a smirk slowly growing on his lips. “Why don’t you smile for me?”

Your blood was boiling, why the fuck would he ask you that? Why would he say that? And why did your heart flutter when he smiled at you like that?

“Why should I?” You spit.

“I don’t think she likes it when you say that, Ty,” Boone says, popping up from the spot he was squatting at behind the truck.

“C’mon, she knows I think she’s a good looking girl,” Tyler teases, eyes still on you. “I’ve been asking her out for weeks.”

“The look on her face looks like she might tear your head off,” Boone points out.

“Nah, she won’t do that.” Tyler smiles down at you before jumping off the truck and taking a few steps toward you. “She’d hate it if I wasn’t there to keep her on her toes. Besides, look at those eyes, they’re screaming to smile for me.”

You had had enough. It’d been weeks of shameless flirting and teasing from him. Not to mention the disrespect to your career, insinuating that you had a stick up your ass and didn’t know how to have fun.

You were lots of fun. Just ask Kate and Javi. 

“What’s your deal with me, Owens?” You start. “Is there something we need to work out? Because from the moment you laid eyes on me, it feels like you’ve been taking the absolute piss out of me. Constantly teasing me and the way I do my job.”

“Wait, I’m not—”

“Just shut the hell up!” You exclaim. “I’m so sick and tired of your constant teasing and disrespectful comments. And if I wanted to smile for you, I would. Just because we all know you’re hot as shit, doesn’t mean I have to comply to everything you want.”

Tyler only smiles, chuckling a bit.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” You ask, annoyance and anger leaking out of your ears.

“So you think I’m hot?” Tyler asks.

You only blink, thinking back to what you had just said. You squint, feeling the blush creep up your ears and to your cheeks before walking off and yelling, “Oh fuck off, Tyler.”

A/N: Should I write a part two to this? Maybe she finally falls for him?? 👀

PART TWO IS UP!!!

[thedensworld]

Black Card Issue | L. Jh

Genre: fluff, est. relationship, smut

Summary: after a fight, Jihoon didn't expect to receive notifications for a revenge. However, he's not complaining.

Note: having so much fun writing this with @hoshifighting please check lyla's blog here!

Welcome to the densworld woozi🧚‍♀️

Jihoon is a chill man. Very chill. He values his peace of mind so much that no one dares disturb him when he’s in the zone, writing music. His studio is his sanctuary, a place where time stops and the world outside becomes irrelevant. No one crosses that boundary. No one—until you came into his life.

A little bundle of surprise, Jihoon would say with a soft smile. You changed everything.

You love surprises. It’s something Jihoon figured out pretty early on, back when you were just dating. And now, after years together and tying the knot, he knows it’s not just something you like—it’s a part of you. You’re the kind of person who thrives on spontaneity. The joy in your eyes when you do something unexpected, whether it’s a small gift or a sudden change of plans, has become a familiar sight. Surprises are so integral to your personality that impulsivity became second nature to you, a habit you didn’t even realize you had.

And Jihoon? Well, he’s had to become well-trained in handling it.

It wasn’t always easy, especially in the beginning. Six months into dating, Jihoon was already struggling to keep his composure around you. You were a whirlwind of energy and unpredictability, and Jihoon was the type who liked things calm and structured—especially when it came to his work. But then you would send him something, like that photo on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, just as he was about to attend a critical production meeting. A suggestive caption accompanying a picture of you that left him flushed and flustered.

He spent the rest of that day with his head spinning, barely able to focus on anything other than you.

His team noticed, of course. They always noticed when Jihoon was distracted—because it was rare. They’d been with him for over ten years, watching him pour his soul into his music, dedicated and unwavering. But you? It took you mere months to have Jihoon wrapped around your finger. And the best part? Jihoon willingly let it happen. He wanted to be wrapped around your finger.

And as much as his members teased him, he didn’t mind. Jihoon had always been the calm one, the focused one, the one who could drown out the world when he needed to. But with you, he didn’t want to drown out anything. He wanted to hear your laughter in the background while he worked. He wanted to receive those random photos in the middle of his meetings, even if they made him blush.

Now, Jihoon finds himself in his studio. Not the one at home, but the company studio. It was unusual—his fellow producers were surprised to see him there at this hour. 10 a.m.? That’s too early for Jihoon to be at work, they thought, especially since he rarely left the home studio after getting married.

“Did you two fight?” Soonyoung asked, making a quick stop before his schedule.

Jihoon didn’t answer. He simply turned the volume up, drowning out Soonyoung’s voice. Soonyoung scoffed but left, convinced that the only reason Jihoon would be at the company so early was if you two had fought. He knew Jihoon too well.

"Stop working for a while, man. Give your wife a rest," Soonyoung muttered as he left the studio. Jihoon cursed internally. How could Soonyoung read him so easily?

The truth was, last night didn’t go well. It was one of those nights Jihoon wished he could rewind—just take it all back. He came home late again, far too late. The kind of late where the house was eerily quiet, and the only light on was the one in the living room. He didn’t even realize how long he’d been working until he saw the notifications on his phone—your texts, your missed calls.

His heart sank. The guilt hit him immediately, but exhaustion numbed him from fully acknowledging it. He braced himself as he turned the knob, pushing the door open, hoping maybe you had gone to bed. But there you were, sitting on the couch, arms crossed, your phone lying idle beside you. You weren’t saying a word, but your silence screamed disappointment. And Jihoon knew—he’d screwed up again.

He paused at the doorway, waiting for you to say something, anything, but you didn’t. The air between you was suffocating, thick with unspoken words. He could feel your eyes on him, and it made his stomach twist. He hated it when you looked at him like that, like you were waiting for him to care enough to explain himself.

But instead of apologizing, instead of doing what he knew he should have done, Jihoon snapped.

"I work for you! I work hard to afford the life you want! Why don’t you understand?!" His voice rose, frustration dripping from every word. He didn’t mean it to come out that way. He didn’t mean to make it sound like you were the problem, like you were the one pushing him to the edge. But in that moment, he was too overwhelmed to control it.

The silence that followed was deafening. He saw the way your face fell, the way your shoulders slumped as if his words had physically weighed you down. You didn’t even argue back. You just stood there, absorbing the blow, your eyes wide and hurt, like you couldn’t believe the person you loved could say something so cruel. Jihoon could see it—the disappointment, the pain, the betrayal in your eyes.

He knew you weren’t with him for his money. He knew that from the start. You never cared about his fame, his success. You never asked for lavish gifts or expensive things. What you wanted—what you always asked for—was him. His time. His presence. But Jihoon, in his frantic rush to meet deadlines and exceed expectations, had forgotten.

He was so tired. The stress had piled up to the point that it felt like he was suffocating under the weight of everyone’s demands. His work was relentless, the pressure from his team to deliver perfection was unending, and somewhere along the way, he started feeling less like a person and more like a machine. And in all of that, he had forgotten you were the one person who treated him like a human being. The only person who reminded him to eat, to sleep, to rest.

But last night, Jihoon saw something in your eyes he never wanted to see again—pain. He had hurt you, and the worst part was, you didn’t deserve it.

You didn’t even say a word as you left the room, walking away with that shattered expression on your face. He stood there, frozen, wanting to chase after you, to take back everything he’d said, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t think straight. The weight of everything felt too much.

Jihoon ended up sleeping in his home studio that night, staring blankly at his laptop screen, his mind racing with regret. He didn’t get any work done. How could he? All he could think about was the way you looked at him, the way your lips trembled like you were fighting back tears, the way you didn’t even argue because you were too hurt to speak. He hated himself for it.

The guilt gnawed at him all night, so by the time morning came, he couldn’t bear to be in the same house. He thought if he went to the company studio, if he just got out, maybe it would clear his head. Maybe he could focus on work and forget how badly he had messed up.

But he couldn’t. You were all he could think about. Even surrounded by equipment and projects, even as he tried to drown himself in work, his thoughts kept drifting back to you. The regret kept replaying in his mind like a broken record, and the truth settled in his chest like a lead weight—he could never stop thinking about you. He never could.

And now, sitting alone in the company studio, he could still see your face in his mind, the hurt he had caused, and it tore him apart.

"Jihoon…" His manager knocked on the door, pulling Jihoon from his deep focus. He turned his head toward the reflection in the glass and saw someone entering. Quickly, he put down his headphones.

"The bank called me," his manager said, concern lacing his voice. "Someone's been making a lot of purchases with your account, and they couldn’t reach you. So, I got worried."

Jihoon blinked, realization dawning as he remembered he had turned off his phone earlier to avoid distractions. He hurriedly switched it back on, and as expected, notifications flooded his screen. Among them were a surprising number of texts from you.

Curious, Jihoon opened your messages, and his eyes widened. You had sent him a series of photos—shopping bags piled high, receipts for luxury items, and then… a car. You bought a car?

Jihoon sighed, rubbing his temples as he scrolled through the notifications of credit charges—clothes, electronics, and more. Why did you decide to buy all of this in one day?

"Everything’s fine. It’s just… my wife," Jihoon said, a little embarrassed as he reassured his manager. "No one’s using my card without permission."

His manager chuckled, seeming relieved, before leaving Jihoon alone with his thoughts.

Just as Jihoon exhaled, another text popped up. A photo of you in a jacuzzi, clearly in some luxurious hotel, wearing a brand new red bikini. The caption that followed made Jihoon’s breath hitch.

You: Want to give me the life I want? Come here. Turns out, spending your money doesn’t satisfy me enough.

Jihoon sighed deeply, his face growing warm as he hurriedly turned off everything in his studio. It was no use—he’d have to go get his black card back from you. Or maybe get something else.

*

You feel the dash of cold air hit your skin as you lay back against the heated tiles of the jacuzzi, legs lazily draped over the edge. You can’t help the little smirk pulling at your lips as you scroll through Jihoon’s texts. He’s gonna kill you. Well, maybe not kill, but he’ll definitely be pissed off. The shopping spree, the car, the photos—God, you knew exactly what you were doing. Pressing his buttons like that, getting him riled up on purpose, all because he had the audacity to shout at you last night.

But, you’re done with his bullshit excuses. He can whine about deadlines and stress all he wants, but you’re not here for that. You’re here for him, and clearly, he needs a little reminder.

The door to the hotel room opens, and even with the sound of the jacuzzi jets bubbling, you hear it. He’s here. Your heart skips a beat as the familiar, steady thud of Jihoon’s shoes echo in the space. He doesn’t say anything at first, but you can feel the burden of his stare on you, heavy and unrelenting. His presence is like a storm, silent but brewing.

You stretch your arms above your head, not even looking up, knowing full well he’s staring.

“Took you long enough,” You hum, voice saturated by fake innocence, like you hadn’t been the one who set the whole thing in motion. “figured you’d be quicker if i spent a little more of your money.”

Silence.

Then, the sound of him setting something down—his keys? maybe his bag? You don’t care. You hear the shuffle of his shoes being kicked off, and that’s when you finally open your eyes.

Jihoon stands at the edge of the jacuzzi, arms crossed, jaw tight, his eyes dreary and locked onto you.

“You’ve got some nerve,” he finally speaks, voice low, a growl almost. “what do you think you’re doing?”

You shrug, acting like you don’t feel the tension. “Just giving myself a little treat. After all, i am your wife. Don’t i deserve the best?”

Jihoon doesn’t say anything, just stares at you for a moment longer before his hands move to his belt. Your eyes widen, mouth parting slightly. “Oh, you think this is funny? You think you can just spend my money, send me those pictures, and i’ll come running?”

“Well, you did come running…” You mumble as if you were talking to yourself.

Jihoon moves, and before you know it, he’s crouched beside the jacuzzi, fingers hooking into the strap of your bikini top, pulling you closer to him with little resistance. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice rough, “this is the last thing you’ll be wearing tonight.”

Before you can even form a reply, he tugs at the fabric, and the red bikini snaps, tearing with a sharp rip.

Jihoon stands back up, the smirk on his face teasing you in a way that gets under your skin. His hand casually tosses the torn bikini top aside like it’s nothing, he looks at you, riling you up on purpose. He doesn’t rush; he takes his time pulling off his shirt, his pants.

You narrow your eyes, trying to keep the annoyance in check, but he’s pushing your buttons. “Really?” you ask. “You had to rip it off just to mess with me? You’re such an asshole”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, taking a step closer until he's right in front of you again. He leans down, pushing you back into the jacuzzi, the water sloshing as your back hits the edge. “You look mad, but I bet you’re dripping right now.”

You can even think of a response, his hand slips into your bikini bottoms just as he sits down. His fingers brush lightly over your clit, not applying pressure, just teasing, circling it slow just to watch you squirm. You twitch under his touch, your legs parting on instinct, hips bucking just slightly. He’s not giving you enough, and he knows it.

“You like to play these games, baby?” he murmurs. “Teasing me, spending all my money. What’s the real reason, huh? Just wanted my attention this bad?”

You bite back a moan, refusing to let him win so easily. “Shut up,” you manage to grit out, but the breathlessness in your voice betrays you. His thumb starts rubbing a little harder, making the bud throb on his thumb. You feel your body arching toward him, a needy moan escaping despite yourself.

“No...” he leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. “I wanna hear you say it. You knew I’d come running, right?”

His fingers press harder now, slipping lower, teasing your entrance without pushing in. Your hands grip the edge of the tub, eyes rolling back slightly as he continues torturing you.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you hiss, your words catching in your throat as his fingers pick up the tempo. He’s still circling, still rubbing, but it’s not nearly enough. You need more, and he knows it.

“Oh, I’m annoying?” he growls softly, leaning his weight into you, fingers pressing harder, deeper, but still not giving you what you need. “What’s annoying is you buying cars and booking hotels like you don’t already have everything you want right here.”

Your legs spread wider, hips instinctively grinding down against Jihoon’s fingers as they tease your entrance. Your hand shoots up to grip his wrist, trying to gude his fingers in, but he stills the arm, cupping you. His other hand trails up your chest, stopping to toy with your nipples, flicking and squeezing them just enough to make you gasp. Then, wetting the valley of your breasts, his hand moves to your throat, wrapping around it in a firm grip, pushing your head back until it rests on the cold border of the jacuzzi.

“You’re so needy,” Jihoon mutters, watching as your mouth falls open, eyes half-lidded, breath coming out in shallow pants. You feel his thumb graze over your bottom lip, smirking as if he’s amused by just how desperate you’ve become. He hasn’t even given you what you want yet, but you’re already a mess for him.

Finally, his fingers push inside, just one at first, but the way your body responds—instantly clenching, your pussy practically swallowing his finger whole—makes him groan low in his throat. The water ripples around the two of you, splashing lightly against your skin as his movements grow rougher.

“God, you’re soaked,” he chuckles, voice almost mocking as his finger curls inside you, hitting that sweet spot making your hips jerk by their own. Even with the water swirling around, Jihoon can feel the heat between your thighs, the sticky slickness of your folds clinging to his fingers as he slides in another.

Your grip tightens on his wrist, trying to pull him closer, but he doesn't let up. Instead, his fingers work you harder, pumping in and out of you making the water splash with every push. The sound is obscene, the wet slaps of his fingers echoing in the room, blending with your suffered moans, and Jihoon's grunts.

You lift your gaze to him, lips parted, eyes pleading, practically begging for more. You look up at Jihoon with a needy expression that you know drives him crazy. But he just grins, slowing his movements slightly, his hand tightening around your throat.

“Aww, look at you,” he coos, voice soft despite the way his fingers are fucking into you hard, relentless. “Such a pretty little mess. You like this, don’t you? Me ruining you with just my fingers?”

You can’t form words, your head tilting back more as his pace quickens again, fingers curling deep, hitting the spongy spot that makes your vision blur. The water splashes harder now, droplets spilling over the edge of the tub as your hips buck in time with his thrusts. Your legs tremble, thighs shaking, and all you can manage is a soft whimper, your entire body arching toward him.

Jihoon chuckles again, watching you fall apart beneath him. “That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, fingers pumping in and out faster, thumb rubbing over your clit in quick circles. “You’re so fucking tight… taking it so well. What do you want, huh? You want more?”

Your breath catches in your throat, his words making your body ache. You nod frantically, too overwhelmed to say anything. The hand around your throat loosens slightly, giving you a moment to breathe, but he doesn’t stop. His fingers continue their brutal pace, fucking you deep, and you know he’s not stopping until you cum around his long fingers.

You feel your stomach flip when Jihoon curls his fingers and stills them, making your body arch off the jacuzzi edge as you instinctively reach for him, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling him down to kiss you.

The kiss is brutish, dirty—his lips smashing into yours, teeth clashing as his tongue slips into your mouth. He sucks your tongue hard, biting down on your bottom lip in that way that always makes your legs tremble. You can’t focus, the pleasure building too fast, making it impossible to keep up with the kiss. But you try, you desperately try, your hands clutching tighter in his hair.

It’s only a matter of seconds before your body betrays you. You moan into his mouth, the sound low and drawn out, muffled by the kiss. You pull him closer, your grip tightening painfully in his hair as the pleasure crests, your body trembling as your back arches impossibly high.

Your nipples graze his chest, the sensation of your sensitive skin brushing against his, makes him shiver, his breath hitching as your slick cunt clenches hard around his fingers.

Your moans become more frantic, desperate, and you can’t keep kissing him anymore. Your mouth falls open, head tilting back as you gasp for air, your body seizing up with the strength of your orgasm.

Your pussy tightens around his fingers, your thighs shaking uncontrollably as you cum, the water splashing violently around you from the press of your movements. Jihoon smirks down at you, clearly proud of himself, fingers still thrusting into you even as you come down from your high. “That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, voice soft but teasing. “Cum all over my fingers.”

Your mind is still swimming in the hangovers of your orgasm when Jihoon suddenly pulls his hand away. You’re left panting, trying to catch your breath, but he’s already manhandling you, turning you around and pressing you into the edge of the tub.

“Get on all fours,” he orders. You don’t hesitate, your body moving on autopilot as you shift into position, knees pressing into jacuzzi, hands bracing yourself against the edge.

Jihoon’s grip is firm as he presses you down, making sure you don’t slip on the slick surface. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you steady while he strokes himself behind you. You glance back, seeing him gripping his cock, pumping himself slowly, the tip flushed red and dripping with pre-cum, some veins popping up when he cuts the blood circulation. The sight makes your mouth water.

He lines himself up with you, the head of his cock teasing your wet pussy, but he doesn’t push in just yet. Instead, he grabs your bikini bottom—what’s left of it anyway—and yanks it harshly to the side, exposing your swollen, sensitive folds. You feel the fabric digging into your skin, tight and uncomfortable.

Jihoon watches, mesmerized, as your pussy clenches around nothing, your body still sensitive from your previous orgasm. Slowly Jihoon pushes inside. He takes his time, savoring the way your walls squeeze around him, they way you slick starts to coat him too, your body struggling to accommodate his size. You whimper, fingers clawing at the edge of the tub, trying to keep yourself stable as he fills you inch by inch.

He moans deep in his throat, the sound oscillating through his chest as he bottoms out, his cock buried fully inside you.

You bite your lip, arching your back even more, desperate to take him deeper. “Jihoon… please…”

But he just chuckles darkly, pulling out slowly, only to slam back in, making the water splash around you both again. “Oh, you’ll get what you want,” he promises. “Just keep taking it like that.”

His fingers tangle in your hair, tugging hard enough to make you gasp. The sharp pull has you arching back, your spine curving as he yanks you up against his chest, your back pressing flush against his front. The new angle makes his cock hit even deeper, your breath hitching as the tip grazes that swollen spot inside you.

Jihoon glances at the nearby mirror, his eyes glued to the reflection of your bodies. Your tits bounce with every thrust, soft and flushed, his eyes darken, watching the way your skin sticks to his, the way your body—though trembling—melts against him, sacrificing to the pleasure despite every nerve in your body wanting to tense up.

He moans suffered, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, feeling the warmness radiating off your skin. You’re burning up, both of you are, your bodies slick with sweat despite being submerged in water seconds after. Jihoon can’t help but bury his face against your neck, breathing you in, skin to skin, letting the sensation take over him.

“Fuck,” he mumbles against your shoulder, his lips brushing your skin, almost as if he's talking to himself. “I missed this. Missed you.”

His hips don’t stop, driving into you harder, your thighs shaking as you try to keep up, but your body is already on the edge. You’re clinging to him for dear life, your head falling back against his shoulder, mouth falling open as breathless moans slip out with every thrust.

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon suddenly murmurs, his voice softer now, tender. He keeps thrusting into you, but there’s an apology laced in every word, every snap of his hips. “I’m so fucking sorry… for everything.”

You don’t answer, can’t even if you wanted to. Your breath is caught in your throat, the only response you give is the way your body clings to his, melting further into his hold as his hands roam down your body.

He doesn’t expect you to answer. Maybe he doesn’t even need you to. He just keeps going, fucking into you like he’s trying to apologize through the way his body moves against yours. His grip loosens in your hair, his hand sliding down the curve of your waist, lower, until his fingers find the puffy bundle of nerves between your legs.

The second his fingers brush over your clit, your whole body tenses again, only to relax almost instantly as he starts rubbing teasing circles. You whimper, legs trembling, hardly competent to hold yourself up, and Jihoon groans into your skin, feeling the way you melt even more against him.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathes, his voice raspy in your ear. “Always take me so well… fuck… so tight, baby… you feel that? You’re clenching around me.”

You don’t say anything, just a soft gasp escapes your lips, your head falling back further onto his shoulder, exposing the column of your throat to him. His fingers quicken their pace, matching the rhythm of his thrusts, every brush of his thumb over your swollen clit making you cry out.

“I know I fucked up,” Jihoon whispers, his forehead still pressed to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. "But I can’t stop… I can’t stop thinking about you. About this. About how good you feel around me.”

Your chest heaves with each breath, your thighs trembling uncontrollably as his hand continues working you, his other arm wrapping around your waist to hold you tighter, anchoring you to him. His fingers press harder against your clit, drawing tight circles that make your whole body twitch, every nerve ending alive and buzzing.

“Come on, baby,” he coaxes, his voice dipping into that familiar, filthy tone, the one that drives you insane. “Cum for me… I know you’re close. I can feel it. You’re squeezing me so fucking tight.”

You’re so close, your vision blurring as the heat in your core builds higher. Your body’s completely given in to him, to the way he’s fucking you deep and hard while his fingers expertly play with your clit, not giving you a single moment of respite.

And then it hits, hard and fast. Your back arches, body tensing as the orgasm rips through you, ripple after ripple of pleasure crashing over you as your pussy clenches tight around him. Your hands reach back, desperately grabbing at anything—his hair, his arms—trying to ground yourself as you moan out his name, breathless and trembling.

Jihoon groans at the feeling, his cock throbbing inside you as your walls pulse around him. “Fuck… that’s it,” he rasps, his hand slowing its movements on your clit, letting you ride out your high. He’s still buried deep inside you, his cock twitching, and he watches in the mirror as your body shudders against his.

He doesn’t pull out. Instead, he shifts you forward, placing you on all fours again, his hands steadying you as he lines himself up once more. His hand slides down to your ass, pushing your bikini bottom further to the side so he can watch as your tight puffy walls flutter around him.

Without delay, he starts thrusting again, his pace slow but deep, watching as your body tenses, clenching around him every time he sinks in.

Jihoon lets out a series of the neediest, whiniest moans you've ever heard from him, and it hits you differently—vulnerable, like you’ve broken through every layer he keeps guarded.

Then he sinks in fully and stops.

You slouch forward, your whole body going limp as you brace yourself on your forearms. You feel him pressed against your back, the warmth of his skin sticking to yours as his breath hitches in your ear.

And then it fills you—heat as his cum spurts deep inside you. Hot, thick, and it has you crying out, your voice breaking as your body quakes beneath him. You can feel every pulse of his cock as he fills you up, making your insides feel impossibly full.

Your back trembles under his weight, every muscle in your body quivering as his release continues to flood you. Your pussy clenches around him involuntarily, trying to milk every last drop from him, and it only makes him groan louder.

“Shit,” Jihoon breathes, his voice a wrecked, breathy mess as he leans forward, his forehead pressing into the back of your neck. His hands grip your hips tightly, like he’s using you to anchor himself through the intensity of his orgasm. “Fuck… you feel s'good.”

Your head drops onto your forearm, unable to do anything but take it all in. You can feel his cum dripping out of you, a warm, slick sensation as it mixes with the water around your thighs. Your legs are shaking, your core aching, but you don’t want him to pull out, you want to stay like this, to feel him deep inside you just a little longer.

Jihoon’s breathing finally starts to slow, his body still pressed flush against yours as his arms snake around your waist, holding you tight. You hum softly in response, his cum continues to spill out, and you can feel every slow drip as your pussy flutters, trying to recover from the relentless pounding he just gave you.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to glance down at the sight of your trembling back. A soft smirk tugs at his lips as he watches how your body reacts to him, still sensitive, still on edge. “Look at you,” he whispers, his tone soft but teasing. “You’re still shaking. Did I fuck you that good?”

You don’t answer him; just let out a shaky breath. Your body is completely spent, and you can narrowly keep yourself upright. Jihoon chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to your damp skin before pulling out slowly, the loss of him leaving you feeling empty and aching. The last bit of his cum leaks out of you as he does, and he watches, fascinated, as it mixes with the water beneath you.

He moves to your side, pulling you into his chest, his hands rubbing gentle circles on your back as you both come down from the high.

Jihoon gently lifted you from the jacuzzi, his hands steady as he wrapped a robe around your body, drying you with care. His touch was soft, and the tension between you started to ease with each moment. He laid you down on the bed with tenderness, his eyes flickering with a mix of concern and regret.

As he stepped away to quickly clean himself up, you could feel the weight of his emotions lingering in the air. When he returned, Jihoon slid into bed beside you, pulling you into his arms, his warmth pressing against your skin. His embrace was tight but comforting, as though he was trying to hold on to more than just the moment.

"I'm sorry..." His voice was barely above a whisper, yet the sincerity in it was undeniable. He rested his forehead gently against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet space between you. "Please forgive me."

You could feel the vulnerability in his words, a side of Jihoon that he rarely showed.

You lay there in his arms, feeling the tension in his body slowly release as he held you close. His apology lingered in the air, filled with emotion you hadn’t heard from him before. For a moment, everything was quiet—the warmth of his skin, the sound of your breathing, and the beating of his heart against yours.

Jihoon pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of forgiveness. His brows furrowed, and he seemed almost afraid of what you might say. You reached up, your fingers brushing against his cheek, the familiar sensation calming you both.

“I know you didn’t mean to hurt me,” you whispered, the weight of the past argument starting to lift. “But it’s hard sometimes, Jihoon. You get so lost in your work…”

He nodded, the regret still heavy in his gaze. "I know. I promise I'll do better. I can't stand the thought of losing you, or pushing you away."

His words tugged at your heart, and you could see how much he meant it. There had always been that side of him—driven, focused, and dedicated—but sometimes it made him forget everything else. Still, here he was, trying, apologizing, and making the effort to put you first.

Without saying anything, you leaned in, closing the distance between you, your lips brushing his in a soft kiss. Jihoon sighed against your mouth, relief and gratitude flooding through him as he deepened the kiss, his arms tightening around you as though he couldn’t bear to let go.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads touched again, both of you breathing a little more steadily now.

“I forgive you,” you said softly. His eyes brightened at your words, and you felt the tension finally melt away completely. Jihoon smiled, a rare, gentle one that you didn’t see often enough, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Thank you,” he whispered, pulling you closer again, as though he couldn’t get enough of having you in his arms.

*

Jihoon sighed deeply as he glanced around your living room, cluttered with bags and boxes of things you'd bought earlier that day. His eyes scanned the array of items before he asked, half-jokingly, “Is it even possible to empty my bank account in a single day?”

You smiled, shaking your head as you tried to ease his worry. “Don’t stress. I can sell them all on the marketplace. They’ll be gone in two days, tops. I promise.”

Jihoon raised an eyebrow and picked up one item that particularly caught his attention—a pair of leopard-printed underwear for men. He held it up with a bemused expression, “Leopard print... for me?”

You grinned mischievously, “Yup! Oh, and I got you the hot pink one, too. Thought you’d look great in it.”

Jihoon groaned, his face a mix of amusement and disbelief. “You know it was a joke when everyone said i wear these kind of panties, right? There’s no way I’d ever wear these.”

You crossed your arms, stepping closer with a playful smirk on your face. “Oh, I can make you wear them,” you teased, your tone light but daring.

Jihoon chuckled, shaking his head at your persistence. “Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe,” you replied, your grin widening. “I have my ways. Just wait until you see how good you look in them.”

He rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. “You’re impossible.”

You stepped even closer, standing on your toes to whisper in his ear, “You’ll thank me later.”

Jihoon’s laughter filled the room as he pulled you into a hug, shaking his head. “You never give up, do you?”

“Never,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. "And trust me, you’ll look amazing in leopard print."

With a defeated sigh, Jihoon gave you one more playful glare, “Fine. But don’t think this means I’m wearing the hot pink ones too.”

“We’ll see about that,” you replied, your voice full of challenge and laughter as you leaned into his embrace.

[luveline]

more hotch with teacher!reader? maybe she’s trying to take a bunch of things into her classroom one morning and hotch jumps in to help (and flirt with) them :)) i adore you’re writing thank you for sharing sm with us lately!!!

you’re so welcome ily ty for requesting! <3 fem, 1k

Today, you and your class are going to make dioramas with a heavy focus on paper crafting. For the last few days, you’ve helped them make plans on what they want to create, and then you scoured the internet for origami and craft tutorials to suit. The only one you couldn’t find was for poor Jamie’s tractors. You’ll figure it out, you’re sure. 

You’ve been saving cardboard boxes, toilet roll inserts, and egg cartons for months. There’s a total mountain of things to bring in, so you’re here early. You figure if you carry huge armfuls, you can get everything inside in three trips. 

“Oh,” you say, as a cardboard box tumbles to the ground, and somehow doesn’t give you a clearer view, “whoops. I’ll pick that up. Jeez.” 

You step over it and almost slip. 

“Careful,” someone says. 

You jump and send an egg carton skittering across the floor. “Oh, gosh! You scared me!” You twist your head, the cardboard that had been resting on your face falling down into your collar. “Oh, Mr. Hotchner.” 

Of course it’s Mr. Hotchner. Aaron, predictably. 

“Aaron,” he says, leaning down to grab the things you’ve dropped, before he opens his arm toward you. You lean away from your tower, embarrassed but relieved when he takes the bulk of your tall tower from you. 

“Thank you, Aaron. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here so early. Is everything okay?” 

“Let me help you with this.” 

Avoiding the question. You and Aaron carry your cardboard inside to the classroom, where you unlock your door (and you never would’ve been able to do without his rescue). He follows you to the arts and crafts table toward the back of the room, and you deposit your stock. 

“Thank you,” you say when he places his armful down. 

“It’s no problem. Can I help with the rest?” 

“Would you, please?” you ask. “It seemed a lot less before today.” 

You bring the rest back in. He’s the picture of a perfect gentleman and carries more than you each time, which isn’t to say you can’t have carried the same as he did, but it’s nice for once to be the one looked after. As a teacher, you get used to giving. 

He doesn’t make you ask him twice. “I’m here early because I wanted to talk with you if you’re free, before I head into the office.” 

“His Aunt is bringing him today?” you ask about Jack. 

“I didn’t manage to get home in time last night to see him, but I’ll be here at pick up time.” 

You nod, hyper aware that you’d swayed the conversation again. “Sorry, what were you saying?” 

“It’s about Jack. Well, it’s mostly about me. I’d like to ask you for a favour, if you’re willing.” 

“Oh, sure. Of course.” 

“You haven’t heard it yet.” 

You flush under the weight of his knowing smile. “No, I mean, I’m sure it’ll be fine. So…” 

“It’s hard sometimes to get Jack to tell me what you’re doing in school. I had no idea he’d be making dioramas today. And I don’t need your lesson plans, I’d never expect that of you, but I was hoping you could summarise the week for me on Fridays? Or whenever you can. I don’t need updates on how Jack is progressing, it could be a couple of words on the topics you’ve chosen, just so I know what he’s doing while I’m away.” 

You’ve never been asked to do it. Parents of kids in the second grade aren’t usually clocked in on what their kids are learning. School is still half fun at this age, your most important job is to make sure they can all read with acceptable fluency. And it’s hard because their parents don’t help, but it’s fine. You love teaching them something so important, and you’re ecstatic to meet someone who’s actually interested. 

You beam. “Yeah, of course I can. I can do that, I don’t mind. Nobody ever wants to know what we’re doing, which is such a shame! I mean, they’re so excited and of course their parents care, but if they have just a little bit of support it makes a huge difference. I can totally send you my lesson plans, Aaron. I’d like to.” You laugh to yourself smugly. “I never get to show them off. They’re extensive. And they take ages.” 

“You want to show them off?” he asks softly. 

His voice is velveteen. 

“Is that awful?” you ask.

“No, it makes sense. You really don’t have to if it’s too much trouble, but I… feel guilty, when I call him and ask how school was, and he can’t remember what happened.” 

“Don’t feel bad about that. The kids can’t remember what I told them ten minutes ago.” 

He isn’t like you, in that he’s very still. He doesn’t move or fidget, which makes his looking at you all the more obvious. “Thank you,” he says. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Can I pay you back?” 

You catch one of your bracelets and twist it around your wrist. 

Aaron told you without hesitation that he profiles criminals. He can read their expressions, habits, and idiosyncrasies as thoughts and feelings. He can trace movement to the source. You’re positive he wouldn’t keep asking you such leading questions, or insist you call him by his first name every time you see him, if he didn’t already know that you find him attractive. 

“How would you do that?” you ask. 

“Is there anything else you… need help with?” 

A million things, but you’re no idiot. You can read subtlety too. 

“Well, I have a bunch of textbooks on the top shelf in the stockroom you could help me with.” You smile shyly. “It gets hot in there, though.” 

He begins taking off his suit jacket. “That,” he says, his gaze on you with all the tenderness and amusement of someone who’s known you longer, “won’t be a problem.”