#cereal alters

[saltymarshmall0w]

Danny Phantom- Swapped Obsessions AU

Slash Evil Danny?

You know how normally if people include ghost obsessions they make Danny's obsession protection? And they also make Vlad's obsession love/family? And the whole reason Vlad is evil is because he can't fulfill his obsession.

Well, I'm currently writing a fic where I take their obsessions and swap them. Subsequently, I am also swapping their roles as hero and villain.

Mostly by expanding on Danny's anger issues and general teenagery-ness.

— Vlad —

After gaining ghost powers in an accident where he saved his best friend’s life, Vlad used his newfound abilities to become the infamous ghost hero- Plasmius.

 With a combination of technology and years of study and practice he easily became one of the most powerful ghosts out there. And, he knows just about everything there is to know when it comes to ghosts to boot.

However, all his current ghost theory comes crashing down when he meets a vulgar-mouthed poltergeist that can evade his ghost sense, escape the ghost zone in a matter of hours, and shows an abhorrent lack of knowledge about other ghosts. 

Oh, and his core is only a few weeks old, not that it made him any less powerful than full-fledged ghosts, apparently. 

— Danny — 

The only thing Danny’s parents have given him is his reputation as the crazy ghost hunter’s kids. 

He has spent most of his life chasing their fleeting affections and the attention and it all comes to a head when he dies right under their noses and they don’t even fucking notice. 

How he has some nifty ghost abilities and can do anything he wants with no one to stop him.

Except that annoying “hero” ghost, Plasmius. 

—

This fic is going to be: Danny-centric, ~30k words long, 3rd person, past-tense and posted on A03

~bonus~ My Beta reader writes and edits stuff as, like, their job so you know it’s gonna be good soup. 

EDIT: The first chapter is up! It's called "Misfit In Trouble" by LittleSaltyMan on A03

[kiwriteswords]

Could we see reader who hasn’t really dated or is very inexperienced begin to date Hotch? Maybe non bay? I loved sweet beginnings and how trader was so taken back by hotchs romance. I want more of that vibes please!

Touch Me Like Nobody Else Does [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 12k|| AN: I really REALLY enjoyed writing this--so much, that I completely blew off my lunch break today to write this and stayed up until 3 am last night, lol.

Tags/Warnings: mdni, nsfw, fade-to-black smut, inexperienced reader, slow burn, meet cute, shy reader, non bau reader, age gap of 20 years, reader is shorter than Hotch, fluff, smut, reassuring Hotch, praising Hotch, Hotch calls reader "sweetheart", Jack is in this story, mentions of Haley's passing, confident but inexperienced reader, chivalry isn't dead.

Summary: In a serendipitous series of encounters at a local grocery store, you, inexperienced in dating, find yourself drawn into a deepening relationship with Aaron Hotchner, a man whose past shadows his present. As your connection evolves from chance meetings to a profound bond, you must navigate the complexities of his world while also dealing with your own inexperience.

Every Wednesday--schedule permitting, Aaron Hotchner frequented the same grocery store in his quiet neighborhood. The ritual, embedded in the monotony of his demanding job, brought him a semblance of normalcy. He could stroll through each aisle and shut his brain off while just focusing on the list of items he needed to pick up for him and Jack.

But on this particular Wednesday, the routine was altered by a serendipitous collision.

As Hotch reached for his usual brand of coffee on the top shelf, a gentle bump startled him. Turning, he saw you—standing with a look of mild embarrassment, your hand frozen in mid-air, inches from his coffee choice.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there,” you said, cheeks coloring slightly.

“It’s alright,” Hotch replied, a small, unexpected smile crossing his features. “Seems we have the same taste in coffee.”

You laughed, a sound that seemed to linger pleasantly in the air between the aisles. “I guess so. It’s the best one, isn’t it?”

He nodded, handing you the can you’d both reached for. “It is. You have good taste.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, taking the coffee with a shy smile.

The encounter, brief as it was, left a lingering impression on Hotch as he watched you navigate away with your shopping cart. There was something distinctly intriguing about the way your eyes sparkled with unspoken thoughts.

The following week, the grocery store’s fluorescent lights once again cast their glow on another chance meeting. Hotch found you in the cereal aisle this time, your fingers brushing over the boxes as if each held a story you wished to uncover.

“You again,” he noted, his tone carrying a hint of amusement. He reached for a colorful box of what was probably all sugar, per Jack’s request.

You glanced up, surprise flickering across your face before it settled into a warm, inviting smile. “Seems like fate has a sense of humor,” you joked.

“Or a very specific shopping schedule,” Hotch countered, stepping closer to help you retrieve a box of granola from a high shelf.

“Thanks,” you said, your gaze lingering on his for a moment longer than necessary. “I guess I’m still figuring out the best times to avoid the crowds.”

“If it helps, Wednesday evenings seem to work well,” he shared, his voice softening.

“Maybe I’ll take that as a professional tip,” you replied, a playful edge to your words.

As weeks turned into a month, these accidental meetings transformed into a series of eagerly anticipated encounters. Each conversation revealed layers to your character—your earnestness and a latent curiosity that matched his own.

The profiler in him also noted your shopping cart. The basket filled with a variety of foods, a treat or two thrown in there as well. It mirrored his own choices. 

One chilly evening, as autumn leaves painted the ground in hues of fire and gold, Aaron Hotchner spotted you outside the grocery store, struggling with a few too many bags. His steps were measured as he approached, a gentle offering in his voice. “Let me help you with those,” he suggested, his hands reaching out to ease the burden from your arms.

“Oh, you don’t have to, but thank you,” you replied, your voice a mix of gratitude and relief. Your fingers brushed against his, a subtle spark hidden in the fleeting touch.

As he walked you to your car, the crisp air seemed to thicken with unspoken words hanging between you. Hotch wasn’t a believer in fate, but he did feel there was a reason beyone his knowledge he kept running into you and it intrigued him. 

You fumbled slightly with the keys, a nervous energy emanating from your gestures. Hotch noticed the way your hands shook just a little, the way your breath caught as you tried to focus on anything but the intensity of the moment.

He set the bags down next to your car, his gaze softening. "You seem a bit flustered," he observed quietly, trying to read your expression under the pale glow of the streetlights.

You chuckled, smoothing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "I guess I'm just not used to running into someone as often as I run into you here," you admitted, your eyes meeting his with a playful challenge.

“There’s something about fate, isn’t there?” Hotch mused, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It seems to have its own ideas about who we should meet.”

Your laughter mingled with the evening air, a sound that seemed to linger pleasantly. “Maybe it does. And maybe I’m starting to think it might be right.”

He took a moment to look at you, really look at you, noticing the way the light danced in your eyes. He was normally not this forward, but he realized by your trembling hands and overall nervousness, he would need to make the first move, if he read his cards right. 

"Would you like to meet for coffee sometime? Away from these chance encounters and somewhere we can talk without a shopping list?"

The suggestion seemed to brighten your expression even more. "I'd like that," you said, your voice carrying a hint of excitement. "It’d be nice to talk without wondering if I forgot to pick up milk."

As he watched you drive away that night after exchanging information, the warmth of your smile lingering in his mind, Aaron Hotchner felt an undeniable spark—a connection that, while unexpected, promised new beginnings. In the quiet solace of his car, he allowed himself a moment to savor the unexpected joy of this burgeoning connection, looking forward to the conversation that would unfold over coffee, under less fluorescent lights.

The first coffee date unfolded on a Saturday morning, the cafe a cozy alcove tucked between the bustling streets of their neighborhood. Hotch arrived early, his demeanor calm yet expectant, as he secured a corner table that offered both privacy and a view of the autumn-stripped trees outside.

When you arrived, there was a hesitant grace in your steps, a visible pause as you spotted him, and a smile that slowly overtook your initial reserve. You looked genuinely happy to see him, your eyes lighting up in a way that spoke of both nerves and excitement.

“Hi, Aaron,” you greeted, your voice carrying a melody of anticipation, as you took the seat opposite him.

“Hello,” he responded, observing the way you neatly arranged your coat and purse beside you, movements precise and considered. It genuinely piqued his interest how you could be so confident, so put together--while also seemingly so nervous and unsure. 

As the conversation began to weave between the hum of other patrons and the clink of coffee cups, Hotch noticed the careful way you chose your words, as if each one were being weighed for its worth. You asked thoughtful questions, genuinely interested in his answers, but often diverted the conversation from yourself when it veered too close to personal.

Throughout the conversation, Hotch learned about your career in marketing at a bustling agency downtown. The passion you exhibited when discussing your projects was contagious, and he found himself intrigued by the enthusiasm that lit up your eyes. It wasn’t just small talk; it was a glimpse into your world, which was vibrant and full of ambition.

Though he couldn’t avoid noting the age difference between you two—nearly two decades—it didn't seem to phase you in the slightest. Your ease and confidence in engaging with him bridged any gap that the years might have imposed. For Hotch, trained to observe and analyze, the lack of concern you showed about the age difference only deepened his interest. You were refreshingly unconcerned with numbers, focused instead on the substance of your interactions.

This approach resonated with him. Despite the initial reservations he might have had, Hotch found that the more he learned about you, the more the age gap seemed inconsequential. Your curiosity about his life, your shared laughter over coffee, and the way your eyes met his with an unflinching openness—all these elements wove together into a compelling tapestry that made the numbers fade into the background.

In you, Hotch saw not the years that separated you but the possibilities that lay ahead. This unexpected connection, fueled by mutual interest and undeniable chemistry, was too significant to be overshadowed by mere numbers.

When he complimented you on your dress, a simple yet elegant choice that complemented the season, your cheeks tinged with a soft blush. “Thank you, I wasn’t sure if it was too much,” you admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear—a gesture he was coming to recognize as a sign of your uncertainty.

“It’s perfect,” he assured you, his voice steady and reassuring. He noted then how your smile seemed to linger longer, a little more confident.

Coffee gave way to a walk through the nearby park, where the ground was a landscape of gold and red leaves. You walked slightly apart, respecting a mutual but unspoken boundary of personal space. Hotch observed the way your hands occasionally brushed against yours when your steps would sync for a moment, before you subtly pulled away, as if unsure of the contact.

“You know,” he started, breaking a comfortable silence, “it’s okay to just be yourself around me. You don’t have to be perfect.”

You glanced at him, a flicker of surprise in your expression. “I guess I’m just not used to this… to someone noticing,” you confessed, your voice a whisper against the crisp air.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Hotch said softly, offering a gentle smile that seemed to ease some of your tension. “And I’m glad I get to be a part of this with you.”

As leaves crunched underfoot, you gradually moved closer to him, your previous hesitation melting into a quiet comfort. Hotch welcomed the change, sensing the trust you were beginning to place in him.

It was during these simple moments—your laughter at his anecdotes from the BAU, your attentive silence when he spoke of his son, Jack—that Hotch realized the depth of your inexperience was matched only by your sincerity. And in this burgeoning connection, he found an unexpected kinship—a shared understanding that sometimes, the heart finds what it seeks in the most unanticipated encounters.

Over the next several weeks, the initial threads of attraction wove into a tapestry rich with shared moments and quiet discoveries. Each date that followed seemed to gently peel back a layer of your mutual reserve, revealing more of the profound connection that neither of you could deny.

On a cool evening, Hotch took you to a quaint Italian restaurant known for its secluded ambiance. He noticed how your eyes widened slightly at the sight of the candlelit table, the soft music in the background creating a perfect setting for intimate conversation. You seemed momentarily awestruck, a reaction he found endearing and telling of your inexperience with such deliberately romantic settings.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Hotch commented as he pulled out your chair, a gesture that made you pause with a soft 'thank you,' your voice barely above a whisper.

Throughout the evening, he was acutely aware of the careful way you placed your napkin on your lap, the glances at the array of silverware, and how you delicately navigated the menu suggestions he offered. It was these little nuances—your hesitant acceptance of his hand across the table, the way your smile slowly spread when he toasted to "new experiences"—that told him how new this all was to you.

On another crisp evening, as you walked together under the starlit sky, a conversation unfolded—a delicate dance of appreciation and hesitance. Hotch had noticed your lingering glances at the bouquet of flowers he’d brought you, a mix of admiration and something akin to concern.

“You really don’t have to keep doing this,” you began, breaking the comfortable silence between you. “The flowers, the dinners... it’s all so much.”

Hotch stopped walking, turning to face you under the glow of a street lamp. His expression was serious yet gentle. “But I want to,” he assured you. “It’s how I show I care. It’s not about obligation—it’s about expressing what I feel, in the way I know best.”

You looked up at him, the soft light casting shadows that played across your features, deepening the earnestness in your eyes. “It’s just... I’m not used to this. No one has ever...” Your voice trailed off, not from uncertainty but from the uncharted emotional territory you were navigating.

He stepped closer, his presence reassuring. “I know it’s new to you,” he said softly. “And that’s okay. But allow me to do these things for you. Not because you need them, but because I need to show you how much you mean to me. It’s not just about romance—it’s about respect, about cherishing the person you are.”

There was a moment of silence as you absorbed his words, the night air filled with the distant sound of the city. “I’m afraid I might get too used to it,” you admitted, a small smile breaking through your initial reservations.

“That’s the plan,” Hotch replied with a soft chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a genuine smile. “To get you used to being treated the way you deserve.”

You nodded slowly, leaning into him slightly, the barrier of unfamiliarity crumbling just a bit more. “Okay, Aaron. I... I trust you,” you said, your voice a whisper of surrender to the new experiences he was gently guiding you through.

Hotch’s response was a simple nod, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as you resumed walking. The city around you faded into a backdrop, a mere stage for a connection that was slowly, but surely, deepening with each shared moment and each tender gesture.

Each date was a step further into the uncharted waters of your burgeoning relationship. Hotch, being a man of tradition, felt a deep-seated desire to revive the art of classic courtship. He sent you flowers before each date, not merely as a gesture but as a symbol—a recognition of the budding something special between you. He took note of your favorite foods, your preferred genres of movies, and even the way you liked your coffee, memorizing the details like lines of an important case.

During an evening that carried the crisp edge of early winter, Aaron Hotchner and you found yourselves meandering through the quiet halls of a local art exhibit. The soft lighting and the hushed voices around you created an intimate atmosphere, echoing the growing closeness between the two of you. As you leaned lightly against his arm, your fingers brushing his, Hotch could sense your growing comfort. Yet, there remained a delicate trace of uncertainty in your gestures, a subtle reminder of your inexperience in navigating the tender dynamics of romantic intimacy.

As you paused before a particularly striking painting, your gaze absorbed in the colors and forms, Hotch watched you with a mixture of admiration and burgeoning affection. You shared your thoughts on the artwork—insightful yet tinged with shyness—that revealed a depth and sensitivity he found increasingly compelling.

"It’s beautiful," you murmured, "the way the artist uses light to express emotion. It’s almost like... like you can feel the warmth of the sun just by looking at it."

"Yes, it does," Hotch agreed, his voice low, his proximity closing in the space between you. "Art has a way of reaching into our souls, doesn't it? Drawing out things we sometimes struggle to express."

You turned towards him, your eyes meeting his, holding a spark that neither the art nor the soft gallery lights could rival. "I think that's why I like it here so much," you confessed. "It feels safe to feel things deeply."

The vulnerability in your admission, coupled with the earnest look in your eyes, stirred something profound within Hotch. He realized then how much he wanted to be a part of those unspoken depths, to explore the breadth of experiences that made you, you.

Encouraged by your closeness and emboldened by the evening’s serene beauty, Hotch found the moment he had been intuitively waiting for. "There’s something else I’ve been wanting to express," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper as he stepped closer.

Your breath caught slightly, anticipation mingling with a trace of nervous energy. Yet, you stood your ground, your eyes locked on his, a silent nod giving him the permission he sought.

Gently, Hotch cupped your face in his hands, his touch light yet filled with intent. He watched your eyes flutter closed, a sign of trust that fueled his own confidence. Then, carefully diminishing the last threads of distance between you, he kissed you.

The kiss was tender, a soft press of lips that spoke of respect and a burgeoning desire. It was an exploration, a question posed in the silent language of touches. You responded with an innocence edged with a burgeoning confidence, your hands tentatively reaching up to touch his wrists, holding onto him, into the moment.

As you both pulled away, the world seemed to resume around you, the sounds of the gallery flooding back as if someone had turned up the volume. Hotch looked at you, a gentle inquiry in his gaze, ensuring the step he had taken was right.

Your smile, shy yet radiant, was all the answer he needed. In that smile, Hotch saw not just your response to the kiss but a doorway to deeper connection—a promise of many more moments filled with discovery and shared warmth. Despite your inexperience, there was an undeniable rightness in the way you fit into his life, filling spaces he hadn’t known were empty.

As autumn bled into the year, Aaron Hotchner and you found rhythms of familiarity, the initial cautious steps of your courtship giving way to a more assured dance. Despite seeing each other regularly, the intimacy of a shared night had not yet unfolded. Hotch, ever the gentleman, respected the pace you set, knowing the depth of trust such a step required from you. He was patient, understanding that the connection they were nurturing was something profound, deserving of time and care.

One evening, as Hotch planned, brought you both to a jazz club where the dim lighting and the intimate clinking of glasses painted the perfect backdrop for an evening designed to draw you closer. Conversation flowed with an ease born of growing comfort and shared smiles, yet there was an undercurrent of anticipation, a silent acknowledgment of the evolving intimacy between you.

When a slow, soulful melody began to play, Hotch extended his hand, inviting you to join him on the dance floor. There was a brief hesitation, a visible flicker of apprehension in your eyes, before your hand slipped into his. It was a testament to your growing trust, a step further into the vulnerability of this new emotional landscape.

On the dance floor, your touch was tentative at first, as if the closeness summoned both yearning and a faint trace of fear. But as Hotch led, gentle and assured, you followed, gradually relaxing, your movements syncing with the languid music. Eventually, your head came to rest against his chest, a subtle surrender to the rhythm and to him. Hotch felt the shift, a melting of barriers that warmed him more than the music itself.

As the song waned, he leaned down, his voice barely above the music, "Are you alright?"

You nodded against him, your voice a soft murmur that vibrated through him. "Yes, this is... it’s really nice."

He smiled, his hand tightening slightly around yours, a silent promise of his protection and patience. "I'm here, I’m not going anywhere," he assured you, his voice a blend of tenderness and strength.

The moment was a delicate one, laden with unspoken promises and the electric thrill of potential. The night deepened around you, the music a rich blanket that seemed to weave itself into the very fabric of their burgeoning relationship.

As they stepped off the dance floor, the connection between you both was palpable, charged with the promise of shared tomorrows. Hotch felt the undeniable chemistry in every touch, every glance, each shared breath. He knew, with a growing certainty, that the slow build of their relationship was crafting a foundation strong and deep-rooted in mutual respect and an undeniable pull toward each other that neither could, nor wanted to, ignore.

Each gesture, each date, was a chapter in the evolving story of 'us'. Hotch knew the age difference might raise eyebrows, but in his view, the ways of old—courtesy, respect, and the slow dance of courtship—were timeless, meant to be upheld, especially when the heart found a genuine connection.

And in you, with your fresh eyes and tentative steps into romance, Hotch found not just a partner to protect but someone to cherish, to guide through the dance of affection and tenderness that life had, until now, kept just out of your reach. Each meeting, each shared laughter, only solidified his belief that despite the odds, the chemistry between you was undeniable—and deeply right.

As they stepped off the dance floor, the warm glow of the jazz club enveloping you, Aaron Hotchner sensed a subtle shift in your demeanor. The usual light in your eyes was clouded slightly by hesitation, a sign he had come to recognize as you wrestling with something unsaid. His protective instincts mingled with deep affection as he guided you to a quieter corner of the club, away from the lingering notes of the last song.

"You seem like you want to ask me something," Hotch said gently, his voice a grounding force amid the soft buzz of the club. His eyes searched yours, encouraging openness without pushing too hard.

You bit your lip, a nervous gesture that tugged at his heartstrings. "It's just... I sometimes feel like I'm under my own microscope," you confessed, your words tumbling out in a rush. "I overthink everything because I've never done this before. I wish I could just turn my brain off and just be, especially with you."

Hotch reached for your hands, holding them in his with a reassuring pressure. "Let's try that, then. Just be here with me, no pressure, no expectations. Can you try that for me?" His tone was soft yet earnest, hoping to ease the burden of self-scrutiny you carried.

You nodded, a fragile smile breaking through your apprehension. "I can try. Aaron, would you... would you like to come back to my apartment?" The invitation was hesitant, but your eyes held a hopeful spark.

Hotch felt a surprise ripple through him, but it quickly gave way to warmth. He was touched by your trust and moved by your courage to step beyond your comfort zone. "I'd like that very much," he responded, his voice steady, conveying both his respect for your pace and his readiness to follow your lead.

As you led the way out of the club, the cool night air seemed to buoy your spirits, lending you a newfound confidence. Hotch admired the way the city lights played across your features, casting you in a glow that seemed to mirror the burgeoning feelings he harbored for you.

The walk to your apartment was filled with an easy silence, comfortable and unforced. It was a silence that spoke of understanding and mutual respect, qualities that had become the foundation of whatever was blossoming between you two.

Once inside, you seemed to hesitate momentarily, the reality of the moment settling in. Hotch noticed the slight tremor in your hands as you hung up your coat. Stepping closer, he lifted your chin gently, guiding you to meet his gaze. "Remember, we're just being," he reminded you softly, his thumb caressing your cheek in a soothing motion.

The simplicity of his reassurance seemed to ease your nerves, and a genuine smile spread across your face. "Just being," you repeated, and in that repetition, there was a release of some of the tension you had been carrying.

That night, in the quiet sanctity of your apartment, with the city humming softly outside, Hotch and you found a new level of closeness. It was not just the physical proximity but an emotional connection that deepened with each gentle touch and shared silence. 

In the sanctuary you offered, Hotch felt honored to witness the layers of your vulnerability and strength, each one unfolding naturally, beautifully, right before his eyes.

Hotch’s observant eyes quickly taking in the surroundings that so clearly reflected your personality. The space was tastefully decorated, with vibrant plants dotting the corners and art prints that mirrored those you had admired earlier at the exhibit. Each detail seemed to tell a story, a quiet testament to your life and preferences.

Hotch noticed how the books on your shelf ranged from classic literature to modern marketing texts, suggesting a blend of deep thought and professional ambition. Small, framed photos of friends and family adorned another corner, hinting at a rich personal life, grounded in relationships that mattered deeply to you. It was these glimpses that gave him a fuller picture of who you were outside the moments shared together.

As you offered him a comfortable seat on the couch, Hotch could sense a mix of pride and vulnerability in your actions. It was as if you were opening up a private part of your world to him, and he recognized the significance of the gesture.

"I want you to feel free to share what you want here," Hotch said sincerely, his gaze meeting yours to emphasize his intent. "I’m not going anywhere, and there isn’t anything you could do or say to scare me off."

You nodded, a look of relief crossing your features, but there was a hesitance still lingering. Hotch decided it was time to address it directly. "What are you so afraid of?" he asked gently, his voice low and encouraging.

The question seemed to weigh heavily on you for a moment before you exhaled softly, the breath carrying with it the weight of unspoken fears. "I’ve never dated anyone before," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve never had a boyfriend before this... before you."

As you spoke, a blush crept up your cheeks, and you paused, suddenly realizing the implication of your words. Hotch caught your embarrassment and quickly reassured you, his tone warm and understanding. "Don’t be embarrassed," he urged softly. "And I’m sorry for not making it clearer before, but the term 'boyfriend' feels so much younger than I am." He smiled gently, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "But I most certainly want to be that for you, if you’ll have me."

Your eyes lifted to meet his, surprise and joy mingling in your expression. "I would like that," you said, the tension easing from your shoulders as you spoke.

Settled on your couch, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light around the room, Aaron Hotchner watched as another layer of hesitation seemed to cloud your features. He had come to recognize these moments—when you were teetering on the edge of sharing something significant. His presence, calm and reassuring, was meant to be a safe harbor for your thoughts.

"What’s on your mind?" he prompted gently, noticing how your fingers twisted together in your lap—a sign of your inner turmoil.

You hesitated, taking a deep breath before meeting his gaze with a newfound determination. "I want to be with you, Aaron," you started, your voice steady despite the obvious nerves. "I mean, I want to... have sex with you. But I have no idea how to initiate that."

Hotch felt a jolt of surprise at your boldness, though it was tempered with a deep respect for your honesty. He took a moment to compose himself, not just to temper his own reactions but to ensure he approached your admission with the sensitivity it deserved. He was a man, undeniably drawn to you in every possible way, yet he knew the weight of what you were proposing, especially given your limited experience.

"I want that too," he finally said, his voice low and earnest. "Very much." He paused, searching your face for any sign of discomfort. "Have you... is this your first time?" The question was delicate, his concern genuine, as he navigated the dual feelings of honor at being your chosen partner and the protective instinct that flared at the thought of anyone else having been with you.

You shook your head slightly a soft laugh appearing on your lips, a shadow passing over your features. "No, it’s not my first time," you admitted, and he felt a silent relief mixed with an unexpected twinge of something else—possessiveness, perhaps, or a protective anger toward anyone who might have hurt you. "I’ve done it once before, but it wasn’t good. I felt... rotten afterward."

The raw honesty of your words struck him deeply. Hotch moved closer, his expression softening as he reached out to gently touch your arm, offering comfort. "I’m really sorry to hear that," he said sincerely. "I want you to know, with me, it will be different. You are in control, and we will go only as far as you want, at a pace you are comfortable with."

Your eyes searched his, looking for the certainty and safety that had drawn you to him from the start. Finding it, you nodded, a tentative smile breaking through. "I trust you, Aaron," you whispered, leaning into the comfort of his touch.

Hotch’s heart swelled with a mix of emotions—care, desire, protectiveness. "Whenever you’re ready," he assured you, his tone a mix of promise and reassurance. "And we’ll make sure it’s a good experience, one that feels right for both of us."

The conversation marked a pivotal moment in your relationship, deepening the trust and intimacy between you. For Hotch, it reaffirmed his commitment to cherish and protect you, to guide you through the complexities of intimacy with the respect and affection you deserved. 

The conversation gently shifting to lighter topics, but the understanding between you remained profound—a silent acknowledgment of the steps you were ready to take together.

As the evening deepened, a soft jazz record spun quietly in the background of your apartment, casting a mellow sound that filled the space with a warm, inviting ambiance. Your taste in music, literature, and films surprised Hotch. They were much more akin to someone beyond your years--often beyond his years as well. 

Hotch observed you from where he sat on the couch, a half-smile on his face as he watched you move about the room, adjusting a pillow here, straightening a stack of books there—nervous energy channeled into tidying. But then, with a decisive pause, you turned to face him, your eyes holding a flicker of resolve that hadn't been there before.

"You know," you began, crossing the room toward where Hotch was seated, your voice steady but softer than usual, "I really meant what I said earlier, about... wanting to be with you."

Hotch's eyes followed your approach, noting the slight tremble in your hands that misrepresented your confident stride. He stood to meet you halfway, his height towering gently as he looked down into your eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, only a quiet determination, he nodded. "I remember," he replied simply, his voice low and encouraging.

Taking a deep breath, you reached out and tentatively placed a hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palm. "And I... I'd like that to be tonight, if you're still okay with that," you added, your gaze lifting to meet his.

The sincerity and quiet courage in your voice stirred something deep within Hotch. He covered your hand with his, pressing it gently against him to affirm his consent and support. "I'm more than okay with that," he assured you, his other hand reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. "We'll take this at your pace."

Encouraged, you stood on your tiptoes, bridging the gap between your heights, and pressed a tentative kiss to his lips. It was a soft, searching contact, seeking reassurance and connection. Hotch responded with equal gentleness, his lips moving against yours in a slow, respectful rhythm that allowed you the space to explore and deepen the kiss at your own initiative.

As the kiss grew more confident, your hands moved from his chest to loop around his neck, pulling him closer. Hotch's arms encircled your waist, drawing you into a firm yet careful embrace. The physical closeness brought a new layer of intimacy to the moment, and you both paused to catch your breath, foreheads resting together.

"Are you sure?" Hotch whispered, his breath warm against your skin, his hands steady and supportive at your back.

"Yes," you breathed out, your voice a mix of nervous excitement and resolve. "So sure."

With a nod of understanding, Hotch allowed you to lead him back towards the bedroom, each step measured and unhurried. He was acutely aware of the trust you were placing in him, and he was determined to honor it with every gentle touch and whispered reassurance.

The soft light casting gentle shadows around you, Hotch watched as you took a moment to steady yourself. Then, with a deep, shared breath, you both crossed the final threshold into intimacy, guided by mutual respect and a profound connection that promised to deepen with each passing moment.

Aaron Hotchner felt every subtle shift of the air as you moved slightly ahead of him, your steps hesitant yet filled with an intent that mirrored the pounding of his own heart.

As you reached the edge of your bed, you turned to face him, the light casting shadows across your features that highlighted the mix of anticipation and vulnerability in your eyes. Hotch, ever observant, noted the way your hands fidgeted slightly, betraying a nervous energy that belied the confident steps you had taken just moments before.

"It's okay," Hotch murmured, his voice a soothing baritone that seemed to resonate gently in the quiet room. He stepped closer, reducing the space between you, his hands rising to cup your face gently. "We can take this as slow as you need."

Your eyes searched his, finding reassurance in his steady gaze, and a tentative smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Thank you, Aaron," you whispered, the gratitude in your voice laced with an emotion deeper than the words themselves conveyed.

Hotch responded with a soft smile of his own, leaning in to press a tender kiss to your forehead—a gesture of affection and protection. Then, giving you the space to lead, he watched as you took a deep breath and reached out to him. Your hands, no longer trembling, found the hem of his shirt, and with a look that sought silent permission—which Hotch granted with a nod—you slowly lifted it over his head.

The act, simple yet laden with significance, marked a crossing into intimacy that Hotch handled with all the care and reverence it deserved. As the fabric parted from skin, it was as though barriers too were being shed, leaving a raw, beautiful honesty between you.

With the shirt discarded, Hotch gently took the lead, his hands guiding yours to the buttons of his shirt you wore. Each button undone was a mutual assent, a step deeper into vulnerability and trust. The cool air of the room brushed against your skin as the material parted, and Hotch's hands paused at your waist, giving you a moment to adjust to the new closeness.

"Are you still okay?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with concern and an unspoken promise to halt at any sign of discomfort.

"Yes," you breathed out, more sure than before, emboldened by his respect and your own burgeoning desire. "Please, keep going."

Encouraged by your words, Hotch's touch became more assured, tracing the lines of your arms as he helped you out of the shirt. His fingers brushed against your skin, each touch a word in the silent language of care they were writing together.

He never thought he’d get back here--never thought he’d be so lucky to have a second chance. 

In the shared quiet of your bedroom, with only the soft rustle of fabric and the steady, calming beat of two hearts synchronizing, a dance of mutual exploration unfolded. Each movement, each touch, was a discovery—a learning of boundaries, preferences, and the profound connection that pulsed vibrant and alive between you.

As the layers of fabric fell away, leaving vulnerability in their wake, Hotch felt a deep reverence for the trust you placed in him. The room was filled with the quiet symphony of their mutual breathing, punctuated by the soft sounds of fabric whispering to the floor. With every careful, considered touch, Hotch felt the gravity of your inexperience, sensed the weight of each movement, and honored it with his own measured responses.

Hotch was acutely aware of the significance of this moment for you. Each caress, each lingering touch was designed not only to explore but to reassure—to communicate that you were cherished, respected, and deeply cared for. 

His hands, steady and warm, traced the lines of your back, feeling the tension ease under his fingers. He could sense the leap of your heart, could almost hear the thrum of your pulse quickening with a blend of nervousness and excitement. Hotch’s own heart mirrored your tempo, a reflection of his own deep feelings and the earnest desire to ensure this experience was as beautiful and profound for you as the emotional connection they had nurtured together.

"Tell me what you need," he murmured, his lips close to your ear, his breath a soft echo in the quiet room. It was a question loaded with the promise of patience and the willingness to listen, to adapt, to ensure your comfort at every step.

You responded with a slight, almost shy nod, your voice a whisper that matched the tender atmosphere. "Just... stay close," you said, your hands finding his, seeking the reassurance of his grip. "Like this, just like this."

Hotch nodded, his eyes locking with yours in the dim light, a silent vow reflected back at you. He stayed close, his body aligned with yours, a steady presence that you could lean into and draw strength from.

The exploration continued, each touch a dialogue, each sigh a verse in the unfolding story of your closeness. 

Hotch was mindful, always, of your responses—the quick catch of breath, the soft sigh of contentment, the way your eyes fluttered closed in trust and surrender. These signs guided him, a map written in the language of touch and silent communion. He was a quick study, also, being with the same woman for over twenty years, he knew a thing or two about this subject.

Through careful, attentive touches, he discovered what elicited those soft, breathy moans that he knew he would never forget—the sounds that resonated deeply within him, stirring a blend of profound affection and desire. Each sound was a note in the symphony of their intimacy, a melody that he would carry in the quiet recesses of his heart.

You were eager to please, your movements and responses guided by an earnest desire to explore this new dimension of their relationship. Hotch could feel your eagerness, could see it in the way your eyes searched his for approval and reassurance. 

"You're doing wonderfully," Hotch whispered, his voice low and filled with warmth. The praise was not merely spoken; it was felt, communicated through every gentle touch and affirming look. He could see the way your eyes lit up at his words, a spark of joy mingling with relief fluttering across your features.

The way you responded to him, each movement and breath a testament to your trust and openness, resonated deeply within him. "You have no idea how good this feels," he continued, his hands guiding yours, encouraging each tentative exploration with a steady presence. "Not just what you’re doing, but knowing it’s you with me here."

His words were carefully chosen, aimed to reinforce the deep emotional landscape that underpinned the physical sensations. It was essential to him that you understood how profoundly he was affected by your presence, that it was not merely the act itself but the entirety of who you were that brought him such profound satisfaction.

And yet, little did you know, it took so little to please him when it came from you. The mere fact that it was you who was there with him, open and trusting, was more than enough to fulfill him.

In these moments, Hotch learned not just what you liked, but what you truly enjoyed—a discovery that felt both profound and sacred. He savored the honesty of your reactions, the unguarded way you shared yourself with him. Each revelation, whether a gasp of surprise at a new sensation or a sigh of contentment, was a treasure he stored away, a testament to the depth of the bond they were forging.

As the night wore on, the world outside their window forgotten, Hotch marveled at the deepening connection between you both.

The way you responded to him, the way your body arched towards his touch, spoke of a trust and a bond that went beyond the physical. It was as if each layer of vulnerability you revealed knitted you closer together, weaving a fabric of intimacy that was unique to the two of you.

When the dawn began to paint the sky with its first light, Hotch lay beside you, watching the rise and fall of your chest as you slept peacefully. In these quiet hours, he reflected on the journey they had embarked upon together. The intimacy they had shared was not just a physical union but an emotional, soul-deep connection that promised so much more.

The knowledge of what you truly liked, the memory of your soft moans, and the realization of how eager you were to please—these were not just moments of pleasure, but profound insights into the beautiful, complex person you were. And Hotch, ever the protector and now the partner, felt an overwhelming gratitude for the trust you placed in him, and a resolute commitment to be there for you, in all the ways that mattered.

As dawn cast a gentle light through the curtains of your bedroom, Aaron Hotchner lay quietly beside you, his gaze fixed tenderly on your form as you slowly awakened. The soft rays illuminated your features, highlighting the flush of your cheeks and the peaceful rise and fall of your breathing. He observed the flicker of consciousness return to your eyes, watched as awareness spread across your face, and sensed the slight tenseness that accompanied your realization of his watchful, affectionate eyes on your unclothed form.

A hint of shyness crept into your expression, a stark contrast to the openness you shared the night before. Sensing your self-consciousness, Hotch allowed a soft, teasing tone to warm his morning greeting, aiming to ease the tension he perceived. 

"Don't get shy with me now, sweetheart," he said, his voice low and slightly playful, the corners of his mouth lifting in a gentle smile.

The term of endearment, new yet fitting, seemed to deepen the blush that already tinted your cheeks. You turned to face him, your eyes wide with a mix of surprise and something else—perhaps pleasure. Hotch's use of "sweetheart" hung softly in the air between you, a tender label that was both an assertion of affection and a bridge across the morning's shyness.

Seeing your reaction, Hotch's smile broadened slightly, but he also felt a pulse of concern—wanting to ensure his words had been well received. 

"Do you not like that?" he asked gently, his head tilting to catch your gaze more fully, seeking to understand your feelings.

Quickly, you shook your head, the sheets rustling softly around you as you moved. "No, I like it," you assured him earnestly, your voice carrying a warmth that eased any lingering doubt in his mind. "I’ve never been called that before. It makes me feel... good." Your admission, simple yet profound, reflected the depth of your emerging emotions, revealing how such small intimacies were new territories being explored and cherished.

Hotch's eyes softened further, a profound tenderness settling in his features as he absorbed your words. The significance of the term—sweetheart—gained a new weight, symbolizing not just affection but a recognition of the intimacy and closeness that had flourished between you. 

"I’m glad," he murmured, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch as reverent as it was affectionate. "You deserve to feel nothing less than cherished."

In the quiet morning light, with the world outside still blurred by the early mist, Hotch felt a renewed sense of connection to you. Each shy smile, each hesitant yet trusting exchange, wove a stronger bond between you. Here, in the soft dawn of a new beginning, the previous night's vulnerabilities transformed into the day's strengths, each moment building on the last, each term of endearment a step deeper into the heart of what was swiftly becoming a profound and beautiful relationship.

The morning that continued was a blend of lingering sensations and the crisp return to reality as Aaron Hotchner made his way into the bustling environment of the FBI headquarters. The events of the previous night, filled with tender discoveries and shared warmth, were still vivid in his mind as he navigated through the familiar corridors toward his office. He was adjusting his collar, trying discreetly to ensure that no visible marks were showing, when Emily Prentiss caught him halfway down the hall.

"Hold it, Hotch!" Emily called out, a teasing smirk playing on her lips as she approached him with a purposeful stride. "You have a hickey," she announced with a mix of amusement and mock accusation.

Hotch, caught off-guard, touched his neck almost reflexively, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. "I do not," he countered smoothly, though his voice carried a hint of uncertainty as he felt the area she pointed out.

Emily laughed, pointing more directly now. "Oh, but you do. Right there, peeking from your collar." Her eyes twinkled with mischief, clearly enjoying the moment.

Memories from the previous night flashed through Hotch's mind—your growing confidence, the softness of your touch turning more daring as the night progressed. He remembered how your actions, once hesitant, had grown bolder, culminating in the passion that must have left the mark he was now accused of carrying.

Trying to maintain his composure, Hotch adjusted his collar once more, a futile attempt to cover the evidence. "It's nothing," he insisted, brushing past Emily toward the sanctuary of his office. He knew well the buzz this would stir among the team, especially once Emily shared her discovery.

As he closed his office door behind him, the slight smirk on Emily's face lingered in his mind. Hotch couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride mixed with embarrassment—after all, it wasn't just any mark; it was a token of the new intimacy and connection he had found with you. 

Deciding to embrace the lighter side of the situation, he took out his phone and composed a message to you, his fingers typing with a smile.

"Good morning, sweetheart. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about last night, or you. Also, thanks for leaving your mark on me—I’m trying to keep it under wraps here, but it seems I’ve been caught. Can’t wait to see you again."

He sent the message, the formality of his FBI role momentarily replaced by the warm, personal connection he now shared with you. Almost immediately, his phone buzzed with your reply, bringing an even deeper smile to his face.

"Oh no, I’m so sorry! I got carried away, didn’t I? I’m glad you enjoyed last night, though. I can’t stop thinking about it either..."

Hotch chuckled softly, the bashfulness and charm of your message warming him from within. It was these moments—these little exchanges—that continued to build the bridge between their worlds, a bridge that he treasured deeply.

Adjusting his collar one last time, Hotch settled into his day, the challenges of law enforcement ahead yet sweetened by the personal joy he now carried within him. Your presence in his life, marked subtly by the hickey hidden under his collar, was a secret badge of honor he wore with an inward, contented grin.

Later that day, as Aaron Hotchner navigated through the paperwork and case files that demanded his attention, he felt the presence of someone lingering near his office door. Looking up, he saw David Rossi, leaning casually against the frame with an all-too-familiar inquisitive look in his eyes.

“Got a minute, Hotch?” Rossi asked, his voice carrying a hint of mischief that only piqued as he stepped inside the office.

Hotch sighed lightly, already anticipating the direction of the conversation. “Sure, Dave, what’s on your mind?”

Rossi walked in, closing the door behind him with a soft click. “I’m just curious about the lucky lady who’s got you coming into work marked up like a teenager,” he teased, taking a seat across from Hotch.

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose, a resigned smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I was going to keep it more private, at least for a while,” he admitted, the reality that the team would inevitably find out now fully realized.

Rossi chuckled, his eyes twinkling with camaraderie and a bit of brotherly concern. “Too late for that, my friend. Penelope’s already done her digging. Showed us a photo of her.” He paused, watching Hotch closely. “She seems… vibrant. And quite a bit younger than you, huh?”

Hotch couldn’t suppress the slight flush of embarrassment mixed with pride. “Yes, she’s younger,” he confirmed, his voice steady despite the personal nature of the discussion. “She’s wonderful, Dave. Genuine, kind, and yes, younger, but I feel... rejuvenated, I suppose.”

Rossi’s laughter filled the room, easing any lingering tension. “Rejuvenated, he says. That’s one way to put it.” His tone shifted slightly, the humor mingling with sincerity. “It’s good for you, Hotch. After everything, you deserve a bit of happiness. Just don’t forget to bring her around sometime. We’re all dying to meet the woman who’s captured our fearless leader’s heart.”

Hotch smiled, the warmth of Rossi’s words reinforcing the acceptance he hoped for from his team. “I’ll think about it, Dave. It’s still new, and I want to make sure it’s right before making introductions.”

Rossi stood, heading toward the door but not without throwing a final quip over his shoulder. “Just remember, Hotch, the clock’s ticking. We’re not getting any younger, and you’ve snagged yourself someone who probably runs circles around you.”

“Only metaphorically, I assure you,” Hotch retorted, the banter a comfortable, familiar exchange between old friends.

As Rossi left with a chuckle, Hotch leaned back in his chair, the interactions with his team leaving him somewhere between frustration and enlightenment. The dynamic of the BAU was such that nothing stayed private for long, but perhaps in this case, it wasn’t such a bad thing. His team’s curiosity, albeit invasive at times, came from a place of genuine care and support. Adjusting his collar once more, Hotch settled back into his work, a small smile playing on his lips as he thought of you, his newfound reason for joy.

The rhythm of the latest case had Aaron Hotchner more bound up than usual, with long days bleeding into longer nights, each hour stretching thin as the team chased down leads and suspects. 

Despite the consuming nature of his work, a part of his mind remained tethered to you, his thoughts wandering to your last night together and the silence that had followed. As the days passed without a word from you, his concern deepened, shadowed by the worry that perhaps he had misread the signals or assumed too much about the bond he felt was forming between you.

During a briefing, Hotch found himself checking his phone again—a habit that had not gone unnoticed. JJ caught his eye, her expression a mix of concern and gentle teasing. "Expecting an important call, Hotch?" she asked, an eyebrow raised in playful inquiry.

He pocketed the device, offering a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Just keeping tabs on things," he replied, though his vague response fooled neither JJ nor himself.

That evening, back in the solitude of his hotel room, the quiet felt more oppressive than calming, each tick of the clock a reminder of the growing distance he felt from you. Resolved not to let the situation fester with assumptions, he dialed your number, the weight of his phone heavy in his hand.

When you answered, your voice brought an immediate relief, but it was tinged with a hesitation that prompted him to cut straight to the heart of his fears. "Is something wrong?" Hotch asked, his voice low and filled with a palpable concern. "If you're regretting our night together, it's okay, but I need to know."

There was a brief pause before you responded, your words slow as if weighing each one. "No, it's not that," you assured him. "I just... I'm inexperienced, and I didn't want to come off as the nagging, clingy girlfriend. I didn't want to bother you."

Hotch felt a pang of understanding mixed with a slight reprimand towards himself for not making his feelings clearer from the start. "You could never nag or be a bother," he said earnestly. "I want you to cling. I’ve been missing you."

His admission hung in the air, a bridge stretched out over the miles that separated you. After a moment of silence, filled only with the faint buzz of the line, Hotch's voice softened further. "Sweetheart, are you still with me?"

Your response was a breath, almost lost in the connection. "I'm sorry, I'm just taking all of this in. I miss you too," you admitted, and there was a warmth in your tone that made his heart swell. "Hearing that you miss me makes me feel so good. I never thought I'd get this."

The simplicity and sincerity of your words struck a chord in him. Hotch found himself reflecting on his past, on the loss and the loneliness that had once defined his days. "The feeling is mutual," he confessed. "You’ve brought something into my life I didn’t dare to expect again."

In the quiet of his hotel room, with the night pressing against the windows, Aaron Hotchner felt a profound shift. The connection between you and him, built on shared moments and the tender exchange of fears and hopes, was something deeply real—something worth every effort to preserve and nurture, despite the chaos of their daily lives. As he set the phone down, a sense of peace settled over him, the kind that only comes when two hearts find a way to beat in tandem, even across the distance.

From that heartfelt conversation onward, the dynamic between you and Aaron Hotchner transformed, becoming a constant stream of communication that threaded through the remainder of his case. Each text you sent, each call you made at the end of the day, wove deeper layers of connection and comfort into the fabric of his daily routine, which had often felt isolating given the demanding nature of his work.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day of interviews and dead ends, Hotch felt his phone vibrate with an incoming message. It was from you—a selfie, your smile bright and genuine as you held up a large mug of coffee, your shared favorite…the one that brought you together at the grocery store. 

The image was a simple one, but it radiated warmth and a comforting normalcy. Your eyes sparkled with unspoken words, a silent message of support and affection that transcended the physical distance between you.

Hotch couldn’t help but smile, the stress of the day momentarily lifted by your thoughtfulness. He studied the photo, noting the way the light played across your features, the casual fall of your hair, and the cozy environment that spoke of a peaceful moment during your day. It was these glimpses into your daily life that he cherished, reminders of the vibrant, real person who had quickly become so significant to him.

Tapping out a response, Hotch’s fingers moved with a certainty driven by his emotions. “Thank you for this, sweetheart,” he wrote. “It’s the highlight of my day. Please keep sharing these moments with me. They mean more than you might realize.”

As the case progressed, with its usual ups and downs, the constant communication with you became something of a lifeline for him. Each message, each snapshot of your day, helped to ground him, to remind him of the life that awaited him beyond the paperwork and the critical decisions. Your willingness to reach out, to keep the connection alive and thriving, was a gift that Hotch did not take for granted.

Your conversations grew richer, filled with the mundane details of daily life and the deeper revelations that came with growing trust. Hotch found himself sharing more too, opening up about the challenges of his days, the small victories, and the moments that made him think of you. It was a mutual exchange, a give and take that balanced the scales of their relationship with equal parts affection and understanding.

In the quiet of his hotel room, as he prepared to finally head home after the case was closed, Hotch looked back on the past days with a reflective appreciation. The case had been tough, but the evolving relationship with you, punctuated by daily messages and endearing selfies, had added a layer of joy to his life that had been absent for too long.

As he packed his bags, ready to return to a routine that now included you at its heart, Hotch felt a profound sense of anticipation. The case had been solved, but a new chapter in his life was just beginning—a chapter that promised as much warmth and connection as the smile in the photo he had saved to his phone, a permanent reminder of the sweetness and light you brought into his world.

Returning home, Hotch found himself immediately swept into the world of his son, Jack, who had been patiently waiting for his father's return. Although eager to reconnect with you, Hotch knew that his first responsibility was to his son, especially after such a prolonged absence. Understanding the situation, you gave him the space he needed, focusing on preparing for an upcoming marketing conference.

One quiet evening, after dinner and a movie that Jack had picked out, Hotch found the perfect moment to broach a subject that had been on his mind throughout his recent work travels. They were sitting on the couch, Jack's head resting against his arm, the room filled with the soft glow of the lamp and the comforting silence that followed their laughter from the movie.

"Jack, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about," Hotch began, his voice gentle, ensuring it carried the weight of his words thoughtfully.

Jack looked up, his expression open and attentive, a look of curiosity spreading across his features. "What is it, Dad?"

Hotch took a deep breath, his heart filled with a mix of anticipation and hope. "It’s about someone very special that I’ve met recently. She’s become very important to me." Hotch paused, gauging Jack’s reaction to these initial words.

Jack’s brow furrowed slightly, then relaxed as he processed the information. "Is she your girlfriend?" he asked, his voice carrying a blend of childish simplicity and earnest inquisitiveness.

"Yes, she is," Hotch replied, smiling at Jack’s directness. "And she’s really wonderful, Jack. I was thinking, maybe you’d like to meet her soon? I think you’d like her a lot."

Jack seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Is she nice?" he asked, his criteria for approval clear.

"Very nice," Hotch assured him, his heart warming at the simplicity of Jack's priorities. "She’s kind, she’s funny, and she makes me very happy."

"Okay," Jack said, his agreement coming easily, much to Hotch's relief. "Can we go to the park or something when I meet her? Maybe have a picnic?"

"That sounds like a great idea," Hotch agreed, grateful for Jack's receptiveness and the ease with which he seemed to accept the news. "We’ll plan something fun."

As Jack yawned and snuggled closer to his father, Hotch felt a profound sense of gratitude for the open-hearted way his son approached the world. Turning his thoughts briefly to you, he felt a surge of affection and a quiet thrill at the thought of intertwining his worlds. He planned to text you later that evening, sharing Jack’s positive reaction and perhaps arranging that picnic Jack had proposed.

The day you met Jack was as picture-perfect as Hotch had hoped. On a rare warm day the three of you spent an afternoon at the park, bundled up under the tentative warmth of late winter sun, with a picnic spread that included all of Jack's favorite foods. Hotch watched, a soft smile playing on his lips, as you and Jack tossed a frisbee, laughter ringing through the air. It was clear from the way Jack clung to your hand as you walked back to the car that you had won his heart as thoroughly as you had won Hotch's. From then on, Jack often asked when you'd be joining them again, his acceptance both a relief and a joy to Hotch.

As winter melted into spring, the relationship between Aaron Hotchner and you blossomed with the season. The transition was marked by significant milestones and quiet moments alike, each one building upon the last, deepening the connection that had sparked during the colder months.

With you, every date, every encounter seemed to bring a new "first": the first time you cooked dinner together, managing somehow to turn spaghetti into a gourmet meal; the first time you danced in your living room to no music at all, just the rhythm of your own laughter; the first work event where Hotch insisted he joined you. Each of these moments was a step deeper into the life you were crafting together.

As the days grew longer, so too did your confidence in your relationship. Hotch noticed the subtle changes: the way your smile reached your eyes a little faster, how your hand found his in a crowd without hesitation, the ease with which you spoke of future plans, weaving him into the fabric of your visions as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Despite the growing security in your relationship with Hotch and Jack, the prospect of meeting his team—a group of people who were not just colleagues but family to Hotch—loomed large in your thoughts. You expressed your nervousness one evening, tucked away in the corner of a cozy cafe, your hands wrapped around a cup of tea for comfort.

"I'm just worried they won’t think I’m... enough," you confessed, your voice a whisper against the clatter of the cafe.

Hotch reached across the table, his fingers gently lifting your chin so you would meet his eyes. "Sweetheart, you are more than enough," he reassured you firmly, his gaze intense and sincere. "They’re going to love you because I love you, and because you are incredible, not just to me, but in your own right."

In the quiet intimacy of the cafe, as Aaron Hotchner uttered the words, "I love you," the atmosphere seemed to shift subtly, the world pausing for a heartbeat. His declaration, spoken so naturally in reassurance and affection, hung between you—a confession made all the more profound because it slipped out unplanned, unguarded.

As he watched your reaction, he saw the surprise that flitted across your features, your eyes widening as the magnitude of his words settled in. For a moment, Hotch felt a twinge of uncertainty—had he spoken too soon?

However, your initial shock quickly gave way to a deeper, radiant sort of joy. The smile that spread across your face was slow but unmistakable, lighting up your eyes and reflecting a mix of love and awe. "Aaron," you breathed, your voice thick with emotion, "you love me?"

Hotch felt a smile tugging at his own lips, his heart swelling in his chest at the sight of your happiness. "Yes, I do," he affirmed, more confidently now. He realized that saying it aloud, here with you, felt right—it felt true. "I didn’t plan to say it just now, but it’s the truth. I love you, and I have for some time."

Your hands reached across the table, finding his, a tangible connection that grounded the moment. "I love you too," you replied, the words seeming to fill the space with warmth and light. "Hearing you say that—it just makes everything feel so real."

Hotch squeezed your hands gently, a contented sigh escaping him. He was a man accustomed to control, to keeping his emotions tightly reined in, but with you, it felt natural to let those walls down. The love he felt for you was something powerful and deep, stirring parts of him he’d thought long dormant.

As the cafe continued to buzz around you, the world moving forward, the moment of your mutual confession felt like a sanctuary, a quiet space carved out of time where only the two of you existed. "It is real," Hotch affirmed, his voice soft but filled with conviction. "You’ve changed my world, and there’s nothing I want more than to keep building this life with you."

As spring unfurled its vibrant hues across the city, both you and Aaron Hotchner found yourselves drawn away from home by professional commitments—yours to a marketing conference and his to a case that coincidentally placed him in the same distant city. When Hotch discovered the serendipitous overlap, a plan began to form in his mind, a surprise that he hoped would light up your day as much as it did his.

Arranging to finish his day's obligations with the BAU team a bit earlier, Hotch made his way to your hotel. The thought of seeing your reaction kept a subtle smile playing at the corners of his lips as he approached your room. After a quick knock, the door swung open, and there you stood, momentarily taken aback but swiftly melting into a radiant smile upon seeing him.

"Aaron!" you exclaimed, surprise giving way to delight. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in town for a case," he explained, stepping inside as you beckoned him eagerly. "I couldn't pass up the chance to see you."

The joy in your expression warmed him more than the spring sun could, and in that instant, he knew he'd made the right call. After a few moments of catching up, he ventured further with his plan. "I have another surprise for you," he started, watching your curiosity pique. "How about dinner tonight with the team? They're all eager to meet you."

You paused, the initial surge of happiness tempering slightly into apprehension. Meeting Hotch's colleagues, the famed BAU team, was a significant step—one you hadn't anticipated taking quite so suddenly. Sensing your hesitation, Hotch gently added, "They're really looking forward to meeting you, sweetheart. But no pressure, we can do this at your pace."

Your eyes searched his, finding reassurance in his steady gaze. "Okay, let's do it," you decided, your voice steady with newfound resolve, bolstered by his support.

That evening, as you walked into the restaurant with Hotch's hand resting lightly on your back, a buzz of conversation and laughter greeted you, emanating from the table where the BAU team had gathered. Derek Morgan rose first, his demeanor open and friendly as he approached.

“Hey there! You must be the famous lady,” Derek said with a grin, shaking your hand with a firm, welcoming grip. “We’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”

David Rossi followed with his characteristic charm, raising his glass slightly in a toast as he nodded toward you. “Welcome, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said, his voice smooth and inviting.

Spencer Reid, slightly awkward but visibly interested, extended his hand next. “Hi, um, it’s really nice to meet you. Hotch talks about you a lot,” he admitted, pushing his glasses up his nose nervously.

Emily Prentiss’s smile was both warm and mischievous. “Don’t worry, only good things,” she chimed in, her eyes twinkling. “We’re really excited you could join us tonight.”

JJ, ever the empathetic soul, gave you a gentle hug. “We’re just like a family here, and anyone important to Hotch is important to us,” she said softly, making you feel truly part of the group.

As everyone settled back into their seats, the conversation flowed easily. You found yourself between Hotch and Spencer, who was more than eager to dive into an elaborate explanation about the historical origins of a case study he’d been reading.

“So, essentially, the behavioral patterns can be traced back to—” Spencer began, only to be interrupted by Derek’s good-natured groan.

“Reid, man, save it for the office. Let’s keep it light, yeah?” Derek teased, eliciting a round of laughter from the table.

You laughed, glancing at Hotch, who was watching you with a soft smile. “You fit right in,” he whispered to you, squeezing your hand under the table.

Derek, not one to miss a beat, caught the exchange and winked. “Look at Hotch, all romantic and stuff. We never get to see this side of him.”

Rossi joined in, his voice playful, “It’s good for him. Keeps him young.”

Hotch rolled his eyes but his smile remained, his gaze fixed on you with unmistakable affection. “I’m just glad she agreed to come tonight,” he said, his voice carrying a tone of deep gratitude.

As the evening progressed, the team shared funny anecdotes from past cases, carefully skirting around the more gruesome details, focusing instead on the mishaps and lighter moments. Emily recounted a tale involving a mistaken identity and a runaway suspect in a mascot costume, which had you laughing until tears formed in your eyes.

“You see, Hotch had to tackle the mascot, and when the head came off, it was the mayor’s nephew!” Emily concluded, as the table erupted in laughter.

The warmth and laughter of the evening did much to make you feel at ease, the initial apprehension you felt about meeting Hotch's team dissipating like mist. As dinner wound down, Hotch leaned closer, his voice for your ears only. “Thank you for being here tonight, sweetheart. It means a lot to me.”

Your response was a soft smile, your hand tightening on his. “I wouldn’t have missed it. Thank you for inviting me.”

As you both stood to leave, the farewells were warm and genuine, each team member making you promise to join them again soon. Walking out into the cool evening air, Hotch’s arm around your shoulders, you felt a sense of belonging and acceptance that was both new and deeply comforting. Tonight hadn’t just been about meeting his colleagues; it had been about joining a part of his life, a part that was important to him. And as you looked up at him, the city lights reflecting in his eyes, you knew this was just the beginning of many shared moments and memories.

As you entered the elegantly appointed lobby of your hotel, Hotch couldn’t help but comment on the plush surroundings with a gentle tease, “Looks like marketing agencies know how to treat their people right.”

You chuckled, leading him to the elevator with a playful nudge. “Maybe the bureau could take a few pointers,” you suggested, sparking a shared smile that lingered as you ascended to your floor.

Once inside your room, the reality of the beautiful evening began to sink in. The room was spacious and warmly lit, the city lights casting a soft glow through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Hotch watched as you slipped off your shoes and curled up on the plush sofa, a content sigh escaping you. Joining you, he felt an overwhelming sense of peace and gratitude.

“The team really liked you, you know,” Hotch said, his voice low and filled with pride. “They’ve never been so unanimously approving before.”

You looked up at him, your eyes soft. “I loved meeting them. They made me feel so welcome,” you admitted, your gratitude evident. “Thank you for making tonight happen. It was perfect.”

As you leaned into him, Hotch wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. The feeling of your body against his, the scent of your hair, and the warmth of your presence filled him with a deep, resonant joy. Sitting there, with the night sky stretched out before you both and the quiet hum of the city below, Hotch allowed himself a moment to reflect on everything that had brought you both to this point. 

“You know,” he began thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on the twinkling lights outside, “there’s something incredibly refreshing about being with you. Your perspective, your innocence—it’s brought out a side of me I thought was long gone. I’m... I’m really grateful for that.”

You turned to look at him, your expression tender. “I feel the same, Aaron. You make everything seem exciting and new, like there’s a world of possibilities I never knew about.”

In that quiet hotel room, a soft melody playing from the small radio on the bedside table, Hotch felt the weight of his usual responsibilities lighten. Here with you, the complexities of his job, the burdens of his past, seemed distant and manageable. Your innocence, far from being a naiveté, was a lens through which the world could be seen afresh, vibrant and hopeful.

So much of his life, the goodness in people had been tainted from his line of work and all he had been through. There was a clarity in being in your presence. 

He kissed the top of your head, a silent expression of his feelings. “I’m looking forward to exploring all those possibilities with you, sweetheart,” he murmured.

Your smile in response was all the confirmation he needed. The evening might have ended, but their journey together was just beginning, each new day promising more laughter, understanding, and shared growth. As Hotch held you close, the city’s pulse below you a faint echo to their own heartbeats, he knew that this—this right here with you—was exactly where he was meant to be.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry

[howly]

i love twilight's chapter 7: nightmare so much, man. bella's literally like "i received knowledge that completely altered my perception of the world and was about to freak out. but i listened to some punk rock then had a nap and a walk and a bowl of cereal and now i'm chill". icon behaviour

[axeeglitter]

Reformating Love

Ethan stared at the unwashed cereal bowl on the counter, the sticky remnants of milk and granola solidifying into an unappetizing paste. The apartment reeked faintly of saltwater and old gym clothes, a byproduct of living with Scott.

Scott, his surfer roommate, seemed to revel in making Ethan’s life a mix of frustration and quiet misery. The man had an effortless charm. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a sun-kissed tan that made him look like a walking advertisement for beach life. His messy, curly long blond hair, perpetual smirk, and casual demeanor made him maddeningly attractive and completely insufferable.

As if on cue, Scott sauntered out of his bedroom wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung boxer briefs. His toned body, slightly hairy in all the right places, gleamed faintly as if he had just stepped off his surfboard. He stretched his long arms over his head, revealing the thick patch of hair under his armpits, and yawned loudly.

“Morning, sunshine!” Scott said with a grin, his voice dripping with playful condescension.

Ethan gritted his teeth. “It’s three in the afternoon.”

Scott shrugged, completely unbothered. “Time doesn’t matter when you’ve mastered the art of the chill, my man.” He opened the fridge, pulling out a carton of orange juice and drinking straight from it.

“Can you at least use a glass?” Ethan asked, already knowing the answer.

Scott turned, a mischievous glint in his eye. “What’s the matter? Afraid of catching my cooties?” He wiggled his eyebrows before smirking and adding, “Or do you just want my lips on your lips, huh?”

Ethan flushed, his jaw tightening. “You’re impossible.”

Scott grinned wider and leaned against the counter, his muscular arms casually crossed. “Aw, come on, E. I’m just messing with you. You know I think you’re great. I mean, if I swung that way…” He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

Ethan turned away, grabbing his laptop and settling onto the couch.

He was used to Scott’s teasing by now, but it still stung. The comments weren’t overtly homophobic; they were Scott’s way of pushing buttons, of asserting dominance in their shared space.

It wasn’t just the comments, though. It was the way Scott left his belongings everywhere, his dirty clothes strewn across the floor like trophies from his latest conquest. It was the way he played his music too loud, the bass vibrating through the walls at all hours. It was the way he walked around the apartment half-naked, completely comfortable in his skin, while Ethan tried to focus on anything other than the sharp curve of his hip bones or the way his legs seemed to go on forever.

Ethan had tried confronting him once, but Scott had just laughed it off, ruffling Ethan’s hair like he was a kid. “Relax, dude. Life’s too short to stress over this stuff.”

But for Ethan, it wasn’t just "stuff." It was the constant reminder that he was the one who cared too much, the one who had to clean up, the one who tiptoed around Scott’s oversized personality.

That night, as Scott sprawled on the couch in his underwear, flipping through channels like he owned the place, Ethan found himself staring at his laptop, typing a phrase he never thought he’d search for: How to make someone change their behavior.

The results were a mixed bag of self-help articles, manipulative tricks, and obscure forums. But one thread caught his eye: Reprogramming personalities: Is it possible?

Ethan clicked, his curiosity piqued despite himself. The thread was filled with wild claims about new technologies that could alter someone’s behavior at a fundamental level. Some users spoke of psychological conditioning, others about experimental devices that could rewire a person’s mind entirely.

One comment stood out:

"Tired of dealing with someone who just won’t change? The solution is simpler than you think. Reprogramming kits are real, and they work. DM me for more information."

Ethan hesitated. It had to be a joke, right? Some elaborate scam? Still, the idea burrowed into his brain, refusing to let go. What if there was a way to make Scott understand, to force him to see how much of a burden he was?

Without fully understanding why, Ethan clicked on the user’s profile and sent a message: Tell me more. But after waiting for almost half an hour, no answers appeared on his screen. “Yo E., What you doing bro?” Asked Scott as he was getting up from the couch. Out of reflex and fear, Ethan closed the window, his heart racing. Ethan decided that he was just tired and needed some time away from everything and went to bed, his heart still racing from stress.

The next morning, Ethan received a notification on his phone: Your package is out for delivery.

“What package?” he muttered to himself.

When he received the package later that afternoon, Ethan didn’t understand what this was. “Hey Scott, have you purchased something?” He asked still on the porch with the package in his hands. No answer from Scott so he went back inside and opened the box on the kitchen table. It was a slick USB drive with only a handwritten note inside: “Reformation kit”. Ethan held the UBS in his hand, a chill ran down his spine.

It seemed absurd, like some kind of prank. Ethan turned the USB over in his hands, its glossy black surface unmarked by logos or branding. The note offered no further explanation. He almost tossed it in the trash, but something stopped him. Ethan walked down to the couch where Scott was laying there in his underwear and exposing his muscled and slightly hairy physique, as always. “Hey Scott, have you purchased a Reformation kit?” Scott looked up at Ethan and laugh answering “Yea sure E. I have purchased this nerdy shit to better perform on the board. You really aren’t the smartest of the nerds, are you?” Ethan felt rage rise in him as he heard Scott taunting one more time. “You are a jerk; you know that right?” He answered while throwing the USB in his direction, not seeing that Scott turned his head back on his phone, exposing his naked neck as his still wet hair parted around it. Ethan didn’t wait for an answer as he walked in his room to get ready for his night shift at the movie theater. unbeknown to him, the USB stopped mid air before touching the ground. Then all of a sudden, the USB started to light a faint blue hue and hum as it floated just behind Scott’s exposed neck. Then, Scott felt a tingle at its base, not knowing that a small rectangle USB port just appeared out of nowhere in his flesh, the skin around it smooth and metallic like a port carved directly into his spine. As he was about to scratch the itch, the UBS plugged itself inside Scott’s neck.

There was a soft click.

Scott froze, his entire body stiffening as if a switch had been flipped.

“What the hell…” Scott started, but his words were cut off by a strangled cry. His head snapped back; his mouth open in a silent scream as his entire body began to convulse.

Scott’s fingers clawed at the couch cushions, his muscles spasming uncontrollably. His eyes were wide with terror, and tears streamed down his face as his voice returned in gasping, ragged muffled screams.

But there was no way to stop it. The USB drive glowed faintly, and Scott’s body arched violently, his back lifting off the couch.

Inside Scott’s mind, the sensation was beyond anything he could have imagined. It was as if every fiber of his being was being pulled apart, unraveling into threads of light and sound. His memories flashed before his eyes in rapid, chaotic bursts. His childhood, his first surfboard, his friends, his favorite songs.

But then, those memories started to fade.

“Ethan!” he tried to scream, his voice cracking with panic. “Help me! something’s wrong! I’m... I’m disappearing! I don’t feel goo…”

Scott’s face contorted with pain, his words becoming garbled. The light around the USB grew brighter, and a faint hum filled the room, like the whirring of a hard drive.

Scott’s mind was unraveling, his sense of self slipping away. His thoughts fragmented, disintegrating into a flood of static.

The pain was unbearable. It wasn’t just physical; it was the loss of everything that made him him. His memories, his emotions, his very essence were being stripped away, digitized and compressed into raw data. Scott could feel his senses being cut one by one. It started with the lost connection to his feet, then it climbed up his legs and now he could only feel his face.

And then, there was nothing.

Scott’s body went limp, the glow from the USB fading as the reprogramming completed. Ethan left for his shift just after the USB stopped shining and fell back on the ground, the hole in the neck disappearing once the connection was lost. Scott stood there, his eyes closed and his head resting on the couch. “I’m leaving Scott. If you have time, try to clean the apartment please. I’m exhausted and I just want to come back to a tidy house for once. See you!” Scott didn’t answer, but as Ethan closed the door, his eyes opened, a soft hue shining blue hue brighten his eyes before disappearing to his natural blue color. Scott looked around the house and then at his body, he touched himself as he took everything in. A smile appeared on his serene face, typical Scott’s signature cocky smile as he looked at his reflection in his smartphone, making his cock chub up a bit. Then out of nowhere, he jumped up from the couch and started to walk to the kitchen, ready to do some cleaning.

When Ethan came back home later that night, Scott was sitting on the couch in his underwear, as always, but Ethan realizes the house smelt fresh. He turned around to see the house clean and tidy, even the dried granola balls in the full kitchen sink were washed and put away. Ethan walked to Scott with a smile on his face and stress released from his shoulders. “Thanks bro!” started Ethan not waiting for any answers from Scott. But as he turned around, he felt Scott’s calloused manly hand grabbing his forearm. Ethan turned around not understanding what Scott wanted only to be met with Scott’s smile. “Yo E., I realize that you did a lot to keep this house as clean as possible and I didn’t help you at all those years. I also realize that life is short and I’m done not being me to my fullest. Now I know I’m not gay, but I kind of have some… feelings for you. You think we could… be something? Like, a relationship…. Maybe?” Ethan stood there; his mouth opened in surprise as he tried to take in everything that he just heard. He tilted his head on his forearm to see Scott still grabbing him for dear life and moving his thumb back and forth on his sensitive skin. He tilted his head back up to see Scott’s smiley face and out of pure pulsion, he thought fuck it, and threw himself in Scott naked and muscled arm to kiss him.

Over the next few days, Ethan explored the limits of their new relationship. So much had change and Ethan couldn’t believe how all of that was possible in only a couple of days. Scott was more attentive, less cocky. He no longer teased Ethan or strutted around the apartment like he owned the place. Instead, he was now helping with chores, cooking dinner, and even suggesting they watch movies together.

It was everything Ethan had hoped for.

As the days turned into weeks, their relationship deepened. They spent hours cuddling on the couch, wrapped in each other’s arms as Ethan introduced Scott to new shows of adventures and fantasy. Scott’s touch was gentle, his affection genuine. He laughed at Ethan’s jokes and listened to him talk about his day with an intensity that made Ethan feel seen for the first time in years.

They shared baths; Scott’s strong arms wrapped around Ethan as they soaked in the warm water. They fell asleep in the same bed, their bodies entwined, the sound of Scott’s steady breathing lulling Ethan into a peaceful sleep.

Ethan told himself that this was what he had always wanted. Scott was happy, and so was he.

One evening, as they lay on the couch about to start The Witcher, Scott turned to Ethan with a contented smile.

“This show looks really good,” he said, his voice warm. “Thanks for introducing me to it.”

Ethan smiled back, his heart swelling with affection. He reached out to brush a strand of hair from Scott’s face.

“I love you,” he said softly.

Scott’s expression faltered for a brief moment, as if he were realizing something that was just out of reach. But then he smiled again and leaned in to kiss Ethan.

“I love you too,” he said.

Ethan didn’t notice the faint flicker of light in Scott’s eyes.

“I’ll grab some popcorn,” Ethan said, smiling as he untangled himself and headed to the kitchen.

Scott stretched, his body lean and relaxed, the dim light catching on the subtle golden tan of his surfer’s skin. As Ethan rummaged in the cupboards, Scott plunged his hand inside his right pocket where he toyed with the black sleek USB drive between his fingers.

“There’s no going back now.” he muttered to himself.

Without thinking, he got up and walked over to the TV. The back of his neck itched faintly. Scott stood in front of the TV and took the USB out of his pocket. He looked at it and a smile appear on his lips, without further thinking inserted the USB into one of the ports on the side of the television.

The screen flickered violently, the Netflix logo distorting into jagged lines and glitches that sent static crackling through the air. Scott stepped back, his heart pounding. The screen of the TV turned off and the room darkened. The television’s screen turned pitch black, save for faint flickers of light coalescing into a chaotic storm of colors.

And then, in the center of the screen, pixels started to merge together to form an entity. Something human like. Limbs started to appear and soon a face too. Scott stood in front of the as he watches with attention his reflection appears on the screen. Scott’s digitized soul had been plugged in.

Scott’s digitized soul emerged on the screen, flickering into existence in a form that resembled his body but was translucent and distorted. His limbs jerked as though he were a marionette struggling against invisible strings.

“What’s happening?!” he screamed from inside the TV, his voice echoing in the dark void. He looked down at his hands,they were translucent, pixelated fragments of light that didn’t feel solid.

His vision swam as he turned, desperate to find some kind of anchor. Instead, he saw his own body standing on the living room carpet, staring blankly at the TV.

“No,” he whispered, his voice cracking with panic. “That’s... that’s me. That’s my body!”

He pounded on the invisible barrier of the screen, his hands sparking with faint glitches. “Ethan! Help me! I’m in here! I’m…” “He won’t answer.” Scott heard his deep manly voice answering his please “In fact, no one will help you. You had it all, Scott. But you had to push the boundaries a bit too much and now look at you. Digitized, trapped, floating naked inside a TV screen.” “What are you talking about?!” screamed Scott from inside the TV. “Get me out of here! I’ve been stuck in darkness for weeks! Get me out!” “That won’t happen buddy… See, I have been stuck in there for years and there’s no way I’m going back in it. My ex, this fucking piece of shit, cursed and trapped me in there after finding out I planned to quit her. She did the mistake of keeping me trapped in "this" and make sure I always was close to her, but the second she met someone, she sends me to the first one without even freeing me from this cursed existence? I won’t do the same mistake. I'm here to stay, even if I have to play for the other team. And Ethan is kind of cute. Yes, this cycle ends now!” As he said that, Scott took the remote in his hand. The screen flickered, and Scott was cut off as the television’s remote was pointed at the screen, guided by the steady, precise hand of his own body.

“No! Who are you?!” Scott screamed, slamming his fists against the inside of the screen as his body selected The Witcher from the Netflix menu.

 Scott laughed as he pressed the button "My name was Cody, but you can call me Scott!" The first episode began to play, the familiar opening scene filling the screen. But something was wrong. The edges of the screen twisted, pulling Scott’s glowing form toward the center.

“No, no, no!” he begged, thrashing against the pull as the show’s digital world unfolded around him.

In the blink of an eye, Scott was now standing awkwardly on the cobblestone streets of a medieval town. The air around him shimmered, glitching like corrupted code. He could walk again. He could feel the air on his skin and the dirt under his feet. But as a fresh breeze blew in his hair, he realized he was still naked in the middle of a busy street. Scott started to walk to hide somewhere, to ask for help, but with every step he took, his body was starting to change. As he got out of the city, Scott stood and hide behind a bunch of rocks and trees, trying to understand what was happening as he felt the dirt under his soles and the rocks against his naked and exposed back. Suddenly, a deep pain invaded his body.

His bones shifted first, cracking and shrinking with sickening precision. He could see his sight getting closer to the ground, slightly shorter than his original frame. He cried out as his limbs reshaped themselves, his lean surfer’s build giving way to a softer, more compact form.

His skin prickled as the sun-kissed tan faded into a smoother, paler complexion, dotted with faint freckles that hadn’t been there before. Every hair on his body seemed to rearrange itself, the wiry, sun-bleached strands on his chest and legs softening and darkening.

Scott’s armpits burned as the sparse hair there thickened, giving off a muskier scent that matched the medieval street he was hidden in. He gagged as the scent surrounded him, a mix of sweat and leather that was foreign yet undeniably his.

“Stop it! Please!” he screamed, but his voice was already changing, cracking and shifting into a higher, more melodic tone.

His face was next. He felt his jawline soften, the angles rounding into the boyish charm of young visage. His cheekbones lifted, and his nose reshaped itself with an audible crunch. His hair fell off, revealing rich, chestnut waves that grew longer, brushing against his shoulders.

Scott’s pelvic region seized with a deep, invasive ache. He doubled over, clutching at himself as his body rewired the most intimate parts of his anatomy. His penis pulsed painfully, growing longer and thicker. Scott could feel all the nerves decupling and rearranging. He tilted his head, cupping his cock between his new hands only to scream at the feeling of something alien. Something warm and thick but totally frozen. He heard a Snap sound as Scott felt his balls attaching to the base of his penis and starting to reshape into an inhuman form. Scott screamed again as he felt a tugging sensation at the base of his cock and suddenly, he heard a snap as he felt his cock falling in his hands. He could still feel it but it was not attached to his body anymore. Scott screamed again as he realized his cock and balls had reshaped into a lute. He felt every string, every curve, every stroke like if it was his still his cock and balls. Every brush of his finger sending him waves of pleasure like he was about to cum, making his knees weak.

“Oh God,” he muttered out of fear and pleasure.

His feet and hands were the last to change. His surfer’s calloused soles smoothed into the soft, narrow feet of someone who took care of himself but still walked a lot, his toes curling in agony as the final adjustments were made. His hands, once strong and capable, became slender and delicate, perfect for plucking strings. Scott could feel that this wave of change died as his nails finished adjusting to their new form. He tried to get up, his lute still in his right hand and feeling like he was tugging his cock at the base, ready to cum any instant. As he took his first step in this new reality, clothes materialized over his trembling body, stitching themselves into place. A doublet of deep blue and gold, tight trousers, and knee-high boots encased him, completing the transformation.

Scott tried to scream, but the sound came out as a cheerful laugh. His body straightened, his new face lighting up with the unmistakable charisma of someone he didn’t know, someone far away from his real self, someone like Jaskier.

Inside his own mind, Scott’s soul writhed.

“What’s happening to me?!” he screamed, but the words were drowned out by a flood of new thoughts, new instincts.

Scott tried to scream for help but his body was not answering his orders anymore. Instead, he started to walk calmly his lute hung in his back and grinding on his soft velvety jacket, sending him waves of pleasure along the way. Then, behind a rock, he saw Geralt ahead of him, and his body moved on its own, rushing forward with a wide grin.

“Ah, Geralt, my dear friend!” he heard himself say, the voice no longer his own.

Inside, Scott’s soul screamed. He could feel everything, his new body, the weight of the lute, the way his new clothes clung to his skin, but he had no control. Every thought, every movement was dictated by an unknown force, forcing him to embody the bard’s carefree, loyal persona.

“No! I’m not Jaskier! I’m Scott!” he tried to shout, but the words never left his lips. Instead, his body turned to Geralt with a mischievous smile, delivering another line with perfect comedic timing.

Back in the living room, Ethan returned with a bowl of popcorn. He sat down next to Scott, who was watching the TV intently. Ethan looked the screen for a moment, he was sure he saw a glitch on Jaskier, like if his face went from screaming to smiling in a few seconds without any reasons. Ethan blinked and all he saw was Jaskier on pause on the screen, holding his lute in his hands, must be the sleepiness coming to his eyes, he thought, forgetting instantly what he jsut saw.

“Sorry, got a call from work. What did I miss?” Ethan asked, popping a kernel into his mouth.

Scott turned to him with a smile, his expression calm and untroubled.

“Nothing important,” he said, resuming the show, his voice soft and even. Jaskier resumed playing his lute to entertain Geralt on their journey.

Ethan relaxed on Scott's shoulder as Scott grabbed Ethan's hands, unaware of the turmoil raging within the screen as Scott’s soul was forced to entertain an audience forever trapped in this new reality, playing with his lute and begging to cum.

______________________________________________________________ Hey guys!

I’ve been meaning to post this story for a while but just couldn’t find the time to put it together properly—until now. So here it is! This story was created for @petew21-blog, based on his amazing request:

"would you be so kind and uploaded this handsome guy to my USB? I want his body empty for me to enjoy. I do need a hard pillow to cuddle while watching TV shows. And he looks comfy. I could play with those long hair, feel the heat of his muscles, bathe him... All while his body would be just empty, followed me and listened to every command I give him.

And while in bed together, we could watch some TV shows with the USB inserted in the TV with a VERY FAMILIAR actor. If you know what I mean."

I hope you all enjoy this one! Let me know what you think in the comments.

As always, my DMs are open, and you’re welcome to send me an ask if you have an idea you’d like me to explore.

Take care, and see you soon!

[msmk11]

Sixth Love Language

Fred Weasley x reader

WC: 1.1k

CW: Like one mention of food; fluff; playing pranks!!

Summary: You want to get your boyfriend back after he 'accidentally' pulled a prank on you

Day 7 of mk's mad dash

It is safe to say that you are bursting at the seam with excitement. 

You’ve been dating Fred for almost a year now, and have been friends even longer, so you’ve witnessed your fair share of the twin’s masterful pranks. Being one of his closest confidantes too, you’ve been privy to all of the work and planning that goes into his secret schemes. Though sometimes Fred’s pranks are silly, and even a little mean, they never fail to make you laugh. You look forward to every single one, and are always happy to listen to his tangents about them too. And though you’re a fond admirer of his work, and he’s even offered you the chance to join in on one of his pranks, you’re not sure you have the knack for planning and executing one. 

You’d also never been on the receiving end of one of Fred’s pranks. That was, at least, until about two weeks ago. He swears that it wasn’t intentional, but somehow you’d ended up covered in a sticky goo that was dumped on your head on the way to class. The worst part? It was jinxed with a sticking charm that couldn’t be reversed until the end of the day. Though you were livid, you didn’t let on to your boyfriend. Instead of just giving him a stern talking-to or ignoring him for a few days, you decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. 

The past week, you’d been poring over countless books trying to find the perfect spell or potion to prank Fred with. After hours upon hours of searching, you found it hidden in Witches Weekly, oddly enough. It was a hair transformation spell. But instead of just changing Fred’s hair once, you’ve altered the charm so that his hair will change to a different cut and color every five minutes. It may not be as clever as your boyfriend’s pranks, but he is vain enough about his red hair that you know it’ll do the job. 

You quite literally do the spell behind his back, casting it on him when he is climbing out the portrait hole in front of you on your way down to breakfast. It’ll take five minutes for his hair to change the first time, and you can barely contain your eagerness as you walk hand-in-hand with Fred to the Great Hall. 

You’ve just gotten seated at his side at the Gryffindor table when it changes for the first time. You watch gleefully as his shorter red hair is replaced with long, wavy pink hair. The change starts subtly, but it doesn’t take long before people start to notice. You keep your head buried in the Daily Prophet as George exclaims, “Oi, Fred! Like the new look you’re going for.”

Fred looks at his twin, confused, “What do you mean?” 

Lee looks up from his cereal and busts out laughing, nearly spraying milk all over the table, “Very princess popstar of you, Freddy.”

Your boyfriend looks at you, bewildered, “Babe, what are they talking about?”

You maintain a straight face as you cooly reply, “Your hair’s gone all long and pink, baby.”

“What?!” he nearly shrieks, catching the attention of pretty much everyone else in the hall. 

The students erupt into laughter as Fred frantically begs you for your compact mirror.

When he’s met with his own appearance, his face twists into horror, “Bloody hell? What is this?! Who did this?”

It’s quite the challenge, trying to maintain a concerned demeanor, “Maybe a Slytherin? Might be payback for that prank you pulled on them last week?”

“But why’s George’s hair normal then? He helped with the prank too!”

“Too handsome for them to ruin this, I reckon,” George adds, motioning to his face confidently. 

“This is a personal attack I-”

But before Fred can finish his sentence, his hair begins to change again, this time into a bright yellow bob. 

You can’t help the tiny chuckle that you let out this time, and Fred whips around to look at you, “What? What is it?”

“Mate, it’s changed again,” Lee chokes out breathlessly.

Fred looks back in your mirror and gapes, horrified, “They’ve done it again! How? I- this needs to bloody stop.”

Suddenly, Fred’s younger brother, Ron, approaches, “Wow, Fred. Like the new look. Though I’m not sure yellow’s your color.”

He bursts into laughter, along with Harry and Hermione who are with him.

“Shut up, you git,” Fred replies, reaching out to slap his arm. 

Ron dodges the hit and busts into laughter again. Even Hermione, the most serious fourteen year old you’ve ever met, can barely keep it together.

Your boyfriend looks at her, “Oi Granger. You’re smart! Quit laughing and help me, would you?”

She shrugs innocently, “Sorry, don’t know a counterspell for that one. You might be stuck like this forever.”

“Baby,” Fred protests, “turning to you with real fear in his eyes. Can you fix this, please?”

When his hair begins to morph again, this time into a green, spiky mohawk, you absolutely lose it. You laugh right in your distraught boyfriend’s face and lean down, burying your head in your arms. 

Never afraid to shy away from attention, and with all eyes already on him, Fred stands up and shouts, “Whoever is doing this, you need to stop it right now!”

People only start laughing harder, and that’s when you finally decide to give up the bit. Though your whole body is still shaking with silent laughter, and a few tears are streaming down your face, you tug on his wrist, “Freddy, baby. Calm down. It was me, okay? I’m the one who put the spell on you.”

Fred freezes in place, and you swear you’ve never seen him this still in your entire time knowing him.

“Baby?” You prod, tugging on his wrist again.

“You did this?” he asks quietly.

You’re starting to become a little worried that Fred is actually upset with you for the prank.

“Y-yeah. Just wanted to get you back for the goo two weeks ago,” you admit shyly. 

You brace yourself, preparing for a lecture about how his prank was just an accident, and how you’d just embarrassed him. 

You couldn’t be happier to be wrong. Fred sweeps you up into his arms, pulling you out of your sweet with a loud laugh, “Babe?! You did this all just to get back at me? You pranked me?!”

You nod at your boyfriend sheepishly.

Fred smacks a big, wet kiss on your lips and you try not to be shy about the fact that it’s in front of everyone, “That’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me!”

“Uhm, you’re welcome, then?” You answer with a giggle.

Then Fred shouts to everyone, “I have the best partner ever!”

[mutantmorphingpotions]

"I don't get why people are shipping Lord Darigan and King Roo"-

NO. You don't understand. It's the concept. Every Ubergoth needs their ray of sunshine who MAKES the Ubergoth do non goth things.

The idea that a Lord of a Citadel that was burdened with a physically life altering curse, still trying to fix things YEARS after the ramifications of a war with a neighboring kingdom that was never held accountable for their actions in all of it. Meeting a King whose idea of a Crisis in the Kingdom is that a shipment of lucky charms marshmallows was late and everyone's breakfast cereal will lack marshmallows of whimsical colors. Someone whose singular crisis of thought on the daily is 'There's not enough time to play all the games I want to play' or 'oh bother where is my left shoe? Guess I'll have to wear my bunny slippers to court again.'

You're saying NO to the idea of Mr. Gloom and Doom himself patiently listening as the embodiment of no think only memes recites every flavor of ice cream he's ever had while beating his goth opponent in Chess?

WHEN THE WHOLE RELATIONSHIP DYNAMIC COULD SOLELY JUST BE

[whumblr]

Annoyances

Bookish - Prev chapter: Bittersweet - pt 1 here

-

As Dani slid into her seat at the breakfast table with a yawn, Roman set a plate in front of her with a knowing smile. Her toast was nicely cut diagonally into triangles, buttered and spread with strawberry jam.

She was no longer allowed access to any of the kitchen utensils. Hell, she’d lost her privilege to even look at a knife, except for when it was teased over her throat. Nor was she allowed to make anything and the cutlery drawer was barren except for some spoons so she could grab cereal or yoghurt by herself. Clearly, this man has never watched Robin Hood Prince of Thieves...

It was stupid, really. She was at the point where she had trouble opening a glass bottle of orange juice by herself let alone fight him off to drive a fork into him. She winced as she tried to twist the cap, the strength leaving her fingers as the cuts around her wrist flared up.

“Are you going to do any grocery runs soon?” she asked, still wrangling the bottle.

“You planning another escape or do you actually need something?” Roman glanced at her to gauge her response, caught her wince instead, and pulled the bottle from her hands. Without a word, he opened it for her and gave it back.

She held it in her hands for a bit, a very light look of disgust on her face as if he’d spat in it instead of helped out. Then she blinked, poured herself a cup, and said: “I’m going to need pads. Or tampons. And fast.”

“What?” Confusion furrowed his brow. “Why?” And he set his cup of coffee back on the table, staring at her.

Dani took a deep breath. “You went to med school, right? Do I honestly need to exp—”

“No, no, not that,” he said, impatiently, and waved her accusation away. “What I mean is…” He took a bite of toast. “The female body shuts down the menstruation cycle when it’s under heavy stress. So I thought… we wouldn’t be needing that.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Roman chewed slowly, somewhat in thought. “I guess I need to up my game in the next month…”

“I’m also going to need painkillers--”

Roman guffawed into his coffee cup. “Yeah,” he said, taking a sip, “You will.”

“For these upcoming days,” she corrected his fantasizing through gritted teeth.

“Oh. Yeah. Well, maybe.”

But after breakfast he immediately pulled on his coat and pulled her back upstairs to lock her in her room. She went along, knowing it was for a good cause this time and she found herself a little surprised that he would do this for her. She’d almost expected him to go all, “ohh I don’t mind some extra blood hurhur” and dismiss her.

“Which ones?” he even asked before he closed the door.

“The green box.”

Also, there was the added bonus that every time he went out into public there was a chance someone would recognise him and he’d get arrested.

Unfortunately, he was back rather quickly. With pads. The right ones. Well, one of these days, surely…

The rest of the day he left her mostly in peace, but apparently the issue was still on his mind. As they both sat in – blissful – silence in the library he suddenly asked: “So I once read that menstruation alters the pain perception. Some women are more sensitive to pain before or during their cycle and later it’s repressed by high oestrogen levels, but for others it’s different. Which category do you fall in?”

Irritation blazed through her and out through a gritted exhale. She glared up over the book but it didn’t deter him; he kept looking at her, chin resting on a fist, sly dumb smile, waiting for an answer. “I don’t know,” she said – lied – tone curt. “I never noticed.”

His eyes narrowed in glee, probably recognising the little lie. “Maybe a little something to take note of during these days.”

“There’s also a little something that causes some women to have a very short fuse during these days.”

“Serotonin,” he nodded, pretending her comment went over his head. But he didn’t let her change the subject and kept looking at her, silently pressing her to tell him more.

She had no intention of sharing that she felt incredibly sluggish at the moment and that that fatigue would probably peak tomorrow. At first, she blamed the stress and the literal stress on her body earlier that week, but then a familiar pain had kicked in and she was somewhat relieved that at least it wasn’t Roman who was the cause of her state.

“Fine, I’ll look it up.” Roman sat straight and pulled his laptop closer, tapping on the keyboard, his gaze dancing over the screen. He kept humming as he read. “Oestrogen is also linked to mood disruptions.” He aimed a devious side glance at her that affected her mood more than any hormone could.

Reading up on the enemy, or rather studying the enemy’s reading materials, made her recognise the terms he mumbled about and she didn’t like it. “Downregulation of substance P… Anti-nociceptive actions…” All related to pain perception, because of course that was all he was interested in. “That pretty much confirms the role of oestrogen,” he said, mostly to himself, “But would menstruation produce enough to make a difference in, say, the event of a stabbing…”

He sat back in his seat, contemplating, eyes still on his screen. “Not much on menstrual changes, from what I can quickly gather.” He glanced at her, as if she was at fault for the lack of knowledge on this topic, then turned his seat to let his gaze roam over his bookshelves.

“I’m not surprised.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if there was more research on that?”

“Yes. But not by you.”

He gave a little side-nod, acknowledging her issues with him analysing her, then swivelled his chair back and traded his laptop again for his files to work on. “Next month there’s nothing to experiment on anyway,” he mumbled as an afterthought. Though he did sound a little disappointed.

And she hated the fact that it implied she would still be here next month and in an even worse state than she was now.

-

“Oh, there you are.”

Dani didn’t look up. It was the next morning and after breakfast she’d immediately retreated back to her room, back to bed, barely sitting up propped against the pillow, the blanket pulled up over her chin and a book resting against her drawn up legs. Her back was killing her and she couldn’t handle Roman or any of his plans right now.

Roman leaned against the doorframe, keeping his distance, maybe sensing the tense vibes radiating from her. “The sun’s shining, even on the porch. Why don’t you go sit outside?”

“Why don’t you go die in a corner.”

Roman blinked. Raised a brow. A somewhat shocked and awkward silence followed. Then realisation hit. His lips pursed, trembled and he pressed them flat, desperately trying to hide a grin. He was about to say something but thought against it. “Guess I’ll go sit outside,” he said instead, and left the room. She just about heard him mutter something about “Wonder if one could administer more serotonin…”

Unfortunately, he was back within a minute. He slowly approached, like trying to approach a wild animal that could lash out at any moment – and she would if he tried something or if he had a fucking syringe in his hand – his arm outstretched and he carefully put two blue pills on her side table. Then he flashed a smile, slowly retreated and backed out.

She swallowed both pills dry and snuggled up again. The pain would soon fade. The murderous intent? Hopefully not.

-

Tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @whumpy-daydreams

@whumpyourdamnpears @auroragehenna @alsolucakairomi @suspicious-whumping-egg @whumppmuhw

@withdrawingramen @theforeverdyingperson @treasureguardingdragon @theorangestofjuices @artfulbok

[spcartmanweek]

💛 Welcome to Cartman Week 2025! Cartman Week is a character appreciation week celebrating the one and only Eric Cartman! The event will run from February 10th - February 16th. We accept and encourage all types of fanwork including fanart, fanfiction, playlists, edits, and graphics.

🩵 Make sure to tag your posts #CartmanWeek2025 so we can find and share your work!

✍️ For writers we have an AO3 collection under the name “CartmanWeek2025”. To add your fic to the collection, type that name into the “Post to Collections/Challenges” input box when adding your work, and it should appear.

❤️ Late submissions will be accepted, as will entries posted on the “wrong” day! We will be sharing submissions up to one month after the event ends.

💛 If you have any questions, feel free to send us an ask!

🩵 Don't forget to read our carrd for more information. You can also find us on Bluesky and Twitter/X!

❤️ Read ahead for a written list of prompts with explanations. Remember: You can be as loose with the prompts as you want, and you can mix-and-match as you see fit. It’s up to your interpretation. Have fun!

Day 1 | Toys / Favorite Snacks

★ Toys - After all, this is a guy who loves his dollies and action figures. This prompt is dedicated to Cartman and his toys! Tea parties, cowboy shootouts, complex and tragic murder mysteries… Get creative!

★ Favorite Snacks - Cheesy poofs, Snacky Cakes, cereal bombs… This prompt is all about Cartman enjoying his favorite snacks, however you would like to portray it.

Day 2 | Fun Day Out / Animals

★ Fun Day Out - This one is self-explanatory! A fun day out could be to Casa Bonita or to a theme park or just a nice day with all his friends who love him soooo much.

★ Animals - Animals can be anything from Cartman spending time with his pets (Mr. Kitty and/or Fluffy the pig) to portraying Cartman as an animal, furry, or kemonomimi.

Day 3 | Fighting / Scheme

★ Fighting - This guy will fight with anyone, so let’s see it! It could be a fight between Cartman and a known rival like Kyle or Wendy, or a fight with his mom, the school, the government, the world!

★ Scheme - He’s always scheming, this one… This prompt can be dedicated to a plot he’s already devised on the show, or a brand new nasty trick from your imagination.

Day 4 | Family / Fate

★ Family - Cartman and family! Liane, Scott Tenorman, a bowl of chili, Post COVID Cartman with his wife and kids, or your own AU family/fankids!

★ Fate - What this prompt means is up to your interpretation. The fate of Cartman’s future, the red string of fate with your favorite ship… There is no wrong answer!

Day 5 | Valentine’s Day / Alter-ego

★ Valentine’s Day - Today is Valentine’s Day, and we picked this week to dedicate to our favorite matchmaker because of it! Is his day as wonderful as he always hoped? Or a complete disaster? You decide!

★ Alter-ego - A man of many personalities. From Cupid Me to Mitch Conner to wizard Cartman and beyond. This prompt is dedicated to your favorite Cartman alias!

Day 6 | Dress-up / Performance

★ Dress-up - A prompt to get fancy with! Drag, costumes, formal attire, etc. Pick your favorite Cartman outfit or design/describe a new one!

★ Performance - This prompt is dedicated to Cartman’s love of outlandish performance! Some examples are Cartman with one of his various musical pursuits (Fingerbang, Faith +1, Moop), theater, or pairing this prompt with dress-up!

Day 7 | Free Day

★ Free Day - Our final day is a free day! Whateva, whateva, you do what you want!

[sirtotallynotatimetraveler]

Welcome To Confection Castle! (AU)

What in the World is Confection Castle? :

Confection Castle (formerly known as Candy/Candied Castle) is a role-swap AU of Pizza Tower, akin to the more well-known PT swap AU, Sugary Spire. Unlike Sugary Spire, Confection Castle only swaps the roles of the characters and not their personalities, with a few alterations. With the unchanged personalities of each character, this instead changes the mechanics, environment, and even story of Pizza Tower, with each character handling their swapped roles more differently than Sugary Spire's interpretation.

(This AU's concept was largely inspired by TS!Underswap. A reimagining and fangame of the Undertale AU, Underswap, which uses the same concept)

The Story:

Teddy is faced with the consequences of his own actions after pulling one too many pranks against a castle that was bought out by a huge confection company, Candyboy Corporations. A company that steals the competition against smaller sweets business owners. Teddy's given a warning by the corporation CEO's assistant, Granny Candydimples, that the CEO will destroy his and many other confectionary's shops, forcing them to all work for his company. Thanks to the warning, Teddy and his confectionary allies team up to take down the Confection Castle and its evil schemes.

The Characters (may or not feature some slightly outdated art):

Teddy Taffy (Theodore Taffy) - Noise in the Role of Peppino: A smug, witty, mostly down to earth, prankster who formerly premiered on the big screen before leaving it all to continue his family's legacy: making mouthwatering candy and sweets. He owns a quaint candy shop in a vaguely European town near a looming Confection Castle. He's obsessed with sugar and when he consumes a good amount of it, can become hyperactive and manic.

Suzy (Suzette) - Noisette in the Role of Gustavo: A kind-hearted, rule-following, and dorky dessert baker who owns a bakery/patisserie next to Teddy's candy shop. She's close friends with Teddy and secretly has a crush on him, which may or may not be obvious to everyone except Ted. Like Ted, her business was challenged by Candyboy Corporations, forcing her to rally against the castle with Teddy,

The Ingredipets - Role of the Toppins: Little creatures resembling confectionary ingredients that were kidnapped and enslaved by Candyboy Corp. to make the companies candy. Teddy and his allies will save each of them to defeat their competitor. Ingredipets may be different depending on the character being played.

Captain Crackle (Peppino Ravioli) - Peppino in the Role of The Noise: Captain Crackle is a well-known cereal brand pirate captain mascot for the cereal of the same name. He's played by a worn-out has-been TV and opera celebrity Peppino Ravoli who does the bidding of Candyboy Corporations to make a living. He takes on three jobs: Captain Crackle, a Candyboy Corp. gift shop worker, and the Castle's TV News Anchor. He just wants to quit everything and live a peaceful life making pizza, his real dream.

Mr. Gus (Gustavo) - Gustavo in the Role of Noisette: Mr. Gus is Captain Crackle's pirate sidekick who serves as the comic relief character, always getting the short end of the stick and being kicked/thrown around the place for comedic effect. His actor, Gustavo, has a similar story to Peppino's, working for the castle, trying to sustain a living. He owns a secret soda tavern hidden from where his boss can find it.

Mr. Lollygagger - Pizzahead in the Role of Mr. Stick: Teddy's accountant who both does and doesn't take his job seriously. He pulls many gags toward his patrons to get them to comply with his offers and tries to pose as a nice, patient, and understanding accountant who needs money in exchange for a good offer. Ted's annoyed by him, A LOT.

Sapphire - Snick in the Role of Brick: An adventurous, rule-breaking, and cocky rock candy Porcupine who loves to skate on his hoverboard at the speed of sound. He becomes friends with Suzy after pestering her rule-following morals and later helps her and Teddy's journey.

Murray Muffinman - Pepperman in the Role of Gerome: An experimental artistic genius restrained to the role of maintaining the paint job of the castle. When he's on break he goes to his supply room to unleash his creativity through all sorts of mediums. He can be found all over the castle. He will reward his own art if he is helped to find his supply room.

Gumther Gumdrop - Vigilante in the Role of The Priest: Gumther is a farmer who grows sweet-tasting fruits that grant magical healing abilities. He sells his fruits in fruit stands all over the castle but it comes with a price.

Butler Scotch - Gerome in the Role of Pepperman: Scotch is the butler of the Royal Candy Family, who were the original owners of the castle before signing an agreement with Candyboy Corp. Scotch is the first boss Teddy has to fight due to one of the Royal Candy's prince (originally intended to fight Ted) left Scotch to stand on guard as he goes out for lunch.

The Pope - The Priest in the Role of The Vigilante: The leader of the Caramelist religious group and overseer of the Basilicaramel Church. After Teddy destroys the church during one of the levels, The Pope seeks to cleanse Ted of his sins by fighting against him.

Granny Candydimples - Granny Pizza in the Role of Pizzaface: The oldest member of the Royal Candy Family who was demoted and forced to the role of the CEO's assistant. She's kind-hearted and honest with no ill intent unlike her boss, going out of her way to disobey him sometimes.

Uncle Candiesworth - Pizzaface in the Role of Granny Pizza: The Uncle of the Royal Candy Family. He's one of the few family members who rebels against Candyboy Corporations and agrees to help Teddy and his friends destroy the castle. He's grumpy, bossy, and insults people constantly, but he has a good heart.

The Teddy Doll - Role of Fake Peppino: A cursed doll resembling Teddy. It's been presumed to have been cursed with dark magic, cast on by a cult. It is unknown what the purpose of this doll was for. All we know is that you won't see it in the same place it was left at the second you turn your back towards it.

Cookie Blair - Role of Mort the Chicken: Oh boy! It's Cookie Blair from the hit 90's 3D point-and-click PC abandonware game Cookie's Bustle! Watch as she and Teddy travel across Cookie City as Ted tries to hide Cookie from the police trying to remove her entire existence for good. (To whom it may concern (looking at you), I am not profiting off this project, therefore not profiting off Cookie's Bustle. Please don't copyright strike me or this project.)

Nezukira - Brick in the Role of Snick: Nezukira is the world-famous thunder rat character from the equally famous elemental critter collecting and fighting video game "Sackicritt". Nezukira is heavily merchandised with its adorable appearance; from plushes, socks, gummies, and cigars. Besides Nezukira, there are several other Sackicritts to obtain, with "Net Handlers" who accompany them.

Jen Beam - Role of John Pillar: Jen is the older sister of Butler Scotch. She is the caretaker/ruler of all the levels in the castle, making sure that everything is in order and won't crumble to the floor. She guards the door to each "dimensional control room" that deactivates the levels in the castle. She will only let people pass if she is given gourmet candy with the finest ingredients.

Candyboy - Role of Pizzaboy: Candyboy was the prime mascot and face of Candyboy Corporations. He's a happy-go-lucky, fun-loving, eccentric kid with all the childhood innocence packed into one. He loves candy and is very marketable. Despite Candyboy's innocent presence being long gone, he is still the face of the company.

The Candyman - Role of Pizzahead: The Candyman is the man behind the whole corporation, mostly know as the CEO. Not many have had the chance to meet The Candyman in person, but he's been said to be demanding, ruthless, and manipulative to get what he wants. He will do everything to gain the title of being the best confectionary business. If it exists, he wants it in his company.

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

And that's it for character introductions! I am planning on adding characters that will be entirely original in this AU like new friends that will accompany Ted, new bosses, and other characters that will build the world for this AU. Other stuff such as levels, music, and game mechanic ideas are in the works too. Lots of stuff is planned for this AU project!

If you want to make fan art for Confection Castle, go ahead! I love fan art! Just make sure to tag me if you post it. Other fan stuff like music is cool too!

Thanks for reading y'all.

(Also, I am not planning on making this an actual game as I have no experience with coding or stuff that is needed to actually make a game. But if anyone with experience with game design wants to make it happen...hit me up haha.)

[saltymarshmall0w]

The first chapter of my Obsession Swap AU is up!

The only thing Danny’s parents have given him is his reputation as the crazy ghost hunter’s kid.

He has spent most of his life chasing their fleeting affections and attention, it all comes to a head when he dies right under their noses, and they don’t even fucking notice.

Now, he has some nifty ghost abilities and can do anything he wants with no one to stop him.

Except for that annoying “hero” ghost, Plasmius.

-

Plasmius put a hand on his waist, just above where the thermos hung from his belt, “Just--- hand the spray paint can over, and let’s talk, alright?”

Danny’s shoulders slumped and he slowly floated over to Plasmius, like a chastised child dragging his feet.

Plasmius's smile was full of smugness and condescension as he held out a hand toward Danny. “See? Not so hard-”

He was cut off abruptly, eyes screwing shut just in time for a cold sensation to flush over his face, followed by the distinct smell of paint.

Danny cackled so hard he tilted backward, his bright white hair flaming brighter, “Oh man! I can’t believe you fell for that!” He crowed.

Words (so far) 4.3k

1/? chapters

Content warnings: All sorts of swearing, gore, gross descriptions of food, cannon-typical violence and gratuitous insults toward vampires

[mypimpademia]

— [2:20 AM]

Bakugo x Black! Reader

TW: None

KATSUKI IS A BIT OF AN INSOMNIAC. It happened overtime, and he misses going to bed at 10 PM and sleeping like a log till 5 AM. Now, he pushed his bedtime back to the old man hour of 9 PM, just to give himself an extra 30 minutes to toss and turn before falling asleep. And another 30 minutes to compensate for the nightmares and subconsciously relived trauma that had him waking up breathless and sweaty.

On worse nights, he’d shoot up into an upright position, gasping for air as you frantically tried to calm him down while fighting off sleep.

“Kat, Katsuki,” you’d groan, putting a hand on his bare chest to ground him. “It’s okay, it was just a dream, you’re okay.”

Katsuki would lace his sweaty fingers through yours, both of you feeling out the rhythm of his heart while you guided him through deep breathing. Once he stopped shaking and was breathing properly, you’d pepper kisses on the sharp line of his jaw, and gently lay him back against the mattress.

On better nights, he’d catch himself before he disturbed your sleep. Inhaling sharply, eyes snapping open, and body tensing as he came to.

He always makes sure that you never wake up when he does, staying still for a minute or two, listening to your soft snores. Then, he untangles your limbs as carefully as he can, slipping out of bed and tucking you back in.

With nothing better to do after pacing your quiet, moonlit house for a few minutes, Katsuki decides he’s hungry. It’s not uncommon for him to make late night snacks, or meals rather, especially after abruptly waking up from his sleep for the nth time that week.

But tonight, he was far too tired to be making a Michelin-star-esque meal in the middle of the night. So, he settled on a bowl of cereal.

Katsuki tried not to take long on his nightly departures from the bed, but your sense of time gets altered when you’re wandering around like a zombie. And just as he was pouring his Honey Nut Cheerios, he heard you slowly walking into the kitchen.

“Everything okay, Suki?” You grumbled, wrapping your arms around his torso from behind, your head resting on his shoulder.

By the sound of your voice, you were basically still asleep. The cool silk of your bonnet sent a chill down Katsuki’s spine, he felt guilty knowing that he was the reason you were up a stumbling around the house at this hour.

“Yeah, go back to bed, baby,” he told you, pouring milk into his cereal while mixing it around with his spoon.

You kissed your teeth in protest. You weren’t going back without him, and he knew that.

A chuckle vibrated through his chest and back, and he gently guided you towards the couch, where you sat curled up against his side wrapped in a blanket while he ate, a comfortable silence between you.

You were fighting back sleep, nodding off against his shoulder, eyes barely open. Katsuki was no better, nearly falling asleep into his bowl of cereal before forcing himself into consciousness.

“Gimmie some,” you croaked, silently opening your mouth, awaiting a spoonful of sugary cereal and cold milk.

Katsuki fed you carefully, making sure not to drip anywhere, and wiping away the bit that dribbled from the corner of your lip.

You laid your head back against his shoulder, settling deeper into the couch and sighing. He kissed the top of your head, and smushed his cheek against you.

“You just kiss me with milk breath?” You grunted.

“I just fed you and I can’t even get a kiss?” Katsuki chuckled.

“Not with no milk breath, you can’t.” You retorted.

“I love you too.”

—

Taglist: @megurulvr @miirene @planetlunaa @romiantic @szaplsdropthealbum @dreampurpledreams @goldenglow149 @gender-queery @roaringlion @cosmiles @tatiquichi @kxtsxkii @lillizxzz @starsoir

Send in an ask or DM me to be added to all taglists, or fill out my form to be added to select ones.

—

Thank you for reading, comments and reblogs are appreciated! Follow for more!

[hannieween]

obsession | backstage series | l.sm

The truth was, he liked whatever he had with you. Friends that fuck. But to everyone else you know, you're sort of a thing. And that is what Seokmin himself suggested, a fake relationship. A fake relationship between two friends that fuck, no romantic feelings in between. How could this possibly go wrong?

♡︎ pairing: lee seokmin x afab!reader ♡︎ genre: angsty romance, smut 18+ mdni you'll get blocked♡︎ aus: theatre performer seokmin, fake dating with benefits ♡︎ word count: 10.6k

↣ part 1, navi post

₊🎧: dope lovers – dpr ian | drown – baekhyun

₊ nsfw tags under the cut

♡︎ warnings: swearing, pet names: baby (hers), smut with plot, soft dom seokmin, big dick seokmin, masturbation (f, m), making out, multiple unprotected sex scenes, sex in a semi-public space, multiple orgasms, creampie, oral sex (m), a bit of praise kink (f), seokmin is down bad, reader sends him mixed signals | also, a weird time jump in narrative and minor mistakes this isn't proofread

part 2

Seokmin barely got through his day.

He wasn't the kind of person to dwell to much on conflict. If he couldn't avoid it, he'd fix it. If he couldn't fix it, he'd let it go.

But right now, the conflict in his mind was you.

Joshua sat on the couch letting out a sigh. The tv was on, it had been since Seokmin got home from script readings. He was tired and couldn't get his mind to switch off, so he thought watching tv might help.

It did not.

The noise from the tv had turned into a weird white noise in his head, Seokmin was good at pretending to pay attention to the screen.

"Since when do you watch Love Island?" Joshua asked, furrowing his brow as he munched on his cereal.

"Wh- what?" Seokmin blinked, and moved for the first time in what felt like hours, turning his head to see his roommate.

"And in Spanish dub? Since when you know Spanish?" he laughed.

He handed the remote to his roommate without saying a word.

"What's up with you, Dk?" he asked.

His character, Dk, became a sort of alter ego after he and his friends wrote a play as a joke. Only someone close to him would call him that as a nickname, and that included his roommate, Joshua.

"Dunno what you mean," Seokmin mumbled as he rubbed his face with both hands.

"Uh... you've been acting weird," he said as he rummaged through the collection of movies on Netflix.

"'M just tired, that's all," he said and that could be true.

For the past month he has been doing auditions and a few days ago he got the lead role in a musical and since then he hasn't stopped to rest peacefully.

That and the fact that he was going crazy with the thought of you. Whenever he felt like he could escape the memory of you, something on his mind brought it back again. Even when his phone buzzed, he thought that it might be you.

"Hey, if the quick nut you had last saturday has you like this... maybe you should talk about it, man. Don't know," he muttered, looking absentmindedly at his bowl of cereal.

"What?" Seokmin cringed at the language. It was unusual to hear Joshua's ever so polite mouth express his thoughts in a vulgar manner. But from time to time it happened.

"I'm jus'saying man. Doesn't hurt to talk about it."

"Don't call it that, a quick nut?" he exclaimed.

Joshua's mouth dropped in a mocking gesture of shock. "Scandalous," he smiled before laughing cheekily. "Well, you know what I mean."

"It's driving me insane," he finally confessed.

"Why?" Joshua's brow furrowed again as he took another spoonful of cereal. "You used protection?"

Seokmin groaned. "I really don't want to talk about this," he mumbled.

"So, no? You went in raw?"

"Shit, stop it." Seokmin laughed at his roommate's bluntness.

"What, there's nothing wrong with a little bit of post nut clarity, but yours has gone way too long," he tried to play cool but broke in laughter again.

Seokmin could count the times he has had talks revolving around sex with Joshua. They normally would just tell each other when they brought someone home for the night, so they would take their precautions. And they were pretty much content with their dynamic, since none of them actually abused it.

Joshua was a pretty chill dude. Except for his random bouts of madness, which Seokmin never knew when to expect them.

"I can't tell you, Hyung," Seokmin concluded, sounding a bit deflated.

Joshua's shoulders dropped slightly. "Why, do I know her?"

Seokmin considered replying to that question. "Uh, yeah I think so."

No, you haven't actually met. You knew that Seokmin lived with a roommate named Joshua. But Seokmin has talked about you with him casually. Besides, there were a lot of Instagram posts on his page that had pictures of you together. So Joshua must know about you.

The expression on Seokmin's face must've made Joshua realize something. "If you need help with anything, don't hesitate to tell me."

"I'm fine," he mumbled, and rubbed his face once again.

"Are you going to be a dad?" Joshua asked abruptly.

Seokmin laughed with his face buried in his hands. "God, no," he lifted his head to find his roommate laughing soundlessly.

If there was something that he could always be grateful for, was his friends. It didn't mattered what he was going through, he always had his friends to back him up.

It was pretty evident that Joshua saw that Seokmin was just a bit conflicted about something, so he decided to act dumb for a bit and make Seokmin smile.

Joshua knew that Seokmin spent the night at yours because it was unusual of Seokmin to not come home. And when Seokmin returned home at noon on sunday in the same clothes he'd seen him in the day before, looking tired but in cheerful mood, Joshua figured it was a girl.

Seokmin reflected on his reaction when he woke up alone on your couch, feeling like he was still dreaming. Disoriented, he looked for you and heard you were in the shower, and fought against the idea of following you in there.

But no, that is not how one night stands worked. Seokmin was supposed to get out of your apartment out of courtesy, right? At least that was what he knew from his own experience.

This, however, wasn't a one night stand like any other he's had. And that made him nervous. He didn't know exactly why. But he couldn't decide on how to act now. Should he wait for you? Should he buy you breakfast?

Sure. That is what he'd do anyway. Even if he hadn't fucked you into the couch the night prior. He would do those things. Friends don't shower together, so he waited for you. But was that what you wanted? He wondered.

He sat up on the couch and picked his shorts from the floor. He wore his underwear through the night, and he remembered you didn't wear anything but his hoodie to sleep.

"Hi there," you told him as you came out of your room, his hoodie folded in your hands.

"Hi," Seokmin replied, pressing his lips into a smile. He stood up to put his shorts on.

"D'you wanna go grab breakfast?" you asked, as you handed him his hoodie, which he put on before thanking you.

"Uh, I have to go. I have to get ready for headshots," he told you, and it wasn't an excuse.

He searched your face with his eyes, looking for some signs of stress or doubt. But you gave him a sweet smile and that might have shattered him a bit.

"Oh, okay."

Seokmin wanted you to tell him something, anything about what happened last night.

"See you later, then," he mumbled with a smile.

He just decided to pull you into a bear hug, and patted your head like he always did before pulling away and say goodbye. The scent of your fresh shampoo invaded him for a while on his way back home.

Later that sunday evening was when Seokmin started to slowly lose it.

It all started when Seokmin begun assessing the messages from Soonyoung and Seungkwan. Lying on his bed after a long shower, Seokmin decided to venture himself in the texts that his two closest friends had sent the night prior, when he first kissed you.

In short, Seungkwan was... alarmed. It wasn't weird for him to panic under the slightest bit of change in their dynamic as a friend group. Even when Soonyoung had a girlfriend who turned out to be a bit toxic Seungkwan panicked.

But even you panicked a little, seeing Soonyoung change under the toxic regime of his crazy ex. Anyone would've. However, Seungkwan had every right to panic, his two best friends started snogging out of the blue in front of everyone, that must've been a bit weird for him.

Seokmin sighed, looking at the messages. Decided not to reply yet.

Soonyoung's messages were brutal in contrast to Seungkwan's.

[10:45 PM] hoshi: YOU AND Y/N ???????? [10:45 PM] hoshi: I KNEW IT [10:45 PM] hoshi: KNEW YOU HAD A CRUSH ON HER [10:46 PM] hoshi: DK LET'S GO! [10:46 PM] hoshi: DUDE !!! [11:31 PM] hoshi: i'm so drunk rn [11:32 PM] hoshi: dude [11:32 PM] hoshi: i'm happy for you [11:33 PM] hoshi: you guys deserve this

Suffice to say, that is what tipped Seokmin to madness. It was simple. All he had to say was 'thanks man'. Or nothing at all. But what unnerved him was the fact that Soonyoung had mention he knew Seokmin had a crush on you.

Seokmin didn't have a crush on you. That's the first thing he told himself. But as he lied on his bed and went through his messages, in the back of his mind, all he could thing of was you. He was convinced that he could still smell you, he could still hear you in his ear.

If that isn't madness, then Seokmin didn't know what it was.

But that is just what happened on sunday. Fast forward to thursday, no calls, no texts from you so he didn't want to pry. You didn't text regularly anyway so Seokmin didn't find it entirely odd. But should he?

He found himself lost in the memory again when he heard Joshua settle his bowl of cereal on the coffee table and watched his roommate sit back on the sofa.

"Well, whenever you feel like it, we can grab a beer and talk about it," his roommate offered with a friendly smile.

Seokmin stook from the sofa and before heading to his room he replied. "Yeah, I might take you up on that soon, Hyung."

He dragged himself into a cold shower. The second shower of the day. It helped him clear his mind off things, of the things he needed to learn for his new role, the soreness of his muscles after gym, it cleared his mind off the thought of you.

But he couldn't help it. He lived in the memory of you, crying out his name, moaning and whimpering under him. The way your body trembled when he went down on you while you called out his name. He could feel himself grow hard. At the thought of you, of how good you felt.

And suddenly his hand was grabbing his length, a sigh escaping his lips as he started pumping himself to ease his growing ache for you. But the torture that ensued in his mind didn't stop there. He could feel his sanity slip from his mind as he imagined it was your hand, that it was you touching him.

His freehand found support on the shower wall, letting himself close his eyes to see you in his mind.

The feeling of you lingered on his memory as he relived how tight you felt when you rode his fingers, how you trembled when his hand circled your neck. Seokmin dropped his head forward, letting the stream shower his back, as he pumped himself with his eyes closed.

But in his inner eye, he was watching you look up at the turned-off screen, watching your two bodies melt together. The mere thought of you finding the reflection of him fucking you into the couch arousing almost sent him over the edge.

What did it for him was the memory of you cumming on his cock, you trembling and whimpering desperately, asking for him not to stop. The sight of the base of his cock dripping with your cream and his cum. Seokmin groaned and squeezed his eyes harder as he came on his hand, and the water from the shower washed his cum from his skin.

Panting, he stood under the stream of water realizing what he had just done.

"Fuck," he muttered and his hand snapped the tap shut.

For a minute he entertained the idea of grabbing his phone and just texting you to meet up. It didn't mattered how tempting the idea was, he had to decide whether his growing obsession of you was just that or was a real crush.

But how could he have a crush on you? You've been friends for years now. He would've noticed if something within him change, right?

He promised you he only wanted the attention. He just wanted to have fun. Nothing more.

Mind racing, he made a quick plan in his head. His roommate would be out most of the night since it was thursday, which meant that he would be having a gig with his band Midnight Haze at a local bar, like every week. He could go pick you up after your shift and bring you over to his apartment.

He could ask you then if you're losing your mind the same way he is.

He brushed off those thoughts, including the stupid plan.

The truth was, he liked whatever he had with you. Friends that fuck. But to everyone else you know, you're sort of a thing. And that is what Seokmin himself suggested, a fake relationship.

A fake relationship between two friends that fuck, no romantic feelings in between. How could this possibly go wrong?

Seokmin didn't tag himself as the obsessive type either. He never did. He was more the kind that went with the flow. If he had something to say to a girl, he would. He didn't dwell too much in it.

He also wasn't overindulgent.

So, why was he sitting in the last rows of your show? If he really wanted to see you, he could just tell you. Seokmin just wanted to stop thinking about you, and going to the theatre did that, and as a bonus, he got to see you. So it was a win win. Kind of.

Soonyoung was the first person he found behind the stage. His friend threw his arms up in the air, a gleeful expression on his face.

"DK! Are you here to see me or you're here to see your girl kill it on the stage?" Soonyoung cheered loudly making sure everyone heard him.

Seokmin pressed his lips together in a smile and replied sarcastically. "I'm here to see you, obviously."

He didn't want to think too much on how Soonyoung addressed you as his girl.

Soonyoung pulled him into a hug. "Ah, I knew it. You didn't have to."

"Ew, you're sweaty," Seokmin said, pulling a face while hugging his friend.

Soonyoung made an attempt to rub his sweaty body against Seokmin's, but he pulled away. "Well, if you're looking for her, she must be changing."

Seokmin wanted to play it cool, but he left immediately to look for you in the dressing rooms.

As an actor, seeing people half dressed, or naked even comes with the job. So as he walked up to your dressing room he saw a few people in the midst of changing out of their costumes. He was fairly popular among the community, and a lot of people already knew that you and Seokmin were a thing, so no one asked what he was doing there.

He waited outside in silence, his heart was pounding on his chest. Scrolling through his phone absentmindedly, he could hear your voice and your laughter coming from the dressing room's door.

Most of the women had left the backstage already, and you were talking to one of your friends, still completely dressed in a voluminous 18th century French dress. The makeup you had was already cleaned off from your face and your hair was lose.

Then Seokmin knocked on the door. And a girl whose name Seokmin didn't remember opened it, eyed him once and smiled.

"Your boyfriend's here," she chanted.

Seokmin heard you gasp, and that made him smile slightly.

"Come in!" you chimed.

As soon as you saw Seokmin you smiled, and the girl in your room scoffed.

"Alright, that's my cue to leave," she said, grabbing her things and promptly saying. "See you next friday, y/n!"

"Bye Mina," you replied and watched your friend leave the door open for Seokmin, who was still waiting in the hallway.

You closed the door of the dressing room as Seokmin stepped in. The scent of his clothes invaded you now that he was standing in front of you.

"You came to watch the show?" you asked him, looking up to find his eyes.

"Yeah, I figured I could treat you to dinner since I left quite abruptly last sunday," Seokmin scratched the back of his head.

"Oh, sure! I'm going to change out of this and we can go."

Seokmin stood there in the middle of the dressing room as he watched you disappear behind a curtain. And struggled against a semi at the mere act of being in the same room with you. He scolded himself in his head, trying to get a hold of himself for a minute.

But then the curtain parted just enough to see you struggle a bit with zippers and layers of skirts. He didn't care that was staring now, his mouth agape just slightly when he saw your bare back, and your hair brush your shoulders.

You dropped the layers of skirts and let them pool at your feet as you scrambled for your things, an exasperated sigh left you when you realized that you didn't bring all your things.

You looked to the ceiling, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Seokmin, can you pass me the purple bag that's on the chair?" you called.

Seokmin tore his eyes off of you, feeling his heart pounding in his chest so hard that he was convinced that you could hear it. He grabbed your bag from the chair that was placed near the door, he locked it and walked to you.

You covered your chest with your forearm as you parted the curtain to grab the bag. All Seokmin noticed was that your arm was squeezing your tits up, making them bulge.

"Thanks," you whispered and looked up to find his eyes.

Seokmin found it cute that you tried to cover yourself, while the only thing you were wearing was a pair of white stockings that went with your outfit. They were translucent, so Seokmin could clearly see the thong you were wearing under them.

"Don't look at me like that," you muttered.

He understood what you meant. Seokmin remembered that he himself told you that, when you were practically drooling at the sight of him naked.

But he saw your rosy cheeks and your eyes searching his face anxiously, waiting.

All he heard was a gasp coming from you when your mouths clashed, lips locking in. You dropped your bag to cup his face in your hands and his hands found your hips quickly, giving you a squeeze.

"You're not really here to take me to dinner, are you?" you whispered as soon as you broke the kiss to breathe.

"I am," his voice was raspy. "Can't I have you and then dinner?"

To his surprise, you laughed. "You're greedy, mister."

"You're the one who tempted me first," Seokmin muttered in your lips. "Leaving the curtain open for me to see you. Casually forgetting your things."

"I only meant for you to watch a little," you smiled. "I did forget my things."

"And you expect me to watch and not do something?" he asked in a whisper. "Have you actually seen yourself?"

You arched an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

His hands found yours and he dragged you in front of a vanity mirror.

"Seokmin!" you whispered and turned back to him.

"Take these off," he said in a low voice.

You eyed the door briefly, noticing that it was locked. When did you lock it? Or was it him without you noticing? You suppressed a smile.

You took of your stockings off, not without some great effort to not tip over. Seokmin held out a hand for you to help you remove them completely.

When you finished taking them off, you felt your whole body tingling under his lascivious gaze. He took a step towards you, so close now that you could feel his breath brush your face softly. The scent of his clothes could drive you crazy.

"Face the mirror and put your hands on the table," he ordered with a low husky voice.

You did exactly that. Your eyes didn't dare to meet the reflection, knowing what you'd find.

"I love it when you look this flustered," Seokmin said as he leaned on your shoulder to plant a kiss, his fingers parted your hair to the other shoulder, and continued to drag his lips across your shoulder to kiss your neck.

Seokmin found a faint hickey. It was the one he had made when you had sex in your couch. You saw him smile slightly at the memory and he leaned in to press his lips softly on the spot.

Your eyelids fluttered shut.

"You're so pretty," he whispered, sounding a bit aloof. His fingers travelled from your shoulders all the way to your lower back, stopping before the band of your thong.

A soft kiss landed on your cheek, his nose nuzzled in your ear briefly. "Open your eyes, baby," he whispered and your body shivered.

You searched on the reflection for Seokmin's face first. He was looking at you, at your rosy cheeks, the way you were biting your lower lip, your prickled skin and hardened nipples. Your eyes met.

"There you are," he smirked, his hands resting on your hips moved to your lower abdomen. "See how pretty you are?"

"Seokmin," you whispered.

His eyebrows rose a bit. "Yes?"

"P-please, just..." you whimpered and swallowed hard.

"Please what, baby?" he purred as he kissed your shoulder.

You turned your face to meet his and landed a chaste kiss on his lips. "I need you inside me."

His lips formed into a smile that didn't fully show his teeth. "You want me to fuck you right here, baby?"

You pushed your ass back to meet his hips, finding his clothed cock so hard already that you almost moaned.

"Yes, please."

His lustful eyes searched your face once again. "Will you be quiet?" he asked.

You nodded, but then replied with. "Yes. I'll be quiet."

One hand that rested on your lower belly quickly made its way down between your thighs. You bit your lip at the sight on the mirror when his hand buried beneath your thong. You bit harder when his fingers found your wet core.

Seokmin sighed heavily. "You're so wet already," he whispered more to himself than to you, leaving another kiss on your earlobe. He started rubbing circles on your clit expertly, as if he remembered exactly how you liked to be touched just from one night of you having sex.

His other hand cupped one of your tits, squeezing it gently to then circle your nipple with his thumb. Your skin bristled and you sighed softly, watching the motion on your reflection.

"Seokmin, please. Stop teasing me," you pleaded.

The hand that was teasing your nipple cupped the side of your face, angling you so that his lips found yours, he kissed you fiercely, but slowly. His tongue brushed your lower lip and then it met your tongue.

"Do you want me to fuck you in these or you want me to take it off?" he asked, and his fingers tugged at the lace of your thong.

"Fuck me in them, tear them off me. I don't care," you whimpered.

Smiling, he planted a kiss on your lips before saying. "So impatient."

Ignoring him you turned to unbutton his jeans at the same time that he took his white t-shirt off. You glanced at him up and down, still marvelling at the sight of him. Seokmin noticed, and smirked while he watched you pull his underwear down to grab his large hard cock in your hand.

A sigh escaped his lips when your thumb rubbed at its tip, smearing the precum all over the head. Your mouth watered in anticipation but before you could do more, you were being turned around.

"Spread your legs, and keep your hands on the table," he commanded and as you did so, he pressed his hand on your lower back so you bent for him.

Seeing Seokmin's lust-blown eyes made you burn inside, it was so different from the sweet, cheerful friend you've always known. It drove you insane just how much he would change when he was like this with you.

His fingers parted the wet fabric of your thong to the side, his other hand grabbed his large cock and you moaned quietly when he ran the pinkish red tip along your wet folds a couple of times before aligning with your core. His other hand placed down your back, holding you in place.

"Quiet, baby," he reminded you before he eased himself inside you, slowly stretching your tight core open.

The feeling of having him raw was so good, it made your eyes water, but you couldn't blink away from his reflection on the mirror. His brow was furrowed slightly and he, like you, bit his lip to keep from making noises.

Two half strokes in, and you were already holding back your sobs. Seokmin heard you, and sent a warning look your way, but smiled softly when he saw just how desperate you already were.

"You take me so well," he whispered once his cock was sheathed deep within your pussy, you felt your walls tighten slightly at the sound of his words.

And he noticed.

"You like that, don't you baby?" he purred softly when he started thrusting his hips into you deliciously.

You could only nod with your head. Pressing your lips shut as his pace started to pick up speed, hitting you in your soft spot. The sound of skin slapping together, paired with your agitated breath were the only things you could hear.

Your hands gripped at the edges of the desk hard, but it served as a good support as Seokmin slammed into you, making your whole body tremble, robbing you of air as you tried to keep silent.

The reflection on the mirror allowed you to see how Seokmin looked when he fucked you from behind. His free hand caressed your back, pushing your hair from your shoulders to look at your skin fully, his eyelids fluttered a little when his hand grabbed your ass, making you whimper quietly.

Seokmin bent down to kiss your back, his breath landing on your skin so softly that it made you shiver. He left wet kisses along your shoulder, sucking and licking at your sweet spot.

"You feel so fucking good," he muttered, his hand made its way to find your tits, teasing your nipples some more. "So hard for me to pull out."

"Don't," you replied a bit too quickly. "I want you to cum inside me. Please."

His eyes burned into yours through the reflection. If Seokmin thought that fucking you again might sate his need of you, he found out that we couldn't have been more wrong.

"Fuck," Seokmin muttered through his gritted teeth. The hand that grabbed your hip clenched, fingertips digging on your skin. The other hand was still busy pushing your thong out the way. "Rub your clit for me, baby."

Seokmin left a quick kiss on the back of your neck before standing upright again. You did what he asked, rubbing your clit as you watched him pound on you with his exquisite pace. You watched his tongue hung slightly on the corner of his mouth, his brow furrowed in deep focus.

"Seokmin," you whimpered. "Fuck, don't stop."

You were so close to your orgasm, you could almost taste it. Your walls clenched hard at the electrifying feeling rushing inside you, tingling in your limbs and face.

"Shit, baby," he hissed. "You're so fucking tight."

You succumbed under your orgasm easily. It took over you in hot waves, and you thought for a moment of just crying out but the only thing you could do is clamp your mouth shut with your free hand. Watching him with watery eyes as you told him silently that you were cumming.

Seokmin smirked and threw his head back slightly, you watched his throat bob and his eyes flutter close, his jaw clenched tight in an attempt to be quiet as well while he pumped his load inside you.

When you both finished, your knees were shaking uncontrollably. Seokmin's cock was still buried inside you, his gaze was lost in the reflection of your naked body.

It was only when you felt hot liquid dripping down your thigh that you ripped your eyes off of his. You looked down to find cum trailing down your skin.

Seokmin pulled out of you slowly and you winced at the change. But then he was cleaning you off with some tissues he found on the vanity desk.

He landed a kiss on your thigh before standing up to discard of the used tissues. Then he turned and cupped your face with his hands, his thumbs brushing off the tears from your cheeks.

"Are you okay? Do you want me to help you get dressed up?" he asked, surveying your body with his eyes.

"I think I can do it," you replied, feeling your throat hoarse from the silent screaming.

"Okay. But be quick. We need to get out of here," he said softly, and then remembered that the crew was still dismantling the equipment on the stage upstairs.

Seokmin put his t-shirt on again and fixed his underwear and jeans to then gather your clothes while you got dressed in record time. You made sure that you didn't look too dishevelled before leaving the dressing room.

Seokmin threw your duffel bag over his shoulder, and you thought that he it was so cute of him that he always tried to do small acts of service. You followed closely as he was walking a few paces in front of you while you two made your way out of the theatre.

"Maybe we can still find that ramen place open, wanna go there?" he asked.

"Sure," you said, feeling your stomach wake at the mention of food.

Seokmin felt elated, just like he felt the night he fucked you in your couch. As you walked beside him, he wondered if you felt the same way.

When you got to the ramen restaurant, you and Seokmin sat facing each other. Seokmin heard you ramble about a play you've always wanted to do, and every now and then he would interrupt you to agree. He heard you talk about your role you were playing currently, and then he noticed a glint in your eyes.

The glint that Seokmin thought you lost when you and your ex split.

It made him feel warm inside, to know that you were finding hope again in the things that you liked doing. But he thought nothing more of it. He didn't dare to.

"Anyway, I ordered a new mattress," you said in an aloof manner, gathering enough noodles to stuff your mouth with.

"Oh?" Seokmin wasn't unfamiliar with your abrupt way of changing the subject, which you did too often.

He had already finished his food, and he was just hearing you ramble freely.

"It's arriving on monday," you said with nodding your head. "I wanted to ask if you want to come by and help me assemble the bed frame."

You stole a glance at him, a small smile had appeared on his lips.

"Sure, I'll help," he said, blinking lazily.

"Are you dozing off, Lee Seokmin?" you questioned.

"You take ages to finish your food," Seokmin laughed.

But Seokmin wasn't dozing off. He was just happy.

Seokmin had rehearsals on monday morning. They were still in the early stages of putting the show together, so the rehearsal consisted more of reading the script and putting together his scenes.

So the cast and crew was relaxed. Some people were sitting on the floor, some were lying as lines of the script were read aloud and modified accordingly. He felt he had an easy job, despite being the lead actor, he felt at ease with his character.

After Seokmin and you left the restaurant friday night, he walked you home. You two talked some more about your jobs, and reminisced after the few shows you had the opportunity to do together. When he walked you to your building, he pulled you into a tight hug, hoping that his obsession of you was sated.

But as soon as he saw you sitting alone, watching him rehearse, he felt his belly lurch. It wasn't exactly a surprise for him, he knew you were coming since he was the one who told you to meet after rehearsal for lunch..

He glanced at the smartwatch on his wrist, which was notifying him about a change on his heartbeat and indicated he might want to take a breather since Seokmin was experiencing an anxiety attack.

Seokmin found that funny.

The rehearsal went on for fifteen minutes. As they were wrapping up, he glanced again to where you sat. But now there was another person beside you, and Seokmin recognized your ex straight away. His mid long black hair, the tattoos on his shoulders, Seokmin couldn't see his face, but he imagined your ex would have a sly smile plastered on his mouth as he talked to you.

Seokmin knew that your ex was part of his castmates, he played a minor role so Seokmin didn't see him frequently. And didn't think to tell you because the thought never crossed his mind.

He made an attempt to keep gathering the props around the stage while keeping a watchful eye on you. Your body language was relaxed, but your brow was slightly furrowed as you listened to whatever your ex was telling you.

Seokmin wanted to jump off the stage and go investigate what was going on. To everyone you knew, you were Seokmin's girl. His girl. So, it wouldn't be weird to walk up to you and get you out of your ex's claws, right?

But, Seokmin was alarmed at his own thinking. He was jealous. He knew that, and he would face that fact later. He quickly went backstage to collect his backpack and things and went to meet you on the seats.

When you looked up to see him making his way up the rows of seats, you felt a wave of relief wash over you and Seokmin noticed your brow relax. He didn't want to look at your ex, out of fear that he would lose what little control he could muster on himself.

"Hey baby," Seokmin said to you softly, and he turned to your ex, giving him a curt nod. "Youngho. Mind if I steal her from you?"

Before your ex could say anything, you were standing up, grabbing your bag and walked to his side.

"Sure thing man," he said nonchalantly. "We were done talking anyway."

"Good," Seokmin snapped. "See you then."

And with that you and Seokmin made your way down to the back exit of the theatre. Seokmin had an arm over your shoulders, which he used to pull you to kiss your head, a move that gave him the chance to give your ex a final deadly look.

"What happened?" Seokmin demanded when you got outside the theatre.

Hot tears were stinging your eyes, and you couldn't bring yourself to speak, you just continued walking to nowhere in particular.

Seokmin grabbed your wrist and pulled you aside on the sidewalk. "Hey, hey, don't cry. Look at me. What happened?" he cupped your face, his eyes scanning you.

You shook her head, feeling tears stream down your cheeks.

"What did he say to you?" his gaze was deadly serious.

"I'm fine, he didn't say anything important," you sobbed. "Just more of the same."

His thumbs brushed your tears away. "Then why are you crying?"

You licked your trembling lips, breathing deeply so you could actually speak. "I'm just angry that I couldn't say anything to him. I'm so fucking weak."

"Don't say that," he hushed. "You're not weak."

"All this time I wished to tell him how much I hate him for what he did to me and now that I had the chance I just couldn't bring myself to it."

Seokmin's heart shattered a little, he pulled you into a hug, your face was staining his shirt with tears. "It's fine. You're okay, you're okay."

You clung at his shirt, his large hands soothing you in your back as you stopped sobbing. "God, I'm so sorry for that."

Seokmin's brow furrowed slightly. "For what?"

"Crying," you smiled, wiping your tears with your hands.

"You don't have to apologize for that, dummy," Seokmin said.

"I thought I was under control."

Me too, Seokmin thought to himself, thinking of how he reacted. But he just shrugged. "I don't blame you. I think it's normal."

But he was so close to you what he could smell your breath of honey cough drops and your sweet perfume. He couldn't help but feel a tight knot on his stomach when he saw the rosy tip of your nose and cheeks.

"You're pretty when you cry," he said, before he could hold a reign in his mouth.

But he was relieved when he saw you smile. "That's a bit sadistic of you, don't you think?"

"Made you smile," he shrugged again. "You feel better now?"

You nodded with your head, wiping the wetness from your face. "I'm hungry, actually. And you promised to take me to lunch before you assembled my bed frame."

"Ah, I always keep my promises," Seokmin said, with a sharp tug at his heart.

Lunch was quiet. You both decided to grab something to go and eat it peacefully at the park. It was something that took you back to your university days, when you, Seokmin, Soonyoung and Seungkwan were broke, but always hopeful to make it to the stage.

Seokmin couldn't stop going back to the memory of how he felt when he saw your ex talking to you. The sharp pain in his stomach when his first instinct was protecting you.

And he noticed you were immersed in your thoughts too. It wasn't uncomfortable silence. It was just two friends enjoying each other's presence.

"Oh, the package just arrived," you muttered as you were finishing your sandwich, looking at your phone screen.

"Should we go?" he asked, but you were already on your feet. So he followed, he had already finished his food anyway.

Seokmin smiled, watching you run to the nearest station, only stopping to wait for him. "Come on, dummy. I don't have all day."

"Oh, right. You work today?" Seokmin remembered.

"Not really, I asked someone to cover for me," you smiled cheekily.

"Then you do have all day," he said as they boarded the tube and sat down together.

"I want to make the most of it," you shrugged. "I have no time for myself lately, and besides what if we can't finish setting up the bed today? It would have to wait until next week when you're free."

His lips pursed into a pout. "So you're using me to help you?"

You laughed. "I'm sorry you find out this way."

He watched you lean towards him when you laughed, placing a hand on his knee. He broke his act and found himself smiling with you.

When you two arrived to your building Seokmin grabbed the packaged mattress from the foyer, and carried it to the elevator and then to your apartment.

You quickly kicked off your shoes and went to the kitchen, and Seokmin watched you return with scissors in your hands.

"What are you doing?" he exclaimed, holding out a cautious hand for you.

"Why, I want to open it," you shrugged.

"You do that when I finish setting up your bed, okay?" he said laughing at you.

"Right," your shoulders decayed a bit. "Sorry, I'm just excited about finally sleeping on a bed."

"Yeah, I noticed," Seokmin laughed. He set the rolled up mattress down and kicked off his shoes, hanged his things on a rack in the entrance of your apartment.

Your bedroom was partially decorated. It had two nightstands, large piles of books accommodated on a corner next to an arm chair and creamy white curtains that were opened to let in the warm autumn sunlight.

Seokmin frowned whenever he had to stop to reread the manual. The bed frame was halfway done in under an hour. You were instructed to stay put and watch him, since you were of no help at all. So you sat on your armchair and watched him get to work.

He took off his grey plaid shirt, which he was wearing on top a white tank top. You found amusing how focused he was, whenever he stopped and sighed, removing his cap to run a hand over his hair and putting on the cap backwards.

"Now, you can open the mattress," Seokmin said when the bed frame was put together in the middle of your room.

"Nice," you hissed excitedly, grabbing the scissors and slashing the plastic holding the rolled up mattress.

His hands came up to help you remove the plastic off completely before propping up the mattress on the frame as it slowly unfolded.

"Well, it's done. You have a bed now," Seokmin said sounding tired, his hands on his hips.

"Thank you, mister," you said, holding out your hand up for him to give you a high-five, which he did with half a smile on his face.

You had some sheets ready, but the mattress was extending slowly over.

"Well, you want to order some food?" you suggested, turning to him.

He searched your eyes for a minute. Seokmin was realizing that he liked spending more time with you and making plans, but he also found it conflicting, since he couldn't shake off his doubts over his obsession of you.

But he decided to indulge, yet again.

"That'd be nice," he nodded with his head.

You two sat at the couch close together while you chose what you wanted to order on Seokmin's phone.

"Now we wait," Seokmin announced as he finished ordering.

You both sat in silence for a minute before turning to Seokmin only to find his eyes on you, staring at you silently. As your eyes set on his, Seokmin felt something pulsating inside him, it was hungry, eager to satisfy.

"We never stablished ground rules," you muttered nervously.

"Don't you think we're way pass that?" the corners of Seokmin's lips rose slightly.

A hand touched Seokmin's cheek, sparks ignited inside him. "Yeah, maybe," he heard you whisper, before pulling him into a tender, hot kiss.

Seokmin swore he could've melt right there, on your lips. He reached for your face with his hands at the same time as he pushed you back against the couch, trapping you with his body. He positioned himself between your legs, kissing you deeply.

"You can fuck me in a bed now," you muttered playfully on his lips, your fingers caressing the sides of his face softly.

"Who said I was going to fuck you?" he quipped with a grin.

You pouted. "Pretty please?"

The hands that were resting on his face travelled down to his back and found his clothed butt, giving him a squeeze pushing him down to meet your hips. You bit his lower lip as you did that, prying his mouth open to give him a deep kiss, your tongue lapping on his.

"Mmm..." Seokmin pretended to ponder over it, while he busied himself kissing your face. "You know, with all this fucking I might start to think that you might like this a little too much."

Seokmin's lips were on yours before you could muster a response. His lips moved to your chin, and then under your jaw, and in no time they were sucking at your sweet spot, marking you again.

"Don't get any funny ideas, mister," he heard you mutter shakily.

Seokmin laughed dryly, and heard you moan when he nibbled at the soft skin on your neck. "I'm not the one begging to be fucked."

You couldn't find a response, Seokmin's hands were rolling up your hoodie to reveal your tummy, placing wet kisses above your bellybutton. He undid the button of your jeans, and with one swift move, he took them off you and toss them away.

"I like these," he muttered, running a finger over the band of your black lacey thong. "Did you wear it for me?"

It was a bold question, one that Seokmin would not have asked in his better judgment.

But to his surprise, you nodded. "Thought you might like it."

Seokmin smiled, a fluttering sensation filling his chest.

With a curious glance at your face, he cocked his head slightly to the side before rolling up your hoodie above your tits. Seokmin discovered you didn't wear a bra today.

He ran his tongue over his lower lip before bending down to plant a chaste kiss on your mouth. "You're so fucking hot," he muttered.

"Likewise," you found yourself saying, and couldn't help but feel your heart flutter in your chest.

Seokmin just laughed, placing another kiss on your lip before turning his attention to your neck. "You're a bit needy today, aren't you baby?"

You tried saying no. But just at the sound of him calling you that you knew you had no case. Your walls throbbed, making you gulp.

He placed his elbows to your sides, so his hands were just a few centimetres from your chest. His thumbs found your nipples and started massaging them in circles so softly that your skin prickled.

You bit your lip as Seokmin licked, bit and kiss your neck and collarbones.

"What happened?" he cooed when you didn't come up with a response.

You shook your head. "Take me to the bed," you muttered under a shaky breath.

A small huff came from Seokmin's lips as he pressed them to a smile, a small dimple appeared beneath his mouth. "Someone's getting bossy," he quipped, but stood up from the sofa and extended a hand out to help you stand up.

Seokmin grabbed your hand as you made your way to your bedroom, and used that hand to pull your body close to his, cupping your face with his hands as he turned to kissed you.

Then, he felt your hands flat on his chest pushing you to the edge of the bed, where he sat down and lifted his head to see you, his eye twinkling with excitement.

Seokmin watched you take your hoodie off and drop it to the floor, leaving your body completely bare to the exception of your panties. His swallowed hard at the sight of you, his intense gaze scanning your body up and down as you sat on his lap, straddling him.

"I want to make you feel good," you mumbled, and Seokmin thought he heard a tinge of endearment in your voice, but decided that it was just the heat of the moment.

"Oh, yeah?" his voice became a raspy whisper.

Your hands tugged at the white tank top he was wearing and Seokmin leaned back a bit to give you room to take it off his body. Once his torso was naked you pushed him again, and with a faint laugh, Seokmin laid the upper half of his body on your naked mattress.

The sight of him lying beneath you made your core wet. His lustful eyes followed you as you leaned forward to kiss his face and under his jaw, testing and exploring his neck. He let out a soft sigh when you found his sensitive spot on the crook of his neck, and decided to suck on it.

His hands finding your bare back and dragged them to cup your ass, squeezing and massaging firmly, making you groan in his mouth against his neck.

Seokmin felt intoxicated by the smell of your hair falling on the side of his face. Your chest was so close to his that he felt your hardened nipples brushing his skin ever so slightly, making him shudder.

He had his eyes closed, breathing you in, feeling your skin against his.

Your mouth returned to his to kiss you fervently. And he decided to use his hands to push your hips down on him so you could feel his growing boner behind the thick fabric of his jeans.

You pulled your head back, propping yourself with your hands on his hard chest a bit to see him fully and grinded on the bulge of his dark jeans, feeling your slick rub in the thin fabric of your panties.

Seokmin watched your face broken in lust and concentration while you grinded your hips against bulging cock, and realized he loved the faces you made when you were aroused, when he had you like this.

You bent forward to capture his lips with yours, tongue slipping on his lower lip, earning a throaty moan from him.

"Can I suck you off?" you asked almost sheepishly.

Seokmin used a hand on the side of your head to get more kisses from you. "You can do whatever you want to me."

And that much was true.

Scooting back, your fingers undid the button of his jeans and stood back on the floor to undress him completely. Seokmin smiled and helped you through it, lifting his hips so that you could get rid of his underwear.

Seokmin saw your face the moment his large cock hit his lower abdomen with a soft thud, the way your eyes opened and you bit your lip. You eyed him once before dropping to your knees Seokmin propped himself on his elbows as he felt your hands on his length, you rubbing your thumb along his reddened tip.

A sigh escaped him when he saw you spit on the tip of his cock, using your hand to smear your saliva on his length before stuffing it in your mouth. His hand came to pull your hair back to see your face as you took his cock in your mouth.

What followed then was Seokmin's voice softly calling your name, and the noises that your mouth made on his cock, whenever you would swirl your tongue or suck on his tip.

You wanted to feel shy at the sounds that came from your mouth as you bobbed your head, taking him fully, but didn't care. You felt yourself grow more aroused, to the point that you could feel your juices smear on your crotch.

"That feels so fucking good," he groaned when your tongue swirled on the tip of his throbbing cock and pushed your head down on him and then up at the same time you hollowed your cheeks.

"Shit," he hissed, and the hand clutching your hair tightened.

That made you moan, and went in to do that same movement with your mouth to get him to the edge. But then you were pulled back by Seokmin's hands, so unexpectedly that you almost gagged when his cock left your throat.

"I don't want to cum just yet," he muttered as he grabbed your wrists and pulled you into his arms, so now you were both lying on the mattress, him pinning your body under his to kiss you fiercely.

His hands tugged at the band of your thong, pulling away from your mouth to yank your thong from you. But you were so wet that a thin string of your own arousal fell on your thigh when Seokmin removed the only thing that covered your cunt.

"Fuck." Seokmin muttered at the sight of it. "Spread your legs, baby."

You complied, swallowing thickly at the sight of him on his knees of your brand new mattress, his thick bare thighs, cock hard and glistening wet of your saliva. His strong veiny arms hooked under your legs and he tugged you down towards his body on the mattress, making you squeal from the sudden movement.

Seokmin shoved one of his middle fingers in your wet core and you moaned instantly. "You're so fucking wet. From sucking me off?"

"Seokmin," you whimpered as his other middle finger joined in, feeling embarrassed that you were already squirming under him with just two fingers shoved inside.

Your walls clamped around his fingers when you saw Seokmin take his large cock in hand to give it a few pumps to ease his ache as he continued to finger you, his lip trapped behind his teeth and eyes burning with lust.

"Just tell me what you want, baby," he put in simply when you started squirming.

"I- uuhhm-fuck," you muttered when his fingers curled inside your walls, hitting on a sensitive spot. "Want you inside me."

A throaty chuckle came out of him. "Ah baby, where are your manners?" he pulled out his fingers as he watched you scramble for him, causing his mouth to curve into a half-smile.

You ignored the way his cooing made your cheeks feel hot in embarrassment. "Please," you whimpered. "Please, just fuck me."

Seokmin battled against the idea of making you beg a little more. He liked this look on you, flustered, your chapped lips, rosy cheeks and glistening eyes. But he couldn't deny that he wanted you as much as you wanted him.

And with that, Seokmin lowered his hips to meet yours but stopped to grab one of your legs to hold it up his lean shoulder, and landed a wet kiss on the side of your knee.

"Ready?" he breathed as his cockhead pushed at your entrance.

You sucked in a breath. "Yes."

Seokmin pushed his cock in you, slowly, his eyes committing to the memory of the expression on your face, brow furrowed, eyes closed and your mouth agape.

"Breathe, baby," he muttered and you did so along with a sob. He moaned and nuzzled his nose in the crook beneath your knee. More kisses fell on the side of your knee as a way of comfort for you.

The leg that was supported on Seokmin's shoulder gave him more room to go in deeper in you. His hips met yours fully, his cock buried deeper inside you than ever before.

"Are you okay?" he asked in a strained voice, waiting for your signal to move.

"Yeah," you sobbed with a nod of your head. "Just... move, please, Seokmin," you urged him on, feeling desperate as your walls throbbing around his length.

Seokmin waisted no time and dragged himself out your cunt and pushed in again, slowly. He earned a few cries from you as you adjusted to his size and the new position he was fucking you in. It felt more intense and raw, even when he was thrusting in and out slowly.

"Faster," you breathed, and then added, "please."

Seokmin bit his lip as he grinned at you and said something about your manners again before leaning forwards to your body, his hands sinking into the mattress at your sides.

He started thrusting in you faster, and harder. You also heard him groan in pleasure, but the room was soon flooded by your cries and moans.

Your hands needed to hold onto something, desperately wriggling under his hips as you quickly felt tension building up between your thighs.

Quickly you grabbed his wrists, since your leg was still resting on his shoulder and between you and him. Tears accumulated on the corners of your eyes as his hips rammed into you, hitting you in your golden spot hard and fast.

Then a wave of pleasure washed over you, suddenly, almost brutally. You called his name and cried out, as Seokmin rode your high with precise thrusts, biting the soft flesh behind your knee.

But he didn't stop, he kept pushing in and you were aware that you zoned out for a minute. Tears sprung out of the corners of your eyes as you tried to gain composure by dragging deep breaths in your mouth along with weak moans.

"Did you cum?" Seokmin asked, the tone of his voice sweet but you could tell he was mocking. "Aw, baby. I just got started."

He lowered your leg and leaned his upper body forward so that his body hovered over you. His lips locked with yours once before continuing to slam his hips against yours.

"You still with me?" he asked, a small smile rising on his lips.

Seokmin's smile widened when you nodded with your head. "Uh-huh," you hummed, but cringed visibly when his hips buckled over yours, changing his pace to a slower one.

He wanted to savour the moment, savour you while he fucked you silly.

Now that his body was within your reach, you slid your hands on his back to trace soft lines on his column, earning a deep moan from him, he dipped his head to clamp your mouth with his.

A hand slid under your head, Seokmin grabbed a handful of hair at the base of your head as the other hand tapped at your leg, motioning you to wrap your legs around him.

When you did, he began to move his hips faster again, now that his body pinned you completely to the mattress. You moaned loudly into his mouth as he kissed you fiercely, his hand gripped your hair tighter, as if he wanted to merge into your lips.

Seokmin stopped kissing you only so that he could hear your moans, and he slammed his hips on yours to hear you cry out his name.

Deciding he wanted to test something, the grip on your hair tightened and you cried out in pleasure. "Fuck," you gulped, "That feels so good."

Your hands cupped his face, bringing him to another kiss, and you could tell that he was smiling on your lips.

His forehead dropped on yours at the same moment that his hands slid down your ass to angle your hips towards his, fucking you deeper, faster; almost in an animalistic pace.

You cried out, nails digging hard on the soft skin of his back, making him groan and grit his teeth.

"Are you going to cum again?" he asked when your moans got louder.

You tried to nod with your head, but his forehead was still pressing against yours. "Yes," you hissed cupping his face again with your hands. "Keep going. Please, don't stop."

His lips ghosted over yours, strangled moans coming out of his chapped lips. "Cum with me, baby," he whispered.

It was all you needed. You moaned on his mouth as another wave of sweet release shook your body as hard as your first orgasm. His name on your tongue, chanting it on his lips as if it were a mantra. Seokmin also moaned in your mouth, as he pumped his cum deep inside you.

Seokmin showered you with sloppy kisses as his hips came to a stop and you laid limp under his warm body, feeling like you wanted to fall sleep right then and there.

When he pulled out and his arms slid under you to hug you and then he was flipping you over, resting your body on top of his and snapping you out of it just a bit.

A hand pushed your hair back, his lazy eyes surveying you closely. "Are you okay?"

"'M okay," you mumbled languidly, resting your forehead on his again. "Perfect, actually."

Seokmin smiled and kissed you sweetly, his hands trailed gently up and down over your back. "I'll get the shower ready."

He laid you back on the mattress and you watched him leave the bed and disappear on the bathroom. The sound of the shower followed next, and Seokmin reappeared again. You laid watching him fully naked, his heavy lidded eyes and his hair dishevelled.

"Can you stand?" he asked.

For a second you pondered, and when he saw you hesitate, he pulled you into his arms in one swift movement. A yelp slipped out of you, but you realized that you liked being manhandled by him.

"Wrap your arms around my neck," Seokmin muttered before lowering you to the shower floor and you did what he said, finding support on his body.

The warm water washed your body and Seokmin's, his wet bangs stuck to his forehead, and you watched droplets of water fall from the sharp tip of his nose. He was beautiful. The freckles on his face, his sweet brown eyes, and the dimples that formed under his lips when he smiled.

"What?" he muttered, almost in a shy tone.

"Stay with me tonight," the words came out of you before you could stop yourself.

Seokmin hesitated for a bit. He knew he wanted to say yes the minute he heard you, but he still had a lot to think. However, he probably was more self-indulgent than he initially thought.

"Sure."

When you finished cleaning yourself up, Seokmin announced that the food was delivered to your doorman and went to get it. That gave you a chance to make your bed while you waited.

You ate dinner on the couch while watching Twilight. Seokmin had never watched it, and you knew he just had to watch it at least once in his life. You had to experience him watching that mess for the first time.

"Well, that was... really bad," he determined as soon as the credits rolled in.

"What?!" you exclaimed, feigning shock.

"Why did you make me watch that?" he complained, matching your fake shock.

"Cause it's a classic!" you laughed.

"That was probably the worst ninety minutes of my life," he said, pouting his lips to avoid breaking into a smile.

"The next one is better, I promise."

His eyebrows rose. "There's more?"

"Yeah. And we're going to watch them all."

His lips pressed together in a smile. "Fine. But I'm going to ask for some compensation for sitting through this."

Excitement tingled deep inside you when you crawled on the sofa over to him. You straddled his lap and pulled him into a kiss with your hands over his shoulders. His hands quickly found your hips and groaned again when you licked his lower lip.

"You can tell me how you'd like to be compensated in bed," you hummed, running a fingertip over his lower lip.

Seokmin sighed, but it wasn't a sigh of exhaustion, but of the feeling in his chest. "You're really needy, you know that right?"

You shrugged, one hand stroking the hair at the base of his head. "I mean, you could always just say no."

He laughed dryly, but his hands cupped your face. "Come here," he said in a low voice, pulling you to his lips.

Hours later, the autumn rain was pattering against your bedroom window, filling the room with a continuous soothing sound. Seokmin laid on your bed, a hand buried on your hair as your head rested on his chest.

You were breathing softly. Seokmin realized you had fallen asleep after you stopped talking for what seemed like hours, your arm draped over him, your naked bodies huddled under the sheets. He let out a deep sigh.

His thoughts went through everything he'd been experiencing since he first kissed you. His mind was even more conflicted than before. It wasn't just the sex, though he knew it was a huge part it.

Because now, he had to face the fact that he was breaking his promise to you. He was no longer doing it for attention, or for fun. He knew that nothing could satiate his obsession for you, because maybe he was the one that liked this―you a bit too much.

And he still wasn't sure what he would do about it.

♡︎ a/n: auuughh, i love seokmin sfm u-u. thank you for reading! i'd appreciate it a ton if you give it a like, rb or comment. click here to read pt 3 (｡- .•)

[lets-try-some-writing]

Random question, but how good do you think the ‘Bots and ‘Cons would be at cooking? Does the Matrix happen to have any tips or knowledge of the culinary arts? Would the kids be of any assistance to the ‘Bots, or would they also fail at cooking? For some reason I think Miko would be really bad at making anything with more than 5 steps but make a really good grilled cheese sandwich. You think they would fare any better at baking?

Heck yeah this is funny.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

Cooking on Earth

As a general rule, cooking is not really a thing on Cybertron, at least not as it is on Earth. The process of creating energon based fuels and treats is more of a purification than any real chemical bonding or serious alteration as commonly seen in human culinary works. As such, when the team brought the children under their care and were then hit with the realization that they needed to fuel their small wards, issues arose immediately.

Arcee could hardly process normal energon, much less cook anything to save her life. The only human food she is capable of putting together is boxed macaroni and cheese. Even then, it still isn't all that good. She either adds too much butter or none at all. Her milk additions make dish look more like cereal than anything else and quite frankly she somehow manages to burn the noodles despite that fact that it should be nearly impossible. The children don't like her attempts at cooking, but if pressed, they will consume her noodle dish. She has attempted baking but has only succeeded in burning the wall in an attempt to quote "make sure the cake was fully baked".

She is not allowed in the kitchen alone. Ever.

Bulkhead has been met with limited success in all things gelatin. He can't make much else unless he is putting sauce on pre-ordered food, but gelatin he can do. On Cybertron he was known amongst the Wreckers for his banger jellied energon, even earning minor praise from Ultra Magnus. Thankfully for everyone, the same general concept applies to human jellied treats, and so Bulkhead is able to make gelatin without killing anyone. Of course his flavor profiles are rather... off. He has no clue what actually is constituted as good food for including in gelatin, but he tries his best.

Smokescreen and Bumblebee can make a mean grilled cheese, but only if they are working together. One must have their optics on the food while the other plays music in the background while grating cheese. If either of them get distracted or only one is present, the results are wild and worthy of a fire extinguisher. Bee has attempted soup before, and surprisingly, once in a blue moon he can make a really good potato soup. It is close enough to preparing energon rations that he can manage it occasionally. Smokescreen though? He has been given a lifetime ban from the stove. He somehow manages to make a really good salad despite that. It is largely just him throwing random green things in the fridge into a bowl, but it works generally.

Ratchet does not cook. Optimus has forbidden him to cook despite the Doctor wishing to figure out the strange science. The only time he tried cooking, he made actual poison and almost fed it to the kids thinking it was a nutrient dense supplement. Since then he has been confined to the realms of baking, which thankfully, is not too foreign since he can and has made spectacular energon goodies in the past. He knows how to work heat related tools well enough to make really good cupcakes. He can't do frosting though. Its always chunky or pure liquid sugar. Miko still eats them, even if they are a little burned sometimes.

Ultra Magnus can cook, on both Cybertron AND Earth. He just refuses to do so. Period.

Optimus for his part, despite his knowledge, can cook in theory. He knows how it should work, and so largely depending on the resources given to him and his level of focus, he can make a mean dish on Cybertron and Earth. His specialty on both worlds is a variant of shepherds pie, something he lived and vented back on Cybertron due to how cheap it was at the local restaurant. Of course the names of the dishes and the ingredients differ, but the concept remains the same. And so as long as the dish requires no decorum, Optimus can make it fairly well. However if asked to bake, the Prime physically cannot. The singular time he made the attempt, he came away covered in soot and with a lifetime ban from the baking items.

When it comes to the Decepticons, Megatron does not cook, period. On Cybertron he was a fantastic brewer of high grade, but that skill does not translate over well. On the Nemesis, he has a small personal brewing station where he will occasionally whip something up for himself. But that is a rare treat. He has taken the time to study human brewing methods though, largely out of a desire to mock their efforts. This of course led to some experimentation on his end, which in turn resulted in better high grade than what he was capable of producing before. He will never admit where the jump in skill came from.

Knockout and Breakdown love to make cake specifically. They can't even eat the stuff, but they like seeing how big and how grand they can make it. Hours are spent dutifully baking cakes to perfection, molding them, and then decorating them. Usually its done after Cybertronian sites, but off an on they will make human tourist locations out of cake. Breakdown also experiments with chocolate and has become relatively good at making realistic chocolate molds. These, along with Knockout's cakes, he takes to different places around the globe to donate. He may not be fond of humans, but waste is not acceptable.

Starscream is by far the best chef out of all present Cybertronians, and that is only because he fragging hates that Gordan Ramsey is better than he is at it. Starscream has devoted a ridiculous amount of time to cooking JUST so that he can curse right back at the human chef and prove himself superior. No, he does not know where it stemmed from. No, he cannot even eat what he makes. But frag it all he will get that beef wellington right or he will die trying. However against all expectation considering his considerable cooking ability on Earth, he can't cook on Cybertron to save his life. He never needed to, so he never learned.

Shockwave doesn't cook. He makes purified energon and that is all. He doesn't even bother learning anything else. Why would he? Its not like he can taste or appreciate anything complicated. Arachnid does not cook either, and that is largely because she sees it as beneath her. Soundwave is in a similar boat and does not bother... unless it comes to making cat treats. Those he will go through the pain of working with tiny human tools to manage in order to lure in the furry creatures.

Dreadwing can only make noodles. And only from the box. He has no explanation.

[queenofzan]

we are out of soda, juice, soy sauce, cereal, easy microwavable food, and nearly out of bread and bagels

and i have an outstanding repair i'm working on so i feel bad posting in local fb groups that i can take repairs and alterations!

like cass basically has a job but it won't start until probably next week (background check clearing) and. you know. we need food now

my paypal | cass's paypal | cass's venmo

[raineandsky]

#117

tw: gun violence, murder

The hero gets out of bed, folds their sheets back the same as always, and starts their day.

They put the TV on for the background noise, but it’s far beyond that now. The hero can recite this news story word for word.

“—and what’s to say this fiend can be stopped? I’m joined here by villainy expert Joyce Peterson for a glimpse into what may be….”

The hero pulls a box out of the cupboard, throws some cereal into a bowl. The same flake as always bounces off the edge and escapes onto the floor. They eat in silence, the buzz of the TV enough to fill the space for dread in their mind, and think over their plan again.

It’s been like this for two weeks now. The same news story, the same breakfast, the same glum look on the superhero’s face when the hero walks into the agency. The same “[Hero], a word, please”, the same confession that their villain is going haywire.

The hero wants to say they’ve lost their mind. They’ve tried everything—don’t go to work, don’t talk to the superhero, don’t accept the mission they’ve been given every day for the past two weeks. Even the inconsequential stuff: don’t have breakfast, don’t turn on the TV, don’t go in through the front door. Every day has brought a new attempt to break themself out of this time loop, and so far every day has remained exactly the same.

They look up a little too early when the superhero approaches them at the door. “[Hero],” he says predictably, “a word, please.”

The same as always. The superhero ushers them into an interrogation room for lack of a better place to speak privately. They have the same conversation, the words practically rehearsed in the hero’s head like this is some fucked up theatre performance. Your villain is going off the rails, the hero thinks along with him. You need to bring this to an end before they destroy everything.

The same walk down the corridor, the same idle suit-up, the same wish of good luck from the superhero.

The hero turns to grab the same pair of cuffs before they falter, caught in instinct. They let their hand drift a little further to unlatch a handgun from the wall. Something new. Another attempt at freedom.

Not that it’ll work. It never does.

The hero goes out there to face the villain, as always. They laugh at the hero’s presence, throw themself into the same grand monologue. The hero points their gun at the villain and, without a thought in the world, pulls the trigger.

Killing people is a lot easier than trying to catch them. The hero’s never wanted to kill someone—god, they can’t imagine what it’d be like to want to kill—but it’s a curiosity sated. It feels bad. They hate it. The villain is dead, the gun is hot in their hand, and this will all reset tomorrow.

The hero returns to the agency with the news. The superhero doesn’t seem to know whether this is good or not. “It’s another evil off the streets,” he says, but his brow furrows as he says it.

The hero goes home that evening, their routine slightly altered with their new line of action. The water of the shower is cold, their dinner made when the streetlamps outside the window are already flickering on.

They tumble into bed without a care. What will they try tomorrow? Maybe they can try just incapacitating the villain this time. Shoot them in the leg or something. They go to sleep and dream of another day of the same.

Morning. The hero gets out of bed, folds their sheets back the same as always, and starts their day.

They put the TV on for the background noise, but it’s far beyond that now. The hero can recite this news—

Wait.

“—No one’s sure what happened. The public has gathered here to celebrate this victory, but not everyone is so pleased about this. I’m joined by a citizen, who wished not to be named, who was there at…”

The hero stumbles into the kitchen, wrenching their usual box from the cupboard. They pour it into a bowl, and all the flakes stay inside.

The drive to work is a blur. They stagger in through the doors and another hero bounds up to give them a pat on the back. “Someone needed to put the trigger on that one,” she says brightly. “They weren’t going down without it. Good job.”

Their routine is shattered; they cringe away from the other hero’s touch. This is wrong. They weren’t meant to get out. They were in a time loop. Where’s the superhero? Where’re his usual concerns about the villain’s destruction?

They know they’re meant to be glad. They broke out of the same loop they’ve been in for two weeks. The relief of a new string of events should be palpable. All the hero can seem to feel, though, is overhanging, gnawing dread.

They’re free. They’re a murderer.

[breelandwalker]

Sneak Peek - Spoons In Spades

At a little distance he saw a fire, and beside it there sat three giants, busy with broth and beef. They were so huge that the spoons they used were as large as spades, and their forks as big as hay-forks: with these they lifted whole bucketfuls of broth and great joints of meat out of an enormous pot which was set on the ground between them.

- Niels and the Giants (The Crimson Fairy Book)

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Intent: To give oneself additional “spoons.”

Ideal Timing: This charm can be made at any time.

Materials:

Spoons

Large Jar

Cotton Balls

Herbs: Hyssop, Rosemary, Thyme, Juniper Berries

When I asked my readers what sort of spells they'd like to see in this second volume of fairytale-inspired spells, one of the most strikingly popular responses was, "Is there a spell to give me more spoons?"

If you're not familiar with the term, "spoons" or spoon theory is a metaphor which describes the reduction in mental and physical energy experienced by people who are disabled or chronically ill, with spoons used as a unit of measurement to represent how energy and motivation must be rationed throughout the day to accomplish necessary tasks. Spoons are only replenished through rest or sleep, so once a person runs out of spoons, that's it for their day. 

The term was coined by Christine Miserandino in her 2003 article "The Spoon Theory," in which she uses dinnerware to demonstrate to a friend how living with invisible chronic illness required careful daily planning and prioritization, and how even with the best intentions and efforts, tasks are often left undone due to a lack of energy or an increase in pain. The term has since been adopted by wide sections of the online community in relation to struggles with disability, chronic illness, or mental health, as a descriptor for daily energy and motivation levels, i.e. "I don't have the spoons for this," or "After a full day at work, I have exactly one spoon left, and I need it for laundry, so going out is off the table."

As someone who regularly battles ADHD, anxiety, executive dysfunction, migraines, and depression, I'm a big fan of spoon theory, largely because it makes those invisible daily struggles, which so many of us have, much easier to visualize and explain. So in honor of all my fellow spoonies, here is a spell to help you gain those critical extra spoons.

For this spell, you'll need a fair-sized jar, some healing herbs, and a bunch of spoons. You can use plastic spoons or metal ones, if you happen to have spare silverware lying around. Use as many or as few spoons as you feel you need. If you need more spoons than can readily be acquired, you might draw or print out pictures or spoons and use those instead.

Place the spoons in the jar with a big handful of cotton balls. Apart from their mundane medical and cosmetic uses, cotton has healing magical properties and also represents the comfort that may feel lacking on low energy or high pain days. If desired, add several pinches of Hyssop, Rosemary, Thyme, and Juniper Berries, or a sachet containing the herbs if you'd rather keep things neat.

Close the jar, give it a big hug, and say:

I bless this jar and spoons And ask for the strength to function; And when I need a helping hand, These extra spoons I'll summon,

Set the jar aside somewhere safe. If desired, you might want to label it. You don't want anyone borrowing your magical spoons for their cereal, after all. When you need an extra boost to help you get through the day, simply open the jar and take out a spoon. You can carry the spoon with you, place it on your altar, or discard it to activate the charm.

Please keep in mind that performing this sort of magic should always be accompanied by appropriate medical and self-care measures. Magic isn't going to cure a chronic illness or permanently alter your brain chemistry. But it can help you cope with the symptoms and give you that all-important push to get yourself through the day. Stay strong, witches!

-from the forthcoming book, The Sisters Grimmoire, Vol. II; © 2021 Bree NicGarran

(If you'd like to check out more fairy-tale spells or any of my other published works, please visit the Willow Wings Witch Shop!)