#i need to do a before and after post of me before I started exploring gender stuff

[cheriladycl01]

I’m part of nature right? Photograph me! - Zhou Guanyu x Photographer! Reader

Plot: You’re a nature photographer… but end up at an F1 race?

You’d worked for the national geographic since you could remember. It started with you submitting a picture you took, age 10 on your first camera for the CountryFile Calendar. Then you’re parents helped you make an account online where you posted all your ‘professional’ pictures on. And then you went to university and managed to get an internship with the national geographic where you’d worked your way up ever since.

You’d always loved nature so being able to travel all the time for your job around the world to see what it had to offer was your favourite thing.

You’d been in Japan for about a year covering Fuji and an upcoming documentary, getting loads of content while exploring the country for all it had to offer and making tons of local friends.

One of those local friends was a fellow photographer and invited to an F1 race which was where he took his pictures.

You’d agreed to come after seeing the expensive and once in a lifetime paddock tickets being flashed in front of your face before prepping your camera and everything you might need.

You didn’t know what to expect.

“Lots of car noises, lots of people, it’s hard to get the pictures especially of the drivers as they’re constantly on the move. And the cars … they’re even harder to get” the friend says as he starts to take picture of a driver in orange who’s walking away in his race suit towards the mechanics in the garage.

“Yeah I can tell it’s so different yet so similar to nature in a weird way” you grin.

Yes, there was hours that you were waiting with just the whisps of wind around you and little scurries of feet or tails going through the grass until there were fights between Stags on a cliff. Or a baby monkey peaking out from behind his mother. Which here, amongst all the chaos you were waiting for the one moment … the opposite yet the same.

And do you did. You waited getting the perfect shots of some of the drivers. One that took you most by surprise was Zhou Guanyu in the Neon Green and Black racing suit that matched his car.

“Who’s that?” You ask the friend who looks away from his camera lens pointed towards one of the garages.

“Mmmm he’s the Chinese driver for Sauber. Or Stake. They have a really long ass name so it’s kinda confusing but his name is Zhou Guanyu” he offers looking at where you’re concentrated on.

“I like his helmet. It has cute little animals on it!” You grin having taking a picture of the helmet held down by his leg rather than the driver himself.

Once it came to the actual race you spent lots of time trying to fix your settings to fit the car. There was so much going on that you could get and you didn’t really know where to start and what to have your lens focus on. It was incredibly overwhelming.

You got some good pictures, some even encapsulating your love on nature in them. Using the cherry blossom around the track.

You were looking around the paddock for your friend who you’d come with, camera held against your chest the neck strap holding most of the weight.

As you pause in the middle of the busy walkway to look around for anything familiar you hear a voice shout to you.

“Hey! Watch out!” The voice says, and at first you didn’t register that they were talking to you, until you were pulled to one side.

You look just where you were stood to see a driver go zooming past on a scooter. No regard for anything other than their destination.

“You’ve got to be careful it’s busy here” the same voice says and it’s the first time you look up at them.

It was the guy you’d noticed earlier except now he wasn’t in his green and black race suit. He was actually really fashionable, your fingers twitched on instinct at your camera. Whenever you saw something pretty you had to take a picture and right now he read the prettiest thing around.

“Are you okay?” He asks at your silence.

“Erm, yes sorry I - it was my fault I was looking for my friend and I think I got a little lost. It’s my first time taking pictures at a race, you see I’m usuallya photographer in nature. But I’ve been living in Japan for a while now and this friend asked me to come here to Suzuka with him as he takes pictures of the cars and … now I’m rambling and you probably don’t care” you smile awkwardly at the man in front of you who wears a grin.

“It’s okay, keep talking. I could listen to you all day, you have a pretty voice” he smirks and when you look at his whole face your brain sort of short circuits.

God he was pretty.

“I erm, well did you want to see the pictures I took! I think I got one of your car. But erm I didn’t get many because I had this spot and was taking pictures of the cars with the cherry blossom, see look at this red car, I think that’s the Ferrari right?” You ask showing him the picture of the red car surrounded by the cherry blossom you’d found. “But you’re car colours didn’t really look great with the light pink, but I got some really cool pics of you when it started to rain see!” You smile showing him the picture you’d got.

“Woah these are really cool! You said you photographed nature?” He asks cocking his head to the side.

“Oh yeah! I work for the national geographic, it’s like a ma-“ you start but he just laughs.

“I’m… familiar with the national geographic, that’s pretty impressive” he grins and you blush forgetting that you’d worked for a big international company and not a small niche side shop in Manchester anymore.

“Oh, right yeah of course you are!” You stutter awkwardly.

“You know I’m part of nature why don’t you photograph me?” He asks in a teasing tone.

“Actually, I’d love too, right now where the sun is setting it’s getting the perfect sheen across your eyes and then the backdrop of the track is super cool and with this lens it will come out super clear and… sorry” you say looking down and he just laughs.

“Go on take the picture” he prompts making you grin and take a careful step back, making sure you aren’t in the way. You snap a few pictures of him, he seems to naturally look good on camera. It was actually like the camera was secretly drawn to him.

“Maybe we could grab a coffee and you can show me round your favourite places in Japan while you show me your photos?” He asks confidently and your brain malfunctions once again, as you’re about to snap the last picture.

Was this guy asking you on a date? You couldn’t help but wonder to yourself as you watched his face ease into a smile as he patiently waited for you answer.

“YES” you blurt out before covering your mouth embarrassed by how brash you’d sounded.

“Sorry erm yes I would love too! When are you … like done up around here I’m not too familiar with … it all” you laugh looking around the paddock that’s starting to be packed away.

“I can leave now, I just have to check out with the team. Why don’t you wait for me by the paddock entrance and we can get the train to where you’re going to take me?” He asks and you nod, he gives your hand a little squeeze before running off towards the Stake hospitality.

You say goodbye to your friend who you found on your way out, who didn’t want to leave you all alone at first not believing who you were meeting but when you assured him you’d be okay he nodded and left.

You were waiting for what felt like hours until you saw Zhou come running towards you.

“Sorry that took longer than I expected. Now where were we?” He asks with a smile taking your hand.

“To the train station. We’re going to Osaka” you smile. It was one of your favourite (that was easily accessible) places in Japan.

“I’ve never been! I’m very excited” he grins as you guys walk out and towards the train station.

You guys spent the evening in Osaka, you showed him all your favourite street foods, and the first places you’d visited. You told him the story where you’d got lost and an old Japanese man tired to help you, with your broken mix of English and the Japanese you’d picked up.

He didn’t really have many stories but he was more than happy to listen to you. Chip in every now and then when he felt necessary or had something of value to say.

“Next year you can come to China, not just for the race but I think you’ll enjoy taking pictures there!” He smiles and you grin.

“That’s actually my next assignment” you admit.

“What?!” He asks in shock.

“I’m on the Asia leg right now. We normally switch out every few years so before Japan I was in Cambodia for 2 months, then Japan and then I’m moving into China” you explain.

“You know what, we might just be soulmates” he teases as he bites into the Tokoyaki you’d brought for him to try bumping his shoulder against yours.

“Yeah?” You laugh, taking a bite of your own salty deep fried goodness.

“Mmmmm yeah” he smiles.

y/user

Liked by zhouguanyu24 and others

y/user: Really different environment this weekend in 🇯🇵. Really had a great time learning what it takes to be a car photographer and it’s really not for the weak. I think I’ll stick with nature for now.

View all comments

zhouguanyu24: it was nice to meet you. I hope to see you at another race 🏁

-> y/user: it was incredible to meet you too!

fan1: who is this KYMILLMAN wannabe

-> fan2: she’s a photographer for the national geo. She went to an f1 race for leisure and obviously got some of the best pictures ever

fan3: my goat

fan4: who did you have the most fun meeting?

-> y/user: meeting Zhou was the highlight of my trip 👍🏼

Instagram Story Caption

Day out in Japan 🇯🇵

[theeretblr]

I feel like I am getting better at achieving ✨️ Gender ✨️

[seventh-district]

.

[coulsonlives]

I just had to share this video because holy shit, it hits the nail right on the head! So well spoken. This stuff needs to be circulated more, esp with the growing number of people thinking they have this because of misinformation, or just outright faking it.

[flashhwing]

I think im only gonna plan my campaign up to level 10 then whatever happens happens. leaving the plot from there up to my players. your turn to weave the narrative bitch

[httpsserene]

I have been having SUCH a thought since the Thigh Riding, and I NEED to tell you.

We know reader has been loving Max and Charles’ thighs, but have you seen those silicone thigh toys? They’re basically ridged pads you strap to your thigh and…well you can guess what they do with them.

I just- I feel like it would elevate it, their sweet girl opening up to the world of toys whilst in the comfort of something she loved.

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞 | 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐬 | 𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞: 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞

summary: all my (terrified and oversensitive) homies hate vibrators!! max and charles introduce you to something better.  content warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. vibrators. thigh riding. sex toys. non-penetrative sex. edging. praise kink. corruption kink. dom/sub undertones. coming untouched. sub!charles. sub!reader. dom!max. pairing: max verstappen x charles leclerc x fem!black!reader word count: 2.4k words.

author’s notes: this is from december 2023, jesus christ. about fucking time right, @vetteltea? this has been haunting me in my sleep ever since this hit my inbox, now it’s y’all’s problem too < 333 psss, next post will either be toasty part two (toto) or a smau xxx

(if you’re unsure about what these specific thigh toys are, don’t worry, i would link an example but idk if that would get me put in tblr jail and i’m on thin ice with my mentions, tags, and even dms not working :| look up “grinding pad sex toy” to get an idea of what i’m referencing in this fic. )

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You’ve deeply repressed the memory of your orgasm-deprived outburst that kick started your sexual exploration with Max and Charles. Vaguely, you can remember saying that you possibly considered the thought of buying a vibrator to get yourself off since riding your pillow wasn’t enough anymore.

[…you’ve become depraved enough to consider buying a vibrator, but all packages delivered to this apartment have to be approved by max or charles to be sent up, and you’re definitely not bold enough to go out and buy one (and risk being seen by one of their fans or have to physically talk to someone to buy one)...]

[…you seem to have missed the fact that you sent their minds reeling and continue venting, “i don’t know what to do, maxy!  i’ve been doing the same thing, and it’s NEVER failed me before. it’s cruel that it stopped working when you guys left me for more than a month! no matter how i did it–if i did the exact same things i’ve always been doing, or tried something new, nothing worked! i was literally just considering buying a fucking vibrator! a vibrator, charles, i’d rather run naked in the street than buy that online and have to put in this delivery address–”

charles gently presses finger against your mouth, shushing you. he pulls you into a deep hug, rubbing a hand up and down the length of your back , the motion pacifying you. he hums, and it vibrates through his chest to yours, “mmm, we’re home now, mon ange. there’s no need to run in the streets naked–” “definitely not,” max jumps in, reacting possessively at the implication of other people seeing you undressed. charles rolls his eyes and continues (like he’s not just as jealous as max), “or buy a vibrator. i know it must be so frustrating…”]

Charles was right. You didn’t have to go streaking or buy a sex toy to get off, your boyfriends took care of you. That night, you were satisfied by riding Max’s thigh. Then a few days later, you learned how to pleasure your men with handjobs. A couple of days after that you were fingerfucked into an altered mental state, then followed up with watching Charles cum untouched as Max ate him out. You had Max’s mouth on you next and weeks later in a Spanish villa, you allowed them to take your virginity.

The five days you three spent in that villa were filled with pleasure, as Max and Charles fulfilled every request of yours without question. In bed, on the sofa, from the kitchen floor to the dining table, from the hot tub to the bathroom shower, horizontally, vertically, parabolically, from dusk to dawn—the two years of relationship you had without sexual intimacy had been put to rest. The understanding, the vulnerability, and the trust rooted within everyone had led to that moment. It was worth it.

So, one would understand your confusion when Max drops the idea of sex toys in conversation with you and Charles on a random morning. With an audible noise of confusion, you tilt your head up at him adorably, and genuinely question, “Why would I use a toy when I have you two?” Your tummy tightened when that sentence caused Charles to look at you with dripping molten eyes and Max’s mumbled grumble about corrupting your innocence goes unheard. Minutes later, you were bent over the kitchen island, the skirt of your sundress shoved up around your waist, and your white panties dangling off of one ankle as they took turns eating you out. Needless to say, you forgot about the subject of conversation the moment they knocked your legs open.

Eventually, they do manage to have a chat about toys without it devolving into sex. 

“Schat,” Max grabbed your attention, the clink of his silverware resting on his plate further interrupted your focus on spinning pasta onto your fork.

“Yes, Maxy?” you responded, meeting his eyes with a smile.

“After this discussion, we will never bring this up again if you are adamantly against the idea,” you brought your fork to your lips, munching away with a look of puzzlement, the Dutchman continued, “But, Charlie and I were talking…and we think, that—with your approval, of course—that there’s a chance you may enjoy experiencing and learning about sex toys, and how good they can make you feel. As long as either one of us is using them on you—and, with your hatred of them—they’re also not vibrators.”

You choked on your pasta, Charles making a noise of surprise as he rushed forward to pat you on the back.

Airways now cleared, you looked at Max with watery eyes, “There was not enough foreshadowing to let me know where the conversation was going. And, fuck vibrators. They are way too strong.”

The Monegasque’s eyes brightened with humor, “Hm. I think vibrators are nice, especially when they’re in Max’s hand.”

“You’re a menace and a freak,” the older man responded, “And she’s chronically sensitive. Don’t tease.”

Charles tugged at one of your curls, chuckling as he saw the brown skin of your cheeks redden.

“I mean,” you paused to play fight with your boyfriend, batting his hand from your hair cutely, “You guys haven’t been wrong with anything you’ve introduced me to. If you think that I might enjoy something…I guess I can try it. And, you’ll stop if I tell you to, right?”

“Always, mon ange.” “Of course, liefje.”

“Okay, then. I just don’t think there’s a toy that I’ll like?”

A smirk spread across Max’s lips when he glanced over at Charles, like they knew something you didn’t. His blue eyes were alight with humor as they looked back at you, “Let us worry about that.”

You did such a good job of letting your boyfriends “worry about sex toys” that you ended up forgetting the conversation happened. Until tonight, when you walked into your bedroom to see Charles on the bed completely naked, save for—what appears to be, a pink silicone pad strapped around his tanned, muscular thigh.

You freeze in the doorway, mouth parted, struggling to process the sight in front of you. The brunette is ruined. His hair is damp with sweat, strands of curls stuck to his forehead, and green eyes moist with dried tear tracks painting the ruddiness of his cheeks. His lips are bitten red, swollen, and moist with his spit—Max’s too. The bruises start on his collarbone, deep red marks brush along his clavicle and pecs, and there are visible imprints of teeth around his right nipple. Traces of Max’s unforgiving grip are painted on his waist, thumbprints obvious to your eyes. His cock looks painful; burning red, twitching randomly, the vein on his underside raised, and precome has been leaking out of his tip for a while if the puddle by the base is any telling. 

Employing his skill for perfect timing, the en-suite door opens, and Max steps into the room with a bottle of lube in his hand. 

“Charlie?” Max coos, walking over to the delirious man, pouting sympathetically when the brunette’s head falls forward to rest on his hip, ruffling his hair and scratching along his scalp. “Aren’t you going to thank our pretty girl for putting an end to your torture?”

“–rci, merci,” the exhausted man mumbles messily. Max hums in content, dropping the lube on the bed and gesturing for you to come closer. Tripping over your feet in haste to follow his order, you ask softly, “How long have you had him like this?”

“Around forty-five minutes,” Max shrugs, dismissively, “He was getting too excited as we waited for you to join us.”

Swallowing shakily, you inquire, “Excited about what?

“Your new sex toy.” 

You gasp and Max’s eyes flutter across your face as he gages your reaction. Max sees you shift on your feet and casts look downward; your thighs are pressed together for friction—you’re aroused.

“Do you want to try it?”

“Yes, Max.”

The Dutchman smiles at you, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind your ear, and leans forward to press a multitude of chaste kisses on your lips, laughing lowly when you whine with displeasure as he ignores your attempts to deepen them. “You’re being so brave for me. Take your clothes off, pretty girl.”

Bare in the blink of an eye, you look at your older boyfriend for his next direction.

“Our Charlie,” Max starts, helping the fucked-out man sit up straight, “Has been so kind to volunteer his thigh to you. Strapped around it,” he pauses to slap his hand down beneath the toy, smirking at Charles’ delayed yelp, and squeezing the meat of his muscle warmly, “Is a ridged silicone pad designed to simulate the vulva and clit as you grind. The waves and spikes of silicone are malleable and soft,” Max drags his finger across them demonstratively, “and are smooth and bouncy as you slide across it, allowing for a continuous rubbing sensation—I did my research.”

Giggling nervously as your eyes flicker between Charles’ cock and the daunting pink slab of plastic, “I can tell. Um—I just ride it like it’s his thigh?”

Max nods and offers you his hand for stability as you move to straddle the pad. Charles blinks, raising trembling hands to rest on your hips, staring at you with hazy eyes. You sigh, tangling your hand in the nape of his hair and using it to pull him forward into a kiss. His lips are clumsy but eager as they move against yours, whimpers muffled into your mouth and beard scratching along your chin. He tries to tug you downwards to have you firmly sit on the pad but is halted by Max.

“Greedy, both of you,” Max snorts, picking up the forgotten bottle of lube and uncapping it to lightly drizzle some on the toy's surface, “I know you get wetter than the ocean but, better safe than sorry.”

He pats you on the ass in encouragement, and you shake your head with shame as you lower yourself down on the silicone, draping your arms around Charles’ shoulders and pausing to acquaint yourself with the new feeling. The chill of the lube startles you but aside from that, the toy is…comfortable. The raised hump sits perfectly against the curvature of your cunt and already, you’re anticipating the focused stimulation it will provide. 

Max sits behind Charles and the bed sinks under his weight, barely jostling the Monegasque’s thigh. However, it’s enough of a movement that it causes one of the soft spikes to clip your clit, pushing a quiet noise of surprise from your lips.

“Oh,” you murmur airily.

Trying to hide the quirk of his lips, Max leans forward to whisper directly into Charles’ ear, “This seems awfully familiar to the first time she rode my thigh, no?”

You whimper audibly, knowing that he purposefully spoke loud enough for you to hear his words. Refusing to fixate on Charles’ reply, you circle your hips, breath catching as the various textures set your nerves ablaze. You understand that Max added the lube to prevent any unwanted roughness—it’s rendered unnecessary as your arousal starts to leak. Digging your nails into the younger man’s back, you rock your hips back and forth slowly, moaning freely as the waves are a consistent friction against your labia. 

“It’s–fuck—i-it’s good.”

“Stuttering already,” Max tuts, and you feel the heat in your cheeks radiate down to your bouncing chest. Your rhythm roughens; dragging yourself along the toys in desperation, toes curling at every random press of the spikes against your outer lips and clit. Charles gasps in relief, your quickened pace causing his cock to bounce and rub against his abdomen in his puddle of precome. He gets lucky on every few grinds when you undulate forwards and his cock bounces to glide against your navel. His hands grip firmly around your hips and shove them into a jerkier motion, keeping you close to him so his reddened length can be soothed against your skin constantly. 

The change in angle and position has caused the spikes to form a barrage around your clit and the waves drag over your entrance, teasing you with the feeling of being opened up. Dropping your head to hide your face in Charles’ neck, you muffle your pitchy moans and shrieks by tasting the sweat beading on his skin.

“I’m jealous, schatje,” Max speaks, “I almost want to pull her off of your thigh and have her sit on my face.”

Fresh tears spill from Charles’ eyes as he begs, “N-no-no—mmmph—please, ‘m close.”

Your hips start to rabbit against the toy, and the texture between your legs is overwhelming but too pleasurable to consider slowing. 

Max yanks Charles’ head backward with a fist in his hair, “Do you want to cum, Charlie?”

The man in question babbles incoherently, chest trembling from lack of oxygen as he continues to sob; he tries to nod, but can’t, thanks to Max’s firm grip. The burning of his scalp doesn’t subdue him, it encourages him to keep tugging so the pain floods endorphins through his body. 

“You know what to say,” Max states calmly, the words sending shivers down your spine. Your own body starts to tingle as you taste your orgasm on the tip of your tongue; you’re too delighted at the new sensations to let any embarrassment build from reaching the edge quickly.

Charles struggles to get his tongue, lips, and vocal cords to cooperate. You see a frantic look light in his eyes, sure he’s trying to puzzle out what language he’s sane enough to communicate in. He manages to verbalize sounds that could be likened to Max’s name if you brush past his whimpers and cries.

“Plea–,” Charles tries to push the word out pitifully, “—ah, sss'il te pla—” his cock bumps against your navel, and his words cut off, eyes rolling back before he can finish begging.

A humorous laugh leaves Max; this is the easiest way Max has ever made the younger man lose his speech. He softens, and gives into the pillow prince, “You did so good, Charlie. You tried your hardest for me, yeah? You begged so prettily tonight, almost as pretty as you look. Such a good boy, Charles. You can cum.”

Strikingly, the approval works for both you and Charles. Twin cries of pleasure erupt as your orgasms blur your vision and burn through your muscles. The feeling of Charles’s cum splattering against your stomach sends another burst of light through your skin as you continue to grind fitfully on the silicone pad. A lake of wetness puddled on the poor man’s thigh, that squelches as you move. 

Charles is rendered silent as his cock continues to pulse even when the flow of his release ceases. Max brings his hand down to squeeze at his base and Charles releases a choppy scream as it pushes another couple of ribbons out of him. His hips thrust upwards with every string, forcing hisses of over sensitivity to slip from you as it drags the soaked pad against your cunt. You would happily crawl off his thigh, but you haven’t regained feeling in your legs yet. 

Thankfully, Charles deflates back into Max, his cock finally softening and slowly losing some of its flush. Tears start to leak from his eyes again, his chest shuddering through little sobs. You whimper softly at his tears and Max pulls you both to rest comfortably in the bed, as he shushes you two through the comedown. When the tears, shivers, and shakes halt, a pleased tilt of lips rises to Charles's face as his eyes dance between you and Max. 

The Dutchman unclips the toy from Charles’s thigh and smirks at the wet peeling noise that sounds.

“So…I assume this toy has your approval?”

© httpsserene2023

[yellowharrington]

wildflower and barley -- joel miller x reader

pairing + fandom: joel miller x reader, the last of us (hbo)

word count: 5k+ oops

warnings/notes: smut smut smut!!! minors DNI, 18+!!! no outbreak!au. age gap (it's implied reader is in her 20s while joel is 45) and mentions of joel being kinda perverted and liking it lol. drinking (both reader and joel, not excessive), use of a dating app like tinder but not specified, unprotected PIV w creampie and oral (m+f receiving), do not fuck your tinder hookups without protection i'm just horny and gross. excessive use of darlin' as a nickname. implied that reader likes men. she/her pronouns used, afab!reader (with mentions of body parts), no use of y/n. if i missed anything lmk!

a/n: heavily inspired by this post by @yesttoheaven about joel's tinder profile!! it has been rotting my brain since i saw it which literally inspired me to write my first fic in the tlou fandom ever so please be gentle with me. i imagined show!joel because i've never played the game so do with that what you will. please reblog and leave comments if u enjoy it <3333

divider by @cafekitsune

summary: after deciding to change your age range on a dating app in hope of a change of scenery, you stumble across joel miller.

No one likes using dating apps.

Swiping left, left, left mindlessly at troves of men holding fish, showing off their trucks, or with deer heads mounted to the walls behind their selfies holding guns.

This was Texas, after all.

Having just moved here, it was a little shocking, to say the least. But you were getting used to the “eligible” bachelors that were your age generally looking and acting the same. When you did end up finding someone of interest, you were usually turned off pretty quickly by whatever shitty pick-up line they had chosen. Or, your personal favourite, “wanna fuck?”

No thanks.

It was an idyllic summer evening, the hot stuffy air of Austin flowing in through your windows. You laid in bed, propped up on the pillows against your headboard and sorting through the faces that adorned your screen. No one particularly interesting, as usual, and every profile was starting to melt together to look the same.

You sighed, looking into your settings, adjusting and increasing different metrics to hopefully change the pool just enough for there to be someone new or interesting. 

Age range: 25-30

Your eyebrow cocked as you looked onto the screen, pulling the slider more to the right experimentally. No one was here to see you, and even though it was slightly embarassing to be interested in older men, you’d be lying if you said it didn’t pique your interest to imagine it. Even just to try, and see, if they ever really did grow up. You imagined it was wishful thinking, but increased the range anyways.

Age range: 35-45

Feeling the need to throw your phone across the room after doing that, you placed it face down under your pillow and slid out of bed. No use in swiping through them now, and you were getting tired of looking. A pint of Ben and Jerry’s and a new episode of your favourite show was waiting for you downstairs.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

Joel Miller does not use dating apps.

He barely knows how to send a text on his phone, let alone navigate the world of online women. Not to say he didn’t explore the options, so to speak, but they usually were not ones that were single, his age, and in his area. Unless the ads on those sites were real, that is.

“It’s starting to get sad,” Sarah had remarked at breakfast, when they got on the topic, and Joel feigned hurt. Hand over his heart, he dropped his fork onto the plate. “It’s not sad, Jesus. I’m just busy, is all.”

“Busy not gettin’ busy,” Sarah remarked, and Joel’s eyes widened. “Hey now! None of that.”

A blush spread up his cheeks and ears as they continued to eat breakfast in slightly awkward silence, before Joel took his plate to the sink. “Okay, off to school, you. And no more conversations about my dating life. Ever.”

Sarah laughed as she finished off the last of the juice in her glass. “I’m just saying, dad. You can if you want to. Might be nice for you.”

Joel planted a soft kiss to her head before she bounded out the door, rolling his eyes and calling out a ‘love you’ before she closed the door swiftly behind her. Joel stared at his cell phone on the table. Maybe it would be nice.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

The following evening, you were a little too excited to see the dating app specimens you had acquired. Not sure what to expect, really, and you went in with no expectations. It’s not like they’d magically all be tall, dark, and handsome, but some variety never killed anybody.

Paul, 41

Daddy, but not yours. No libs allowed. 6’ because that matters.

You sighed deeply. Some things never change. 

After swiping through much of what you were used to, a profile managed to catch your eye among the sea of disappointment.

Joel, 45

Just a Southern gentleman trying this out for the first time. Contractor of over 10 years. I love my daughter, BBQ, strong coffee, and sleeping in. 

Now that was the most interesting thing you’d seen in a while.

He didn’t look a day over 40. His eyes creased at the corners when he smiled wide in his photos. He looked tan, a product of the Texas heat and his job, you thought. His features were accompanied by salt-and-pepper facial hair and messy curls that looked soft and pliable. His photos showed off his physique incredibly, tight wash-worn t-shirts pulling over his arms and shoulders, looking big, broad. He was no doubt the most handsome man you’d seen on an app, maybe ever.

When you swiped right before you could think too hard, you were surprised to see the green “Match!” Flash across your screen.

Your fingers ghosted over the keyboard on your phone, thinking of a witty thing to say, probably for too long.

Your phone buzzed as you saw a notification pop up.

Joel has sent you a message.

Hey, darlin’. How are ya?

You felt your face warm at the sweet message, when was the last time someone had called you darlin’? Ever?

Hey cowboy. I’m great, how are you?

He was certainly an eager responder, taking only a few seconds to reply. You found yourself smiling down at your phone screen.

Cowboy… I like that. I’m better now that I’m talking to you.

Oh, Joel, who told you to say that? 😂

No good?

Not bad. 6/10. 

Only 6/10? I’ll work on it. I like to think I’m better in person. 

I would love to find out. 

You found yourself emboldened by how easy the conversation was flowing. Joel was certainly easy to talk to, easier than the other matches you had going for you, and infinitely more handsome.

Oh, would you? Alright. I’d love to take you to dinner sometime. If you don’t mind being seen with an old man such as myself in public. Or meeting a stranger from the internet.

He’s a very handsome stranger. I would love to go to dinner with you. Know any good spots? I’m new around here.

There’s a great barbecue spot in downtown Austin. If you’d prefer something fancier, let me know.

I love bbq. Just tell me where and when, cowboy.

Tomorrow, 7pm ok?

You sent him your phone number in the message. Fuck it.

Sounds great. Text me the address, I’ll be there. :)

Joel’s reply didn’t come. Instead, a text appeared at the top of your screen with an unknown number. 

It’s Joel. This the right number?

Yup. You found me.

Great. Talk tomorrow sweetheart. Looking forward to it. :)

He texted you the address of the restaurant, right before you opened the contact card, saving his name as “cowboy ♡”.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

Cowboy. Cowboy. Cowboy. It was playing over in his head like a broken fuckin’ record. 

Joel was positively freaking out about this date.

Sarah had managed to secure a sleepover at her friend’s place, so the house would be empty for the night. He had been busying himself with cleaning the entirety of the house, even taking the time to mow the grass before work and vacuum the family room. He can’t remember the last time he vacuumed anywhere.

Would she even make it back here? How does this work? Will she want to sleep over or hang out on the couch or should he be making a dessert for after?

His mind was brought out of it’s craze by Sarah jumping down the stairs. She plopped her bag down on the freshly wiped countertop.

“Careful,” he warned, putting a hand up. “I just cleaned that off.”

“I can tell. It smells like the cleaning aisle threw up in here.”

He smirked before patting her head with his hand, as she aggressively smoothed out her hair. “Dad! Don’t!”

“When do you wanna go to Ellie’s?” He asked, more gaging how long he has left to get ready than actually asking.

“Probably soon. Why? Tryna get rid of me?” she poked her dad in the side, but when she flinched away instead, a large smile spread across her face. He was tense.

“What’s your deal?” Joel hated the way she knew him so well sometimes.

“Nothing.“

“Are you going on a date?”

Silence fell over the kitchen between the two of them, as Joel’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “How did you know?”

“Oh my god, you actually took my advice,” Sarah laughed, watching her dad’s face burn red with embarrassment. “Just don’t do anything weird on communal surfaces, please.”

Joel shook his head at her suggestion, already becoming annoyed with the whole prospect. He was so nervous, about what to wear, how to act, what the expectation was… let alone, what would happen if they made it back to his place at all. 

Although, when he was able to shake his nerves for a second, he was just really fucking excited.

“Wear those dark jeans, and that green shirt you wore to Tommy’s last week. Looks good on you.” Sarah smiled as she put her arms around Joel’s middle, while his worries melted away with her touch. “She’ll love you, I promise.”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

It had been such a long time since you’d been on a proper date, you were starting to lose your mind at the simple process of deciding what to wear.

Clothes were strewn across every surface of your apartment, shoes matching with jeans that matched with cardigans, tops that matched with belts and jackets.

It’s 87 degrees at 5 o’clock, idiot. You’re not wearing a jacket. Relax.

Exhausted of picking out outfits and making decisions, you collapsed on your couch and took a look at your options. You landed on an easy sundress, putting the rest of your clothes back in their respective drawers, and pulling out all of the products you were expecting to use to get ready.

You scrolled through your phone aimlessly as a notification bubble popped up on the screen.

We still on for tonight darlin’? Or did you change your mind?

No worries if you did. I respect that.

You let out a cackle at the message, thinking about how he must look right now. Was he nervous? Scared? Was he just looking for a controversially young fuck?

You weren’t… completely against that.

Didn’t change my mind, wouldn’t in a million years :)

Meet you there. Can’t wait to see you.

His eagerness to meet up would’ve been a red flag if it were any other run of the mill guy, but something about Joel felt special. There didn’t seem to be any funny business with him; too sincere to try anything other than just a good old fashioned date.

You too, cowboy.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

When Joel showed up at the restaurant, he clenched a small bouquet of pink peonies in his right hand and checked his watch obsessively. The minutes ticked away, as he kept a high alert for anyone who could be his potential date. He knew what you looked like, of course, but this being his first time doing anything of this sort is making him hyperaware of anything going awry.

When he does lay eyes on you, his whole gaze softens. A pink sundress, hair pristinely styled and a bounce in your step that reminded him of summer. You looked like an angel, the sunset behind you painting the sky tangerine, which reflected off of the shine against your supple skin. So young, beautiful, it was taking his breath away.

“Joel?”

Your voice matched your sweet demeanour, and he was taken out of his waking daydream.

“Hi,” is all he can say, letting his breath out as he relaxed. “Yes, hi, sorry. I’m Joel.”

“Hi,” you laugh back, eyes darting to the flowers in his hand. They matched your dress.

“These are for you,” he gets the hint, extending his arm out, and you can see the veins bulging in his forearm. He looked so much stronger in person, it was making your knees go weak.

“Thank you, wow,” you held them up to your nose to smell the sweet aroma. “I love peonies.”

“Me too,” he smiled, showing off a string of pearly white teeth, that contrasted with the pink of his lips and the even tan of his skin.

“Shall we?” He extended his arm to you for you to grab onto, and you got to feel the warmth of his skin for yourself. Your hand wrapped around his forearm as he opened the door of the restaurant for you, leading you inside and catching a glimpse of the backs of your thighs as you walked in front of him.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

When you were finally sitting, the conversation flowed easily. He was truly a Southern gentleman, like he had said. It wasn’t normal for you to open up so quickly, but Joel was so easy going and smart, he asked the right questions and knew when to listen. He knew how to listen, a warm gaze and a nod along, asking follow up questions to your answers and easily getting to know you.

You asked about his daughter, his family, his work. He was happy to tell you. 

“So, what’s a man like you doing being single in this city?” You take a sip of the wine in the glass in front of you, burgundy staining your bottom lip. 

He takes a bite of the food in front of him, a napkin pressing to his lips quickly after. “Been busy,” he started to say, honey brown eyes meeting yours for a second. His gaze sent an electrifying pulse down your spine.

“And, well, when Sarah’s mom left there was a ton to do,” he says it nonchalantly, as if that should be something normal to happen. “House, work, school, she keeps my hands full. Hasn’t been a lot of time.” His syrupy drawl is pulling you in, you’re enticed by the way he speaks to you. So easy, warm, soft. You wonder what his hands feel like on your body, lips pressed to your neck, torso pressed against yours.

“Sorry, that’s a lot of information for a first date,” he laughs to cover the awkwardness, and quietly curses himself for going into so much detail about his precarious family situation and basically admitting to you that he hasn’t fucked anything other than his hand in the last 5 or so years.

“No, it’s okay,” you slide your hand across the table, palm up, urging him to slot his hand into it. He takes it, easily, enveloping yours. His fingers find the pulse point on your wrist. You let your eyes drift up to his, drinking in the way his chest fills out the shirt he chose.

“What’s your story?” He asks earnestly, giving your hand a squeeze. “Can’t imagine there isn’t a long line of people outside waiting to take my place, darlin’.”

You blush furiously at the nickname, and let your eyes meet his once again. “You have no idea the… mess that is out there,” the wine is calling your name to take another sip at the mere thought, but you refrain. “Certainly not too many I am interested in.”

“So, is that why you’re on a date with an old man on a beautiful summer night in Austin?”

You could tell Joel, in a twisted way, liked that you were younger than him. It made him feel younger by admission, that you’d want to spend time with him. 

“You’re not that much older,” you laugh, not even believing it yourself as the words left your lips. “And I like to try new things. Don’t you like trying new things, sometimes?”

It was his turn to let his face go red at your insinuation. If only you knew how ‘new’ this really was for him, how much he was pushed out of his comfort zone right now.

You didn’t notice. 

A little more polite small talk and exchanging of stories was all you could take before the tension was becoming too much. After another glass of wine and a shared plate of sky-high chocolate cake for dessert, you were enjoying his company and could tell he was enjoying yours all the same. When you met his gaze again, hands still intertwined, you could tell there was a question on the tip of his tongue.

“Would you want to…“ - a nervous pause, with a halo of lust - “come back to mine for a nightcap? I’ve got an empty house this evening.”

You couldn’t help but smirk, knowing in your heart that Joel must’ve made arrangements for his family not to be home in anticipation. He had to have planned for you, known in his heart you’d say yes.

“I’d love that.”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾

Joel’s home is unmistakably him. It smells like a pine candle that sits near the front door and a faint aroma of laundry detergent. There’s photos everywhere, him and his daughter, his brother’s family. Big windows were letting in the twinkling lights of the city outside, the inky sky making them look brighter against its canvas.

“You have a beautiful home,” you say, although it seems a little formal for the situation. What else do you say to a grown-up in their house?

“Thank you,” he takes a bottle of whiskey from the bar cart and pours two rock glasses, handing you one. He flicks on a lamp, ambient light filling the room and painting his skin amber orange, as he joins your side by his kitchen table.

“I did a lot of the construction myself, the decorations are my daughter.” He points lazily to the trinkets on the shelves and photos on the wall. “I don’t really have a good eye for that type of stuff.” 

You take a sip from the drink and it coats your throat, burning down as you suppress a cough at the taste. You nod along as he explains the design choices he made in the home, and you play along, knowing it’s likely out of anxiety.

“What about upstairs?”

Your eyes are innocent as they meet his, although you understand the implication you’re making whole-heartedly. He puts his glass down on the kitchen table and you follow his lead, his strong hand around your wrist as he leads you up the stairs wordlessly.

“It’s not anything,” - he clears his throat - “special,” he shows you around the second floor, finishing at the door of his bedroom that has been left slightly ajar. 

You step in quietly, leading him inside as you take in the bedroom. Neatly folded clothes, a made bed that looks well loved. Blue sheets and fluffy pillows, big bay windows that let the moonlight in.

“I think it’s nice,” you say simply, letting yourself turn around to meet his broad frame. He looks down at you slightly, eyes meeting yours as your hand drops from his grasp and snakes around his neck. His hands come up the sides of your dress, pulling it up slightly, but landing on your waist.

“Is this okay?” He asks tentatively in the dark of the room, his lips so close to yours already you can practically taste the whiskey on his lips for yourself. You answer him by pressing your tentative lips to his, slotting them together easily.

Joel’s grip on your waist tightens momentarily as he takes you in, pulling you as close as he possibly can. He can smell the perfume on your neck and the wine on your lips from earlier, and it’s making his need for you increase tenfold. 

You pull him into you as you stumble back to let your knees hit his mattress, sitting down and letting your hands come to his belt buckle. Your hands came to undo it as he pulled his t-shirt off to throw onto the floor beside him, bending down to help you pull the dress over your shoulders to meet his t-shirt.

You made quick work of his jeans, pushing them to the ground and looking up at him with a keen glance. You could see the breath making his belly rise and fall, anticipating your touch on him any second.

When your hand wrapped around the base of his cock, his breath hitched and his head rolled back. He was already half-hard only from kissing you, so a few pumps made him easily ready for your mouth.

“You’re so big,” is all you can think to say, head spinning from the sheer size of him right in front of your face. Your mouth watered at the way his hand palmed through your hair, pulling you in closer to him for some relief.

It was intoxicating to him, the way your mouth fit around his cock. Such a beautiful sight to see, your head licking and sucking at his tip, gathering spit there to lubricate him. His knees were going weak as he watched intently, no thought able to cross his mind, other than maybe how long it had been since he’d had anyone to do this with. He was going to have to pace himself if it was all like this.

Your mouth constrained around the length of him, taking him deeper and deeper with every bob of your head. Filthy sounds were filling the room now, of your eager mouth pulling him in as best you could. His hand stayed steady at the back of your head, not pushing, just softly pressed there for support. His other hand found your shoulder, pushing down your bra strap.

“God, darlin’,” was all he could choke out, using his hand to pull you off of him. Your hand lazily stroked him as you looked up at him, spit collecting at the corners of your mouth. “I’m not gonna last long if you keep doin’ that,” his laugh eased some of the tension in the room, as you took your other hand and wiped the spit away.

He leaned down, pressing a fervent kiss to your lips before using his own hands to unclasp your bra and let your breasts free. His lips traveled to the side of your neck, before he was kneeled down between your legs, sucking your nipple into his mouth. He lapped at you, all consuming, as his hand came up to grasp the other breast that wasn’t being serviced. He moaned at the noises you were making, lewd whines into the night air that only encouraged him. 

His lips made their way down your body to your clothed centre, your back against his soft sheets. You looked down at him intently, watching as he pulled your panties down your legs and immediately delved into your pussy with broad strokes of his tongue.

Your body jerked upwards at the contact, hand fisting the sheet beside you as he lapped at you, like a man starved. His expert tongue found your clit easily, sucking and licking at you for what felt like hours. You thought about his heavy cock between his legs, begging to be touched, hard as ever as he licked at you desperately.

“Joel,” you whined out, feeling your hand reach down to grab at his curls and push him deeper into you. That only made him moan, one hand lazily fisting his cock as the other came up to dip a finger into you, allowing you to see stars when you screwed your eyes shut.

His fingers were so large, pressed into your core as you fucked yourself on them and his tongue in tandem. He was groaning and grunting, and you hoped his neighbours couldn’t see into the window at the desperate filth that was going on in his bedroom.

“Fuck, Joel, please,” you begged, but he had no mercy, and your orgasm was creeping up on you. He was ready to watch you come undone, pushing a second finger into you and furiously sucking on your clit. His other hand left his own pleasure and wrapped around your breast, pressing and playing with the hard nub there, pinching to provide a little bit of sting to it. It was sending you into another dimension.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” and his voice is gravely and debauched, enough to send you into your first orgasm, chanting his name and pulling on his hair. He was happily licking at you, fingers still pressing in and out as to not mess up the rhythm, as you rode out your orgasm against his face. 

When you started to come down, he finally detached himself from you before standing up between your legs and pressing his broad palms to your thighs. He stayed there for a moment, cock still hard and heavy between his legs as you gazed up at him, out of breath from his work.

“You’re really good at that,” was all you could think to say, head clouded with arousal. You moved up on the bed a little, opening your legs and pressing your knees apart to show your pussy to him again.

“Please fuck me, Joel,” you breathe out, letting your hand find your own clit to rub it teasingly for him. It was still so sensitive, but the way he was looking down at you, eyes dark and stormy with need, you could almost come again just from that.

He put a knee down on the bed and crawled on top of you, his lips finding yours once again as your hands found his face. You held him there, savouring the kiss as his tongue crashed against yours, all warmth and spit and the taste of you. His hand found your breast and continued to play with your nipples, softly, coaxing more moans into his mouth from yours.

He leaned back and slipped his cock inside of you, filling you up immediately and making you gasp. He groaned into the side of your neck, tonguing the side of your ear and kissing you feverishly as he pumped in and out of you.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him impossibly close, your moans filling the room as he rocked in and out of you. He kissed your jaw and chest, before reaching down between your bodies and pressing his thick finger to your clit again, using the wetness there to draw circles around your sensitive nub.

“So pretty,” he smiles into your neck, your hand on the back of his, playing with the now-sweaty strands of hair on the nape. “So pretty for me, taking my cock,” the dirty talking is welcome as he continues to bring you closer to a second orgasm, your breath hitching once again.

“Come inside of me,” you say it like a whisper, a secret in the stillness of the room, and Joel is unsure he even heard you correctly.

“Are you sure?” He says it not accusingly, but in a way that conveys he feels like he just won the lottery.

“Yes, please, fill me up.”

You can see the way his eyes darken more, shifting so he’s on his knees and using your body to fuck himself on his thick cock. His hand continued to play with your clit, bringing you so close to your orgasm that tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. His cheeks were getting hot as he thrusted in and out furiously, and you could almost see the stress melt off of his face as he came close to his own undoing.

The white-hot feeling washes over you once again, eyes shutting before you’re back on your elbows and watching intently. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire as his thrusts become sloppy, your name pouring out of his lips like a prayer. You’re clenching around him and letting him ride out his high alongside you, slowing after his hot cum coats your walls and leaves you full of him.

He collapses on top of you, cock softening inside as you both catch your breath together. Your chests are sticky with sweat as you breathe, taking in the smell of him, and the feel of his warmth on your body.

He pulls himself from you and flops beside you, still taking a moment to admire you. You look over at him, a lazy smile on your face as your hand reaches out to caress the skin of his chest. He takes the time to run his fingertips up your arms and back as you lay there in silence together, just soaking in the moment in a post-sex glow.

“I guess I should get going,” you say after a few beats, sitting up to grab your dress off the floor. You cringe at the thought of throwing your underwear on and leaving, this being just another random hookup for you that never lead to anything. Joel was sweet.

A confused look spreads across his features and his brows knit together, before sitting up next to you at the edge of the bed.

“I mean, I don’t know how these things usually go,” he laughs, as his hand finds your lower back. “But you don’t gotta run outta here like a scared animal or somethin’.”

You look up at him again, unsure of what to do next. In your, albeit limited, experience with dating app hookups, you were expected to leave pretty much right after.

“Oh, um,” you look around the room at the soft worn-in sheets and the TV across from Joel’s bed. You take a look at him again, your eyes meeting his to match his gaze, where you can tell he’s mentally begging that you’ll stay the night.

“I mean, if you don’t mind, I’d be happy to stay.” Joel smiled lopsidedly and let his hand rub soothing circles at your lower back. 

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he laughs, stepping over to go into the bathroom and warm up a cloth for the mess spilling out from between your legs. “I wouldn’t mind wakin’ up and doing all that again tomorrow.”

You laugh and lay back onto his bed as he presses the warm cloth to your pussy, his lips once again finding yours to pull you in for a sweet kiss. 

You nod, sliding between the comfortable sheets as Joel runs downstairs to grab your abandoned drinks as well as a couple of bottles of ice cold water. He slips into the sheets next to you, not bothering to throw on any pajamas (not that you were complaining), and settling in beside you. After a few gulps of water, you nestled into his chest and let your hand find his tummy, resting on it as you listened to the even pattern of his breath.

“We should do this again. Like, after tomorrow morning.” you say quietly as you’re drifting in and out of sleep. His fingertips continues to slide across your arm and give you goosebumps as you snuggled closer into him, hearing a laugh exhale out of his nose and feeling a kiss press to the top of your head. 

In his sleepy, deep southern drawl, he replies. “Don’t have to ask me twice, darlin’.”

[ms-demeanor]

making my own post because nobody needs my bullshit on their post:

OP:

Reblog 1:

Reblog 2:

My response:

The IRA blogs were here and they were active and they were quite popular; their posting patterns did not match normal tumblr users (i was followed by lagonegirl and followed back only to be put off by the account reblogging the same five or ten posts every hour for a day before selecting another five or ten posts to reblog hourly the next day - it was clear engagement bait).

Tumblr has never been as transparent about these accounts as both Twitter and Facebook were, but several of the accounts had shared names across platforms and you can find a significant amount of data that was released by both facebook (ex: ads purchased by the IRA accounts) and twitter (over three million tweets from IRA accounts). Academic researchers have published papers on the data released from facebook and twitter. Several papers. So many papers. Soooooo many papers. We have a LOT of direct evidence that you can explore for yourself that there were hundreds (possibly thousands) of IRA accounts that were created on Facebook and Twitter. Of those accounts, some shared usernames across platforms, and of those accounts, a few had tumblr accounts that posted the same content on twitter and tumblr.

To quote a buzzfeed news article from the time:

The Russian-run Tumblr accounts used the same, or very similar, usernames as the account names contained on a list of confirmed IRA accounts Twitter submitted to congressional investigators. In some cases, the Tumblr and Twitter account has the same profile image or linked to each other in their bios. Some IRA Tumblrs and Twitter accounts also cross-promoted content between platforms, further linking them together.

Current tumblr user @ alwaysbewoke (who I don't want to tag because I'm sure he's got better things to do) is interviewed in that article and talks about following one of the blogs identified by tumblr as an IRA blog that had a matching account on twitter identified as an IRA account but unfollowing when the left-leaning blog supposedly run by a black creator started rooting for trump in the election.

Dr. Jonathan Albright is heavily quoted in the article; the data review he collaborated on is one of the only reviews of this subject that includes data from Tumblr and Reddit.

One of the claims that I've seen is that tumblr just deleted funny black people, but these were blogs with thousands of followers on tumblr who never recreated, never popped up on another social media site, never started a reddit account after getting banned; nobody ever showed up saying "hey this is 4mysquad, I got banned on tumblr and twitter, follow me to pillowfort". These very popular blogs got deleted and, as far as I know, nobody ever popped up claiming to be a person who was deleted - and it's not like tumblr users haven't figured out how to evade bans.

What you are doing when you make posts saying that the IRA accounts on tumblr never existed is *absolving tumblr of guilt for their utter lack of transparency.*

Tumblr is not the only tech company that has tried to fly under the radar as its larger counterparts face regular scrutiny in Congress and in the press. Earlier this month, Reddit revealed it too had deleted hundreds of accounts with ties to the Internet Research Agency. A WIRED investigation found more than a thousand links to Russian propaganda websites are still live on Reddit, and unearthed two suspicious accounts that Reddit immediately shut down.

So should you believe what Tumblr says? No, because Tumblr has been functionally fucking silent on this issue and the information about this subject aside from the list of blogs has come from the hard work of data scientists, journalists, and researchers.

(For the record; some of those bot accounts that were recorded by Dr. Albright also had Google+ accounts in 2017 - there is every possibility that they had myspace accounts).

Now, the reason that I'm popping onto this post as an annoyed anarchist is that I was tracking a similar group of blogs for a while and was discussing them and I stopped precisely because of the galaxy-brained liberals who are now trying to dunk on communists for criticizing electoralism. One of the people who was following my project was one of the ones who started calling out the "joe biden kills dogs" posts as disinfo and I realized they were using some of the guidelines I'd written up to "identify" misinformation and that is very a rock fucking stupid approach to what was clearly a leftist making jokes and was horrified and realized there was no way that I could continue documenting what I was documenting without someone attempting to call actual leftists russian bots.

I've seen the post that OP is referencing [it's one where someone makes a very obvious joke about the democrat presidential ticket and people jump on to call them a bot and then someone tries to do the "AI tell me a story" thing and OP is just like "I don't want to :(", proving that they are in fact a person and not an AI] and have deeply enjoyed the humor of watching liberals a) not understand a very, VERY obvious joke and b) become the unwitting butt of a joke they were trying to make, but also I am so exhausted by watching normie dems call leftists AI bots after years of watching normie dems call real live actual leftists who hold actual political views that real people actually have, like prison abolition, russian bots.

But I am also so fucking tired of left conspiracism and how stupid it sounds when leftists dismiss a preponderance of evidence that is easily accessible and publicly available for analysis as "lol so you just trust everything tumblr tells you?"

No, dipshit, learn to click a fucking link or twelve.

[ssaaaronmontgomery]

dbf!hotch taking his stress out on the reader after a rough case

Stress Relief

Warnings: Smut, pwp, unprotected p in v sex, brief vaginal fingering, brief oral (fem receiving), basically just a quickie with Aaron, age gap (both adults), dbf!hotch, roughish sex, pet names (princess, sweet girl, sweetheart), I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything!

Word count: 1k

Pairing: dbf!hotch x fem!reader

A/n: YESssssss!!!!! Rough case results in rougher sex ;) I don't make the rules 🤷.

Forever tags: @greg-montgomery @boredelle @hotchsdoormat @ssahotchnerr @criminalskies @beardedhotchh @hotchnerbau @ssamorganhotchner @mrs-ssa-hotch @canuck-eh @luvehotch @callm3c0nfus3d @ivyflowers13 @randomuserrs

Hotch: @14buddy22 @pastanoodles11 @htchnr

Let me know if you want to be added to my tags 🫶

If yours is crossed out, it won't let me tag you.

This post is NSFW minors please DNI****

Aaron called you as soon as he was home from his most recent case. This had become a normal occurrence and you'd come to long for the moment his call would come through. He would often let you massage his neck, shoulders, and back after he would bathe. He would share sweet soft kisses with you and probably get around to taking you at some point, but it wasn't always the first thing he would do.

This time though, he had phoned you and as soon as you walked through the door, he was pinning you up against it and nibbling at your neck and earlobe. Now he is grinding his hips into yours and he's grunting and groaning into your ear.

"Fuck, I missed you, sweet girl. Missed you so much." Aaron mumbles against your neck and you can't help but arch into him. He slips his arms around you. "Mm...Missed you too, Aaron." You whisper in a breathy voice. You're both panting and needy and he can't take it any longer. He strips you down to nothing and he keeps his hold on your hips as he kneels down between your thighs.

He does it just to get a quick taste and to help in prepping you to take him. He easily slides two fingers into your leaking cunt and his tongue circles your clit as his right hand helps to steady you. It doesn't take much to get you ready for him, it's been so long and you've missed him so much. You've needed him and your body is showing it.

Aaron pulls away from your core and he stands again, removing his belt and pulling his slacks and underwear down just enough to get his length out. He strokes himself a few times and presses his body up against yours, pinning you to the door once again in the process.

He presses his tip to your entrance and pushes into you completely in one swift motion. You gasp and arch into him again at the sudden, but welcome intrusion. He groans and starts moving almost immediately. His thrusts are fast and hard from the very beginning. Aaron moves one hand behind your thigh and lifts it up for you to wrap it around him. It gives him more access and allows him to go even deeper inside of you.

All he can hear are your loud moans in his ear as he helps you stay upright and it's like music to his ears after a week without you in the same way that his sounds are to you. You told him in the beginning of this relationship that you wanted him to make noise, you wanted him to let out his sounds instead of keeping them in. You made Aaron feel like he could really let go and have fun during sex. He felt like he could finally be himself and explore things he couldn't before.

He can feel how hard it is for you to stay up as you lean into him. You're thankful for the support of him and the door behind you. "Come on, princess. Cum for me." He all but growls into your ear and you shiver. He makes his thrusts even harder and deeper now, making you moan and you nearly throw your head back into the door, but you refrain so you don't get a headache later.

You reach down and rub your clit yourself because Aaron's hands are a little preoccupied with keeping you steady. It doesn't take much, a few flicks of your finger and Aaron whispering the dirty things he is planning on doing to you later, and you're clenching and fluttering around his cock as he fucks you through your high. Your other hand claws at his suit and eventually grips it as you ground yourself after your orgasm subsides.

Aaron never lets up on his pace and force. You tangle one hand in his hair and your other arm moves to wrap around the back of his neck. You bury your face in his neck and let out some of the loudest moans you think you ever have. They sound almost pornographic and Aaron feels a sense of pride in being the reason for it.

Your wet heat continues to envelope his cock and you know you'll be sore in the days to come, but you would gladly feel that discomfort when you're feeling so good now and you know he will take care of you after he gets the release he has been craving for what feels like far too long. He pounds into you over and over, thinking about how he'll take you later in his bed, how he'll taste your arousal and his release as he eats you out until he's satisfied you both. It's that thought of how he'll get to taste the two of you mixed together later that sends him over the edge now and he fills you up, his hips stuttering as his own high takes over.

You feel the warmth spreading through you and it causes you to clench around him tighter than before. Aaron moans and grunts in your ear again before pulling out. You're both panting and trying to catch your breath. He's sweating and you know he must be uncomfortably hot in that dark grey suit that you can't wait to get him out of.

You are wobbly, not uncommon after you're with Aaron, but he continues to help you stay upright. It takes you a couple of minutes before you can say anything.

"Aaron, that was amazing. We need to do that more often. I like you taking your frustration out on me." You manage to get out between heavy breaths. He chuckles a little and kisses the side of your head. "Sweetheart, I'm not even close to being done with you yet. It'll happen very often tonight." And with that, you're already getting worked up at the thought of what's to come next.

[ssa-dado]

The Metaphysics of Love - SOS

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluffy fluff, sapiosexual fluff and - brace yourself - SOFT SMUT LET'S GO SPICY GOYALS!!! Summary: On a rare day off, you planned a quiet morning for Aaron's birthday. But he surprised you instead, taking over the kitchen revealing one of his hidden talents. Caught between banter and intimate teasing, you both savored the depth of your connection, blending banter and desire. One thing is certain though, luck is never by your side. Warnings: +18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, or at least do out of your parents' sight - SEX, ORAL SEX ALLUDED (fem receiving because we live in a patriarchal society, we deserve it), lots of dirty talk. Aaron 'how am I a whore' Hotchner, he's just a whore. Word Count: 8.8k Dado's Corner: So, this is the first remotely sexual thing I've ever written. I love reading some good ol' smut, but for some reason, I cringe a lot while writing it. It took me excruciatingly long. I don't know what I'm doing; I don't even know if it's any good or even half-decent - let me know? AAAAA I'm very insecure about this and on posting it eheheheh life is fun isn't it? Is it even smut? Who knows. I need theraphy after this.

masterlist

Greek philosopher Plato wrote, “If only there were a way to start a city or an army made up of lovers. Theirs would be the best possible system of society, for they would hold back from all that is shameful, and seek honor in each other’s eyes.”

On rare days off, there was one thing you allowed yourself unapologetically: to be entirely unproductive.

You took these days like a blessing, where sleeping in was less a luxury and more a necessity - a chance to let your mind drift, to refuse the call to be anything more than just here, in this restful solitude.

And when Aaron came over the night before, both of you embraced that same ritual.

It felt almost like a paradox that two people so fiercely devoted to the relentless precision of your work - two minds honed to confront humanity’s darkest edges, always willing to answer the call, no matter how ungodly the hour - could find such deep, sweet solace in those private mornings together.

Days when, for once, you weren’t bending yourselves to crises or sacrificing the next moment’s peace to duty.

You and Aaron, who could spend hours in a rare, intellectual love, a bond built on respect, shared virtues, and an admiration for the other’s mind, a connection that didn’t rely on words, but on understanding each other’s essence.

Yet when the door was closed and the world locked out, all that intellectual reverence between you replaced by something untamed, something driven by pure, aching desire.

The slide of his hands over you felt reverent yet urgent, mapping each line and curve as though rediscovering familiar territory for the first time.

Each kiss, each touch held the thrill of exploration, a deliberate pace that turned gentle caresses into an unspoken plea. The way he whispered your name, his breath hot against your ear, sending sparks down your spine as he drew you closer, as if he could never be close enough.

In that bed, the world ceased to exist, its demands fading into oblivion as you lost yourselves in each other’s bodies, moving and meeting in rhythm, a silent language spoken only between you.

You felt his every shift, every unhurried stroke, savoring the taste of his skin, his weight, the feel of his hand tangled in your hair.

Every time his hands began their journey over you, it was as if he were memorizing you anew, mapping each curve with a reverence that made every touch feel essential. The way his lips would trace a languid, heated path down your neck, over your collarbone, and linger to each of your breasts, then lower to your stomach – always precise, always teasing, always patient.

Each time, he would pause with that infuriating, electrifying smirk, glancing up at you just as his mouth left warm, wet trails along the delicate skin of your inner thigh, each mark a whispered claim, each gentle bite igniting a spark of wild, irrational hunger.

Then, he’d slow, letting his touch turn soft, his movements deliberate, every kiss a careful mark of possession as he inched closer, closer, until he hovered right where you burned for him most.

The warmth of his breath brushed against your skin, stirring an ache that felt endless - and yet he always held back, drawing out each second to a tantalizing, almost torturous eternity.

Time itself seemed to dissolve, stretched and redefined by his restraint, bending beneath his control until it became something ungraspable, a vast chasm of unfulfilled need. In that suspended tension, everything beyond the heat of his touch blurred and faded, the world reduced to the exquisite ache of his nearness.

Every nerve felt poised on the brink, strung tight between the agony of waiting and the edge of release. It was an ache that deepened with every restrained second, until every part of you ached for him to finally give in - to end the slow, maddening tease and take you over the edge you so desperately craved, to just let you combust.

Every time, you knew there was no getting out of that bed.

But today, you needed to try.

Today was Aaron’s birthday.

It was his tenth birthday as your partner.

His second as your boss.

His first as… your boyfriend.

The word still felt novel, strange to say aloud, as if acknowledging it might make it slip away. Months in, and it hadn’t yet lost its surreal sweetness. So, despite already knowing he would brush it off, you wanted this day to be special.

Not big, not loud, just enough to quietly tell him how much he meant to you.

And how much you loved him.

He had given up on his own birthdays long ago, weighed down by the memories of being called away, the guilt of leaving pieces of himself with every mile, the reason of the failure of his marriage, the strain of missing out on Jack’s moments he could never relive.

But you knew his aversion went even deeper than guilt and regret.

Because Aaron Hotchner, the man whose presence could command a room with a single look, who possessed a physical authority in his stature, his voice, and his steely gaze, was nothing like that in private.

In his job, he could pull strings in hidden places, command respect from even the most powerful, yet, in private, Aaron Hotchner was anything but the center.

He instinctively yielded that space to others, always giving, forever considering his own worth secondary to his duty. For him, the spotlight was an obligation, a necessity he wore well, but not one he sought.

He instead lived with an unshakable humility that, in his own mind, made him unworthy of the small graces most would take for granted.

He was the center for so many others, to let the world turn around him, even for a day, felt almost undeserved.

This was the man you loved.

The man who, in every part of his life, had chosen to orbit around others rather than himself.

But today, you wanted to change that.

If there was one battle you were determined to win, it was this one: slowly chipping away at Aaron’s stubborn sense of self-denial, proving to him that he deserved the care and quiet adoration he so freely gave everyone else.

You’d make it your mission, spoiling him however you could in those rare, fleeting moments he allowed.

Especially today.

Today, you wanted everything to be about him.

You wanted him to let you give him a birthday that revolved solely around him, a celebration in the purest sense of the word.

So, you concocted a plan.

One of your more mischievous fool-proof “evil” plans, as you’d call them.

You’d set your weekday alarm to go off at an ungodly hour, sacrificing your own precious sleep for a just cause. When the alarm blared, you’d pretend it was a simple mistake, and then, under the guise of getting some water, slip out of bed.

Now, Aaron, being Aaron, would try to keep his eyes open, struggling to wait for you to come back to bed, but you were betting on his recent run of sleepless nights to wear him down. He’d have no choice but to let sleep drag him back under.

And while he slept, you’d slip into the kitchen to bake him a birthday cake, filling the apartment with the warm, sugary smell of freshly baked sweets.

But not just any sweets - because Aaron’s idea of a “sweet tooth” was as delightfully twisted as the man himself.

He liked desserts that weren’t cloying, desserts that had just the right balance of sugar and subtlety. You’d stocked up on his favorite ingredients earlier in the week, quietly stashing them away like a stealthy confectionary hoarder.

You wanted the process to take time, to show him that he was worth the hours of sacrificed sleep, that he was worth the care poured into each meticulous step.

Call it love.

You could picture it perfectly, or at least you thought you could: the early morning quiet, just you in your cozy sanctuary, stealing away precious minutes of peace to bake for the one person who had come to mean more to you than anyone else in the world.

You’d sneak out of bed and create something special, something full of quiet love. That was the plan, the picture you’d carefully composed in your mind.

But reality had other plans.

Because, instead, you woke up alone, which wouldn’t have been unusual months ago, back when solitude was your morning routine. But lately, you’d grown a little too used to waking up next to Aaron, finding him there in those rare, lazy mornings, seeing his face softened by sleep.

So, yes, waking up without him startled you.

And that wasn’t the strangest part.

But what truly threw you off was the unfamiliar noise that filled your apartment – the sounds foreign and unexpected, loud and unmistakably upbeat.

Music.

Not just any music, but the kind that seemed plucked from a pop radio station’s Top 30 - those catchy, bubblegum-sweet songs that played over and over, each one sounding like a new but familiar hit. You recognized the song immediately, a few of its lyrics sneaking into your consciousness.

“Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone…”

The music filled the entire space, and the distinct melody grew louder as you slowly pulled yourself out of bed. You quickly washed up, threw on Aaron’s shirt - somehow conveniently draped over the chair beside your bed from last night - and crept toward the source, trying to make sense of the scene awaiting you.

The closer you got, the louder the music became, and as you moved down the hall, another noise reached your ears. A full octave lower, slightly offbeat tune, blending into the chorus.

You stopped.

This new melody was unmistakable - a deep, familiar voice humming along.

You rounded the corner, holding your breath as you peeked around the door frame, and there he was: standing at the counter, 6’2” of pure FBI stoicism, humming and even softly singing along to Taylor Swift’s “Love Story” as he flipped pancakes, completely absorbed, almost…at peace.

Aaron, your Aaron, was singing.

And he was singing on key, to a Taylor Swift song, of all things.

This was Aaron “blues and classic rock” Hotchner, the man who’d first revealed he could play the guitar with quiet pride, a piece of his world he’d shown you like an offering.

This was the man who once played you a perfect riff from Eric Clapton’s “Layla” to win a bet, who could talk about the origins of every Beatles riff and knew exactly which blues chord matched which heartbreak.

You’d seen him pour himself into those riffs and solos, even negotiate an occasional strum in exchange for something even as stupid as a kiss or him asking you to sing along. That was thrilling enough, it was something special he shared with you, revealing his private passion for music.

You’d always thought he kept his own voice hidden somewhere deep.

You’d gone a decade without hearing it and almost expected never to, half-convinced he didn’t even know how to sing. If he did, it was probably as flat as his deadpan humor.

Yet here he was, in his element - or maybe in your element - singing along, his voice low and smooth, threading into the melody as if he’d been doing it all his life.

He wasn’t putting on a show, no spoon-as-microphone dramatics, no fake dance moves. Just the smallest tilt of his head in time with the music, his voice like his presence - restrained, yet always intentional. It was almost as if he was singing to keep himself company, like he’d done this a hundred times over, alone.

It was strange, maybe surreal, to see Aaron singing the words to one of the most unabashedly sentimental pop songs, lyrics he’d usually flip the station over without a second thought.

But what truly was more shocking - was the calm, almost methodical way he sang. It wasn’t the typical poppy, upbeat rendition, he was deliberately bending the melody, drawing out the notes, giving it a weight and richness that felt… sincere.

Even thoughtful.

“Romeo, save me,” he murmured, his voice like velvet, layering over the lyrics with that warm, low cadence that made you feel he was singing a ballad rather than a radio hit. “I’ve been feeling so alone” The lower octave turning the song into something more heartfelt, the kind of warmth you’d find in an old love song.

You barely dared to breathe, your hand resting on the doorframe as you took in the scene, each step bringing you closer, yet you stood still, just watching him.

There he was, perfectly at home in your kitchen, flipping pancakes in time with the song, a bowl of batter at his side, and those neatly diced apples - your apples, the ones you’d hidden for the cake, already sliced and ready on the counter.

He moved with this calm certainty, like he knew exactly where every spoon and skillet was, as if he’d done this a hundred times before, like this was his kitchen, his place.

And watching him, the weight of it settled over you, soft and unassuming, like it had always been there, only waiting for you to notice.

You wanted to see this every morning.

This sight - him in your kitchen, in your space, humming along to a cheesy love song.

You could already imagine so many more mornings just like this - waking up to the quiet sounds of him in the kitchen, maybe later to the faint patter of little feet, to quiet laughter, to moments of warmth and ease you hadn’t dared to let yourself picture.

Right there, it hit you, the thought rising naturally, with the same certainty as breathing: you wanted to marry Aaron Hotchner.

You wanted this morning, and every morning, and every rare, precious moment he’d allow you to share, for the rest of your lives.

It was so startling, it almost scared you - the sheer weight and clarity of it, something you’d never even let yourself imagine until now.

And as if he could read your mind, he sang on, unwittingly echoing the thought you’d just had, the words falling from his lips with this surprising tenderness, so soft you barely heard it over the sizzling pan,

"He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring…”

And in perfect time with the lyrics, he turned, reaching for something on the counter. His gaze met yours, and he froze, his eyes going wide.

Caught.

Caught like he was a kid with his hand in the cookie jar, his cheeks tinged pink as he stammered, “It’s… catchy.”

You couldn’t even form a coherent reply. All you managed to say, a little dazed, was, “Last time I checked, this was my kitchen.” It seemed only fair to mention, because he looked entirely too comfortable, like he belonged there. Which, of course, he did.

Without missing a beat, he smirked, still flushed. “Last time I checked, that was my shirt.” There was a glint of humor in his eye as he nodded at the oversized button-up you were wrapped in.

Touché.

But you couldn’t let him off so easily.

“So, Hotchner’s finally embraced pop?” you teased, moving closer. He gave you a look that was half-fond, half-exasperated.

“Are you going to tell the team?” he asked, lips twitching in a barely suppressed smile.

“Oh, you mean that you know the lyrics to Love Story by heart?” You reached for a piece of apple, savoring the sweetness, both of the fruit and the moment.

He raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter, crossing his arms in a way that was both effortlessly intimidating and disarmingly charming. "And how exactly are you going to tell them?" he countered, his voice low and amused. "Considering we’re still keeping this whole thing," he gestured between the two of you, "a secret?"

You arched an eyebrow at him, a smirk dancing at the corner of your lips. “Oh, don’t worry, I’d find a way to tell them. Especially after finding my plan completely sabotaged.” You gestured toward the crime scene he’d made of your countertop, the diced apples mixed with flour dust and cinnamon smears, reaching out to pick up a perfectly diced slice. “What kind of monster butchers my last apple?”

Aaron chuckled, crossing his arms in that familiar way that made him look both effortlessly intimidating and disarmingly charming. “Well, I got here first, so I have dibs on breakfast duties,” he said, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he leaned in just a bit closer.

“Admit it, you’re just miserable that I’ve now beaten you not only to the office every morning but also in your very own kitchen.” With a playful smirk, he reached out, fingers grazing yours as he took the slice of apple from your hand, popping it into his mouth.

Your hand instinctively reached up, brushing a stray smear of flour from his cheek, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, your fingers lingered against his skin, warm beneath your touch, your thumb brushing over the roughness of his stubble. “Believe me, Aaron,” you murmured, your voice softening, “I’m hardly miserable. But if there was ever a day for you to be spoiled, it’s today.”

A subtle shift crossed his face, he tried to play it off with a shrug, but you caught the way his eyes softened. “Since when are Sundays such a big deal?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

You smiled, your voice dropping just as low. “Since a certain FBI Unit Chief turned 43 today.”

He paused, something deeper flickering across his face, gratitude, maybe even a hint of wonder. But his lips curled into a small smile as he teased, “So you’re saying you’re obsessed with me? Is that why today’s circled on the calendar?”

You laughed softly, leaning in until the warmth between you was almost overwhelming. “Maybe I’m just a thorough planner,” you murmured, unable to stop the grin spreading across your face. “Not that you’d know anything about that, Mister Show-Up-Unannounced-To-Ruin-Everything.”

His chuckle was low, rich, and his hand slid from the counter to your waist, pulling you closer, his thumb traced small, warm circles just above your hip, sending a thrill through you that made your pulse quicken. “Oh, so I’m the one to blame now?”

His forehead pressed against yours, his lips only inches away, his voice a warm murmur that made your breath catch. “I thought I’d get some credit. I put my heart into this, you know.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingertips brushing gently along the nape of his neck as you closed the space between you. “Maybe a little credit,” you whispered softly in his good ear, your voice low and warm,

“But only if those pancakes are as good as the cake I was going to make for you.” You leaned back just enough to see your reflection in his light chestnut eyes. "Happy birthday, Aaron. I love you."

Six words, and that’s all it took.

Six words and the universe seemed to gather itself, suspended in a moment that transcended language itself.

It was a truth so elemental, it resisted adornment, a declaration distilled to its essence, timeless and immutable.

An affirmation that existed beyond expectation, a vow as ancient and constant as the stars themselves.

There is a metaphysics to love, you realized - it stands outside the linear bounds of time, touches the eternal.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice serious thick with emotion, “I love you, too.”

As he leaned in, his lips met yours with a tenderness that felt timeless, like the merging of two notes in perfect harmony. The kiss was neither hurried nor tentative - it lingered, unbound by time, a communion in which words would only lessen its meaning.

It was as if the essence of all things - of breath, heartbeats, even thought - collapsed into a single, quiet rhythm, a pulse shared between the two of you, steady and enduring.

His hand on the small of your back was grounding, tethering you to the warmth and certainty of his presence, yet it held the weight of something deeper, an invitation to transcend the ordinary, into a realm that felt almost timeless.

His fingers traced gentle paths along your spine, each motion a quiet pledge, a reminder that this moment - this suspended eternity - was as real as anything either of you had ever known.

There was something purely metaphysical about it, a union that philosophy itself would struggle to pin down, though it tried - oh, how it tried!

There were passages in Aristotle, in Plato, that hinted at this feeling, words that beckoned yet somehow fell short of translating this precise depth, this shared infinity.

How perfectly absurd, yet fitting, that the ancient words you’d studied your whole life only now truly resonated, here, in his arms.

It was probably a blessing that he couldn’t read your mind, or he’d surely tease you mercilessly, forever, about finding existential truths in the simplicity of a kiss.

Yet philosophy was the only thing that could try to capture even a fraction of what he made you feel. You would have likely confessed that, at this very moment, he seemed to hold all the secrets of the universe in the softness of his gaze, in the press of his hand.

If he knew, you could already hear him laughing, promising with that faint smirk to remind you every day for the rest of his life: ‘that you were the one waxing poetic, hopelessly undone by his touch.’

But perhaps you’d take that trade-off, if it meant he’d keep looking at you just like this.

Or maybe he already suspected, because as he pulled back slightly, that familiar sparkle was in his eyes. His voice dropped to that low, warm timbre that always seemed to melt you. “You know, I’m the luckiest guy in the world having you as my girlfriend,” he murmured.

You felt your cheeks grow warm, a reaction you couldn’t seem to help, especially when he was the one reminding you of that fact.

He chuckled, clearly enjoying your blush. “I love how you keep doing that every time I call you my girlfriend,” he said, savoring each word, his grin only widening.

“You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?” you nudged him playfully, pulling away just long enough to pour yourself a glass of water.

He leaned against the counter, eyes sparkling with a playful glint. “Maybe. It’s the little pleasures in life, you know?” He paused, and you caught the mischievous edge to his voice. “Like watching that blush climb all the way down your neck every time I’m close to you.”

You took a sip of water, trying to keep your cool, but he leaned even closer, his lips just a breath away from your ear. “And I can think of a few more ways to keep you flushed like that,” he whispered, his voice dropping to a sultry murmur.

You nearly choked, sputtering as you looked up at him with a mock glare. “If you say one more word, Aaron Hotchner, I swear I’m dumping this entire glass of water on you.” you warned, pointing to the water for emphasis.

But he didn’t even flinch.

Instead, he raised a playful brow, his smirk only deepening. “Now, that’d just give me an excuse to get closer to you. Which, I’d say, isn’t a bad way to spend my birthday.” He paused, eyes trailing over you in a way that sent warmth radiating from your cheeks down to your very core. “Or… maybe you’d rather see me get out of this shirt? I mean, it’s your call, sweetheart.”

The room suddenly felt too warm, and from the glint in his eyes, you knew he could see how thoroughly flustered you were. You searched for a comeback, determined to give him a taste of his own medicine.

But the words caught in your throat, entirely out of reach, and he noticed - of course he noticed. His grin widened as he leaned back, folding his arms, looking smug and entirely too pleased with himself.

“What’s the matter, Professor?” he continued, a grin playing on his lips. “Don’t tell me the great philosopher herself is speechless?” His voice dropped even lower “No ancient texts to rescue you from this one?”

The challenge in his eyes held you captive, and you knew there was no witty comeback that could save you from the truth: he had completely undone you.

But you managed to pull yourself together just enough to respond, leaning forward as you raised your chin with a defiant smile.

But he didn’t budge, his eyes sparkling with that familiar, infuriating confidence. “Oh, I think I’ll stay right here. Watching you like this?” His smirk grew wider. “This is the best birthday gift I could ask for.”

You raised an eyebrow, refusing to back down, and turned to the fridge, grabbing a cold bottle of water and holding it up with a knowing look. “You know,” you said, a mischievous smile playing on your lips, “there’s a whole bottle of ice-cold water here. Just waiting to be used.”

He chuckled, unfazed, his eyes glinting with challenge. “Judging from that blush,” he murmured, stepping closer, “I think you’re the one who could use the cold water.” He leaned in, his voice a low, seductive whisper. “Or do you want to bet I’ve already got you wet down there?”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips as you took a small step back, pretending to consider his words. “Oh, you’re bold today, aren’t you?” you teased, uncapping the water bottle and tilting it slightly in his direction. “I wouldn’t test me, Hotchner.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied smoothly, though his gaze stayed fixed on you, steady and full of challenge. “But I’d love to see what you’d actually do with that water,” he added, crossing his arms and leaning back with a smirk. “Go on, show me.”

You lifted the bottle just enough to let a single drop slip down, watching as it slid down the bottle’s edge, intentionally drawing it out. “You sure about that?” you asked, your tone daring. “Because once I start, there’s no going back.”

He grinned, holding his ground, eyes dancing with intrigue. “Try me,” he whispered, his voice rough, daring you, his gaze locked on yours.

With a smirk, you tilted the bottle in one swift motion, letting a stream of cold water pour down his neck, catching him completely off-guard. The shock in his eyes was priceless as he gasped, shivering as the icy water spilled over his collar and down his chest, soaking into the fabric of his shirt and clinging to his skin.

You watched, heart pounding, as rivulets of water dripped from his hair, tracing paths down his jaw and across the hollow of his throat.

His breath came shallow, and for a brief moment, he just stared at you, his eyes dark with a mixture of surprise and something else - a heat that went far beyond the playful spark in his gaze moments before.

Slowly, he brushed his fingers through his wet hair, sending droplets flying as he shook his head in mock surrender, chuckling under his breath. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, “I’ll give you that one.”

He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours, the water still trickling down his neck, clinging to his skin. “But you do realize,” he said softly, a glint of challenge and mischief in his eyes, “now it’s my turn.”

Your fingers threaded into his damp hair, tugging him closer as you pressed your body against his, deepening the kiss with a need that went beyond words.

His mouth moved over yours, hot and unyielding, each kiss more consuming than the last, igniting a fire that pulsed through every inch of you. You let out a soft moan as his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you against him, until the lines between where he ended and you began were blurred.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifted you with ease, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as you steadied yourself, your legs tightening around his waist. He walked with purpose, each step deliberate as he moved you away from the puddle on the floor.

Reaching the counter, he set you down, his hands sliding to your hips to keep you anchored to him. You pulled him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist, feeling his hard bulge pressing against you, right between your legs, sending an excruciating wave of heat that made you ache with need of wanting every inch of him.

His lips trailed down to your neck, finding that sensitive spot that made you gasp, arching your back and tilting your hips against him in response, desperate for more contact through all those unnecessary layers of clothes.

That made him chuckle against your skin, his breath warm and teasing as he pressed his hips forward, letting you feel more of him. His hands roamed over your body, one slipping down between your thighs, his fingers sliding over the fabric of your clothes to press gently against your folds. You let out a shuddering breath as he teased you, feeling your arousal seep through the fabric under his touch.

“Shit Aaron,” you whispered furrowing your brows, the sound escaping as a mix of plea and need. He let out a low, satisfied sigh, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate strokes along your folds, applying just enough pressure to leave you breathless.

"Told you needed that cold water too," he murmured, his voice rough and dark with desire as his fingers continued their slow, teasing movements, each touch lingering longer than the last, setting every nerve in your body on fire. "You’re so wet, love."

His lips found yours again, his kiss searing and consuming, swallowing the soft gasps that escaped you as his hand worked in a steady rhythm that left you trembling, every touch building the ache that spread through you.

Your hands found the hem of his soaked shirt, unable to resist the need to feel more of him. You gripped the fabric, slowly peeling it up over his torso, your fingers tracing over every defined line of his abdomen and chest as the shirt lifted, clinging to his skin, heavier from the water.

He shuddered at your touch, his muscles taut under your fingertips, and his breathing hitched as you struggled to work the fabric up over his shoulders. With a quick, impatient movement, he pulled it the rest of the way off, tossing it carelessly to the floor, where it landed with a wet, heavy thud.

The unexpected sound made you both pause, sharing a breathless, shared chuckle that broke the intensity for only a moment.

Then his gaze met yours, dark and blazing with an almost unrestrained hunger. His pupils were blown wide, breaths shallow and quick, matching your own.

The charged silence between you was almost unbearable, every second weighted with anticipation " Let's cut this shit and just fuck me, Aaron," you said firmly locking eyes with him, your tone was thick with need.

 "So eloquent," he replied, his voice so low that it made you even more wet than you already were.

"If you don’t have me quoting Plato," you breathed, voice unsteady, “then it means you’re doing it a good job."

He let out a low, throaty chuckle. "Trust me, that's the last thing I want to hear right now."

False. But he wasn’t about to let you know that just yet.

Keeping his gaze fixed on yours, he dipped down slowly, his hands sliding up your thighs, his grip firm yet gentle, holding you open in a way that left no room for resistance and filled you with a breathless anticipation.

His lips brushed softly over your knee, then trailed upward in maddeningly slow, deliberate kisses along your inner thigh. Each touch of his mouth felt like a spark on your skin, the heat pooling within you growing with every inch he covered.

The roughness of his stubble scraped deliciously over your sensitive skin, heightening the sensation and leaving you craving more with every slow, deliberate movement.

“I could stay here all morning,” he murmured, his voice thick and rough, lips lingering at that spot on your inner thigh that made your head spin. “Fuck, your thighs drive me crazy.” He sucked gently at the sensitive skin, and a dizzying wave of warmth coursed through you, making you clutch the edge of the counter beneath you.

“You sound so much better when you’re talking between my legs,” you managed, your voice a whisper. “Almost makes me want to actually listen to what you’re saying.”

A smirk played on his lips as he moved inward with torturous slowness, each kiss deeper and more lingering than the last, his mouth exploring every inch with an intensity that only stoked the fire inside you. “Can’t wait to eat you out,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low rumble that made you shiver. “You always taste so damn sweet.”

Just hearing him made your cheeks flush, heat spreading across your skin, and he looked up briefly, catching the blush on your face.

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your thigh, the vibration sending a shiver through your entire body. “There it is,” he murmured, pressing his mouth to your skin as if savoring every reaction, “and I’m not even close.”

“Fuck you Aaron,” you muttered, rolling your eyes at the nerve he had, but unable to mask the need building inside you.

“Just give me a few minutes,” he whispered, a wicked smile tugging at his lips, “and you won’t be able to say a word.” Without giving you time to respond, he moved his hand, his fingers brushing over your throbbing, clothed core, drawing a soft, needy moan from you.

“Oh, Aaron,” you gasped, the words spilling from your lips as the warmth of his touch sent a shock of pleasure through you.

“Better, but next time just say my name”, he murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction as his mouth continued to explore every sensitive spot, each kiss igniting fresh waves of desire.

He savored every second, each shiver, each breathless sound you made, keeping you on edge and drawing out your need until you were trembling with anticipation, every nerve alive and straining toward him, aching for the moment he’d finally close that last, agonizing bit of distance.

A soft, breathy moan escaped your lips as his mouth reached the very end of your inner thigh, lingering there with maddening intent before, with one swift motion, he slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties and discarded them, leaving you exposed to the cool air that instantly sent a shiver down your spine.

Your hand flew to his, squeezing his left hand resting on your thigh, seeking an anchor amidst the building tension. He intertwined his fingers with yours, holding you there, his grip firm and grounding.

What a gentleman.

As he moved closer to where you ached for him most, the warmth of his breath contrasted with the coolness of the air, sending another wave of heat pooling low in your belly.

Your skin was hypersensitive, every inch of you on edge, the cool air brushing against your slick, exposed core making you tremble with need. You could feel yourself wet, the evidence of your desire trailing down, and he noticed, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he took in every reaction.

Slowly, he leaned in, and just when you thought you couldn’t bear the wait, he let out a soft, cool breath against your sensitive center, the contrast making you gasp, your hips instinctively arching toward him.

The sensation was electric, his teasing touch only building the tension to a fever pitch, leaving you breathless and desperate, every nerve alive, craving his next move.

Every inch of you ached for him, and the faint chill of his breath against your heated skin only made you more sensitive, heightening every sensation as you waited, breathless, desperate, for the moment he’d finally close the distance and give you the relief you craved.

And just as you felt yourself entirely lost in the moment, fully immersed in his touch, your phone rang – your work phone.

Aaron, sensing the urgency of your vibrating work phone, let out a reluctant sigh and leaned down, resting his head between your legs for a lingering moment before handing the phone to you.

His hand found yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze before he straightened up and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. He knew it had to be important if you were getting called on your day off - especially since your last case had barely wrapped up a day ago.

With a sigh, you brought the phone to your ear, feeling Aaron’s hand slide down to rest on your thigh, his thumb tracing slow, grounding circles over your skin. “Agent Y/L/N,” you answered, keeping your tone professional despite the unmistakable warmth of Aaron’s presence beside you.

The voice on the other end chirped brightly. “Oh, don’t worry, Teach, this isn’t a case.” It was Garcia, her usual exuberance coming through, immediately putting you at ease.

Aaron’s head shot up, his expression sharpening as he registered Garcia’s voice on the line. His unit chief instincts kicked in immediately, a hint of concern flickering across his face - he knew as well as you did that Garcia wasn’t supposed to make personal calls to your work phone.

His gaze shifted to meet yours, silently questioning, his eyes searching for an explanation.

But you quickly gave him a reassuring nod, your eyes conveying, ‘It’s fine. Just Garcia being Garcia.’

He studied you for a moment, then sighed, the tension easing from his face as he accepted your silent assurance. She was his favorite on the team, after all – you knew he’d let this slide simply because it was her, and only her.

His tense posture softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he relaxed. But his hand stayed firmly on your leg, his thumb moving in soothing circles, silently grounding you as you continued the call.

“So… what’s up?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

“Well, I’m just outside your door!” Garcia chirped, and you froze, a sense of dread pooling in your stomach. “I came by to return that umbrella you lent me! And as an apology for taking so long, I brought homemade cookies! But not just any cookies - these are made with your recipe. I had to know your secret, oh wise cookie guru.”

You exchanged a panicked look with Aaron, who widened his eyes, clearly just as surprised as you were. He raised his eyebrows in disbelief, mouthing, ‘What?’

The kitchen was a disaster - a puddle of water glistened a few feet away from where you were, his shirt and your discarded underwear lay crumpled on the floor, and a forgotten stack of pancakes sat on the opposite counters, cold and untouched.

You tried to focus, clearing your throat. “Did you, um, brown the butter?” you asked, forcing a normal tone as Aaron’s lips returned to your cheek, planting feather-light kisses along your jawline. You brought your hand up to his chest, gently pressing to stop him just before he reached your neck.

If he kept going, there was no way you’d keep quiet.

“Oh, obviously, I browned the butter! Gourmet tip of the year, right?” she replied with dramatic flair. “But seriously, why haven’t you opened the door yet? Don’t tell me you’re still in bed!”

“Oh, Penelope, uh,” you hesitated, your voice wavering as you shot Aaron a helpless look. He simply leaned back, crossing his arms with an amused grin, watching you squirm. “I’m… uh… a little tied up right now.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, then she gasped, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “Teach,” she said, drawing out the word as if savoring it. “Did you get laid?”

Your eyes widened, heat creeping up your cheeks, and you avoided Aaron’s gaze. “I, uh…” you stammered, glancing at Aaron, who raised both eyebrows, clearly entertained by the direction the conversation was going. ‘Lost for words, again?’ he mouthed, with a smirk.

“Oh my God!” Garcia squealed. “Spill! Where did you meet them? Was it romantic, thrilling, a slow-burn kind of thing?”

Thinking quickly, you stammered, “Uh… met him at the supermarket, actually.” You glanced over at Aaron, who was watching you with a barely contained grin.

“The supermarket?” Garcia’s tone was incredulous, then turned approving. “Well, look at you, turning errands into escapades! What was it about him? I mean, Teach, this is you we’re talking about, and you have that five-date rule before you even consider any ‘extracurriculars’!”

Aaron barely held back a laugh, his eyes gleaming with amusement. He mouthed, ‘Five dates?’ with an exaggerated look of mock surprise, clearly referencing the fact that it had taken you much fewer than five dates to get there with him.

Grabbing a pen and sticky note from the counter, you quickly scribbled, *It took us ten years, I think we waited enough.*

He read it, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous grin that seemed to say, “Still a win.” He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead, and you rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile.

“So?” Garcia’s voice came through again, jolting you back. “What made him so special?”

You cleared your throat, keeping your answer vague. “He was… just nice. Nothing too remarkable. We just clicked.”

Garcia paused, as if processing that. “Clicked, huh? Not the most exciting answer, but I guess it’s better than nothing.” Her voice lowered conspiratorially, “Well, Teach, between you and me - how was it?”

You blinked, struggling to keep your composure. You knew answering in detail would only encourage her. Shooting Aaron a quick, apologetic look, you took a deep breath and answered, trying to be as nonchalant as possible “Honestly? Not memorable.”

Aaron’s eyebrows shot up, a look of playful offense crossing his face. You grabbed the pen again, quickly scribbling, ‘She’d have asked for specifics. It was the only way to end it.’

But Aaron wasn’t letting it slide.

He smirked, taking the pen from you and jotting, “If I were you, I’d start writing your incident report now.”

You mouthed a playful “Come on, Aaron,” but he didn’t relent, writing again, ‘You won’t be able to walk when I’m done with you. Trust me on that.’ His eyes gleamed with a mixture of humor and something darker, and he added, ‘Consider it a favor to your Unit Chief.’

The moment he pulled rank - even in jest - you knew he wasn’t kidding. A thrill shot through you, as, you realized: oh, you were fucked.

Meanwhile, Garcia was still on the line, sympathy dripping from her voice. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Teach. I hope the next one is better! But hey love, you’re a catch, you’ll have a line of suitors soon enough.”

Aaron rolled his eyes, grinning as he traced lazy circles along your arm, clearly entertained and waiting to see how you’d handle the situation. Just as you were about to breathe a sigh of relief, thinking the conversation with Garcia might finally be wrapping up, she added, “But one last thing… how big was he?”

Your eyes flew to Aaron, who pressed his lips together, struggling to keep from laughing outright. His brows lifted, an expectant glint in his eyes as he waited to see how you’d handle this new level of interrogation.

You let out a long, exasperated sigh, hiding your face behind your hand for a second before answering.

“Oh, Penelope,” you began, doing your best to keep your voice steady as Aaron’s expression practically sparkled with mischief. “Size… let’s just say he was… more than enough.”

You gave Aaron a pointed look, as if to say, ‘Happy now?’

Aaron raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye, and picked up the pen to scrawl on a sticky note, “At least you said something true this time.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms with a smirk and that unmistakable, self-satisfied gleam that only made him more infuriatingly irresistible.

You rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to wipe that smug grin off his face. He was lucky you loved him, even when he was this cocky.

Garcia hummed, clearly intrigued. “Alright, alright, keep your secrets! But I’ll be needing a coffee date soon to get all the details. And I’ll make sure to bring a tape measure!”

Aaron’s smirk only widened, thoroughly enjoying every second of your discomfort. Determined to take back some control, you grabbed the pen, furiously scribbling, “If you don’t stop smirking, I’ll make you wait a week.”

He arched an eyebrow, clearly unfazed, and took the pen, writing back with a smug confidence, “I don’t think you’d last a week.”

His eyes sparkled with amusement as he leaned in close, his mouth brushing your ear. “In fact,” he whispered, voice low and challenging, “I’d bet you’d be begging in less than a minute.”

Just as he pulled back, you caught yourself, remembering Garcia was still on the line. You shook yourself out of the daze he’d left you in, quickly bringing the phone back up. “Thanks, Pen. I’ll, uh, catch up with you later. I’ve got a bit of a… mess here to handle.”

“Ohhh, say no more,” she replied with a knowing giggle. “Go handle your ‘mess,’ teach! I’ll swing by later to drop off the cookies.”

“Sure thing,” you replied, hoping to end the call before anything else slipped. “Talk soon!”

Finally, she hung up, and you let out a sigh of relief as you placed the phone back on the counter.

Before you could even process the call, Aaron wrapped his arms around you, pulling you back toward him. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss along your jaw, trailing slowly down to the sensitive spot on your neck, his touch igniting that spark of need all over again.

“‘Not memorable,’ huh?” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed his lips along your collarbone, his voice thick with amusement and challenge. “Guess I’ll have to change that.”

You smirked, threading your fingers through his hair, giving it a gentle tug as you met his gaze, your eyes gleaming. “Consider it a challenge,” you whispered, voice heavy with anticipation.

“Oh, I intend to,” he replied, his voice low and filled with a promise that sent a thrill through you. His hands slipped down to your waist, gripping firmly as he lifted you effortlessly back onto the counter.

His fingers traced along your thighs, pulling you close until there was no space left between you, his warmth flooding over you as he leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was anything but forgettable.

The intensity of his lips left you breathless, his mouth moving with a need that always made you ache for him.

But just as you were melting into the kiss, he pulled back abruptly, leaving you gasping.

Without a word, he turned and walked toward the entry room where he’d left his briefcase the night prior.

You sat there, still dazed, watching as he rummaged through it with purpose. When he returned, he handed you a piece of paper and a pen, his smirk widening as you looked down and realized he’d handed you an incident report form.

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. “An incident report, really?”

He grinned, his hands settling on your waist, pulling you flush against him. “You file this,” he said, voice rich with amusement, “and in the meantime, I’ll clean up this kitchen disaster we made. How’s that sound?”

“You’re serious about this?” you asked, trying to keep a straight face as his fingers slid teasingly up and down your sides, his touch setting your skin on fire even through the fabric.

He leaned close, his voice a husky whisper against your ear. “Think of it as a precaution,” he murmured, his breath tickling your skin. “Can’t have you running to HR with ‘not memorable’ complaints, now can we?”

You arched an eyebrow, glancing at the cold pile of pancakes beside you. “Fine. But if I’m filing paperwork, I’m at least entitled to a last meal,” you teased, reaching for one of the now slightly stale pancakes.

He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his fingers brushing along your jaw as he looked at you with mock sincerity. “Of course. I’m not heartless,” he said, sliding a hand possessively down your thigh. “Wouldn’t want you complaining that I wasted your ‘last apple.’”

You rolled your eyes, grinning as you took a bite, savoring the taste with exaggerated satisfaction just to get a rise out of him.

As you took a bite, he leaned in, his lips trailing a slow, heated path down your neck, each kiss sending sparks across your skin. “Finish up,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and filled with promise. “You’re going to need a lot of energy later.”

You smirked, picking up a pancake and handing it to him. “I think you’re the one who’ll need it more,” you teased, eyes glinting. “Wouldn’t want you throwing out your back, old man.”

He raised an eyebrow, biting into the pancake you offered, then leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Old man?” he echoed, his tone low and challenging. “We’ll see who’s begging for mercy first.”

You chuckled, unfazed. “Just looking out for you,” you replied innocently. “Can’t have my Unit Chief all sore and out of commission, can I?”

He chuckled, his fingers tightening around your waist. “Sweetheart, by the time I’m through with you, the only thing you’ll be looking out for is a place to catch your breath.”

“Oh?” You leaned in, eyes dancing with mischief. “Big talk. Hope you’re not all bark and no bite.”

He tilted your chin up, his gaze darkening as he smirked. “Oh, you’ll feel the bite.” His lips brushed over yours, slow and teasing. “And trust me,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “I’ve got more than enough stamina to keep you… occupied.”

You grinned, meeting his dark gaze with a defiant spark in your eyes. “More than enough stamina? Now that’s a bold claim,” you murmured, your voice laced with playful challenge. “But, if you’re looking to impress, I’d expect nothing less than an all-night performance. Think you can handle that?”

His smirk grew as his hands slid up your sides, pulling you even closer. “Oh, I’m not just handling it, I’m guaranteeing it,” he replied, his voice a low, rumbling promise. He leaned in, brushing his lips over yours, just close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath. “In fact, sweetheart, I don’t plan on letting you sleep at all tonight.”

Your pulse quickened, but you kept up the game. “Guess I’ll have to cancel my morning plans,” you replied, pretending to sound disappointed. “Here I thought I’d be waking up fresh and ready to tackle the day.”

He let out a soft, amused chuckle, his fingers slipping down to grip your hips firmly, pressing you against him. “Oh, you’ll be plenty ready to tackle something,” he teased, his eyes glinting as he tilted his head, giving you a slow, purposeful once-over. “But the day? Probably not. You’ll be too busy trying to remember how to stand.”

You rolled your eyes, though the smirk never left your lips. “Big words, Hotchner. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He leaned closer, his lips grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Challenge accepted,” he murmured, his tone dripping with intent. “And just so you know,” he added, his mouth ghosting over your skin, “the only thing I’ll need all night… is you begging for more.”

“Confident, aren’t we?” you teased, threading your fingers through his hair, giving it a gentle tug. “But confidence only gets you so far, you know. You’ll have to back up all this talk.”

He smirked, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth, his eyes gleaming with that familiar intensity. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, his lips brushing over yours. “By the time I’m done, the only thing you’ll be able to say is my name.”

“Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet”, Plato.

---

taglist: @beata1108 ; @cuddleprofiler ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @justyourusualash ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

Hope you liked it :) Happy birthday old man

[prettyoatmeal]

Warning!! NSFW, Fem reader, Dubcon. A/N: Posts gonna slow down again. I had a bit of a period where I couldn't stop just posting my thoughts. I'm burned out now from that LOL Masterlist here!

Horndog König. Need I say more?

When you come into his life he's just astounded. He's just thinking like.. what, a girl likes me? ...Wow! A girl likes me :D and then his libido just shoots through the roof because he isn't fucking for a one night stand anymore, but because you love him and he loves you.

He finds himself gets turned on by anything and everything because he can't stop his perverted brain.

Whether it be eating a banana or rubbing lotion along body after a shower, quite literally anything you do could get him turned on because he just can't control his mind.

Showering together always ends up with him exploring your body. You're just so pretty and soft compared to him. He loves to grab at your hips, your waist, your tummy, all over your torso. When he finally lets you wash yourself, his cock is up and twitching as you lather the bubbly soap onto yourself.

Cuddling in bed with him will end with him humping you from behind. He'll wrap his arms around you, pulling you impossibly closer to him, and then he ruins the moment by feeling his cock hardening from your ass just slightly press back against him. He'll whimper and whine into your neck as he dry humps into your ass, his cock twitching and drenching his trousers as he reaches his orgasm.

"Please, please, please, Schazt. Need more. Mmgh.."

Thing is that you don't even need to be there physically. There have been numerous times where you'd caught him humping your pillow, his face buried into your blankets as he cries and moans into them before making a mess of his cum.

He can't just cum once either, it's as if he's under the effects of sex pollen.

He doesn't care if his cock is overly sensitive from filling you so many times, just once more. You'll give him one more, right? Of course you will.

He'll start sobbing into you neck as he puts you into a mating press and ruts into you. His cum is spilling from you despite how much he tries to push it back in, your thighs are trembling and shaking as he abuses your poor cunny. But the way you clench around him and suck him back in.. oh boy.

The way you moan and tell him how good he's making you feel turns his brain to mush. Your praise will always get him over the edge, he loves hearing how good his cock makes you feel. His hips will stutter and slow for the first time in hours, spilling himself one last time, and both of you are trying to catch your breaths, fucked out and satisfied.

*************** DISCLAIMER Under no circumstances do I give permission to copy, repost, or manipulate my work in any way. I am not comfortable with this. If you wish to translate my work, message me privately. My inbox is always open.

[hotnbloodied]

Hiiii can I request popular yandere classmate x oblivious reader, oh and can it be smut pleassee?

Thanks for your ask! I started randomly naming all my yanderes even if they are all one shots, I don't know if I want to keep it though. We'll see. This one almost fucking tore me to shreds, I might need a break after this. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

-˚ʚ♡ɞ˚HB˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Yan!Popular Boy X Oblivious Reader (!!SMUT!!)

!Warning! This post contains yandere themes and topics that may be uncomfortable to people who are sensitive to the topic, read at your own discretion.

CW: not proof read, yous/yours used, gn reader, there is SEX, sloppy lewd writing, yandere tendencies, reader is kind of silly here. (LMK if I'm missing anything.)

!!READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!! MINORS DNI!!

It was the first group project of the year! You and three other people were going to be randomly assigned together to work on a research project about something or another. The first two seemed like nice people but the third was Atticus, your friends have talked about him before. Wasn’t he popular or something? When the group met face to face you finally understood why, he was funny, charismatic and quite the looker. Your group decided to meet up in the library and you thanked your lucky stars that it seemed everyone was working well with each other. The other two in the group knew each other and were friends so when one of them had to leave later on in the day the other one did so as well leaving you and Atticus the only ones in the group still in the library.

Without the other two here, people were more inclined to come by to say hi to Atticus causing him to get distracted, you didn’t care much honestly, you had work to do after all. You overheard a couple of the people who came to talk to Atticus talk about some sort of group karaoke and that he should join them. “Sorry guys, I’m still with my group partner,” he apologized. You looked up, “it’s all good, this is just the first day after all.” Atticus looked at you incredulously. “See? Even your groupmate thinks it’s fine. Join us, Atticus, the girls are asking for you.” Internally he was annoyed, he already said no and the least his groupmate could do was back him up. Were you really that stupid? Eventually though, he was able to convince them to leave him alone. But when he turned expecting to see you still sitting there you were gone. Your stuff was still here so he assumed you went to get more material to research.

Scanning over the library he spots you eventually, struggling to reach for a book on a higher shelf. He sighs and starts walking over to assist but it turns into a run when he notices that you’re about to get toppled by said books. He covers you from getting hurt and curses at himself because having books fall on him fucking hurts. “What are you doing?” He says sternly, “if you can’t reach something ask for help.” He gasps, some of his true self leaked out, his image of a prince type is over. “Dang I’m sorry, you’re right. No sense in getting myself hurt, thanks! By the way, are you okay?” Suddenly, his heart raced, he didn’t know why. It might have been the way you looked under him currently, or it might have been the way you accept his rough tone with you, but either way he was going to explore it, explore you.

The project goes by smoothly, you still hang out with Atticus since the two of you exchanged numbers due to the project. You found it really weird though, each time you hung out with him and his friends, his friends were never able to make it. You hope you’re not scaring them away. Little did you know that if anyone is scaring people away it’s Atticus. The more time he spent with you was like heaven but also hell. He loved spending time and learning new things about you but, fuck, why were you not picking up any of the hints and flirty signs he was giving you?! Like today when it was just the two of you again, you two were at the movies and he tried to get an arm over your shoulder. “Oh my! Are you cold? Here, you can have my jacket.” And wrapped him up in your jacket! Sure, being able to smell your scent was nice but that’s not what he wanted! To rub salt on the wound too, after the movies his friends spotted him and invited you two to join them and you ACCEPTED! “Oh sorry, were you guys on a date?” One of his friends asked. “Oh no, we’re just chilling! We’d love to join you!” You responded. He almost choked up blood.

He went to his last resort and feigned sickness. Worry etched your face and you apologized as you helped carry him away. He convinced you to go to his place since it was nearby and was a bit hurt that you agreed so readily, you were going to be in a private space with him after all. Arriving at his place you helped him inside, all the way to his room. As you wished him better and got up to leave he tugged your arm. “Wait a minute,” he says. “Hm? What’s up, need something?” He hugs you, “I… I need you.” Not sure what he meant, but feeling like he needed this, you hugged him and both of you stayed like that for a while. That was, until his lower half decided to act up. “Do you, uh, need help with that?” You ask, almost too innocently. His face flushed, “help with this…?” “Of course, a boner is a natural part of your body, you know. Though I also heard that boners don’t happen just because someone is horny though…are you horny?” Atticus felt the blood rush to his head, all he could do was meekly nod.

You were sucking on his member, he could tell that you’ve done something like this before but maybe not too often due to the slight hesitation you exhibited. Regardless though he never imagined you would have been so willing to do this for him, should he have asked sooner? The sight of your mouth wrapped so prettily around his cock, he wasn’t the type that was quick to cum but just because it was you doing this act on him he felt close. He couldn’t have that, so he grabbed your shoulder and urged you on to his bed. “Take off your clothes,” he instructs. You did as he told, he gulped, he wanted this for how long now? It felt surreal that this was real. He couldn’t help but use his hands to explore your body, groping, touching, feeling your warmth. Your breathing quickened, you weren’t sure why he was taking so long, his exploration of your body started making you feel needy. You were close to telling him to hurry but let out a yelp when he started to suck and lick on your chest. He worked his way down to your lower area.

“What are you doing? Is all this necessary?” You ask him. “Please,” he begged, “I just need this, won’t you let me?” You whimpered, this is good and all but all this teasing is something you aren’t used to. He sucked and tongue prodded you for a while, you said that you would let him do what he wanted but you wanted to release soon and his tongue wasn’t doing that for you. “Hey, uh– hnn!!” Before you could say anything more he inserted a finger then two into you, rhythmically finger fucking you. Making sure to brush against your g spot each time. You were so close and Atticus knew it, so he stopped making you whine even louder. “Why did you stop?” “Grind on my dick,” he ordered. Sluggishly you got up and did as he was told. “Don’t even try to insert before I allow you to.” So you rubbed your sensitive area against him, slow at first but even you can grow impatient and you’ve been that for a while. Your wetness making a mess and with your bodies grinding against each other a squelching sound reverberated through the room along with the heavy panting and moaning. “Soon please?” You begged. Atticus needed you badly as well so he pushed you down on the bed again and aligned himself before pushing in causing you to scream out from the intrusion. He jackhammered you silly, “fuck, fuck, fuck, please. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” he chanted like a mantra, “I need you so bad.” What followed was one of the hardest orgasms you ever had. He unsheathed from you and quickly went to your face marking your face all over with his seed.

After a couple of beats you asked, “hey, uh, can I have some napkins?” “S-sorry,” he scrambled to his drawer and took out a box of tissues. After you cleaned yourself up you asked, “I’d like to borrow your bathroom.” He told you that it was down the hall. You took your clothes and left his room, when you came back you thanked him. “Well that was fun! I’m going to head home now. I’ll see you later alright?” And left. He was shocked, how fucking clueless can you be?? He was going to make sure you understood that you were his now and he was going to move heaven and hell to make sure that happens, his darling.

[reiderwriter]

hi! I just wanted to say I think your writing is so good and you seem like a lovely person 🥰 I’m hoping to request a post prison Spencer smut. Basically it’s when he’s just been released and he’s so touch starved and possessive over you? I’m such a sucker for prison Reid I can’t 😅

A/N: Nothing hotter than a man who looks like he has been through hell, and dear GOD, is post-Prison Spencer DELECTABLE. Thank you for your request!

Warnings: 18+, minors dni. Penetrative sex, creampie, slight dom/sub themes, use of pet names, spoilers for s12 of Criminal Minds, mentions of prison, mentions of blood/ wounds and injuries sustained in prison.

The seconds ticked down as you waited for the key to be pushed into the lock, the door to swing open and for your life to be put back together. 84 days and you were on edge, almost three months without him.

Your leg shook as you waited, heard the footsteps coming up the hall. You stood, wiping the sweat off your hands and taking a deep breath.

You hadn't been allowed to visit Spencer in prison, his teammates taking priority as they worked to keep him safe, to get him out. You hadn't seen him in three months, though you'd moved yourself into his house to be able to wrap yourself in his scent, haunt yourself with his presence.

He wasn't a ghost anymore, as he opened the door and you found your eyes on Spencer Reid for the first time in too long.

“Spencer,” you voice was pathetically small, as if you didn't trust him to be real anymore. You supposed that was probably justified. Your entire body was on edge as you looked him up and down.

Before, he'd keep himself clean shaved, but you found yourself greatly appreciative of the stubble framing his face. He'd never been the best at taking care of his hair, and now it looked perfectly ready for you to run your hands through. His clothes were still messy and by god did you want to grab the lapels of his jacket and pull him back into you.

“You're still here,” his voice was nearly as weak as your own, as if he'd not used it for nearly as much as it should've been used. “I know they said you were but… god I'm so happy you're still here.”

He took a step closer to you and pulled you towards him. You weren't used to Spencer initiating physical contact like this, his hands strong and certain on your hips as he grabbed you, one hand coming up to the back of your head to cradle it and push you further into him.

You melted into the touch, finally feeling warm after the coldest spring of your life.

“You can't get rid of me that easily, Spencer.”

“Good,” he said, tilting your head up and not hesitating even one beat before he pushed his lips against yours. His grip was hot as you let out a soft moan into his mouth, taken aback by his sudden affection.

Before prison, you'd been quietly intimate. A soft kiss here and there, and some awkward and tender sex. While you didn't mind your earlier boundaries, you certainly weren't mourning them now, gripping his shirt tighter as his tongue began exploring you. You'd been happy just to be in his presence before, but now you needed to be so close that you could no longer find where his body stopped and yours started.

When you lifted your leg, he instantly took your hint and pulled you up, holding you in his arms as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

Not breaking from your kiss for longer than a breath, he dropped everything to carry you back to the bedroom.

“84 days.” You gasped between kisses as he dropped you on the bed, falling down with you as he moved his attention to your neck, your chest, your bared throat.

A growl was all the reply he had to that, knowing instantly what you were talking about, but needing to feel you more, to pull comfort from the warmth of your body.

“84 days and I thought with each of them that I would never do it again. You're never leaving me again, I wouldn't survive. I'd refuse.”

“84 days, 7 hours, 23 minutes. Every lone moment thinking about this and you, and being here again,” he said, pulling back again to stare directly at your bared soul.

“I need to feel you now, Y/N. Please, be a good girl and let me.”

If you could will your own clothes away, you would've at that moment, already aware of the mounting pleasure pooling between your legs.

Instead, Spencer handled it for you, tearing where he couldn't unbutton fast enough, divesting you of shirt and skirt and beginning to work your underwear slowly down your legs. At the same time, you pushed yourself up, scrambling to unbutton his own shirt, moaning in frustration as you struggled to get it pushed off his shoulders.

“Spencer, clothes off, now,” you begged, and he finally paused for a second.

“I'm different. Not a lot, but there are some…wounds. Don't be alarmed.”

“Spencer, if you think a few cuts and bruises are going to dampen the absolute desire I have burning for you, you are dumber than I thought.” Taking his momentary surprise to your advantage, you pushed him up and straddled his lap, sitting together with him as you rid him of his clothes.

You traced hands over every ridge of his skin, trying to document every change and appreciate every line. Tracing your way downward, you let your hand disappear into his lap as you looked up at him again, catching his eye as your fingers unbuttoned his pants.

His hand stroked lazily across your cunt but his eyes locked with yours and you found yourself aching with a need for him.

Before, he'd been thorough about foreplay, making sure you were absolutely ready for him, ensuring your pleasure and bringing you to climax before he even palmed himself through his pants.

It was generous, and everything you didn't want right now. You needed him to get everything he'd missed, needed to see him relaxed, pleasured, sunk deep inside of you and losing himself with each stroke.

You softly pressed a kiss to his lips, releasing him from his pants. A few strokes was enough to have him at full mast, and in another moment you were pushing yourself up on your knees and sinking back down.

Three months and you'd almost forgotten how perfectly he filled you, steadying yourself with hands on his shoulders as you bit back a whorish moan.

“Good girl, just like I remember…” his words came out slurred, as of he were drunk on the feeling of you, intoxicated as you began rocking your hips up and down his length.

“I'm better than you remembered,” you mumbled, stroking the small soft curls at the base of his neck. It was ridiculous being jealous of your past self, but god did you want to grab the you of January and shake her within an inch of her life.

You'd tell her to grab Spencer Reid and never let him go, to make him spend his entire life filling you up, to pleasure him until he hadn't a single thought of going anywhere.

You kept up your pace, riding him at an even pace, making sure to lower yourself down as far as you could manage without becoming a moaning mess, but soon the pleasure became overwhelming.

Spencer kept one hand working over your clit, and you had to resist falling apart in his hands, determined to pleasure him before you thought of taking that same ecstasy for yourself.

“It's okay, Y/N, you can let go. I know how long you've waited for this,” his words were soft but his tone was demanding, ordering you to cum on his cock. He lifted his hips slightly, grabbing your hips in his hand as he took charge of the pace and strength of your thrusts, going harder and faster than you'd been able to manage.

You loathed to give up control, bit your body betrayed you, thighs shaking as you gave into his wishes, cumt clenching around him as you rode out your orgasm.

“That's it, nice and tight for me.” He grunted the words into your ear as he really took control. Tipping you until you were again flat on your back, he lifted his hips up and let his pace speed up, rutting into you deeply as he breathed in your scent, head buried in your hair, arms tight around your waist.

You moaned for him, knowing he loved every sound that passed your lips, knowing that he craved the knowledge of your pleasure.

He, too, didn't hold back. His voice filled your ear, filling your brain with every fantasy, every memory of you that had kept him alive for 84 days of hell.

Each story was lustier than the last, your mouth dropping open in a moan as you, too, imagined him in each of the scenarios he'd spent time on in prison.

You across his desk, his head between your legs in the morning, you in his cell, him inside you in public, the red scratches your nails dragged against his skin that had been commented on in the showers.

You'd guided his through 84 days of hell, and you were finally embracing him on the other side.

“Y/N, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna- shit.”

To your surprise, he didn't pull out as he usually would, but instead slammed himself deeper as he began releasing string after string of his sperm into you.

“Shit. I'm sorry I should've asked if that was…”

“I don't care. Just next time, make sure you do that again.” The feeling of his cum inside you was enough to push your body over the edge once again, and you panted as the aftershocks continued milking his cock.

“I missed you.” He whispered, pushing a few stray hairs behind your ear as he stared at you with all the love in the world.

“I missed you more.” You whispered back, and you meant it.

[citrus-moonlight]

As I often do, I've seen a few posts going around lately lamenting the lack of interaction with fanfiction/fanart here on Tumblr as well as AO3, but after reading a particular comment last night I just need to say this:

If someone tells you that the lack of response to sharing their writing is making them feel so upset that they're thinking of quitting writing altogether, don't tell them that's not a good mindset to have and they should just have fun with it and write for themselves. (have you just tried not being sad? you'll feel so much better!)

Even if you're a writer who felt that way once upon a time but then you changed your mindset so that you don't rely on others' feedback for validation and now you're so much happier, that's not helpful. Because that's obviously not what the person who is feeling sad and defeated is able to do right now, and for most writers/creators that's never going to be possible.

And it shouldn't have to be.

Especially here. Especially fanfiction.

Fanfiction is something that's created because someone loves something and wants to share it with others who love the same thing. And this is specifically a fandom space, somewhere that is supposed to be a community where discussion and dialogue can and is encouraged to happen between the people who write and the people who read. So when there's radio silence when you share something in this kind of space, do you really not see how that would be discouraging?

Because of course I write for myself - I would never get anything down on the page if I didn't - but I share because ultimately I want someone else out there to read what I wrote, and with any luck, to get some joy out of it. But if no one tells me they did, how am I supposed to know? As far as I know I've just been yelling into the void. As far as I know, all that work wasn't worth it.

A metaphor I've seen as an example is that it would be like having someone invite you over and cooking an entire delicious, heartfelt meal, you eat it all without saying anything, and then just leave. Do you not see how that would be upsetting?

We put so much of ourselves into what we write, bits of our hearts and souls and the things that we love and are exploring and are interested in or confused about. It's such a vulnerable thing to share something you've created, so when you tell someone that they shouldn't care if someone else reads what they wrote or tells them that they liked it, you're dismissing a very real and valid experience for so many creators out there.

Because regardless of how slow or fast a writer is, or how big or small their fandom is, it's still hard and takes time and energy and dedication and love - all of it in between our day to day lives from the mundanities to the heartbreaks - to even get something to the point where we're comfortable sharing.

Now, I know that not everyone thinks that writers are silly or selfish or entitled when they ask for feedback. Before I started writing again after many, many years, the main reason I didn't really comment on fics very often wasn't because I didn't think that the authors deserved feedback, it was more that I didn't really think that it would matter. That my comments would just be noted - if read at all - and brushed aside and then they would continue on about their day.

I could not have possible been more wrong. You might think you're just one person and it's just one comment but it's amazing how it can turn a day (or week, or month) around. How it can encourage someone to finish a story, or make a connection they'd been struggling with, or even just manage to add 500 words to a WIP. It is truly incredible to hear that someone loved something I wrote, and if you've ever commented on or reblogged one of my fics, please know that it truly means the world to me.

I've gone through a rough time with all of this lately myself, but I'm doing a bit better now (for the moment), so I just wanted to say this, in part to remind myself when it inevitably gets hard again:

If you're reading this, whether you're a friend or you've never seen me on your dash and never will again: I'm sorry it hurts right now. I'm sorry you feel discouraged and lonely, that it doesn't feel like it's worth it anymore, that you're struggling to find a reason to continue.

But I desperately hope that you keep writing. I hope you keep sharing. You're worth it. I know it's hard, and if you don't want to and you're just tired of the cycle of giving so much of yourself and getting so little in return, I understand that, too. It's ok to be in your feelings about it, it's ok to feel drained by it, and even though knowing you're not alone in your experience doesn't change anything and it still sucks, it's normal and valid and there's nothing wrong with you feeling the way that you do.

But I hope that you are able to find the joy in it again, because you deserve it. ❤️

[sibillascribbles08]

Big Ol' Rottmnt Fic Rec List

Hi, I've needed to do this for a while, so here's a big bundle of fic recs from me !

I've broken it down between one shots, chaptered fics, and series. I'll try to mention what the character focus is along with a brief summary and some personal thoughts. If you need more details I encourage you to check the fics summary and tags for yourself! I will only include an author's tumblr account if it's easy for me to find haha

One Shots

Mama's Boy - ashtreelane: Technically two chapters but it feels like a one shot. Casey Jr. angst, involving him finding out that maybe you can fix kraang infections and that he failed to save his mother. I love when people really pile the grief on Junior after all the fighting is over and the fic does it so well.

Forget-Me-Nots - GibbousLunation (AKA @klunkcat ): Hi, oh my god??? Leo and Mikey centric angst, in which saving Leo from the prison dimension has an insane ripple effect. Mikey dying? Nah he's going to start getting erased from every timeline and Leo slowly watches it happen (and refuses to do nothing about it). I utterly adore how this fic handles this concept. You see almost all of it from Leo's POV, noticing the little changes but writing them off as memory failures, because of how subtle some of it is.

Fight or Flight - pickledcarrotsandradish: Leo centric, post movie, Leo keeps waiting for his family to start lecturing him about all the dumb stuff he did during the invasion, and they aren't, so it's getting to him. A very neat narrative about how self loathing can warp our perception of how others see us. A++++

The Friend Zone Sounds Pretty Good, Actually - Cryptvokeeper: Eating this, eating this. You probably already know I love aroace Leo and this fic is an INCREDIBLE exploration of that. Even as just an ace person it hit SO many notes where I was just like "Oh god... I've been there buddy". And as a bonus the dynamic between Leo and Yuichi is v sweet. Love this a lot I've read it like five times.

Pink in The Night - unnamedmystery: Incredible April/Sunita fic. Like seriously this author wrote April's crush so well I think I was starting to fall in love with Sunita. Just incredibly cute all the way through, and great April writing, adore it.

《 until then, matriarch 》 - chiangyorange: HI OH MY GOD A nice chunky oneshot about Karai, about her being a leader, and it's phenomenal. It hits and hits and does not miss, really going in depth about her emotions involving her father turning into something wicked and having to destroy him, and how it ruins all of her good memories.

The Kindness of Collision - SpoonerizedSwiftness (AKA @splickedylit ): Hi I still remember the fic and the art suddenly showing up in the tag and then I was thinking about it for the next like five weeks aslkdjf A very interesting idea that when the turtles reach the age they were in the doomed timeline before things got reset, all the memories of their other life more or less hit them like a train. All of them have to comb through that information and it's a wonderful and emotional ride.

Chaptered Fics

Hamartia - Punable (in progress): Hi this is one of my all time favorite rise fics, mainly because in a way, it helped me come to terms with my chronic pain. It's Donnie centric and smack full of angst in all the best ways. Shorthand summary, an explosion in Donnie's lab almost takes him out (or kind of DOES take him out) and the recovery is not only long and agonizing, it may only go so far, and Donnie doesn't cope well with that.

Kick It Up a Notch - Brokenpitchpipe (completed): Hi this is my other all time fav rise fic. Donnie centric separated AU in which Donnie is raised by Draxum. My love for it stems a lot from the characterization of Donnie though, and even Draxum in this case. Not to mention that in a lot of cases it matches the vibes of the show. And in spite of all the humor, there's a few really gut wrenching moments. 10/10 will re-read.

Lightning in Our Fingertips Today - DaFlangsLairde (AKA @daflangstlairde-art) (completed): Leo and Donnie centric, mostly angst, with body swapping between the twins which results in Donnie finding out that Leo's ninpo hurts him. Love love love the character writing in this, and also how the swap is written.

Under Pressure - ParvumAutomaton (completed): Not sure this is a single character focused fic, but basically April goes cave diving and is out for a while, and the turtles get worried and go looking for her. This might be personal bias but as someone who gets really into caving stories, this fic hits the spot for so many reasons. A really great emotional ride, and if you wanna see April go through it then I super recommend it.

Nothing Haunts Us (like the things we don't say) - mad_and_thick_as_theives (completed): A lot of great fics by this author btw, but this one personally stood out to me. It starts of silly and light only to sweep in with the emotional weight. Turtles are all cursed with a truth spell, basically, but I think my favorite bit is who gets out of it first (and why). V sweet.

Creation of a Philospher's Stone - IgnisCanis (completed): Whoooo boy, if you want some Draxum centric character exploration this is a great one. It really fleshes him out as a morally grey character and also does a fantastic job at writing Mikey when he finds out.

The Ol Switcheroo - radishhqueen (AKA @radishhqueen) (completed): Haha not going to lie I have a few by this author (so I'll only tag them once) but MAN. Hands down my favorite take on future leo coming to the past, and maybe I'm biased because I like when those fics actually explore Junior's character in the process buuuuut I love it. Junior's already struggling to adapt himself to the present, and after getting caught up in a foot clan spell which summons his sensei to the present too it really doesn't get any easier.

Vigilantism for Fun and Profit - radishhqueen (completed): The Cassandra Jones fic ever. Zero contest. If you're uncertain about writing Cassandra because she had so little development in the show I encourage you to read this for inspiration (I know it inspired me a lot). It does such a great deep dive into her character post show and a bit of the movie too. Honestly anytime radishh has a Cassandra fic I am clicking.

Tried to Grow Up Good - Sroloc_Elbisivni (AKA @sroloc--elbisivni )(completed): The Casey Jr. fic ever. CRAZY in love with this post movie take on him. It's messy, it's fun, it's so so real and you get a good chunk of Casey Sr. in here too. Adore it.

Hold On (Or Three Times Donatello's Soft Shell Almost Killed Him, and One Time it Saved His Life) - dunk_on_em (AKA @spockazilla )(completed): If you ever want a bit of angst involving Donnie's shell this is my go to. Every chapter has an emotional swing, even the positive ones. And shows something most people might see as a disadvantage as a good thing, actually.

Atlas, My Brother - swampcryptid (AKA @the-name-is-rizzotherat)(in progress): Get your Raph angst, specifically involving him always shielding his siblings, this time via a curse. My guy is already going through it and I think it'll get worse if a solution isn't found.

I've Got You Under My Skin - Cass_Phoenix (in progress): More Raph angst, and some Donnie, a truly chilling exploration of the possible consequences to connecting with the kraang. This fic constantly has me on the edge of my seat, and constantly stressing for Raph.

What We Leave Behind (How We Start Anew) - iam57311 (AKA @iam-57311)(in progress): Any Baronjitsu fans here? An alternate take on canon in which Draxum and Splinter co-parent the kids since they're first born (made?) Hilariously while I love the Baronjitsu content in here, I think some of my favorite parts are actually with the sisters, Big Mama, and Draxum's sister who is so so cool I love her.

Proof of Redemption - iam57311 (complete): Another one of theirs! A short and sweet lil close to canon fic about Draxum steadily gaining the trust and affection of the Hamatos, with each chapter focused on a different character. I love how they're all paced out from each other, really hits how some are much slower than others to trust Draxum hehe.

No Crime* Only Brooches - OllieTheScribe (AKA @olliethescribe) (in progress): Well I have to get THE HypnoWarren fic in here. Such a fun take on these characters, I love love love the backstory they built up for Warren too, plus the dynamic between these two and the turtles after (eventually) become friends haha.

Minor Interference - bambiraptorx (AKA @bambiraptorx) (in progress): What can I say? This fic is delightful. Between the hilarity of the turtles going with Draxum just to mess with him, the lore additions for yokai and the Hidden City, HoH Donnie, and their slowly building dynamic, always eager for a new chapter with this one.

Series

A Butterfly with a Mechanical Wing - Amethyst_Goldenwind (AKA @amethystgoldenwind ): Donnie centric series about being a non-verbal autistic. I'm always fond of non-verbal/mute explorations of characters, and so far I really like how, because his family has grown up with it, all of it is very normal for them. The various forms of communication are delightful. Excited to see further entries.

Analogous Hues - alwerakoo (AKA @alwerakoo): It's a separated AU with similar titling themes as my own, needed to check it out. The titles are just about all they have in common though! This AU focuses a lot on the turtles (Raph and Leo with Splinter and Donnie and Mikey with Draxum). I love how this explores not only the dynamics of the two groups and how different they are, but also the dynamics between each of the siblings, also how some magic sibling connections can influence that. Not to mention the different home life in more ways than one. If you're into separated AUs that really dig into the turtles dynamics try this one out !

[leclerity]

would you be mine?

Charles Leclerc x Female PR Manager!Reader count: 1.6k words summary: You go to Charles's room to deal with post-race issues as his PR manager, only for him to distract you in... not very professional ways. a/n: 18+ as this is basically pure smut. (female receiving)

Yes, the race was an absolute disaster, the fault entirely Sauber’s for releasing Bottas into Charles, and it was expected that Charles would lose his shit but not in front of everyone.

Leaving you to deal with him and do damage control on what everyone’s already calling a PR nightmare. To top it all off, Charles has already gone to his hotel room, and is refusing to come out even for his PR manager.

So you go to him.

“You’re acting like an idiot,” you say as you walk into the room.

Charles steps to the side to let you in, then locks up behind you. “You’re supposed to be a professional.”

You scoff. “Right, Charles. You’re one to talk. After what you pulled today—”

“Am I not allowed to be dissatisfied? My race was ruined, Y/N. You can’t expect me to be okay with it.”

“Nobody is. I’m just asking you to word it differently, is all.”

“Well I was mad,” he says. “I wanted to let it out.”

There’s a pause and you wait—one long heartbeat—and then his hands are on your waist. “And you weren’t around.”

Your hands on his chest push him away. “We can’t—This is not the time—”

“It’s never the time,”  he says.

And when you finally look up, you see his pupils wide, fixed on your lips. Your heart stutters and you feel a shiver run down your spine, at the mere thought of—

“Charles,” you say. “I need five minutes.”

He looks at you expectantly, but you see the moment resignation washes over him. He sits on the couch and leans back, manspreading in a way that’s all too inviting. “What do you want me to do?”

You’ve got a list. You take your phone to pull it up and when you glance up, his face is so open and vulnerable and you see how much the race has hurt him, how much of this is just a front he’s putting on.

Fuck it.

The list can wait.

The couch is cold when you sit down, but his body warms you up as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to him.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I never even asked if you’re okay.”

He chuckles. “That wouldn’t be very professional of you.”

“We both know I’m not the best at being professional.”

Charles’s gaze drops to your lips again. “Yeah. We do.”

“You can talk to me. As a friend, not your PR manager.”

“A friend.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that what we are?”

One of his hands is on your thigh, moving up and down, reaching higher each time. The touch is electric, your skin responding to the impulses like charged. You’ve spent a good portion of your days trying not to think about it, and he’s been so, so—

So careless.

But he’s just as irresistible.

You lean in. “We can be whatever you want.”

His lips find yours and they’re soft, and gentle, and exploring, and you open your mouth and he slides in a tongue and you fall into the familiar pattern, an all-too-known sensation, with him leading. His hand reaches higher and higher until it’s cupping your ass, gripping it as his teeth graze at your bottom lip.

His kissing your neck, now, and you’re thinking about how fresh he smells, how he must’ve showered just before you came, and you’re thinking about him in the shower, the water gliding down his sculpted body, and you wish—

You push him away.

Charles is out of breath, frowning, his big eyes confused. “Did I do something?”

“We can’t—We need to stop.”

You’re breathless, too, and your heart is beating out of your chest, with heat pooling in your core, a familiar throbbing making itself known.

But you couldn’t.

“What do you mean?”

“I could lose my job,” you remind him. “I could lose everything I’ve worked for.”

“I could get you a job, if that happened.”

You scoff. “It’s not that simple.”

His hand is on your thigh again. “It could be.”

“This—this thing that we’re doing—We can’t.”

“Why?”

Your voice is starting to falter and your breath is quickening, and he’s noticing, because he’s coming closer, and your hands are on his chest but there’s no force, no real power to it. “Because—”

“Because you’re afraid of what could happen,” he whispers. His voice is honey next to your ears. “Because you’re afraid to give in.”

“Because you could break my heart.”

“The only thing I might break is your bed,” he says, then leaves a kiss behind your ear, trailing down your neck. “If I promise not to break your heart, would you be mine?”

I’m already yours, you think.

“Yes.”

Charles looks up at you. His eyes are dark, and you can tell he’s just as desperate as you are, but his smile is gentle. “Be mine, then.”

He kisses you.

Your hands are in his hair and he pushes you down the couch, his arms on either side of you. He’s kissing you and now one of his hands is trailing down, under your shirt, then up your stomach and now he’s pulling the shirt over, and all you can think about is just—

“Charles.”

He hums in the crevice between your breasts.

“It better be fucking worth my job.”

He looks up at you, grinning. “It will be.”

Your bra’s off next and he plays with your nipples, twirling his tongue around one and caressing the other with his hand, and you know you’re tugging way too much of his hair, and he’s sucking on your skin, biting, too, and your hand’s in your mouth to stop the other guests at the hotel from hearing you.

Charles rises to meet you, kissing you on the corner of the mouth. “Be a good girl for me,” he whispers, “and be quiet.”

You nod, shivering at the nickname.

Charles kisses you, fully, and his hands are working with the zipper on your pants, pulling them off with kisses filling the empty space. Once they’re off, he takes his own shirt off, and you reach out to touch his chest, his stomach, feeling the raw muscle under your fingers.

No matter how many times you’ve done this, seen him bare in front of you, it was never enough.

His hand travels up and down the inside of your thigh, edging closer, until his thumb brushes your underwear and you see him grin as he feels just how wet you already are.

You can’t help but moan.

“Come on,” he whispers, “didn’t you promise to be quiet for me?”

You nod.

“Do I need to make sure?”

You shake your head.

“I think I do.”

His hand is on your mouth and the other slips under your underwear, teasing you for a mere moment until his fingers are sinking in, gentle but thick, determined. He’s exploring you, like he always does, and this part always drives you crazy, and he knows it.

He knows it, because he leans over you, and he’s whispering sweet nothings as he pumps in and out, curling his fingers, slowing down then speeding up until you feel your core tighten and you’re biting into his hand, his body preventing you from pulling your knees together.

“You managed to stay quiet,” he says, then kisses you. “Good girl.”

“Charles—Please—”

“Relax,” he says. “Enjoy.”

You need him. You need him so bad that it hurts, and you just want—

His tongue is warm against your clit, cleaning you up, his moans of pleasure reverberating through your core. You latch onto his hair and push him down, deeper, and you grind against his face until you feel the pressure, his hands firm on your stomach, holding you down, and you squeeze his head as a shiver runs through your whole body.

Charles kisses your thighs.

“Please,” you say again.

“You going to beg for me?”

“Yes. Yes. Please.”

He unbuckles his belt. “What do you need?”

“You.”

“What?”

“You.”

“Use your words, baby.” He pulls his trousers down and you can see his erection through his boxers. “What do you need from me?”

“I need you to fuck me.”

“You need me to fuck you?”

“I need you to fuck me.”

“And fuck you, I will.” He pulls down his boxers and his dick springs up, all ready. “You still think we shouldn’t do this?”

You shake your head, propping your hips up. “Fuck that.”

Charles laughs and then he’s sinking into you, not letting you adjust as he fills you, in and out, over and over, gasping over you, kissing your neck and your breasts and choking you, and you feel like you’re in heaven as he hits the spot, over and over, and you gasp his name until he kisses you quiet, being rougher for it.

When he comes, he leaves a bite on your neck you know you will need to cover later, and he kisses you again, devouring you still.

He grabs tissues and cleans you up, then himself, and he takes you into a shower were you get to see the curves you were thinking about earlier, and he kisses you until your lips are swollen, again.

And when you’re done, he asks about the PR thing, and promises to do it only if you stay the night.

And maybe you don’t know what you are, and neither does he, but when you have sex again before going to sleep, and again the next morning, you realise that maybe it doesn’t matter.