#i want to be a fly on the wall for all of it

[hotchnersangel]

Hi Hi! So i saw few of your Aaron fics were based off of songs and Ive wanted an I can see you by taylor swift fic for him for so long.

Specifically the, “I can see you in your suit and your necktie, pass me a note, saying meet me tonight.”

ITS JUST SO HOTCH CODEDD

okayyy thanks queen😋

I CAN SEE YOU

Aaron Hotchner

A/n: omg this is my first request so im screaming and kicking my feet right now, i hope i do you justice my love!!!!!!!!! ps, I LOVE TAYLOR AND THIS WAS MY SURPRISE SONG!

cw: implications of sex, dadbod!hotch, pining, kinda objectifying hotch but goddamn hes so hot, bau!reader probably some more but i cant think xxx

Finding your person was never as easy as it came across, in fact, you had a chronic fear that maybe that day would never come. The overriding question of if someone would ever be able to see you so deeply, so intimately and trace your being so intricately with nothing but the kiss of their heart. That was until Aaron Hotchner stood under a strobe light and shon a lifeline when you were in complete darkness, consumed by the ache of your despair.

The relationship between the two of you was… well, flummox. Especially recently; Aaron had become more comfortable around you and it was visible to a watchful eye if you studied every intricacy and atom of his being, which you did. Though, he never let his poker face fall in-front of the rest of the BAU. He was incredibly skilled at the art of deception, which made his yearning of desire towards you that much easier to conceal.

The feeling of his shoulder brushing past yours in the hallway sends one thousand hot electric bolts through your body causing a full body reaction to his touch. Your cheeks mirror a gentle shade of rose as you duck your head down, suddenly finding appeal in the stone flooring. Despite what feel’s like your obvious flirting, Aaron isn’t sure if his feelings were reciprocated. There was certainly a tension between the two of you, but of what nature led you to disclose such information. Was it simply lust, was it… friendship? Was it loneliness? Or simply, was it love?

The feeling that you get when he is near you sends goosebumps down your spine. The way your smile brightens just wide enough for it to not hurt when you smile when he is near, or when he cracks a joke which was awfully rare nowadays, though when it happens you feel a warm and fuzzy sensation inside your belly. He makes you feel a sort of creeping sensation… like something is crawling across your chest, maybe a feeling of a fly or nat, but no- realisation kicks in and you are simply faced with the love-bug.

He similarly feels an alike reception of feelings towards you, though verbally he fears he cannot communicate them with you in fear of getting a reply. He tried for so long to deny his feelings, deny deny deny that you even existed in a romantic sense- but everything he ever did led back to you. No matter how many times he ‘picked up’ a girl in a bar, how many times he was goggled by women around him, no matter how many times he found different ways to infiltrate you out of his mind, it would always run back to you.

You are currently sat at your desk, gazing at Aaron Hotchner as he is sat on his desk, filling out paperwork. The way his eyes skim the page so tentatively makes you wonder what they would feel like when they landed on you for a long duration of time… maybe in a scenario where you were alone in the tension between you- with nothing left to yearn upon apart from the worshipping of one anothers bodies. What would he do, if you went to touch him now? God, it’s all you could think about. The feeling of running your hands across his broad chest and big big arms. Those huge, delicious arms.

You can imagine the way his hands could hold you trapped to the wall while his body boxes you in until you have no option but to submit to him. Your eyes catch his as his gaze wanders away from his case files and back onto you. The feeling of drunken giddy fills both of your stomachs as you narrow your eyes daringly at him, a small smirk lifting the left side of his face. His eyebrow perches upwards as he inspects you, like he was reading every invasive thought going through your head and in return… he retaliates with similar thoughts. The way he could caress your body and how the small gesture could make him want you even more, which he never deemed as possible.

He wished you knew how you made him feel, how your cheeks may flush a little more deeper at the confession that he could see you. Everything about you. The way you laugh, the way you smile, what each micro-expression of your face meant, what your movements implied about your mood, what you need in each and every moment. He saw everything. He saw you.

You see him walk out of his office, his very large and veiny hand holding a stack of files that would take you two to carry. He walks down each step like he was entitled to the world, like the sight of him in his suit and his necktie wasn’t driving you insane.

You couldn’t help but goggle at the sight of him. He always looked… beautiful but today, well today he looked scrumptious. Like he was sculpted by the greek gods and dressed in robes fit for roman emperors- with a little more coverage, unfortunately. The way his black suit hugged his bulky arms and larger waist made your mouth water. The quick glance over his neck tie was enough to send your mind spiralling into where else that could be used. Tying your hands together maybe? Please.

He walks up to your desk, stopping besides you, arguably closer than he should have. His knee was brushed against yours as you looked up at him through your lashes, your innocent eyes hiding the most hideously devilish thoughts of what you want to do to the man in-front of you.

“Your caseload.” He puts simply, placing the folder down in-front of you. Can he hear the way your heart is racing in your chest? Because you start to contemplate if you’re going through a severe heart condition like AF with this irregular pattern.

“Thanks.” You smile up at him, which he catches and nods in return.

“Oh,” he pauses as he turns to walk away, looking back in your direction and moving his hand on top of yours, the touch unraveling a relentless fire spreading wildly through your body- guiding your hand towards the file.

“Have a thorough read on page 3, there is some serious information.” He singles into you eyes, making the world around you spin. You nod, losing your words as you watch his lean figure clamber up the steps and return to his office.

You open the file, starting on page three- your eyes greeted by a small note written in his cursive hatching. ‘Meet me tonight.’

You stomach flips and suddenly, the rest of the day seems to fall into an extremely long and painful blur, over and over, constant reminders that you had to wait, had to restrain yourself to not climb onto hid body like a child in a wild play. Instead, you stayed composed for the rest of the day until the inevitable time occured and suddenly you wished it was a few hours ago, again.

You swallowed your nerves and followed him subtly out of the building, until he opened his car door allowing you to take a seat before heading to the drivers side. When he does, he looks over to you intently and smirks.

“You can follow my orders?” He speaks with a decided tone of smugness.

“When you have orders I agree with, yeah.” You shoot back, looking at him through your naturally glassy eyes. Your lips softly plumped with the lipstick combination defining them. Which, drove Aaron crazy. The urge to smother his body with your lipstick felt overwhelming but he simply just sat and stared.

“Fuck, I can’t do this any longer.” He sighs and looks at you intensely, his eyes singling onto you with intent.

“Do me instead.” You shrug casually and he lets out a strong sigh, moving forwards until his forehead rests against yours. A deep, breathy sigh escaping from his lips as his hand moves to cup your cheeks.

“Say the word and I will step back and let you out of the car.”

“You clearly aren’t very good at your job if you think that I don’t want this, Mr Unit Chief.” You tease him with a playful grin.

He tilts his head at you, hitting an angle that excites you deeply. The sight before you simply knocking you off your feet. Taking your breath away. All the clichè’s.

“I know you want this,” he repeats and finally attaches his lips to yours. Your body moving into a panicked state, flushed with excitement, nervousness, anticipation and lust. A soft shudder attacking your nervous system sending your body into overdrive, making you wonder if this is a dream or not. But, as you feel Aaron pull away, your lip between his teeth.

He looks at you and says, “I can see you, baby.”

And suddenly, the world around you stopped and the silence carried the passion between you and Aaron Hotchner.

[tulentiy]

Planing your pregnancy with Jiyong headcanon

Summery: you and Jiyong decided to start planning to get pregnant

Warnings: obvious talk of pregnancy

A/N: i'm just a girl, i couldn't stop thinking about that idea since i read a father!Jiyong headcanon so yeah, here's just a little something :3

Boyfriend!Jiyong who didn’t want to waste time on a relationship that won’t bring in his life exactly what he wanted - a family. 

When you just started dating, one of the very first questions he asked you was “What do you think about children?” You were having dinner in a fine restaurant, his fingers curled around the stem of the wine glass, circling it around its axis to gather his thoughts as he was trying to ask this question. Your answer would be crucial, he thought, he wasn’t sure he was ready to start a relationship that won’t lead to kids, he wanted it his whole life and being in his mid thirties now only made him more anxious about it. The way his features softened and the small smile stretched on his face upon your answer made your lips let out a soft giggle. Yes, you loved kids and you wanted to have them. Especially with Jiyong, after getting to know him. 

Husband!Jiyong who's making all the appointments with the best doctors in Korea to make sure you're both ready to conceive a healthy child

“Aegiya,” Jiyong lifted his gaze from his laptop to you, while you were cooking some food. You half turned to face him, a question on your face. “Do you have any plans for the next Sunday?”

You sighted, scratching your neck, gaze lost somewhere between Jiyong and the wall behind him. “I don't think so, no. Why?”

He closed the space between his torso and table, resting his head on his palms, his voice low and a little bit uncertain. “I thought, since we both agreed on trying to get pregnant, should we see doctors? I want to make some appointments for both of us.” 

Husband!Jiyong who randomly started making your house the most safe place on earth

One morning you woke up to find Jiyong collecting all the cleaning supplies, sprays, bath cosmetics in a box. You were staring at him going through all of his and yours perfumes, inspecting the labels on the boxes with the attentiveness of a scientist. 

“Yeobo, what are you doing?” Your voice were soft and deep from the sleep. You saw Jiyong shiver and put yet another perfume bottle in the different, smaller box. 

“We need to get rid of everything with strong chemicals and I've also read that strong perfume can affect male reproductive system…” he whispered the last words a bit sheepishly, turning to face you with a lopsided smile and furrowed brows.

You trotted to him, instinctively sliding your hands down his body and wrapping them around his waist, as you peeked into the box over his shoulder, a soft sign flying off your lips. “You're gonna throw it all away?”

Jiyong hummed, placing a kiss on your cheek. “Maybe only the cleaning supplies, I'll get new organic ones, we can keep the perfumes, just don't use these.”

Husband!Jiyong who has quit drinking and smoking cause it's better for your kid 

Jiyong never understood why people only talk about the pre conception health for a future mom: don't drink, don't smoke, don't be stupid and everything the society tell women not to do. He threw all of his cigarettes away and all the alcohol he had he gave to his friends. “Men should stop doing it too, if you want to have a healthy child. You know, the kid gets both father's and mother's genes, right? We both should be healthy.” That what he said when instead of some nice beverage he ordered a fresh juice, when he met up with his friends after an event they all attended. 

Husband!Jiyong who memoriezed your cycle almost better than you 

He knows exactly when your phases change, he has it all in his calendar. It's silly and in the beginning you thought Jiyong was being too extra, but it kept melting you down every time Ji would ask you if you took the specific pills that were only prescribed to take during a specific phase of your cycle. Later, when you were already trying to concieve he'd plan his working scheduel around your ovulation, making sure he'd be with you 24/7, making that beautiful child

Husband!Jiyong who takes his doctor’s advise of having more fresh air too literally 

“Aein, I have a surprise for you!” Jiyong sang as he entered the bedroom, finding you still laying comfortably in the soft sheets. “Get up, get up, get up." You felt his fingers wrapping around your ankle, tugging you lightly to the edge of the bed. "Please, I need to show you something, you'll like it, I swear!"

A few mugs of coffee and a two hours car ride after, you were standing infront of a cottage, huge territory around it with lots of trees and a small pond.

Your puzzled eyes stayed fixated on Jiyong, as he was staring at you with a huge shining smile, eyes darting between you and the house. “Do you like it?”

“Yeobo, what's that?” Your eyes couldn't lie, you liked the view, perhaps too much, and Jiyong didn't fail to notice the glinting. 

He extended his arm to you with his fingers curled into a fist, and opened it slowly, revealing the keys. “It's ours.”

“It's what, it's… Jiyong!?” Living with Kwon Jiyong, you wasn't easily swayed by the presents and surprises, the amount of incredibly beautiful and rudely expensive presents you've received from him was uncountable, the branded clothes, the cars, the custom made watches and rings that would cost someone their whole life savings, but this, this was too much even from him. “What do you mean this is ours?”

Jiyong scratched his neck, his smile starting to twitch just a little. “The doctor said the fresh air is important for your health, and…” he got quiet for a couple of seconds, his gaze getting softer and foggy, almost dreamy, as he looked you over, lingering on your belly. “and when we finally have a kid, wouldn't it be amazing to live here?’ he grabbed you by the waist and pulled closer gently.

"That... That would be amazing, Ji." Words slipped your lips, as you pressed your cheek to Jiyong's chest.

So, that's it for now, thank you for reading and I hope you liked the little hc 💖

[thatwishfulthinking]

in the name of it

hi so i am posting this and then absconding back to my arsenal of viktor x reader pieces that i can’t seem to stop writing

art: gea-rth on pinterest

wc: 4.0k

summary: viktor tries to play IN YOUR FACE until you set him straight. kind of. literally just smut with the feisty reader trope (sorry), simpy viktor, fluff, and some banter. f!reader

warnings: smut, choking, warfare (?)

^ not sure what else to put but eager to learn so let me know if I should include anything else!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“No, no, no, no no no..” you plunder frantically, releasing his tie and grabbing his wrists to stop him from unbuttoning his vest. “Not that. Too slow,” you groan.

Your hands fly to his belt in tragic desperation, yanking hard as the buckle doesn’t unclasp. You’ve lost all understanding of the most trivial, age-old technology, unable to get the small metal bar to unhook as you fumble with it hopelessly. Viktor’s hips buck with every pull and he lets out a sharp gasp, staring down at you, you, a neurotic and hysterical mess, you, biting at the inside of your lip and looking like you could almost cry, you, an insect that he had just trapped under a glass, panicked, fluttering wings sending you ricocheting off the rounded edges as you tried to reach the world outside of it; too worked up to recognize your incompetence, that there was a translucent barrier between you and what you wanted. Desperately trying, over and over, to no avail.

Oh this wasn’t you, though you were never all that poised, and often hasty, but this, this, was far beyond what he had ever seen from you. But god, was it nourishing to his ego, and nearly fascinating to observe. He watches you with a sympathetic expression on his face, bringing his hand to your neck and pinning you, harder than he intended, to the mattress under you.

You let your hands fall, the impact surprising you, surrendering to his touch. You lay limp and helpless, staring up at him. His gaze is so intense, so entertained, his eyes sparkling, gold muddled with sick amusement.

“Help” you squeak, writhing out of his touch and rotating your body to the side, pulling yourself into a fetal position and burying your face into the pillow, yelping as your neck strained unexpectedly at the rapid shift in positioning.

“Mmm,” he’s studying you now, all contorted and pitiful like this. ��Come back here, my love.”

You try to roll over further, so you could lay face down on the bed and just die, but he grabs your thigh and holds it in place. Once you still, he gingerly rubs your hip, after a moment letting his hand round down and under your ass, toying his finger at your slit, compressed between your legs, through your pants.

“Don’t poke at me, Viktor,” you snap, pulling your face out of the cotton sheets and resting your temple against it, staring, antagonized, at the wall. “I’m a girl, not a sea creature in a touch tank.”

Oh, it’s too easy. “What’s this then? Why are you wet?”

You jerk and strain and turn yourself again under him, letting your arms fall straight out to the sides. A modern case of crucifixion, right here, in Viktor’s bedroom.

“Why are you wet?” He repeats, his accent feigning innocence this time.

“What do you want me to do?” You stare up at the ceiling in defeat, past his unkempt locks, stray hairs shooting off in every direction as electrical currents do. “What do I have to do?”

To no response, you grab the pillow from behind you and push it into your face, protruding feathers poking unpleasantly at your nostrils. “I’m ordering an air strike to this apartment” you mumble into the cushioning.

“Who knew such fervent arousal could turn sadistic so quickly,” his voice mused from the other side.

You pull the pillow away from your face, and in one swift movement, send it swinging right into his. “I don’t know the first thing about sadism. But since you’ve appointed yourself to give me a lesson, I seem to be catching on very quick.”

He chuckles gently, the intensity in his eyes draining. “Okay, love,” he murmurs, taking the pillow and gingerly holding the bottom of your skull, cradling your occipital upwards so that he can place it back under your head.

You give his cheek a patronizing pat, two short motions. You would like to swing your arm back further, and… “Thank you. Now leave.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Out.”

“Of my own residence?”

“I quite like it here, actually,” you hiss. “Just be sure to let me know where you go so I can provide missile coordinates.”

He shakes his head, what the hell, and won’t stop shaking his head, the smile tugging at his lips is enraging, but he looks so sweet, a rouge growing under his cheeks. He finally lowers himself to you, the pressure of his weight on top of you so tantalizingly familiar. Your muscles relinquish any tension, and suddenly the exhaustion of your desires’s antics against your own body are dragging you down so low that you could nearly sleep right there.

“Just, take a second to breathe, please.” He murmurs, nose nuzzling your cheekbone, coaching you through the matter of your torment, that, you’re not sure who, between the two of you, is more responsible for.

You let your eyes dart to the peripheral, watching the mole above his lip move as he speaks. Your wildness, finally tranquilized. You imagine a prehistoric Viktor, ragged facial hair, in an animal pelt getup, chasing you with a spear. You stare at the wall again, glum and dead and unamused in the pupils.

Viktor nearly seems a bit concerned. “Are you alright?” And he’s propping himself up again, his face hovering centimeters over yours, his breath, hot tendrils fresh off of charred coals, undulating up the bridge of your nose. He looks almost guilty. No, Viktor wasn’t one to be this cruel, and maybe he had taken it a bit too far.

“Fine.” You say shortly, still not meeting his eyes.

He plants a firm kiss between your brows. “I— Did I ruin it, love?”

He did not. You wanted him so badly nestled tightly in the ditch right under your jaw, moans and whimpers and grunts and gasps working their way easily up to your ear, positioned perfectly for your listening pleasure. The sounds of sex, specifically, the sounds of sex with Viktor, were just as important to you as the involvement of body parts and sensation. You drank them in and wished you could etch them into your skin, commemorating each place they occurred, here against your temple where he whined, there into your collarbone where he huffed.

You grab him, kissing him softer than you want to. You tell yourself that you’ll keep it that way, refusing to let yourself get back to a place where he can exert this newfound audacity again.

“I’m sorry,” he offers into your mouth, the words slick with syrupy sincerity, wedging between your teeth and forming immediate cavities.

His hands are at your waistband, pulling your pants down gracefully, shuffling his body down as to give you your apology. And, as if no time had passed, no plans of homicide yet uttered, you grab desperately for his shoulders, whining in dismay.

His neck tilts slowly up at you, like an owl. His eyes are so warm and beautiful that you’ve sworn more than once you were able to see them glowing through the night.

But the look on his face is abysmal. You were never one to refuse tastebuds against your clit, which worked out quite nicely, because it was Viktor’s idea of a pleasant afternoon to sample you, particularly needy and devoted, when it came to chasing your orgasm, for however many hours you liked.

“Oh, my girl,” he exhales, his face flickering in shock to your uncharacteristic ambitiousness skip what you enjoyed so much and just get started. To be plainly, brazenly, fucked. He grabs your hand, pinning it into the bed to the right of your head, fixing to murmur sweet nothings into your ears.

“I don’t want romance.” You say seedily, it coming out fast and sharp and dripping with unfortunate distress, still irritated, your other fingers twisting in the sheets.

He pulls away, his eyebrows lowering and tangling together in a calm and intense reverence. “You don’t have a choice. You’re getting romance.”

You don’t protest, rather, just press your lips into a thin line. Shut up. Shut up.

“Let me romance you,” he murmurs, biting at your earlobe softly. “I’ll fuck you right, my love, hard, but not in the absence of romance. In the name of it.”

You respond by dragging nails down the side of his arm, not aggressively, but enough to leave five little red lines, snapping your head and meeting his lips, kissing hard, desperately seeking everything you could possibly get. His moan into your mouth has you absolutely back up to 10, god. You didn’t appreciate the typical conventions, being the only one expected to be vocal. You liked hearing what it all did to him, a detailed song, as making love was, a duet, after all.

This kiss is becoming more frantic, on your end, but he’s breaking now too, serving it right back. You’re pathetically grateful that the frenetic, longing energy has finally became contagious. You whine and groan and try for his belt again, and he grabs your wrists, to your protest, too hasty and caught up in need that you can’t wait a moment to figure out that he’s helping you out, taking it off himself. But when it does click for you, or unclick, you yank his pants down, just below the butt, because you’re feeling lazy. No. Because you’re feeling productive.

He lets out a short, low gasp and the lust gets caught in his throat, you can see it knotted up in the dip of where his neck met his collar, which you slide your tongue along, letting him know that you knew that it was exactly there. His tip brushes between the frame of your folds and you can’t help but yelp and flinch and clench your legs together to prevent an exorbitant amount of lubrication from spilling out. But as he pushes himself inside of you, slow and lingering to start, a gentleman like always, it all comes crashing, causing you both to moan and grasp for each other.

The heartbeat of his dick is quite easily the most tantalizing thing you’ve ever felt. He straightens his face in concentration, starting to buck into you, nails resisting not to puncture the skin on your hips, the flesh of your ass, not forgetting to take a moment to grind against you at the the height of every thrust while buried inside. You take his thumb in your mouth, sucking for good measure, content with the rumbling noise he elicits. It’s not enough, none of it’s enough, the sharp digging feeling of nails in your skin makes you nearly vomit as if it is injecting more unfulfilled hunger into your body.

“I need to ride you,” you pant, pushing him over.

You’re moving, coming down on him as hard as you can, your eyes squeezed shut and making uncontrollable noises, mounted at the altar of your desire. You have to fall forward and stabilize yourself over him, until you realize he’s giving you that intense, slightly amused gaze, and you yelp and push yourself upwards again. Nothing you can do is nearly enough to satisfy yourself.

The look on his face is quite pleasantly dirty, his eyes following you as you bounce up and down, inhaling sharply, mouth ajar. He’s so in awe of you, to the point that one may consider his expression amateur, if there wasn’t the overt presence of the look of a wonderful man deeply in love right along with it.

“Romance,” He says.

He brings himself up into a sitting position, because he loves to hold you and stare up at you while you work, nipples, though clothed this time, to his face. His eyes get all big with wonder as he watches you, switching to grinding now, and yet they’re dark and shadowed. “I love you. I love watching you use me to make yourself feel good. You’re extraordinary. I love you.”

‘Use me’ is the most arousing and filthy thing he could have ever said. No matter how commanding Viktor could hope to make himself seem, he simply saw you as something of another world, ‘divine power,’ if he was being sentimental, and your stimulation would forever be his muse.

You extort his promise from before. “What do you love about me?”

“Your hugs,” he teases, so you fuck him harder, reaching behind and under your ass and gently fondling his balls.

He groans and his thumb burrows into the seal created between your stomachs to rub your clit, causing you to whine happily. “Can’t you say something nice back?” He frowns and chides at the same instant.

“That wasn’t— fine. I love that you’d let me keep this apartment after you bewilderingly get struck by a rogue missile.” But you can’t even keep the act up, laughing softly, pausing and kissing him tenderly, running your fingertips up and down his spine.

“You are so undeniably mine,” he grins, but his eyes are genuine.

“I am so helplessly yours. Poor, unfortunate soul.” You tut, smiling.

“Unfortunate?” He’s teasing you with a suggestive undertone, but kissing you so caringly, slender fingers leaving your core to trace down your jaw. “Need I remind you just how fortunate you are?”

“Hmm?” You push, curious.

It’s almost like he’s pleading retroactively, lamenting the loss of time spent fruitfully, face between your legs. “This is what happens when you don’t let me lick you… You forget. C’mere.” He coaxes you off of him, sliding to the edge of the bed, propping pillows up against the headboard and leaning against them.

You can’t help but glance at the state of his dick, and it’s bashfully adorned with you. It makes you shiver gently. He looks so pretty there, so dashing, his arms stretched out for you, his expression tender. He takes off his shirt, for good measure. “Please?”

You crawl over, and his fingers rotates your hips, turning you around and pulling your back to his chest, in between his bent legs. You instinctively grab a spare pillow and slip it in between the knee-armpit of his bad leg for support.

“Thank you,” he hums warmly, meltingly appreciative of your attention to make sure he’s comfortable amidst such… demanding activities. He lifts your hips on top of him, sliding down against the headboard ever so slightly more, adjusting himself.

He wraps his arms around your waist, fingers splaying flat on your stomach, prepared, like a small militia standing at the head of a clearing, ready to thunder towards opposing forces. He nuzzles behind your ear, humming and moaning softly as he kisses down the tendon in your neck. “I adore you, you know. Help me out and put it in for me, love?”

You inhale sharply at the words, the simultaneous honeyed and dirtiness of the request, shaken out of basking in his affection. So you do, and it pops in, and you both sigh and settle against one another. He rocks his hips upwards slowly, and you reach over your shoulder and caress his cheek, hearing little flighty breaths of concentration, as you watch him sliding in and out, transfixed. You turn his chin towards you, leaning back, kissing and moaning in rhythm with his thrusts, growing increasingly aware of his fingers moving, beginning their pursuit of victory down your skin, and it’s nearly monumentous. He runs a fingertip over your clit in little circles, the other hand moving to caress one of your breasts under your shirt.

You whine, and he shoots you a knowing smile. You stare at him, letting him see you, see all of you, eyes locked on his as he looks down your body and then back at you. He gives your lips little kisses, ever the caretaker, ever the reassurer when you needed it, when you weren’t foraging for war.

“I’m very lucky,” and you don’t say it like you’re conceding or letting him win, you’re unabashedly surrendering. “I love you more than anything.” You’re cut off by your own sharp gasp and moan as his fingers find the perfect pace between your legs. “And I think I’m going to finish soon,” you add.

His hand leaves your breast, pinching the hem of your shirt folding it upon itself, back towards your face. You bite onto it, holding it in your mouth, exposing your breasts and abdomen, groaning through fabric and gritted teeth.

“How are you real,” he deliberates earnestly, breathlessly, his hand returning to your breast, unable to stifle his own groans and whimpers as he begins to fuck you with more rigor.

You protestingly move his hand from your nipple to your trachea, giving him something else to squeeze. You feel him staring down at what the two of your bodies are doing together, and you follow suit, moans and the smell of sex filling the air. The heat is rushing to your face, and now you’re completely held in place, as if natural disaster was on the horizon and you were rendered completely motionless to watch it all.

“Come for me, my love. Do it, if you’re going to, let me feel it.”

Those words are so atrociously sexy wearing his accent. You knot your eyebrows together, your nose involuntarily wrinkling, as your head falls back, trying to keep your eyes open, figuring he wants to look into them— You like looking into his when he comes for you. And it seems like it’ll be a full sweep of success for the two of you, because his “feel it” came out much more strained than the rest.

It’s too intense: the contact, the position, his hands, the one on your neck which has now returned to your stomach, adding slight pressure there, as his other fingers— and dick, works you feverishly a mere few inches south.

He pressed his forehead to yours, face scrunching, suddenly frantic and needy for your orgasm, as he always becomes. His breathes are hitching and his noises are becoming higher and more erratic as he nears his own edge, and that’s enough to send you tumbling off of your own.

“Viktor,” you despair, your lips inches away from his, to which he responds with a desperate whimper of your name, nodding his head rapidly against yours.

“I know, love. Just.. use me, please,” he repeats, nearly anguished, and you’ve finally broken his proud act for good, regressing back to the devotedly impoverished man that he always becomes when you undress for him.

The moment it happens, your eyes shoot open, drowning in the amber in front of you, you yelp and verbally tremble, your body suddenly straining away, but he holds you in place. The resistance of his dick, blocking the full range of motion of your pulsations, makes you gasp louder, and it takes approximately two pumps of him feeling this to go spiraling as well, gasping and groaning while your bodies exchanging kisses from the inside, so profound that it is devout.

Your fingertips rest against his neck, feeling his slowing pulse as you stare past your stilling thighs to the edge of the bed, completely dumbfounded and strewn out.

After a moment of regaining breaths, he wraps his arms around you with a loving tenderness, nuzzling your cheek. Your hand treks upwards, past the backside of his ear to offer his scalp reassuring scratches while pulling him closer, until you tilt your face and give him a million little pecks where ever you could reach, finally settling against his mouth, salty with sweat. He licks the beads of liquid settling in your cupid’s bow playfully, before leaving a trail of kisses down your nose.

“My world,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek.

“I’m yours, eternally,” you whisper back.

The redness of your little faces is adorable, and you’re just appreciating how it compliments his pale cheekbones as he lets out a wry chuckle.

“‘Natural disaster?’”

“What?” You’re wrenched out of the your flagrant daze of adoration.

“Your words, not mine. A bit of a peculiar selection, but I appreciate the broadcast warning,” he teases, and you grow increasingly aware of two things: Viktor has achieved the ability to fuck the balance of your internal and external dialogue into a permeable mess, and the mattress below the two of you is, well, soaked.

You writhe under his touch and spin around, facing him, as he falls out of you with a little satisfied gasp. He’s all splayed out before you, flushed and worn out and so beautiful that you wonder if he’s merely something your mind had just thought up. You, on the other hand, currently look like a disheveled feline, about to hiss and claw.

“It’s funny,” he coos with distinct entertainment.

You grow sheepish, wrestling with your overt defensiveness. “That was an inside thought. Or— it was supposed to be.”

He shakes his head, blinking slowly, all of the adoration swelling in his eyes. “You’re quite cute. And odd.”

You sigh, giving in, letting him pull you against him once more, kissing his neck loyally. Slender fingers rub your back, a sharp chin resting on the crown of your head, interrupted periodically to leave a kiss in your matted hair, and you feel yourself melt further into his chest, fingertips softly counting the little constellations of moles on his skin.

“We can’t sleep on this,” you say after awhile, referencing the incriminatingly expansive wet spot.

He grumbles in protest. “I’m wrecked, my love. I can’t be bothered to deal with wrestling a fitted sheet right now.”

No, he was absolutely correct, the task of a new fitted sheet was unimaginable in your current state.

You crane your neck up at him. “Couch?” You offer weakly.

“Couch.”

He reaches for his cane and swings himself off the bed, one limb at a time. You grab a lone towel draped over the back of an armchair, happy to be put to use after its abandonment as lovingly wipe down any perspiration off of him, and then yourself. It’s a sad, unbecoming attempt to clean yourselves up, but the exhaustion tugging at your eyelids seems to justify it. You scrub at his hair playfully, until his hands bat yours away with a chuckle, the terry cloth withdrawing and exposing a freshly perplexed mess of chocolate brown chaos.

You hold him close for a second, flush against his skin, staring up at him. He returns your gaze, intoxicatingly enamored with one another. The moment is objective perfection, other than—

“We’re gross right now,” you observe.

He twists his face. “You couldn’t ever dream to be gross.”

As he trudges out of the bedroom, supported by his cane, you stifle a empathetic giggle, swearing that his limp was slightly worse in the aftermath. You, yourself, were definitely walking wonky. You grab some pillows from the bed and find him in front of the green couch, unfolding a blanket for you, his movements drunkenly slow in the moonlight. You lean past him and prop the pillows up for optimal comfort. You stand side by side and admire your makeshift sleeping arrangement.

“Who’s taking the bottom?” He asks, looking enticed by the comfy set up.

“You can,” you smile softly.

So he lays down before you, handing you his cane to place on the coffee table for easy access. He half pretends to pull the blanket over him and seal himself away from you mockingly, greedily settling into the couch for himself, but is too weary to truly commit to the joke, abandoning it quickly, easily defeated by the energy it took to maintain such humor. He reaches out an arm for you, amber eyes entrancingly inviting, fingers wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer.

“Ridiculous,” you muse, lowering yourself onto his chest again, his arms pulling you tight against his skin once more, legs tangling together and feet caressing one another leisurely.

He ‘hmmphs’ contentedly in response.

“‘Natural disaster’ was precisely correct, you know,” you mumble pointedly through the pull of looming unconsciousness. “And by definition, we’ve been displaced.”

He pulls you closer, caressing careful, tentative fingers around the tangles in your hair. You can hear the surrendering smile in his voice, lilting drowsily through the dark.

“Better a flood than a projectile.”

[veryace-ficrecs]

Momokarun Fic Recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

My Inner Demon (really wants me to kiss you) by chaotic_quibit - Rated T

Ken knew there would be some side effects from using Turbo Granny's power to fight yokai and aliens alike. Being a bit more nocturnal, quicker to anger, his eyes reflecting red in photographs. Those were all fine. Nobody said anything about the voice of his yokai form sitting in the back of his head, constantly urging him to 'kiss Momo-chan' though.

An Education in Daemons by patster223 - Rated T

As a little kid, Ken has always wished that his daemon could change into a cryptid. His Dark Materials AU.

racing sunrise by Anonymous - Rated T

So. She was maybe possibly a teeny tiny bit obsessed with Okarun’s wings. She couldn’t help it. She liked Okarun and she liked his wings, and she really wanted to see them stretched out, except Okarun always kept them folded away as some sort of psychological tease for her specifically.

Momo wants nothing more than to fly with her crush. Unfortunately, Okarun doesn't fly. Ever. Momo is determined to get to the bottom of this.

I Only Have Eyes For You by johnsoupe - Rated G

Taking a peek, he notices that Momo and Jiji are nowhere to be seen, his water bottle left all alone. With a sigh of relief, he turns back around, standing up to head over there before being slammed against the wall. With a yelp, Okarun winces, cracking one eye open to see... Momo. Momo. Who just slammed him against the wall. 

her smile by zileywrites - Not Rated

And even though he didn’t fully understand what he was feeling, one thing was certain: her smile had changed something inside him. momokarun first-time experiences: the first time someone’s smile made his heart skip a beat.

Woes of the Cuddler by imthepunchlord - Rated G

There's a real challenge in trying to cuddle a restless sleeper.

Sand and the Hourglass by ichoryte - Rated G

A quiet yearning the night before, and a longing heart the day after.

Carry Me Back? (Always) by foxxlightz - Not Rated

His head tilted, frost-white hair curling around his ears. A far off part of her wondered what it would feel like to comb her hands through it. The red of Okarun’s eyes burned hot as they traced her face, canines slipping out from behind his lips. He hummed in response, eyes flickering to the side. And oh.

It was easy to forget, looking at him like this, but this Okarun was still her Okarun. With his big round glasses that blew up his eyes like a bug, and his curly hair that was getting longer by the day. His nervous fingers tapping lightly on her side, corners of his lips curving up in sheepishness.

some kind of magic by teacosy - Rated G

Momo speaks then, her warm voice grounding him to reality. “Okarun, where does it hurt?” Okarun says it without thinking. “Right here,” he clutches his shirt, his fist above where his heart is. Momo leans down, her hand coming to rest on his own, still balled up tightly into his chest. Okarun looks at her, startled by the proximity. “Miss Ayase?” She shuts her eyes, sending her invisible hands to wrap around him. They were oddly warm, emitting some kind of soothing effect; like a balm to his anxiety. “I’m trying to send you good thoughts,” she looks up at him, her face too close.

— Momo & Okarun; on wounds, old and new, and the hands that tend to them.

An Empty Doorway by CatFiends - Rated T

“You don't have to go back home if you don't want to.” In between homework, murderous cryptids, and way too many goons after missing unmentionables, Ayase Momo tries to heal a heart.

comfort in weakness by zileywrites - Rated G

Ayase-san…” he whispered after a long pause. “Are you… okay?” Her arms tightened briefly in response, and she nodded against him. His cheeks burned; she could tell even without looking at him. His breathing hitched slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his grip on her grew just a little firmer, his hands pressing lightly against her back in an unspoken gesture of reassurance.

The Art of Apologies by animevoid (voidbirb) - Rated G

Set directly after episode 9, Okarun makes every attempt to apologize and explain to Momo and Momo makes every attempt to absolutely avoid letting him do such a thing

[bradleysass]

Fray - @black-brothers-microfic - wc: 686 - Brothers + background jegulus

Regulus wasn’t sure how he got here, sitting stiffly on James Potter’s couch with his hands gripping his knees like they were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His skin burned, not with fever, but with the kind of heat that came from being trapped too long in his own head, suffocated by the endless cycle of thought and worry and noise.

He’d reached out to James because, for whatever reason, James made things feel a little lighter. James didn’t expect things from him—not the way his family had, not the way Sirius had before they'd torn apart at the seams. James was uncomplicated in his affection, steady in a way Regulus wasn’t. But James wasn’t equipped for this.

“Uh—should I make tea? I can make tea. Or, like, do you wanna fly? Flying helps me when my brain’s being stupid,” James said, hovering uselessly by the arm of the couch, shifting his weight like he might sprint out of the room at any second. “Or we could—uh—I don’t know, mate, what do you need?”

Regulus shook his head sharply, fingers tightening against the fabric of his trousers. His breathing was uneven, and he felt like his body was fraying at the edges, like he’d come undone and spill out into the world in a way he couldn’t fix.

James took a step back, and then, as if struck by an idea, he turned towards the door. “Sirius!” he bellowed.

Regulus flinched.

James winced. “Sorry. But, uh, Sirius is a lot better at this emotional stuff than me. Hang on.”

Before Regulus could protest—though he wasn’t sure he had the energy to anyway—Sirius was there, looking at him with a gaze that was far too knowing. Sirius had always been better at reading him than anyone else. Even after years of distance, of silence, Sirius still saw him.

James lingered in the doorway for a moment before deciding he was out of his depth and slipping away.

Sirius sat down next to him, not too close, but close enough that Regulus could feel his presence, grounding in a way that James’ frantic energy wasn’t.

“You’re spiraling,” Sirius said softly. “I used to get like that, too. Still do, sometimes.”

Regulus clenched his jaw. “I don’t—”

“Don’t tell me you’re fine, Reggie.” Sirius’ voice was gentle, not demanding. “You look like you want to crawl out of your own skin.”

Regulus let out a shaky breath, pressing his palms together. “I don’t know how to stop it.”

“I know,” Sirius said. “I used to get like this all the time when I first left home. My hands would shake so bad I couldn’t hold my wand properly. I felt like everything was pressing in on me, like I was waiting for something terrible to happen even when things were fine.”

Regulus turned his head slightly, looking at Sirius. “What did you do?”

Sirius hummed, as if considering. “Sometimes I ran until I couldn’t feel it anymore. Sometimes I drank, which was… less helpful. Mostly, I learned that I needed to get out of my head before it ate me alive. Talking helped. So did music. You remember how I used to play in the middle of the night?”

Regulus did. He remembered Sirius’ music carrying through the walls when they were younger, half lullaby, half rebellion.

Sirius shifted, nudging Regulus lightly. “Do you want me to talk? Just about anything? Or do you want to sit in silence?”

Regulus swallowed. “Talk.”

Sirius nodded like that was the easiest request in the world. “Alright. I’ll tell you about the time James and I tried to sneak into McGonagall’s office and nearly got eaten by a suit of armor.”

And so Sirius talked. He talked about ridiculous pranks, about stolen broomsticks, about Remus rolling his eyes so hard it was a miracle he hadn’t sprained something. He kept talking, and slowly, Regulus’ breathing evened out, his hands stopped shaking, and the fire under his skin cooled.

He wasn’t fine. But he wasn’t falling apart either.

And for now, that was enough.

[stnkiconverse]

you're going to do it, and you're getting away with it. you know that.

Ch.13 - The day before your life officially ends.

⇠ Previous

Next ⇢

genre: psychological horror (in a way), creepypasta, supernatural thriller (in a way)

pairing: Jeff the Killer x Reader

WC: 1.1k

content warnings: echoes in the static contains scenes and themes that may be disturbing or triggering to some readers, including: graphic violence and murder, mental illness and psychological distress, suicide and self-harm, domestic abuse, cannibalism and strong language.

Reader discretion is advised.

Yes this has to do with Creepypastas. Yes, Creepypastas will pop up and make appearances, it's basically a reader insert into the Creepypasta world.

do not repost my work anywhere, I only post in Tumblr.

The next morning, the manor seems to close in a little tighter than it should.

The walls are closer than they should be; the shadows farther-reaching, silently watching in a silence that feels so much heavier.

You can still feel the thump of the brand against the flesh of your wrist— a reminder that you're bound here, to him, to The Operator.

But still, there is something within you that fights on, a desire to escape gnawing up from the depths until it's all you want to do.

And so, when the darkness is wrapped around the manor, the corridors are quiet, you slip past the heavy door and out into the woods, darting a last glance over your shoulder as you disappear into the trees.

———

In your apartment, familiarity offers a tentative and temporary peace.

You strip the grime of the manor in a long, hot shower; the steam hangs in the air, washing the dirt away but not the memories.

You changed into fresh clothes, hurriedly prepared something to eat, and savored the peace of it while leaning against the counter, the warmth of the food grounding you.

But soon, the static comes in— a rumble, a swarm of bees in the distance.

You try to ignore it, sitting on the floor and leaning against the kitchen cabinets, hoping it would fade.

But the sound is getting closer, too close.

The buzz grows loud, settling into your skull until it’s a white-hot roar.

Your hands fly to your ears, as if you could push the noise out physically, but it’s relentless, like needles burying themselves into every crevice of your brain.

It‘s unbearable: the press of static, the oppressive hush of the apartment. The walls seem to crowd in, your clothes sticking uncomfortably against your skin, and then, just as you were about to lose yourself completely, there's a loud bang on the door.

You hardly notice, clutching at your head as the static grows into a deafening tone that drowns everything else out.

Your body sags, knees digging roughly into the floor. Another knock— terrifyingly loud, relentlessly insistent.

But your vision blurs, and before you can react to it, the static crashes over you like a wave, and everything goes black.

You wake up once more, to the same walls of the manor.

Your exhausted body rests against the cold floor as your eyes haze open to find two figures looming over you.

Hoodie, and Masky.

You're in the manor once more. How? How were you in the manor if you'd just been at your apartment?

“About time," Masky says, expression unreadable as he crosses his arms across his chest. Hoodie remains silent, eyes sharp and calculating from within the shadows of his hood.

"What were you thinking?" Masky snaps, voice low but laced with an unmistakable edge. "Running off like that?"

You sit up slowly, head still throbbing as you press a hand to your temple, deciding to leave the mystery of how you practically got teleported back into the manor for later.

"I needed to get away," you mumble, glancing between them. "Just…needed some air."

Hoodie snorts, crossing his arms. "Air?" He shakes his head.

"You're bound here, whether you like it or not. There are consequences for-"

"Alright, enough," a familiar voice cuts in from behind them.

Jeff bursts in, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. He glances coldly at Hoodie and Masky, sending them a look. "Not too much on her," he says firmly.

They glance at Jeff for a moment and then look back at one another, Masky sighs and they both retreat to stand by the door. Jeff waits for them to be out of earshot before turning back to you, the tension in his face relaxing instantly.

He exhales with a loud sigh and pinches his nose bridge before he meets your gaze, concern dancing behind his smirk.

"What the fuck were you thinking, Petal?" he asks, crouching down until you’re eye-to-eye.

"Leaving like that, you had to know the Operator wouldn't just let you walk away."

You fidget, lowering your eyes as shame starts seeping in. You fiddle with that one stray thread on your sleeve. "I just- needed a moment. It’s just…here, every breath is monitored."

Jeff chuckles mirthlessly. "Okay, well, that’s life here. But you should know better that you don't have to go through it alone."

In that moment, his arrogance and sarcasm were swallowed up by the raw sincerity in the depths of his gaze, catching you off guard.

"You're one of us now," his voice slipped into a deeper register. "And whether you like it or not, it means you have people looking out for you—me included."

His eyes burn with intensity, making your heart pound against your ribs, and the speed of your pulse begins to speed up.

You hardly felt the distance between the two of you vanish, leaving his face mere inches away from yours, his breath, warm against your skin.

There's a moment of stillness where the air between you two weighs heavy with something unsaid.

Then, in what seems like slow motion, he leans forward and his dry, chapped lips brush against yours.

It's a brief, small, almost tentative touch that, even if brief, makes your head spin.

When he pulls back, his eyes are still fixed on you, as if measuring your reaction, and a smirking little smile at the corner of his mouth. "Don't look so surprised, Petal," he breathes. "You didn't think I would go soft on you, did you?"

You laugh, rolling your eyes, but a warmth fills your chest that didn't exist before.

He stands up and, with one hand, helps you to your feet; as you steady yourself, he puts a light hand on the small of your back and guides you to ‘your’ room.

"Listen," he says as the two of you continue down the hallway, his voice suddenly subdued, "the others are going to be back soon. They’ve been over at Trender's place- giving you space for your ‘introduction’ and ‘Training’ or whatever. But I don't want them to come back and find you unprepared. Got it?"

You nod cluelessly, having no idea who 'the others' are.

The gravity of what he said dawns on you. Even joking, there is something too serious about his manner to ignore.

As you walk into your room, he's stands in the doorway, your back facing him, his gaze his gaze on the back of your head, his hand on the handle. "Just…try not to make a habit of running off."

Then, before you can say anything, he gently grabs your wrist, turning you around, and he leans down and places a lingering kiss on your temple; his warm breath tickles your skin. And one last smirk, he’s gone, leaving you with this strange warmth in your chest as his words reverberate inside your head.

Tomorrow is your last test. Tomorrow will decide whether you stay alive or not.

This is just a dumb little filler chapter lol, I promise the next chapter is better :33

TAGLIST - OPEN (comment to be added)

🏷️: @mimmickmouse @stranger-of-the-internet @akashic06072007 @hey-an-original-url @mjustag1rl @z0mbi3kizz3r @bottle-o-wonder

[elshe]

I’m going to hop on the “what if Hiccstrid had Zephyr during rtte” bandwagon, and shamelessly contribute to what has caused my devastating brainrot these past few weeks, cause it’s just. so. good.

Can you imagine all the reactions and conflicts?!??

Not to mention the SCANDAL jk😩

my bebe boy Snotlout takes any opportunity to tease Hiccup about it, because, really, it is sooo funny.

might write a whole fic on it fr fr

That Hiccup angst is just— mmm… *chefs kiss* 🤌🏻

[virsancte]

as the clock strikes twelve 👀

look at how gorgeous angel looks with this hair!!!!! I LOVE THEM SO MUCH RAHH when i grabbed them into cas i legit teared up over how pretty they are. they're everything to me;-;

[chasedeys]

https://www.tumblr.com/chasedeys/76838058816408780

Sweet boy isn’t use to Joe even SLIGHTLY raise his voice or having a tone with him lmao so much that he vividly recalled the one time he did “ scream”😭💀

😭 joe probably didn't scream like idk it was probably like when he was yelling loud about that bug in his mouth but more serious idk. but ja'marr, babyyyy ja'marr who was like 19?? a sophomore!! who was still learning how to navigate life while being in such a spotlight!! probably had some reservations on how he interacts with joe the first few years of being together yk?? i've never actually watched their lsu games lmao just compilations of their highlights but the screenshots of joe's faceee during the ole miss game and the recounts of him being weirdly pissy that game is so 😭😭 like my guy what goes onnnn ja'marr probably had his hackles up in response to joe's hackles being up. ergo saying joe 'screamed'.

hearing ja'marr's recount on how joe touched him (🥰) and told him he won't throw him the ball at all (😔) and then looking down dejected as hell saying 'okay' and taking it off like JOE IS A BULLY??????? /joking ofc but wowww ja'marr was just COLD 😭 and joe told him to suck it up basically or he won't be playing 😭😭 god what the hell is wrong with these two. joe being his star qb and senior etc ja'marr couldn't even defend himself!! his little face when he said 'i was like okay'?? cuteeeeeee had a brief urge to fight joe burrow for an event years ago that was probably not as dramatic as ja'marr made it seem lmao.

edit: i wanted to add a bit more sorry :")) when he said 'it was cool' quietly with that face!! cute as helllll etc sorry extremely biased here but anyways was it like....not cool at first? like did he pout for ages about it and fridge joe out from the entire thing that joe had to quickly change up and grovel slightly or he was going to deal with an icy ja'marr throughout what's left of their schedule 😭 just extremely cute to think about hehe

[abyssal-ilk]

replaying dai and i've been thinking a lot about cullen and vivienne this time around. im not usually a cullen guy, either. huh.

[robo-dino-puppy]

there is a LOT of stuff out of bounds in the meridian area of the map! i wanted to compare some spots that exist in both games, but it's kinda long so there are timestamps if you want to skip around - the estate near the end is the most interesting imo :)

the map was clearly copy/pasted but there are updated and missing textures (and ones that weren't updated that say they need to be haha) - was this the start of the rumored hzd remaster? or are the assets just ones that happen to exist in both games and were carried over because we get close to them in the "legal" area of the spire? and it's a small itty bitty thing that will be in a future video, but there's something i came across that definitely doesn't exist anywhere in hfw's map that i remember... (spoiler: it's banuk T_T)

(why are all the handholds missing texture??? that's what i really want to know lol)

[twilight-deviant]

"One of the things we came up with was we think there should be a moment of levity at the top of the scene where we seem like friends."

[vicontheinternet]

Despite its many flaws they can never make me hate kataang

[sysig]

Coding woes (Patreon)

[deus-ex-mona]

h e l p are they really going to perform meoto live

[seithr]

powerful sorcerer with magical storm blood who can still magic and rend minds and transform people btw