#i was writing this for 3 hours

[tabr1-s]

aventurine rant and personal critiques about 2.1's writing below

(to preface... i am biased towards Sunday and his plight, and firmly against the IPC and their plans concerning retaking Penacony. but that's not to say that i support the Family as a whole either.)

why was 80% of the 2.1 quest about Aventurine? isn't that what character stories and companion quests are for?

to begin, the first thing that bothered me was how the game seemed to want the player to believe that Aventurine's offer wasn't forced. examples below:

although it... was forced. you can tell him that you won't associate with the IPC and he will tell you not to worry about it, and just "reconsider it" by talking to your companions (mainly the Navigator, Himeko) at the express (basically implying that our opinion does not matter to him in the slightest). dialogue below:

(now i don't know if it's my personal hatred for being controlled and told what to do that's making me see this differently... but i have talked this over with a friend of mine and they do agree that it Does seem forced. i might be putting myself in an echo chamber by doing this, but at least i'm not alone!)

my point with the above is that the game tries to get you to sympathize with Aventurine from the beginning, and forces your hand when it comes to agreeing to his proposal by making some - frankly - stupid excuses as to why we should trust him. maybe others found them to be convincing/enough, but to me it just seemed like a cheap way to get the story rolling. (also, since when did we become pawns of the IPC? Penacony's debt is none of our business, and, not to get political... but it reminds me of real life sentiments that colonialist people hold about countries that "belonged to them in the past", despite that country having years of history and development since/before then (and i do not care if that country's political system is corrupt, or that they have unpaid debt. that is not an excuse to bring about war and occupation.). also, i sincerely hate how Aventurine wasn't even hiding that he views Robin's death as an opportunity, or, in his words, a "bargaining chip". we're made to sympathize with him and his dead family but he can't read the room and show some genuine sympathy himself, can he?)

...so the story goes on. we get some Welt and Acheron bits, a bit of Black Swan, and some investigation on the front of Himeko, March 7th, and the trailblazer. then the focus falls back on Aventurine. but, for the time being, it's fine - because at least he's alongside Dr. Ratio and their bickering is entertaining.

which leads to the scene where Sunday confronts Aventurine. yes, Sunday is manipulative. he begins by praising Aventurine and buttering him up, seemingly trying to get Aventurine to lower his guard. but let's not forget that Aventurine is also being manipulative - using Sunday's recent close family death as leverage for his own schemes. Sunday knows this, and so calls upon the help of Xipe, the Harmony, to bring the truth to light.

now, Sunday doesn't outright warn him about the consequences of not answering or answering falsely, but the implication is there. Sunday gives Aventurine a chance to come clean. and what does Aventurine do? he lies, basically securing his own fate like that. another example of Sunday giving Aventurine a chance to admit the truth was here:

"it's your last chance to defend your honor". up until the point where he gave Aventurine the box, Aventurine had countless chances to stop betting with his life and do the simplest thing - answer truthfully. but he didn't. so, my question is: why does all the blame fall on Sunday when it was Aventurine who got himself into that predicament in the first place? it also gets implied multiple times that Aventurine wanted that conclusion all along...

...which leads me to the next topic. people viewing him as this "genius mastermind" - when in reality, he's no more than a self-destructive gambler that simply puts faith in his good luck to lead him to the conclusion that he wants. and, honestly? that seems like a very immature mentality to me. there's nothing admirable about him risking it all time and time again, and i'm not sure why exactly i'm meant to sympathize with that part of him. also...

don't be a hypocrite yourself, Aventurine. you also lied and was planning to manipulate from the beginning - them expecting the truth from you shouldn't come as a surprise.

now, i'm not going to fully go into the 2 or so hours of pure Aventurine³ content (or, as my friend put it, "exposition vomit"), other than saying that his story could've definitely been told in a much more concise manner than what we got. i mean, good for the Aventurine fans out there, i'm happy for them. but, writing-wise, that was pretty out of place. in comparison, Acheron's backstory only got implied, and was kept mostly a mystery. you can only find bits and pieces of Sunday and Robin's upbringing by reading the letter Robin sent to her brother, and observing the "concert for two" lightcone in that same room. Firefly says some things about her condition and spends a significant part of the 2.0 quest with Trailblazer, but at least the main character is part of that story. Aventurine's case seemed like a blatant pity party from the writers - from the beginning of 2.1 til the end. now i'm not saying that his backstory isn't tragic; the first time i played through the story i sympathized with him. it was heartbreaking. but that genuinely could've been saved for a companion quest.

another thing i thought was out of place was Aventurine's hatred for the Family. seeing his backstory, i believed that they were leading up to the Family being somehow responsible for his rough upbringing/period of slavery, so that was Aventurine enacting his revenge on them. but that was... not the case. instead, he's only(?) doing this for the IPC, with no true motivation of his own. in other words, why is he trying to bring the Family down so avidly? i'm not convinced that his reasons are good enough for him to cause so much chaos to a nation/organization that has nothing to do with him. if it is purely because of the IPC's whims, then that is not very "free will" of him.

despite all my qualms, i don't hate Aventurine. the Penacony characters are hard to hate in general, for they're all intriguing in their own ways. but i do think i've been a bit too over-exposed to him. maybe i'd go as far as to say that he was overhyped - they could've handled his story better, and not simply thrown everything they had for him in one singular questline right before his release. personally, even with the characters that i have biases towards, i would prefer for their stories to be told through character stories, companion quests, texts, and readables. that way, you find out about the character on your own volition without it feeling forced. and, if their backstories are relevant to the main storyline, you can easily make it brief and showcase what's, well...

relevant.

[vulpinesaint]

quiz enjoyers! i am now inviting you to come create something in my workshop❕

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[asgardian--angels]

Planet's Fucked: What Can You Do To Help? (Long Post)

Since nobody is talking about the existential threat to the climate and the environment a second Trump term/Republican government control will cause, which to me supersedes literally every other issue, I wanted to just say my two cents, and some things you can do to help. I am a conservation biologist, whose field was hit substantially by the first Trump presidency. I study wild bees, birds, and plants.

In case anyone forgot what he did last time, he gagged scientists' ability to talk about climate change, he tried zeroing budgets for agencies like the NOAA, he attempted to gut protections in the Endangered Species Act (mainly by redefining 'take' in a way that would allow corporations to destroy habitat of imperiled species with no ramifications), he tried to do the same for the Migratory Bird Treaty Act (the law that offers official protection for native non-game birds), he sought to expand oil and coal extraction from federal protected lands, he shrunk the size of multiple national preserves, HE PULLED US OUT OF THE PARIS CLIMATE AGREEMENT, and more.

We are at a crucial tipping point in being able to slow the pace of climate change, where we decide what emissions scenario we will operate at, with existential consequences for both the environment and people. We are also in the middle of the Sixth Mass Extinction, with the rate of species extinctions far surpassing background rates due completely to human actions. What we do now will determine the fate of the environment for hundreds or thousands of years - from our ability to grow key food crops (goodbye corn belt! I hated you anyway but), to the pressure on coastal communities that will face the brunt of sea level rise and intensifying extreme weather events, to desertification, ocean acidification, wildfires, melting permafrost (yay, outbreaks of deadly frozen viruses!), and a breaking down of ecosystems and ecosystem services due to continued habitat loss and species declines, especially insect declines. The fact that the environment is clearly a low priority issue despite the very real existential threat to so many people, is beyond my ability to understand. I do partly blame the public education system for offering no mandatory environmental science curriculum or any at all in most places. What it means is that it will take the support of everyone who does care to make any amount of difference in this steeply uphill battle.

There are not enough environmental scientists to solve these issues, not if public support is not on our side and the majority of the general public is either uninformed or actively hostile towards climate science (or any conservation science).

So what can you, my fellow Americans, do to help mitigate and minimize the inevitable damage that lay ahead?

I'm not going to tell you to recycle more or take shorter showers. I'll be honest, that stuff is a drop in the bucket. What does matter on the individual level is restoring and protecting habitat, reducing threats to at-risk species, reducing pesticide use, improving agricultural practices, and pushing for policy changes. Restoring CONNECTIVITY to our landscape - corridors of contiguous habitat - will make all the difference for wildlife to be able to survive a changing climate and continued human population expansion.

**Caveat that I work in the northeast with pollinators and birds so I cannot provide specific organizations for some topics, including climate change focused NGOs. Scientists on tumblr who specialize in other fields, please add your own recommended resources. **

We need two things: FUNDING and MANPOWER.

You may surprised to find that an insane amount of conservation work is carried out by volunteers. We don't ever have the funds to pay most of the people who want to help. If you really really care, consider going into a conservation-related field as a career. It's rewarding, passionate work.

At the national level, please support:

The Nature Conservancy

Xerces Society for Invertebrate Conservation

Cornell Lab of Ornithology (including eBird)

National Audubon Society

Federal Duck Stamps (you don't need to be a hunter to buy one!)

These first four work to acquire and restore critical habitat, change environmental policy, and educate the public. There is almost certainly a Nature Conservancy-owned property within driving distance of you. Xerces plays a very large role in pollinator conservation, including sustainable agriculture, native bee monitoring programs, and the Bee City/Bee Campus USA programs. The Lab of O is one of the world's leaders in bird research and conservation. Audubon focuses on bird conservation. You can get annual memberships to these organizations and receive cool swag and/or a subscription to their publications which are well worth it. You can also volunteer your time; we need thousands of volunteers to do everything from conducting wildlife surveys, invasive species removal, providing outreach programming, managing habitat/clearing trails, planting trees, you name it. Federal Duck Stamps are the major revenue for wetland conservation; hunters need to buy them to hunt waterfowl but anyone can get them to collect!

THERE ARE DEFINITELY MORE, but these are a start.

Additionally, any federal or local organizations that seek to provide support and relief to those affected by hurricanes, sea level rise, any form of coastal climate change...

At the regional level:

These are a list of topics that affect major regions of the United States. Since I do not work in most of these areas I don't feel confident recommending specific organizations, but please seek resources relating to these as they are likely major conservation issues near you.

PRAIRIE CONSERVATION & PRAIRIE POTHOLE WETLANDS

DRYING OF THE COLORADO RIVER (good overview video linked)

PROTECTION OF ESTUARIES AND SALTMARSH, ESPECIALLY IN THE DELAWARE BAY AND LONG ISLAND (and mangroves further south, everglades etc; this includes restoring LIVING SHORELINES instead of concrete storm walls; also check out the likely-soon extinction of saltmarsh sparrows)

UNDAMMING MAJOR RIVERS (not just the Colorado; restoring salmon runs, restoring historic floodplains)

NATIVE POLLINATOR DECLINES (NOT honeybees. for fuck's sake. honeybees are non-native domesticated animals. don't you DARE get honeybee hives to 'save the bees')

WILDLIFE ALONG THE SOUTHERN BORDER (support the Mission Butterfly Center!)

INVASIVE PLANT AND ANIMAL SPECIES (this is everywhere but the specifics will differ regionally, dear lord please help Hawaii)

LOSS OF WETLANDS NATIONWIDE (some states have lost over 90% of their wetlands, I'm looking at you California, Ohio, Illinois)

INDUSTRIAL AGRICULTURE, esp in the CORN BELT and CALIFORNIA - this is an issue much bigger than each of us, but we can work incrementally to promote sustainable practices and create habitat in farmland-dominated areas. Support small, local farms, especially those that use soil regenerative practices, no-till agriculture, no pesticides/Integrated Pest Management/no neonicotinoids/at least non-persistent pesticides. We need more farmers enrolling in NRCS programs to put farmland in temporary or permanent wetland easements, or to rent the land for a 30-year solar farm cycle. We've lost over 99% of our prairies to corn and soybeans. Let's not make it 100%.

INDIGENOUS LAND-BACK EFFORTS/INDIGENOUS LAND MANAGEMENT/TEK (adding this because there have been increasing efforts not just for reparations but to also allow indigenous communities to steward and manage lands either fully independently or alongside western science, and it would have great benefits for both people and the land; I know others on here could speak much more on this. Please platform indigenous voices)

HARMFUL ALGAL BLOOMS (get your neighbors to stop dumping fertilizers on their lawn next to lakes, reduce agricultural runoff)

OCEAN PLASTIC (it's not straws, it's mostly commercial fishing line/trawling equipment and microplastics)

A lot of these are interconnected. And of course not a complete list.

At the state and local level:

You probably have the most power to make change at the local level!

Support or volunteer at your local nature centers, local/state land conservancy non-profits (find out who owns&manages the preserves you like to hike at!), state fish & game dept/non-game program, local Audubon chapters (they do a LOT). Participate in a Christmas Bird Count!

Join local garden clubs, which install and maintain town plantings - encourage them to use NATIVE plants. Join a community garden!

Get your college campus or city/town certified in the Bee Campus USA/Bee City USA programs from the Xerces Society

Check out your state's official plant nursery, forest society, natural heritage program, anything that you could become a member of, get plants from, or volunteer at.

Volunteer to be part of your town's conservation commission, which makes decisions about land management and funding

Attend classes or volunteer with your land grant university's cooperative extension (including master gardener programs)

Literally any volunteer effort aimed at improving the local environment, whether that's picking up litter, pulling invasive plants, installing a local garden, planting trees in a city park, ANYTHING. make a positive change in your own sphere. learn the local issues affecting your nearby ecosystems. I guarantee some lake or river nearby is polluted

MAKE HABITAT IN YOUR COMMUNITY. Biggest thing you can do. Use plants native to your area in your yard or garden. Ditch your lawn. Don't use pesticides (including mosquito spraying, tick spraying, Roundup, etc). Don't use fertilizers that will run off into drinking water. Leave the leaves in your yard. Get your school/college to plant native gardens. Plant native trees (most trees planted in yards are not native). Remove invasive plants in your yard.

On this last point, HERE ARE EASY ONLINE RESOURCES TO FIND NATIVE PLANTS and LEARN ABOUT NATIVE GARDENING:

Xerces Society Pollinator Conservation Resource Center

Pollinator Pathway

Audubon Native Plant Finder

Homegrown National Park (and Doug Tallamy's other books)

National Wildlife Federation Native Plant Finder (clunky but somewhat helpful)

Heather Holm (for prairie/midwest/northeast)

MonarchGard w/ Benjamin Vogt (for prairie/midwest)

Native Plant Trust (northeast & mid-atlantic)

Grow Native Massachusetts (northeast)

Habitat Gardening in Central New York (northeast)

There are many more - I'm not familiar with resources for western states. Print books are your biggest friend. Happy to provide a list of those.

Lastly, you can help scientists monitor species using citizen science. Contribute to iNaturalist, eBird, Bumblebee Watch, or any number of more geographically or taxonomically targeted programs (for instance, our state has a butterfly census carried out by citizen volunteers).

In short? Get curious, get educated, get involved. Notice your local nature, find out how it's threatened, and find out who's working to protect it that you can help with. The health of the planet, including our resilience to climate change, is determined by small local efforts to maintain and restore habitat. That is how we survive this. When government funding won't come, when we're beat back at every turn trying to get policy changed, it comes down to each individual person creating a safe refuge for nature.

Thanks for reading this far. Please feel free to add your own credible resources and organizations.

[catmask]

when u go to write a mentally ill person in ur story you are presented two options. the first option is to write your mental illness realistically as you actually experience it with all the ups and downs and people who are like you will resonate with it and feel seen. except every person who reads instagram infographics on mental health that uses the phrase narcicisst for anyone who does anything that crosses them and unironically call themself a dark empath will call you scary and tell you that youre demonizing mentally ill people

the second option is to lie and write inspiration porn for those people to get hard to

[deusfoundry]

min ho who claims to hate you, insists that you're the most annoying, bothersome person in his life, but is also the one who knows every little thing there is to know about you.

min ho who complains that you talk too much, that he's never given a moment of peace whenever you're around because of your incessant yapping, but he's the first person to bring up the latest episode of your favorite show. the topic sends you into an unstoppable spiral, has you going on and on and on that you don't even have the time to think about how he knew there was a new episode to begin with. min ho rolls his eyes once your rambling ends, makes a quip about how he didn't know you'd talk that much, and acts as if he hadn't been listening intently to every word that came out of your mouth. like he didn't ask you questions, brought up details from past episodes that he knows would get you to talk more.

min ho who drags you through the mud for being such a picky eater, eyes the vegetables you shove to the side of your plate with disdain, but he wordlessly reaches into your plate to pick out everything you don't like before you can do it. he leaves just enough of it, though, if he knows it's not something you're allergic to. he doesn't give you the chance to whine, claiming that your not eating of those nasty veggies is the reason for your skin breaking out. but really, min ho just wants you to eat something healthy for once.

min ho who comments on your less than decent grades, borderline making fun of you, but he gives you a copy of his meticulously written notes complete with a set of practice problems. he tells you to meet him in the library after your classes, and you find him in one of the tables tucked at the very back, away from prying eyes. he's got almost every inch of the table's surface covered with notes and books and flashcards, and you spot a bag of snacks he'd smuggle in hidden beneath. you gather the courage to ask him why he's putting in so much effort for you, and he says it's because your grades are pitiful, that he can't let anyone associated to his name horrendously failing.

min ho who confesses in the quiet of the night, just before a week long break from school when he knows no one will be checking the dorms. who remembers that you like confessions that are intimate, none of those grand, over the top gestures in public but rather, something that's shared between two people. between the only people who really matter.

it works for him, too, because in all the years he's spent dating, asking girls out left and right like it's as easy as breathing, you're the only one who's brought him to such a state. an embarrassingly deep shade of red dusting his cheeks that's thankfully hidden by the darkness of his room. the hesitation in his voice that's so unfamiliar, it tastes like acid on his tongue. the way he stumbles over his words, flailing helplessly as you stare at him wide eyed.

it's maddening, what you've done to him. how you seem to have no knowledge of just how deep his feelings run for you.

but it's worth it, min ho thinks, when your stunned expression morphs into one of delight.

it's worth it, when you take his hands into yours, clutching at his fingers for dear life as you tell him that you like him too.

it's worth it, now that you're his.

[baeshijima]

thoughts on being engaged to duke!sunday, the head of the oak family, an incredibly influential figurehead within society, the close subordinate of emperor gopher wood who brought him and his sister in and raised him like his own, and the villain who faces a tragic ending in a novel you recently finished — the very same one you just so happen to find yourself transmigrated into. he is as cunning as he is blinded, a trait which brought ruin to many in the empire, and one which ultimately brought ruin to himself at the hands of the protagonists.

as luck would have it, you became a barely mentioned side character from a marquis family, whose role was to be the villain's wife stuck in a one-sided love who, too, would get caught up in the tragedy alongside him. however, now that it's you who is stuck in this position, you're determined to try any means necessary to deter him from going down that path, all in an effort to escape your predestined doomed fate!

of course, you didn't expect it to be easy. the day of your arrival in this world was already the night before your wedding, so you had little time to prepare yourself for the nonchalance of your supposed family, how they viewed you as but a means — a tool — to boost their influence and prosperity, the dismissive mannerisms of the household servants, and the absolute beauty of a man you will be married to.

(seriously. the novel descriptions did not do him justice. he was like... like... like he was handcrafted by god himself! and not to mention his sister, robin, was the very epitome of an angel! perhaps you're destined to perish by the god-tier visuals instead...)

to say the least, the wedding ceremony went by quickly. safe to say you didn't spend the night; he was cordial and gentlemanly upon letting you know that he won't do anything until you're ready, that you can take this relationship slow, but somehow you ended up feeling a tad insulted. like, who leaves their newly wedded alone in a big cold bed as they walk out on their own? a sick bastard that's who!

well, whatever. it's not like you need nor want to consummate with him! besides, you have bigger things to worry about — things such as your impending death. and, of course, the only way to stop sunday that you can imagine working is by chipping away at his resolve bit by bit, and opening his eyes to reality.

he is a tragic character, one who cares more about the well-being of penacony and its people than anyone else, but was manipulated into getting his hands dirty in the emperor's stead. you knew this. you sobbed over his story, cursed out the protagonists, and even fought internet randos on novel forums about sunday's motivation and how,

no, he is not just a stupid villain. he is a complex character with flaws and humanity and was cruelly taken advantage of by someone he considered family. he was deceived through the suffering the emperor wanted him to see to make him easily manipulated, creating a rift between him and robin to have that prominent separation. you know what? maybe you're just a !%#@ who can't even #@?"% read properly!

and yet you still find yourself at a loss when faced with the walls he has in place. your initial efforts went as well as it possibly could have; you trying to earnestly help him, while he "kindly" dismisses your offers! well, "kindly" being more condescending since you could read between the lines of his mannerisms and amiable demeanour, but that's fine! you expected this! that just means you have to double down on your sincerity, get through to his heart (somehow), and help him realise humanity isn't as weak as he's led to believe!

you have three years until the novel's plot officially starts, and another year after that until your demise. that's plenty of time to get him to warm up to you!

it was easier said than done, but after your valiant effort and abundance of time put into this relationship, which admittedly you could do with some of that lost time back, you could give yourself a pat on the back with the progress you made! while you definitely could have done without a lot of the headaches, it's safe to say sunday has significantly warmed up to you in comparison to your wedding day. he now willingly eats all his meals with you with some real conversation, takes garden strolls with you in the early evenings, invites you out for dinner at a restaurant at least four times a week, hell he's even joked and laughed with you more frequently! but most importantly, he has begun asking for your opinion before finalising any decisions he is required to make. and he actually listens and considers your side! now, that certainly is the best outcome you could hope for after all this time, and it most definitely will help in your endeavour to save you both from the protagonists!

however, you've noticed he's been more... affectionate? well, at the very least he now willingly holds your hand when in private (not just in moments when you're in the public eye and he has to make sure the family's reputation is spotless), sometimes he will hug you out of the blue ("i just need to... recharge. you have a way of calming me down. i hope you don't mind." ...how could you say no to his supreme god-tier face card? that's just a losing battle you won't even bother fighting against.), oftentimes he opts to just gaze wordlessly at you (robin had mentioned over one of your tea times how it almost appears as though there is no one but you in the world when sunday gazes at you with, in her words, "the eyes of a man so deeply in love!" ...whatever that's supposed to mean...), but a more recent development has been his sudden interest in kissing you; well, more specifically giving you a kiss to the back of your hand or on your forehead — certainly not anywhere near the lips! (besides, he's probably just gotten comfortable with you, enough where he can freely act without judgement. nothing more, nothing less.)

well, either way, development is development! soon enough, the time for the main plot to start has arrived. it of course follows what you remember, from the organised balls to the protagonists meeting to the political aspects of it all. the only difference is sunday's less active involvement in all the schemes and the emperor's ploy. rather, he seems more focused on you and the future of your marriage and even displayed a sudden interest in your practically non-existent relationship with one of the foreign diplomats, aventurine— wait...

"[name]," he calls your name out so sweetly you nearly disregarded it as someone else he was talking to. well, perhaps you would have done had he not suddenly appeared before you, a tight-lipped smile tugging the corners of his lips as he steadily approaches you.

oh. he doesn't seem very happy, if his tense figure is anything to go by. you wonder if one of the nobles grated his nerves a little too much this time?

sunday comes to a halt a step away from you. "i don't like that... gambler being so close to you. it... it brings me a rather unpleasant feeling." there's a slight, trembling pause. not a moment later does he close the gap between you, one knee on the ground as he matches your seated height on the fountain rim, your hands gently enclosed in both of his.

you idly wonder if this is what robin meant by the so-called "eyes of a man so deeply in love" she constantly gushed about, for the way in which he gazes up at you is enough to render you breathless.

"tell me, [name]," he begins once more. there is an underlying desperation woven within his tone, one which has your head spinning and heart thumping wildly as his trembling gaze holds you in place. "tell me, what am i to do with this fervent love and overwhelming adoration i hold for you?"

oh.

...oh.

perhaps your impending doom should be the least of your concerns when you now find yourself in the arms of a clingy husband...

(though, it's safe to say you did, in fact, manage to prevent him from succumbing to his tragic fate! you just gained a loving, yet slight slightly emotionally challenged husband along the way.

well, you can help him work through it; you have the rest of your lives now to figure it out, after all.)

[robo-writing]

Kinktober Day Nine: Origins! Logan - Face Sitting | Kinktober Masterlist |

The moment Logan walked through the door, smelling like a forest and just as dirty, you could tell you were in for it. Work boots heavy against the wood flooring, his footsteps your only warning before he grabs you from behind, pulling you close as he mumbles into your hair.

“Had a hard day at work?” You ask, and your answer is given by the groan he lets out, your fingers tangling into his.

“You’ve got no fuckin’ clue,” he sighs, turning you around. It’s now you can truly see the exhaustion on his face, soon overtaken by the lovesick look in his eyes. 

“Okay, how about I cook you dinner?”

“Nah, not what I’m really hungry for right now.”

Your giggle is infectious, a smile spreading across his face while he sheds himself of his vest. “Yeah? You liked that one?”

You nod, pulling him to your shared bedroom. “I did. So what exactly are you hungry for?”

A rhetorical question of course, because in the time it takes you to ask he’s already lifting you off the ground, carrying you to the bedroom with a renewed energy.

“Oh, you weren’t joking,” you gasp, falling to the bed unceremoniously. Logan stands before you, torso bare for your viewing pleasure, humming when your hand reaches to stroke his exposed abs, enjoying the scratch of your nails against his skin—until he pulls your hand away.

You’re confused, until he crawls over you and takes up residence between your legs. Inch by inch, his lips kiss a trail from your navel, lower and lower until he’s nosing at your cloth-covered pussy.

“Sorry baby, not in the mood to play with my food right now,” he says, pulling your underwear from your body. “Been thinking about you the entire car ride home.”

He looks like it too—from the lost expression in his face to how he shudders when his eyes lock onto your bare cunt, he’s practically drooling for a taste. And yet, he hasn’t moved yet.

Your anticipation is slowly turning to impatience, ready to ask him what’s wrong before his voice cuts into the silence, low and defined.

“Baby, do you think we could try something?”

You lean forward a bit, a bit curious. “Something new?”

“New position,” he mutters. “Something I’ve been thinking about for a while.”

Curiosity piqued, you nod your head and suddenly you’re being manhandled, lifted to sit on his torso while he makes himself comfortable below you.

He’s excited, you’re still confused. “Logan, what’s going on?”

His smile is all teeth, hands pulling you to his face with a yelp. “I want you to sit on my face.”

You and your husband are no strangers to an adventurous sex life, you’d be a fool not to take him up on any of his ideas involving sex, but this is certainly a new one.

You’re hovering over his face—hovering, because reality is setting in and your nerves are building. Logan looks up at you like he always does, just dying to taste you, tongue peeking through his lips, but you’re getting further and further into your head and he knows it.

His hands rub up and down your legs, palms engulfing the meat of your thighs. “Relax baby, I’ve got you.”

“Are you sure about this?” You ask, looking down at him nervously. “I don’t wanna hurt you—“

“You won’t, promise,” he answers, kissing at the bare skin of your thighs. 

“But this should be fine, right?” You nod towards your still-hovering form. “What if I crush you?”

“That’s not happening.”

“Yeah, but what if?”

He shakes his head, looking up into your eyes.“Oh no, don’t get shy on me now, sit on my face doll. I can handle the weight.”

The words are said with a smile, but you know that mischievous look anywhere, instinctively rising your hips at the same time he anchors his hands into them.

“Baby, hold on—“ You’re ready to argue but before you can get a word in his grip on your thighs tighten. 

“How many times I gotta tell you doll, when I say sit on my face—“ 

You’re dragged down suddenly, a yelp escaping you as he plants you where he wants you to be.

“—I mean sit on my fucking face.”

His super strength forces you still as he speaks into your cunt. His lips move as he speaks, tongue flat against your labia as he revels in the taste, groaning obscenely with each lick. Your shaky hands lock onto his for purchase and he fucking laughs into your pussy, the vibrations only serving to make you even more aroused.

“That’s more like it,” he says, voice muffled between your thighs. His tongue laps frantically, far too engrossed in you to pay attention to his cock standing at attention—you can tell he’s still talking, but none of it is legible between your moans and the sound of your pussy being eaten like Sunday dinner. 

You beg him for a break but he’s not listening—not when you taste like heaven and you’re moaning like a bitch in heat. The advantage is in his favor, unable to squirm away from him while he gorges himself on your cunt. At some point you give up trying to reason with him, bury your fingers in his dark hair and grind against him until his beard leaves your thighs raw.

A shake of his head, his fingers tightening on your thighs—his lips latching onto your sensitive clit and holding you still as you thrash in his hold. Your orgasm takes you by surprise, a scream ripping from your throat before lethargy takes over, almost falling if not for your husband holding you up.

It’s only now he dares to lift his head from between your thighs, face red and soaked from his chin down. He kisses at your legs, your pussy, anywhere he can reach—whether it’s in apology or worship, you can’t tell, but you know that when his thumb spreads open your poor, abused cunt that he’s not finished.

[lorialia]

⋆ sweet temptation ⋆

pairing: best friend!han jisung x fem!reader

genre: smut, minors dni.

summary: you and your best friend accidentally devour an entire box of sex chocolates while watching a pirated version of the movie ponyo. now you're left to deal with the consequences.

a/n: this came about after i submitted a similar thirst for @daydreams-after-dark 's birthday month event . . . so if you're seeing this, hi :) thanks for the indirect motivation to start a skz blog and post this. i hope you all enjoy ♡

warnings: dom!hanji, sub fem!reader, accidental use of sex chocolates/aphrodisiacs, dry humping, unprotected sex, very messy and wet, creampie, pet names(baby), possessive language, multiple orgasms, technically there's no verbal consent but they're both enthusiastic

"This is bullshit. I swear it is."

“What do you mean?" Jisung says, staring at you accusingly from across the couch. His wispy black hair falls in front of his round glasses, and his fingers reach up to brush it away so he can give you a halfhearted glare. "I put Ponyo in B-tier. That means it's good."

Your nose crinkles in pure disgust, absolute horror at the dingy laptop placed on your best friend’s ottoman. The screen glitches every once in a while, but you see the brightly colored tierlist clear as day. There’s Ponyo—one of your favorite Studio Ghibli movies of all time, a masterpiece of visual art and fairytale storytelling—in B-tier. Middle of the road. Average.

“It deserves better than just good!” You insist, convinced that he has the worst taste on planet Earth. “C’mon. At least put it up a tier.”

“Next to My Neighbor Totoro? Fuck no.”

“Fuck you!”

“Woah woah woah, language,” Jisung replies cheekily, and you grumble, tipping back to sink your head into the cushions of your best friend’s couch. If he even is your best friend after this anyways.

You and Jisung have been hanging out at his apartment for hours, chatting about basically anything and everything. It’s an especially exciting night; his roommate is out visiting family for the weekend, meaning the two of you have the whole place to yourselves.

“Don’t make a mess,” Minho had said through the phone. “I don’t want to clean up once I get back home.”

So far, you’ve had halfhearted success in baking cinnamon rolls, little-to-no success cooking dinner, and full success in ordering barbeque chicken. The kitchen had barely survived through it all, but aside from an occasional utensil on the floor it’s pretty clean.

Aside from your cooking ventures, you two have taken it upon yourselves to rank all the Studio Ghibli movies on a tierlist. Some of his takes surprise you, maybe frustrate you— but none of them fill you with such rage as seeing Ponyo in B-Tier.

“When was the last time you watched this movie?” You ask, almost demand. Jisung pretends to think for a moment; his soft lips pursing together in contemplation.

“Uhh… when I was twelve.”

“Oh for fuck's sake,” You reach over to his laptop and grab it, typing furiously to find a pirated URL for the movie. “We’re watching Ponyo tonight. No buts.”

“Fine,” Jisung says, extending the ‘e’. Out of the corner of your eye you spot him picking up the empty plastic containers of your dinner. He pouts, lips jutting out exaggeratedly when he finds the tins utterly empty. “Aww man, no more food. I’ll go see if there’s any leftovers in the kitchen.”

“Okay,” You idly reply, too busy trying to bypass the stupid ad pop-ups on his computer. You mash a couple of buttons, open and close a few tabs, and boom, you’re in.

Meanwhile, Jisung has gone and returned from the kitchen. In his hands he holds a random box of chocolates that he tosses into your waiting hands. “Found these in the back of the pantry. Probably Minho’s.”

You open the cardboard flap and dig your hand inside, pulling out a rectangle-shaped chocolate wrapped in pretty red tinfoil. You don’t care to read the name—the room is too dimly lit to see anyway—and rip open the package, finding two square chocolates waiting for you.

“Huh,” You comment, holding up the two chocolate pieces. “I’ve never seen chocolates that come in twos before.”

A hand snatches one of the chocolates away and you turn to see Jisung chewing. His adams apple bobs as he swallows. “Mmm, cherry. You should try it.”

You glance at the singular square held between your fingertips, and shrug before popping it in your mouth.

An hour later, you and Jisung are curled up together watching Ponyo. From glances and little remarks here and there, he seems to be enjoying it, and thank god he does. You couldn’t stand seeing Ponyo be misplaced any longer.

During a particularly captivating underwater scene, you reach for the box of chocolates—only to find the insides empty. You blink for a moment, tearing your eyes away from the screen, and realize you and Jisung have eaten them all.

“Aww,” Your eyebrows furrow in annoyance, but you remove yourself from the pile of blankets to toss the box in the trash. Your best friend remains engrossed in the movie, only shifting to adjust his glasses.

You think to check the brand on the box before you throw it away. It would be nice to get again, after all. The chocolates tasted pretty good—

“Jisung.”

The serious tone of your voice jerks your best friend back into reality, and he hurries to pause the movie. His gaze flickers up to yours with a slight level of concern. “What’s up?”

“These chocolates…” You audibly gulp, and your mind swims from reading the label on the box. “I don’t think these are regular ones.”

“Then what are they?” Jisung crawls over from his side of the couch and leans over your shoulder. His breath tickles your neck as he speaks. “Weed?”

You point to the packaging. It’s sensually decorated, with elegant lettering and a good number of red hearts littering the front. Right in the center are two words: aphrodisiac chocolate.

Jisung’s eyes bulge wide open and he blinks several times. “Sex chocolate?!”

“Yeah,” You let out a breathless, winded chuckle. Your eyes are equally as wide as his. “How many did we eat?”

Over the next minute, you and Jisung rummage around the couch and collect as many wrappers as you can. With each find, you’re more and more flabbergasted—assuming you two had an equal amount, you can say that you probably had ten to twelve chocolates…each.

“Holy shit,” is the only thing he can say for the next minute. You check the back of the box and discover more lovely news: the recommended amount is one to three squares per person.

There’s silence for the next couple of minutes after that.

The two of you must look so stupid, crouching over copious candy wrappers, dumbfounded by your dual idiocy. What the fuck were you going to do?

Jisung attempts to answer that question in breaking the silence. “So essentially…we’re gonna get super horny.”

“Yeah,” You respond, wincing. “I’m kind of trying not to think about that right now.”

“Well- I mean- You- I- ugh,” Jisung rubs his temples sorely. For once he’s completely serious, no giggles, no jokes. It concerns you as much as it frightens you. “How long until it kicks in?”

“A few hours, it says.”

“Any way to reverse the effects?”

“We already ate the chocolates, Sungie. I don’t think we can get them out.”

“Fuck,” He stares at the empty container. “What are we gonna do then?”

You open your mouth to respond and find it dry. Suddenly you’re hyperaware that in an undisclosed amount of time, both you and your best friend will be incredibly horny. In an apartment together, with no distractions. Just you and him.

You’re tempted to run for the hills. Grab your bag and race home to deal with it all on your own, rather than face this volatile situation and the can of worms that is your undeniable attraction to a man you swore never to date. It feels like the better situation for a split second; enough for you to place one foot on the ground in an effort to stand up from the couch.

Jisung’s head whips up immediately, and the panicked, almost desperate flash in his eyes freezes you in place. It’s almost a plea, a look that stirs something deep in your gut: Please. Don’t go.

You sit back down.

“So…wanna watch the rest of Ponyo?”

By the end of the movie, Jisung moves Ponyo up to A-tier. Normally you’d gloat in his face and criticize his judgmental movie taste—but you can’t seem to get the thought of the chocolates out of your head. It doesn’t help that he's uncomfortably close, his hoodie brushing up against your shoulder with every breath.

He doesn’t say anything as he shuts the laptop, doesn’t look at you as he leans back on the couch. His eyes are distant. Unfocused, dazed like you’ve only seen when he’s dead drunk.

You only need to wonder why for a moment before you notice just how burning hot you are.

Your shirt tightly sticks to you like a vice, and your head fogs like smoke filling the air. The thick pulse in your chest can’t seem to subside, and you feel your skin heat up more with every second that passes.

One sensation rushes in even stronger, an ache from your lower half. Your thighs squeeze together involuntarily, feeling for some sort of relief, any sort of relief. God, you’ve never wanted a dick more in your entire life.

And your best friend happens to be sitting right across from you with one.

Shit. No. You can’t think that way about him; you shouldn’t look. He’s your best friend—but your gaze moves on its own and hones in on the very obvious bulge in his sweatpants.

You glance upwards. Jisung’s cheeks are flushed. A bead of sweat trails down his forehead. He can’t seem to stop swallowing. His pretty dark eyes are not trained on yours but on the way your thighs press against each other for friction. He stares as if he’s devouring you whole.

“Jisung?” You say softly, your voice almost hoarse in your throat. There is no need to whisper. It’s just you and him, in his apartment together, alone.

“…Yeah?”

“Are you feeling it too?”

Jisung still can’t seem to look you in the eyes. He nods, slowly.

You crawl closer.

“Fuck,” He sputters out breathlessly. His hand reaches up to shakily adjust his glasses. Sweat seems to drip down the side of his face and off his chin. He wipes it away.

You inch closer, and with every shuffle you hear Jisung’s breath grow more ragged. His hands move all over himself— adjusting the gray sweatpants you want to ruin so badly, make a mess all over and cum on, brushing away the same strand of hair over and over. He still can’t seem to look at you.

Finally, you arrive right in front of him. You sit with your legs spread wide, your shorts doing little to cover up the arousal starting to drip down your thigh. Your knees, planted on the couch cushion, brush against his legs. His breath stops.

You reach up and gently grab ahold of his chin. Slowly, you turn his head so he comes face to face with your equally flushed face.

“Oh my god.”

In an instant, Jisung’s lips press against yours; he practically climbs on top of you, pinning you down into the furniture. His arms reach and wrap around whatever he can as he drinks from the taste of your lips in a dizzying rhythm. It’s insistent, messy, desperate. Your mouths move in a tangled dance, hoping each to swallow the other whole.

His fingers find the bottom hem of your shirt and hook underneath it to tug it up. You oblige and revel in each and every touch you can get.

Your shirt is shoved above your breasts, and Jisung doesn't bother to unclasp your bra—opting to move the fabric aside instead. He breaks the kiss to ogle at your bare chest. His eyes are lidded and you swear that his pupils are heart-shaped, and he sighs, almost dreamily. Like he's seen a piece of heaven.

“God, you're fucking beautiful,” He mutters from above you. “I'm sorry, I just can't....”

His words send a rush of heat straight to your core, and you whine. Next thing you know, he has his hands on your knees and spreads your legs apart so he can slot himself between them.

The friction of his pants against your clothed clit makes you keen—usually you aren't so sensitive, if not for those chocolates. Every sensation seems to be heightened.

"Sungie~" You whimper as Jisung rocks his hips against yours, your legs wrapping around his waist. He leans down to capture your lips in his once more, hungry for the hints of chocolate he tastes.

Everything is sloppy and coordinated; he grinds into you like a bunny in heat, groaning at every bit of friction between his gray sweatpants and your cotton shorts. It's hot and stuffy, but you've never felt so good in your life.

"Feel so good, shit-" Jisung mumbles between messy kisses. His glasses are fogged and hanging half off his nose, but he couldn't care less. "Wanna fuck you so badly- you want that? Want me to fuck you- ah, god~ like you deserve?"

Jisung shoves his head down into your chest, burying himself between your two mounds as he presses up on you from below. He kisses your skin and moves slightly to suckle on your right nipple, making you keen. His soft boba eyes peek out to look up at you, dazed and sick with sticky desire.

Your cunt clenches around nothing, throbs under the way Jisung's clothed cock hits your clit repeatedly. You want him to fuck you so bad, need your best friend's dick to split you open.

"Fuck me please," You beg, your voice trembling and thoughts hazy with lust. You've never begged for a man before, but Jisung is simply different in every way. "Please, Jisung, Sungie, please-"

He audibly groans, as if the sound of your voice gets him any closer to heaven. He wrenches himself away from your cunt to slip down his pants just enough for his thick, veiny cock to slip out. Meanwhile, you can't resist slipping your hand under the waistband of your shorts, to your needy wet cunt. You rub your clit with two of your fingers, whining softly at the stimulation of your swollen bud.

Suddenly, Jisung's hands wrap around the hem of your shorts and panties—he tugs them down all at once, exposing your sobbing pussy to his greedy view. You look up and his eyes are hungry, lidded and clouded with want, zeroed in on your cunt. You think he might be drooling.

Jisung hurries to press his cock against your wetness. He's shaky, almost trembling as he guides his mushroom tip through your folds, his breath coming out in stutters.

Even with just the tip, it's big. You feel like you're split open, and every inch of his cock entering your pussy sends a shiver of pleasure down your spine. It doesn't even hurt with how wet it is, and he slides in like warm butter. He practically collapses onto you as soon as he bottoms out, his head buried in your neck.

His cock twitches inside you, and you realize through the haze that Jisung isn't moving. He's whining softly, breathlessly, but his hips do little more than tremble.

"Jisung-"

"Don't," He shushes you. His voice is raspy and desperate, and he mouths at your neck between words. "I-I'm trying not to cum."

You whine, wanting any sort of friction—but Jisung doesn't budge. Then you squirm a little, just to feel it a little more, and both of you let out audible moans. He grabs your hips roughly to hold you in place.

"F-fuck-" He swears, and there's a growl in the back of his throat. "Are you trying to get me to cum inside?"

The idea of his cum filling you up sends a rush through your bones. You inadvertently clench around him, and the grip on your hips becomes so strong it might bruise.

"Y-you want it that bad? Fine then. Fucking take it."

Jisung starts a relentless pace; he groans into your neck and holds your hips down so you take every inch of him with every thrust. His tip brushes up against your cervix sweetly, and you keen, your hands tangling into his black hair.

"You're so wet baby-" He mutters, stamping in a word between rough thrusts. "So. Fucking. Tight. God, bet no one has made you feel this good, huh? Say it."

You can barely find the words, letting punched-out moans every time his cock kisses your cervix. "Y-you're the only one, Ji!"

"That's it," He says, his pace speeding up impossibly faster. He's hardly going in a pattern, just bunny fucking into you like there's no tomorrow. "This pussy belongs to me, doesn't it? All mine~"

Jisung changes his grasp; he gets a hold of your thighs and spreads them so he can fuck you deeper. It's a welcome change—and you remove one hand from his hair to clamp over your mouth, your moans becoming unabashedly noisy. Your eyes squeeze shut and roll back behind your eyelids. "O-oh Jisung, that feels good-"

"Baby, baby please, I gotta cum- gonna cum inside, want that? You want that?" He says, and his hand shakily moves to rub his palm against your clit.

You cry out, about to tip over the edge. You want it more than you've ever wanted anything in your life. "P-please!"

Jisung groans loudly, not bothering to muffle the noise as he cums inside. You cum at the same time, whimpering into his tangled-up hair. His hips stutter but they don't halt; he fucks his cum into you lazily. You whimper at the sensation of his warm cream filling your insides. It's messy and deliciously wet.

"Jisung," You mumble out, still feeling a burning ache. You're addicted to the pull of his cock inside your walls. "I- I want-"

He interrupts you with a groan; then his hips begin to pound into you once more, moaning into the skin of your neck. He simply can't stop, even when you let out a high-pitched cry.

"I'm sorry baby- just had to. Your pussy is sucking me in-" Jisung grunts. His voice is nearly drowned out by the wet squelch of every thrust into your creamy cunt. "Just one more, one more, that's it~"

You feel like you're being folded in half from the way he presses you down, your thighs moving to rest on his shoulders. He ruts into you with reckless abandon, and his hands find themselves digging into the couch on either side of your head.

Jisung lifts his head up so it's right above yours, and you see him for the first time in what feels like ages. His glasses are long gone, and his lips are slightly ajar as he groans senselessly with every thrust. The pinkness of his round cheeks and the lidded pleasure in his eyes matches yours; he leans down to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss.

You moan into his mouth sweetly, and he hums in delight. There's no rhythm to the way he kisses you and fucks you—just pleasure-driven madness, desperation to feel you in every way.

"Mine," He mumbles, almost to himself as he pounds into you desperately. "Gonna cum in you again, fill you up~ my baby, all mine-"

You clench despite the tired ache in your thighs. You want him to cum in you over and over, spill his semen and let him fuck it into you again. You want him completely, irrevocably.

It's this thought that sends you over the edge for a second time; you wail, unable to make out any words as a wave of pleasure washes over you. Jisung messily kisses you throughout, muffling the sounds that escape your lips with his own.

He thrusts a few more times, groaning senselessly into your mouth before finally cumming again. Another warm sensation floods your insides and you sigh in satisfaction.

Jisung crumples onto your body and simply lays limp on top of you. Neither of you can bring yourselves to move.

"Best sex ever." He croaks out with a hoarse voice, and you laugh tiredly.

The next morning, you wake up on the couch. Jisung is laying next to you, his body tangled with yours. He stirs as you shuffle and pull yourself up from the cushions.

"Morning," You whisper, and he responds with a soft hum. His hair is adorably chaotic and worsens as he runs a hand through it. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah," He says, and sits up with a groan of pain. "God, my joints. I feel like I blew out my back."

You notice a similar soreness in your thighs, but you tease him regardless. "You old man."

"Shut up," Jisung replies with no real malice. He looks down at you with surprising affection, his boba eyes twinkling with joy. You can't help but smile at the sight.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You say, an amused breath leaving your lips.

"Nothing," He grins cheekily. "Just that I got to have sex with my best friend who I've liked for an entire year."

You blink in shock, and Jisung giggles. "What? You're surprised?"

"No, I mean- yeah," You find yourself stumbling over your words, a pink blush appearing on your cheeks. "I mean, we did fuck yesterday, I just didn't expect you to say it so...bluntly."

"Well I did," Jisung lowers his voice to a soft whisper. He leans in close so his lips nearly brush against yours. "I like you."

"I like you too," You reply bashfully, and you can't resist kissing him. It's slow and saccharine sweet, nothing like the desperate messes you were yesterday. He sighs like a love-struck teenager as you pull away.

"Minho's gonna kill us," He mumbles dreamily. You burst out laughing.

[crimsonbubble]

cw// nsfw twt links

this is the type of sloppy that hongjoong gets when he’s pussy drunk. the only thing on his mind is getting you to come undone on his tongue again. he’s so far gone that he doesn't even try to take your panties off; opting just to tug them to the side and press sloppy kisses to your sticky pussy. god, does he fucking love the taste of you. he holds your thighs apart and pins your hips to whatever surface he has you against so he can eat you out with no restraint. your whines and cries only fuel him more. he’ll spit on your already messy cunt just to lap at your folds again. constantly whines about “one more. jus’ one more, baby. one more for me please, princess.”

[atlabeth]

too sweet

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: a night out makes hotch realize a few too many things.

a/n: me??? writing for criminal minds again out of nowhere??? what is going on. and i do not have an answer i was just in a hotch mood bc he's fine asf and i finally have the confidence to write for him here we are lol. hope u enjoy this short lil thing

wc: 2.4k

warning(s): alcohol consumption, a sexual joke or two, written in one go so might be a mess! aaron is all in his head but this is basically all fluff

Hotch can’t focus. 

Mostly because he can’t stop glancing over at you. Normally it’s not a problem—he’d lost count of how many times he’d distracted himself from mounds of paperwork by meeting your eyes through his office window, often accompanied by a smile that made even his heart beat a little faster—and especially now, it shouldn’t be a problem. 

You and Derek have had some kind of bet going on during the past few nights out—you didn’t believe he was as charming and suave as he claimed, and Morgan was all too happy to prove you wrong.

You bet that he couldn’t get at least five numbers every night, and come last Thursday, Morgan took the win at the end of the evening with a smile on his face. As punishment, the first round of their next night out was on you. 

And that’s nice, sure. Hotch is always thankful that his team can still joke around and have fun with each other despite everything they have to deal with each day. He hopes they keep the light in their eyes as long as possible, especially the younger ones. He’s fine with being the stick in the mud, the one who never smiles, the iron willed chief that scares local uniforms.

Hotch is not so fine with the way he feels right now. 

It’s a busy night at the bar, which is understandable. Hotch is sure half the precinct is out alongside them, celebrating the BAU finally solving the case that had torn them to shreds over the past week. You, Reid, and Garcia put the threads together an hour into scouring through evidence, and the unsub was cuffed before noon. 

Certainly something to celebrate—there’s a reason the whole team agreed to go out tonight and leave tomorrow. Even Rossi decided to join when he learned you would be buying, but he’s already abandoned them in favor of catching up with some old friends. Hotch even thinks they might have another round in their future because of their solve, courtesy of the local chief. They had a long night ahead of them. 

But you haven’t gotten the drinks yet, and Hotch wonders how long it’ll take even after you do. Because some officer is trying to talk you up, and you’re smiling and laughing along and giving him every bit of your attention. 

Hotch recognized him the moment he set eyes upon him, even in plain clothes. He’s some joke of an officer from the station, and he’s been trying to get your number—or even just get your attention—throughout their whole visit. Always sidling up to you during debriefs, specifically giving you any information or evidence he finds—Hotch has overheard him asking for your number more than once. 

Hotch has been so focused on the case he’s not even sure if you’ve rejected him or not, and the mere thought is enough to annoy him. If he wasn’t equally as sure of your ability to defend yourself and afraid of overstepping with you, he would have stepped in. 

But it makes sense. The officer is young and handsome, you’re young and pretty—not to mention you have a way of lighting up any room you step into. Hotch spent the whole first month of your employment wondering why you would want to do a job like this. He’s spent the rest of it thankful that you did. 

You’re sharp as a whip, naturally, but you’ve also done wonders for the team atmosphere. It’s hard to feel down with a smile like yours beaming his way. The job weighs you down like it does everyone, but you still manage to lift everyone’s spirits on the jet ride back before they jump into the next case. It’s impressive. 

It’s also trouble. You’ve been part of the BAU for almost two years now, and Hotch has spent just as much time tearing his eyes away from you as he has working. It’s wrong, and it’s wholly inappropriate in terms of your working relationship—he’s your boss, for god’s sake. 

But sometimes, Hotch will be beating himself up over one thing or another on a case, and you’ll plant yourself in his vicinity and refuse to leave until you’ve helped him work through it. If you ever tire of the FBI, he thinks you have a second calling as an elementary school teacher. 

Sometimes the hotel they’re staying at will have truly shitty coffee, worse than they’re used to at the BAU, and you’ll already be in the lobby with a tray full of the team’s orders. Hotch never recalls telling you his order—you just figured it out, and you remembered it. 

Sometimes his gaze will drift your way, and he’ll find you already staring at him. You look away just as quickly as he does, and it makes him wonder. 

Hotch has made a living off of studying the behavior of others. More often than not, he finds himself profiling his co-workers just out of instinct. His job is to know what others are thinking. 

But god. When it comes to you, Hotch doesn’t think he’s ever felt more unsure in his life. Especially when you look at him the same way he wants to for weeks, then act nothing but proper another day; when you fall asleep against his shoulder on the jet one night and entertain some desk jockey another night. 

It makes him feel like a highschooler again, trying to figure out if Haley really liked him or if she was just playing around, and it’s more embarrassing than it should be. Especially when he’s still dealing with the lingering emotions from the divorce. 

“Hotch.” JJ’s voice is enough to break him out of his trance, and he blinks as he turns to her. At least someone paid him the mercy to dispel his thoughts, even if only for a temporary time. 

“What?” 

“Did you hear a single word I said?” she asks, a slight smile curving on her lips. 

“Of course,” he responds. “The chief’s over there talking with the commissioner. He’s the same guy who made your life difficult the last time we were in Milwaukee.” 

JJ’s eyebrows shoot up, and she nods. “I didn’t think you were listening.” 

“I think he just got lucky,” Morgan cuts in, his gaze darting over to you momentarily. “I think you were too focused on our drinks.” 

Reid frowns. “I don’t think he was focused on the drinks. He’s—” 

“Just making sure they’re still coming,” Hotch interrupts, and he straightens his tie. Today really has been a long one—usually, he’s better at covering these things up. “And I wasn’t lucky. I was listening.” 

“Trust me,” Morgan says with a laugh, “I’m watchin’ her until I’ve got a glass in my hand. She’s not getting out of this after the way she bragged this whole month.” 

“The stupidest thing to make a bet on,” Prentiss remarks, “especially with you.” 

“She said she just wanted to prove you wrong,” Reid contributes. “She thinks you’re too cocky.” 

Morgan grins. “It’s not cocky if you can back it up.” 

Hotch’s attention goes back to you, and you’ve finally gotten their drinks. You’re loading them onto a tray like you’re the bartender yourself, and his brows crease. Maybe he should have gone up with you. 

“Do you think she needs help?” he asks. How obvious is too obvious? Why does it feel like his brain only works at half power whenever it comes to you? 

“She’ll be fine,” Prentiss says. “And if she needs it, that guy talking her up can help.” 

“Jason Rodriguez,” Reid remarks. “He hung around her the whole time we were trying to pinpoint a location, and he wasn’t any help, which makes sense because he's practically desk-bound at the precinct. I’m surprised she got any work done.” 

JJ chuckles. “I’m surprised he hasn’t given up yet. He’s been following her around all week, like some lost puppy.” 

Morgan shrugs. “I dunno. She seems pretty into him.” 

“I don’t think ex-frat boys are her type,” Prentiss says wryly. Hotch doesn’t think so either, but he doesn’t say anything. Contributing to this kind of conversation is certainly too obvious.  

“I doubt we’ll be back here for a while. She might as well.” Morgan smiled. “She probably needs a win after such an embarrassing loss.” 

Thankfully, before Hotch has to keep pretending not to care about this topic, you walk over carrying a tray of cocktails—and you’re alone. The subject of their previous conversation seems lost in the crowd, and he feels a dangerous amount of relief. 

“Are you all talking about me?” you drawl. 

“You know we are, sweetheart. Thought you were never gonna get here.” Morgan sits up, smiling at you. “What’d my win get us?” 

“Long Island Iced Teas,” you muse as you set the tray down. “Enjoy it, because I’m gonna be working some overtime to make up for all these.” 

Morgan grins as he takes his drink. “You should’ve never doubted my skills.” 

“I’m surprised you didn’t need any help,” Prentiss says. “You’ve done this before, huh?” 

“Bartended my way through college.” You slide into the booth next to Hotch, just a bit too close for a bit too long, and he hopes that no one can see his chest still for a moment. It’s impressive that he still hasn’t figured out how to lessen the effect you have on him. “I’ve probably got better hands than you, Morgan.” 

“Do we need to make another bet?” he asks. “Because I’d love to clean out your wallet.” 

“Maybe wait another month before you prey on any more poor, defenseless agents,” you croon, and Morgan laughs. 

He pivots the conversation away from you when you pick up your drink and take a sip, and you look at Hotch. Whenever your gaze is on him, you make him feel like he’s the only person in the room. He’s sure you never look at anyone else that way, but Hotch wonders how much of that is his mind trying to justify his imagination. 

“I’m surprised you agreed with this,” you say, mercifully interrupting his thoughts. “I thought you’d want us to go back tonight.” 

“You all earned a night out after the work you did,” Hotch says. He thinks about taking a drink, but he decides against it, at least for now. He can barely trust his sober mind. 

“You’ve earned it too,” you say. “We wouldn’t be anywhere without you, Hotch. You keep us all together.” 

He shakes his head. “I don’t think I ever would’ve connected the dots like you and Reid can with Garcia. I hate unsubs with secret codes.” 

“I’ve always liked puzzles,” you muse. “There’s nothin’ like it when it all finally clicks.” 

Hotch hums, and for a moment, he’s silent. Your gaze remains fully on him, and that might be why he has trouble thinking. It’s too easy to get lost in your eyes. 

“What did that guy say?” Hotch finally manages to ask, because he honestly can’t help it. Morgan’s points actually worried him a bit, and he wonders what that says about him. Ex-frat boy certainly isn’t your type, but someone forgettable for a one night stand isn’t the most absurd thing in the world. 

Your brows knit together as you drink some more. “What guy?”

“The officer you were talking with,” he says. “He seemed to like you.” 

He’d been flirting with you since the moment you stepped into the precinct, actually, desperate for your attention, but Hotch didn’t really want to say that. He’s sure you noticed either way, if the rest of the team did. 

“Oh. Him.” You shrug. “He’s nice, I guess. Definitely a looker. But he’s got nothing beneath that hair.” 

“Morgan’s surprised you didn’t bring him back,” Hotch says. He wonders if he’s pushing too much, and again, he feels like a highschooler testing the waters. Do you know what you do to him? What you reduce him to? 

You shrug as you take a sip. “If he knows what’s good for him, he knows he doesn’t have a chance. My attention’s on someone else.” 

Prentiss calls your name and you get drawn back into the middle of the team’s conversation, and thankfully, Hotch has a chance to digest your words—and the stunner of a smile you flash at him before you get pulled into their talk. 

His decision to not drink seems even wiser, now. Hotch has to loosen his tie, and he ignores Reid watching him. It’s futile trying to hide anything from Spencer Reid—the kid already knows everything. 

Again, it's dangerous how much satisfaction he gets from it—from knowing you never really paid that officer a second thought. You didn’t smile at him the way you smile at Hotch. You don’t smile at anyone the way you smile at Hotch. He thought he was imagining it at first, or that he was just a bit too stuck up, but it was the honest truth. You paid him special attention, and he couldn’t blame the warmth in his chest from the thought on any alcohol. 

He tunes back into the conversation just to hear Morgan demand you pay for his next drink. 

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous,” you say. 

He puts a hand to his chest. “Generous? You’re just paying what you owe me.” 

You laugh and shake your head. “Pick your poison, pretty boy.” 

“How do you feel about tequila?” 

You make a noise of disgust and shake your head. “As long as I don’t have to drink it.” 

“You’re just paying, sweetheart.” Morgan’s eyes dart to Hotch, and he nods as he grins. “One for me and our fearless leader.” 

Hotch shakes his head. “Someone has to get us back to the hotel.” 

“That’s what cabs are for!” Prentiss exclaims. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Hotchner. You deserve to let a little loose.” 

“It takes most people an hour to process a drink,” Reid contributes, “so you’ll be fine before we leave if you want to drive.” 

“Come on, Hotch,” you say, and you nudge his shoulder. “You might as well—I’m paying.” 

“...Fine,” he says, and the whole team cheers. Even Reid smiles. 

“Y’know, you can smile tonight, Hotch,” you say with one of your own before you down the rest of your drink and stand up.

And one actually tugs at his lips. It feels a lot hotter in this bar with your eyes sparkling and you beaming right at him, and he fights the need to shed his jacket. Your grin somehow grows. 

“That’s what I came out to see,” you remark as you pick your wallet back up from the table. “I expect another when I get back, Hotch. There’s a lot to celebrate tonight.” 

Yeah, he thinks as he watches you go. There just might be. 

[wanderingconstellations]

“i would rather die than to love you from afar„

rafayel would tuck your hair behind your ear and looks at you with loving eyes when you fall asleep listening to his ramblings.

rafayel who acts defiant and dramatic for the fun of it, he adores seeing you grin and laugh at his silly behavior.

rafayel relishes the warmth of your hand intertwined with his. although you may not remember him from your previous lives, he'll make sure to cherish you in this life anyways.

rafayel, who's heart overflows with love. he would do anything to stay by your side, even if it means giving up everything he has for you.

___

xavier, who puts himself on the line for you. your safety is his top priority.

xavier who rarely ever refuses you. he can't, he can't find himself refusing you. ask him anything, and he would do anything in his power to give it to you.

xavier, who would always get hurt and never go to the hospital. he always comes to you with one or two more wounds that you scold him for getting. it isn't his fault he keeps on getting hurt, maybe he just wanted to see you.

xavier would fall asleep everywhere, and sometimes even on you— if you let him. you may not see it, but his eyes is practically brimming with love for you.

___

zayne, who gives you gifts as a sign of his affection.

zayne treasures the memories you guys make together. he keeps those memories close to his heart, loving you despite being cursed with the pain that comes along with it.

zayne who gets flustered when you catch him eating sweets. although he is a doctor himself, he can't resist sweets— which makes you giggle at the mention of that.

zayne, who boldly holds and kisses you. he doesn't care if his love for you will kill him, he would rather die than to love you from afar.

a/n: this might be occ and inaccurate LMAO. had to use the fandom wiki to make it seem accurate as possible. i haven't played the game in a while so ^^

[blueberrybeomgyu]

୨⎯ "attention" ⎯୧ (kdh)

+*:🌟:*﹤smut w plot, sub!leehan, edging, riding, exhib+voy themes, reader fem anat, piv sex, flawed characteristics, bit of a scent thing going on / wc: 4.7k / masterlist

✧･ﾟ: *

leehan wants your eyes on him, but you've been so focused on work, leaving early and coming home late. he knows it's important, that you have to finish your project by the deadline, but he can't help but feel a little selfish about your time when you've rarely spoken to him in the past two weeks. he's barely even seen you, always falling asleep despite trying to stay up when you come home, and he's getting antsy missing your company.

you're sliding out of bed after only being home for five hours. he’d startled awake when you came in, but you were too tired to talk, too tired to change before collapsing on the bed.

he’d changed you himself, gently wiping your makeup off and massaging lotion into your skin, then held you close to him as you caught up on much-needed rest. he wakes up when he feels your body heat leave his side, and groans as he watches with foggy eyes as you disappear into the bathroom. 

“don’t go to work. stay here with me,” he begs sweetly when you come back out. you consider it, he can see it on your face, but you ultimately shake your head.

“i can’t, baby. gotta get this project done, then i’ll be all yours, m’kay?”  he pouts, but it doesn’t last long because you kiss it away and ruffle his already messed up hair. within minutes, you’re out the door.

leehan sulks in bed for a little longer, wishing he could make you pay attention to him. it feels like the only time you’re actually looking at him, thinking about him, is when the two of you are intimate with each other. it’s hard to find time in two busy schedules, but during those rare moments, it’s just you and him; the world around the two of you doesn’t exist anymore.

he’s so warm and safe in bed and the only thing that would make it better is if you were here with him, tangled up in the sheets and wasting the day away. he thinks about your soft skin and how sweet it smells, how warm your touch is when he’s lucky enough to be blessed with it, blessed by your gentle eyes and kind words when they’re focused only on him and spoken just for him to hear.

his hand is traveling under his waistband without hesitation, and thoughts of you clutter his mind as he wraps his palm around his length. he tries to mimic the way you squeeze his base and flick your thumb over his slit, tries to imagine it’s your pretty hands touching him this way. it's not long before stars are dancing behind his eyelids and he’s grunting out into the silent room. 

you never want him to cum the first time around, and almost always pull away when he’s on the edge. he’s so used to the denial, to the feeling of his orgasm slipping out of his grasp that it just feels natural when he pulls his hand away from his cock. he sucks in a breath at the way it twitches and sees you, hears you in his imagination, saying, “good boy, aren’t you so well-trained?”

he chews on the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the burning hot need coursing through his veins, and an idea forms in his head. he knows he shouldn’t, but it should be fine, right? just a voice message showing you how much he misses you. you wouldn’t get upset with him for that, surely.

he reaches for his phone on the nightstand and opens you guys’ text messages. he spends another four seconds convincing himself this is a good idea. then he’s grabbing his cock again, pulling all the tricks to put him on the verge of tipping over. when he feels close, he presses the “record a message” button beside the text bar.

at first, it’s just shy little moans as he complains about how much he misses you, how much better it would feel if you were here. then, they turn into desperate, raspy gasps as he pushes himself over the edge. the audio recording sends the second he releases the button, and he can’t unsend it, so he accepts his choices and waits to hear what you have to say.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

the answer is absolutely nothing. you don’t respond to or address the audio recording at all, aside from a smirk and a “did you have fun today?” that you throw his way when you walk through the front door. 

he continues doing it, messages ranging from more audio recordings to photos of his stomach painted white, and usually you’ll kiss him, ruffle up his hand, call his “little treats” cute, make more promises to help him out when you’ve met your deadline.

he knows your work is important, but although guilt claws at him for it, leehan still feels a bit hurt that you didn’t take his complaints to heart, just assumed it was another one of his trivial games. 

leehan can play games, and when you hole yourself up in the bedroom to type away at your laptop, he realizes that he will. he’ll do whatever it takes to get your attention.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

you finally have a day off, and have decided you’d like to spend part of it at the mall looking through new arrivals. leehan’s not big on shopping, so he just follows you around and occasionally gets distracted by fish merch. 

you’ve stepped away at least four times to take phone calls from your coworkers, and you guys have only been at the mall for an hour and a half. when lunchtime rolls around, you excuse yourself again to answer a call from your boss, leaving leehan alone to pick at his food in disinterest. 

“um, hi. are you busy?” a feminine voice says. the girl has to stand directly in leehan’s line of sight for him to realize she’s talking to him. when he looks up at her, she smiles shyly and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“can i help you?” 

“no! well, yes. i…was just wondering if i could have your phone number. i saw you standing alone earlier…” the girl’s voice fades out as leehan peeps your approaching figure in the distance, and the gears in his head turn with another (probably bad) idea.

“...alone again here in the food court, so i thought i should take the chance.”

leehan didn’t hear most of what she said, but he can tell when someone’s interested in him, and he can play along.

he flashes the girl a charming smile, dimples and all, and nods along to whatever she’s rambling about. she’s cute enough, and seems like a nice girl, but leehan’s real focus is entirely on you as you watch the scene. he watches you as best as he can from his peripheral, but never takes his eyes off the girl in front of him. 

“is that…alright?” she says, looking at leehan with wide, hopeful eyes. he pretends to consider whatever she asked, and holds a palm out for her to rest her hand in. her face gets even redder, and he kind of feels bad that he’s using her to get to you.

he’s about to tell her that he’s sorry to disappoint, and that he appreciates it, he really does, but he has a girlfriend. he doesn’t get a chance to say any of that when you come up behind him seemingly out of nowhere and tap him on the shoulder. the girl pulls her hand away from leehan’s and stands around awkwardly.

“what do you think you’re doing?” you ask. your arms are crossed and your eyes are locked on his, but not with the love and admiration he’s been longing for. his composure falters when he sees your expression, one that says he’s fucked up more than he knows.

“this girl came up to me and…” he trails off and gestures in the girl’s general direction.

“and?” you ask impatiently, but leehan doesn’t know how he was going to conclude that sentence. this girl came up to me and i pretended to be interested to get a rise out of you? he has a feeling that’s not going to support his case well. you turn away from him and to the girl behind him, causing him to turn around as well.

“you’ll have to excuse my idiot boyfriend. i’m sorry he wasted your time instead of just telling you he was taken.” the girl nods in understanding and tries to hide her disappointed pout. she accepts your handshake when you offer it and hurries off. 

you shoot leehan another pissed glare, then dump your remaining food in the trash and walk out of the mall. he considers apologizing to the girl as well, but she’s already out of sight, so he trashes his own food and trails after you with a ball of shame sitting in his throat. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

to be honest, you scare leehan just a little, especially when he knows you’re angry with him but you’re not talking about it. he’d rather you just chew his head off and get it over with, just tell him how much of an inconsiderate dumbass he is. you don’t, so the guilt manifests and manifests until he feels like he might puke it up.

you lock the front door and hang up your coat, and the first thing you say to him in the last twenty minutes is “sit.”

leehan parks his ass on the couch immediately, and waits to hear whatever other command you might give him. he expects you to sit next to him, or on the armchair by the couch or even on his lap. he doesn’t expect you to sit right across from him on the coffee table. at least a minute passes full of you just staring at him, and the silence is killing him. 

“baby–”

“shut up,” you say, and his mouth clamps shut. you stare at him for a few more seconds, poking your inner cheek with your tongue in thought. then, you shake your head and laugh in disbelief. leehan watches as you cross your arms over your chest, and tries not to flick his eyes down to the way your boobs are being pushed up. he may be sick with horniness and loneliness, but it’s really not the time.

“why are you acting like this, leehan?” it takes leehan a few seconds and a quirk of your eyebrow to realize you’re actually waiting for an answer, that you want him to speak now.

“what do you mean?” that’s his intelligent response. you scoff and roll your eyes.

“don’t act dense with me. you were flirting with that girl just so i’d see. i know when you’re acting out for attention, and that’s exactly what you’ve been doing this entire week.” leehan’s embarrassed at being caught so he shakes his head in denial, but it’s nowhere near convincing even to himself.

“no? you didn’t touch yourself and record it for me? didn’t send me photos of you covered in your own cum? didn’t flirt with a girl right in my face in a desperate attempt to get my attention?” leehan’s cheeks burn at the direct confrontation. hearing his actions out loud brings a fresh wave of shame over him, and he’s so ready to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness.

“show me.”

leehan’s eyes fly wide open and he lets out a nervous chuckle. “w-what?”

“you wanted my attention so bad. now you have it,” you say with a bored expression. your eyes leave a trail of fire wherever they land on his skin. he has your attention, and has to think of a way to keep it. 

“go ahead,” you command with a jerk of your head. your lips are turned down into a frown, and it’s so condescending, like you don’t even want to be here. leehan needs you to want to be here, and he’s nothing if not a performer. he lifts his hips and tugs his pants down to his thighs. 

you make a noise, something between a hum and a coo, when he pulls his boxers down and his dick springs against his stomach.

“your little cock is hard, hannie.” he knows he’s not small, but your words are still humiliating, and still burn the need to impress you across his skin. “gonna show me how you fucked yourself when you were moaning into your phone?”

leehan’s hips buck against nothing, causing his member to slap against his stomach again, and his mouth falls open with a groan.

he does as you tell him, wrapping his hand around his cock like he’s been doing every morning for the past week, squeezing his base, flicking his tip, imagining it’s you, wishing it was you, but he doesn’t dare ask. instead he watches your facial expressions, how your lips curl up into a smirk when he’s close.

“stop,” you tell him, and he pulls his hand away without question. he would’ve been foolish to not expect the sensation of his orgasm floating farther and farther away from him. he tries to slow his breathing, tries not to lose his mind so early into this session.

“keep going.” 

he continues his previous pace immediately, and his hips tremble when he tries to stop them from bucking up. his tip is a bit more sensitive when he brushes his thumb across it, and it takes less time for him to get close. 

he strokes a bit faster, moans a bit louder. he has no idea how long you plan to keep him here, but he still anticipates the relief of falling off the edge.

“let go.”

leehan pulls his hand away from his cock and clutches the couch instead while willing his legs to stop shaking. he’s helpless to disobey you, but he groans as his orgasm escapes him a second time.

“hm…i dunno. something’s not right.” you tap a manicured nail against your chin in thought. he can never understand how you’re so composed in moments like this, like it’s a normal evening. if you’re turned on, you don’t show it, and it makes leehan flush with shame. “what do you think, baby boy?” 

he huffs out a laugh at the question. how is he supposed to know? but you’re looking at him expectantly, so he scrambles to come up with something. “i mean– usually i’m, like, in bed, i guess. thinking about you, imagining you, smelling you…” god, don’t get him started on smelling you. 

you hum thoughtfully and lift off of the table. in seconds, you’re hovering over him, flashing him a devious grin. your hips are so close to straddling his, and you slap his hand away when it reaches up to touch your waist. you hold yourself up by the back cushions with your arms on either side of his head. he’s trapped, and suddenly, everything else in the room is overshadowed by you.

 “is that right? you think about all the dirty things you wanna do to me while getting off to the smell of my perfume?”

of course you’d know his weak spot. you’re so close to him and he thinks he’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t get to touch you. your perfume is invading his senses, and flaming hot desire coils in his abdomen. he squeezes his eyes shut to prevent them from rolling into his skull as his hips twitch into the air.

“touch yourself, hannie,” you say sweetly.

he takes a deep breath and grabs his cock again. he’s known to leak like a faucet, especially after meeting you, and his hand is covered in sticky white within the first few seconds of stroking himself.

he knows there’s raspy noises falling from his open mouth, but he can barely hear them over his heart pounding. the way you take over his brain is overwhelming and he can hardly think. your lips graze his neck, and the skin litters with goosebumps despite the hot air between the two of you. 

if he opens his eyes, he’s got a face full of titties, and he doesn’t know if he can handle that despite every cell in his body telling him to look. he wants to be good for you and hold out until you give him permission to stop, but it feels so good that he’s speeding his hand up.

“ha– ah, fuck–” slick, sloppy sounds fill the room as he works himself to the edge for you.

“let go,” you whisper in his ear. his hand rips away from his cock and grips onto his thigh instead, getting it wet and gross with precum. it takes what feels like an eternity for him to back away from the precipice this time. fear runs his blood cold when he realizes he almost didn’t last. 

he’s always good for you, can edge himself for as long as you'd like. he doesn’t know why he’s sensitive today, especially after spending a week beating it.

you pull your face out of his neck, and he slumps against the couch. you smile at the sight and caress his cheek. he melts into the touch, but you pull away to card through his tangled hair instead. you used the grip on his strands to tilt his head back so that he’s looking up at you. 

“i do think you were louder that time. moaned just like you did in those recordings.” he opens his mouth to say something, but loses his train of thought when you plop down on his lap. 

“fffuck–” he moans, voice all pathetic and high-pitched. 

“stay still,” you warn when his hips buck into yours, and he tries so hard, but even the soft fabric of your skirt is too rough on his sensitive dick. he struggles to keep his eyes open, but he’d rather die than take them off of you, so he blinks through the tears pooling in his waterline. the action causes the tears to trickle down, and the air is cold against his wet cheeks.

you stay like that until his breaths are more even and he’s somewhat calmed down. he lets out a displeased noise when you lift off of him and sit back on the coffee table.

“c’mon, hannie. i’m not done with you yet. let me see.” you push his legs apart with your knee. he looks down with you, and the sight makes him burn with embarrassment. he’s leaking so much it’s soaking into the couch, and it’s another sight he has to squeeze his eyes shut to get away from.

“w-what, are you j-just gonna–” he swallows thickly, clears his throat, and tries again. “how long are you gonna make me do this?”

you tilt your head and smile at him like you aren’t melting his brain into goo. “however long it takes for you to learn your lesson.” leehan whines a little in protest.

“just wanted you to look at me, missed you so much.”

the look in your eyes softens and you lean forward to place a heartfelt kiss on his lips. “i missed you too, hannie. so. much,” you say, cupping his cheeks and pressing more gentle kissing around his face. “it was so hard to focus at work when you kept sending me those treats. but bad boys still have to take their punishments, yeah?” leehan sighs longingly and nods, resting his head against the back cushions, and reaching for his cock when you instruct him to start over.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

by the fifth denial, he’s a shaking mess, falling apart at the seams and only holding himself together by your command. he’s done for the second you flip your skirt up, slide your panties off, circle your clit right in front of him. you’re so close but so far, and he’s definitely losing his mind. 

“please– n/n, let me…could fuck you so good,” he begs helplessly, deep voice strained and words stringing together. it’s the first time tonight you actually look interested in what’s happening, and he can’t figure out where to look–at your pretty face as you make yourself feel good, at the wetness leaking out of your pulsing heat, at the way your tits shake when you tug at your nipples. you’re biting your lip to keep quiet, keeping your pretty noises to yourself. leehan thinks that’s the cruelest part of this punishment. 

his hips are fucking up into his hand in a sloppily, a stark contrast to his usually controlled thrusts. he’s not easy to turn into a mess, but you know him better than he knows himself. you know his limits, know that he won’t cum unless you tell him to, know how badly he needs your forgiveness. 

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry, just fuck me, please?” but you’re not looking at him. your eyes are focused on his cock drooling all over his legs, at the way it twitches when he’s close. your hips twitch, and your cunt drools on the table, and his mouth runs dry. he’s too delirious to figure out if your reactions are because of him, if he’s doing good for you. 

“stop, pretty boy.”

his hand trembles as he pulls it away from his dick and flops it against the couch. he gasps harshly, heaves loudly, and more tears stream down his face as his hips chase friction that’s already gone.

his head is leaning against the back cushions and lolled to the side, but he’s still watching you touch yourself. his mouth hangs open from all of his pathetic begging, and there’s a thin trail of saliva pooling in his mouth and dribbling onto his t-shirt. 

his eyelids are so heavy, but he watches brainlessly as you tease your opening, dip a finger into the heat. it comes back out drenched in creamy white, and he has to dig his nails into the cushion to stop himself from grabbing his dick without permission.

you pull your hands away from your body and straddle him again. he nearly goes cross-eyed when your bare cores touch. it’s so wet, and his entire body shivers with need.

“aw, hannie. look at me. tell me what you want.”

“mm, want– wanna taste you, wanna fuck you so bad.” you giggle, and he loses himself somewhere between your sparkly eyes and shiny lips.

“wanna taste me?” you reaffirm, and he nods dumbly. you straighten his head up and cup his cheeks between your fingers and thumb. you make him watch as you use your free hand to repeat the motions, gathering your wetness on your finger, pushing it through your opening and pulling it out. 

you whimper out freely this time, and the sound is so pretty and sinful leehan wishes he could tattoo it on his brain, wishes he had recorded it so he can hear it again later. your hand forces his lips to pucker and his mouth to open, and you press your wet fingers onto his tongue. 

leehan’s eyes roll again, and his eyebrows crease as the taste of you, the smell of you invades his senses. you always taste so good, so sweet to him.

his eyes focus on you again, but his vision clouds and his hips buck up against you. you slide against him so deliciously, but it’s over too soon when you slide your fingers out of his mouth and pry your hips away from his.

you wipe your wet fingers on his shirt and remind him to look at you, but he is already looking at you, has barely torn his eyes away from you in the last thirty minutes.

he’s completely awestruck, and maybe a little delirious when he swears he can see the faint halo hovering above your head. he tries to tell you how perfect, how much of an angel you are, but his words come out jumbled and unintelligible. 

“do you have a color for me, baby?”

“mhm, fuck– green, n-need you so bad. ’m so sorry, p-please, you look so beautiful, t–”

you interrupt him by pressing your lips against his, and leehan’s convinced he would’ve been talking for the rest of his life if you hadn’t. he’s pretty sure he melts into a puddle of goo when your lips collide, yours so perfect and plush against his. any function his brain is still performing shuts down immediately, and you have to handle the kiss by yourself, because his lips are slack and useless against yours. there’s a string of saliva connecting the two of you when you pull away from him.

“i think my pretty boy’s at his limit, hm?” you ask, and he doesn’t really know what you’re saying, but anything sounds good coming from you, so he nods and watches with his jaw on the floor as you stand up and pull your skirt off. you pull his shirt off as well, and you’re both bare and vulnerable but safe in your own world, just as leehan longed for.

you cup his cheeks again and hold his face so he can look up at you as you sink down on his cock, and the noise he makes when you bottom out is broken and pitiful even to his own ears. he knows he must look so fucked out and stupid, but you’re looking at him with so much love in your eyes that he’s sure he looks beautiful anyway. 

you wrap around him so well, your cunt is so tight. it feels like he’d forgotten how it feels to be buried inside you, and to be experiencing it for the first time again has to be parallel to some sort of spiritual ascension. leehan doesn’t know what he did to deserve it, but he does know he’d spend an eternity here if you allowed it.

your hands move to grip his shoulders, and you make the most heavenly face of ecstasy leehan has ever seen. you lift your hips to slide him out, and bottom out again. your cunt’s sucking him in so greedily, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up. 

“i’ll let you cum if you fuck me, pretty boy,” you say like you read his mind. you grab his lifeless hands and place them on your waist, then grip the back of the couch again. he gets the message clearly, holding you in place as he jerks into you. his thrusts aren’t coordinated at all, and it’s out of pure habit when he angles his hips to fuck right into your sweet spot. 

“fuck yeah, hannie. that’s so good, you’re so good,” you moan out, and he uses strength he barely has to aim for that spot, to hear those words from you again. on a particularly hard thrust, your eyes flutter closed.

“look at me, n/n. please– look at me,” he begs, voice cracking, and when you do, your eyes are glossy, tears pulling in your waterline. it’s so hot, and finally, your attention is his, and he’s making you feel good, but he’s not gonna last like this.

“you fill me up so good, hannie. make me feel so good,” you say breathlessly, eyes locked on his. “gonna cum for me? gonna fill me up nicely?” and he’s nodding, pitiful whimpers falling from his lips, whatever you say. 

you trail a hand up his abdomen, to his chest, and tug at his nipple. the rush of pleasure he feels is so intense that the knot in his stomach is fraying and snapping so quickly he can’t even warn you, but he tries through strangled gasps: “cumming, ‘m, fu–”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

it takes leehan a while to come back to earth. he’s so tired he can barely move, but you kiss him until his mind returns home. after asking if he’s okay five times and getting five verbal “yes’s,” you clean the two of you up and lead him to bed.

it’s still when he speaks again, eyes searching for yours in the dark room, “i really am sorry, y/n. i should’ve been more considerate. i respect your work so much, i just got so lonely…” you smile at him softly and reach a hand up to rub circles into his back.

“i’m sorry you were so lonely, hannie. i should’ve managed my time better, should’ve taken your feelings more seriously. from now on, i’ll keep work at work, and after my project, we can both take time off and go on a vacation. how’s that?”

“that’s perfect,” he says, and means it wholeheartedly, falling asleep with a smile of his own.

✧･ﾟ: *

a/n : FUCK THIS TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE LOL i reread it three times pls lmk if there r still typos <3

[aringofsalt]

some highlights from buck's instagram ft. tommy, maddie, and the 118

911 social media series 🚨

[13atoms]

Working Late (Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader)

Summary: After a busy few weeks, you spend a friday night in the office catching up on the never-ending pile of paperwork which appears whenever the team are whisked away on a case. To your surprise, a colleague decides to join you.

Contains: Fluff, very gentle friends-to-lovers, early seasons spencer, food | 2k words.

If you listened for long enough, you could hear the distant hum of the vending machine.

The office was empty. It was long past the time where other departments turned their lights off, and it became acceptable to sling your shoes off and pad around in socks. The BAU was in high demand lately, and it felt as though the last three cases had been back-to-back-to-back. You could hardly remember what your bed looked like, your apartment floor was covered in clothes from hastily repacking suitcases, and the thought of cleaning it up was enough to keep you in the office.

At 7:30pm, even the most dedicated of your colleagues had rightfully headed home to partners, or sports clubs, or kids. That only left you, and the team’s mountain of paperwork which only grew each time you headed out on a case.

I’ll work late tonight, catch up on everything, then crash for the whole weekend, you’d promised Garcia at lunch. In one breath, she’d claimed that was impressive, that everyone would love you forever for getting it done, and warned you to take care of yourself.

Sometimes it was hard to know how to. You felt dreadful being here, you'd feel worse if you went home, thinking about the work hanging over you. For a moment you lay with your head on your forearm, idly massaging out the headache that had started to form.

Dinner, you realised. You hadn’t eaten dinner. Maybe that was why you felt dreadful.

The temptation to just go home would be too strong if you went out to get it, so you headed for the drawer in the kitchen full of takeout menus.

While you were flicking through the pile for the least sticky menus, the elevator doors opened.

It was almost certainly security checking to see who was still up here, or a cleaner making their rounds. Nonetheless, with half the building dark, it was hard not to suddenly be on high alert. In socked feet, you tiptoed back along the corridor until you could see the doors, already sliding closed with the carriage empty.

You crept further forward, until you could see a man, hair slightly damp around his face and a satchel looped over his body. Reid. He was stood behind your desk, peering at the computer you had left on, as though he was confused.

“Evening,” you offered, pushing against the warm fondness you felt as he jolted away from your chair in surprise.

“The computer screens turn themselves off after five minutes of inactivity, and you never leave yours unlocked. I figured something must have happened.”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze drifting to your socked feet, then back to your face.

“Evening.”

“I just went to get menus,” you held them up limply, and Reid smiled.

“Have you not been home yet?”

“No, I can’t believe you’ve been home!”

“I actually went home early,” he admitted the fact as though he was embarrassed. You were fairly sure Hotch had shoved him out of the elevator doors.

“You’ve snuck back in, them?”

Finally you crossed the bullpen, sinking back into your office chair. Reid perched on the next desk over.

“Couldn’t settle – I figured I could get through everything quickly, save everyone the job…”

“Especially after we’re inevitably called in over the weekend, and all these cases feel like a lifetime ago.”

He smiled grimly.

“Exactly.”

For a moment it was silent, and you felt a little caught at Reid finding you in the office alone like this. Your headphones lay out on the desk, music blaring tinnily from them, and you felt your face grow warm as you reached across to turn the music off.

“So you’re getting food?” he hadn’t moved, gesturing at the menus.

“Yeah. Have you had dinner?”

“Not really. If you don’t mind me joining you…”

“Not at all,” you insisted, “please.”

He glanced over the options you’d laid out, over the three piles on your desk. You wondered how long ago he’d showered, his hair was straighter than usual with the weight of being damp. He was wearing one of his usual jumpers, but he must have put a t-shirt on underneath it. There was something odd about seeing him without a shirt collar. Some insight into what Spencer wore when he wanted to be comfortable, when he thought he wouldn’t be seen.

“I– Thank you. I don’t mind going out to get it?”

“I usually just order it in, and then get security call me down and accept it.”

Reid frowned, no doubt prepared to reel off dozens of stats about security risks.

“Is that allowed?”

“No one’s ever stopped me,” you shrugged, only to delight in Reid’s wide, nervous smile.

 He’d never had the chance to be a naughty schoolboy, you’d often reflected, it was why he often seemed to look like he was being called into the principal’s office.

“So long as you make the call…”

“Don’t want to get in trouble?” you teased, and Spencer laughed.

“Absolutely not! That’s the last thing I need.”

“Well then, in that case I’m choosing Chinese. Pick something.”

You tossed him a menu, and he glanced it over before looking up to think. You’d never quite get over the way his mind worked.

Once the order was placed and Spencer had laughed over your stomach grumbling, reality sunk back in. Sat at your desk, on a Friday night, under fluorescent lights.

“Isn’t it funny to have your dream job, and it’s still so boring most of the time,” you mused, and Spencer just chuckled.

He still hadn’t moved to start his work.

“I know what you mean.”

He paused for a moment.

“Was this your dream job?”

Oh, no.

“Is that lame? I assumed this was everyone here’s dream job,” you admitted.

Spencer shrugged, and you found yourself watching him desperately for any kind of redemption from the ache of embarrassment you were feeling in your chest. It shouldn’t matter, whether Spencer thought you were lame. Somehow, it seemed like the only thing that did matter.

“I suppose I never knew where I’d end up, but I’m glad it was here.”

You nodded, waiting for him to speak more. Spencer spoke a lot, defended himself with constant talking. It was something different, rare, when he was talking about his own past.

“What am I talking about? Yeah,” he was smiling, and that meant you were smiling right back at him, all toothy and lame, “this is my dream job.”

“If it was really a dream job, they’d pay for our dinners,” you teased, and Spencer laughed.

“That’s true enough. Oh!”

He rifled through his wallet, pulling out a twenty and hunting for more.

“My half,” he offered, “thank you for letting me crash your dinner.”

“Not at all, it’s nice the you’re here! And I wasn’t angling for you to pay me back, Spencer. Don’t be daft.”

“No, you just reminded me, is all.”

He put the cash down beside your hand with an eyebrow raise, and you laughed.

“Thank you.”

You wondered how someone sourced bills so clean, it wasn’t as ratty as the cash you grabbed from your wallet.

“I’ll take it as danger money, in case security squeal on us for ordering takeout.”

“I’m not sure the late night paperwork should the riskiest part of the job.”

He laughed, and finally made a move to stand up. Suddenly you were overcome by the need to stop him from going anywhere.

“What have you got left to do?” you asked.

“Case reports, a few bits of random paperwork, I think there’s a security review and some statements to type up…”

As you talked over the workload, you realised you’d done some of the work Spencer had intended to. He offered to take over on some things, and you knew he’d complete the work perfectly, until finally the workload split between the two of you felt manageable. He pulled a chair over to share your desk, and by the time the food had arrived, you felt far better about your odds of getting home before midnight.

“Do you want to try some of this?” you offered Spencer, catching him watching you.

“Oh, um, yeah actually.”

You hadn’t really meant it. Spencer didn’t share, you’d already double-dipped and your chopsticks had been in your mouth and…

“Do you want a spring roll? These are amazing.”

You let him use his chopsticks to drop a spring roll into your container, and you smiled your thanks as he did. His face was suddenly far closer to you than you’d realised, knees inches apart as  you struggled to share one desk.

“Hm,” you mumbled, “that is good!”

“Right!”

For a while you ate in silence, and if you forgot about the fluorescent lights and stale scent of office, it was like you were sharing dinner together by choice. Spencer in his casuals, you still shoe-less, perched casually on your chair, it was nice.

“So, do you have weekend plans?”

He’d be silent for so long, you hardly heard him.

“Hm?”

“Weekend plans,” his voice dropped quieter, less stable. “What are you up to?”

Spencer was asking what your weekend plans were. Spencer.

“I just thought… asking about… asking about your weekend shows that I care for your wellbeing and builds social rapport between colleagues, or… I mean, I think we’re friends at this point? Too? So I just wanted to know what your weekend plans were.”

He was bright red and staring down at his noodles, you could see the rise and fall of his chest, the panic growing in him.

“No, Spencer, I appreciate you asking. I’m, uh, just planning on crashing to be honest. I have to clean my apartment, do all my laundry. Nothing too exciting. And my building’s laundry room is flooded – again – so I guess it’s a long wait at the laundromat.”

Desperate to say anything, to make Spencer feel better – and make sure he didn’t regret talking to you – you found yourself rambling on and on, until he was smiling nervously. Still avoiding your eye, he interrupted you gently.

“Public laundromats have all kinds of risks. My biggest concern is always bed bugs – even commercial machines in laundromats often can’t kill bed bug eggs, leading them to be transferred between customers…”

“Oh, god Spencer, that’s really not making me feel better!”

“No! I just mean… I have in-unit, for that reason. Disinfected regularly.”

You looked at him, bemused, the warm food in your lap forgotten. He paused, and met your eyes, a lock of hair falling over his face. He brushed it back.

“Oh! I meant, I wasn’t bragging about my washer being clean. Uh, you’re welcome to use mine, if you’d rather.”

It was the strangest thing that had ever made your heart clench with fondness. He was still blushing, clearly afraid he’d said the wrong thing, done something weird again. It was your first instinct not to bother him, but at the innocent look in his wide, brown eyes, you found yourself accepting.

“That would be amazing, if you wouldn’t mind, Spencer. Be warned, I’ve got a lot of laundry to do, you can kick me out anytime you get sick of me,” you teased.

“I know, from all the travelling. You’re wearing clothes you never normally wear, presumably because all your favourites need washing.”

You stared at him, processing for a moment. You could see his finger tapping against the side of his thigh, the smile he was trying to hide.

“You can stay as long as you like,” he clarified.

“Maybe we can watch a boxset or something, if you like?”

The raise of his eyebrows was enough to make you laugh, and he quickly looked away, taking another mouthful of rice.

“Doctor Who?”

There was nothing you wouldn’t have watched with Spencer, as you woke up the next morning blessedly free of work calls and lazily made your way to his apartment with two suitcases full of washing and a huge bags of Skittles for Reid. He’d surprised you with a made lunch, and with a freshly cleaned washer and dryer. Despite the way he made himself scarce when you pulled out underwear and bundled it into his washing machine, two hours later, he was brave enough to sneak an arm around your shoulder.

You sank your face to his chest, and listened to the pounding of his heart. By the time Christopher Eccleston had met his first Dalek, you knew a lot of your future  would be spent on this couch.

[turbotastico]

I like to think that Felix and Turbo didn’t get along at first. Turbo, being the competitive freak he is, sees Felix as a potential rival and frequently scoffs at him or tries to annoy him.

On the other hand, Felix tries to be patient and a good neighbor, but Turbo often manages to get on his nerves.

For Turbo, this scoffing soon turns into a need for attention

Felix’s attention

even though he doesn’t quite understand why.

For Felix, tolerating Turbo becomes a habit and he stops getting as frustrated as before, focusing on other things, which only makes Turbo crave his attention more.

Turbo: “You may be the shiny perfect new game, but everyone knows who’s really the best around here, repair-boy”

Felix: “Come on, Turbo, there's no need to be so jealous. Just... stop bugging me. It's not my fault everyone’s playing my game-”

Turbo: “The gamers might like you for now, but let’s face it, it’s me they truly adore”