#i wonder who's putting him up to that sorta thing!

[mamawasatesttube]

sometimes i think about how kon went missing for a month in superboy (1994) #49 and overall nobody really noticed or cared because they all assumed it was some sort of publicity stunt. now i know that that's a narrative contrivance to an extent (can't Actually have people looking for him) but it hurts me. roxy had to tell the jla that he was actually missing. rex leech when i get you,

[kikuism]

just finished jade war. Um ‼️

[aureatelys]

she lives in daydreams with me

pairing: aaron hotchner/fem!bau!reader rating: explicit w.c.: 7k.......

content warnings: 18+ please MDNI, fluff and smut, service kink sorta, mild d/s undertones, oral (f) receiving, vaginal fingering, semi public sex, age gap duh, employee/boss relationship duh, an excuse to write hotch eating pussy ngl

It all started with a cup of coffee. Or: You've had a crush on your boss for a long time, but you've recently started noticing him going out of his way to do things for you without you asking. Or or: Aaron Hotchner likes to do things for people. And by people, he means you.

read on ao3 or below <3

It all started with a cup of coffee.

You had just walked through the glass doors and into the bullpen, still waking up and desperately needing a cup of coffee, when JJ walks by you with a stack of folders in her arms. She gives you that look and motions towards the conference room.

You sigh and follow her, not even bothering to put your bag down at your desk. “That bad, huh?”

JJ grimaces. “Isn’t it always?”

You choose not to say anything, because she’s right. Lately, the cases have been getting more gruesome, more violent, and you’re wondering if it’s starting to affect you at all.

You pass by Hotch as he’s leaving his office and down the stairs, most likely going to make a coffee. You nod at him, giving him a small smile. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Hotch says, curt as always. He makes eye contact with you briefly, silently telling you that he is still waking up as well and that he’s not being curt on purpose, before looking away.  

Thankfully, it’s been a couple of months since you’ve joined the team, so now you know that Hotch doesn’t actually hate you like you suspected. In fact, he seems to have taken a liking to you based on the number of dry jokes and banter he’s participated in just this week. It definitely doesn’t help the tiny, miniscule crush you have on him.

You don’t know where it came from. Hotch has always been an objectively attractive man, but it’s not often you have a crush on a man who is your boss who is more than 20 years older than you.

Maybe it happened last month, when you were on the jet and he was placing files onto the table to run through theories, and you noticed just how large his hands were. Or maybe, it started when you had knocked before entering his office and he hadn’t noticed you because he was on the phone with who you assumed was Jack based on the excited whispers and soft smile on his face. Or, to your horror, maybe it started when you walked in for your interview, and you felt something stir in the pit of your stomach when he looked you up and down, his eyes lingering on the form-fitting pencil skirt you had worn.

A very tiny crush, you think to yourself as you situate yourself in the conference room, throwing your bag underneath the table.

It’s still dark outside, barely 6 in the morning, and the entire floor was quiet while JJ set up the files and photos. You yawn and you’re just about to get up and make your cup of coffee since there was still some time left before everyone showed up, when a mug is placed in front of you.

You stare at it, halfway out of your chair, before the wonderful smell of that bad yet addicting office coffee hits you and you sit down.

You look up to find Hotch sitting down at the head of the table with his own steaming mug. He looks at you, not smiling, but his eyes are soft. “I hope I got it right.”

You look back at your coffee. It’s the perfect color. He even used your designated mug you brought from home, plain and pink, and the image of him carrying it through the office makes you want to giggle.

You don’t giggle, and instead carefully pick it up and bring it to your lips to take a sip. It’s warm and absolutely delicious, sweetened the way you like, which is a lot. How does he know, you blink, a bit shocked that Hotch was able to make your coffee perfectly, more perfectly than you’re able to make sometimes.

So you tell him. “This is better than when I make it. Thank you,” you say sincerely, and chalk up the warmth sparking in your stomach to be from the coffee.

“Don’t mention it,” Hotch says, the corner of his mouth quirking up before turning back to his own mug and taking a sip.

You feel pleased that he thought of you, and then a little anxious because why is he thinking of you? He’s never made you coffee before and you wonder how he knew you like your coffee tasting more like sugar than the actual coffee. You blame it on the fact that he probably saw how tired you looked and knew you needed a little caffeine to start the day.

“Morning ladies,” Derek announces, striding in with too much energy this early in the morning, and making you jump a bit. He laughs at your reaction and then notices the man sitting at the table, looking up at him wordlessly. “And Hotch.”

“Morning,” he says flatly, raising his eyebrows at him.

Derek laughs and chooses to situate himself between you and Hotch. You silently try not to be annoyed by that as you take another gulp from your coffee, and then internally beat yourself up because why would you be annoyed, he’s doing you a favor.

You start reading up on the file that JJ placed in front of you when Morgan asks “Hey, where’s my cup of coffee?”

You glance at him, still holding onto your mug like a lifeline, to find him looking at you almost offended. You shrug. “I didn’t make it.”

Morgan whips his head around to look at Hotch, who acts as if he didn’t hear him. “Where’s my specially made Hotch coffee?”

He doesn’t even look up. “I only have two hands.”

You snort, almost choking, while JJ laughs and Morgan scoffs before he gets up to go downstairs to the break room.

You glance at Hotch to find him smiling to himself, mirth in his eyes, and feel the warmth in your chest again despite how tired you feel.

It’s probably the caffeine.

-

The next time it happens, it’s after you had gotten shot.

To be fair, you’ve been shot a handful of times already since being on the team, but still. You hate being shot at.

Luckily, this time it was your leg and not your stomach like last time, which absolutely fucking sucked. You had been on bedrest for weeks and was going crazy in your apartment despite Penelope visiting you every day, bringing takeout or a steamy romance novel.

You’re currently in a hospital in Texas, leg in a cast, and starting to get antsy. They told you you’re going to be able to discharge later today, but you’re ready now.

“Relax,” Hotch says where he’s sitting at your bedside, not even looking up. He’s finishing up some reports from the case they just finished, laptop on the bed providing a warm presence against your thigh. You try not to ogle at his hands. How is he even able to work with hands that big?

“I’m just ready to go home,” you say through gritted teeth. “I don’t know why we can’t just leave now, I’m fine.”

“You’re lucky the bullet didn’t hit a nerve,” Hotch says, now looking up at you. There’s a frown on his face and his eyes are tired. The bags underneath his are deeper, darker, and you ignore the pang in your chest when you remember the frantic shouts of him calling for an ambulance after you got shot, the warmth of his hands on your calf to press against the wound.

“I’m fine,” you say, rolling your eyes. “What I’m worried about is what I’m going to do the next case we get.”

If possible, his frown deepens. “You’re not coming with us on the next one.”

Something like irritability rises up your throat. “Yes, I am. I can still work in this stupid cast.”

“Yes, but the doctor said you need rest,” Hotch states, sitting up a little straighter after seeing the look on your face. He knows how stubborn you can get, and this time is no different.

“I can rest on the jet, at the precincts.” You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow defiantly at him. “I can still be helpful. I’m not useless.” Like hell you were going to go crazy in your apartment again, living off of frozen pizza and reality TV.

Hotch sighs, and whatever he’s about to say is interrupted by a nurse coming in to check your vitals one more time, your pain level, and then giving you the rundown to be careful, get some rest, blah blah blah.

Somehow Hotch is the one who is tasked with driving you to the airport after you get discharged, the rest of the team already on the jet. You hobble awkwardly through the parking lot with your crutches, and Hotch is right next to you with his hand on the small of your back in case you fall. His hand is warm, nearly setting your whole back on fire, and you shake that thought away as you stumble a bit into the passenger side of his car.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asks as he puts your crutches in the backseat. His eyebrows are furrowed as he looks at you with concern, his hands already out to catch you just in case.

You fight a blush and sit down with a grunt. “Yep, I got it.”

The drive to the jet is quiet besides the low hum of the radio. You stare out the window the whole time, just happy to finally feel the warmth of the sun on your face.

“Do you need me to stop for anything?” You turn your head to look at Hotch. He has some stubble forming on his cheeks, hair mussed, and he’s wearing that brown quarter zip-up you like. He has his eyes on the road and turns to look at you, eyebrow cocked. His lips are chapped.

You are struck with the thought of how insanely handsome he is.

You clear your throat. “Nothing I can think of.”

Hotch hums. “Let me know if there’s anything you’re needing.”

You nod silently, and five minutes later, you’re on the tarmac and stumbling up into the jet. Hotch’s hand is at your back again, barely grazing you, and making sure you don’t fall down the stairs. He’s holding onto your crutches despite your protests, and you try not to feel a little indignant.

“There she is,” Morgan singsongs as you plop down into a seat with a sigh. “How’re you feeling?”

“Ready to go home to my bed,” you say, immediately slouching down to get comfortable.

“I feel that,” Emily laughs, nodding, and then she’s patting you on the shoulder before she sits behind you.

Hotch sits across from you, and you try not to think about how this seating chart has become a normal occurrence. He doesn’t seem to mind, however, based on the small smile he gives you.

He’s setting up his laptop and takes out a couple of files from the bag. He then reaches in and places something on the table in front of you. A water bottle and a small bag of trail mix.

“Oh,” you say, caught off guard and not knowing what else to say.

Hotch clears his throat, averting his gaze. “I know you don’t really like hospital food. So.”

You’re suddenly reminded of the coffee incident, where he somehow knew how to make your coffee exactly the way you liked it and continued to do so almost every day since. You can feel Reid staring a hole into the side of your face from where he’s lying on the couch across the aisle.

Your stomach grumbles then, loudly, and you hear Emily laugh behind you. Hotch glances up at you from where he already has a file open. The corners of his mouth just barely quirk up, almost smug. As if he knew that was going to happen.

You wonder when he had the time to get you a snack. It didn’t come from the kitchenette in the jet, having been out of stock of snacks for weeks, and he hadn’t really left your side while you were in the hospital.

“Thanks,” you finally say. You reach forward to open the bag of trail mix. “You didn’t have to.”

Hotch’s eyes soften, his eyebrows relaxed, and there’s concern and something else in his eyes when he says “I wanted to.”

You smile before you can help yourself, ducking your head, and hoping no one else can hear how fast your heart was racing.

You’re hit with the fact that Hotch was thinking of you, planning ahead to get you a snack and make sure you were fed before you guys made it home. You notice the lack of snacks for the rest of the team and try to ignore the thrill that goes through you. It’s like he knows what you want before you know yourself.

Like he’s taking care of you.

You nearly choke on a cashew when the thought occurs to you. Hotch’s head shoots up at the sound, looking alarmed, and it looks like he’s about to get up and hit you on the back when you wave him off. He doesn’t look satisfied until you take a swig from your water bottle and give him a thumbs up. He goes back to tapping away at his laptop, but you can tell he’s still watching you out of the corner of his eye.

It makes sense now that you think about it. He’s made a habit of checking in with you at the end of the day, offering to drive you home if you stay at the office too late. Whenever you check out a location while on a case, he always goes first. He makes sure you’re getting enough sleep, reminding you that you can take time off whenever you want.

You’re not sure if you’re imagining it, but ever since The Coffee Incident, you feel another pair of eyes on you more often than usual. Sometimes you would look up and see Hotch staring fixatedly on a particular file or his phone, but you can’t deny the prickling feeling you get on the back of your neck. You’ve noticed your fingertips touching more, sharing looks when the rest of the team argue, knees and feet knocking together underneath tables.

You’ve noticed that not only is Aaron Hotchner, your boss, very handsome but extremely and undeniably hot.

His broad shoulders, his tall stature. His cologne, the way he fills out his suits. His deep voice that’s able to dominate and control an entire room and make you weak in the knees.

“Interesting,” you mumble to yourself. Hotch glances at you with that same concern etched in his face, a question forming on his lips. You smile at him innocently and knock your knees against his underneath the table. It’s easy to find him with the annoying cast on your leg.

He knocks his knees back, gentler than he needs to, and a corner of his mouth just barely lifts.

-

You are absolutely sure now that Aaron Hotchner has a… thing.

You don’t know what to call the… thing, but there is undoubtedly a thing.

It’s late and you’re the last one in the office. Well, besides Hotch of course, because he practically lives at the office.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to stay?” Emily asks, JJ on her arm. “I’m sure we can find something for us to do.”

You wave them away. “I’m almost done. Just got at least 2 more reports I need to finish my notes. Promise.”

Emily frowns, but you can see she’s slowly walking backwards to the exit. JJ looks like she’s trying not to tug at Emily’s arm to walk faster. “If you’re sure…”

You roll your eyes. “Go on and have fun with… whatever you guys are going to do. I don’t want to know.”

JJ gives you a wink over her shoulder and you watch as they head into the elevator, a skip in her step. And then they’re gone.

Even though you had just gotten back from the case, it takes you awhile to finish your notes hunching over your desk. It’s quiet in the building, silent besides the faint hum of the air conditioner and your pen scratching at the paper. Your hand cramps a bit and you seriously wonder why this has to be handwritten rather than being in the current century and use a laptop. You’re motivated by the thought of sleeping in tomorrow morning though, which means getting up at 9 instead of your normal 6.

You lean back into your chair, staring at your completed notes. You hear paper rustling from the office upstairs and look up to see Hotch’s door slightly ajar. You suddenly feel nervous being alone with him, as if you haven’ t been alone with him countless of times before. Recently, however, it’s been happening more, and you’re not quite sure how to feel.

You get up from your desk and stretch your back, groaning when you hear a pop. You take a deep breath, imagine your soft bed, gather your reports for the final signature, and head upstairs.

You knock, hear a faint “Come in,” and step inside Hotch’s office, closing the door behind you.

He has his desk lamp on, washing his office and his face with a warm golden glow. He hasn’t even looked up from where he’s writing his own reports, so you take the brief chance to stare.

He’s surrounded by piles of papers; messier than how he usually keeps his desk. His tie is loosened from around his neck and the top two buttons are undone. His sleeves are rolled up and you try not to stare at his thick forearms, the veins in his hands. He grabs a nearby mug to take a sip of coffee, no doubt already cold. Your eyes follow his mouth when he takes a drink, watch the way his tongue flicks out to lick his lips, and then to his face. Where he is watching you with a faint smirk tugging at his aforementioned mouth.

You clear your throat, fighting the blush that’s starting to crawl up your neck. You go to stand in front of his desk, files in hand. “I have the rest of my notes from the Florida case.”

Hotch’s face easily morphs back into his stern and professional look, but you can still see something dance around in his eyes. He takes the files wordlessly, opens one, and reads your notes for not even 5 seconds before he says “You have the names of the sisters mixed up.”

You blink, still trying to fight the nervousness you feel and the warmth pooling slowly at the pit of your stomach as you watch his hands. “Huh?”

Hotch points at the crooked paragraph you scribbled out. “The older sister is named Amanda, the younger sister is Cynthia. You have them mixed up.”

And suddenly the nervousness you felt from being in the same room as your boss, alone and in the middle of the night, is overtaken by sheer embarrassment. You must have been more tired than you thought. “I’m sorry.” You put your hand out for the file. “I can go fix it real quick.”

“It’s fine,” Hotch says, and somehow, you’re not surprised. “I got it.”

You think about the past couple of months and the small gestures he’s been doing for you. Even though you’ve known Hotch for a couple of months now, you can’t quite get a read on him. It’s confusing, he’s confusing. You hate to say that it feels like he’s giving you mixed signals. One second, he’s opening the car door for you when you’re on a case, the next he won’t even look at you when the team is at a bar for an evening. Now this? Offering to fix a mistake you made at work? Something indescribable crawls up your throat and you suddenly feel irritated, upset, and something else.

“No,” you say as professionally as you can despite the rush of blood you can hear in your ears. “I can fix it, Hotch.”

He looks at you then, something like surprise on his face. “It’s just a quick fix, I can do it.”

It’s just a little typo, why won’t he let you fix it, you think to yourself. Maybe it’s the stress from the case you just got back from, how late it was, or something else entirely, but you find yourself unable to stop yourself from saying “Why do you keep doing things for me?”

This time, it’s Hotch who blinks back at you. He puts his pen down and clasps his hands together, looking like he’s ready for a talk. “What do you mean?”

“This!” You wave your hand at him, now not sure exactly what to say. “You keep… doing things for me. Things that I am perfectly capable to do myself, you know.”

Now you realize what that nagging feeling in your throat was— anger. Has Hotch been doing this because of how old you were? Because you were a young and new agent, naïve and innocent and can’t do anything herself?

Hotch just looks at you blankly. You quickly try to read his face; he’s clenching his jaw, his hands where they were clasped are now clenched into almost fists, and his eyes are dark.

“You are perfectly capable,” Hotch says, slowly. “I do know that.”

You huff a bit. “That doesn’t really answer my question.”

Hotch is silent again before letting out a deep sigh. He closes his eyes, runs his hand over his face, and you’re starting to wonder if you’ve just ruined your friendship/professional relationship with your boss. You can almost see the wheels spinning in his head as he figures out what to say.

He smoothly gets up from his desk and is now standing in front of you, leaning against his desk. He’s close, nearly towering over you, and you can almost feel the heat of his body like this.

The close proximity makes you nervous, because this is different than sitting next to each other on the jet or in the car. It’s different because the entire floor of the building is empty and you’re alone in your boss’s office.

He finally opens his eyes, making sure to make eye contact with you. His hands open and then close, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “I do these things because I like doing them. For you.”

You stare at him, not sure what to say and feeling overwhelmed at the onslaught of emotions you’re feeling. You feel pleased, shy, giddy, anxious, and overwhelmed.

It makes sense that Hotch likes to take care of people. He’s a leader, a father, and his whole life is about helping those who are in need. You’ve seen it in the way he checks in with everyone, the way he humors Reid with his ramblings or lending an ear to Rossi. You’ve seen it in the way he talks to children and the way he tries to make himself appear softer, almost smaller.

You see it in him now. If it was anyone, Hotch would look stoic or cold, however you can tell he’s just as nervous as you are with the way he’s clearly biting at the inside of his cheek, the tense jaw, and the concerned furrow of his brow.

You’re still not sure what to say, but you know what you want to do.

So, you close the several inches between you and him with one step, grabbing the collar of his pristine button-up, and kiss him.

You’ve clearly taken him by surprise, but he pretends to act otherwise as he gingerly places his hands on your hips and kisses you back.

His lips are soft, addictingly so, and he tastes like coffee when he swipes his tongue along your bottom lip. The feeling makes your knees weak and you think you let out a soft moan, but you’re unable to hear anything over the sound of blood in your ears. His hands, large and hot, roam from your hips and up your back, giving you shivers.

Hotch is the first one to pull away and you instinctively chase after him with your lips before he stops you with a hand on your shoulder. “Are you sure?”

You look up at him, not realizing you had to crane your neck so much to do so and feel that all-too-familiar feeling between your legs that makes you clench your thighs. His lips are already swollen, pretty and pink, the collar of his shirt wrinkled from where you were pawing at him, and his eyes boring into you like he’s going to eat you alive.

“Yes,” you breathe, looping your arms around his shoulders to pull him back in. Hotch goes willingly, almost eagerly.

Hotch kisses like he works—meticulous and focused, however his hands are needy with the way he runs them over your ass, your back again, and your breasts through your sweater. He still seems like he’s being careful, like he’s worried about breaking you. You weave your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and pull out of pure curiosity, marveling at the way Hotch lets out a groan deep in the back of his throat.

That seems to set him off because now he’s groping you a bit harder, mouth trailing down your neck and peppering kisses in a way that makes you breathless. You can tell he’s refraining from biting and leaving marks, instead making sure to pay extra attention to the spot underneath your ear that makes you gasp and grab at the back of his shirt. “Hotch…”

“Aaron,” he mumbles against your neck before bringing his face back up to yours, noses nearly touching. “Please call me Aaron.”

He’s looking at you like you hung the moon, like he can’t believe you’re in front of him. His face is relaxed, void of any stress, a faint redness on his face, and his hair is so effortlessly messy in a way it makes him look so young and devastatingly handsome.

You nod and move your hands up the nape of his neck again to touch his face, feeling the rough stubble on your palms. “What are you going to do to me, Aaron?”

He groans again and the sound goes straight between your thighs. He suddenly spins you both around until you have your back pressed up against the desk, nearly digging into you. Your breath is knocked out of you, from surprise or desire you don’t know, but then Aaron has his hands at the hem of your sweater. He looks at you, silently asking, and then quickly taking it off when you nod.

His hands immediately gravitate to your breasts, kneading them through the plain black bra you’re wearing. You’re almost embarrassed that it’s so plain, but clearly Aaron doesn’t mind from the way he’s staring at them, thumbs pressing with the lightest pressure against your nipples through the fabric. You feel them tighten, sighing at the soft beginnings of pleasure, and think surely he’s able to feel them even through your bra.

“Fuck,” Aaron curses, and you have never heard him curse and definitely not like this. For some reason, it makes you hotter, and you scramble to bring your hands behind you to unclasp your bra.

And then his mouth is immediately pressing hot open-mouthed kisses down your chest, between your breasts, and then onto your right nipple. You gasp and involuntarily arch your back to press closer to him, chasing his warm and wet mouth.

Aaron takes his time with you. He alternates between sucking hard to little kitten licks while his hand is rolling the other nipple between his fingers. You bite your lip in an effort to suppress your moans, trying to keep in mind that both of you are still technically at work. The thought of being caught during sex has never appealed to you, but for some reason, tonight it sends lightning down your spine. You could tell that you were already incredibly wet, probably soaking through your panties, and you spread your legs a bit to relieve some of the pressure. Aaron immediately steps in closer.

You suddenly feel the hot line of his hard cock against your leg through the several layers of clothing and it makes you moan even louder. “Please,” you gasp, nearly clawing at his back.

His mouth lets go of your nipple with an obscene noise and he’s back to pressing kisses against your neck now, soft and slow, as if giving you a second to catch your breath. “What do you want?” He murmurs, voice deep, and going straight to your wet pussy.

And there it is again— Aaron’s need to take of people. To take care of you.

You spread your legs more at the thought, feeling like you can’t breathe.

Aaron hums, stroking his hand along your thigh, and it feels like you’re burning through your slacks. “Is that you want?” The deep timbre of his voice makes you dizzy, especially when he talks to you like that; teasing, like he’s playing with you.

You nod, your words stuck in your throat. You feel the sweat start to gather at your forehead, your chest, and you can feel him staring while you’re trying to catch your breath.

“I want you to say it,” Aaron says before he’s lifting your hips up so you’re sitting at the edge of his desk. He then tucks his fingers in the waistband of your pants but makes no move to tug them down.

You glance helplessly at the door, thanking past you and the thought to close the door. You know there is a low chance of being heard since it’s almost midnight on a Friday, but again, the thought of being caught with your pants around your ankles and your bra off sends a shiver through you.

“Look at me.” And there’s a hand on your chin, pulling your attention back to the older man in front of you.

He looks absolutely wrecked despite all of his clothes being on. You didn’t notice his tie was gone, thrown somewhere in the office. Aaron is looking at you intently, eyes dark from how dilated his pupils were, and you can tell he’s just as affected by the way his chest is heaving up and down underneath his button-up.

“Tell me what you want,” Aaron whispers, his free hand running up and down your thighs. “And I’ll give it to you.”

Your throat clicks when you swallow, licking your lips, and you watch as Aaron’s eyes follow the movement. “Please eat me out,” you say breathlessly, and it almost feels stupid to say until Aaron is surging into you to press his hungry mouth against yours.

“That’s a good girl,” Aaron mumbles against your mouth and you want to melt into a puddle.

He finally pulls down your pants, helping you lift your hips up to take them off. He’s helping you take off your shoes and then suddenly, he’s kneeling on the floor in between your thighs.

You almost want to close them, suddenly feeling shy, until he has his hands on your knees to keep them apart. You can’t see his expressions from this angle, but you squirm when you feel his eyes and warm breath on your core, probably having soaked your panties right through. You wouldn’t be surprised if you soaked through your pants.

He lets go of your knee to trace your slit through your panties and you jump a bit in surprise, moaning nonetheless and grinding your hips up into his touch. You’re sensitive and have been teased for who knows how long, and secretly you’ve always liked getting dirty with some clothes being on. Blame Aaron and his penchant for suits.

 And then he’s leaning in and pressing his hot hot mouth against your cunt through your panties.

You gasp, loudly, and your hands fly to the top of his head. That’s all the permission Aaron needs, it seems, as he begins by swiping his flat tongue up you before dissolving into slow languid licks. He’s not exactly touching you where you need him most, but it’s enough for now. He’s messy and you’re starting to wonder if a mix of his spit and your wetness is dripping onto his desk, onto the floor, and the thought makes your thighs shake. You know he’s doing this on purpose to make your panties wetter, and it’s so hot in a way you didn’t know was possible.

You feel him hum against you and you squirm against his hands, mewling when you feel them tighten on your thighs. You secretly hope he leaves bruises.

“Please,” you whisper. As much as you love the thought of him so desperate to get a taste of you, him willing to take what he can get through the fabric, you need more. “Aaron, please…”

He groans, something masculine and guttural, and then he’s moving your panties aside from your wet pussy and delving back in again.

His mouth feels infinitely better like this, and you can feel his tongue swiping into your opening, gathering the wetness and completely avoiding your clit. You whine, grasping at his hair a little harder, and wonder if that’s his smile you can feel against your pussy. You grind against his face, almost involuntarily, and he lets you, even enjoying it based on how he moans and moves his tongue faster, exploring.

He finally moves his tongue to your clit and your eyes nearly roll back at the pleasure wracking your body. You gasp and tighten your hold on his hair. It feels so so good, and again the thought of Aaron being so hungry for you he’s willing to do this in the office, his office. Stern and cold, highly esteemed SSA Aaron Hotchner. Your boss.

“Fuck, Aaron,” you whimper and look down at him on his knees between your thighs. His eyes are closed, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, as if he’s just at his desk filling out paperwork or working on a case. Instead, he’s focused on eating you out so intensely, on making you feel so good, he’s so hot.

He opens his eyes at that, as if he could feel you watching him, and they’re a warm golden brown, pupils blown. His hands on your thighs tighten and he shifts from where’s kneeling on the floor. You could see he’s genuinely enjoying making you come apart with his pretty mouth as he flicks your clit ever so gently. You distantly wonder if he’s hard and leaving a stain through his own dress pants.

He gives a soft suck on your clit and your hips stutter, your breath catching in your chest as you feel that familiar pressure start building at the pit of your stomach. And it’s like he can immediately tell, because of course he can, and you suddenly feel one of his thick and long fingers enter you.

“Oh,” you gasp in surprise, eyes rolling back at the primal feeling of being filled. You wish it was his cock, God do you wish, but this is enough for now.

Aaron is still looking up at you and you can tell he’s about to move away to ask if this was okay, if you’re okay, but before he can, you put your leg on top of his shoulder and pull him in. You hope that that answers his question.

And because Aaron is Aaron and can somehow read your mind, he almost imperceptibly nods and puts his mouth on your clit again. His finger starts slow, despite how wet and open you are, as if he’s still teasing you. It’s almost enough for you; the steady sucking of your clit and something thick in your pussy, if he would only move a little faster.

“Harder, please, please,” you beg, unable to stop yourself, nearly babbling. It would be embarrassing if Aaron clearly didn’t like it based on the way he pushes his finger in deeper and harder, his sucking moving into hard licks to your clit.

It was good, so so good, and so intense that you wish you could swipe all of his files and folders off the desk and lay on your back to savor it. Instead, Aaron moves his tongue faster and that tidal wave is getting stronger. You instinctively push at Aaron’s head so you could catch your breath for at least a second because you don’t want this to be over just yet.

Aaron grunts and moves his free hand to your hip, grabbing you hard to keep you in your place. He inserts another finger, and it’s almost too much but it’s also just the right amount of fullness you want at the same time. He’s pumping them in and out of your wet pussy so fast, the lewd noises filling the office, maybe even carrying downstairs.

And then he’s curling his fingers just so, flicking your clit just so, and looking at you with eyes so dark and intense that you finally, finally come.

The shout of his name dies in your throat as you throw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut, and feeling that blissful white-hot pleasure all over. Your pussy clenches around Aaron’s fingers as he keeps his fingers curled inside you. You can feel your hips stuttering, unable to make your mind up on whether to chase the feeling with his mouth or away, but Aaron makes that decision for you as his hand grips impossibly tighter and laps at your clit gently to help you ride out your orgasm.  

You’re trying to catch your breath when you feel Aaron give a whisper of a kiss on your cunt, making you jump. He chuckles quietly and you blearily open your eyes to see him slowly standing up, hearing him groan when his knees pop. You don’t even have the mental capacity to make fun of him for it, especially when you see the look on his face as he steps closer between your shaking legs.

His hair is absolutely ruined thanks to your fingers and his eyes are soft with a touch of concern. There’s a near triumphant smug grin on his face, sweet dimples poking out, and the bottom half of his face is unquestionably glistening. He flicks a tongue out to lick his lips and you want him so bad.

You glance down and feel a shiver of pride and hunger when you see the line of his hard cock through his slacks, a wet spot barely visible.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you nearly swoon at how low and deep his voice sounds. He uses his clean hand to swipe a strand of hair that’s fallen in front of your face and tuck it behind your ear. You can’t even imagine what a mess you look right now, face probably flushed and naked on his desk.

You nod, swallowing the dryness in your throat. His smile gets wider at that, if possible.

He leans in and gives you a gentle kiss and hums when you part your lips to taste yourself. The hand that’s migrated to cradle the back of your head trails down to the nape of your neck, gripping you in a way that was almost possessive. It’s hypnotizing and you feel breathless again at the thought of his hand around your throat.

You feel his cock pressing against your inner thigh, so close to where you need him the most, and you reach to fiddle with his loosened tie before trailing it down his chest. You can feel his muscles flexing, his stomach tensing, before passing his belt and pressing your palm against him. “Can I…?”

He groans against your mouth before pulling away, leaning his forehead against yours. You can imagine the veins in his throat popping as he tries not to cant his hips against you.

You’re marveling at the size of him as you run your hand up and down his length. You had a feeling he was going to be big but not this big. Your mouth waters at the thought of him between your lips, hot and heavy, or pulsating in your pussy as he comes inside of you, filling you up. You can imagine his biceps tensing, the veins in his forearms showing, and the way his eyes would close as he chased his own orgasm.

So, you’re shocked and maybe a little offended when you feel Aaron’s fingers circling your wrist to pull your hand away.

“It’s okay,” he whispers against your lips before you could say anything.

“But I want to—”

“Not here,” he says, now rubbing your wrist like an afterthought. “I wanted to take care of you first.”

You huff a laugh, starting to understand now. Something warm unfurls in your chest at that. Aaron Hotchner had always seemed like the type to want to make the woman come first, maybe even multiple times before his own release.

He steps away, adjusting himself in his pants and fixing the collar of his shirt. Your eyes follow the motions, fixated on his hands, and for some reason you’re feeling hot again.

You must have made a noise because Aaron’s head whips up at you, that smug grin that he’s not even trying to hide anymore getting wider. He leans down to pick up your pants and helps you wriggle your panties back up your legs and to your hips. His hands linger on your inner thighs as if he can’t help himself and you notice his breath getting deeper, his mouth parted.  

You’re just about to slide them off again, maybe even using your arm to finally slide all the papers on his desk off when he steps away again.

“My place?” He asks lowly. His gaze lingers on your thighs, your chest, and then back up to your face. The desire and want is plain as day on his face.

As if on cue, you hear the familiar sound of a custodial cart next door in Rossi’s office. Your heart leaps in your throat and you push off the desk to scramble and put your pants and sweater back on.

Aaron laughs at that, quietly again, as if they don’t work here and they’re about to get caught doing something they’re not supposed to be doing. Which, you guess, is somewhat true.

But then Aaron is on his knees again, your shoe in one hand and his fingers circling your ankle to lift up with the other as he looks up at you. His eyes are so sincere, sweet, as if he just didn’t give you the most mind-blowing orgasm of your life here in his office.

You smile at him, feeling the fondness grow impossibly larger in your chest, and let him help you put your shoes back.

You can return the favor in his bed.

[evilminji]

Been Watching Weird Fruit Explorer(?)... and I just...

W-Who let Bored Danny have BooTube?

Sorry, YOU-Tube. He has TWO Apps now. BooTube is bigger. Way more random, yet... somehow more niche? Meh. It's what happens when you get billions of billions of people who all have their own Obsessions to rant over, on a site.

Ember's channel is pretty lit, tho, ngl.

He stopped using YOU-Tube almost overnight. Too many ads, weird algorithmic pushiness. No thanks. It was too small and too "trying to take my money". You know?

Buuuuut? See.... TUCKER is the Tech guy.

Coding and that sort of stuff. HE does hands on work. You want a toaster? He can MAKE you a toaster! With LAZERS! Runs off The Goo! But a program? Eeeeeeeh? Hit it with hammer maybe? Monkey make fire? Hit with stick? Blergh.

Yeah, he can SORTA push through.

But he suuuucks.

And like... he had a headache, okay? His project had just, quiet literally, exploded in his face. So when he looked at his phone? All the apps were blobs. He clicked the one that LOOKED kinda right. Shoved his arm in his phone and brute forced a channel set up.

He figured he could ramble about Space!

It's not like he cared is anyone LISTENS or not! It's a "for him" thing, you know? Like a diary. But more... putting on a ☆~show~☆?

So he rambles from the floor of his Lair's Lab, crashs and wails in the distance, green sky occasionally visible as he lazily floats by windows. Dropping... juuuust past human knowledge understanding of Space. Talking like he's STUDYING somewhere. Referencing PAPERS no human will ever be able to find.

But a few they WILL.

Some of which, are currently? Only half written.

But then? Oh YEAH... he should eat! You know... Sam keeps bringing him fruits and veggies and stuff from her internship at that Botanical Lair. Stuff never seen before of Earth. Or hasn't been seen in centuries.

Again, like, a FEW that? Randomly? Have???

He picks up something sharply purple, bright orange insides. Crisp crunch. He makes a face. And starts to ramble about it, distracted from Space. "Weirdly mushroom-y" he notes. "Kinda bubblegum sweet? But like... CHEAP bubblegum. Like it hits you all at once and is kinda chemically. But it disappears real fast? Huh. Spicy too..."

It's the first video on the Playlist. One of hundreds. Two of the green Lanterns RECONIZE that fruit ad HIGHLY toxic to humans, can't recognize what planet they're seeing. Or how this alien teen got himself on YouTube.

He seems... unaware of how incredibly famous he's become.

But his strange techno Pharoah friend has not. HE is both perfectly aware and apparently amused. Has taken to feeding him rare and hazardous flora and fauna, to see if it tastes good.

....there have been an alarming number of plants from dead planets.

And the comments the kid makes? Alarming as hell.

Sam's just pleased everybody's getting their greens. Danny's glad him n tuck get to hang and do "try weird foods and fuck around, bro time". They've made lazers! Talked about stuff! Debated why Martian Manhunter is THE superior Justice League member.

Danny understands. Wonder Woman is a BAMF. But he's biased, Tucker. He doesn't CARE if she has a sword and flowy, impressive locks! Shape-shifting telepath! From MARS!!! *imaginary mic drop*

And Tucker? Is conquering the YouTube scene with this charming, weird, relatable young alien. Who rambles about Space, debates nerd stuff, eats weird plants and describes them, and makes sci-fi technology! Theme? WHAT THEME? Phantom is a weird channel, man. You never know what you'll find!

And no one can get rid of it.

Believe them, governments have TRIED. Censorship? Not possible. Not without removing the whole SITE.

[simpurnatural]

"Flustered" || Short-Fic

XO, Kitty - Min Ho Moon x Fem!Reader

Note from Nat: "Back to back Min Ho fics??? Didn't expect to get so much positive feedback. Thanks for going easy on ya girl, I'm still a bit rusty! Enjoy and make sure to wipe that drool off your face babe!"

Warning(s): Spoilers for "XO, Kitty" seasons 1 & 2, A little bit of Smut, Language, Sorta Proofread

As the fall semester came to an end, with everyone not wanting to part ways even for a just a month, Min Ho decides to invite the entire friend group for a winter getaway.

“Where’s Y/n?” Asked Dae which made everyone’s heads turn before the sound of snow crunching was heard.

You approached the group that was currently enjoying the hot tub, arms crossed to keep your robe shut. Min Ho suggested that the hot tub would be best way to relax after a day of travelling

“Hi! Sorry I’m late to the party,” you smiled whilst kicking off your slippers, then sliding your robe off your shoulders.

“Hot damn girl,” Q said, overcame with astonishment. "Drop the workout routine asap please," he joked as everyone's eyes lingered on your figure.

“Oh stop it,” you laughed and rolled your eyes. “This old thing isn’t worth the hype,” you insisted, but everyone would’ve begged to differ.

The navy blue two piece you were sporting hugged all the right places. Your ass and tits looked like they needed saving. The sight was definitely giving body tea.

Everyone watched as you made your descent into the tub and sat in between Kitty and Min Ho. Kitty had given you a small wave whereas Min Ho could barely make eye contact. Various conversations continued but Min Ho remained in an unlike-him-silence.

He wondered how he had not noticed how hot you looked until now. Not saying that looks are everything, but Min Ho felt stuck on how he never gave you a second glance.

"-Right Min Ho?" Dae asks, turning to his best friend who was clearly zoning out.

"Sorry what?" Min Ho replied, snapping out of his trance.

"We're gonna be able to go skiing first thing tomorrow, right?" Dae reiterated, a slight tiredness in his voice due to Min Ho's lack of contribution to the conversation.

"Of course," Min Ho nodded before his gaze back on you, who was too busy chatting with Yuri and Kitty to realizing anything else.

"Woah okay, this is new," Q teased, as his eyes followed Min Ho's. "The bikini has got your eyes lurkin'" he says, making Jin snicker at the observation.

"What are you guys talking about?" you ask with an unaware smile on your lips, Min Ho's eyes instantly looking down.

"Min Ho here seems to have-" Q began.

"Shut it," Min Ho tsked before moving to leave the hot tub.

"Hey, we were just joking," Jin called out as Min Ho shuffled back into the house.

"What was that about?" Yuri questioned, all conversations now put on pause.

"Is Min Ho okay?" Kitty asked, looking to the other boys occupying the hot tub.

"He's just a little flustered," Dae replied, the feeling of worry instantly overcame you.

"Did I do something?" you say wide-eyed but to no response. "I'll go check on him," you say before making your way out of the tub and walking towards the house. "Min Ho?" your voice echoed throughout the home.

You noticed a light coming from inside the kitchen and chose to investigate. There stood Min Ho, chugging a bottle of water with his slim yet toned physique being illuminated by the refrigerator light. He began to cough up said water after realizing your presence.

"Bloody hell, you scared me," he coughed, covering his face with the inside of his elbow. "What is it Y/n?" he asks while shutting the fridge door.

"What's with you?" you quizzed, "Ever since I joined you guys outside, you've been quiet and when I tried to converse with you-you run back inside!" you add with a hint of frustration in your voice.

"It's not my fault-"

"-So it's mine? What did I do wrong?" you cut off, urgently wanting an answer as to why your friend was avoiding you.

"Y/n, it's because y-you literally look like t-that!" Min Ho exclaimed as if it were common knowledge. "How else is a guy supposed to act when you decide walk around wearing something like that?" he questioned.

"Is what I have on not okay? Was there something in my hair?" you blabbered in response, instantly being overcame with the self-conscious feeling.

"It's fact that when I saw you earlier, I wish you didn't have anything on" Min Ho muttered in an almost whisper like volume.

The realization finally hit you, Min Ho had been eyeing you since you stepped into the hot tub. You face flushed a bright red, clearly flattered by the words that just came out of his mouth.

"So what you're saying is-"

"What I'm saying is that you look almost too good," Min Ho said, his voice deep and eyes darkened like a lion about to pounce on his next prey.

The small distance between the two of you shut in almost an instant, his hand cupped the side of your face gently. You could've sworn that the beat of your heart could be heard from miles away.

Your lack of response gave Min Ho time to lift you up and place you on the kitchen counter. Accidentally, you let out a small whimper at the feeling of the cold tile touching your skin. Min Ho felt as if he could've finished off that noise alone.

Standing between your legs, Min Ho's hands traveled all the way back down to your ass. You watched his eyes really take in your body, as if he could drink you up like a glass of water.

"Tell me to stop, and I will" Min Ho whispered as he gave your plump skin a squeeze.

Leaning in with your lips close to his ear, finally you replied, "I don't think I want you to stop".

Min Ho took this as his green light and you felt as his hands unclasped your bikini top. Grabbing the piece of clothing, he tossed away fand his eyes settled on your breast.

Biting his lip, Min Ho took one of each into his hands. "Beautiful. You are so beautiful Y/n," he said with is his accent thick, almost like he was about to melt at the sight of you.

You gasped at the feeling of his breath on your tits, causing a domino effect of butterflies and goosebumps to cover you. Min Ho chuckled at this, rubbing your nipples with his thumb in a circular motion.

Eyes closed; you threw your head back at the sensation before feeling something foreign come in contact with your breast. Min Ho's tongue began exploring your chest. It was as if he was trying to paint a picture.

His grasp on your tits became slightly more secure as he was egged on by your moans. He was marking his territory all over you with bright red hickeys.

Your half assed attempt to stifle your moans was with the palm of your hand. Min Ho however loved how loud you were getting for him and yanked your hand away from your face.

"I want to hear you," he insisted, pulling his lips away from your chest for a mere moment. "I want to hear you all night," he smirked, leaning in for a kiss.

"Uh guys?" a voiced that belonged to Yuri called out. "Is everything alright?" she asked, her voice trailing off into the hallway probably in search of you both.

Min Ho looked down with a smile on his face before getting your swim top from the ground. You quickly put it back on then pulled your hair to the front to cover the marks Min Ho left behind.

"W-we're here Yuri!" you replied hopping off the counter and walking out of the kitchen with Min Ho right behind you.

As Yuri came walking back towards you guys, her head tilted to the side in confusion, "What were you guys doing over there in the dark?"

"Just got some water," Min Ho replied, which seemingly convinced Yuri enough for her to walk back outside. "I'm not done with you yet," he whispered in your ear, giving your ass a slap.

JAN 2025

[madaqueue]

FALL FROM GRACE

do not desire her beauty in your heart, and do not let her capture you with her eyelashes. put to death that which is earthly inside you.

pairing: priest!sunday x succubus!f!reader

themes/content: dubcon (char!receiving - he says "stop" and it's basically ignored, and there's some heavy coercion/corruption stuff going on here), somno depending on how you look at it (succubi technically visit people in their dreams, so he's asleep ? sorta?), lots of religious guilt around sex, heavy catholic religious imagery (literally straight up bible verses). smut. handjobs, fingering/masturbation, p in v. i wanted to explore the rigidity and internalized shame sunday feels so uh . here's this ! (wk: 3.6k)

a/n: me when he's burdened and tormented (also i had to put my religious trauma somewhere ! hope it's yummy) :3333

The first night is always the most fun.

They never wake, not on this visit; the mind is a simple thing to trick, eager to make excuses for the gentle touches trailing over one’s torso, down their chest. A dream, they call it, a ready and waiting path to forgiveness.

The second night is usually the same - feather-light hands, breathy kisses - but you find Sunday to be a near-impossibly light sleeper when he begins to stir beneath you. Pinned under thighs that straddle his waist, his eyelashes flutter, nearly roused; his lips part, almost a sigh. It’s an uncanny thing to be so beautiful and so unaware; you wonder if he’s grateful for this gift. With a quick peck, you send him back into the waiting arms of slumber.

The third night you visit him, his eyes open slowly, still clouded by dreams. It’s rather obviously unexpected to be found in this position, with a stranger resting over him, smiling, trapped beneath their weight.

“Who are you?” he breathes, barely above a whisper. There’s no fear behind his gaze, only shimmering curiosity.

“Who do you think I am?”

Your fingers trail lower, tracing circles into his abdomen. It’s a fitting pattern for what you’ve seen of him: controlled, precise, predictable. No hard edges or uncertainty, just smooth and calm. Something about a vow, you think, has made him like this. Poverty. Chastity. Obedience. A promise to a power too self-righteous for your taste.

His eyebrows furrow as he attempts to focus upon you, vision still blurry. The most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, curves casting shadows under the fading starlight, black lace and soft skin. Then, there’s a flash of horns, a flicker of your tail, the markings below your abdomen pulsing through the dark. He swallows. “What are you?”

Ruby lips spread into a grin, one that veers sinister - he’s such a cute little thing, a chocolate covered strawberry, all sweet and flesh and blood. “An angel.”

The silk pillowcase rustles as he shakes his head, too innocent, too naive to do anything but be truthful. “No, you’re not.”

“No,” you lean forward, feeling his pulse thrum below your palm. “I’m not.” You kiss his cheek, and whisper a goodnight.

The fourth night, he’s more awake, but less verbal. Instead, sun-bright eyes follow your movements, the crackling fingerprints that travel his skin. He lets you touch him, lets you trace out the muscles lying below the surface, feel the nerves and arteries that quicken under your touch. Drowsy little whines leave his throat, barely a sound, as you work. Up wrists, over shoulders, to collarbones, counting ribs and diving into his hips, along his thighs, and back again. It’s a beautiful routine, just light enough to keep him half-slumbering.

From there, it’s mostly the same - you touch and trace and tease him, and he watches, silent and mostly unconscious. A week passes, maybe two. The time doesn’t matter, not to you, not really. What matters is the way his skin sparks beneath your fingertips, the way his eyelashes flutter under the moon’s silken glow.

You aren’t granted the privilege of visiting him awake, not yet, at least. There’s no way for you to see the way he pours over text, books with cracked spines and dusty pages, to find the source of these…dreams, of the being that visits him and steals him from the respite of sleep. The word succubus is heavy in his mouth, more bitter than communion wine, with no unleavened sanctity coming after to dull the taste.

On the seventeenth night (you think, if your count is right), he wakes in a notably different position, no longer cradled by the mattress upon which he put himself to bed. Under the mottled moonlight, he finds himself sitting upright, the bare skin of his back resting against something much warmer than the wooden headboard.

“Good morning, Sunday,” you purr into his ear from behind.

He murmurs something, slowly turning over his shoulder to face you. For the briefest moment, you think you catch the flicker of a smile.

“Good morning, demon.”

“Oh?” you let out an airy chuckle. “So you’ve figured it out then. Good, I was worried all you priests were nothing more than fools.”

The lightest laugh brushes past his lips, allowing his eyes to rest for a moment. “I’m no fool. Now tell me, why are you here, demon?”

Through a feigned pout, your hands make their way back to his chest. “What, are you sick of me already? You don’t like me, is that it?”

“I have no particular feelings towards you.” He’s quick to respond, quicker even to remind himself of his place, of his duties, as your palms threaten to burn through his skin. Poverty. Celibacy. Obedience. Important ideals. Good ideals. Holy ones, at that.

Through a hum, you travel lower over his body. It’s a test, really, to see if he’ll stop you, grab your wrists and yank you from behind him and banish you from this place forever. It would take so little: a splash of holy water, or even a simple curse, and he’d be rid of you. Surely he found that little fact in his readings.

And yet, he simply follows your path downward with his gaze (you can’t say you’re truly that surprised - it has become your routine, after all. And Sunday cherishes his routines).

“No feelings for me, you say,” you say, pensively. Lower, and lower, and lower.

Just as his lips open to speak, to throw some calculated retort, your fingertips brush between his legs and the sound twists into something else, something needier, a noise he couldn’t have controlled with all the constitution in heaven.

You gasp at the response, too, awe bubbling inside your cheeks.

“Oh, Sunday,” you breathe. “You poor thing, you must be so pent up.”

“I- mmm.” With a second run of your palm over his hardening length, his eyes dance shut, his entire body shuddering.

“Don’t they allow you to touch yourselves here?”

It’s evil, this touch, coursing with sin and dark, dirty blasphemy. He ought to shut his mouth, rip out his vocal cords if that’s what it takes, and wait. Perhaps a blood smear above his lips would protect him, make you pass him over tonight and all nights thereafter.

“N-not in the monastery,” he chokes out. “It’s against the rules.”

He grants you the privilege of grazing his warming skin, before letting out a shaky breath. Thou shalt not covet. Dispel desire.

“You…you should stop.”

“Stop?” The absurdity leaks into your voice. “You’ve given up so much for this silly church, don’t you think? Why give this up, too? Don’t you deserve it?”

A pause, a steadying breath, to quiet your dissatisfaction disguised as rage.

“And besides, look how badly you need this. It feels good, doesn’t it?” An angel, caught in your trap; to think you may not even have to clip his wings. “Don’t you want to feel good, my dear Sunday?”

Eyelashes delve into the creases of his eyelids as he tightens them closed, lips pulled into a gasping frown. Everything in his mind, in the years of his training, of memorizing verses and teachings and sermons and rules and rules and rules, tells him to say no, to force a stop to this nonsense.

“And,” you perk up at his hesitation, “it won’t even be violating your so-called ‘rules’ if I’m the one touching you, right?”

Even through the feather-light touches, Sunday worries he’s losing his mind, like your fist might as well be piercing through his chest and ripping his soul from it, dragging it into hell with you. The thoughts that make it up his spine are too blurry with lust to let the more sluggish Reason through.

“Right.”

Smiling into his neck, you feel his carotid jump under your teeth. “Good, good. So just let me do this, okay?”

So put to death the sinful, earthly things lurking within you. Have nothing to do with sexual immorality, impurity, lust, and evil desires.

He says the words over, and over, and over in his mind.

Do not be greedy, for a greedy person is an idolater, worshiping the things of this world.

He knows better than to make idols.

And yet, all he can do is nod his head.

He doesn’t face you, of course, buried under the shame of it. If the church was any older, he’d worry the brick would collapse in on him at any second, to punish him for the sin he was too weak to avoid committing. Perhaps he should be turned to salt, a fate befitting of his pathetic disobedience.

“Okay.”

It’s immediate, the way he relaxes when you finally reach below his boxers. The heat of your touch melts him, his throat craning as it releases strained whines. He’s heavy in your hand, a weight his so-called gods would surely commend, if they could spare such thoughts. Soft skin, unsoiled, untainted. Utterly holy.

As you stroke him with a tenderness only known to the clouds of salvation, he looks nothing short of angelic, the arch of his spine making space where wings ought to be, the tickle of his hair soft like a crowned halo. And you, wrapped around him like a flame, carry him through the air. Lower, and lower, and lower. To soften the blow when one falls from grace.

It takes so little for him to shake, to shudder and cry and bend, until you worry his shoulders may snap if you weren’t caging his torso against yours. His head falls back, slack-jawed and awe-struck, as he releases into your palm, pumps of white coating your hand.

It’s a beautiful thing, the sounds he makes, the purity of it. White and cream and gold, just as you’d imagine heaven to be.

There’s waves of pleasure, his stomach clenching with each one, pushing him further and further into you, and you swallow him whole, welcoming with open arms.

Slowly, you press your lips to his cheek, scalding hot.

“Goodnight, Sunday.” And he falls into your chest.

It grows increasingly difficult for him to hide the dreams (at least, that’s what he would convince himself they are). It’s been months now, although truthfully, you’ve stopped counting.

Every night, he falls into a troubled, humid sleep. Every morning, he wakes to a mess, still half-hard and panting.

And yet, he’s more relaxed, his shoulders less tense. When he turns to the parish, his neck moves more easily. As a well-educated (well-trained) man, he assumes he hides it well, but his relief is palpable, a taste too thick to anyone who knows him.

“You seem different lately, Sunday,” Father Wood observes casually.

With his back facing him, Sunday conceals the way his spine tightens. “How do you mean, Father?”

Pensively, Father Wood lights the altar’s candles, an honor given only to those most highly ordained, an honor Sunday used to dream of performing (now, of course, his dreams are consumed by other desires).

“Just…different, is all.”

Sunday’s attention falls to the flames before him, to the way they dance nervously despite the still, stagnant air inside the church. Perhaps they know something he doesn’t.

“I’ve been spending more time in the library lately. Perhaps my reading has enlightened me.”

“Perhaps,” Father Wood echoes. With quiet purpose, he lights the final candle. “This church is your home, my boy. You had nothing before you came here. I remember the day we took you in, the day you were saved.”

There’s a pit in his stomach, one that grows and grows and grows; he’d expect it to taste like acid, but all he gets is honey. “I remember it, too.”

Father Wood hums, facing away. “‘If our minds are ruled by our desires, we will die.’” A pause, a flickering flame. “Sunday, I trust you not to forget the oaths you swore.”

A shiver runs up his neck. Poverty. Chastity. Obedience. “Of course not, Father.”

That night, you meet Sunday in bed. Normally it’s little trouble to untuck the sheets, to find the welcoming skin of his thighs, but tonight he seems determined to bury himself within the blankets.

“Sunday,” you say. He fails to respond, but his ears twitch. “Sunday, I know you’re awake.”

One eye slowly cracks open, revealing the sun behind his eyelids. “Go away.”

“Excuse me?” you choke a laugh. “You want me to ‘go away’?”

Closing his eyes, he hums in affirmation.

Within your chest, your heart flutters - he’s so cute when he thinks he’s in control. Perhaps that’s why you chose him (the chase is always the most fun, the tension of it all; you think Eve’s first bite of the apple must have been underwhelming compared to its weight in her palm).

Perhaps your routine will bring him back. Slowly, you trail a finger along his collarbone - before he pulls away. Curling himself onto his side, he tucks his knees to his chest and shuts you out.

This is certainly a novel development. And it certainly will not do.

“Fine then,” you state, leaning back to the corner of the mattress.

In response, his left ear twitches, but he gives no other response. So be it.

Against the wooden footboard, you open your legs, visible if he were only to turn towards you. With well-practiced hands, you easily slide the black lace panties down your knees, letting them fall at your ankles and leaving you bare (it requires few garments to do your work successfully, after all - they’re made for this).

Silently, you spread your ever-wet folds open. With your other hand, you draw circles around your clit, slowly, tauntingly. Delving into your own heat, a sound of relief comes as an exhale, one that finally has Sunday’s gaze peeking from between his eyelashes.

“What are you doing?”

“If you don’t want me to touch you, I guess I’ll just have to touch myself instead,” you say. The words flow easily, thick like milk and honey, something sweet, something to help him sleep.

This time, his eyes remain open.

His mouth does, too.

Silent except for the ragged breaths coming past his lips, he watches you pleasure yourself, the way your fingers curl, knuckles disappearing only to reappear shining. The inky pattern adorning your womb morphs and glows; a spot of saliva catches in the dim light, and he makes no move to wipe it away.

With an arch of your back and a tilt of your head, you beckon him closer - always such an obedient little thing, your Sunday (he was praised for it, once); he slowly rises. The mattress shifts beneath his weight, holding it unsteadily, as he crawls towards you. Unwavering attention held raptly between your thighs.

“Sunday,” you say, to snap him out of the trance that pulls him towards you. He says nothing, a small trail of drool spilling from the corner of his perfectly eager lips. “Sunday.”

His eyes snap up to yours, the sun eclipsed behind the growing shadow of his pupils.

Your palm cradles his jaw, thumb wiping away the glistening desire. “Are you going to behave now?”

A blank stare.

A fragile nod.

“Good.” Your grin splits the earth open with wicked flames, poking between your teeth. He drinks in the heat with a starving throat, ignoring the way it burns (or reveling in it).

A sparkling star shines in his eyes, nearly glowing. You pull the two fingers from your cunt, still warm and sticky and sweet, and hold them before his face.

You don’t even have to tell him to open his mouth - obedience is such a lovely thing.

When your taste lands upon his tongue, he releases a moan like molten gold. His lips close around your fingers and he sucks and licks the essence from them, hungry and gnawing. Your fingertips glide over his molars and he fights the urge to bite, to claim (a well-trained dog is still just a dog, after all).

There’s a half-hearted whine when you remove your skin from his, one that makes your cheeks ache.

“Tell me what you want, my dear Sunday. Anything you want.”

If our minds are ruled by our desires, we will die.

Perhaps dying here tonight, with your taste still lingering in his throat, would be a graceful demise. A martyr of his sacrilege.

Already, he looks ravished, his cheeks dusted red and eyes wild and unfocused. The pretty ones are always the most fun to ruin, to dirty with desecration; they look so beautiful as they fall.

“I want-” there’s a lump in his throat where his servitude lives, where the years of holiness coalesced and stayed. He swallows heavily. “I want to feel good. I want you to make me feel good.”

“Ah,” you breathe. “I suppose I can do that.”

“But-” he catches himself. Rules, and rules, and rules. They clog up his esophagus, his vocal cords straining to get past them.

With a gentle finger, you hush his worries. “Just let me take care of you. Let me make you feel good, okay?”

He exhales, a shaky sound. “Okay.”

It takes little pressure to recline him onto the bed, the sheets already dampening from the sweat collected in the hollows of his back. He lets you undress him, lets you place scalding kisses into his skin, soft and sweet as a fig. Ripe like one, too.

Only two pumps of your fist up his length and he’s already leaking, twitching and aching.

“So eager,” you coo when his hips rut into the air, chasing your touch.

“M-my apologies,” he says weakly.

“Nothing to be sorry for, my sweet Sunday. Pleasure is a thing to be worshiped, don’t you think?”

They’d bury him for this. The other priests would crucify him and leave his body out to rot. He’d deserve it, he wouldn’t even complain, he’d be perfectly obedient until his very last breath.

As your thighs encase his, as you line his tip to your entrance, as you sink down, slowly, slowly, slowly, until you’re flush with him, until you’ve swallowed him whole and nestled him inside of you, his vision goes white and he feels the warm smile of forgiveness.

“Yes.”

From behind, your tail twitches into his peripheral vision. A cruel reminder, a crash and burn. Melted wings and the sea. But then your hips circle, once, twice, and he forgets himself again, he enjoys the fall.

His hands fly to your waist, before they’re swatted away with a click of your tongue and a sparkle in your eyes. “Ah, no touching me, remember? Those are your rules, after all.”

“Right.” Instead, his fists dig into the sheets, knuckles turning white.

With each plunge of your warmth up and down his cock, he’s reborn, fresh and gasping, each breath burning like the first. Crescent moons carve into his palms, and he groans.

“Is this…is this real?”

A chuckle bubbles from your throat. “Do you want it to be?”

He hesitates for a moment, lets your hand rest on his unsteady heart, lets your skin stick to his. Just below it, a knot forms, the strings tightening and tightening and tightening under years of strain.

“Yes.”

You fill his vision, all-consuming, eating the space between you with sharp teeth. When you speak, it’s a low sound, a rumbling purr. It makes his stomach clench. “Good.”

His breaths come in faster, now that he knows it’s real, that the heat creeping up his neck and down his legs is real, that this is happening. That something exists that feels this fucking good.

And then, all at once, the knot unties itself. The moans he releases are holy, more beautiful than a choir with all its ordained voices.

Damp palms grab at your hips, and you let them. With greedy fingers he holds you in place, fucking himself up into you. Tears well in his eyes and in the blurry haze, he thinks he sees heaven. It opens itself before him, warm and beckoning, in the space between your thighs.

“God, fuck,” he exhales, and you grin.

“How blasphemous, Sunday.”

If he hears you, he gives no indication. Curses tumble from his lips, raw edges cutting his lungs.

He chases a high with urgency, with uncoordinated thrusts and a too-tight grip. His dedication is truly a virtue.

It’s only a moment before he stills, eyes widening, jaw falling open to release an angelic cry. Truly beautiful as he falls, as he comes undone. In the space below his arched spine, you swear there’s a momentary flutter of wings.

Eyelashes open and close, as if to prove that this is not, in fact, real. But the heat still encircling him is proof enough. He shivers.

“Fuck,” he whispers, more to himself than anything.

“Oh Sunday,” you hum, fingers tracing ribs that rise and fall unevenly. There’s a twinge of something mixed into the pride, something sadder, something longing. “This certainly has been fun.”

“Fuck,” he says again. Dread settles on his shoulders, heavy, heavier than duty or scriptures or a grave, than a cross. “Will I…?”

“Be excommunicated for this? Probably not,” you smirk.

Weakly, he shakes his head, sweaty strands of hair sticking to the pillowcase below. “Will I see you again?”

The question makes your heart flutter. How cute.

“If you’d like to, my dear.” With a gentle hand, you brush the fringe from his forehead. “Anything you want.”

At that, he relaxes, his shoulders sinking deeper. With heavy eyelids, his blinking slows. “Good.”

How beautiful he looks like this, half-conscious and spent, utterly debauched. Utterly holy.

“But for now, get some rest.” Warm lips press into his cheek, and he leans into them with a hum. “Goodnight, Sunday.”

[basicallyjeankirschtein]

jjk men x streamer!reader

╰┈➤ Collab?

chapter two.

ೃ⁀➷ you and gojo get matched with toji, sukuna, and choso, much to the viewers surprise! ft. everyone thirsting for you + jealousy

* not proofread

masterlist. prev. next.

you tried to focus on the game in-front of you, but the fact that your usual 10-50k audience grew to 300k was freaking you out. just a bit.

not to mention your chat going crazy. usually, it was easy to catch every message and interact with everyone, but now? it was moving so fast, how did gojo put up with this stuff?!

thankfully, everyone was talking about the same thing. the thing being that you matched with toji and his friends.

just like toji, you lived under a fucking rock. yea, gojo was your best friend, but you’ve purposefully been avoiding him since he’s gotten famous. this kinda stuff isn’t your thing- you didn’t even mean to gain 50k without his help, it just sorta happened.

you were a student and you worked at the cutest little cat cafe, you didn’t have time to watch streamers. the only influencers you knew of were gojo and utahime, not because you watched their streams, but because they were your friends. maybe you were a loser.

you tried to act surprised, but honestly you were more surprised with how shit this iron fist was playing.

“chat, which one is the iron fist?” you asked, all of which responding ‘toji.’

unfortunately for you, living under a rock seemed to only bring misfortunes to your life. as the minute you knew his name, you spoke,

“can someone tell toji to swap. he fucking sucks.”

even gojo looked a bit shocked by your comment, but he immediately burst into laughter.

“y/n, you are so lucky you’re streaming with me.” was all he said, and now you were stuck furrowing your eyebrows together and pouting in confusion. even your chat was going crazy over your comment.

who even is toji? you wondered with a huff. when you died, you took the time during your characters respawn to quickly look him up.

oh no. he was hot.

he was also famous, you noticed, but you were more focused on the fact that you just disrespected an extremely hot man!

well, it’s not like you had a chance. you reassured yourself, and once you had finally calmed yourself down, reminding yourself he was just another random man, you realized he is in fact not random.

was this the guy gojo was always whining about? something about him stealing his viewers or something- oh god. you must’ve just woken a wild pack of fangirls, cause you were totally going to be ripped to shreds on twitter after this.

despite internally freaking out about how toji’s fanbase now viewed you, you kept a stoic face, emotions unreadable as you continued the game.

suckunathesenuts: gojo ur friend is funny asf

suckinathesenuts: y/n say something about toji again he doesn’t believe us when we say he’s trash but he will if a pretty girl does

chochoso: pls i can’t keep losing my rank games because of him ):

you couldn’t help but laugh at his teammates messages in chat. you knew your chat would snitch on you to toji, but at least his friends were backing you up. you think.

the comment ‘pretty girl’ had you head spinning, a small blush coating your cheeks. you were going to say thank you, but gojo cut you off.

“don’t respond to these losers,” he spoke, his voice gruff. he sounded uncharacteristically mad.

you just hummed in response, “it’s not a big deal, they’re just messing around. sorry toji,” you waved at your screen as if he was watching, hoping someone in your chat could relay your apology to toji.

toji didn’t believe his chat when they told him you had said he sucked, “yea, nobody thinks i suck. i’m the best iron fist in this server.” he grunted, in which sukuna burst into laughter and called him delusional.

even choso giggled a bit. now that pissed toji off.

“okay, sure. i don’t believe it.” toji grunted. but, the moment he opened twitter, his notification boxed was filled with people tagging him in the clip of you saying he sucks. man, things spread fast.

“yo, toji, play the fucking game.” sukuna yelled into his microphone, clearly upset toji went afk to look at his phone.

“i think it’s better with him afk. now there’s nobody for the other team to farm.” choso giggled, in which sukuna thought that was the funniest thing on planet earth because he legitimately slammed his fist against the desk with each laugh.

“it wasn’t that funny, dude.” toji growled, though his tone seemed uninterested. he was more focused on you in the clip.

not only did you say he sucked, not only did you not even know who he was, but you were hot??? this hurt his ego, a little (a lot).

damn. even his fan page called him out.

grunting as he ran a hand through his hair, he noticed sukuna and choso talking to you in game chat. what the hell? since when did they get all friendly.

and sukuna calling you a pretty girl might’ve made toji grit his teeth.

“everyone shut the fuck up. i’ll change.” he said, letting his character die so he can switch to another character. sukuna looked absolutely flabbergasted, toji was actually going to listen to advice for once?

toji wasn’t about to admit it, but he was totally trying to impress you.

you were surprised to see toji actually listened to your request. you felt kinda bad for making him swap, but he was way better on adam warlock than iron fist.

“wow, he’s going crazy now.” you laughed. it was true, but you were mostly saying that to butter him up. not only did you not want to have one sided beef with a huge streamer, but he was hot as hell! if you had a chance, you were going to take it.

gojo did not seem to agree, as he laughed at you rather than with you. “yea, right. he still sucks.”

you narrowed your eyes at the webcam, confused why gojo was acting so hostile. he was never outright mean. yea, he could be passive aggressive and sarcastic with those he didn’t like, but you’ve never seen him like this.

“says the one who has no team assists,” you laughed, trying to lighten the mood, but that only made gojo even grouchier.

gojo was also playing really bad, that wasn’t usual for him. he was naturally talented at every game he played, you never knew how!

it was like he was distracted with something, and when you looked down at your phone, you found out why.

he was too busy tweeting instead of playing the damn game!!!!

it crossed your oblivious mind that he tweeted that because he was jealous and upset about the attention you were receiving.

chochoso: y/n… i think we are the only ones left playing. all our teammates are afk ):

whoever this chochoso was, was right. everyone on your team except you and him went afk. even the random went afk!! it was remarkable you haven’t lost the point yet, choso was a crazy spiderman.

y/nissleepy: our friends suck!!! does this by default make us best friends now???

chochoso: yes!

you wondered if choso had a social media too, considering he was friends with toji.

you very discreetly opened your twitter to look at toji’s mutuals, and low and behold, there was choso.

how could someone be so cute yet so sexy at the same time.

you were usually shy about this sort of thing, but without hesitation you followed choso. he followed you back almost immediately.

you looked up at your video call to see what gojo was doing, he was completely immersed in his phone. it looked like he was texting someone- very harshly, by the way he was practically hitting his phone with each tap.

biting your lip, you decided to message choso. your stream just started, you didn’t want to awkwardly end it just because everyone’s gone afk.

playing with choso was fun. he was such a cutie, and after the first two games, he asked if you wanted to video call. you did not hesitate to say yes.

gojo hadn’t even noticed you left the call.

“hi!” you waved at your camera, the confidence you had when you initiated the conversation with choso drowning away in an instant when you saw him appear over the screen. he was even cuter than on his twitter, he had this messy hair held in ponytails! how adorable was that?! your mind started to drift when you wondered how easy it would be to tug on his hair, and that’s when you had to remind yourself it’s truly not that serious and this is a man you just met.

but god, did you have a soft spot for scary men that were actually cute.

you guys loaded into another game, making small talk as you played. both of your chats brought up the chemistry between you two, but both of you chose to ignore it (not without blushing first).

not only did your chat notice the chemistry, but so did your friends.

“since when did y/n leave the call?”

“since when did choso leave the call?”

both gojo and toji questioned this as they looked at their empty voice chats. sukuna realized it a while ago, when they were talking in game chat, and didn’t bother trying to stop choso.

toji on the other hand, looked angry. “what the hell. he left us to play with her! she wasn’t even relevant until today,” toji growled. sukuna raised his eyebrow, though didn’t reply.

gojo had been busy messaging geto. geto is BEYOND thirsty to stream with you, he’s not even trying to hide it to his stream or nanami.

gojo didn’t even know why he was so jealous. you may have been oblivious, but this guy was downright stupid. he had maybe one brain cell and three jellybeans in that head of his. he couldn’t even decipher the motive behind his jealousy was the attention you have been receiving, especially the attention of toji and geto.

and now, apparently choso.

this video is so funny i love you roblox shrimp games

tag list

@estella-novella @ourfinalisation @definetlynotanalien @fuckisthatahotghost @m-0ona @sillybillylamb @ayla-1605 @l-ilysm @randoperson22 @mentallyunpresent @poopooindamouf @1ennj4 @ex1acy @lunavelha @trsh-kitty @b3bybunny @onna-musha-mari

[corroded-hellfire]

Hurt/no comfort: shy!Reader slips a note in Eddie’s locker asking him on a date, but when he reads it, he just laughs and tosses it in the trash.

My brain needed to slip a soft landing in there in someway. So, there is no comfort for reader-in-the-fic, but there’s a little bit kinda sorta for person who is reading the fic. There’s a small gap if you wanna stop at the absolutely no comfort though! Did this make sense? Hope so.

Words: 1.2k

Today was the day. There had been a few times over the past couple of weeks where you’d told yourself that, too, but this was really it. 

The note is clutched in your hand as you turn the corner to the correct hallway. One more deep breath and you force your foot to take one step forward. 

Anxiety begins to creep up inside of you, threatening to seize your lungs and close your throat. To keep it at bay, you recite what the piece of paper in your grip says, over and over again.

Hi Eddie, 

I would’ve asked you in person if I weren’t so shy, but here we are. I was wondering if maybe you would want to go see that new movie The Breakfast Club with me on Friday night? I know that might not be your thing, so I’m down for whatever you might want to do! Just let me know, okay? Maybe in our last period bio. Whenever Old O’Donnell stops droning on. I’ll see you then, I guess!

“Then with a little heart drawn next to my name,” you mumble to yourself.

Your sneakers squeal against the white linoleum tile beneath you as you come to a stop at Eddie’s locker. The silver plate engraved with “527” stares back at you from where it’s soldered to the metal. 

With one last deep breath, you fold the letter up as tiny and as flat as you can before you slip it through the slats on the front of the locker door.

Quickly, you turn away from the locker. You keep your head down as you briskly walk towards the corner you came from.

Why are you running away like you’re leaving a crime scene? You ask yourself as you listen to the fast squeak of your shoes on the floor. Afraid someone is going to tell Eddie they saw you put something in his locker? Your name is already on the note, genius! 

With a soft groan, you come to a stop and lean against the cool white brick wall just on the other side of the corner. You press your back flush up against the wall and let the chill help calm your body down. 

Nothing you can do now, you tell yourself as you close your eyes and take a few deep breaths. The note is already in there. Now it’s a waiting game. It’s in Eddie’s hands. 

Speak of the devil…

Boots thud against the floor as Eddie heads your way down the hall. His Hellfire shirt looks wrinkled, like he slept in it, but he sports his signature layers of leather jacket and denim vest over it anyway. 

You adjust your position against the wall, trying to look more casual than conniption-y. He notices your movement out of the corner of his eye and gives you a small, quick smile that does nothing to help your raging heartbeat calm down. 

You flash him a brief smile in return before heading the opposite way, farther away from him and his locker—or so you want him to think.

As soon as Eddie turns the corner to his locker, you spin around and make your way back to where you just were: in the perfect position to peek around the wall and spy from a distance. 

Slowly, you stick your head out so you’re able to see around the corner. Eddie is standing at his locker, entering the combination. It looks like he’s whistling, but you’re too far away to hear. 

The metal clanks as Eddie swings the locker door open, and you see the small white piece of paper that’s from you floating gently down to the floor. Eddie’s brows furrow in confusion as he crouches down to pick up the note. He slips the piece of paper between his lips to hold it as he shoves his backpack in the locker and pulls out a single yellow notebook. 

Once he’s finished and closed the metal door, Eddie tucks his notebook beneath his armpit and removes the paper from his mouth. He unfolds the paper, and your heart feels like it’s unraveling with every motion to open the note. 

You watch as his eyes scan your scrawl written in blank ink. Everyone else in the bustling hall disappears. There’s no one but you and Eddie. And the note.

It feels as if it takes Eddie an eternity to read the few lines. Your lungs burn, reminding you to breathe as you await some sort of reaction. 

Then, a corner of Eddie’s mouth quirks up and your spirit is floating with hope. But the smile turns into a snicker, which turns into a chortle. With the cackling sound, your hope drops down below the hideous linoleum tiles that cover every inch of these halls. 

Eddie crumples the note in his hand, and he might as well have done it to your heart. Nausea churns through you, coming on so fast that it’s dizzying. Your hands brace you against the wall, so you don’t fall—even if your legs give out, like they’re threatening to. 

Eddie turns so his back is to you and he walks farther away. Parked in front of a window is a janitor’s trash can, which Eddie unceremoniously drops your letter into. 

Black spots fill your vision, and you find yourself needing to take giant gulps of air. You are not okay. Escape. That’s what you need. 

Sneakers protest their meeting with the linoleum floor once more as you push yourself off the wall and stumble towards the school exit. All the nerves that were previously fluttering around your body before have now turned to shards of glass, scraping and cutting you from the inside with every step you take. The people who had all disappeared when you were so focused on Eddie have now come back with a vengeance, appearing to multiply by the minute as you attempt to squeeze past them all. 

The school doors are just at the end of the hall, but your spotty and blurry vision gives you a funhouse effect, making the distance to the door seem longer and more difficult than it is. Finally, your hands land on the silver bar and the biting chill of it brings you back to reality. 

Hot tears are streaming down your face and hiccups force their way up your throat every few seconds. Snot is rapidly filling your nose and all you know is that you need to get out of here now.

You push the silver bar and the door opens, leading you into the bitter February morning that was awaiting you. Unfortunately, the first thing you’d done once you got to school was stash your jacket away in your own locker, but you’ll be damned if you step foot back inside that school today. Instead, you grit your teeth and rub your hands up and down your arms in an attempt at warmth. 

A few yards away, your car sits, beckoning to you. Knowing you’ll finally be able to have the breakdown you so want to in there, you jog in the direction of your parking space, praying the tears flowing down your face don’t freeze against your skin. 

Eddie lets the crumpled ball of paper roll off his fingertips and land in the trash can. He can’t believe it. He’s still laughing as he shoves open the door to his homeroom.

“Nice try, Jason,” he murmurs to himself as he finds his seat. “But I’m not falling for that one. Better luck next time.”

[morose-melodies]

Welcome back! So happy to see that you are doing well ☺️

Since requests are open, I was wondering if you could write some headcanons/drabbles about how the Genshin men (including Pierro, Capitano, and Dottore my fave) would react if their darling, who was pregnant with their child, tried to run away? Saying "I refuse to raise my child with a monster like you!"

what it takes to love | various yandere! fatui harbingers x pregnant reader

content warning: mentions of blood, idk if childe's being sorta trad or not but I'll still put it here. I'm also a bit rusty so they might be ooc...

a/n: definitely not a drabble... I hope you enjoy!

CAPITANO

with the newfound knowledge that you were gone, the captain was on the way home.

there was not a lick of hesitation, no, he dropped everything. your leaving meant you were alone on a cold night while pregnant. who knew what trouble you could be in?

the captain knew you couldn't travel far-- it was too dark, too cold. all that surrounded the manor was woods and woods. he made sure to wear his thickest coat and brought with him his weapon in case you were in true danger. he saw your footprints in the snow, it looked as if you were stumbling about in the cold.

Oh, poor you.

this isn't how things should be-- you, running about at night without him there to protect you. you should be in the safety of his arms, in the walls of his manor.

he wouldn't try to further frighten you, that must be why you ran, no? he would place his coat over you and take you home with him.

following those footprints, it seemed you tumbled and fell a couple of times. you couldn't possibly be in a good state. (y/n)... where could you be ?

"(y/n)," the captain called out. he saw you, your cowering form, pressed against a tree, using one of his coats you'd taken with you to warm yourself, "oh, (y/n)."removing his coat, he set it over your shoulders and lifted you into his arms, expecting you to comply.

"no! st-stop. let me go, i... I'm fine!" you'd argue, though, it seemed you were in no state to.

"(y/n), no," the captain shook his head, trying to keep a gentle hold on you even as you squirmed and argued, "you're tired- you don't understand what you're saying. I'll be taking you home."

"i know what I'm saying," you shook your head, pressing your hand against his mask, attempting to push him away, "i don't want to be with you or near you! l-let go of me!"

the cold must be getting to you, capitano reasoned, who knows how long you've been out here? you're clearly not in your right mind. pressing a hand against your cheek, he felt your skin, he felt how cold it was. you needed to be home and in bed. "hush, you're delirious. (y/n), stop fighting me, i need to bring you home. you're harming yourself *and* our child."

"let go of me! stop- i refuse to raise my child with a monster like you!"

his hold on you loosened-- he was stunned, caught off guard. a monster? his hand gripped at the fabric of the coat over your shoulders, "is that truly what you think of me?"

you hated him? that was why you ran? "(y/n)," the captain repeated, his grip on the coat lessened, "answer me. is that what you think of me?"

do you understand how that makes him feel?

it's not as if you always thought this of him, this was a recent development. after getting pregnant, he was... more protective. he took extreme measures to keep you home, to "keep you safe."

it drove you mad.

so, when you woke up one morning to see that all of the house staff, including your maid that you truly loved, had been replaced-- you knew you had to leave.

"yes, yeah..." you nodded, a stray tear running down your cheek, "so, let me down- let me go," you demanded once more, squirming, trying to get away from him once more.

capitano raised his hand and wiped away that stray tear, "(y/n), do not say that-- not to me, not to my face," his hand dropped back to his side. he needed you home with him, now.

and that need was stronger than any other feeling he had at this very moment.

holding you against his chest, trying to keep you as warm as possible as he worked on getting you home.

he needed you back home; whatever happened afterward could happen, as long as you were home with him.

DOTTORE

how things seemed, you enjoy causing dottore problems.

if you weren't knocking his vials over, you were barging in on his experiments, and if not that, you'd rejected him when he expressed even the slightest bit of affection.

it was always something with you.

and now, on his day off-- on the one day when he had nothing to do and nothing planned, you ran away, or at least you tried to.

dottore refused to let his good day be ruined by something so trivial, so he took precautions.

knowing you, you would do something so he prepared for just about anything you could do.

just about anything... well, he didn't expect you, a pregnant woman, to attempt to jump out of your window to get away from him.

he heard the tell-tale shatter of glass and just knew it was you-- it was always you. he begrudgingly got up from where he was resting and went to your room, where you were halfway out of your window, bloodied from the broken glass digging into your skin.

dottore sighed, "goodness, (y/n)," dottore was approaching you and you could hear him coming closer, so, you tried to lunge yourself out of the window, to get away from him-- to protect your future.

pressing your hands against the sides of the window, you pushed yourself forward, slipping out of the window, but, of course, dottore caught you by the ankle just as you were falling.

you wasted not even a second before you began screaming and swearing at him, trying to squirm out of his grip, "let me go! let go-" you kicked at him as he dragged you back into the room.

once you were in, lying on the glass-covered floor, somewhat numb to the pain, dottore stood somewhere near your side, his arms crossed over his chest, looking down at you. he was disappointed, but why?

"don't... lie in the glass. (y/n)..." he sighed once more, and reached out, grabbing your arm and helping you stand.

it was then that he assessed your injuries, asking that you stand still as he looked at your bloodied arms and torso area-- it was painfully cut from the glass.

*you must be in pain, no?* dottore mused, straightening his back as he looked at the thin layer of blood coated on his fingertip, "I'll forget about this-- I'll even forgive you for... attempting this," dottore assured you, holding your arm as he began to guide you out of your room, "I'll forgive you, i just ask that you never attempt such a thing again."

but... you refused, tugging your arm back and out of his hold, "Don't touch me-- i don't *need* your forgiveness!"

you'd never hated him quite as much as you did after finding out that dottore had no problem with experimenting on children that the knave gave him.

it made you sick. you couldn't allow your child to grow up with a man like him, "i *refuse* to raise my child with a monster like you."

dottore's eyebrow twitched, though you couldn't see it. he thought he knew what to expect from you, but, you always surprise him, "a monster? can you genuinely call me such a thing after all I've done for you?"

when you nodded, dottore stifled his third sigh and brought you along with him, despite all of your arguing and fighting. "(y/n), you're hurt. let me clean those wounds of yours. since you cannot accept my forgiveness and let this go, we'll have a talk tomorrow."

dottore cared for you, of course, he did.

he realized just how much he cared for you-- just how much he needed you when he felt his heart drop at the sight of you trying to leave.

he understood just then how much he'd hate it if you left him.

a/n: lowkey ooc...

PIERRO

escape was impossible.

with guards at your door, and all around pierro's manor, you couldn't escape.

but, when pierro found out that you had still tried to leave him-- attempting to walk right out the front door, dressed as if you had places to be, he was displeased.

he was immediately informed of this.

so, as you tried to open the gate that was locked, pierro approached you, "(y/n), where exactly are you going?" he asked, stopping to stand right behind you, "it's cold, and you aren't dressed for the weathers condition... ah, aren't you supposed to inform me of where it is you want to go before going?"

pierro knew exactly what you were doing but for you, he could play dumb. it was better than making you feel cornered and possibly upsetting you further.

he could change, he wasn't above it. after all, there weren't many things he wouldn't do for you.

he held his hand out for you, hoping you'd take it, hoping you wouldn't give him trouble-- not now, not when he was in such a generous mood.

you didn't take his hand, no, you weren't even looking at him as you said, "I'd like to go... I want to stay with my family."

your family? pierro felt his eyes twitch-- he wouldn't allow himself to be seen as the jealous type, no, pierro instead nodded his head slowly, "why don't we go back in? it's terribly cold tonight, is it not?" he'd tried to change the subject, try to ease you back into the house without an argument.

"no, uh... I've got a ride. i just need the gate to open."

pierro saw and understood what you were feeling perfectly-- desperation. "we can talk about this tomorrow, no? it's late, (y/n), im not particularly in the mood to be standing out in the cold while you talk about leaving me."

"pierro- im leaving... I'll send you letters and I-I'll even come to visit," you offered, taking a step towards the gate, looking at the lock, that stopped you from leaving.

"no, no, (y/n), you aren't leaving, at any point. how ever you feel, I'm sure you'd feel better if you spoke to me about how you feel-"

"i want to leave because i dont want to raise my child with you."

first, you cut him off, and now you say this? "you're being very rude-- now, we're going back inside. do not argue with me," pierro took your hand into his and began to guide you back toward the manor.

"no! let go, stop it!" you would drag your feet, crying and arguing, "I don't want to be here! not with you! st-stop it! let me go!"

it saddened him, truly, to hear you cry and beg so desperately, but those words rolled off of him. he didn't care at the moment; he just needed to get you back into the manor, and whatever happened after didn't matter.

he'd have a talk with the guards too.

"You're so evil! let me go-! let me be!" you'd argued, dragging your feet, attempting to make things harder for him, "i refuse to have a child with a monster like you!!"

you couldn't imagine raising a child in this environment, in the fatui...

pierro stilled, glancing back at you, his grip on your hand tightened-- then immediately loosened, "you're testing my patience, (y/n). please, just come inside with me. we can talk about this inside."

because there were fewer places to run inside.

(y/n), you truly are a work of art, pierro mused, as he dragged you along, well, he attempted to be gentle but you were making it hard for him.

but since it was you, he'd do anything, even tolerate your rude behavior, since you were his woman and his alone.

CHILDE

when childe found you, whenever that was, there was no telling what could happen or what he'd do. he loved you, that much was obvious but he was an impulsive guy.

maybe he'd take off his coat and put it over you-- you'd like that, wouldn't you? or maybe, just maybe, he'd hug you out in the blistering cold until he felt good enough to release you... which would be near to never.

or maybe he'd react in anger. again, he loved you, it was inconsiderate, rude even, to leave him while you were pregnant with his child. didn't you promise to start a family with you? (he misheard you. you said you didn't want to start a family with him.)

he wouldn't let his anger get the best of him, no. he was better than that-- he was raised better than that. yeah, he was raised better than that.

childe raised his hand and wiped at the tip of his nose, he was cold. he couldn't image how you'd be feeling right now.

that was all more the reason to find you as soon as possible!

he took this journey alone. he thought it would be somewhat intimate if he found you on his own, it would be manly too-- you'd think he's the type of man you want to raise children with... that's what he thought anyway.

you got a bit of a head start on him, he had just gotten back to snezhnaya when he was informed that you had run off a few hours before he'd gotten back.

oh, he was worried. real worried.

he forgot everything he was planning to do-- eat, change into something warmer, brush his hair, those sorts of things, he forgot all about. you were more important!

before running off, you were staying with his family. it was probably easy for you to leave, just say you're going for a walk and never come back, since his family didn't exactly know all about your relationship with him and how he sorta smuggled you into snezhnaya.

he got home and followed after your footprints for a good while. the sun was setting, and it was only getting colder; at this point, you were probably regretting leaving him and wished to be at home in his arms-- that was just an assumption, of course.

when he finally saw you, in a thin dress and coat, stumbling up a snowy hill, he smiled. (y/n)! its (y/n)!

oh, he felt so relieved to see you!

running past all the bushes and trees in his way, he ran straight into you, hugging you tightly from behind, his hands on your pregnant belly.

"are you hurt anywhere?" that was the first question he asked as he turned you to face him, patting his hands over your arms, checking for any signs of blood on your or your clothes.

he leaned in once again, hugging you after being sure you weren't injured, and his second question, asked in a muffled voice by your ear, was, "What'd ya go running off for?"

"because I don't want to have a child with you."

huh, it seemed childe couldn't hear all of a sudden, as he released you from the hug and slipped his coat off, tossing it over your shoulders, "bet you're cold, huh? now, what'd you say?"

"i do not want to have a child with you."

again, it went through one ear and out the other for childe. he wasn't hearing things right, he couldn't be, could he? "huh? what was that?" his eyebrows raised, and he leaned closer, gesturing for you to repeat yourself once more.

now annoyed, you leaned closer, saying, "I'm leaving you because i dont want to have a child with someone like you."

he straightened his posture, backing away with a less-than-happy expression-- he looked defeated. so, he was hearing things right, huh...

"we gotta see it through... y'know that, right?" still holding your hand, his grip loosened. childe had never felt quite so... sad? angry? betrayed? before.

"no, we don't. I want to go back home, I'll see it through with my famil-"

"we are family," quickly cutting you off, he corrected you, his fingers tensed around your hand, "I'm your family-- everyone back at home is your family. we're your family so why are you trying to leave us?"

he bit at his bottom lip as a means of stopping it from quivering but you could see the tears in his eyes.

"are you kidding me? you forced me to be here with you! you think i came here willingly or someth-"

"you promised me we'd make a family together! you said it yourself, so, why're you acting like you hate me?" his hold on your hand tightened, and he leaned closer to you.

he was desperate-- he didn't want to hear this! not from you, not from anyone he loved, but especially not from you because he didn't just love you; he loved you.

attempting to tug your hand away from him, you shook your head, "I never said that, ever. let go of me- i wouldn't... i refuse to raise my child with someone like you!"

everything he thought knew and believed came crumbling down around him, " oh, well... i don't care," he replied-- he had abandoned his feelings for you, for now at least, he just needed to get you home without harming you, "I love you and... I guess, sometimes that's all that matters."

you could figure it out later-- you could learn to love him later but he loved you now and couldn't let you go so easily.

[cotton-fae24]

Hello everybody! Surprised to see me post something not Seabird related? Well sometimes drawing the same things over and over again gets a little tiring, so to clear my head (and to remind myself to draw legs once in while) I’d tried to draw other owl house stuff. During this break times I’d actually end up drawing other owl house creators Au’s, and I decided to clean up these drawings together and compile them into one big illustration. Think of this post as a sorta tribute to creators that inspire me. And don’t worry, Seabird part 3 will still come out Monday.

First up, the Monster high AU by @dazeddoodles

As the title suggests, it’s an AU that combines the G1 Monster high with the Owl house series. I was a huge Monster High fan when I was younger, so this AU was a real treat. I’m really sad they decided to discontinue it, as I think this AU is really cute. I love the designs too, Raine is my favorite. I kinda just wanted to draw some cute interactions, a young Eda and Raine interacting, Gus and Willow giving Hunter “a hand’ and Amity flirting with Luz (in her own way). Drawing this AU was a lot of fun and did inspire me to rewatch some of the old Monster high specials.

Pittwins AU by @nikolutke

This AU is much darker. The idea of the story is what if Hunter and Luz weren’t resurrected at the end of the series and wandered around the Boiling Isles as ghosts. I love Nikolutke designs for Ghost Luz and Hunter, they’re both haunting and really sad. Plus the idea exploring the Owl house characters reactions towards the death of a love one is really fascinating concept. I kinda explored that idea with these drawings, in this case Eda and Darius reactions. I feel like Eda would be out of her mind with grief, as she was forced to watch Luz’s death first hand. I think she’d feel a lot of guilt too, thinking she failed to protect Luz. I also wonder if Kings Titans powers allows him to see the dead, could be possible. As for the other illustration, I think Darius would probably isolated himself and grieve quietly, contemplating what he could of done differently, and if he could have saved Hunter in time.

The Gilded Cage by @catboymoments

I’ve been fan of both their next gen au and this one, but I decided to post one about the Gilded age au. The basic idea of this AU is the classic “What if Belos found Luz instead of Eda” concept. A lot of these AUs tend to go the route of “Luz becomes Belos 2.0” as someone who loves Luz, I’m sad people just think she’d just instantly become a villain if left unguided. I’m really that this AU went into a different direction and actual kept Luz’s personality and made Luz someone who’s trying to help the Isles and wants to protect her friends from Belos wrath. The one on the left is Lilith and Luz interacting, I like to think Lilith sees a lot of Eda in Luz, and makes her think of the good times before everything got complicated. The one on the right is Luz and Hunter, with the former trying to convince the latter to question Belos control. I love in this AU that despite Belos attempts to put the, against each other, they still have each others back no matter what! Their siblings no matter what universe they’re in!

And of course the classic (pun intended) The Mythology AU by @turquoisespace35

This AU is Huntlow story set in Greek mythology. Hunter in this AU is the half human-gorgon offspring of the human Caleb and gorgon Evelyn. Willow is sent to his location to kill him but (of course) they fall in love instead. The story has a lot of twists and turns, so I suggest you check it out if you haven’t already. The left drawing is Caleb and Evelyn interacting together. I don’t know if this work but I like to think the two were able to somewhat interact with each other by Caleb looking through mirror. I of course had to draw the love birds Hunter and Willow interacting together. The one on the top right is a little bit of a spoiler but I decided to draw Lilith and Edalyns in their goddess forms, I love that Lilith plays the role of Athena and acts a caretaker to Hunter. I drew her getting a little emotional about Hunter finally being free, as any cool Aunt should.

And to those who are just hear to see the Seabird AU, here’s a preview drawing of part 3 of chapter 10. I don’t think Edas really enjoying this part though lol.

Anyway, hope you guys this more unusual post, I just wanted to draw something a little different this time and pay tribute to some of the artists that have inspired me.

Edit: Chapter 10 part 3 of the Little Seabird is out now. In case you’re interested in seeing my work, I’ve left a link:

Chapter 10, part 3:

And if you want to read from the beginning, here’s a link to the first page:

Beginning:

[thefoxtherapist]

hiii! i saw you were taking requests for wuwa and was wondering if you could write general cuddling headcanons or scenarios for jiyan, calcharo, scar (idk if he’s a cuddle type guy lol), and/or any other characters of your choosing. can have already established relationships

tysm 💜👾

Thank you for the request! I hope you like it! I'm still learning the characters so go easy on me o7

-Scar actually strikes me as somebody overly clingy if given the opportunity. If his schedule allows for it, there's almost nowhere else he'd rather be.

-He's pretty brash about his wants and needs, he doesn't hesitate to take what he wants. And yet, his approach to relationships and intimacy differs from this. If his storytelling is to be believed, I think he'd be hesitant.

-But the moment you open your arms when he comes home? Scar's arms are around your waist in seconds. Always a bit too tight, face buried against you in one way or another. It can be bruising at times, or the complete flipside of far too gentle.

-With Scar its rarely big spoon/little spoon. He prefers when you're laying on your back, either on the bed or the couch. He likes to lay partially on top of you, his face buried in your neck, body half on top of yours like a protective shield. Your arms around him, holding him tightly.

-If he can't breathe because he refuses to remove his face from your neck or hair, then he's cuddling correctly!

-You know those memes that are like (brooding edgy guy) "and what were you up to-" "killing..." "we were cuddling." YOU CAN'T DO THAT WITH HIM! Scar will PROUDLY announce everything you two were doing. IN DETAIL.

-He's a proud man. And you've eaten his hair. Ultimately, 7/10.

-Jiyan gonna hit you with "I'm too busy right now, I'll make it up to you." then never make it up to you. The weight of the world is on his shoulders and to some degree he put it there himself.

-You gotta drag his green ass into bed, I'm sorry. But once he's in bed, he will stay there. The thing about cuddling with Jiyan is that it isn't just cuddling? It's also nap time. He's tired, he's overexerting himself, he's fighting a bazillion internal and external wars.

-He likes being the big spoon (you slept on his hair accidentally ONE TIME). Jiyan is a bit tense as his arm wraps around you, his other arm under the pillow. At first his chin will rest against your head, he'll sorta look over you.

-Eventually though he'll relax, his chest will loosen, his grip will loosen, and his face will drop into the top of your head. His breathing gets quieter, calmer. Every time he breathes out a lil hard, there's a gentle breeze that rustles the sheets. But it keeps the temperature perfect.

-It is at this point you could turn in his arm if you want to, bury your face into his chest. Jiyan is fast asleep and happy to hold you as he finally gets some rest with his lover. He's a bit of a snorer though, sorry.

-3/10 on a normal day, but once you get him into the freaking bed, he's so comfortable to nap with and snuggle so 9/10 once hes in there. Good luck though.

-So the edgy brooding guy I mentioned in Scar's section, that is Calcharo. Most of the people who work for him, or even know him, don't even know he has a partner. This is to keep you safe.

-But because of this, physical intimacy is often put aside for safety. He isn't a fan of it, I doubt you're a fan of it. But Calcharo puts those he looks out for pretty high up on his priority list.

-You have a secret knock. And when he knocks in that secret way, he's quick to push by you and into your home. He's quick to check all the locks before he even says hello.

-But his hello is picking you up and bringing you to the nearest soft surface. Your back hitting the couch cushions, him still holding your thighs as he pretty much lays on top of you at a bit of an awkward angle.

-Calcharo tends to kiss and cuddle, it isn't just a relaxing snuggle, he wants to get his kisses in too. Each one gentle, almost tired, as he peppers your face in small kisses. He's a bit like, yes I am saying this to be silly, a puppy.

-If you don't push him off and get him outta his gear, he will sleep like this. Look at that man, he's tired. But the second you push on his shoulder, he's off of you. Very respectful man, my beloved. But he'll follow you to your bedroom, dropping gear on his way. His weapon beside your bed.

-8/10. He's back to giving you kisses and he hasn't undone his boots yet.

[deanstead]

Going Home

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Reader

Requested: no

Summary: Y/N returns early from her time off but Derek notices something's off.

Word Count: 1.1K

Tags/Warnings: established relationship, allusions to physical violence (sorta?)

A/N: Of course, my first Derek Morgan piece has to be extremely self-indulgent. Enjoy!

Your cheek still smarted, as if it had just happened. The mark across your face had faded already, but anyone observant would be able to tell.

But of course, you had to work with the most observant people. They’d probably be able to tell what you were thinking even without such obvious signs.

The only thing you were thankful for was that they were probably not back yet. If you were quick, you could slip in, leave the signed form on Hotch’s desk and be out of there without running into Penelope.

Even with that thought, you put a mask on, just to be safe.

You’d asked for the week off for personal matters and only Hotch knew you’d been called home to check on your mother. As you'd already expected, Hotch had told you to take all the time you needed. No one know how much you dreaded going back there. Not even Derek.

You didn’t care that your parents considered you a disappointment despite the fact that you were working in the most elite team in the FBI. You didn’t even care when your father had hollered that he was cutting you off, and you didn’t care that they had never once remembered your birthday or even showed up for your graduation.

You didn’t care.

All you had wanted was to stay as far away as possible.

What you really hated was the way you caved when they called. You told yourself not to go, but the tiny voice in your gut wondered if there was something up, if there was something serious going on, and if you would regret it.

And you had. You regretted going back to that horrible house to stand in the living room as they asked you for money so they could send your brother abroad.

You opened your mouth and then closed it.

What were you supposed to say? Or ask? You were dumbfounded.

When you finally found your voice again, all your emotions flowed with it, “What am I, a cash cow?”

That had only earned you a tight slap across your face. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, but you didn’t remember him ever using this much force.

At least your mother and brother looked apologetic but you were no longer that teenager who had no choice but to take all this lying down. So you’d turned right back around and headed all the way back home.

Home.

You shook your head quickly. You hadn’t meant to get so lost in your thoughts. Grabbing a pen from your desk, you quickly signed the document and headed up to Hotch’s office, leaving it on his desk before hightailing it out of there.

You’d almost made it.

Until the elevator doors opened, and you were staring back at your team.

“Hey!” The chorus of smiles and greetings echoed in your ears, a treatment that was totally different from what you’d just experienced a few hours ago at what was supposed to be home, and you felt the sting of tears as you smiled.

You stepped to the side with Hotch as the rest of the team scattered.

“Y/N, we weren’t expecting you so soon. I told you to take the time you needed.” Hotch's expression was stoic as usual but his voice was filled with concern and you didn’t miss the way his eyes raked across your face even though he could only see your eyes.

You smiled and nodded. “It's handled. I just came by to hand in the HR form since I was back in town. I’ll be here tomorrow.” You paused. “If that’s okay.”

Hotch studied you for a while more before he nodded. “Tomorrow.”

You turned away to leave before you felt someone grab your hand.

“Where do you think you're going?” Derek’s warm voice filled your ears.

You hadn’t even realized he’d been waiting.

“Hey.” You smiled. “I was gonna call you when I got home.”

Even as you spoke, your eyes darted upward. You’d been dating for a while, and the team knew, but both you and Derek had kept it pretty low-key especially around here.

“Fine, come here.” Derek said quietly, almost dragging you to his office, closing the blinds and shutting the door behind the both of you.

You blinked at him, and the frown reappeared on his face now that the both of you were alone.

“Why are you wearing a mask? Did you catch something?” He asked, his voice dropping to one of concern, the gentle tone that was reserved just for you when you were alone.

Before you could say anything, he put his hand up to feel for a temperature.

Instinctively, as if you couldn’t control your own body, you flinched. It was just a little, like you were leaning your cheek away from him but this was Derek Morgan, and he caught it.

Derek’s frown deepened.

“Derek, I…”

He didn’t say anything, merely reaching behind your ears to take off your mask.

“Derek, wait…” You tried to stop him but it was too late.

The mask slid off your face. Derek slid his hand along the side of your neck, angling your face gently toward him so that he could take a look at what you’d been hiding from him. “Let me see.”

You recognized the moment his eyes registered the mark across your face. The quiet rage that flashed in his eyes as he realized you’d been hurt, the confusion about why you hadn’t come straight to him - you recognized them all.

“What happened? Who did this?” His voice was low and you could hear the concerted effort it took for him to keep his voice steady.

You looked back at him and you sighed. “It’s nothing, Derek. It’s done.”

Derek just looked back at you quietly.

Suddenly, you didn’t feel like pretending that it was okay anymore. You stepped forward, melting into the safety of Derek's arms as he pulled you tightly into him, his arms wrapping securely around you.

“I got you.” He whispered. “No matter what.”

You just nodded, burying your face into his shoulder, even though you weren’t really supposed to do this in the office.

“I’ll tell you at home.” You mumbled.

Derek just nodded, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Alright, come on. We’re going home.”

Home.

The word bounced around your skull and you smiled, knowing that this was it. You’d always told yourself that the day the words “going home” no longer made your heart sink, you’d know.

And you knew. You didn't have a single doubt in your mind.

Derek pulled away gently, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he led you back out of his office so the both of you could do exactly that.

[jackiepackiee]

hi there! I was wondering if you could do some hcs about telemachus x reader where she’s a demigod daughter of poseidon? And shes not close with her dad at all bc he’s absent n everything but hes just sorta nervous? Or maybe he isnt nervous but when ody gets back he sorta freaks out? Whatever works for you hun xx

Telemachus x Poseidon Daughter! Reader

An- apologies, I’m not too proud of this one… if you want anything else about this just ask! @sunshinewhosketches

I’d say pretty confidently there are three levels of timespans of your relationship

That being meeting, dating before his dad returns, and after Odysseus’ return

Meeting

Now Telemachus is no strangers to gods. He’s a bit of a nerd… studying all the great tales of the sky, ocean, underworld, etc

And obviously he is close with Athena, he’d consider her one of the closest people in his life

But that’s the only god he really knows as in a personal way, not to mention Athena came to him so he wasn’t actively trying to win over anyone

That being said, it’s most likely that he meets you through Athena

One day you overheard the goddess of war and wisdom speaking of her new mentee with Hermes and you were more than interested

It’s not often that she speaks so fondly of anyone, especially men, so this boy had to be good!

Anyways, it’s not like you knew of his father yet (it’s likely during this time you first hear of him that Poseidon and Odysseus are having their fights)

So you followed Athena one day to meet the boy, just planning to watch from afar

As a demigod you couldn’t exactly make yourself invisible like true gods, so you hid in the water in one of the beach pools of Ithaca while he trained

But he’s very intelligent and soon sees you poking up from the rocks at the waters edge

Now he’s incredibly flustered, not knowing who you are or your intentions

So Athena has to tell him to calm down before you can talk

Sure, she’s against romance, but it wouldn’t hurt for her warrior to have a demigod on his side

And when he finds out your Poseidon’s daughter?

Yeah, he’s shocked

Not because he’s scared, but because “gods are such strong beings supposed to be so beautiful?!?”

You’re there, skin sparkling from the water looking like you emerged from the depths of the ocean

He’s immediately very polite, not daring to say anything to offend you

After all, your father is known for drowning his enemies for a small wrongdoing

But he sees your face and can’t bring himself to be anything but a stuttering mess who blushes lightly

Before Odysseus

When you two are dating things are more or less… crazy

The most obvious issue is the suitors

Now he’s tempted to say to them that, “yeah, I’m dating a demigod so don’t mess with them or my mother”

But he’s no idiot

He knows this would put you in danger, so instead you two usually meet at the rivers and beaches of Ithaca

Anyways, he loves getting out of the palace and exploring his kingdom with you

Although he knows you’d protect him, he likes to be the one protecting you

He feels strong knowing a literal demigod is trusting him with their safety

Your favorite pass time together is sailing, since he isn’t afraid of you getting caught in the water because he knows you can swim well lol

He looks so so so good with slightly wet hair, muscular arms shown off as he hums lowly and pulls at the ropes of the ship

But don’t tell him that! He’ll blush and lie that it’s a bad sunburn

Now he doesn’t know of his father and your fathers feud, so you two have little to fear

Well… kinda

He’s never known a demigod, nevertheless been in love with the daughter of an incredibly dangerous god

So he’s extra polite to you (he would be anyways, because he loves you) and never goes into the water without you

I’m not going to assume what type of abilities you have, but whatever it be he’s very very proud

When you show him he looks at you in awe before hugging you like an excited little kid

“Do it again!” Yeah, who can say no to him?

You two mainly share gentle kisses after long days of adventures, and you always splash him with some water when you get shy from his affection

After Odysseus

Definition of… “oh sh-“

Now Odysseus is a kind man, despite his change after his odyssey

So he won’t be rude to you

In fact he likely won’t know for a while since… everyone has a lifetime of catching up to do

So it isn’t until you see Telemachus come into your bedroom with a panicked expression that issues arise

Now he’s a sweet sweet boy, and he lies

He tells you he’s just feeling ill and needs to lie down

In actuality his dad was telling him about his journey and started talking about the absolute hatred him and Poseidon had for each other

Telemachus goes pale.

He’s so scared two of the people he loves most won’t get along!

So he doesn’t tell you while he figures it out

And by figuring it out I mean having a “tummy ache” because he’s so nervous

To be fair he didn’t know you didn’t care for your dad as you never brought him up

It was a touchy subject for both of you, but now that he has his dad he’s aware of how quiet you are on the subject

Everything is okay to him until he sees you and his dad talking while you help him fix a boat by going underwater and poor bby let’s the secrets fly

Since he sees you underwater he assumes his dad knows

“I’m so sorry father! I know you hate Poseidon but she’s so lovely and I’m not willing to give her up even if you have fought him.”

Which just confuses the two of you until you look at one another and realize

Now both you and Odysseus love Telemachus, and don’t like Poseidon, so what is there to fight about?

Telemachus just holds your hand, waiting for his fathers reaction

But all he does is nod and carry on

To be fair, he owes you for protecting his family while he’s been gone

After that Telemachus is less nervous

Now the only thing that gets him going in a flustered stutter is when his mom says “I’ve never thought you’d marry a demigod” and I maid squeals “when is the wedding”

No, Poseidon and Odysseus aren’t going to get along for your sake

[luveline]

I LOVE YOUR WRITING IT'S SO ASDFJKFTICDHBDIGDGXSJOHCBCFG

so I wanted to request Sirius x reader where the reader is on veritaserum and has a banter/ tongue in cheek sorta relationship with Sirius. And then when she's on the truth serum she has to hold back witty comebacks because when she opens her mouth all she keeps saying is how disgustingly cute Sirius looks when he smiles, and how she just wants to snog his face off PLEASE IF YOU CAN 👉👈 🥺

REMINDER: YOU'RE AMAZING AND I'M HAPPY AND PROUD OF YOUR SERVICE TO THE FANFIC COMMUNITY

thank you ♡ —you can't hide the truth from sirius, and he doesn't want to try. 1.3k

cw spiked drink

"Why would someone put veritaserum in the pimms?" you ask James meekly. 

"Shortcake, I'm really not sure. Don't get upset about it, alright? Remus is going to tear them all a new one." He squeezes you by the shoulders. "Don't worry, Jamie's here." 

"You're very handsome, but I don't fancy you. Much." 

James smiles. "Good to know, lovely. I don't fancy you much either. I'll assume you're saving yourself for our mutual dark-haired friend and I shan't be offended." 

You slap a hand over your mouth and shake your head, but the truth comes out muffled into your palm anyways. "I really like him," you say, eyes wide with terror, "I don't want anyone else. Oh, James! You're such a dick!" 

"Do you mean that, or are you just angry with me?" James asks, helping you out into the garden away from the party and your peers, who can't be trusted to leave you alone when you're set to tell them any secret they want. 

"Both!" 

"What's wrong?" Sirius asks. 

Your neck almost snaps as you look up. James swears, trying to save it as your body instinctively answers. "Someone's spiked our girl," James says extremely loudly to mask your more honest confession, "I'm worried I'm going to tell you I like you," you say. 

Sirius, sitting on a low garden wall with a packet of cigarettes in his hand, is puzzled. "What?" 

"Someone's put veritaserum in her drink. Maybe in the pitcher. I've brought her outside so she doesn't accidentally tell everyone she's in love with me."

Sirius grins. "Don't be daft, Prongs, she's clearly team Black. Aren't you, sweetheart?" 

"You're the prettiest of your trio," you say, sincerity like a blade at the back of your throat, aching, "I'm definitely on your team." 

James squeezes your shoulder and helps you into a garden chair, the metal cool against your back. "I'll forgive you because I know you can't help it, and because I know you're dying of embarrassment," he murmurs. 

"Thank you. I love you." 

"I love you too, shortcake," James says easily, kicking out a chair for Sirius and flopping into his beside you. "Aren't feeling ill, are you?" 

"Just terrified I'll say something too honest," you say, holding your breath between words. 

Sirius sits in the chair that's been kicked out for him with a cigarette held between his lips, unlit. He lift a his hips to pull a lighter from his back pocket and you flush with heat at the motion, wondering if you're a pervert for looking, for thinking, but lately your flirty banter has your heart doing front flips, and every time you see him you're zoning in on his hands, his arms, the slip of skin at his navel when he stretches, the low sound he makes when something pops. 

"Stop ogling me," he says without looking from his cigarette, the end glowing orange in the flame of his clipper. 

"I don't mean to," you say. 

James shifts uncomfortably. Everyone knows you like Sirius, maybe even Sirius, but he hasn't said a thing about it and you've stopped yourself (so far) from telling him. Any truth has been said under the guise of a joke. 

Sirius takes a short drag and holds the cigarette out and away from you, smoke curling in the cold autumnal night. "Shall I go help defend your honour? I assume that's where Remus is. Being spiked isn't funny." 

"I'd like it if you stayed here," you say. 

James laughs. Sirius leans forward a touch. "Then I'll stay here. Do you need something to drink?"

"My mouth is really dry," you say. 

Sirius sends a saccharine smile James' way. It's the look of an older brother used to getting his way, to which James sighs and grumbles, standing from his chair, "Don't ask her anything cruel," he says severely, kissing the top of your head quickly. "I'm serious." 

"I won't. I quite like her, in case you forgot. I've no interest in torturing her." 

You believe him. James departs with a pat, leaving you and Sirius alone at the garden table, still but for the little motion he does every now and then to fleck ash onto the floor. 

"You sure you're okay?" Sirius asks.

"I feel fine. Warm, but that's probably because you're smiling at me." 

He raises his eyebrows. "Maybe we should talk about something else. I really don't want to ask you anything too personal while you can't keep a secret. James gave me veritaserum once, when we were kids." 

"He did?" you ask. 

"Too much of it. I was sick, and I couldn't stop telling him how much I wished we were real brothers. Which he knows now, but at the time it was, you know, very sincere." 

"You and James are real brothers," you say. 

"I'm glad you can say that. It must be true," he says. "I'm lucky, even if he has tried to poison me." 

"James is lucky too. We all are." 

"Yeah?" he asks. He's about to continue, but your mouth does the choosing for you, and you cut him off. 

"I love knowing you, Sirius, I feel lucky to be your friend, and I–" You bite your tongue hard enough for tears to catch in your eyes immediately. 

Sirius' blasé fades, falls away slowly, like a moving cloud unveiling a slice of light, "Don't hurt yourself," he says, alarmed at your wincing. He drops his cigarette and smashes it with his heel, shuffling his chair closer to yours. 

"I just don't want to tell you something," you say, shaking your head. 

Sirius touches your hand. "Okay, I won't ask you any more questions. I'm sorry. Everyone's allowed their secrets, lovely, I didn't mean to make you answer me. I thought it would be easier to skirt around the issue." 

But it's a big feeling, and it's in everything you do. You really, really like him. If you can't be honest about that, maybe you can be honest about something else..

There's no shame in finding a handsome man handsome. And maybe you can convince him that that's all it is. "I just want to kiss you stupid, Black," you say, "like, kiss you until I can't feel my mouth anymore. You look like you know how to really kiss someone." 

Sirius laughs suddenly, startled. "I want to kiss you stupid, doll. You're a fucking dime piece," he says through laughter, "and that's the truth."

"You look really nice when you laugh," you further, wondering if this is the wrong thing to do. 

"You look beautiful when you laugh," he says. 

"Joking with you about stuff is the best part of my week." 

"It's the best part of mine. I wish we saw each other more often," he says. 

"Did you drink the pimms, too?" you ask. 

"No. I'm stone cold sober, sweetheart." Sirius looks behind you and you follow his gaze to the patio doors, where James and Remus are arguing good-naturedly, a tall pint glass filled literally to the rim with water in James' hand.

"Has he left you alone?" Remus asks, quick down the short step to defend you. "I love you, Sirius, but I don't trust you to not ask her embarrassing questions." 

"I'm starting to get offended. No, she hasn't told me anything embarrassing. Only that she wants to snog my lips off, but I knew that already." Sirius smiles at you dopily while his friends seize up. "And that's hardly embarrassing, because I want to do it to her first." 

[plumipal]

Omg who is she?

She’s so pretty.

She has twice the wings Eden has. Idk what that means but it probably means something.

Also her name being Lilith… guys I’m sensing pattern here. Are you keeping another one named Adam locked in the basement?

Is she maybe his sister? I mean you can’t just drop a new bit of lore and run away. Explain yourself. Please? Pretty please with a cherry and cream on top? It would be much appreciated and desperately looked forward to.

Little side note who hurt my boy Eden in the second picture? Was it Lilith? If so her likability just dropped of dramatically.

Chat, meet Edens... Sister.

HER NAME IS LILITH!!!

So to even start this off, they are NOT human (I know, shocker). They're children of the stars, serving to protect and help the stars shine as bright as they do. Becasue of defects on both of them (the extra parts near their star core, making them unstable), they were cast out of the colony, cursed to wander the endless galaxies.

I know no one has wondered why Eden has a huge scar on his back or why he even got into the twst universe in the beginning, BUT LET ME TELL YOU ALL! It's her fault.

After a childish spat where it ended with Eden reaching for his weapon to strike her, she instead grabbed for hers and beat the ever living shir our of him, sending him flying to hopefully kill him. This resulted in him reaching the atmosphere of the twst world, crashing down (like a fallen star) into ramshackle around a week before the prefect arrived.

He was passed out for a week, motionless untill y/n, grim and crowley discover him in a vacant room in ramshackle, waking him up and tending to his wound.

So yeah this blond little bitch is the reason we have Eden in the twstverse mmm...

A look at the weapons, they both serve to be protection incase the star they serve gets attacked. The little vacant spot on the spear is for the core to be put in, aka their little star in their chest, the source of their power.

They can take it out, the spear acting as a magicpen sorta to help with their "magic" and being able to direction it. Don't take the core too far away from them tho, it serves as someone cutting off oxygen or blood flow ro us, easy kill on them.

Lilith has a few more wings on hers than a normal one does, just like her defect. This was becasue of a power imbalance, leading to her absorbing way too much power compared to the others during her creation, leading to her being very dangerous (basically a ticking timebomb).

Also a look again on Edens scar that Lilith caused. She foes not feel sorry for that, nor does she feel sorry for burning half of edens face off (first panel whre he is badly damaged, don't worry he will regenerate quickly).

You may also notice her wings being lighter, and that is becasue of their "purity" of other magical influences. Edens darkened quickly during his first week in twst, the blot around him forcing its way into the pigment. This also depends on how easily they adapt with other living beings, with Eden easily being able to copy and show humane emotions.

The love and devotion he feels for you is something he felt similar to his creator while he served the star, that love however turning more dark and twisted because of him copying the environment around him (aka the other twst men into you lol). He is also very heavily inspired by a raven, whish is why he has this "copying easily" ability.

Meanwhile Lilith is meant to resemble more of a dove, elegant and beautiful. Will she be romanceable? We will see...

One thing to make clear,

EDEN FUCKING HATES HER GUTS!! DO NOT PUT THEM IN THE SAME ROOM ONE OF THEM WILL DIE-

Thank you for coming to my Eden Ted talk I will be here all week.

[phantomrose96]

Despite the fact that they kill him, Pikmin 4 is remarkably kinder to Olimar than Pikmin 1 ever was.

4 is a sort of AU of Pikmin 1, and Olimar is the focus of your rescue mission rather than your playable character. And YES you fuck up as a rescue team and leave Olimar to die, but undead!Olimar isn't even having a bad time at all. Even kinder than that, they do let you un!undead him, because your doctor Mal Practice is cool with playing God.

When you save Olimar, you can talk with him and he'll "tell your his tale", which lets you play a retelling of sorts of his Pikmin 1 time alone, but now set in this Pikmin 4 AU. And there's something so odd about it because the atmosphere is so so different.

And the biggest thing about it is the fact that Pikmin 1 feels so alone. You are small and you are shipwrecked and there is no one coming to save you. And yeah, you're still just as small in Pikmin 4, but it's in a Borrowers kind of whimsical way... a Ghibli-esque world and you are the mouse with a thimble hat and a sewing needle sword.

Pikmin 1 is not that. It is vast and it is both awe-striking and terrifying. It is sprawling and unnerving, and the camera follows you at the distance of a circling vulture. The world is beautiful, but it is not comforting. The music, the landscapes, the scale of everything, is so very alone. There is Olimar and there is no one else. He lives or dies by his own hand because the only hints at anyone else existing in this universe are Olimar's own solemn wonderings about his wife and children far back home.

I can't help but view Pikmin 4 as a sort of apology to Olimar for putting him through all that. "Sorry about that 'only man alive' thing. And for all the 10-year-olds who played and killed you over and over because the 30-day limit until life support runs out was kinda brutal." Pikmin 4 makes Olimar be the mouse with the thimble hat. They put him in a cute little backyard and give him a dog. They kill him but they make sure Undead-imar has a fun hobby and they let him sorta, weirdly, save other people's lives. They send the universe's most well-meaning but incompetent Rescue Corp after him, and they succeed only after Olimar dies a little. And then they let Olimar hang out at the rescue camp with 20 other people, resting up and well-looked after, letting him compile his ecological notes while someone else takes it from here. They get him his dog back.

Pikmin 4 Olimar is given a cup of tea, a good book, and a blanket. Pikmin 1 Olimar dies alone of trench-foot with a crack in his helmet that suffocates him slowly to death.