#it'll be in the middle of an intense situation

[fbiartist]

Like for a starter in Ziva's Supernatural/TVD verse, mutuals only, multi's specify.

[yandere-yearnings]

Mx Dar.. do we have any.. Ehem, NSFW head cannons for Vio?

*slides over a wad of Monopoly money*

ahaha we are going straight into the transactions today❗❗for such a hefty sum, ofc you can get nsfw vio hcs😌💕 *takes monopoly money and stows it away* it's a pleasure doing business w/ you🤧

NSFW under the cut!

Unsurprisingly, Vio is very much a brat in bed, for the most part at least.

He likes to rile you up. Everything just feels that much better when you're angry and frustrated. Knowing he has control over you like that, he plays with your emotions to no end.

It goes both ways, but he enjoys degrading you much more than the other way around. Spitting at you, calling you names — anything to make you snap and pin him down because he absolutely loves the feeling of being forced into submission.

Your hands on his wrists, pressing him into the mattress so hard that your pulses becomes indistinguishable, the heat rolls off of in waves and he's entirely enamoured by the idea that only he can pull this intensity out of you.

His career means he has to be careful about marks and bruises, but if he didn't have to worry about the media picking apart his sex life, Vio would've liked to try bondage.

When his schedule isn't busy and he can afford a few days of recovery, he might even ask you to tie him up, loose enough that he doesn't have to worry about rope burn. Hands unable to stray too far from the headboard, legs spread and completely defenseless — all scenes straight from his wet dreams.

Although, due to his upbringing and life in the spotlight, Vio's spoiled and it bleeds into his habits in bed. He's a pillow prince through and through.

It's really all he knows. Everyone is always at his hands and feet, trying to please him to the extent that they've started to look like fools in his eyes. Why should he have to pull his weight for people like that?

He'd try for you, if it was something you really wanted, though you'd have to be prepared for complementary taunts because clearly you're desperate for him and Vio will not leave you alone about it.

One thing he does well is make himself pretty for you, and on that note, if you were to ever bring up dollification or feminisation, he would be onboard without complaint. He's ever confident in himself, especially his appearance, and he knows he looks good in everything, lacy lingerie and dresses included.

Taking pictures and videos to capture his beauty is only natural, right? He'd be offended if you didn't.

In most instances, Vio always has something to say, biting back fast enough you'd think he'd somehow prepared his snarky remarks in advance. However, he can be strangely obedient at times, depending on how assertive you are.

He gets so amicable and quiet that it can be slightly jarring, but moments like those are always so peaceful to him and he will never admit how much he appreciates it when you bring them about.

Praise makes him preen, but he is slightly desensitised to it. If you set up a situation where he has to work for your acknowledgement, it does so much more for him than you'd think. It'll be on his mind for days, and sometimes have him blushing in the middle of shooting a scene at work.

He doesn't like being made to wait for pleasure, so he'd much rather be overstimulated than edged. You could still try it as a form of punishment, but Vio is more likely to give you a hard time because it puts him in a bad mood.

He knows himself well, rest assured he'll let you know what he does or doesn't want — he isn't the type to try new things without thorough scrutiny.

He actually has a fairly low sex drive. If you don't build up his desire with good enough foreplay, you can forget about bedding him. Talk some tension into the air, grab his hips hard when no one's watching, his head will go empty of all thoughts, bar you.

Massages make him horny, the pressure on his taut muscles has his eyes rolling back. His inner thighs are really sensitive, so focusing on them will bring out the sweetest moans from him.

Acting has put him in a lot of positions over the years and as a result, Vio is both nimble and flexible enough that it works to the both of your advantages. Whether giving or receiving, there is no doubt that you'll be meeting in the middle without fail if you let him put his skills to use.

He's big on hate sex as long as there's no hair-pulling involved. You'll never be able to convince him to let your hands anywhere near his scalp.

Aftercare is a must. Vio genuinely will not sleep with you again if you don't give him the proper attention he needs when everything is said and done. Talk to him as he winds down, wipe the sweat from his skin and run him a bath at that specific temperature you know he likes.

He notes the things you do, the way you work the knots from wet locks and bring him water before he asks. It's unexpected, but he repays you in kind.

Worry about how he'll manage work the next day, say you'll make it up for tiring him out by staying by his side. Satisfaction is great, but it's everything following that has Vio admitting he loves you.

[seafoamreadings]

week of august 11th, 2024

these are written predominantly for the *rising* signs but they are also intuitively "channeled" enough that they should work for any dominant energy you have! (try your sun if you don't know rising, or more advanced readers can try moon, anywhere you have a stellium, etc and see what works best for you!)

aries: mars on jupiter is no small thing, especially for you. but it's much more benevolent than the fairly recent mars-uranus conjunction even with saturn involved. your appetites are large and your impulses likely feel very urgent. it's good to listen to them, but be sure to think before acting or even speaking.

taurus: you may feel pressure to spend money or resources (including time or too much thought). even if it's worth it, it'll most likely wait until a time of less pressure so you can get your mind clear. try to spend only on real emergencies and basic necessities for now. i know i can't talk a taurus (such as myself) into not having a little treat though... just keep it small.

gemini: mars and jupiter meet up in your sign for what promises to be an intense set of urges. it does make you look powerful to others; no need to put on any displays because it just radiates off of you. if it's contrived it actually looks weaker. anyway, use that to your advantage this week but don't think you have to act on anything just yet. it's okay to just sit and look intimidating for now.

cancerians: there's a lot going on and you're sensitive enough that you've definitely noticed. yet you have your act together so well that others may view you as unshaken and utterly unperturbed which is not a bad situation to be in. let your finances show it; mercury back into leo this week can have you tempted with bad investments. just hold on to the cash for now.

leo: seems like just yesterday mercury was in your sign... well, he's back already thanks to his retrograde. as long as you've been good with your traditional mercury retrograde protocols, this benefits you, and slow movements and delays also benefit you. you are regal, eloquent, and charismatic as long as you don't let your nerves show.

virgo: while it's true that mercury retrogrades almost flamboyantly back into leo this week, it doesn't mean you get to return to ease just yet. relationships and your reputation are, at least in small ways and possibly in quite large ways, on the line. if you want to experiment with cutting something off, this is a good time to give it a tentative try. it will likely come back and when it does you can re-evaluate if you want to welcome it back or send it away for good.

libra: this week is broadly supportive to you but at the same time it is tense and probably encased in a strange aura. the tension makes for growth and the strange aura is mostly just a sign of the times. lean into academic pursuits and broad, new horizons.

scorpio: your sign gets described as intense a lot, but even you may feel a bit overwhelmed by the tension and high weirdness of this week. take nothing for granted and expect the unexpected. things come and things go and they're going to happen fast for a while.

sagittarius: the weird vibes of the week may kind of suit you. that's weird as in wyrd, not weird as in some creep... weird in a good way in this case, although you can expect upheaval and many changes. they may well not be permanent though, as mercury is smack in the middle of the retrograde.

capricorn: your ruling planet saturn is up to a lot of quiet activity in a tumultuous time. changes made need backbones to stay around. if something happens you don't like, give it no structure. if something happens you do like, give it a steady foundation to continue. when mercury goes direct again many feeble things disappear.

aquarius: one thing you cannot do at this time is expect relationships to make sense. and this is not at all restricted to romantic relationships, but all kinds - the axis between yourself and 'the other.' and even your relationship to the world around you. you relative to the sky, the trees, and gravity. it's not going to be logical this week (or probably next either). that actually is probably cool with you since although you appreciate reason, you know the value of the unconventional.

pisces: neptune sextile pluto (they're both in retrograde) IS old magic. you are the magickian. you don't even have to try. but if you do try, it is more orderly. meanwhile saturn is providing a lot of structure for the magic to stick to, to give it form in the tangible world around you. it's NOT all in your head. this is unification of all ethereal realms and the condensate realm in front of your eyes. do with that information whatever you will.

[teencopandthesourwolf]

STFU!

for the @sterekdrabbles 30/09/24 challenge. the prompt words were VORACIOUS, LOUD, and MILK. also tagging @sterekdrabblesgonelong as this ended up going long (884 words) xp

also found HERE on ao3

rating: EXPLICIT

Derek finally caves, succumbing to Stiles's feral wiles and allowing Stiles to drag that disgustingly hot wolfy-ass beneath Stiles's not exactly fresh and not exactly sexy bed sheets, for what is the B-movie prelude to (god willing!) the night's main event that will hopefully see Stiles Stilinski getting royally fucked within an inch of his Gay Virgin life.

Stiles—albeit inexperienced in this department but very much making up for that with a voracious sort of enthusiasm, thank you very much—is in the middle of sloppily sucking Derek off. The werewolf's not actually knotted cock-end is currently mercilessly bumping the back of Stiles's throat (Stiles is loving the fact he's never had a gag reflex, and by all accounts so is Derek), before a mix of precome and spit is confusingly flicking up into Stiles's eyes and hair as Derek manhandles him to skillfully flip their positions, Derek now suddenly the one with a mouth stuffed full of steel-hard cock.

Stiles is instantly shrieking Derek's name like a lunatic (ha) at having Derek's brand-hot mouth clamped around him, so loud Derek has to shove all four fingers of his left hand into Stiles's mouth to essentially gag him—and hopefully desist any need the neighbours could have to call the Sheriff and tell Stiles's old man his only son might be getting his throat ripped out by a wild animal of unknown description.

It embarrassingly takes no time at all of Derek swallowing Stiles down like a champ (and giving his balls a glorious beard rash for him to jerk off over tomorrow) for Stiles to be dangerously close to shooting his load—directly into what feels likely to be Derek's fucking stomach at this point, because jesus fucking christ he's gonna come hard—and he finds himself slapping haphazardly and manically at the ball of Derek's shoulder with the palm of his hand, as if they're in an wrestling ring and Stiles is desperately trying to tap-out of a full nelson.  

“No-no-no! Stop-stop-stop, Der, please, you gotta—or I'm gonna, y'know, like I'll—and it'll happen, like—shiiiiiiit, oh, man, you cannot keep doing that with your tongue, big guy, or it's gonna be game over before it's even properly begun!” he manages to splutter out, indignant and rambling more than usual with the insane levels of pleasure now shooting throughout his body like a trillion miniscule lightning strikes.  

Derek, of course, completely ignores Stiles and absolutely keeps swirling his gorgeously warm and wet tongue around what is definitely the most intense hard-on of Stiles's eighteen years on this planet, like his dick is not actually a dick at all but Derek's favourite flavour of popsicle. Although, Stiles now knows that The D (or at least Derek Hale's fantastic D) does not, in fact, taste anything like any popsicle Stiles has ever consumed; it's maybe more like salt-water taffy, only with less sugar and a lot more salt and holy mother of god, Stiles loves, loves, loves it. And even trying his dumb best to distract himself from what he knows is the inevitable, to make this not-so-little slice of pure heaven last just a teensy bit longer, Stiles knows thinking about the taste of cock while getting blown by the hottest creature he's ever had the good fortune to lay eyes on is definitely not helping his situation one iota.  

Thank fucking fuck, Derek chooses this moment to relinquish the divine vacuum he's got going on between Stiles's inner thighs via what are probably now obscenely swollen-red lips, when he releases Stiles's erection with an incredibly filthy-sounding pop.   

Almost dizzy from the change in pressure around his junk, Stiles forces his head up to eye Derek (whose lips really are an obscenely swollen-red, which is even more outrageously hot than Stiles had imagined) just as Derek says, “I'm about to suck your deranged brain out through your pretty cock, Stiles, then I'm gonna milk you dry until you're begging me to stop. So, you better hang on to something, and be careful not to bite your tongue off when I stab mine into your slit and use it to fuck your dick till you're crying, okay?” as if he's talking into the McDonald's drive through speaker to order himself a Big Mac meal with large fries and a shake, and not unknowingly acting out a spank-bank worthy scene from one of Stiles's wet dreams. 

Hell, Stiles all but comes, there and fucking then, because who the fuck says shit like that?! 

His face is doing what must be a very strange mix of a smile and a frown as he just about manages to pathetically whine the words, “But Der, oh my god, I really, really need you to fuck me!”

And yeah, he's practically crying already.

Fuck off.  

Derek grins, then, and Stiles doesn't think he's ever been more his wild wolf-self as he licks his canines and growls out, “What makes you think I won't be taking advantage of what I know is your excellent refractory period, to make you orgasm like a fucking freight train, at least twice, before I rail your tight little ass until dawn and give you several more, hmm?” 

And—honestly, Stiles has never shut the fuck up faster in all his life.

.

come leave me a comment HERE over on ao3 :)

[mattdillonbae]

𝐓 𝐇 𝐄 𝐂 𝐔 𝐑 𝐓 𝐈 𝐒 𝐒 𝐈 𝐒 𝐓 𝐄 𝐑

𝐏 𝐎 𝐍 𝐘 𝐁 𝐎𝐘 𝐒 𝐂 𝐎 𝐔 𝐑 𝐓 𝐓 𝐑 𝐈 𝐀 𝐋

˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ⋆.ೃ࿔.𖥔 ݁ ˖*:･༄ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ᯓ★ ˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

The room was unnaturally quiet, a stark contrast to the tumultuous storm raging outside. Raindrops pattered against the window, each one a silent whisper that seemed to carry the weight of the world with it. Inside, a single lamp cast a warm, flickering glow across the worn wooden floorboards, illuminating the huddled forms of the Curtis siblings. You, the youngest at twelve, had your knees drawn up to your chest, your eyes glued to the judge. The judges voice droned on, recounting the events of the night that had led to her brother Ponyboy's arrest. You bit your lower lip, the tremble in your hands betraying the fear you tried so hard to keep hidden. Ponyboy's face, etched with a mix of shock and defiance, filled the small room. You felt a lump in her throat, the gravity of the situation threatening to overwhelm you. Darry, the eldest of the siblings, sat in next to you and Sodapop, his eyes never straying from you. He could almost see the storm of emotions swirling within you. As the case report grew more intense, your trembling grew worse, and your breaths grew shallow. With a gentle sigh,he placed a firm but comforting hand on your back, his thumb tracing small circles in a soothing rhythm. His eyes remained on what the judge was saying, his jaw clenched tight, but his attention was solely on you.

"It'll be over soon, baby," Darry murmured, his voice low and steady. "Pony'll be okay."

You nodded, trying to believe his words. You felt the warmth of his hand on your back, his touch a silent promise of protection. Despite the chaos that had become their lives, Darry had always been your rock, the one you could lean on when the world felt too heavy. His kiss on the top of your head was a familiar comfort, one you had known since you were a child. It was a silent language that spoke of love and reassurance, a tender gesture that seemed to calm the tempest of your fears. Sodapop, their middle brother, returned from his daze. His eyes searched their faces, noting the tension in the room. He gave you a gentle smile, “Darry’s right, Pony will be okay.” His voice was softer than usual, the usual teasing tone absent. Soda knew the gravity of the situation; he had seen the same fear in your eyes that he felt in his own heart. They were all walking a tightrope, balancing on the edge of a future that seemed uncertain and perilous. You managed a small smile for Soda, but the sadness and worry remained, pooled in your eyes like rainwater in a storm drain. Darry took a deep breath, his own eyes reflecting the turmoil of the night's events. He didn't know what to say to ease your pain, so he just held you closer, his arm wrapping around your slim shoulders like a protective shield. The whispers grew louder in the room, as random people and friends of the family trickled in, their hushed voices a cacophony of concern. They spoke in low tones about the trial, the tension between the Greasers and the Socs, and the fate of the youngest Curtis. Darry's jaw clenched with every mention of Ponyboy's name, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and fear. He knew that his little brother had been forced into a corner, and the thought of him facing the consequences alone was unbearable.

———————————————————————————

Hours later, as the storm outside finally began to abate, the news broke. The judge had ruled in favor of Ponyboy, stating that he was not the one who had committed the murder, but rather had acted in self-defense. It was Johnny Cade, their friend, who had made the fateful decision to protect them both from Bob Sheldon's violent intentions. The words "not guilty" echoed in the room like a distant bell, bringing with it a wave of relief that washed over your taut frame. You looked up at Darry, your eyes wide with hope and unshed tears. Darry and Soda both let out breaths they seemed to be holding and chuckled a bit but didn't say anything. The tension that had coiled around them like a tightening noose slowly began to unravel. For the first time that night, Darry felt a genuine smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling her into a fierce hug. Soda, too, let out a sigh of relief, his eyes misting over as he released his tie that he'd been clutching. The room was still, save for the distant thunder that rumbled outside like a fading echo of their fear. As soon as Ponyboy got off the stand and met his siblings outside, he rushed the rest of their makeshift family. Then they all rushed toward the him, pulling him into the warmth of their embrace. The room was a tangle of limbs and emotions, mostly relief and joy. "I love you buddy," Darry said, his voice choked with a mix of pride and fear as he held Ponyboy tightly, his eyes glistening. It was a declaration of brotherly love that was rarely spoken aloud in their tough exterior world, but it was felt in every bone of their bodies, every beat of their hearts. Ponyboy leaned into the hug, feeling the weight of the world lifting off his shoulders. The warmth of his brother's embrace was the most comforting thing he had felt in weeks.

[ikkosu]

OFFICER PROWL AND SELKIE

think I did a little drabble of the idea, but this is the polished one :D manifesting I finish this mini-fic during may grahhh. selkie asks -> this and this. Thanks to gourmet anon for the idea 🫡

—[pt one]

THE half-crystalized water ripples back with a waver, and leaning over the ledge of the boat, he's got a decent glimpse of his own cinched up expression. Immediately, whether it was because the intensity was too much even for his own to bear, the scowl loosens and Prowl's left dumbly blinking at the water.

Not the most ideal kind of climate to scour for a dead body — winter, especially.The sky scathed with cotton clouds might as well merge with the ether as one.Then again, it's not the most normal kind of murder he's faced with : dead body dropped in the middle of the lake and all.

Despite the gloves, his fingers twitched, nose and ears blossomed red like the veneer of his boots. Bluestreak had called him 'lobster face', 'lobster scowl' and the variations culminating from that nickname alone is enough to give a Cougar a run for it's money. 

All he wants is to get this charade done and over with. While it's a bitter pill to swallow, it's not like the body will suddenly appear when he wants it to be, does it? Somewhere around the waters, floating, gliding along the currents. Wedged between rocks, too. It'll take more than a few weeks at most to map out the entire creek — that is, if the creatures down there haven't torn the body to pieces, already....

Or if Sentinel, bonus if he got a kick out of it, had decided the pendant wasn't worth uncovering, called off the search. He's an interesting specimen like that. Actually, no. Better not resort to that line of thought, yet. That's the worse to come out of this situation.

He's yet give that prick an earful. 

A cloud of air seethes through his teeth, frostbitten. He'll have to head inside and warm up before he can continue searching for another hour.His joints are already locked, the muscles taut and stiff, fingers with barely any pulse of warmth in it and his nose might as well pop off by now with how the cold’s nipping it numb.

Prowl plods towards the end of the boat, boots clacking the surface. As he's hauling up the rope, grunting with his gloves curled round the thread, the sudden ire of the floorboards creaking made him stiffen. He halts. 

Prowl swivels around.

All that were there on his left was a cliff-side, cloaked with snow. He could barely see the top because of the fog, and it loomed over him like a stretched out cloud of shadow. On his right, were silhouettes of valleys and trees galore. Figures human-like, almost daunting. 

And still — nothing in sight.

Another creak resounds. The water surrounding the boat rippled. Prowl tilts his head to listen, eyes narrowed. His heart pulsed when another creak sounded. Then, another creak. Another. And, many more. Following in succession like the purging of bullets. 

Something is under this boat—!

Prowl let's out a startled grunt when the boat tips forward, launching him face first into the waters, immediately strangling him of air. It's a cold slap to his face and a quick pierce through the layers of his clothing.

It's cold. Cold, cold, cold. And, he's struggling to breathe under the weight of the water and the heavy layers of his clothing didn't help. Steadying his breath, Prowl claws upwards, reaching for the frayed ends of the rope that dawdled over the boat— 

Only to be tugged down by slick tendrils  curling around his ankle. Prowl let's out a startled shout, kicking and thrashing his leg to get it off but his effort is proven futile as all it does in the face of his struggle is yank him down further into the abyss. 

One look at the visage below — what he's greeted with is not such a genial sight.

Yellow eyes, a face and fangs.

[leoruby-draws]

Decided to drop some Vanessa drawings, l love drawing her a lot! It can be a challenge with the hair and wings but thats part of the fun for me!

This here drawing kinda feels like a valentine type of drawing, tho the only love interest Vanessa had was a boy she had a crush on (did they date? Can't remember lol) who had a crush on Wonder Woman herself. Think his name was Brian or Brad? Poor Vanessa, thats middle school romance for you I guess.

Vanessa has been shown with almost every hair color and texture in the comics,seriously she's been blonde, a red head, brunette, its been all over the place. So I've been sorta compromising on which colors/textures I liked best. What I wanted to do was have Vanessa have her curly brown hair as a little kid pre-Silver Swan, have her hair red/straight due to her unwanted transformation, than slowly it turns less red and more wavy as time goes on. I made it pink, since as I've said before I just really like pink hair (I blame anime lol). Maybe as she grows older It'll become more orange, resembling her introduction as Silver Swan from the comics.

This drawing is just a bit of a tease on the story of Jason meeting Vanessa, looks like she wasn't too receptive to any company at the time. I have an idea of how they meet and even kinda how Jason convinces her to join up with him, Rose and Eddie. I've just been a bit lazy on getting it started.

Another drawing, I draw Vanessa sad a lot huh? Well her story is really sad, can't be helped. She's not just sad tho, there's an intense bitterness in her as well, she's truly angry at what's happened to her. We don't get to see it that much in the comics, as they're more focused on Diana's feelings and horror at the situation (Vanessa is a supporting character tbf).

When I'm making all my doodles for my TrWh au, I like to try to make the characters lives more happier and easier, to better fit the more light-hearted world I want to do. But sometimes the backstory of a certain character won't really allow for that, so I can try to make it a little less awful but to change it completely would mean I would have to come up with an entirely different backstory. But that would mean changing Vanessa, and part of what appeals her to me is that bitterness and anger.

At least she has more friends with the Outlaws in this universe, case in point:

Hopefully they can help her have some fun in her life.

Anyways, hope you liked all that!

[pinkcannibal]

Could I request a Marilyn Thornhill x Reader, where reader is having a really terrible day because a series of horrible stuff keeps happening to Reader (For example reader's class work goes mising, her friend stands her up, something spills on reader's outfit and so on). Reader just ends up hiding in her room for the rest of the day. Marilyn notices that reader is missing, she goes to check on reader. Reader kind of jokes that she might be curse and that Marilyn should avoid her. Of course Marilyn doesn't like hearing that. So she does what she can to help reader feel better (I'll leave what kind of relationship Reader and Marilyn have up to you).

a/n so sorry for the wait! i promise im not ignoring requests just needing to find time to write them :) just wanna say as per most of my fics or requests reader is a student and 20. for this prompt its pre relationship. if you’re familiar with my writing i write marilyn not as laurel gates, but having laurel gates uhhh tendencies? so if requested otherwise that's her characterisation, i do also write for canon laurel gates!

-

title: it'll all work out

pairings: marilyn thornhill x fem!reader

tw/warnings: none kinda! just fluff, comfort, and mild panic attacks

summary: you can't cope with the intense wave of what the day throws at you, skyrocketing you into anxiety. and taking comfort in miss thornhill is the only thing that brings you back down

word count: 2160

requests: open!

It starts out like this.  

This morning, you slept through your alarm and were late for your Wiccan History class; so late you may as well not have showed up. And no attempt of explaining your situation stopped you from being handed a detention slip from your teacher- your ears burned in embarrassment at the action.

Then, two hours later, Wednesday made a seemingly inoffensive comment about your class work during a dissection and it was the way she said it that made you feel like all your hard work was actually unintelligent, uninspiring, and not worth handing in. And to top it all off, on the way to lunch, a tall, imposing fur accidentally bumped into you and you dropped your phone; cracking it right down the middle and making tears burn behind your eyelids when you picked it up because today sucks and nothing’s gone right and it times like this you wonder why you ever enrolled in this academy in the first place.  

Then it all comes fucking crashing down because when you finally, finally make it to your table, Enid reaches across the way with all her usual exuberance and excitement because her girlfriend Wednesday sits down across from her and she- 

Enid gasps, eyes wide and panicked as her thermos filled with hot coffee pours over the table and across to you. It soaks the class notes you were working on, just melting the ink of 4000 words from Botony class that you were slaving over and you immediately jump up, lips parting in shock as you move back from the liquid.

But it scalds your uniform, your skirt, and barely misses your thighs and you don’t even realise your eyes are being overcome with fresh tears until Enid exclaims.  

“Oh my god I’m so so sorry!” Enid rushes out, reaching out and picking up her thermos before it can go any further. Wednesday next to her widens her eyes, shuffling over slightly as it drips through the cracks in the table. 

You snap out of your shock, making a noise of panicked frustration.

“No, no no no shit-” You hiss, picking up the ruined essay and immediately dropping it at the temperature. But the damage is done, and you make this tiny noise that sounds like a pained whimper when you squeeze your eyes shut and run your hands through your hair, resigning to all that work being ruined. You bite your lip, so hard you want to taste blood. 

Enid, wide eyed and apologetic, looks like a kicked puppy at the mess she accidentally caused. “I-I am so sorry. Seriously, I was just-” 

A tear falls down your cheek. Fuck, could this day get worse?  

“It’s o-okay, Enid, you didn’t mean to.” You breathe out, trying to reign in your distraught panic attack that’s looming. The rest of the table, Yoko and Divina, look at you with matching pitying looks.   You flush and gather your things, unable to stomach their concern that feels like acid in your belly.  

“Um, look, I’ll see you guys later?” You rush to say, breath becoming laboured. “I just, I n-need to-” 

“Hey,” Yoko softly interjects. “Really, it’s okay, do you want one of us to come with you?” 

You shake your head, clutching your laptop and ruined notes that don’t matter anymore to your heaving chest. “No,” You blurt, pressing your lips together apologetically, then retrying. “No, I’m okay. I’ll um, I’ll see you guys at recess.”  

You leave quickly, the anxiety building and building so quickly you feel like you’re going to cry if someone so much as touches you. Your throat bobs on a sob wanting to escape, and you rush to your dorm and on the way scrunch up the essay in your hands and throw it in a nearby trash can and so distracted by your impending panic you don’t look up until it’s too late.  

You bump hard into someone, gasping and losing your footing immediately. You don’t hit the ground or fall, because two warm, comforting hands are righting you at your biceps and steadying your feet. “Fuck, sorry I-”  

When you look up, you blush, because- 

“Oh dear, are you okay?” Miss Thornhill breathes out, startled by the bump but covering it up with a polite smile that has your knees just, instantly weak. She’s wearing that green coat and red boots; she smells like the earth and rain and something so comforting you warm.  

Her hands haven’t left your arms and you feel even more unsteady and now because she’s here you feel like crying all over again.  

“Are you okay, honey?” She says, this little concerned furrow of her brows thrown your way and you part your lips trying to say something, but your eyes are glassy with tears and she called you honey, and you feel all melty and gooey inside.  

“Gosh,” She says, righting her glasses from the knock and softly chuckling. “I didn’t see you, I’m so sorry, you just came out of no-” 

“I-I’m okay,” You say softly, shifting on your feet. You watch Marilyn tilt her head worriedly at your shaking voice, and almost as if realising her touch, she delicately removes her hands, placing them in her coat pockets instead. You blush with how much you want them back on you.  

“Sorry,” You smile back slightly, clearing your throat. “I didn’t see you either. I’m just...super late for my next class.” 

You try and lie to save face, because you’re three seconds away from bawling your eyes out, but Miss Thornhill does this adorable scrunch of her nose, checking the inside of her wrist for her watch as she frowns.  

“Is that so?” She chuckles out endearingly, looking back up to you and sending you a raised eyebrow. “Your next class is mine, funny enough. If anything, you’re half an hour early.” 

“Oh,” You blush, stuttering as you realise the hole you dug. Marilyn sends you an amused look as you flounder. Then everything just- falls into you. The detention. Wednesday’s comment. Your phone. Your essay. The anxiety. And how just one concerned look from Miss Thornhill has you feeling like splitting at the seams.  

“I-I uh, must have gotten my timetable mixed up?” Then you sniff and bring your blazer sleeve up to your nose, shutting your eyes in mortification as your throat bobs and you whine on a cry. “Shit, s-sorry I just- I can’t-” 

“Oh, dear.” Marilyn breathes out in sympathy, watching you crumble inside of yourself and choke on a cry that bubbles past your lips. You can’t look at her, wiping at your eyes in frustration as you cry in the middle of the hall to the other woman like some pathetic child.  

“Sweetie,” She says softly, full of so much care and concern that you look up and flush red at how her hazel eyes are the most gentle you’ve ever seen them.  

Then she’s placing her hand at the small of your back, hushing you sweetly. “Are you okay?” She says kindly. 

You bite your lip, swallowing thickly as more tears escape. You shake your head, too vulnerable for words as you tighten your laptop and books in your grip against your stomach.  

Marilyn notices the reaction, eyebrows furrowing in worry.  

“Okay, you’re okay,” She says, coaxing and warm, and your neck goes red at the tone. “Do you want to talk about it? We can go to my classroom, it’s nice and quiet there, would that be okay?” 

The way she asks for your consent, how loving she sounds, sends you into a space you feel dizzy in. You nod softly, doe eyes looking up through your wet eyelashes to her. “I...Yes, please.” You breathe out, filled with so much relief your heart aches, pooling and pooling when her hand rubs in soothing circles to your lower back – something that sends shivers up your spine.  

- 

Miss Thornhill makes you chamomile tea from her own garden in the conservatory, and when she hands it to you her fingers brush yours and you feel unsteady again and the tears are back then she says “You’re safe here, nothing can hurt you, sweetie. Are you okay? What happened?” and it spills from your lips like water.  

At the end of it all, Marilyn is giving you this tender look, like she’s yearning to fix everything that’s wrong; and your hands are tight around the tea mug from where you sit perched on one of the desks, shaking as you stutter and speak through your tears. 

“And then Enid, she-” You whine, a frustrated noise leaving your lips at the memory as you screw your eyes shut. “She spilled coffee on my essay for your class and it was already late because you were nice enough to give me an extension but now it’s ruined and I feel like I keep fucking up and just-”  

“Darling,” Miss Thornhill interjects softly, stepping forwards and ducking her head slightly to catch your gaze. Darling. Darling. You feel your lower belly swarm with need at the term as you blink back at her in bashfulness. The other woman then gently unwraps your hands from around the scalding tea and places it beside you.  

Instead, she takes them in her own, rubbing softly and gently into your palms as your breath hitches and cheeks warm.  

“Shh. It’s okay. Take a deep breath for me, okay?” She says warmly, and you instantly copy her as your eyes flick down to her chest, rising with a breath that calms you instantly.

“That’s it, good job, honey.” Marilyn smiles kindly to you, and the soft praise has your throat drying and stomach flipping as you look back up and bite your lip.  

“I’m so sorry that happened,” She murmurs sincerely, eyes so genuine and kind behind her glasses that you almost forget how close she is right now. She’s almost between your legs with how she holds you, and your chest picks up at the thought. “That sounds like an awful, terrible day, sweetheart.” 

Oh. Okay. You’re floating now, you’re sure of it. 

“Yeah,” You breathe out, shifting in your spot, earnestly trying to get impossibly closer to her. If Marilyn notices, she doesn’t comment, but she dosen’t move away. “It was.”

You wince then, groaning and blushing when you remember. “And I’m really, really sorry about the essay. I can get it finished tomorrow if I-” 

Miss Thornhill snorts, shaking her head in amusement at you and fixing her glasses. “Oh gosh, that’s hilarious if you think I’m worried about that.”  

You widen your eyes, tilting your head. “What?” You stammer. “But, it’s worth like, twenty percent and I’m already two weeks late.” You stress. Marilyn squeezes to your hands, softening at your words.  

“There is no way I’m making you redo it after the day you’ve had, okay sweetie?”  

You part your lips, heart so heavy with love for her it stuns you. And you don’t really know what to do other than feel tears well in your eyes again, and suddenly your chest goes weightless and you dart forwards, wrapping Miss Thornhill in a hug, arms slinging over her shoulders.  

It forces her so close to you, you almost pull back as you feel her front pressed between your legs and brushing up against your thighs - and before you can die of embarrassment at how needy for her affection you feel, Miss Thornhill is making this noise of surprise at your action, a tender “Oh,” leaving her lips that feels like cotton candy inside your lungs. 

But then her arms are wrapping back around you.  

You feel her breath hitch as you bury into the soft spot of her neck, squeezing your eyes shut and holding tight. Marilyn holds back, hands soothing up and down your back as you cling to her.  

“It’s okay,” She coos, next to your ear and making you melt. 

“You’re okay.” Marilyn says softly. “I’m here.” 

[catboywrites]

Update

Hey everyone. Long time no see. I want to once again thank you for your patience in waiting for updates, reassure you that none of my fics are abandoned, and give you an update about what is going on.

So, longest story short, I've been in the middle of both a physical and mental health episode that started around April but has only since gotten worse. I have a compromised immune system, but it's not enough to keep me house bound full time. It just means I get sicker more frequently and more intensely than others do. What could be exhaustion from a hot day could easily turn into a flare up of fever and leave me in bed. If I get too emotional reading something and cry a lot, it has turned on me and gotten me sick the next day in the form of sinus infections or a bronchitis flare up. It's something I've struggled with for almost my whole life and it just hit me back to back to back these past few months. On top of my pre-existing lung conditions which always suffer in the summer with the heat, I just got dogged down very fast and I was spending more time in bed sick than I was outside of bed able to function normally.

On the mental side of things, I had to change dosages of my migraine medication a few months ago, and it led to me having to go to the emergency room. Since then my finances have been struggling due to a cost I didn't expect and since I live alone, it has been hard for me to play catch up. It's drained me emotionally and along with normal depression, and I was just trying to survive paycheck to paycheck. I am still not in a place I want to be, but I realistically can't wait to be in that place, because who knows when, or if, it'll ever come.

And the third thing is my lovely beta. She is an essential part of my creative process, I bounce ideas off of her, she makes sure my writing doesn't sound like shit, all the good things that come from a beta. But she is also my best friend. Due to my situations and her situations, we have had a lot less contact in the past few months and I don't want to add to her stress with what's going on. She is also on the other side of the world, so trying to find times that work for both of us has gotten harder. And I want to spend the time I do get with her on just being us, not having to fuss over fanfics.

The updates will start again fairly soon. Just give me a little more time to try and settle into my new reality.

I appreciate you all so greatly, thank you for reading this update, and once again thank you for your patience.

[redwithjoon]

"Haley wants me to sign the divorce papers uncontested."

"You don't want to...?"

Ultimately uneventful :/

HotchxReid

Word count: 8k

Just filth - NSFW!!!

An insanely stressed Hotch was ready to fight an inmate and is currently giving Spencer a seminar about how his wife wants a divorce pronto. Spencer decides that this just can't be and takes matters into his own hands. Quite literally. Oh, and he also finds out that his boss has a weirdly specific kink??

Read on Ao3

I come bearing food: @observaureium, @gay-in-a-jar, @castielryan

Have fun ↓

=

"Haley wants me to sign the divorce papers uncontested." 

There it is. 

Spencer has been silently wondering why his boss 'escalated the situation' by losing his patience and was about to fistfight a whole serial killer so easily. Hotch had faced down more unreasonable, violent unsubs in the past, but for some reason, the moment he was baited by that man, he instantly snapped. 

"So we don't waste money on lawyers." 

Well, that'll do it. Having your wife screaming you down over the phone about how she wants you to officially divorce her already was obviously not an ideal start of the day but it can't just be that, can it? His boss is ridiculously pent up, and it's not like he had anyone to bitch to. After a few seconds, Spencer realized that Hotch wants some kind of response to his almost-confession but he's still unsure of what to say… like he literally has no fucking idea what Hotch wants him to do? Reassure him that it was going to be okay? Tell him that he's a good man either way? 

"You don't want to…?" Well, yeah obviously.

Hotch continues to randomly complain to him about his problem with his soon-to-be ex-wife and Reid just lets him be, trying to help him by giving responses he thinks would calm him down and make him feel the slightest bit better but there's only so much he can say. 

And to make it even worse, now they're stuck in traffic. In an absolutely insane traffic. 

Hotch subtly asks the taxi driver next to their car what exactly is happening and the driver just sighs. "I dunno, there's apparently a car crash not too far from here. They're rerouting the cars but…" 

"It'll take a while." Hotch thanks the man and rolls his windows back up. 

Christ. What can they do? Hotch is already irritated and now they have this. And the burden is not just mentally, Hotch has been driving for a while now and Spencer knows it's usually nothing for the man but it's a bit more tiring when you're stressing out about your imminent divorce, huh? 

Like a good friend, Spencer just listens to him, he listens, he listens, and he listens. 

But, fuck… there's only so much passive-aggressive talk about Haley that he can take.

"Are you tired?" Spencer cuts off Hotch in the middle of his mumbled rant, Hotch was talking about custody or something and Spencer has been listening long enough that he feels like he could be a divorce lawyer too by now. 

"Not really." 

"Well, I'm tired, it's the uh, the heat, you know, and I'm still a bit shaken from before." He is not shaken from before, but he'll say whatever it takes to get the hell out of this car. 

Hotch's previous potential outlet, a literal full-on fistfight, has been taken from him and now it has nowhere to go, no relief from the frustration. Too bad that they're not in the FBI's training room where Hotch can go berserk in shredding rubber dummies. 

"I see. We can pull over, but there's still no place to rest." 

Right. Ah… think, Spencer, think. You may not be under intense terror anymore and can't do your best work, but you need to come up with something. 

Hm… what will he do when he needs to let out stress– wait, no, not him, what would guys like Hotch do when he needs to let out stress other than sweating it out? Reid is tempted to just tell him to do laps but then a sudden realization hits him like lightning, so fast and shocking that he almost jumps on his seat. 

There's another way to sweat things out, right? 

But that won't do, does that even exist in Hotch's list of options of stress relief? Workout? Deep meditation? And…? 

"Hotch, do you want to rest? There's uh… well, there's a hotel there." Spencer points at a discreet-looking hotel. Hm… too discreet in fact with its own parking lot and everything. 

Hotch blinked. If it's any other hotel, he'll just chalk it up to Spencer needing that sweet coolness of AC and some subpar dining. But that's not that kind of hotel, is it? 

"That's not a proper hotel, Reid." Perhaps his subordinate just doesn't understa–

"I know." 

Of course he knows. Look, he knows a lot of stuff, a lot, some of them irrelevant, but even he knows that that is a love hotel, a short-stay hotel to be exact, paid by the hour for obvious fucking reasons. Hotch knows, he knows, he's just offering. 

It's silent for a while and Spencer's hyper brain is already thinking of dozens of different ways on how he would be fired (he's up to 57 potential scenarios by now), but shockingly…

Shockingly, Hotch makes a left turn, he drives down the rather empty road and parks into the almost-hidden parking lot. Quiet, discreet, just everything you need to make sure no one sees you come and leave. 

Hotch turns off the engine and Spencer is just… he's waiting for Hotch to unlock the car. He's nervous. Sure, he was the one that offered Hotch to stay in a love hotel for a few hours with the obviously very unprofessional, potentially damaging suggestions, but he's still nervous, okay? He just… wants to get Hotch's mind off of this downright spiral he is on and he's not the best in– 

"Are you sure?" Hotch's voice is as calm as ever, if Reid isn't a profiler he would've missed the slight tremble on his voice.

"…No one has to know." 

"No, Reid, are you sure you also want this…?" 

Yeah, Reid, do you want to fuck your boss? His brain is taunting him, asking him why he's offering sex to his boss but then again, why did his boss accept, hm? Why did he even consider the idea? He's not the only one in the wrong here. 

"I…" He clears his throat. "Can you just unlock the car…?" He could hear the door unlocked, Spencer walks out first, still looking everywhere but at Hotch. "…Do you have cash?" 

"Yes." 

"Okay. Good. So um, we're… good?" 

"Good." 

Spencer wants to scream from all the one-word answers. Of all times can Hotch just sound less formal? Just once, can he sound less formal when they’re literally going to have real sexual intercourse? 

…probably not, huh? 

The less they talk the better. Reid wants to hiss the moment they walk into their room, the thought of how dirty this room must be even though it looks perfectly clean considering the purpose of such accommodations but he pushes through it. 

Okay. Now that they’re here, uh… what should they do first? 

Spencer almost jumped when Hotch walk past him and sits on the bed. The first time they finally lock eyes with each other, as if creating a silent agreement, Reid lightly nods and put his bag on the chair. Okay, no thinking, (no bitching about divorce too,) only uh… only…

Okay, class? What should we do first? 

That's the limit on how his brain is functioning right now, thinking about what should they do first? What should he say to his boss? Should he, like, give him options? List out the menu like he's a waiter just asking when he wants for lunch? 

Hotch hasn't said anything and it's unnerving to be honest. 

Spencer sighs comically loud before he decides he might as well chose for him, if Hotch doesn't know what he wants then they just do whatever they can do. 

It's not like Hotch doesn't know what he wants. 

When Spencer turns around to grab something from his bag, Hotch can't help but watch and linger his eyes on Spencer's body. 

He admits that he has never, in the years and years of them working together, thought of Spencer as sexy. One part of it must be from the fact that he had started working with Spencer since he was a lanky, nervous 21-year-old who looked like a kid straight out of highschool. He never really noticed the change until now. 

Hell, even the word 'sexy' doesn't seem to fit him at all, with Reid always dressing up so conservatively. 

He always, always dressed like that, the only casual clothes Hotch had ever seen him in is his standard academy uniform and some shirt he wears strictly when the summer heat just gets too much. Even then he would wear short sleeves button up. 

Suddenly he remembers how surprised he was when one scorching hot day, he saw Reid with his long hair tied in a ponytail with the first two buttons of his shirt undone. It's not… he's not showing any excessive skin, the buttons didn't even show anything that can't be compared to Prentiss' shirt but it just looked… vulgar. It looked so vulgar merely because of the rarity of it. He remembered for a second that he almost looked away, like it's not something decent or proper for his eyes but then he remembered how illogical that is. 

That's something he didn't remember till now but it comes back at full force right this minute, when Reid bends down just the slightest bit to rummage through his bag to get…  

It's ridiculous how hot it is when Spencer pulls out a hair tie from the bag's tiny pouch, the man reaching back to gather his neck-long, perfectly curled hair. It's ridiculous how he feels himself getting more and more aroused just to see Spencer unbutton his cufflinks. 

The fact that he feels some kind of excitement seeing Spencer struggling to pluck his cufflinks off…

He needs to stop thinking and just enjoy it. Besides, isn't this Spencer's idea? Is he not in the wrong? Hotch's brain desperately needs some kind of justification as to why he's weirdly turned on already. 

Spencer, still pouting as he struggled with his right cuff, started walking towards Hotch. 

Spencer decides that he is going to straddle his lap, almost like he's used to if even. He only paused for a second, as if contemplating for the last time if he's going through with this or not but decides that there's no backing out now and he slowly starts to climb on his boss' lap. 

Spencer is nervous but he knows what he's doing. 

…Hotch doesn't know why that ticked him off, not in a sense that he hates what Spencer is doing, but in a sense that it shows this is Not Spencer's first time. 

Is it absurd of him to expect this 27 year old man to be… a totally inexperienced person? And why he finds himself feeling the smallest bit of disappointment when he realized Spencer isn't a fumbling, blushing mess. He's not aggressive in any way, still pretty much the Spencer that he knows, and yet. 

He got pulled out of his mind when he hears a relieved, tiny laugh as Spencer finally got the cuffs of his shirt off, then those same hands hold Hotch's shoulder, using them to brace himself as he tries to get comfortable on Hotch's lap, moving his knees subtly here and there on each side of Hotch's thighs to minimize discomfort, he expected Hotch to help him but–

Spencer feels hands on his waist to… push him away? 

The 'rejection' puzzles him greatly, looking down at the older man with the same pout, just more confused this time. "You don't like it…?"

"I do." Well. Then why? Spencer wants to ask when Hotch fully push him off his lap, making him stand up again. Hotch's hands are still holding Spencer's waist and Spencer could still feel the desire if the way Hotch's fingers are pretty much massaging his waist is something to go by so he isn't sure why the man is pushing him away. 

"I… like how you look unbuttoning your cuffs." 

The little confession made Spencer gasps ever so slightly. Hotch is actually talking to him about what he wants? Really? 

"I'd like to see you strip everything down yourself, if that's not too uncomfortable for you." 

Oh, how careful this man is. Reid offered sex and Hotch still asks if he's uncomfortable, truly a gentleman.

"I can do that. Do you want me to do it slow?" Spencer doesn't fucking know how to do a strip tease but he's good at improvising (as they both just saw) so he's sure he can do it right. Hotch's brows furrow in contemplation, he's also not sure what he wants but… he has an idea. "That's not necessary, I like it more if you do it casually."

"Casually?" 

"How you would strip when you're in private, like your bedroom for example. When you strip for a shower or to simply change clothes." 

"Oh… okay, then." That's a relief, though it is a weird request is it not? Act like he's at home? As if he's just relaxing alone? …Like doesn't know he's being watched? Hm… is that a kink? Is it, in and of itself, something sexual? 

Reid decides that he's thinking too much about it and thinking isn't what both of them want right now, right? 

Rarely has Hotch ever been this focused in anything other than work. He follows those trimmed, slim fingers slowly unbutton the rest of the dark, almost black cardigan off. Was it slow? He wasn't doing it slow, was he? No, he wasn't, he was undoing them normally so it might be Hotch's brain that's working slow. Not just his eyes, his ears also seem to be hyper aware to the slightest sound, because he got pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of Spencer's rolled up cardigan being tossed to the hotel's lone sofa, it feels like he could hear the lightest sound of the silk tie (always coloured or patterned) being unfurled easily by a single tug. 

Is he sweating? Because Hotch feels his body temperature going up for some unknown reason. (He knows the reason is arousal but he refuses to recognize how easy it is to get him hard.) 

Spencer then unbutton his white shirt one by one, this time he folds them a little neater before putting them on top of the cardigan. He's wearing a thin, loose tank top undergarments underneath. God, just how many layers does this man wear on the daily? Again, for some 'unknown' reason, Hotch finds that arousing. Probably because of how conservatively Spencer always dresses and he is probably one the only ones that gets to see his skin, because of that tank top, even if Spencer sweats or gets wet, no one can see his chest, his nipples or belly button. Yet he can.  

Hotch almost jumps when he hears the slightest frustrated groan as Spencer struggles to unbuckle his belt, eyes looking down and his lips pouting in focus. Wait, what? No. No, don't do that, get rid of that tank top first. Hotch is screaming on the inside, just one thin layer of cotton fabric and he could finally see his bare upper body. God, why is he being a tease?

Well, maybe he isn’t being a tease, maybe this is just how he– 

Can't think, Hotch can't think when he hears the thump of the belt buckle hitting the floor, Spencer accidentally dropping it, he picking it up and spun it into a circle. Hotch thinks he must look like a creep, eyes focused on every millisecond hearing that typical unzipping sound as Spencer pulls down his zipper. Pants pushed down to the floor and Spencer stepped out of it one foot at the time. 

There's something about this, he's not doing it to seduce Hotch, just like he requested, Reid just stripped like he's at home going to change from his work clothes to something more comfortable, no moving his hips or ever looking at his boss. Spencer is wearing a loose, bright blue underwear, his habit of wearing colourful clothes underneath all his formal look is endearing, especially seeing those mismatched socks, moss green with a star pattern on the left, orange with red stripes on the right. 

Spencer pulls off his tank top, unfurling his hair along with it, he bends down and was about to pull off his socks when– 

"Wait– what– wait!!" Spencer stumbles when Aaron suddenly stands up from the bed, his hands gripping Spencer's bare waist and manhandling a bit too roughly and it caught the younger man off guard. He lets out a surprised huff when Hotch shoves him on the bed on his stomach, gasping when he feels Hotch on top of him, trapping Spencer with both his knees on the sides of his thighs. 

He knows it's ridiculous, but Spencer felt the slightest bit of fear knowing that Aaron can just… do anything to him if he wants, he knows his boss won't hurt him of course, but the fact that Spencer is hanging on the belief that Aaron is a Good Person still makes his heart beat faster. 

Spencer hears the sound of zipper being undone, Hotch stripping on top of him impatiently. Oh… he wants to see that too… it isn't fair? How is it that Aaron gets to see everything while he's trapped on the bed? 

Reid swallow his silent protests when he feels Aaron's lips on his neck. 

This is the first time Hotch ever touched him more than hugging him and dragging him by the hand when he almost got shot for the 5th time because he thought it was a good idea to talk down an unsub without his vest on. Hotch is touching him and Spencer is dead silent about it, his mind still trying to wrap around the idea that he's basically naked under his boss who's stripping patiently. 

"Hotch– Aa…" 

"Aaron." Hotch finishes for him. "It's okay, Spencer." Reid didn't reply, squeezing the pillow under him viciously when Aaron grip each side of his underwear and tugging them down so roughly that Spencer hissed out loud at the feeling.

"I'm sorry…" Hotch's voice is so low, so… just so… It's doing things to reid and suddenly he doesn't really mind anymore. 

"It's okay…" at least Hotch is nice when he takes off his socks, it's sweet even, how he bends his legs and pulls them off one by one. Then, as Spencer suspected, Hotch rolls him to his back, the first time Reid is facing him when he's properly aroused. "Hey…" he whispers, pulling on Hotch's shirt collar, whispering at Aaron to take his clothes off first. And he does, but still when he's on top of Reid, when he keeps eye contact that makes the other squirm. 

He had never seen Aaron naked before, Spencer tracing his fingers on the old scars peppered on his body, to the little beauty marks on his neck and chest, and, aha… Aaron has a lot of body hair, a lot, it tickles him a bit and he just knows he's gonna get some kind of chafing later. 

"What, um… what do you wanna do…?" Spencer mumbles as he strokes Aaron's arm, going up to his neck and shoulder, sighing when he feels Aaron nuzzling his neck and his jaw… "I'll do whatever you want." Spencer adds. "Just… can't go all the way." 

Penetrative sex is a painful thing, at least at first, and it's unsaid but both of them are tired from the day's work and Hotch is mentally exhausted from all the stress. 

Spencer whispers to Aaron that hotels like these usually have condoms and lube stashed on the bedside drawer and he's right, but despite all that, it'll still gonna take a long while. Spencer would have to clean up, they both have to take things slow, foreplay that could take minutes till hours since that's what Spencer needs if he doesn't want to be a rigid, awkward mess. And both of them don't have the energy for that. What should they do, then…? 

Spencer reach around blindly until he finds the bottle of lube and squeezed a considerable amount into his hand, he hesitantly pulls Hotch into a soft kiss again when his hand move down ever so slowly until he finally wraps his slick, slippery fingers around Hotch's straining erection. 

"Sorry–" Spencer whispers between their kisses when he hears Hotch hissing loudly. "Sorry it's cold…" he has nothing to be sorry about but he gets sensitive during sex, sometimes he's extremely cheeky and insufferable and sometimes he gets just a little too soft and this is the latter. 

"Don't," Hotch replies, Reid is slowly stroking his cock, squeezing hard at the base and lightening up at the tip just how he likes it. Huh, how did Reid know what he likes? 

Hotch's hand moved from softly caressing his back to Spencer's shoulder, basically shoving him down on the bed, Spencer gasped in surprise when he– "Ah! Aaron, I– fuck…" Aaron shoved his hand away, hooking his hands on Spencer's thighs, spreading them, and hooking them on his waist as he forcefully grinds down on Spencer's groin. 

It feels so– it feels so good, it feels so fucking good, holy shit. Aaron is grinding down on him, squeezing Spencer's erection between their bodies, the fast, heavy stroke milking his cock from the mere friction alone. It feels good but it also fucking hurts, fucking Hotch and his fucking body hair, it's just everywhere! It scratches and tickles his skin and it– fuck, don't stop, don't stop, don't– "No…" Spencer groans loudly into their kiss when Aaron stops. 

Why the hell did he do that? What the hell is his problem!? He–

"I'm sorry–" Hotch blurts out. "I’m– I'm sorry, I have to stop…" He knows he pissed off his younger partner, but… "Had to stop, I was already close." 

Wait, "What…?" Spencer doesn't want to sound rude but he's actually caught off guard, they've only been doing this for a few minutes, so why? 

"It's you," Hotch whispers yet again, his voice is so soft, he must also feel humiliated to some degree. "I've never done this with a man before and there's just something about you…" Hotch started kissing his jaw, Spencer twitching from the feeling of Aaron's lips lingering on his skin, parting his mouth as he lick and suck in the softest way possible because Spencer has an inkling that Aaron’s a bit possessive when it comes to sex and he's fighting with every nerve in his body not to leave painful, glaring hickeys all over his partner aka him. 

Something… about him? Because he's a man or because he's Spencer? 

"It's okay," Spencer said, trying to sound as casual as possible. "We can just…" Spencer pushes Aaron away from his body, sure Spencer is loving all the kisses but he also needs something else. 

He slowly turns around and lays on his stomach, his legs spread wide as an obvious invitation that Hotch readily accepts, taking only a second before he slots himself between those thighs, his hands rubbing from Spencer's hips, waist and back slowly, going up and down in a firm, almost painful strokes with how deep Aaron is digging his thumb on his skin. 

"Can't do too much, Aaron, but I don't mind." Spencer is driving him crazy, Hotch is completely sure Spencer is doing this on purpose because those long, bony fingers of his are reaching back slowly spreading his cheeks apart till his rim strains, "Use me…" 

Use– Fuck, Hotch is so pissed off at the fact that Spencer knows, he knows this is driving him crazy yet he does it anyway, baiting Hotch to completely let loose and just, use him. If he can't fuck him, he can grind on him like Spencer’s just a toy, that's what he’s implying and Hotch is going to do just that. 

Hotch grabs both his wrists and forces them both to the pillow again. "Keep them there, don't you move." Spencer nods, he can do that, bringing his hands in and tucking it on his chest. 

He hissed when he smells latex and feels Hotch's thumb rubbing the liquid roughly between his cheeks, making sure that he's slick till the bottom, Spencer shudders when Hotch absentmindedly start massaging his perineum with his thumb, making Spencer whines as quietly as possible into his hand, it's nothing overwhelming, it just feels good.

Hotch stops much to Spencer's disappointment, but then he feels Hotch on top of him. Not just above him, he feels Hotch's body on top of him. Feels his chest on his back, feels his full weight trapping his body down. But that's not even close to the overwhelming feeling he gets after. 

Hotch shoved his cock between his cheeks and started grinding him down so hard that even with the lube, Spencer could still feel the burn of the movement, how his cock would drag low and slow and then push back up again, Spencer feeling his body being trapped by Hotch, how his damn heavy weight is making it hard to breathe but Aaron is enjoying himself and Spencer doesn’t want to stop that. Christ, he could feel how big Aaron is just by grinding on him, could feel his rim rubbed by the tip of his heated, rock hard erection, so hot and veiny, just… it makes him wonder if it'll even fit in him?

"Aaron–" Spencer gasps when he feels Hotch's fingers digging into his back, leaving white marks from his shoulders to the dip between his thighs, those same hands squeezing his ass painfully hard, grabbing them so roughly that Spencer can't handle it, one hand reaching back frantically only to have it pinned down on the bed, unable to wiggle them free no matter how hard he tries to get away. "Aaron, please…" 

There's a pause, Spencer gasping when Aaron starts kissing the side of his head, down to his cheek, his ear, damnit. "Shh… it's alright, Spencer. It’s alright." Alright, he said, but he didn't let up. 

Though he finally, oh god, finally… lift himself up and bracing himself on his elbows, finally letting the younger one breathe properly, letting Spencer's hand go. He can't blame Aaron though, he doesn't want to because he said it himself didn't he? Use me. And Aaron is doing just that. 

Aaron pulls apart his cheeks with his thumbs even more, enough to make Spencer hiss and grip the pillow tighter. 

It feels good for Aaron though, even better than before, he could get himself more snug in there as he continues to grind down on him. Fuck, he could just… feel his hole whenever he pulls back before thrusting up again. And this, this lust inside of him is infecting his brain with all sorts of sinful thoughts. 

He could do it, Hotch thinks. He could spread Spencer's legs apart and make him take it, he could pin him down, Hotch knows he's strong enough for that. Pin his back down with his body, pin his arms and wrist down with a forceful grip, use his legs to pin his calves in place and he could just make Spencer take his fucking cock, just take it, take it, take it. Just shut up and–

Wait, hold on, what was he thinking? What kind of depraved imagination did he come up with? Hotch got rid of those thoughts off of his head instantly. 

But he can't deny that this is so good that his mind is having trouble processing it. The way his precum is making it easier to slide his cock up and down, to grind in harder and harder, he could feel every single fucking time how the tip of his cock would brush past his hole, and it– fuck, it feels good, for some reason even something as simple as feeling Spencer clench under him every time is making his mind thought of those horrible things. He feels shameful, completely appalled by his wretched thoughts of forcing Spencer. 

For some kind of reassurance, Hotch suddenly kissed Spencer's neck, making the younger one's breath hitch under him, Spencer's thighs shaking a bit when Hotch parts his lips, mouth sucking on the spot, way too wet for a hickey while his teeth ever so slowly push and drags on Spencer's skin. Only when Spencer whimpers did he stop. That didn't last long though because Hotch starts doing the same thing to his shoulder down to his shoulder blade, all the while he hasn’t stopped grinding down on Spencer. 

It's almost embarrassing how quickly he feels his orgasm brewing, how his breathing gets heavier, his body more tense, Spencer could barely move from how hard Hotch is holding him.

Spencer is hurting; Aaron is squeezing his arms so tight that it turns his fingers white, he kept thrusting so hard that Spencer feels the sensitive skin around his rim randomly stinging with every pull, and to be completely honest, Aaron's weight on top of him is making it hard to breathe. Though Spencer doesn't tell him to stop and is not planning to, he knows Hotch is nearing his orgasm, knows that if he breaks that momentum, he would probably feel too sensitive to continue, or his orgasm might not end up as satisfying and that's the last thing Spencer wants. This all starts with him trying to make Hotch feel so good he'll forget about his, uh, absolutely ruined marriage, for an hour or so, and he’s going to do just that. 

Spencer's a man too, it happens so quickly that despite being prepared, it still surprises him nonetheless. Because Hotch suddenly freezes, Spencer feels hot semen staining his lower back right after and he shivers with disgust. But it's fine, after a few seconds and a few more drops of warm come wetting his skin, he knows that Hotch is done. 

Now finally flaccid, Hotch slowly moves off of him, rolling to his back to take deep breaths. Spencer's waist and thighs are aching, the skin between his cheeks and especially around the rim starts stinging from the burn of previous friction, he desperately wants to just roll back and heave in some breaths but he can't fucking do that, can he? He's not going to smear this whole bedsheet with his boss' drying semen. Christ, this is both humiliating and irritating. 

Spencer pushes himself off the bed, still pretty much erect as he stands on wobbly legs, carrying the damp towel with him. He didn’t look back at Aaron once as he stumbled his way into the bathroom. 

Well. They finished what they set out to do, right? Spencer tosses the towel to the laundry bin and walk inside the shower, making sure that the water is hot before stepping into it. 

Spencer squeaked from the sudden stream, gasping in pleasure as the water relieved some of his tension. He reached back to, ugh, rub the slippery semen off his back, it just feels… wrong but the water cleaned it up so it's fine. 

His head thumps lightly on the wall, wondering what the hell he's doing. 

Whatever though, he's still turned on and hard and that's really numbing his critical thinking. 

The bathroom reverberates his moans when he wraps his fingers around himself, pumping up and down his length in an impatient manner. He just wants to fucking get off already so he can function normally again. 

It's a love hotel, these things are bound to happen, right? So he doesn't care if he's letting out sounds here and there, he's not being super loud and fuck it, if he wants to jerk off in the shower he'll fucking do it. 

His other hand hits the wall and curls into a fist, his mouth breathing hard on the tiles, he's not sure what's dripping down his chin anymore, is it water or spit? He spread his legs carefully, making sure he won't fucking slip and bust his head or something but he needs to thrusts into his hands, it feels good. It feels so, so good…

The hot water is fogging up the shower's glass and mirror outside and he couldn't care less. His hand moving from the walls to the glass, his shaking palm wiping up the fog, he's almost bouncing on his legs now with how good it feels and how much he wants to get off. 

Oh god, he's going to come, he's going to come– he's right there! Right– he just needs a few more minutes, just a little more… a little… 

"Spencer?" 

Fuck. 

He gasped loudly and had to bite down a loud groan from his frustration. Great, Aaron is here, just when he was about to come, that's just–

"Aaron…?" Reid whispers when he feels the shower's glass door being opened, the older man slowly stepping inside. Spencer… he knows what's happening but it's really hard to think right now, not with Hotch pulling him off the wall, not with him pushing Spencer on the glass door, not with Spencer feeling just how fucking hot the surface is. All that is forgotten when Hotch presses his back to his chest, kissing and pecking Spencer's neck and shoulder again as his hand rubs his waist roughly, his hips, his upper thigh, his– 

"Aaron! Aaron… oh god… fuck…" 

Spencer's forehead thump on the glass, lips bitten down and his face scrunch up in pleasure. It does feel different when someone else is jerking you off, someone who has the same sex as you, who knows just how to pull, tug and squeeze just right. Spencer feels his eyes rolling back, his eyelids fluttering close, mouth open in a silent gasp. 

Hotch grips his erection harder and Spencer keens, feeling his thumb pushing down on the tip with each fast stroke, would rub up and down his prominent vein and his slit and– 

"AH!! AARON– MORE, YES, yes just like that, oh god, god, faster, faster! More, goddamnit, I'm so close, I'm so close, baby, just like that… just–" 

Hotch's brain glitched for a second there. Reid's the type that slips in nicknames when he's having sex, huh? Well, he isn't sure what to do with that information, but it's sexy, god, that sounds so sexy. 

"Baby, yeah, more, oh god, Aaron, I'm gonna–"

When Spencer's body twitches hard and freezes, Hotch squeezes his cock oh so painfully tight, all hard and fast till he fucking comes in his hand, nails dragging hopelessly on the slippery surface, staining the glass and his fingers. 

He strokes him through his orgasm, then he lightens up ever so slowly, only letting go when Spencer's soft in his hand and so very, very satisfied…

It took the younger a couple of seconds to truly get himself back to earth. It was so fucking good that if he isn't so exhausted he would've loved a second round. Despite the orgasm, his brain is still numb from pleasure so it's not really his fault is it? When he turns around, humming and curling his hands around Hotch's shoulder, when he leans in close, so close that he's sure Hotch would pull back and push him away but… he's playing along? 

Their foreheads pressed together, both of them breathing hard, lips just a breath apart. "Thanks…" Spencer whispers. "That felt so good…"

And Spencer, Spencer was about to fucking kiss his boss when– wait. 

Wait– Fuck. Fuck, this is his boss. This is Aaron…

Spencer quickly pulls away as the haze passes, looking everywhere but Hotch's eyes. He sounds stupid trying to make excuses why he needs to shower alone but Hotch seems to understand, washing himself under the stream quickly before walking out. 

Spencer's left alone again and for a second he just stands there unmoving. Yeah, so… that happened.

=

Spencer feels awkward when he walks out only wearing a towel to see Hotch who's already fully dressed. Spencer, at the speed of light, managed to get his singlet and underwear on, he wants to put on the rest of his clothes too but he actually has long hair and he needs to blow dry them first. 

Hotch didn’t say anything, it would’ve been creepy if Spencer doesn't know his boss well enough to know that he's just… thinking. At least Spencer made him think of something else other than the divorce papers, right? Mission accomplished? Wow, he's trying to make this less awkward but it's not happening. 

The only brush he has is the flimsy one he got from the bathroom so it was a nightmare getting his hair to settle down, they always bounce back every time he tries to straighten them so he just gives up, putting the rest of his clothes back on. 

Hotch is trying, and failing, not to focus on Spencer dressing up, it feels… It feels weirdly disappointing when he sees Spencer almost fully dressed. He noticed how the younger is looking around for his belt and Hotch picks it up for him, hidden under the chair. 

"Thanks– I, um…" Spencer really doesn't know what to say when Hotch, without asking, starts putting his belt on for him. 

His fingers slowly pulling the tip after every loop, it feels kinda rough but nothing too hard. He buckled it up for him, Spencer doesn’t even realize how close they're standing now. 

Okay. So, that's weird. But when Hotch was about to step back, Spencer clears his throat to get his attention. "Hey, Hotch, uh, here." Spencer hands him the folded tie. "Put this on for me too." 

Oh, Spencer surprised himself with how bold he is, but what the fuck is he trying to accomplish? He just has this weird inkling that this whole thing, stripping and dressing up thing, kinda turns Aaron on in a weird way? Like not enough to get him hard obviously, but enough to make him want it. Spencer's testing the water but for what, exactly? This is a one-time thing, why is he taking notes on what turns his boss on? 

Hotch pulls his shirt collar up, looping his tie around and actually putting it on for him, his tie turning out neater than it would whenever he did it himself. 

Again, when Hotch was about to walk away, Spencer stops him. "Can you tuck in the back of my shirt? I can’t really see…" Spencer turns around, and true enough, there's a slight wrinkle on the bottom of his shirt, not anything he needs help tidy up though and both of them know this but for some reason, Hotch just follows. 

Reid didn't feel anything for a second and was just about to ask when he feels Hotch yank him back by the waist, he pretty much shoved the shirt down and going a step further by making sure they're all neatly tucked by rubbing his fingers hard from the back to the front. Spencer has to stop his gasps whenever Hotch would shove in his perfectly tucked shirt roughly for no fucking reason. It seems like Hotch also has a limit on how much teasing Spencer dish out. Spencer's not complaining though. 

He almost stumbles when Hotch gives his waist one last squeeze before finally letting him go for real this time. Spencer’s done dressing up but he feels eyes watching the undone button on the bottom of his shirt from all of Hotch's rough handling. Hotch didn't make a move to fix it though, probably not wanting to touch Spencer's hip again. 

Spencer finished up the rest of his clothes, putting his socks and his shoes on, tapping the tips once to get them snug before walking to the door. 

Both of them have been silent till now, looking all prim and proper like they were before. Spencer went to crack open the door, the slightest orange light of the hall seeps in but it instantly disappears when Hotch slams the door back close and single-handedly turns Spencer around. 

Shocked and confused, Spencer doesn’t fight it when Hotch shoves him up the door and kisses him full. 

Fuck it, Spencer pulls on his shoulder and yank him flush to his chest and deepens the kiss shamelessly, his brows frowning and lips parting to roughly kiss Aaron's mouth, open-mouthed and dirty, Spencer would be disgusted when their spit wets his chin but he couldn't care less, not when Hotch shoved his tongue inside his mouth, when Spencer bites the other’s lower lip when they part for air till Aaron was groaning at him. Mm, that sounds nice, Spencer decides that he likes it and he's going to pull more of that off of him. 

It was Spencer that initiated more, telling Hotch that hey, it's not just a kiss, they're not going to stop at a kiss, no, Hotch opened the floodgates and none of them can stop it. Spencer grips Hotch's hair, keeping him in place so he could kiss down Aaron's neck. 

Spencer fucking hates how physically stronger Hotch is compared to him. How easy it is for the older man to drag him off the door despite Spencer's loud whining. 

Spencer felt Hotch pulling on the belt that he himself puts on just minutes before and unbuckling it with the patience of a toddler, roughly unzipping Spencer's pants and swallowing his loud moan with another round of rough kisses. 

Spencer's not going to back down without a fight, though. He pushed the older man off his body with all the strength he can muster, before Hotch can wrestle him down, he slip to the side and this time he shoved Hotch to fucking sit on the bed. He didn't even get to ask Spencer what the hell he's doing before the younger one went to his knees in seconds unzipping Aaron’s pants impatiently and– 

"FUCK–" 

Oh, he's cursing! He's cursing and that makes Spencer giddy. He got his head between Hotch's thighs, his fingers spreading the zipper apart as much as it can go before leaning in and dragging his tongue on Aaron’s cock through the thin material of his underwear, his putting his tongue flat and dragging it up and down as hard as he can, wetting the fabric with spit that Spencer obviously doesn't give a shit about. He knows it drives him crazy, it apparently entertains him and Hotch knows this. This time it's Hotch's turn to grip his hair in place painfully before shoving his underwear down with one push. God, he's so fucking hard already and it's all because of the cheeky thing sitting between his thighs. 

He knows Spencer can be cheeky when he feels like it. It drives Hotch absolutely insane when he looks down and he sees Spencer, trying to pull pry fingers off his hair to lighten the tension but still supporting that grin on his face. Hotch… he tries not to curse, he never does in front of someone else but he keeps doing it under his breath now, Spencer managed to pull all that out of him and he knows how smug he is about it. 

He's going to wipe that grin off his face though, he’s– "Gonna wipe this grin off my face?" The younger man says knowingly like the profiler he is. "After I turn you on just by letting you fix up my clothes, hm?" Spencer is teasing him, it probably gave him a big wave of satisfaction from knowing he manage to fluster his usually always stoic boss, and Hotch has to admit that he's impressed by his little game. He's going to make him regret it (not really, but oh well). 

Spencer whines when the grip gets harder, when Hotch yanks his hair up so hard that Spencer is leaning up on his knees, pulling a real reaction of pain from the younger. Spencer kept trying to get his grip off but he didn't fight it when Hotch drags him closer, even voluntarily opening his mouth as wide as he can go, sticking his tongue out in a blatant invitation. 

It's so fucking dirty, holy shit, he's so fucking shameless. Hotch's brain froze for a second from the sight of his usually awkward, youngest teammate now waiting for his boss to face fuck him. If it's anyone who he knows is naturally flirty, this image might not break his mind this badly but because it's Spencer… Hotch isn't sure how his brain is still functioning but it's functioning enough to grip his cock and slide it into Spencer's mouth. Sliding is such a soft word to describe him gripping the man’s jaw to make sure it stays open.  

"Ha… fuck…" Hotch moans when the sudden tight wetness envelops him, Spencer letting Hotch force his jaw open, Spencer trying his damnest to get that cock in as far down his throat on the first try. He didn't manage much, just 2 or 3 inches but the moment he starts bobbing his face up and down, the more he can get into his mouth. That's good, that's nice, but the thing is, Hotch is already feeling his orgasm coming fast and he needs to– 

Spencer sounds confused and alarmed when the hand on his hair lets go, that confusion turns into surprise as Hotch grabs each side of his cheeks instead, forcing him there as Hotch thrusts his cock inside his mouth and down his throat, making Spencer let out a real, almost panicked sound.

He kept fucking his mouth, gagging Spencer again and again, Spencer fighting every urge in his body to push Aaron off because he knows now that's what Aaron likes. What triggered his orgasm is Hotch looking down and seeing that previously smug face now turns all red and teary, nose flush and lips painfully spread open, he keeps eye contact until he, shamefully enough, comes in around a minute or two inside his mouth. He almost passed out when he felt Spencer's throat contracting around him as he swallowed his semen. Not like he has any choice, he would’ve gagged if he didn't.  

A wet squelching sound can be heard when Hotch finally, ever so slowly slides his softening cock out of Spencer's mouth. Spencer instantly heaving for air, coughing a few times and wiping the spit and semen off his lips and chin. Hotch could hear Spencer curse under his breath, finally getting his breathing back to normal. 

Hotch wonders if he's twenty years younger, can he get hard again so quickly? Because his cock twitched at the sight of Spencer looking absolutely ruined. 

That looks so good, Hotch wants to take a picture of it but then realized how vulgar that is and what a disaster it will be if someone accidentally sees it. 

Hotch grabbed Spencer's shoulders up, the younger falling to the man's chest with a soft 'oof', hissing when Hotch's hands gripped and squeeze his ass roughly, just about to yank his pants down too when Spencer whines, pretty much slapping his hands away. "Don't! You're gonna get me hard too and you never sucked cock before have you?" Spencer said with a pout in a matter-of-fact way. 

Then Spencer moves away from him, going to the bathroom to wash his face and rinse his mouth, thankfully none of that stained his collars and tie. 

When he got out, Hotch already zipped his pants back on, he looked disheveled and there were some stained spots on his pants but nothing that won't be covered with the bottom of his suit, small blessings. 

"Let's go." Hotch said and their way back out isn't so awkward this time. After Spencer paid the fee, Hotch even opened the car door for him, ugh what a gentleman. He seems much more relaxed than before, Spencer's theory is true, orgasm does help you relax, he just didn't know Hotch needed more than one. 

=

"Pretty boy! How was Connecticut?" 

"Hm… Ultimately uneventful." 

Thankfully, Hotch had his dry cleaning in his office so no one had to see his come-stained pants and sweaty shirt. 

Well. Spencer hopes that what happened earlier would be considered 'uneventful' compared to what will happen tonight. Tonight when Spencer promised to show his apparently not-so-straight, clueless boss on how to fuck a man proper. 

Besides, he would probably need those orgasms again after he signed those damn divorce papers, right? 

[masterjedilenawrites]

Broken Wings - Part Two

What's this? A second chapter one year after the first? More fic writing from me in the same week? Idk guys, I'm just riding the motivation wave as far as it'll take me...

Thrawn x pilot!reader | 2.5k words

Content warnings: Cursing, only a little Thrawn/reader interaction (slow burn anyone?), also I gave the reader tattoos for funsies

< Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part >

Hangar 12 was massive. Not even the largest rebel hideout could equal this space you found yourself in. TIE fighters hung from their docks in the ceiling while larger transport ships were lined neatly along the slick floors. And there was still plenty of room to spare. Room to reconfigure the ships in a thousand different formations and never run the risk of them crashing into each other.

Thus, the set up of a little podium and rows of chairs in the middle of the hangar was comical. It looked like furniture for a dollhouse. The pilots milling around the chairs seemed tiny, too, the details of their faces and flight suits barely remarkable when compared to the expanse of metal and space surrounding them.

You stood by one of the entrances to the hangar, having just emerged from a hallway into the location you were instructed to be in this fine morning. Well, a biological morning, anyway. Here there were no suns, no atmospheric skies with clouds or stars, no indications of whether you should be awake or at rest. Here, time did not exist. The viewport at the end of the hangar boasted of a vast outer space, likely deep within the Empire's control, far from the places you were used to. And yet, it still stirred that itch within you, the desire to go into it. To explore. To fly.

"Oh good, you've made it."

A flash of blue and white appeared in your periphery. You quickly closed your eyes, as if by not seeing him, he couldn't see you in return. You'd been dreading this moment, but your damned curiosity compelled you to show up anyway.

"I will introduce you to your squadron," Thrawn spoke to you anyway, not commenting on your lame attempt to hide from the situation. "They are among the Empire's best pilots, though still not close to your level of expertise. For now you will set the standards for their training, help them understand what is required. But I expect to see intensive training within the cockpit soon."

There was a pause before he spoke again, one simple, inquiring word. "Captain?"

You opened your eyes. Everything from before was still there: the ships, the tiny pilots, the viewport into darkness. But now added to the view was the imposing form of the Grand Admiral, looking down at you with those piercing red eyes, waiting for you to agree to being on board.

"I didn't realize titles transferred across war lines," you said in response.

Thrawn did not seem phased by the venom you put behind your words. Or perhaps you hadn't put in enough for him detect. You weren't exactly in pique form at the moment, your body still feeling like it'd been wrung through a trash compactor a few times. The rest and rehab you'd received the day before was far from rejuvenating your fighting spirit.

"The goal is to have you become Flight Commander for the squadron. But we'll retain your title of Captain for now, until you prove yourself. Even if it creates more paperwork for my staff."

He nodded slightly behind you and you turned to find a few officers standing nearby.

"This is Officer Amara Tilde, the fleet's logistics liaison. And Sergeant Lou Mam, from the Chimaera's tactical division. They'll be overseeing the training and provide assistance where needed."

While you were arguing against the small voice in your head that sounded strangely like your mother's, telling you to be polite and smile or nod at the two in acknowledgement, Thrawn continued.

"But for all intents and purposes, the squadron will report to you. As their leader."

"Like it or not," you heard Sergeant Mam mutter under his breath.

If Thrawn also heard, he ignored it, instead turning to indicate he was ready to proceed with this grand plan of his. "If you are ready, Captain, we'll begin."

"And if I'm not ready?" you couldn't help but ask.

One corner of Thrawn's mouth twitched upward. "Then you'll have roughly a hundred meters to gear yourself up, Captain."

And with that, he set off, striding confidently into that dark and massive hangar, his staff members falling in to flank him on either side. You found your feet guiding you to follow along, making you ponder with each step what you were doing here and how you could possibly get free.

"At attention!" called out Sergeant Mam as they approached the group of pilots.

There was a rustle of boots, with a small squeak or two, as the pilots hurried into proper standing positions in front of their chairs. Thrawn and his two officers strode past them toward the podium, but you chose to hang back just behind, out of view. For one, you were still in denial and any little thing you could do to delay the inevitable, be it closing your eyes or pausing in your steps, you would shamelessly do. But for another, that short trek from the door to the middle of the hangar already had you beat. Your body had not fully healed from your crash just a few days ago, and what little rehab you'd done so far to gain mobility back did not prepare you even for a walk. Your body felt flushed, heated, and you were pathetically out of breath.

"At ease," the Sergeant stated as he took his place behind the podium. Thrawn and the other officer stood off to the side, the former giving you a questioning look that you didn't know how to answer from this distance.

The pilots relaxed into their chairs at the command.

"As you all know, you have been selected as the top graduates from the Academy to serve in this special training unit aboard the ISD Chimaera...."

As the Sergeant spoke, you couldn't help but unzip the top of your flight suit and shake at the fabric a bit, trying to get a breeze onto your sweating skin.

"Training?" one of the pilots interrupted, apparently interpreting the at ease command a little too loosely. "We were told Special Forces Unit."

"Indeed, you will become a force to be reckoned with. But first we must train you to get there."

There were grumbles and whispers but you weren't focusing too much on the scene. You still felt too hot. Confined. Trapped. Screw it, you thought, and pulled the zipper all the way down and shimmied out of the sleeves. The top of your suit now hung at your waist, leaving your top half in only a black tank top. Your tattoos would be showing now, as well as the many bruises and barely-scarred wounds you'd recently sustained. Even amongst the rebel forces you'd be considered indecent. But at least you now felt just a little freer.

"With all due respect, sir," another pilot spoke up, "we already received our training, at the Academy."

"Yeah," a third chimed in. "We're enlisted soldiers now. Not cadets."

"And not only that, we're the best," said another. "You said it yourself. Top of our class. What else could we possibly have to learn?"

You couldn't see their faces but you could hear their smirks. Oh, these were cocky SOBs. Something stirred in you at their behavior, very similar to the feeling you got whenever you looked up at the sky or out the viewport into space. In fact, one could argue the two feelings often went hand-in-hand. You had an insatiable desire to fly, yes, but also to prove others wrong. These smug pilots, fresh from the Academy, with their clean suits and fresh haircuts, thought they were on top of the world. But they didn't know what it was like to be in an active war zone. To feel pressure in the cockpit. To be faced with impossible decisions. They had a lot left to learn.

Thrawn chose this moment to step forward, and the murmuring of the crowd quieted down.

"The Academy has prepared you well enough," Thrawn addressed them with that quiet confidence you'd already grown used to. "But we can no longer afford to settle for only enough. The Rebels are growing in their strength and number, and most importantly, in their skill. Do you know who the best fighter pilot is at the moment?"

There was a silence as the pilots looked around to each other. One happened to catch you from the corner of his eye. He frowned in confusion at your presence before turning back around.

"A Captain in the Rebel forces," Thrawn answered his own question, following it up with your name. There was murmuring as some seemed to recognize the name. You weren't sure if you should feel flattered that your reputation preceded you.

"Can any of you confidently say you are better than her?" Thrawn threw out another question but this time didn't wait for a potential response. "No. You are not the best. But, you can be trained by the best. And then there may be hope for the Empire yet."

The pilot who'd noticed you before swung back around to look at you, starting to piece two and two together. You figured this was about as good a time as any to finally push yourself forward.

The whispers returned as you came into view, shuffling amongst seats to get a better look at your disheveled appearance. Or perhaps just your presence in and of itself. They were in as much disbelief as you were over the situation.

One pilot was a little slower than the others and called out, "Who the hell is this?"

Thrawn cooly responded, "The best," before stepping back to give you room.

You took in a deep breath, mostly to get your panting under control, and a little to calm the nerves. You were surrounded by enemies, you reminded yourself. These pilots meant nothing to you. You had nothing to prove to them.

And yet, the itching inside continued.

"Is this a joke?" You recognized the voice as the first pilot who had spoken up. He was a handsome guy, round face and clear skin. His smirk was as mischievous as you'd pictured it earlier.

"I wish it were," you said, hating how your voice betrayed your physical exhaustion.

The pilot didn't seem to know how to respond to that, so the one sitting next to him spoke up instead.

"So you're telling me this Rebel twat knows more about flying than we do?" She seemed to be questioning one of the officers or Thrawn himself, but her eyes were fixed on you.

"There's no need to be vulgar, Heva," the one who'd noticed you earlier spoke up, albeit in a soft tone. "She is the best..."

"For a Rebel," Heva scoffed, settling back in her seat with arms crossed. "Which isn't saying much, now, is it?"

You desperately wanted to scratch the itch, to put these MF-ers in their place, but you'd need to pace yourself. Battles weren't won in a day, as you unfortunately knew firsthand.

"Test me," you said, straightening up a little.

This earned you a mix of snorts and incredulous smirks.

"Alright," Heva sniffed. "How do you reprogram a misaligned targeting system mid-flight? Smoke is coming from the underside of a TIE starfighter cockpit, what has been damaged? Do you use concussion missiles or proton torpedoes against a particle shield?"

You noted her questions were specific to Imperial tech, things you would likely not know about. But even if you did, they were hardly the most important things to be quizzed on, so you didn't feel particularly demeaned like she probably hoped.

You hummed. "I confess, I don't know."

Heva wore a self-satisfied grin while a few snickered around her.

"Now let me ask you something," you continued, not letting them enjoy their petty victory for long. "You're flanked between two enemy crafts and no wiggle room on either side. Ahead is a building, or some other obstacle, where impact would be fatal. What do you do?"

Some of the pilots seemed to be considering the question while others, like Heva and the pretty boy next to her, were more reluctant to play along.

"How far away?" asked the soft-spoken one.

You looked out across the hangar. "Let's say... from here to the viewport. A hundred meters?"

"Wait them out" said the pretty pilot, and it was then you noticed he had some chewing gum in his mouth, further accentuating his blasé attitude. "The enemy craft won't risk a collision either. As soon as they peel off, you follow."

"They're Rebels," you pointed out. "Some of the crazier ones. Flyers who know how to bank last minute and won't let you breathe for an inch. You can wait to bank with them, but if you're even a hair's length out of sync, you'll collide."

"Pull up sooner," someone shouted out.

"Collision," you asserted. "They're flanking, not mirroring. You won't fall far enough back before they do, too."

"Alright then, Best Pilot in the Galaxy," sneered Heva. "What do you do? Or are you trying to use a trick question to make yourself sound smarter?"

You took in a measured breath to maintain your composure. "You drop. Kill the engine, drop a few meters, fire it back up in time to bank."

There were even more scoffs and snorts than before.

"That's not... you can't..." the soft-spoken pilot's face was screwed up in deep thought, trying to make sense of your outlandish idea. "I mean, the physics of it alone... How could you even calculate the timing of it?"

"A situation like that, there's no calculating," you agreed. "There's no recalling a classroom lesson or reciting a manual. There's only feeling."

You hadn't exactly held their respect before, but now you'd really lost them. You were preaching about feelings, to a crowd who didn't think they needed to be taught anything in the first place. The looks on their faces, the not-so-polite words they were sputtering at a not-so-subtle volume, were proof they found you ridiculous.

You risked a glance back at Thrawn, whose expression was deadpan and gave away nothing of how he perceived this whole exchange. Not that you needed his approval. But he'd staked a lot in this plan of having a captured Rebel pilot teach an Imperial squadron; you were nervous about the consequences of failing him.

Your gaze shifted from his apathetic eyes to a starship just behind him. A TIE Interceptor by the looks of it. There wasn't much you envied about the Empire, save for this one vessel. The itching intensified; you were practically chomping at the bit now that the idea popped into your mind. A way to kill two birds with one stone.

You steeled yourself with another breath and turned back to face your disgruntled audience.

"...it's just not possible," someone was saying.

"It is possible." You raised your voice to be heard over their ruckus. Whatever fatigue your body had been suffering was now muted as adrenaline began to ramp up inside you. "I've done it before."

This hushed them up a bit, though skepticism was still written across their features. You couldn't help but grin in response.

"Would you like me to do it again?"

~ ~ ~

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[beeandheroddobsessions]

You Stop My Heart (Pt.2)

Part 1

Pairing: Elvis x Black! Reader

Summary: Elvis Isn’t the only one who can cause a visceral reaction in the crowd.

Warnings: Implied Racism, race talk, cursing? 50s Elvis. Reader is indeed promiscuous.

A/N: I was so hurt when my original draft vanished in the middle of writing it but I think it was a sign because this came out so much better! The song, as always, isn’t required (but yes it is) but I would recommend playing it once the band starts because it brings it all together and gives an idea of how the reader is singing. Happy reading!

... Alright, here we go

Gumption be damned, all eyes we trained on you, and you hadn't uttered a word yet. The host turns his attention to you, visibly shocked, "H-How are ya tonight, Ms. y/n?" You can't help but feel a little uncomfortable, hands clammy and a mouth as dry as the desert.

"Just fine, sir, thank yo-"

"The hell is she doin' up there?" A man in the sea of people shouts. The question is enough to stir your stomach, bile rising in the back of your throat. We will not blow chunks in front of all these white people. Not tonight, no, ma'am. You decide that your conscious is right and bury the feeling in your feet.

"Is there anything you'd like to say, Ms. y/n?" The host asks, making an effort to ease the tension. A simple "No sir,'" is all you can get out. "Well, alright then, the floor's all yours." With a nod to him, you look over your shoulder toward Greg. You give him the queue to start, praying he doesn't fuck this up.

Sure, you all have practiced a thousand times, but that was in the comfort of your own home, with not nearly as many leering eyes. There's just no telling how a nervous Greg sounds. You turn back toward the crowd, silently praying you wouldn't screw up, either. The first kick of the bass drum confirms that this is really happening.

Mack doesn't usually sing, but she can. She, Val, and Angel open with a simple harmony. You join in soon after. The crowd looks like you first did when Elvis was on, disinterested. Not good. You break from the girls,

"I'm so excited. I can't get past a-one, two, three," There's murmuring throughout the room, but you have to keep the attention.

"I'm so impatient; it's everything you do to me." You're gripping the mic stand like it'll save you from the intense stares. Then, quickly, you glance toward Sister Mack, silently pleading for help. She holds your gaze and mouths gumption. You release the stand from your clutches and loosen up a bit.

Your hips start to sway. "A little fire.. mixed in good with desire." You run your hands from your bust down to your waist, bouncing with the beat. "Makes my heart sing like a choir- I'm on a respirator whenever he leaves." Your hands move from your waist to your hips, and you lean forward, back arched, and cleavage on full display. Whistles ring out through the crowd.

" 'Cause you stop my heart," you lead the chorus; Angel follows, "I can't focus on anything." You grab the stand again, using it as support while

you dip down and throw your head back. " 'Cause you stop my heart..." you flash a smile, "...and you get to beat it back again." Whistles have turned to hollers. Okay, y/n, bring it home now "bum, bum,bumm, bumm, bum..." you rock your hips from side to side on the beat. This has boys rushing the stage to get a better look.

You look back at sister mack and see a smug expression gracing her features. Told you, she mouths. You continue, and the screams get louder. You can't help but think these fellas look so... fucked out. It's your turn to feel smug.

You didn't realize the weight of the situation. White girls sitting in a puddle of their own slick because a white boy got on stage and shook his hips in their face is one thing; white boys creaming their pants for a black girl swaying hers was another.

Mouths hung open as you teased a bit more, pushing up the curls that framed your face and giving a wink. Hands reached out toward you; some got a hold of your leg. You thought you were done for, that they would drag you down and beat you senseless for such a promiscuous display.

You couldn't've been more wrong. Screams for your attention were coming from different directions. "y/n! over here!" One yelled, "I'll treat you right," said another, "Let me show you some fun, darlin'!" you heard.

It was all too much. These men lusting over you was not the expected outcome. You pull away as you begin to finish the song. When it ends, you blow a kiss. Many attendees pretend to catch it, and you can't help the giggle that leaves your mouth.

For the last time, you look over the crowd. You see boys with blown eyes and seething girls red in the face. Boy, did you feel accomplished .

"It was wonderful performing for Yall. Goodnight, everybody!"

You and your friends make your way off the stage. Greg is the first to speak. "Did ya see that? Them boys couldn't get enough!"

"Mhmm, y/n had 'em foamin' at the mouth," Val says.

You shake your head and open your mouth to speak, but Mack beats you to it. "What'd I tell ya? Gumption!" With a roll of your eyes, you reply, "Yes, sister mack, you told me. I didn't do anything too different, though."

"My ass!" Greg exclaims, "You ain't never sang a song like that before. I mean, I ain’t never seen ya move like that and ya were practically moanin’ on stage." You're quick to shake your

head. "I was not! I -” Angel is quick to cut you off,

"Oh yes you were. Every high note in tonight's show was downright sinful." You laughed, "kept the attention, didn't I?"

"Sure did!" Mack shoots back.

With your adrenaline dropping and your stomach rumbling, the need to change into something more comfortable and find food was getting harder to ignore.

"I'm gon' run to the car to grab my other dress and some flats."

Greg gives you a skeptical look, "You ain't goin’ alone. Take Mack."

You roll your eyes. "It's bout twenty feet from the door. I can handle m'self." He shakes his head, "well, at least let her stand and wait for ya."

You breathe through your nose, irritated that he's holding you up.

"Alright, come on, mack." She hops up from where she's sitting, and you two head for the door.

"Your brother's so dramatic." Mack chuckles at your scrunched-up face. "He just worries, is all. We don't know nobody here, and well, you're... Ya know?"

You understand what she means and drop it, not wanting to continue the conversation. "Hmm. Yeah, I guess."

As you push through the door, striking blue eyes meet your own. He takes in a breath and holds out a shaky hand. "Hi... m'Elvis"

Holy fuck.

Taglist: @prayerstopresley @kaitaesupremacy @18lkpeters @dumpsterhippie @dkayfixates @pennyroyalcreep

[something-tofightfor]

Hey! This is for your weekend writing event- LOVE the prompt ideas you gave btw and your writing is seriously brilliant!

So here’s my request- Javi G + Spooky! Would love to see your take on how this sweet puppy of a man deals with a spooky situation, no pressure of course💕

Ok, so this one was VERY fun. It went in a little bit different a direction than your request, but I think you'll still like it.

Thanks for your request!

This is my "Not Like The Movies" pairing, but you can read this one without reading that story, and it'll still make sense.

WC: 1010

“So you are telling me that …” He paused, frowning, the lines between his brows deeper than you’d ever seen them before. “That for an entire month, the goal is to find things and places that might scare you … and then go and visit them?” 

“Yes, Javi. That’s what Halloween is.” You sighed, reaching out and pushing the curls away from his forehead. “Aren’t there haunted places in Mallorca? Haunted houses? Scary decorations? Some of the best movies have horror elements in them, so you can’t tell me -” 

“Yes. Yes, we have those. But I…” He sighed. “There’s a difference between watching things at home and being in the middle of them.” 

“Wait a minute…” You sat up straighter, lips parting as your eyes went wide. “Are you … Javi, are you easily spooked?” He didn’t answer right away, the man’s lower lip pushed out into the pout that you couldn’t resist. “There’s nothing wrong with that.  I just didn’t…” 

“Did I ever tell you about the scariest thing that ever happened to me?” He took a deep breath, wetting his lips and shaking his head back and forth. “I don’t think I ever have because I do not like to talk about it, but …”

“You haven’t.” Biting your lip, you leaned in, reaching for him with one hand. “But I’m listening.” 

“My house … the compound?” You nodded, waiting. “That was not our only home. When I was a little boy, we lived further inland, in a house that was very, very old.” He took your hand, lacing your fingers with his and squeezing. “My mamá was home with me for most of the time, and we would play games where I would hide and she would find me.” Ok, this is normal… how is it scary? “I do not remember this well, but …”

“It’s alright, Javi. Take your time.” Placing your other hand on his knee, you shook your head. “But what?”

“She told me once that she could always find me easily when I was in one wing of the house because she would … hear me.” Hear you? “I would talk to things that were not there.” What? “She would find me in rooms, facing the corners or looking into closets, and I would be talking. At first, she thought it was to myself, but then one day…” He leaned in, his eyes widening. “One day I told her that I was talking to a woman that used to live in the house. Someone that told me about a secret room in the servant’s quarters, and a doorway that even she didn’t know was there.” 

“Javi, what?” Your heart was racing and you scooted even closer on the edge of the couch, head moving back and forth slowly. “You were friends with a ghost?”

“I was. But as I got older, I apparently saw and spoke to this ghost less, until one day…” He closed his eyes, shuddering, the hand not holding yours reaching up to grip the back of his neck. “One day I was in the kitchen, getting something to eat. It was very late at night, and…” He paused, closing his eyes. “This is something I remember very clearly, you know?” 

You didn’t. You’d never had a paranormal experience like the one that Javi was talking about, and so you had no idea where he was going - or how intense it had been. 

“I opened a drawer to get a knife out. I was making toast, you see, and wanted to put jam on it.” He was staring into your eyes again, the man’s chest rising and falling rapidly. “I turned away to get the bread, and just as I turned back…” There was a long pause and then Javi spoke again, his voice dropping. “The drawer opened all by itself, and when I reached for it to close it, it…” 

It what? You were leaning in even closer, breath catching in your throat as you waited to see what had happened to Javi that night in the kitchen. 

“It slammed shut, and then I -” He moved as he spoke, surging forward and pulling his hand free to push you backwards, the man’s body covering yours while his lips moved to your ear. “And then I ran from the kitchen and into my parents’ bedroom to tell my mother this same story I am telling you right now, though she was not surprised. She was just angry that I woke her up to tell her a story that I completely made up.” 

You yelped as he made contact with you, the sound turning into a groan as you smacked the back of his shoulder. Asshole. God, I cannot believe him… Javi’s words trailed off into laughter as he kissed your cheek and then your jaw before pulling back enough to stare down at you. 

There was a gleam in his eyes, his lips quirked to one side. “Did I scare you? Did you believe my ghost story?” 

Rolling your eyes, you pushed on the man’s shoulder again, groaning. “You got me, Javi.” And he had - your pulse still elevated, mind trying to catch up with what he was saying. “I should have known that this was a setup.” 

He laughed, too, kissing you on the mouth quickly and then sitting up, both hands on your shoulders up help you up, too. “I really do think our house was haunted, though. I never talked to ghosts, but…” 

“Very funny. Maybe you should write a scary screenplay next.” He grinned, shoulders rising and falling in reply. 

“See? We do not need to go anywhere for Halloween… I can tell you scary stories right here in my apartment.” 

You stood, bending over and pressing a kiss to the top of his head and giving yourself a few seconds to enjoy the scent of his shampoo. “Absolutely not, Javier. I’m going to find the scariest haunted house I can, and then we’ll see who’s laughing by the end of the night.” 

[violetjedisylveon]

Ahsoka Series, But Kaeden Is There, And She's Super Cryptic This Time

Spoilers for Ahsoka Episode 5

Hera, seeing Kaeden chilling in the middle of a weird rock formation chilling on her phone with the space birb Sabine drew on her armor once: What happened? What's going on? Where's Ahsoka? And where's Sabine?!

Kaeden, not even looking up: Jedi Force bullshit stuff happened, it'll all make sense in a bit.

Hera: Do you... Know what happened?

Kaeden: yeah but I'd rather explain it once and I don't know all the details.

Jacen: can I pet the bird?

...

Jacen: I hear someone fighting in the ocean! Maybe Ahsoka's out there!

Kaeden, still chilling: damn, sounds like a pretty intense therapy session.

Jacen: ???

...

*Hera ordering extra searches once Jacen tells her the stuff*

Carlson: what?

Kaeden: Jacen's a little Jedi, his dad was a Jedi too, just go with it.

...

*Ahsoka wakes up and sees Kaeden reading a book with two piles of books next to her*

Ahsoka, sighing: how many books have you read?

Kaeden: Four.

Ahsoka, flopping back down onto her bed: a whole twenty-four hours and I'm still exhausted.

Kaeden, smirking: Guess that's what you get when you avoid therapy or any kind of emotional healing for twenty something years.

Ahsoka: oh shut up

*then they kiss cause they love each other*

...

*Kaeden, explaining the situation*

Kaeden: okay, while Ahsoka was off getting some therapy and emotional healing slammed into her by the Force itself, Baylan manipulated Sabien into giving him the map and they got the coordinates and they took Sabine with them. I think she is coming back with a Jedi girlfriend.

Jacen, very excited: I get a new aunt?!

Kaeden: Yes, I like your attitude about this.

...

*Shin sees Sabine's sketch book open*

Shin: Why are you drawing me so much?

Sabine: 😳

...

*Ahsoka the white happens*

Kaeden: damn, you look good~😏

Ahsoka: not in front of Jacen, Kae😉

...

Carlson to New Republic people, reading from notes Kaeden gave him: so they are going to ride the purgil and find out what the Imperial remnants are up to out there, and Kaeden Larte says "Fuck the whole Senate except for Organa and kinda Mon Mothma but not entirely, get a better hold on your senate, the Empire isn't dead idiots"

NR Fleet: ...

*Ahsoka goes out to talk with the purgil*

Kaeden, to Morai: told you it'd be the whales, you owe me fifty credits

Morai: *annoyed divine birb sounds*

Bonus, Omega(from bad batch) x Miara Larte!:

Miara: I haven't heard from Kaeden in a while, you think she's okay?

Omega, doing some space magic practice: Probably? I can check real quick.

*does space magic*

Omega: Mia honey, your sister's in a purgil.

Miara, sighing: do we gotta get involved?

Omega: maybe? I kinda wanna ride a space whale.

Miara: alright let's go, I was getting a little bored anyway.

*Omega and Miara suit up in Mandalorian armor and call up a space whale with nightsister magic to take them to where the action is*

That's it. I enjoy a good cryptic slightly chaotic Kaeden, being married to Ahsoka comes with that.

Also Nightsister Omega is one of my favorite things so I shoved it in here.

Be back Wednesday for part 4!

[teacute]

❝ feelings ❞ — a. tsumugi x f! reader

character(s) ! aoba tsumugi / fem! reader warning ! this is a one-sided so i'm putting angst since.. there's no happiness here /j note ! i'm not proud of this writing pls just-- i didn't proofread this okie

" you shouldn't sleep like this!! everyone would be worried heck and will think you're dead, mugi! " the female voice bombarded the supposedly quiet office when she saw tsumugi sleeping at his work station. she wanted to straight up choke him for doing something like this. leaving himself defenseless, in the middle of the night - what's more, in the office?! tsumugi was shocked due to the high pitched yelling that he woke up, baffled by the whole situation.

[name] then put both her hands on his shoulders and shook him. " why didn't you go back to the dormitory instead of sleeping here?! " she can't stop herself from screaming anymore. she asks to be forgiven if there's anyone other than the two of them in the office for screaming. tsumugi's eyes widen as wide as the saucer of his teacup. he sheepishly laughed, scratching his nape. [name] eyed him. almost as if she's glaring. shivers ran down his spine as he looked back at her.

" w-why, i didn't notice you were here [name]-chan.. " he nervously laughed as he finished. he could feel the intense glaring from the female.

she mockingly replied, " oh, how would you notice me when it's literally midnight and you're asleep in the office!! "

aoba mentally noted to himself not to make [name] angry again after this. she might really blow up the whole office sooner or later. aoba mumbled a small sorry as he knew she was just worried about him. the producer sighed heavily. " you know that your health is important right? please don't be careless as to be too overworking yourself... i don't want to see you falling sick.. " she mumbled the last few parts of the sentence.

tsumugi smiled before nodding. he wore his spectacle back before standing up from his work table. " well then, shall we go back? i might as well catch up on my sleep.. hehe.. " he scratched his cheek. the female oh-so-wanted-to-hug him the moment he looked so vulnerable when she walked in, however, looking at him right at the moment made her heart beat faster. to her, he's cute and she liked that part of him where he's very helpful.

she kept quiet while nodding her head and followed tsumugi out of the door to the elevator. inside the elevator, [name] noticed that tsumugi is swaying a bit so she pinched him on the cheek. " don't fall asleep on me, i don't wanna drag you to the dorm.. plus i can't enter seishou hall¹.. "

tsumugi chuckled as he tried to stay awake. when they reached the first floor, no one to be seen because it's already so late. however, they came fronting with niki. seems like he just got off from work too. " niki? it's late already.. the café just closed? " the female questioned, curious as to why niki is later than usual. niki just smiled as he chomps down on his waffle. he surely is hungry every damn second. " yweah.. jwust cwosed.. " his words were muffled as he was still eating. the female chuckled.

" well.. since you're going back to the dorm, right? please bring tsumugi and ensure him to sleep in his room. " tsumugi could sense the deadly aura around her as she smiled innocently. niki nodded and walked away. tsumugi turned to [name] saying his thanks before walking along with niki, leaving her in the darn main hall. she sighed, she bid goodbye to the guard and she slowly walked to her dorm that's not so far away.

" i know my feelings.. i know i liked you.. but it'll ruin your image as an idol.. "

" so.. until you've shined brightly, i'll continue to support you.. "

soft voice muttered in the cold tranquil night with the sound of footsteps against the cobblestone street.

closing note ! yipeee another ramble, another post, another day-- okay okay enough ✦ ¹ seishou hall - it's the name of their dormitories right?

[wordsandrobots]

So the problem with my brain's capacity to plan stories is that it doesn't know when to stop.

Because here I am, 6000 words into writing the final part of Wishing on Space Hardware, which is essentially a superfluous coda to make up the numbers and tie off a few loose emotional strands from the main plot, and of course I'm already thinking about the other Iron-Blooded Orphans stories I'd like to write. Indeed, some of them I have already started, because of course I have.

Now, to be fair, most of those ideas are slash. Smutty slash too. Did you know writing sex scenes triggers the same 'choreography goes brr' synapses as writing fight scenes? I didn't until a couple of years ago and now here we are, with at least two collections of explicit short stories in the offing.

First up is Sympathy and Other Mistakes, which I would already call done if not for the inexplicable urge to add more chapters to it. This is the one that I previously mentioned goes well to Great Night by NEEDTOBREATHE and is for the . . . let's call it 'crack-ship taken seriously' that I'm still not sure I want to publish anything for. I'm fairly nonplussed by moral-purity hand-wringing over age gaps and so forth, and firmly of the belief that getting laid is the least problematic thing anyone in Tekkadan has ever done, but it's a pairing that essentially requires the entirety of Wishing on Space Hardware to have happened to work. So, about a decade of character development beyond the show, which probably narrows the audience past the initial 'wait, what' filter. Thing is, it's an interesting pairing that I think actually works incredibly well with established canon. A thoroughly unromantic thing that swerves from dubcon to somewhere that's honestly kind of sweet, rooted in a search for redemption both characters know is ultimately hopeless. So . . . yeah. We'll see.

Second is the one I suspect would be most popular, You, Me and Everyone Else, which is the logical extension of deciding Shino and Yamagi are poly i.e., how much of the rest of the cast can I ship them with?

Technically, I suppose the bit I've written most of already isn't actually that premise at all but rather them unlocking the most blindingly obvious kinks imaginable. Still, it's fun and should be interesting when placed alongside the other ideas I've got planned. To whit:

Yamagi/Shino/Eugene/Sri (OC) -- The poly relationship I've been building throughout WoSH, in a situation I can't discuss yet

Yamagi/Chad/Shino -- Because I'm curious if I can make that work. If you've been following along so far, you'll have noted the emotional heft in the Yamagi/Shino/Eugene relationship is skewed such that Shino/Eugene is more intense than Yamagi/Eugene. I kind of want to play with that in the other direction, by giving Yamagi a partner he's more strongly attracted to than Shino is. Also I want Chad to have nice things.

598/Yamagi/Shino -- Look. My perfect gremlin child managed to squeak out of that game in one piece and so I get to imagine him grown up and happy, OK? And by grown up I mean roughly barrel-shaped and capable of out-wrestling Shino, and by happy I mean slightly drunk and blurting out “You're really pretty" at Yamagi in the middle of swapping 'holy shit, you're not dead' stories. It'll be fine.

(Chapter titles are already themed: Fantasia for Chains, [REDACTED], Variation on a Theme, and Guest Soloist. Because yes.)

Beyond that, I suppose technically that idea of cadet!Cyclase trying to come on to young officer!McGillis is also slash but I don't believe it would actually go anywhere per se. More that McGillis would take one look at Cyclase and go 'not today, thank you', and Cyclase would get to a point in the conversation and come to the realisation that killing McGillis wouldn't achieve much. I don't know. I'm intrigued by the idea of McGillis accidentally prompting Cyclase off the path of vengeance and on to the path of whatever-the-fuck he was trying to achieve in Urdr Hunt, and there is the challenge of actually writing the bastard's POV (I scrupulously avoided writing either McGillis or Orga's perspective in WoSH).

Oh, speaking of POVs, I was considering doing something with the Venus gang as the other side to Eugene Sevenstark and the Hesperus Treasure, but the idea's not really stuck past how the Urdr Hunt plot wound up going. Maybe if the theatrical presentation version gives me more food for thought? (I am crossing everything that they don't pull a diablous ex machina on us and kill anyone else; I already wrote 598 a cameo in the fic I'm posting at the moment, damnit.)

And then, well. Then there's the actual . . . calling it a sequel to WoSH would be a stretch. It's set another ten years on in the same version of events, but it's very much detached from WoSH's plot and would be my attempt to do a 'what if Akatsuki grew up and starred in a Gundam show' story. The short answer is that he's the most throw-himself-on-the-wire pacifist you could hope to meet and he's gone and got himself caught up in a big mess involving interplanetary medical testing, pirates, and the IBO equivalent of the Gundam Fight because mobile suit battles for sport and the Jupiter equivalent of Las Vegas feels like a fun setting to explore. He'd be a dutagonist alongside a female Gundam pilot who I know lots about but don't have a name for yet. And the story would also feature me performing an act of character necromancy so devilish, you'll probably curse me for it. Because I worked out how I could pull it off and now I think I've got to. Overall this would very much be a one-and-done thing. I'm thinking like Narrative is to Unicorn: a story technically following on and handling some of the same themes but with much punchier pacing and an entirely new cast. No idea when I'd get to it and I don't expect it'll have as much traction as WoSH on account of largely being OC-focused, but I think it could be fun.

OK. There we go. Those are the currently-percolating ideas. I will answer questions on them if you have any but this is mainly just me jotting them down in the hopes that if I just focus on these, I won't spontaneously generate more.

*laughs hysterically*

Yeah, we all know it doesn't work like that. But I tried, damnit!