#lightheadedness cw

[fletcherwilbury]

@sicktember Day 4: Hiding an Illness

Warning for Illness, medication, self-sacrifice, past injury, dizziness, and lightheadedness.

[herawell]

.

[hoe4hotchner]

hey! i love your stuff :)! was wondering if you could maybe do a short fic with hotch where he's interrogating the reader (who is a suspect, but is actually innocent), and the reader politely informs hotch that they're about to faint (they have a fainting condition, like POTS or something). hotch doesn't panic bc he's, well, hotch, but he calls for medical help. meanwhile, reader is just casually lying down on the cold floor of the cell and being really chill waiting to faint, even making conversation. anyway, hotch finds out that the police officers who had arrested the reader had denied them their medicine, and he rips them a new one.

OBVIOUSLY DONT WRITE IT IF YOU DONT WANT TO, I THINK YOU'RE LOVELY AND I DONT WANT TO PRESSURE YOu

have a nice day!

Unexpected Interrogation | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader | WC: 0.9k | CW: Hurt/comfort?, medical condition (POTS), mistreatment by law enforcement, fainting, medication.

A/N: I'm trying a new layout for when I answer requests, I don't know if I'll commit to it, but I like it for now.

Also I don't know anything about POTS or other fainting conditions, so I hope I did it justice - feedback is appriciated.

Hotch sat across from you, his expression stern and unyielding as he leaned forward in his chair, the dim lighting of the room casting sharp shadows on his face. To any observer, you would seem calm - your hands folded neatly in your lap and eyes focused - but inside, you were already feeling the telltale signs. The tightness in your chest, the lightheadedness creeping in. You’d been here for hours, and now, without your medicine, it was simply a matter of time before you would faint.

"You've been uncooperative since the moment we brought you in," Hotch said, his voice level but carrying the weight of suspicion as he couldn't quite figure out if you were guilty or not. "Tell me why you were at the scene."

You took a slow breath, trying to center yourself. "Agent Hotchner," you said politely, your voice a little too soft for the intensity of the moment. "I understand why I'm here, and I will tell you everything you want to know, but I think I should let you know… I'm about to faint."

He blinked, his gaze sharpening but not a trace of panic crossing his face. If anything, his brows furrowed, a mixture of confusion and concern settling in his expression. "You're about to faint?"

"Yeah," you nodded, shifting slightly in your seat, trying to ignore the swimming sensation behind your eyes. "I have a fainting condition - it's called POTS. Normally, I’d take medicine, but..." You gave a tired shrug. "The officers who arrested me didn’t let me have it."

The tension in the room shifted. Hotch leaned back slightly, the gears in his mind already turning. He wasn’t a man to panic, even in strange situations. He pressed a button on the desk to signal for help, keeping his eyes on you. "I’ll get a medic in here."

You offered him a small smile. "Thanks, but it’s cool. Happens all the time. I’ll just… lie down." Without waiting for a response, you eased yourself off the chair - thankful that you weren't cuffed to the table - and laid flat on the cold tiled floor, your head resting on your arms as if this was the most natural thing in the world. The coolness of the floor helped somewhat, but your vision was already narrowing at the edges.

Hotch stood, watching you for a moment before kneeling next to you, his tone softened slightly. "How long have you been without your medication?"

You glanced at him from your place on the floor, blinking slowly. "Since they arrested me… hours ago? Honestly, it could be worse. But you know, fainting isn’t great for clearing one’s name." You chuckled lightly, trying to make the best of the situation, though it quickly turned into a weary sigh. "I’m innocent, by the way."

He didn't respond to that directly, but there was a flicker in his eyes, something acknowledging the injustice of your situation. "How often does this happen?"

"Often enough that I’m pretty used to it," you said casually, your breath slowing as the dizziness increased. "But hey... it gives me an excuse to lie down on the job, right?"

A small smile tugged at the corner of Hotch’s mouth - just for a moment - but then his professional mask slipped back into place. "Don’t talk. Just focus on staying calm."

You hummed in agreement, though your vision was blurring fast. "I’ll be out soon, but when I wake up, I’d love to continue this conversation. I mean, I know I’m innocent, but it would be great to convince you of that too."

He gave a short nod. "We’ll get to that. First, let’s get you taken care of."

Moments later, the medics arrived, rushing into the room with a stretcher and medical kit. But Hotch didn’t leave your side, ensuring they knew about your condition, making sure they were doing everything right. As they checked your vitals and prepared to move you, you started to fade, your words becoming slow and drowsy. "Thanks, agent… you’re not as intimidating as I thought you’d be."

The medic smiled at that, while Hotch’s lips pressed into a thin line, the smallest hint of amusement in his eyes. But once you were being taken care of, Hotch’s focus shifted back to the situation that had led to this. The officers who had arrested you. The ones who had denied you your medication.

Minutes later, Hotch found the officers outside the room, his demeanor stone cold. “Which one of you denied the suspect their medication?”

One of the officers, a tall man with a smug expression, stepped forward. “We didn’t think it was relevant. They didn’t say it was urgent.”

Hotch’s eyes darkened, his voice dropping to a low tone. “Didn’t think it was relevant? You’re lucky they’re stable, or you’d be facing a lawsuit at the very least.” He took a step closer, towering over the man. “You do not withhold medical treatment from anyone in custody. I don’t care if they’re a suspect, a witness, or guilty. Do you understand?”

The officer faltered, clearly not expecting the sharp reprimand. “Y-yes, sir.”

“I’ll be filing a report about this. You’ve jeopardized a life today. If I ever hear of anything of the sort again, you’ll be out of a job.” Hotch didn’t wait for a response, turning on his heel and heading back toward the interrogation room. There were few things that set him off more than mistreatment, especially under his watch.

He returned just as the medics were finishing up. You were still unconscious, but stable. Hotch stood by the door for a moment, watching as they prepared to transport you, his expression unreadable.

Innocent or not, he was going to make sure you were treated right.

[moonstruckme]

And since you're such an angel, I would love some:

snow angels with doctor!remus

Thank you and please hydrate 💧

Awee you're too sweet to me, thanks for requesting lovely <3

cw: blood (not a lot? if that helps), dizziness/lightheadedness

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 686 words

Remus cups your face in his hand, brows woven together in concern. “Did you eat lunch?” he asks you. 

“Yeah.” 

“What’d you have?” He swipes his thumb gently over your cheek before leaving you, going into the nearby bathroom. 

“A sandwich.” You sound a bit defensive, which isn’t strictly fair. You know you gave Remus a bit of a fright when he came home to find you lying on the rug between the living room and the kitchen, too scared to get up. It was perhaps a tad dramatic—you could’ve walked over to the couch if you’d really wanted to, you’re sure—but you didn’t see any point in pushing yourself when you felt so dizzy and shaky on your feet. Remus has taken it as more cause for alarm than you have. 

He comes back with a blood pressure monitor and a couple of other things, setting them on the kitchen table in front of you. “That sounds fine,” he murmurs, taking your arm to slide the cuff up it. You have the sensation of swaying in your seat, but you’re not sure if it’s really happening or only in your head. “And it’s been going on for how long?” 

“Since maybe two.” You lean sideways so your head rests on his chest. Remus’ free hand comes up to hold it there gently, pinkie stroking the baby hairs by your temple as the cuff inflates around your arm. 

“You should have called me, sweetheart.” 

“I was okay,” you tell him. “I didn’t really think I was gonna pass out or anything, I just thought it’d be safer to sit down.” 

Remus’ hum conveys some disapproval, but he doesn’t seem to think it’s worthwhile to continue arguing with you. The blood pressure monitor beeps, and he leans forward to read it. 

“Hm, that’s normal.” He takes the cuff off you with a satisfying ripping sound. You curl and flex your fingers against the odd feeling. 

Remus holds your head to his chest with his free hand while he leans forward, grabbing something else off the counter. He takes your hand, but you pull it from his grasp when you see what he’s holding, sitting up. 

“Remus,” you whine. 

He chuckles at your tone. “Dove, it’ll be quick.” 

You let him take your hand again, but don’t allow him to pull it near that clicker thing. “Is it going to hurt?” you worry. 

“No.” 

You make a low, petulant sound in the back of your throat. Ordinarily you might be embarrassed for it, but you’re feeling rather self-pitying right now and entitled to some sulking. “Really?” 

“Yes, love. Relax.” 

Still feeling mistrustful, you allow him to pull your hand closer. He pricks the pad of your finger. 

“Ow—Rem!” 

“It’s okay,” Remus shushes you. “All done.” 

“That hurt,” you complain, vindicated, as he collects the bead of blood on a reader. 

“I know,” he admits. “It does, a little. But only for a second, yeah?” 

You make your displeasure known through your silence. 

“Look.” Remus takes your finger, kissing the back. “It’s better now, see?” He brings your head to his chest again, and it’s difficult to keep from softening when he kisses that, too. “Sorry, dovey.” 

“It’s okay,” you say, begrudging, only because he really does seem to feel a bit bad. 

“Mm.” He reads your blood sugar. “You’re at ninety two.” 

“Is that good?” 

“It’s normal.” Remus holds your cheek again, looking down at you and stroking pensively with his thumb. You’re not sure if he’s feeling for something or just touching you; you’re happy either way. 

He hums softly. “Do you feel tired as well?” 

“A little, yeah.” 

“Headache?” 

You tilt your head back to see him. “What’s it mean?” 

“I’ll take that for a yes, then.” His lips curve softly. “I’m not completely sure what it means yet, but I’ve got a couple of theories.” 

“Can you fix it?” you ask, though really you have complete faith. Remus always fixes it. 

He kisses your head again like he knows what you’re thinking. His lips make a soft landing just short of your hairline. “We’ll see.” 

[agentmarcuspike]

dave york x babysitter!f!reader

summary: the kids you babysit have a hot dad. you want him. but he's married... cws: unfaithfulness (dave is married to carol), power imbalance (employer and employee), fainting, thigh grinding, fingering, reader wears a skirt, dad!dave and his kids, nicknames (baby, honey), reader sits in dave's lap, mention of blood, frottage kinda, one (1) shoulder bite word count: 2.7k divider by @thecutestgrotto thank you and shoutout to my cheerleaders on this, liv @5oh5 and han @swiftispunk <3 and my love @joelsversion for helping with the header <3

"Without touching his skin, How can I be guilty as sin?"

You hate being alone with Dave York.

There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s a perfectly pleasant, well-mannered man. His daughters, Molly and Alice, are angels when you look after them (mostly), and nothing Dave has ever said or done has made you uncomfortable. Your interactions are innocent and professional. And that’s exactly the problem. 

There’s nothing wrong with him.

Because when you’re left alone together, in the evenings when his kids are asleep and he offers to drive you home, or in the mornings on the days he doesn’t work  from home and he pours you a cup of coffee in the kitchen while you make the girls breakfast… you can’t stop your mind from wandering.

You’re not entirely sure what Mr. York does for work, but you know he must look good doing it. Prancing around the house in his fitted dress pants that hug his front and back just right. His loose dress shirt hiding the body you suspect is strong and strapping, based on the sounds coming from the garage when he tells you he’ll be working out. And those are just the parts you don’t get to see.

His hands, however, are always on full display. When they curl around that mug he hands you. His palm brushing the small of your back as he opens the door for you when you leave. Fingers tapping, sometimes only one on the steering wheel, when he drives you home. When he’s typing away at the computer in his home office, or brushing the hair out of his girls’ faces before kissing their heads goodnight on the nights that he makes it home in time. Oh, those fingers… and that ring.

The ring he wears as a promise to Carol, his wife, that he’ll always be faithful to her. You should know how much a promise like that means. Someone once promised you the same. To always be there, to never stray. But stray they did. And the pain of that is something you don’t wish on anyone.

So yes, you hate being alone with Dave York. Because he’s so close. You spend more hours in his house than your own, basically raising his kids. And he’s right there… but he’s not for you.

It has been a very long day, and yet the clock on the kitchen stove shows only 11:27. The girls have run through the garden sprinklers all morning, worn out and down for a nap already, a combination of heat and exhaustion making you wish you could do the same. The heat wave has lasted for days now, only alleviated by a few minutes of clouds during the worst hours. 

Your bare thighs cling to the chair as you get up to clean up your lunch. It’s quick work, so you do the rest of the dishes too, even though it’s not your job. Warm soapy water prunes your fingers quickly, the only parts of your body not already damp with sweat. The house is rarely this quiet during the day, only the distant sounds of traffic from the main road blocks away filling the room, joining the splashing of water and clangs from dishes as you put them back into their cabinets. Some mornings you can hear Dave talking in his office, the sound carrying through the house. You can never make out what it is he’s talking about, only the low rumble of his voice sometimes plaited with other voices through computer speakers. He’s quiet today. 

This heat is unbearable, you think, as you wipe your forehead with wet hands. Leaning on the counter, you take a deep breath. For a second your eyesight falters, and lightheadedness washes over you. Have you even had a glass of water today? You can feel your legs start to wobble, vision turning static, and you’ve just started swaying when–

“Hey, hey!” 

A strong hand grabs your arm as you topple over, and you lean into Dave’s solid chest, letting him support your weight as you focus on your breathing. 

“There you go, honey,” he soothes. “Deep breaths.”

His shirt smells crisp and clean, the scent interrupted by whiffs of soap and cologne from his skin underneath it, as you inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

“You okay?” His big hand draws circles on your back, still holding you up with the other.

“Just hot…” you manage, lifting your head up to see a concerned Dave look down at you with furrowed brows. 

“Come lie down in my office for a bit, the AC is better in there.”

He supports you on your unsteady legs with an arm firmly around your waist, guiding you to his work room at the other end of the house. You’ve never really been in there, only stuck your head through the door to let him know you’re leaving at the end of the day.

The room is huge, especially for a home office. Floor to ceiling windows cover the far wall, his desk in the middle of the room, facing the door. Bookcases line the other walls, filled with mostly folders and what looks like heavy encyclopedias. In front of one of them is, of all things, a chaise lounge. What is he, a shrink? You’ve never seen him have anyone else in there, but for all you know he might as well be. He’s got the calm and steady presence you imagine one would need to be any kind of doctor.

“Here,” he says as he guides you over to the chaise, one big hand engulfing yours, the other supporting your neck as you lower yourself down.

“Let me get you some water.” 

As he leaves the office again, you hurriedly smooth your skirt down, suddenly very aware of how much skin you’re showing. If you lift your knees your entire ass would be on display for him when he returns, but you know keeping your feet up will be good for the dizziness. You settle for an in-between, only one leg raised, and the other straight out, just as Dave returns, bottle in hand. He twists the cap open before he hands it to you.

“Thanks,” you breathe as you accept it, gulping down half the contents in one go. You hand the bottle back to him and he chugs the rest. Your eyes are fixed on his plush lips around the bottle opening that was just between your own. You wonder what they would feel like on your warm skin.

As he drinks, a stray droplet escapes from the side of his mouth, trickling down to his chin. It runs down the length of his throat, Adam’s apple bouncing when he swallows, and then the drop disappears underneath his shirt collar. Your mouth waters, yet you feel even thirstier. You’d like to rip his shirt off and lick the droplet off his chest, as if only that could quench your thirst. And you can’t help but feel… No, you can help it. You should. It’s completely inappropriate. He’s your employer, your boss, and he’s… so Goddamn good looking. Shit.

He crumples the empty plastic before throwing it away in the bin next to his desk. Slumping down in his office chair he turns his attention to the computer screen.

Typing away at his keyboard, you watch him. Doctor York? Professor York? You try to imagine him; teaching a class, doing paperwork at an office, running a store, being someone’s strict and authoritarian boss. The latter thought makes your legs clench together involuntarily. 

“What do you do?”

The question escapes you before you can help it, and you cringe slightly at your own sudden bluntness. 

“Sorry?”

“I just realized I don’t know what you do for work.”

He doesn’t look up from the screen when he speaks, but a subtle smile plays on his lips.

“If I told you I’d have to kill you.” You laugh.

“That would suck. Who would look after your kids?”

“I’d be on the run, so not me.”

“Carol, then. All alone. Poor Carol.”

“Yeah. Poor Carol…” he agrees, voice suddenly grave.

A few minutes pass, comfortable yet somehow charged silence surrounding you. When he speaks again, his tone shifts—still dark, but less grave.

"Ever been to Europe?" he asks, breaking the stillness.

The unexpected question leaves you momentarily flustered.

“Uh, yeah, I, uhm… I went backpacking there a million years ago,” you stutter.

His eyes narrow slightly. "Really?"

“Why is that so hard to believe?" you challenge, squinting back at him.

“Just a little surprising, I suppose.” 

He meets your gaze without flinching, a spark of something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes.

“I’m actually planning a trip to Belgium. Come have a look at this.”

He beckons you closer with two fingers, the gesture innocent and yet, paired with your clouded judgment and current state of mind, borderline obscene.

Carefully, you put your two feet down on the floor, taking a moment to test your balance. Once confident you won’t topple over again, you step over to his side of the workspace. You lean over his desk, one hand on the table and one on the armrest of the office chair he’s seated in, squinting at the screen. It’s probably very interesting, pictures and lists of things to do and see abroad, but the only thing you can focus on is the sliver of ass you know is revealed when you bend over in this particular skirt. You’d usually wear something more work appropriate, even just a pair of hot pants underneath. But this weather… This heat…

Dave’s gaze is just as scorching as he awaits your reaction, and you can tell he’s working hard not to let his eyes wander. Just like you do, when from the corner of your eye you spot his hand moving absentmindedly up and down his thigh, resting a little too long at the top, thumb grazing his groin.

“Want me to bring you something back?” he asks, voice low, close to a whisper, as if worried someone could hear him. 

You shift your weight from one leg to the other, giving your feet a little more space between them, making room between your thighs. Suddenly, his fingers graze the insides of your thighs and his hand trails upwards, coming to rest over the wet patch of your underwear, damp from your excitement or from the temperature you’re not sure. An audible sigh escapes you at the contact. He responds with a groan of his own as he starts drawing circles over your clothed clit.

“I’ve heard they have great chocolate,” you stutter in response to his question.

“Yeah? You got a sweet tooth?”

You wish desperately he would touch your skin, and try to angle your hips so he can slip a finger under your panties, but he just follows your movements, touching you through the fabric. You only hum in response.

“God, this isn’t right…” you hear him whisper to himself. You don’t disagree, yet neither of you make a move to stop.

His hands move to rest on your hips, and he slowly turns you to face him. Soft fingers grip you tightly. The insides of his legs brush the bare skin of your own, making you shiver despite the heat. Your eyes flutter shut.

“Look at me,” he says, pleading. So you do. The darkness of his eyes pull you in, and you’re almost taken over by the urge to lean down and kiss him. As you start to bend down, one hand resting on his shoulder, his hands on your hips keep you in place. At a distance.

“Tell me we shouldn’t do this.” His eyes rake over your body, taking you in, short fingernails digging into your skin. “Tell me this is wrong.”

It wouldn’t be a lie. It really is, and you really shouldn’t. So you’re not sure why throw one leg over his and straddle his thigh. A buzz shoots through you as your swollen core meets the tight muscle of his leg. You’re so close to him like this. So close you can feel the warm puffs of his quickened breath fan your skin, with a faint scent of coffee, toothpaste, and something else, indistinct but distinctly Dave.

Details of his complexion you’ve never noticed before become clear. The worry lines between his brows. The sharp curve of his cupid’s bow. The few hairs he’d missed while shaving, probably in a hurry, that morning.

Almost unwillingly your hips start drawing small circles, chasing release. Dave’s hands haven’t moved an inch, still gripping your hips, following your movements. His eyes are fixed at where your legs clasp around his own, soft movements growing erratic as your pleasure pulls you further.

Under his clothes he’s fully hard now, the fabric of his dress pants stretching around his erection. You imagine the weight of him in your hand, how your fingers would barely meet around his shaft when you jerk him off. You shift forward, thrusting, wanting desperately to feel him, but he holds you in place, pulling his own hips away from you.

“Nuh-uh.” One of his hands releases its grip on you and rises to gently cup your face. The tips of his fingers barely brush your skin. “Not like that.”

“What?” you breathe.

“Just…” Dave’s face contorts slightly as he sighs. “Just take what you need. What you want.”

You continue to grind on his thick thigh, drenching his trousers with each movement. Back and forth, clenching around nothing. As your breath quickens, you hunch over more and more, forehead eventually landing on Dave’s shoulder. Your teeth come down on the soft flesh of your cheek, and you chew, molars slicing through the skin until you taste blood. 

“Come on,” he purrs, his voice hoarse and vibrating in your ear. “Come on, baby, give it to me.”

“I’m gonna–

Your mouth falls open in silent moan, and you bite down on his shoulder to keep from making a sound, soaking his already damp cotton shirt in saliva and drops of blood from the inside of your mouth. His grip on your hips is relentless, and he groans through his gritted teeth as you fall over the edge.

“Fucking… come… on.”

And you do.

Your thighs clench around Dave’s, and you can feel him tense up as well, sending new waves of pleasure through your core. The buzzing vibration runs from your middle, through your spine, and sets off another spark at the very top of your skull. Your hairs stand up, goosebumps. The blood pumping in your ears deafens you momentarily. 

With your nose buried in his neck, nuzzled behind his ear, you take a few breaths to restrain yourself. His hands are looser on you now, thumbs drawing small circles on your hip bones. His chest rises and falls underneath you, slowing in time with yours.

And just as you’re about to lift your head from his shoulder, not quite ready to face the reality of what has just happened, what you’ve done, someone else breaks the silence.

“Daddy!”

Molly’s sleepy voice is unmistakable from down the hall. Dave’s hands are off you in a second, and you barely have time to react before he’s on his feet.

“Dave, I’ll take her–”

But he’s already out the door.

Once you’ve flattened your skirt and straightened up in the hallway bathroom, you find them in the kitchen. Molly is blabbering, Alice yawning, while Dave is listening and laughing, arranging their lunch in funny shapes on their plates. Cucumbers for eyes, a slice of bell pepper for a pair of red lips, a piece of mushroom becomes the nose. The children giggle at their Dad’s shenanigans. 

You stand in the doorway, observing. Domestic bliss. They’re not your kids and he’s not your husband, and this moment is not for you. As the kids’ laughter and the clang of kitchenware reverberates through the open kitchen, you catch yourself wondering how Dave will explain the stains you made on his clothes to Carol.

taglist:

@hellfire-state-of-mind @janaispunk @joelscruff @takochansugoi @paanchusblog

@pastelpinkflowerlife @mountainsandmayhem @inept-the-magnificent @bitccchmood @sullyselena

@akjnoris @teanbean521 @joelalorian @lucifurrr @theetherealbloom

@lightdragonrayne @skbeaumont @itsjoelver @fhatbhabiee @peachesandcreams-world

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@your-teeth-glow-in-the-dark @rsquared31 @r3dheadedwitch @alejaa-a @myhappyplaceofstuff

@yodasgreenthumb @dovedewdrop @saradika @clawdee @harrisonispunk

@lostfleurs @always-andromeda @amanitacowboy

[the-trinket-witch]

TWST Signature Spell Effects on the Body

Because I'm a wordy, purple-prose kinda bish, I thought about what each Unique Magic might actually feel like on the body (at least the ones that affect other mages when cast). (SPOILERS FOR BOOKS 5 ONWARD)

(CW: Loss of motor function, scopophobia, senses being messed with, forceful sleep)

Off With Your Head:

The moment it slaps around your neck and shoulders, there's that deafening rush of blood to one's ears. If you and your magic were lightning, the collar just became your glass bottle. Outside of the momentary dulling of senses, one may  have a general difficulty breathing, either from the collar fitting itself or the lack of support without one's magic. Lightheadedness and an internal hollowness make the collar leave you feeling like after a flu.

Bet the Limit:

His magic literally amplifies and pushes back your magic, but to do that he has to rip control of it from you. Bet the Limit gives one that jerking tug on the shoulders, a jab of pain that burns into your neck almost. Sometimes if one resists or tries to wrench control back, they're left feeling like their shoulders have been dislocated. They haven't of course, but the feeling is still enough to keep one from moving them for a while.

Doodle Suit:

There's a metallic, fruity Sichuan peppercorn-like numbing on the senses before it's replaced with what he decides. Pretty straightforward.

(Legit tho: I think his is kinda scary in terms of utility. The possibilities o_o )

King's Roar:

Burning. King's roar doesn't have fire but there's still a dry burn. Rug or rope burn, an allergic reaction, or being splashed with hydrogen peroxide, it all makes the nerves curl away like shriveling plants. Skin on downwards begins flaking like baked mud, falling off into sand like chunks of slate.

Laugh With Me:

Laugh With Me at first feels like the pinch of nerves. But pulling against the bindings is like hyena teeth biting and yanking your muscle and bones; you're not in control. That tugging hurts much less, more of a firm mouthing on your body in whatever direction he wants.

It's A Deal:

Much like his flattering words, his magic leaves one feeling glittery. But there's a cold tentacle-like grip on the heart for a quick moment; a reminder of what lies in the undertow. It's not a memorable sensation, but memorable enough to know what happens when it returns upon failing to fulfill your end of a contract. The resulting Anemone doesn't feel like much until one touches it, like a large zit.)

Shock the Heart:

The sudden wash over you feels like the splash of cold water after getting dumped out of a boat. Pharyngeal jaws scrape and tug on your tongue to reel you in, truth dripping off of you like seawater. 

(Truth is a lot of times subjective so why nerf it further? HC he can use it multiple times but lies cause it works on those unaware)

Oasis Maker:

Rain that's always the perfect refreshing temperature. Never frigid but never feeling hot. A relaxing shower of jasmine and chai, without the stifling steam

Snake Whisper:

A burning cobra bite to the skull. It's venom sears every wrinkle in the brain as you feel yourself get pulled along by the collar of proverbial tail coiled around your neck. Resistance feels like hot sand filling your brain cavity. Eventually the oppressive weight of said sand makes one submit. 

Sleep Kiss:

 Sleep Kiss seems pretty straightforward. It probably feels like sitting in a soundproof glass box, with cold air filtered in. Every chilly inhale acts like anesthesia, or the tug of exhaustion by hypothermia.

Fae of Maleficence:

His 'Blessing' feels like being laid into a patch of semi-prickly twigs; a dragon's nest or roost. It hurts slightly, but the diligence is paid to lay you gently in so they don't prick. Eventually you can somewhat relax, but adjusting or moving reminds one of the thorny poking all around you. It just becomes preferable to sit still, rather than try waking or even attempt at getting comfortable.

Meet in a Dream:

Many mistake Silver to have soft hair, but the only downy lightness about him, I think, is Meet in a Dream. Whatever sensations one feels when dreaming of flying, that fills you to buoyancy as he leads you along the Dream Corridor.

[l1tw1ck]

Is this a thirst yes maybe idk… I keep thinking about Joel using reader to get off,, maybe some face fucking,, I’m ill

idk which way you wanted this but ive been thinking about dilf pussy so (warning i am feeling very perverted today) this is also kind of nonsensical i just love dilf pussy

dom bottom ftm joel x sub top male reader

cw: afab language, cunnilingus, squirting, asphyxiation, scent kink

~~

the first time joel rode your face, he was scared he'd break your nose but after a while, he completely forgot about it and now he loves doing it

joel grinds down onto your face, moaning loudly as he overindulges in the pleasure. not that you mind of course. drowning in his fat pussy is the best way to die. he arches his back, coming for the third time.

~~~~~~~

Joel plops down onto the couch and sighs. it's been a difficult day at work and all he wants is some relief. good thing he has his loyal lover to help him out. he lightly jerks his head, motioning for you to come over. he unbuckles his belt and pulls down his pants. "be a good boy and eat me out." he orders, spreading his legs. you quickly slot yourself between them and shove your face into his clothed cunt, taking in his delicious musky scent. he loves watching you get off to just his scent but he's in dire need of pleasure. he pulls your head back and pulls his boxers down. "eat." he says, pulling you face first into his wet cunt. joel grins, watching you with half lidded eyes as you happily feast on him. your tongue feels amazing inside him. this is just what he needed.

you try to pull away to get some air but he pushes you back into his cunt, keeping you there. "don't you dare stop." he almost growls. you moan, the vibrations of it bringing joel pleasure. you continue to devour his pussy as you lose oxygen, knowing joel will let you breathe if you tap his thigh. he bites his lip, enjoying the power he has over you. "good boy." he bucks his hips up and basically starts fucking your face. "that's right..." he squirts all over your face but doesn't stop moving and continues to smother you in his pussy. you ignore your lightheadedness and let him do whatever he pleases.

~ you finally get released from his hold and look up at him with a smile on your shiny slick covered face. he almost wants to make you eat him out again

[nametakensff]

spring prompt request: hitching and inopportune for k/im ideally in your fet!h/arry x k/im setting

Hellooo, I am sooo sorry this prompt has taken months in the making but I am finally finished!! Thank you for your patience 💕 Please enjoy 8.4k of K/im having a hard time

K/im is already feeling under the weather when an allergic reaction to dust at the worst of times makes his day even more exhausting. At least H/arry is there to help 😇

~~~~~

Content:

M/M, H/arry has a sneezing fetish, K/im is a kinky motherfucker, (oncoming) cold sneezes, dust allergy sneezes, sneezing whilst hiding, stifles, rapid sneezes, handkerchiefs, tissues, some mild mess, spray, hitching breaths, K/im generally has a very persistent tickle, sneezing on someone, catching someone else's sneezes for them, brief cold denial, blowing nose into hands (in the shower), handjobs, frotting, masturbation, elements of domination/submission, embarrassment, some voyeurism/exhibitionism, dirty talk, fetishy dirty talk, praise kink, graphic descriptions of semen, mentions of phone sex, caretaking, not orgasm denial exactly but neither have nutted in a while

CW: mentions of drug abuse, mentions of homicide, standard police stuff, general mentions of lightheadedness and not feeling well

NSFW - Minors DNI!

Kim awoke with a distinct feeling the day ahead was probably going to suck. He’d been feeling out of sorts this week, in the way that one does when one is probably coming down with a cold. He sighed, covering his eyes with the back of one hand as he lay on his back. After a moment he peered at his alarm clock, promptly remembered he couldn’t see jack shit, then reached for his glasses.

The clock read exactly 04:45 AM. He’d only gotten around five hours of sleep, still had over an hour before his alarm was meant to go off. He could try and go back to sleep, but he also knew from experience that he probably wouldn’t get very far. Once he was awake, that was it. He sighed again.

Just after 5 AM, Kim crawled out of bed and set to getting ready for the day. He figured he could use the extra time to get through outstanding paperwork (although there was admittedly very little ever outstanding for him) and decided to eat breakfast at the diner nearby the 41st precinct. The artificial, glaring lighting paired with a black coffee would hopefully make him feel a little less like the walking dead.

Sitting at the diner just after 6 AM, his first sneeze (of which Kim hoped was not many) had him scrambling for his handkerchief one-handed, the other clutching his newspaper. He decided, gently wiping at his nose in the aftermath, that to pay it any mind would be to invite more, so he simply returned to scrutinising the daily crossword, occasionally taking sips of coffee and meagre bites of a breakfast muffin. The façade of normalcy didn’t last especially long; he wasn’t hungry, the coffee hurt his throat, and the crossword seemed to be taking up entirely too much of his mental energy.

It was as if the admittance that things were amiss operated as a kind of signal to his treacherous nose. In the wake of that earlier sneeze, the tickle that had prompted it – instead of being purged by the sneeze – had merely lingered, hidden away in the depths of his sinuses. It reared its head once again, giving him a little more time than before to prepare, but still peaking rapidly enough that he had hardly gotten his handkerchief to his face before his chest swelled with a definitive inhalation.

“Hhtt-!  Hh’gxt! N’Gkt!! Hh’NGxt’chu!!”

Instead of a sense of relief, the sneezes merely left him bleary-eyed and worse for wear. He snuffled discretely into the cloth, grateful that the other patrons hadn’t registered his outbursts (or more likely, that they just didn’t care). He allowed himself to rub indulgently at his nose, wriggling it from side to side in the hopes he could externally quell the internal irritation. It worked a little, but he was still sniffling against one crooked finger as he left the diner and climbed back into his MC, the leather of his glove coming away damp.

Luckily, nobody seemed to notice the desperate triple of sneezes he stifled between the pinching grip of his thumb and pointer finger, striking him right as he entered the station. They were nasty sneezes, total bullies that fought as hard as possible to burst past the barrier of his resistance. Kim winced more at the audibly liquid sound of them than the way they almost unbalanced him, walking at his brisk pace. He sniffled, trying not to cringe when the crackling resonance of it prompted a cop stood nearby to peer over at him in thinly-veiled disgust.

Once he was at his desk (and more importantly – sat down in his chair), he felt he could relax for a moment. The Major Crimes Unit was temporarily bereft of Major Crimes, so their officers were being lent out, as it were, to slightly more menial affairs. Jean had been complaining openly about this. The day before, as he stood in the kitchen whilst Kim and Harry picked at their lunches, he had grumbled that they were slowly becoming the Minor Crimes Unit, and the flat affect of his voice had made Kim laugh hard enough to almost choke on the crust of his sandwich.

Today, Kim was grateful they were evidently still the Minor Crimes Unit. It meant that half the officers were away on patrol, and that the rest were either plowing away through paperwork – or chatting amongst themselves in various nooks and crannies. It suited Kim just fine – this way he didn’t have to worry about stifling the persistent sneezes into total silence, and the lack of a fixed audience meant he could occasionally indulge in openly tilting his head back, nostrils flaring and face creasing, as any particularly irritable sneezes started to build.

So content had he become in the mechanical routine of write, pause, sneeze, resume writing that he was almost disappointed when Harry’s warm palm gripped him by the shoulder and shook him out of his trance. His partner grinned at him, gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder that they were getting the hell out of dodge. Kim offered a small smile back, tried to ignore the slight vertigo as he stood up and gathered his things.

Harry filled him in on the way to the garage – a new witness for a case that had gone cold years ago had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, promising vital information regarding the homicide of a 35-year-old mother of two. Harry’s enthusiasm could perhaps be described as in poor taste to some, but Kim understood. The thrill of all the pieces coming together, a case finally hurtling towards a successful closure was as potent a source of adrenaline for him as high-speed pursuits.

Kim pulled the MC out of the garage, more on autopilot than anything else, as Harry continued to natter. Kim found he was struggling to listen and drive at the same time – not good. Not usual, for him. He focused as much of his split attention as he could, thanking his lucky stars when Harry remained so wrapped up in his own hyper-focused ramblings that he didn’t notice as Kim’s head bobbed forward with three expertly stifled, silent sneezes.

~~~~~

The witness was a frazzled former meth user. Conversation with her seemed to bounce back and forth, and when Kim asked her what year it was, she was a decade off. Harry’s enthusiasm appeared to visibly wane as time went on – even his abilities as a human can-opener could only do so much in the face of synapses fried by years of abuse.

It seemed like a lost cause until Harry mentioned the name of a previous suspect – released from custody almost immediately due to lack of solid evidence of his involvement. Raking her hands through her hair, the witness seemed lucid and engaged all at once. Kim quickly flipped open his notebook and began to jot down the conversation in shorthand, even knowing Harry would memorise it entirely.

His nose tickled ever so slightly, and he sniffled, nostrils arching delicately. It was a mistake; he immediately needed to sneeze. The tickle was fast to come on but not especially strong – he did not find himself bending in half with the body-shaking force of it. Instead, his head gently bobbed forward which each sneeze, an unremarkable triple. It was a quick, efficient affair; he barely even shuddered with them. He might have been able to avoid detection entirely, had he not indulged in an audibly liquid sniffle immediately afterwards.

The witness glanced at him, a microscopic shift in body language, before her eyes were fixed back in the general vicinity of Harry’s shoulder. It was all that was needed for Harry to glance over at Kim - right at the moment that sniffle ignited the tickle into an unexpected fourth sneeze.

Kim’s eyes fluttered closed as he inhaled sharply. Harry was already watching him, concentration on the witness effectively broken. He needn’t have attempted to stifle this sneeze into total silence for his sake, but he felt he didn’t want to spook the witness out of her relative lucidity. His head bobbed forward again as he convulsed under the pressure of the release – stronger than the preceding three; strong enough that the sneeze was audible despite his best efforts. An awkward, entirely nasal stifle burst out of him, and with it a tiny stream of mess from his left nostril.

A gloved hand shot up to his face at once, pinching away the mess before dutifully returning pen to paper. Harry was rigid beside him; Kim bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from breaking out in a mischievous smile. The way he could render Harry dumbstruck with a single sneeze was one of his newfound delights in life. He felt like shit, and really didn’t want to be catching this cold, but now that Harry had noticed his struggles, he didn’t much feel like suppressing his sneezes any longer.

They thanked the witness, who had supplied them with a further lead in the form of a supposed hideout for the gang member she suspected committed the murder. It was probably a dead end this long after the crime, and both of them knew it, but it didn’t stop Harry from perking up in hope, just a little bit.

He perked up even more as Kim stopped walking, and Harry, several paces ahead, turned just in time to watch him sneeze an uncovered, unhindered triple of sneezes.

“Hh-Hh-h-!! Hupt’ISSHH’uu!! ‘TSScHh’iew!! Hh! Hah’AHDT’Tsziew!! Ahh, Mon dieu.”

“God, Kim. Bless you.”

Kim brought his handkerchief up to his face to snuffle into, smiling behind the fabric. It had felt fantastic to sneeze openly and as loudly as he wanted, and it felt just as fantastic to hear the poorly restrained arousal in his partner’s voice.

“Thank you. That felt good.”

Harry swore under his breath and continued to make his way to the MC, Kim following right behind him and doing his best not to beam in satisfaction. Back in the car, Harry turned to face Kim, eyes roving over his face in question. Kim simply sat there and gazed back at him, allowing the silent scrutinization.

“You okay, honey? Got a tickle?” Harry asked, doing an impressive job of sounding like he wasn’t sporting an extremely obvious erection.

“Hm.” Kim sniffled, starting the engine and glancing towards the road. “Yes. Just a tickle. A very persistent one.”

He pulled the car out onto the road, making his way towards the district of interest. Harry was squirming in his peripheral vision.

“That’s too bad. Hope you get some relief soon.” He offered after a moment of silence.

Kim nodded, stifling another smile. It seemed they were both refusing to take the topic any further. It was fine with him if Harry wanted to focus on work – he encouraged it wholeheartedly, and he didn’t particularly feel like surrendering to the other man how under the weather he felt just yet.

Fine. Let them both be stubborn, independent of each other. Kim drove a little less quickly than usual, on account of the occasional sneeze, and Harry did his very best to look entirely interested in everything that wasn’t his boyfriend sniffling several feet away from him.

~~~~~~

The hideout looked like any other drug den one might expect to encounter in Faubourg. Kim immediately felt uneasy walking up the short path to the front door, but it was a familiar unease he’d grown used to after decades on the job. Harry was alert and focused beside him. They turned to one another, reaching tentatively for their holstered guns – a habitual motion, just to confirm everything was in order in case things went south.

They needn’t have worried; nobody answered the door, which was unlocked, and a quick skim of the property confirmed it to be entirely empty. Harry nodded at him and Kim put his pistol back in its holster. They both wandered somewhat lazily around the shoddy bungalow in companionable silence, torches out due to the sheets pinned over every single window.

“Well. Fuck.” Kim heard Harry mutter, coming to the same conclusion as he that the only kind of organised crime this property had been related to in recent years was the procurement and consumption of drugs. The numerous needles littering the carpet were as good a sign of that as any.

“We got to her too late. This place is a wash. Shit.” Harry kicked an empty takeout box across the room, spreading fragments of ancient chow mein asunder. Kim sighed.

“It’s an old case, detective. We knew this was a likely outcome.”

Harry crossed his arms and let his head fall forward, sighing dramatically. Kim reached out and squeezed his bicep conciliatorily.

“There may be another lead yet. We’re not in any rush, we may as well investigate the property thoroughly.”

Harry looked up and smiled at him. Even in the dim light of the room, Kim could make out a grateful twinkle in his eyes. The almost childlike serenity of it had him smiling back in an decidedly uncool way, rife with affection and tenderness. The corner of his eyes were even crinkling, for fuck’s sake. But then again, this was Harry. He’d been a sucker for him from day 1.

Kim slapped him harder on the bicep than was necessary as he pulled away, then got to work.

~~~~~

He should have considered this. He didn’t understand why he never seemed to remember how irritatingly allergic to dust he was until he had already started to have a reaction. Breath catching and head tipping back for what was probably the tenth time since they’d entered this dust trap of a crack house, Kim briefly fanned at his face with a gloved hand before he was sneezing again, shuddering with the force of it.

“HhHH’DZZSTShhh!! Hih-!! Hup’TSCHhhht!! ‘TSCHhhuu!! Hh-Hhh!!  HAHDt’Tssieww!!”

The frantic post-sneeze sniffle he indulged in just seemed to stoke the tickle right back into fruition – another thing he ought to have remembered not to do in the middle of an allergy attack, and yet. He gasped, chest jumping uncontrollably with every hitching breath, and sneezed even harder.

“HUPTt’TZzSHHhh!! AhHD’TZSCHhuu!! ‘DTZSCHhttt!!”

Even through post-sneeze bleary, blinking eyes, he could make out a cloud of aerosol spray lingering in the light of his torch for several seconds before dissipating into the air. If he was with anyone but Harry, he would be mortified.

“Fuck. God bless you. Again.” Harry offered from the other room. He was audibly aroused, and Kim would be lying if it wasn’t getting to him even whilst he felt absolutely miserable.

He didn’t have long to dwell on the matter before the tickle, utterly maddening in its feathery intensity, had him gasping and sneezing anew, nearly stumbling forward under the force of it.

“HH-!! Hhh’AGKk’TSschtt!! Hupt’TSCHHhh!! Hup’TSZSHhieww!! HAGK’TSSHhhuu!!”

Harry blessed him again, but Kim could hardly focus through the supreme irritation. He reached for his handkerchief and blew his nose hard, trying not to blush when his congested sinuses produced a rather undignified honking noise. Relax. Harry likes this. The thought provided him with a little relief, though extremely short-lived as his sinuses started to fill immediately, triggering yet another tickle. He tucked the torch under his armpit and reached to steady himself on a nearby wall, gasping hard into the protective cover of his handkerchief.

“Hih! Hh-HHdt-!! HDTT’TZzshhh-‘TSSH’uu!! HdDDZT’Tzshieww! HAH-! AEESCHH’uu!! Ohh…”

This was no good. One might even say he was fucked. He was getting hardly any reprieve between sneezes now, and each fit left him increasingly weaker and trembling in the aftermath. He felt Harry’s broad palm reaching between his shoulder blades, stroking his back as his breath scissored in and out of him. He hadn’t even heard him approaching the musty bedroom he’d been stationed in, so consumed had he been with purging the tickle. His eyes leaked twin streams of irritated tears down his flushed cheeks and saturated the fabric of his handkerchief. Harry’s hand felt like a grounding anchor amidst it all.

“Kim. Babe. We’ve officially seen enough, okay? I’m ending this investigation. We need to get you some fresh air.”

Kim nodded, unable to speak as another vicious triple tore its way out of him. Harry cooed at him, wrapping an arm around his waist and standing him upright. Kim allowed him to press a soft kiss to the side of his face, unprofessionalism be damned given the circumstances. He felt horrible; his body arched towards Harry, seeking the comfort like a lifeline.

They’d hardly taken a couple of steps forward when the sound of approaching footsteps and gruff male voices from outside had them freezing mid-movement. Maybe the joint wasn’t abandoned after all. The almost marching and level sounds of the steps – the domineering, unwavering cadence of the men…it didn’t sound like a pair of drug addicts. They sounded like they meant business. Fuck.

Upon the sound of the men reaching the doorstep, Harry yanked Kim back into the bedroom and behind the door, slightly ajar. The front door opened, and they held their breath as the men strode inside. Their current hiding place was a terrible vantage point – neither Harry nor Kim could watch them, only listen as they rummaged around, opening draws and shifting furniture. They weren’t saying much of anything – there was no urgency in their banter, nothing frantic about the sounds of their movements. Kim clutched his handkerchief to his nose, pinching hard, and with his free hand clutched at the gun in his holster. Beside him, Harry’s hand rested on his own weapon.

Kim’s mind raced through the possibilities. Somebody must have been watching their approach and informed these men. Their MC was parked a couple of streets away to avoid becoming a spectacle, but perhaps it had been discovered, or they’d been seen entering the property and recognised by the RCM insignias on their jackets. Were the strangers actively looking for them? No. They would have moved with frenzied purpose, were that the case.

Maybe they were drug addicts after all. Maybe they were opportunistic scavengers. Maybe he and Harry ought to emerge from the bedroom, guns before them, and make their presence known? They’d hidden instinctually, perhaps preemptively. He frowned, rigid beside an equally rigid Harry as he thought and thought.

The most pressing matter, beyond all of these possibilities and their outcomes, was remaining concealed. Kim was excellent at this; he’d been described as catlike, both to his face and behind his back, and took pride in being light-footed and discrete. Keeping quiet was not a problem.

Correction. Keeping quiet was not a problem except for when he was in the midst of a terrible fucking allergy attack.

Like clockwork, the tickle peaked once more, and Kim shuddered in place with a harsh, punishing triple, stifled between pinching fingers into his handkerchief. Miraculously, they remained silent; the shivering exhale he couldn’t help but let out made more noise. He sensed Harry glancing at him, but he couldn’t so much as turn before his breath was snagging and another three sneezes forced their way out of him, wracking his slender frame.

This was no good. In fact, this was terrible. He barely had a moment’s breath where he wasn’t inhaling and sneezing, the allergy attack now in full swing. Try as he might to keep the sneezes absolutely silent, they were getting increasingly more difficult to suppress.

 “Hh’GKTt!! NGX’tt!! ND’Tt!! ‘Ngxt!! H’NGxtsh!!”

He felt Harry squeezing his shoulder – a gesture either meaning ‘Are you okay’ or ‘Shut the fuck up’ – likely a mixture of both. Kim merely shook his head before sneezing again. Gun forgotten (probably for the better – he would never live down a gunshot triggered by an unruly sneeze), Kim struggled to hold his handkerchief to his face, now drenched and clinging to the fabric of his glove. He leant his back against the wall behind him, free hand bracing himself as his knees weakened with the effort.

“’Hddtsh!! NGX’tshh!! H’GXT’shh!! NGt-GXT’tsh!!...Hg’GXTZshht’u!!”

Fuck. That last one had not only made his temples throb in pain as it forced its way past his trembling fingers, it had been messy. Worst of all, it had been louder, an explosive burst of sound. Harry’s grip on his shoulder flexed, just once. Through the roaring of blood in his ears, Kim couldn’t hear any significant change in conversation in the other room. Good. He managed to stifle the next few into silence once more, but it didn’t feel like much of an accomplishment. It was only a matter of time before he would simply have to let loose entirely.

Suddenly, the voices drew closer – so close, in fact, that Kim was certain the strangers would stride into the room and find them there. What a sight that would be – a Disco cop and his partner, currently almost doubled over sneezing his proverbial brains out. It would be a funny thought if it wasn’t such a viable outcome, and also perhaps if Kim didn’t feel as though he was about to pass out. This tickle was a bully; it didn’t matter how much he sneezed, it simply demanded more.

Miraculously, Kim at last heard the footsteps of the men receding, followed by the front door closing. He hadn’t been able to follow the conversation, but it seemed that whatever they’d been looking for, they’d found.

“’MP’tschh!! Hh! Hg’GXTtt!! NGXtt!! H-Hh-!! Hh’GKShhht!!”

God, just let this end. His eyes were streaming down his face in a constant onslaught of allergic tears, and his nose felt as though the ticklish fibres of the fluffiest feather possible were touching every part of his nostrils all at once. The itching sensation seemed to fill his entire head, even. It felt as though he would never stop sneezing.

He had been vaguely aware of Harry leaving the room, but it wasn’t as though he could inquire after, or indeed follow him in his current state. When he returned several minutes later – in which Kim was still sneezing, though admittedly much less quietly – he knelt in front of him. Kim peered through bloodshot, miserable eyes at his face. Before Harry, he hadn’t realised it was possible for human beings to wear expressions so perfectly torn between arousal and intense concern, but there it was, staring right back at him.

“Okay, they’re gone. I watched them leave, they’re not coming back. Probably just grabbed some product and fucked off.”

Kim nodded, sneezed, sneezed again.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Harry reached out, pulling Kim just enough that he gave in, let himself slide down the wall into a sitting position. He had not the least bit of energy to resist as Harry pulled his handkerchief clad hand away from his face, didn’t protest as Harry quickly swiped away with his thumb at the prominent mess under his nose and over his lips. He felt a fresh handkerchief – Harry’s – being held over his face, securely, by his partner’s broad, warm hand.

“It’s okay.” Harry murmured again, hand expertly following Kim as his head tipped back with a gasping inhale. “Let it all out.”

Kim didn’t have much of a choice either way. Gripping Harry’s wrist for purchase, he trembled under the force of the sneeze, fully unhindered as he practically roared into the handkerchief.

“hhHUPTT’TISSHHHIEEWwww!!!”

The bliss, the relief from finally sneezing without restraint, was monumental. Kim’s entire body shivered pleasantly, goosebumps breaking out on the surface of his arms. He moaned, losing himself for just a moment – and then geared up to do it all over again.

~~~~~~

They drove to Harry’s apartment, it being the closest.  Harry had taken the wheel, to their mutual displeasure, but it would have to do, given that Kim was still sneezing. He was winding down, gradually, the pauses between hitching and sneezing and sighing growing much longer – but sneezing nonetheless. In a way, Kim considered it a boon that he had been sneezing since that morning already. As the allergic reaction began to fade, the odd couple of sneezes every now and then felt almost like returning to a familiar baseline. God, he was tired. He felt weak and unwell, truly exhausted from the sheer number of sneezes his body had been subjected to, and the magnitude of those he had finally let loose. That Harry hadn’t cum in his pants as Kim had sneezed against his palm was truly impressive.

Towards the end of the journey, Kim wondered if it wouldn’t have been just as well that he had driven. Harry was so riled up and distracted it was a blessing he hadn’t gored any pedestrians with his drifting and last-minute breaking. He would jump when Kim sneezed, rigid and alert between each release as he expectantly waited for another. It was funny, and it was flattering, but Kim had reached out more than once to steady the wheel as his partner’s trembling palms lost their slippery grip.  Harry’s cock stood to attention the entire way home; it persisted even as they climbed the stairs to his apartment, Harry insisting Kim walk in front of him to shield the tenting of his pants from prying eyes. He moaned as Kim’s sneezes echoed in the stairwell.

“You shower first, baby.” He’d offered, pupils blown and shifting from foot to foot. “You need to get that dust off of you.”

Kim didn’t disagree – didn’t even have it in him to ask Harry to join him. He tossed his clothes into Harry’s laundry basket, grimacing as the dust the motions stirred up promised to bloom into another tickle. It did, several minutes later; he didn’t hold back as the sneezes ramped up again, aided by the steam opening his sinuses.

“AESCHhhh!! HdtT’TSCHHHhtt!! ‘DZSCHhh’uu!! Fuck…Hh! hHUPT’TSshhh!! ‘TZSChh’uu!! AhDT’TSsHhiewww!! Ah…”

They were harsh, full body releases. Each sneeze brought with it a stream of mess, hanging over his lower face before the next sneeze would displace it, soaring onto the floor of the shower. Within moments, his runny nose would be dripping, prompting another sneeze in what he was sure would have been an endless cycle had he not indulgently blown his nose into his hands, stemming the flow and dulling the itch.

He swallowed hard, clearing his throat against the tickle. At least the fluttering, allergic sensation that had made his entire face feel itchy and alive with irritation had now dissipated. Though brought on by dust, these sneezes, like this morning, felt distinctively…unwell. He sighed and leaned his forehead against the cool tile wall, allowing the shower water to sluice down his back for a time.

~~~~~

When Kim emerged from his shower, one towel round his waist whilst he tousled at his damp hair with another, Harry all but bolted past him and into the bathroom, hesitating for a split second to utter a small “love you” and press a kiss to Kim’s bare shoulder. Kim barely had a chance to blink before the door was closed just shy of slamming behind him.

He chuckled to himself before locating a change of his clothes in Harry’s dresser – folded neatly and just as he had left them, in sharp contrast to Harry’s own crumpled and pell-mell shirts and slacks. He took them and placed them on top of the dresser, noticing that Harry had placed there a fresh box of tissues, a glass of water and a small blister pack of antihistamines, some of the pills already missing. Harry must have taken some – or more likely, Kim suddenly realised, Jean. It would be just like Harry to keep some around in the rare instances Jean went without. Kim smirked, taking a pill himself and chasing it with the entire glass of water.

Kim began to towel himself dry, but the day’s exhaustion, more than doubled by that ridiculous allergic reaction, proved too much. He lowered himself, towel wrapped round his waist, into the armchair Harry had started using as a desk chair. (They’d had sex on this chair a good few times – Kim had absentmindedly wondered where it had vanished from the living room as they entered the flat.) His upper body was dry enough that leaning back into the fabric didn’t feel entirely awful. He sighed, resting his eyes and allowing himself this small break. He would get dressed when Harry was finished; they would be leaving together anyway. There was no rush – he felt he could claim this small pocket of time as entirely his own.

He'd been drifting between the periphery of consciousness and oblivion when an audible groaning sound caught his attention and pulled him out of his doze. He was a light sleeper, both a blessing in this line of work and a curse for literally every other reason. He listened, eyes still closed, focusing on any other noises over the gentle hissing of shower water. The distinctive moan he had heard didn’t come again – only the sounds of plastic toiletry bottles being rifled through.

He didn’t want to be nosy; he tried his best to allow others the privacy he so desperately clung to, reserving any meddling for his detective work. One could argue that the unmistakable sound of his boyfriend orgasming in the shower whilst he was sat in the next room was none of his business – if Harry wanted to masturbate in private, who was Kim to judge? One could also say, however, that when his boyfriend is orgasming in, no doubt, direct response to his allergies, he is entitled to speculate and enjoy whatever snatches of sound it may induce. Tired though he was, his cock stirred and started to harden in response. He palmed it lazily under the towel, humming as sordid images danced through his mind - of Harry moaning, fucking his own fist, legs trembling as the shower water washed away the evidence of his orgasm as quickly as it had materialised.

He stopped teasing himself when he heard the water shut off. A couple of minutes later, Harry emerged in his own towel, doing a quick double-take at Kim lounging in the chair and watching him.

“Not gonna get dressed?” He asked, sounding incriminatingly relaxed and amused as he began to go through the motions of drying himself. Kim peered at the nape of his neck, the way the damp tendrils of his unruly mane curled there.

“Oh, I will. I’m tired, though. I didn’t feel like rushing.”

Harry hummed in response, the sound morphing into a continuous melody, toweling wildly at his hair. Kim watched him, secretly wishing he could afford the same luxury of such rough treatment. He would rather die than admit out loud the fact that he patted his own hair dry with gentle tentativeness, hoping to avoid thinning out his receding hairline any more than nature had already cursed it to.

Kim smiled fondly at his back.

“You’re in good spirits.” He stated, resting his hand on his prick.

“It was a good shower.” Harry merely said by way of response, dropping the towel and walking naked towards his closet for a change of clothes.

“It sounded like it.” Kim said. Harry didn’t turn around, didn’t see him squeezing himself through the towel, though he did tense a little before exhaling a little laugh.

“Sorry, sorry. Had to…scratch an itch.”

“You’re insatiable,” Kim laughed, even as he reached under the towel and took himself back in hand. Harry rifled through his clothes, humming again.

“That’s twice in my career, now,” Kim started, “That I’ve had to hide in a dust trap and stifle my sneezes into near silence to avoid detection.”

Harry paused his rifling, face still hidden by the open wardrobe door. Kim smiled, lazily teasing his own urethra with a circling fingertip. He went on.

“The tickle is always so maddening, but when I can finally let myself sneeze unrestrained it’s such a rush. Though I’m sure I’m preaching to the choir. Still – that was an enjoyable fit.”

Kim had to fight back a giggle at the sight of Harry as he turned round with a tortured expression, cock already half-hard and standing out like an exclamation between his legs. His eyes widened at the sight of Kim stroking himself.

“See?” Kim drawled, leaning his head on one propped up hand against the arm of the chair and pulling at his cock with languid strokes. He nodded towards Harry’s erection. “Insatiable.”

Harry blinked, looking for all the world like he was short-circuiting, before uttering a comically resolute “Fuck.” Kim watched as he walked the short distance to his bedside table, reaching inside to extract a small bottle, and lay back on the bed. He started to laugh in genuine amusement as Harry, stony-faced, squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his hand and started masturbating at a frantic pace.

There was nothing else for it, really. He walked over to the bed and swung one of his legs over Harry’s hips, leaning forward on his forearms, framing Harry between them. The Lieutenant looked up at him with twinkling eyes, crinkling in the corners with affection. Kim smiled back at him, certain his eyes were a mirror image of adoration.

“Hi, Kim.” Harry mumbled between hitching breaths.

“Hello, Harry.”

Kim leaned down to kiss him, almost startling at the voracity with which Harry kissed him in return. He pulled back a moment later, sucking on Harry’s tongue as he went.

“Well?” He peered at Harry, who looked kiss-drunk and confused. “Aren’t you going to make me cum? You’re one orgasm ahead.”

Harry reached for him immediately, squeezing his slippery fingers in a warm vice around both of their cocks. Kim’s breath hitched at the contact, their solid lengths throbbing against each other, the sound of it morphing into a happy, shuddering sigh as he lowered himself down and onto his forearms. Hips pressed together, they were soon thrusting at a coordinated pace, chasing their mutual pleasure with a heated urgency. Kim’s whole body seemed to vibrate with elation.

“I’ve missed you.” Harry suddenly said in such a melodramatic voice that Kim’s eyes, having slipped shut as he lost himself in the hedonistic rhythm of fucking, snapped open at once. He smiled in exasperation, nosing at Harry’s sideburn.

“But I’m right here,” he muttered into Harry’s mutton-chopped cheek, enjoying the gentle scratch of facial hair against his lips. “We see each other every day.”

“Work doesn’t count!” Harry protested, cutting himself off with a loud groan as Kim’s hand, having joined his own, teased at his frenulum after a particularly languorous upstroke.

Kim thought work counted a little. They were fucking right now on work time. Harry wouldn’t want to hear this, though, and Kim didn’t particularly feel like having the conversation. Every stroke on his cock felt wonderful, incredibly sensitised.

“When did we last have sex?” He breathed out, half-thinking-out-loud and half-asking.

“Nearly two weeks ago.” Harry replied bitterly.

Shit. That meant Kim also hadn’t had an orgasm in just as long. That explained why he was feeling absolutely out of his mind with pleasure in this moment, despite Harry’s grievances. He could cum at any moment. He decided to try not to do so and cleared his throat.

“We can have sex all of this weekend. I want to have sex with you, I’ve just been – “

Kim groaned as Harry squeezed them both, his dick throbbing and throbbing in the tight tunnel of that huge fist. He hoped he needn’t finish his sentence – he was far too turned on to partake in any further mollification.

“It’s okay, I get it. We’re work junkies.” Harry grunted. Good, Kim thought. Crisis averted, orgasm very much on track.

Harry turned to press his mouth to Kim’s ear.

“If you really mean it, about this weekend – I’m gonna fuck you so hard, Lieutenant. I’m gonna make you scream. You’ll be limping into the office on Monday, and everyone will know why. So prim and proper, except for when you’re not.” He finished his statement by starting to suck on Kim’s earlobe, which he knew drove him crazy. Kim’s cock drooled down his knuckles in response, and his whole body shivered.

“Fuck,” Kim moaned. He hadn’t even realised how badly he’d needed this. Everything else had paled in the face of work, even when work was slow - a bad habit of his, he knew.

He wanted to reply with some acerbic, flirtatious comment about making sure Harry would be the limping party rather than him, but a sudden wave of exhaustion and lightheadedness overwhelmed him, rendering him incapable. He sighed and leaned forward, pausing the motions of his hand as it gripped their cocks and resting his forehead on Harry’s chin for a moment, waiting for it to pass.

“Hey, hey,” Harry said, frantically but gently, using his free hand to smooth down Kim’s back reassuringly. “You okay?”

Kim considered lying. He considered doing what he had done for years with various former boyfriends – keeping them at arm’s length the second any legitimate concern was levied his way. It used to be easy enough. But now his boyfriend was Harry Du Bois, human can-opener. Lying, or at the very least downplaying, was no longer an option. More importantly, he found he actually didn’t want to lie. And so he didn’t.

“I’ve been feeling a little…off.” He admitted, resting for a moment longer. Harry continued to rub his back and gently cradle their dicks. They were so hard that Kim could feel both of their heartbeats as they nestled together.

“Mm. I thought so. Tell me how?” Harry murmured, careful not to jolt Kim as he spoke.

“Hm. Like I might be coming down with something. A cold, maybe.”

Harry’s cock gave a significant twitch at that, and Kim couldn’t help grinning despite himself.

“Ohh, honey, that’s terrible.” Harry cooed, sounding perfectly concerned and saccharine even as his hand wandered down Kim’s spine before settling on Kim’s left ass cheek and squeezing it, hard.

“You’re awful.” Kim teased, allowing himself to lean back and resume his straddle above Harry now that the headrush had started to recede.

“I mean it!” Harry offered a crooked grin that seemed to imply anything but. Kim raised an eyebrow at him, then batted Harry’s sticky hand out of the way and resumed stroking his boyfriend’s cock with renewed vigour, transforming that devilish smile into a contorted mask of pleasure.

“Sure. I totally believe you.” Kim deadpanned, trying not to show just how turned on Harry’s open lustiness was making him.

Harry was a walking collection of vices, Kim had very soon realised. If it wasn’t drink and drugs, it was something else. He lived voraciously – he worked himself to exhaustion, thought himself to despair, ate himself to temporary immobility and fucked himself to stupidity. Kim didn’t mind the last one, especially, but the point still stood. Himself being a veritable pinnacle of self-restraint and deferred gratification, one might argue Harry was his polar opposite – and yet when they were together like this, everything felt electric. Kim had never put much weight into the saying ‘opposites attract’ – not until he’d met Harry. It just – worked.

Harry seemed to suddenly remember he was a human being on this mortal plane and that Kim’s dick was currently unattended to. His hand reached between them and resumed stroking and squeezing with such passion that Kim nearly swooned with it. God, he was going to cum embarrassingly quickly.

Kim soon felt regretful over the way his tempo was beginning to falter in exhaustion, his wrist beginning to ache. It made him feel notably old and unsexy. Harry didn’t seem to notice, bucking into his grip enthusiastically, loving it all the same. That was reassuring, at the very least. Harry deserved pleasure. He wanted to give him all he could.

Something Harry liked – listening to him speak. It hadn’t taken them long into their relationship for him to confess to Kim just how much he loved the velvety smoothness of his voice, in sharp contrast to the rumbling timbre of his own, one evening over the phone. (Kim had been quick to assure him he was mutually as appreciative, both verbally and by coming into his own hand as Harry uttered pure filth down the receiver to him). He could work with that, always. Now was as good a time as ever to put his voice to use and talk Harry up to orgasm before he fell into his own.

“You know,” He started, prompting Harry to open his eyes, temporarily closed in a rictus of pleasure. “It’s relieving to get it off my chest. I’ve been sneezing practically all day – it’ll be nice to let myself sneeze freely for the remainder of this cold.”

“Fuck, Kim – you can always do that. Please always do that.”

Kim smiled, kissed Harry’s bristly cheek.

“What if I don’t think you deserve it?” He teased, rubbing his thumb in a lingering swipe over the head of Harry’s cock. It drooled precum in response.

“I’ll – fuck, I’ll be good!” Harry was almost panting.

“Yeah? You’ll be a good boy for me?” Kim murmured, stomach tingling and tightening in arousal. “You know what good boys get? Hm?”

Harry groaned in response, hips starting to buck arrhythmically. So, so close. Kim leaned to croon directly into Harry’s ear.

“They get my sneezes all over them - on their face and their cock. I use them instead of a tissue, until they cum for me. Are you my good boy, Harry?”

Much as Kim predicted he would, Harry had no chance to respond before he was shuddering and moaning, tossing his head back as the efforts of Kim’s voice and his stroking hand tipped him over the edge. Kim watched his face, one of beatific torture as the pleasure washed over him, and grunted as his own orgasm lurched ever closer. He squeezed Harry throughout, milking his cock for all it was worth and enjoying the trickle of semen over his knuckles that hadn’t spurted over their stomachs. For a man who had had an orgasm no more than fifteen minutes earlier, he still came a great deal. Kim wondered if Harry had been actively denying himself release these past two weeks – waiting for his touch until losing it today. The thought of that made him moan, cock twitching and neglected, Harry’s hand having fallen to his side mid-orgasm.

Harry finally relaxed, sinking into the mattress with a long, satisfied sigh. He wrapped his arms around Kim in a bear hug, pulling him flat down onto his chest and sandwiching their sticky torsos together. Kim chuckled in exasperation, thinking about his recent shower. Ignoring the way his solid cock dug into Harry’s lower stomach, he allowed himself to be held. This kind of full-body, skin on skin contact always felt so good. He nuzzled his nose into Harry’s neck, enjoying the sensation of those ridiculous mutton chops brushing the side of his face.

“That…was so fucking good. Shit. Fuck. I love you. Oh God…”

Kim kissed his neck by way of response, allowing the post-orgasmic platitudes to wash over him. Harry was right – two weeks without moments like this had been too fucking long.

He was pulled out of his contemplation just seconds later when his burgeoning cold decided to strike again with a vengeance. That oh-so-familiar tickle peaked almost instantly, giving him no time to warn Harry or pull away. With a surprised gasp, Kim cringed into a small fit of outrageously tickly sneezes, leaving beads of irritated tears at the corners of his eyes in their wake.

“Hh-HDZ’tzshhh!! ‘Tishhuu!! Hupt’TSshht!! ‘GXTt’shuu!!”

He snuffled and rubbed his itchy nose against the skin he had dampened, drinking in Harry’s moan and the way his body tensed against him. His nose was starting to run in earnest, so he wriggled a hand free of Harry’s embrace and reached up to pinch at his nostrils. Harry reached wordlessly for the tissue box beside the bed and handed Kim a bundle of fresh tissues. Kim took them gratefully, feeling the exhaustion of the day suddenly intensify. He lay his head on Harry’s collar bone and worked his own nostrils in lazy circles through the tissue.

“Mm. ‘Scuse me. My timing was a little imperfect.”

“Bless you, honey. You really are catching a cold, aren’t you? Poor thing.”

Kim allowed Harry to slide him off of his chest and onto his back on the bed. He watched through lidded eyes as Harry swiped at the mess on his stomach for a moment before he leaned over Kim in a reversal of their previous positions. He had almost forgotten he was still very much hard when Harry’s damp, warm hand returned to his cock. He gasped and jolted a little as those fingers wrapped around him and gave a decisive tug.

“Ohh, fuck…” He groaned a little, reaching up to wrap his arms around Harry’s shoulders as the bigger man picked up the pace, jerking him hard and fast.

“Your turn, baby. Gonna come for me?” Harry drawled, back vibrating with the timbre of it under Kim’s hands. Kim shuddered and sighed.

“Fuck, yes – don’t stop-!”

Harry didn’t – he stroked and squeezed him expertly, just the way Kim liked. The build up to his orgasm was almost too much to bear; he clung to Harry, tense and leaking, hardly remembering the last time he’d felt so desperate as his world focused in on the sensations of his twitching cock, eclipsing everything else.

Remarkably, even as the pleasure started to crest to the point of no return, Kim’s nostrils twitched devilishly, flaring wide with the sudden and undeniable need to sneeze. His head felt fuzzy, like it was stuffed full of cotton; everything was so intense, and the warring teasing in his nose and cock were maddening in the most incredible way. The building tickle felt orgasmic in its own right.

“Ohh, baby – need to sneeze again?” He heard Harry say. He couldn’t respond, hitching and gasping in equal parts pleasure and irritation. Harry moaned, and the sound of it made Kim throb and pulse in his grip. He truly didn’t know how much longer he could exist like this, right on the precipice of both sneezing and orgasm. An irrational part of his mind wondered how it could ever end, how he could possibly handle both releases in such close proximity.

His body made the decision before he was consciously aware of it. Hitching breaths culminating into one final, wrenching gasp, Kim was thrown forward helplessly, pressing up into Harry and gripping him tightly. He peppered the air with sneezes, no doubt all of them raining down onto the skin of Harry’s back as he shuddered with them in quick succession.

“-!! AESHHHTttt!! ‘DZTSHhh-TSSHh’ieww!! HahDTT’TSHhh-Hupt’TISHHhh’uu!!”

Kim barely had a second to recover, gasping as his orgasm hit him, seemingly without pause from the tail end of that last violent sneeze. Temporarily mute from the euphoria, he trembled against Harry, fingers digging into his back as he held on for what felt like dear life. His cock throbbed rhythmically, deeply, sending waves of pleasure through his body as it shot arcs of cum over his stomach, the most powerful climax he’d experienced in what felt like forever. When it released him, he went boneless against Harry, moaning low and long, feeling like his body was now jelly in the shape of a human. Fuck.

“Fuck.” Harry said, mirroring Kim’s thoughts, and he wanted to laugh but the exhaustion was back again, and he was so, so tired…

~~~~~

Kim woke gradually, slowly brought to the surface of consciousness by the feeling of Harry stroking his hair with a feather-light touch. He stirred a little, opening his eyes and realising, as the form of Harry remained a blur hovering over him, that he was no longer wearing his glasses.

“Hey, Kim.”

“Mmrmmf.”  Was all Kim was able to manage initially, moving to sit up. Harry, however, pressed him back down against the pillowcase with a soft but firm hand. Kim was too exhausted to resist, going willingly. His brows furrowed in confusion before he remembered all at once that firstly, he was coming down with – or rather, had already caught – a gradually worsening cold; secondly, he had had an insane allergy attack earlier; and thirdly, he had seemingly fallen asleep immediately after coming his brains out. He chose to believe that the falling asleep part was due to both feeling unwell and the fact that he hadn’t orgasmed in a fortnight, not some newly encroaching middle-aged development.

“What time is it?” He asked after a couple more minutes of lying there, letting Harry pet him lovingly. He realised he wasn’t sticky and was securely bundled up in Harry’s duvet – he’d evidently been cleaned up and positioned thus whilst deep in sleep.

The blurry form of Harry raised an arm to presumably look at his watch.

“About three-thirty. You’ve only been asleep for ten minutes or so.”

“Sorry.” Kim muttered, watching blurry Harry shake his head. “Can I have my glasses? I want to see you.”

Harry gently placed the glasses on his face, and Kim smiled as he looked up at his expression of naked adoration.

“You feeling okay?” Harry asked, cupping Kim’s cheek in his palm.

“I’m tired. Really tired.” Kim sighed. “You tucked me in?”

“Sure did. You need to sleep.”

“I need to work, Lieutenant.”

“Nuh-uh.” Harry muttered plainly. “You were dead to the world, just now. You’re sick and you’re overworked, and you had an amazing – uh, horrible allergic reaction, so you’re going to spend the rest of the day and evening luxuriating in my humble abode. I changed the sheets last night, by the way. Lucky you, since we fucked on top of the duvet and all. No sleeping in the wet patch.” He finished with a wink and twin finger guns pointed at Kim, who suddenly no longer had any desire to oppose him whatsoever.

“Is that an order, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor?” He mumbled, feeling himself quite embarrassingly starting to fall asleep all over again.

“Oh, it certainly is, Lieutenant. And you’d do well to follow it.” Harry smirked down at him.

Kim laughed softly, feeling his eyes already starting to slip shut. He felt Harry removing his glasses, heard him placing them gently on the nightstand. Harry was saying something else to the tune of ‘I’ll be back later’, but all Kim could focus on before he fell back into a deep sleep was the gentle warmth of Harry’s fingers ghosting over his temple.

[show-your-fangs]

HOLY FUCK WAIT IDEA!!!!! WHAT ABOUT A TYPICAL CRIMINAL MINDS TROPE WHERE SOMETHING GOES SOUTH AND READER AND HOTCH ARE DATING BUT ITS STILL FRESH BUT SOMEHOW ONE OF THEM GETS IN TROUBLE AND WHEN IT ALL ENDS THEY HAVE ANGRY SEX BC HOW COULD THEY RISK THEIR LIFE LIKE THAT AND THEN THEY CONFESS THEIR LOVE

anon you are a fucking GOD

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU f!Reader

Words: 868

CW: 18+, nsfw, mdni, rough smut.

Tags/warnings: established relationship, mean!hotch, tiniest bit of exhibitionism, sir kink, rough unprotected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it or at least make sure you talk it over with your partner and get tested!), love confession.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

You were bent over the hood of the SUV, your arms pulled behind your back, your skirt hiked over your ass and your panties tossed to the side as Aaron fucked you from behind. The dark country road he’d driven the two of you on your way out of the hospital deserted, even from wildlife. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” your screams filled the night air, pleasure and pain blurring together as he continued to pound into you. He didn’t care, he couldn’t care about how bad you were feeling, about how he should’ve probably not been this rough with you. But the doctor had said you didn’t have a concussion, so he’d allowed himself the leniency to be brutal. “It hurts, Aaron, please!”

But he didn’t stop. As much as you were protesting, as much as you claimed you weren’t enjoying the sadistic pace he’d set, he knew deep in his heart that you loved it. You loved it when he showed you who was in charge, who you belonged to, and he also knew that you would take this punishment for your carelessness without question.

“Being sorry is the least you can do,” he spat, words mean and heavy. “You were stupid,” he landed a powerful smack against your ass and you whimpered. “Refused to follow orders,” another blow, the sting only adding to the lightheadedness. “And almost got yourself killed!” he slapped your ass twice to emphasize his words, the weight of them, how your actions had made him feel. 

“I’m so sorry, sir,” you sobbed, tears blurring your vision, stinging your eyes. “I didn’t– I didn’t mean for that to happen I was just trying to help.”

Your voice seemed to snap him out of whatever anger fueled trance he was in. He finally took you in, your shivering body, your heavy breathing, the sobs you were desperately trying to conceal. 

He gently let go of your hands, giving you a moment to shake out your arms to relieve the pressure. He then stepped further into you, connecting your bodies as far as he could go before he leaned his chest over your back, pressing into you, enveloping you in his warmth. 

You whimpered against him, slowly but surely calming down as he ran soothing hands over your body. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered in your ear before placing a kiss on your neck. He was everywhere, you felt him everywhere, the pressure he was putting on you grounding. “I was just so scared, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You nodded, your face turning over the cool metal of the hood to face him. “’S okay,” you managed. “I’m sorry I made you worry.”

“I always worry, baby,” he confessed. “Every time you’re out in the field and I’m not there with you…it kills me.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “I worry too, Aaron,” he kissed your cheek before pressing his own tightly against your temple. “I know you’re this…this confident and strong person but I still worry something might happen and you won’t come home to me.”

The thought alone terrified him. He’d been so consumed by his own fear, his own feelings that he hadn’t stopped to think about how you could possibly feel the same way about him. His heart ached, his cock twitched inside of you and you clenched around him. 

“I’ll always come home to you, baby,” he said, gently rocking his hips into you, slow and soft thrusts to show you exactly how he was feeling. “You know why?”

You shook your head, your brain slowly disconnecting from your body as he resumed his previous movements. Only this time they were precise, calculated, meant to pleasure solely. His hand snaked into the front of your panties and his fingers began to lazily rub circles over your clit. 

“Because I love you, and there is no way I’m ever going to let anything keep me from coming back to you,” he confessed and all you could do was moan in response. Your sounds egged him on, made him pick up his pace just a little bit. “Tell me you love me,” he commanded, his cock buried to the hilt inside of you.

You squealed, the sensation uncomfortable and painful once more. 

“I love you, Aaron,” you slurred, anything to make it stop. He pulled back then, chest overflowing with warmth, heart beating faster than ever before. He rammed back into you, his thrusts moving in tandem with his fingers. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you whined, your brain too far gone to think of anything else to say. 

Your walls constricted around him, your body tensed and he knew you were close. “Cum for me, come on, show me how much you love me.”

You came undone in seconds, powerful waves of pleasure washing through you and against him. He managed a few more thrusts before he sank himself in you, painting your walls with his spend. 

He held onto you tightly, like his life depended on it, gently caressing your body as you both came down from your highs. “I love you so much, baby.”

I need a fucking cigarette dude.

[monayen]

Ouuu maybe something where Sebastian finally snaps ( ´ ▽ ` )

there is like no fics about him x reader!

Hungry | Sebastian

➷ Paring - Sebastian x Fem!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷ CWs - Noncon, fingering, choking, breath play, rough, mental break, unsafe sex

a/n - sometimes it hits me that im writing freakiness with a character who has de tomato smith chicken legs in his name. yes i'm still writing... inbox open for any requests or ideas, i love to see them still :3 (oh and if you like charlie from smiling friends i have a fic uploaded on my ao3)

Sebastian doesn't know how long it's been since he's had a good meal. His stomach aches for something delicious, and he can feel how his body slightly trembles at the growing malnutrition.

He's gotten used to a lot of things since his “adoption”, but hunger isn't one of them. The mush Randal attempts to give is questionably edible (and probably not safe for the human body) and Luther believes a “sustainable” mixture of bland, flavorless ingredients is enough to satiate.

The pressure in his head can also be accredited to Randal’s voice. He's lost track of what he's rambling about today. Something about ghosts, he deduces, and he much prefers not to listen. He just wants to go to sleep, he really does, but his throat itches and he's reminded that Randal has neglected once again to refill his water bowl. 

“Can I, uh, get some water?” Sebastian asks, interrupting the trainwreck-train of thought spewing out of Randal’s mouth. “I thought you got water like three days ago! You thirsty boy.” Randal cocks his head to the side and Sebastian can only sigh in response.

“I need it every day. Food and water every day.” It's fruitless to try to get him to remember, but his lightheadedness is getting worse, and he just wants to be properly taken care of. 

Randal shrugs, turning his focus to one of his dolls, tugging at the flimsy cloth arm before it completely rips off. A dark, small thing crawls out of the fluff, and immediately scampers into a vent in Randal’s room. He doesn't note it and tosses the torn doll to a shadowy corner in his room, probably not to be seen again.

“Eh, go ask someone else.”

Sebastian doesn't waste time to exit the room, already cycling to the next person who could actually listen to him. He grits, the ache growing in his stomach and head becoming almost unbearable. 

He just needs to find you, which… he doesn't actually know where you are. As much as he’s tried to understand this house, it's complicated and confusing. It brings him back to his thoughts of you. 

You're everything this house isn't.

You’ve been here longer than him, listed as one of Luther’s pets. However, you’ve seemed to actually gain some independence from that. Different from the adherents that are Nyen and Nyon, instead being more akin to a housemate. 

You also don't seem to have any of the… oddities that everyone else has. No crude whiskers or unblinking eyes. You’re allowed your own wardrobe, nothing like the frills and puffs he has to wear. It's almost taunting how pretty and kempt you are.

It’s actually a bit interesting how Luther could allow this, but he assumes you pull your own weight enough to be well fed and unbothered. Sebastian scoffs, how fortunate is that?

Both of you haven't actually interacted that much, and it only serves to add to that untouchable status he's framed around you.

You are in your own world, independent and capable of leaving. But you don't. You continue to stay and wander around the house without a care. While Sebastian is stuck as a poor entertainer at for a bizarre young man, scrambling for any chance of freedom.

Despite this, you don't actually torment him in any way that matters. His envy does run deep, but you're the closest thing to a saving grace right now. He knows the catmen don't really care, and Luther might just shoo him away like the nuisance he is.

Finally, after checking room after room, he spots you sitting on a vintage leather couch with an unmarked book resting on your lap that definitely would be hard to read with how dim the lights are. 

He hovers in the doorway, unsure how to start a conversation. His eyes also don't know where exactly to look, do you realize your skirt is riding up?

You beat him to say something, looking up at him through your lashes, “Hi Sebastian. Do you need something?”

You're as courteous as ever, offering a small smile that doesn't help at all to calm Sebastian’s nerves. 

“Do you have anything to eat?”

You set aside your book and give him a look he can't place. Now up and off your seat to get closer to him, he can see how your brows furrow and lips purse. Suddenly, soft hands grip at the side of his face, and he stammers reactively.

“God, you look terrible. You poor thing.” It comes out sickly sweet, the proximity only heightening the warmth spreading over his freckled face. 

“I–I know…” He sighs, not moving from your touch, “Please, can you just feed me?” 

It sounds pathetic, but at this point he's practically begging for something, anything from you. He relaxes when he hears you giggle, hands leaving his face. 

He sees you walk over to the nightstand drawer beside the couch, rummaging through it before pulling out… a stick of jerky and a juice-pouch, setting it on top in all it's glory.

It isn't much, but it's enough for Sebastian to practically salivate and let out a sound of relief. It could be stale for all he cares, as long as he can taste the added sugar and salt, he’s happy. He almost wants to jump into your arms and thank you.

“Ah, that's perfect–”

You cut him off, a smile planted on your face, “What are you going to do for it?” 

It catches Sebastian completely off guard, mouth agape, “What?” 

You don't falter at all, sitting on the couch as you stare at Sebastian’s shaking figure, “C’mon, you play with Randal all the time, don't you? How about we play something?” 

Sebastian doesn't know how to respond. He's tired, hungry, and growing frustrated. Your voice stays sweet and it provokes a realization, how stupid is it to think you of all people could give him some slack? You aren't any different than the rest of these weirdos, no matter how you hold yourself. 

His stomach growls on cue, and Sebastian can't seem to shake this feverish feeling anymore.

You notice the lack of a response, his face shaded by the dim lighting. Deciding to only poke him further, “...Unless, you aren't really that hungry.”

You don't realize how his fists ball on the side of him, teeth slightly gritting to push out his words, “Just give it.” 

A small laugh leaves your grinning mouth, teasing and like nails on a chalkboard to Sebastian’s ears, “Ooo,” You sing, “feisty!” 

Sebastian’s nostrils flare for a second, seemingly thinking something. He’s red, and his lips tremble ever so slightly. You stare intensely as he pauses and huffs before making his way towards the nightstand. 

“Another time.” He simply states, an unrecognizable irk coating his words. You don't allow this, grabbing his arm as he reaches out for the food.

“I said,” The same saccharine smile stays across your face, “what are you going to do for it?

A switch almost seems to flip in Sebastian’s brain. You don't get to comment on the deep redness that adorns his cheeks, before he suddenly grips you by your shoulders and pins you down on the couch.

Yelping, you trash against his grasp as he hovers over you. He's breathing heavily, his chest drumming up and down as you push your hands against it.

“W-wait!” Sebastian doesn't care about what you have to say. It's all stupid words, stupid words out of your pretty mouth. His head is still reeling, and he doesn't know where the strength to keep you down is coming from.

All he knows is that he's the one with control right now. Something he hasn't had for a long time.

“Stop moving!” He huffs, eyes wide as he grasps the bottom of your shirt and bra, flipping it up to expose you.

His movements are almost thoughtless, as if a ghost possessed him to cup your breast and snake fingers between your thighs. Thoughtless doesn't make it any less rough, and soon enough your bottom half is exposed too.

“Listen, Sebastian, you– you can just have it! I was only messing around!” You try to excuse yourself, but his hand remains groping at your body like you're the first soft thing he's had to hold in forever.  As if you're going to be ripped away from his hands at any second. 

His erection pokes at your pinned down hip, the fabric of his outfit practically straining him. “I don't listen to you.” Sebastian spits, nor loud or quiet. 

It's directly for you to hear.

More words sprew from his mouth. “You think you can just taunt me? Mess with me? Like everyone else?” They come out faster than you can respond, jaw hanging open to croak out any excuse. 

“Shut up, I don't wanna hear it.” He suddenly moves and flips you over onto your stomach, head pressed down onto the aged leather of the couch, hands forced behind your back.

“I need this.” Those words are whispered to himself, low and dark. If you could look at him directly in the face, you’d see the cloudy look overcasting his eyes, the sweat that builds on his forehead, and the furrow of his brows as he looks at your figure. The dim room isn't enough to hide you.

All you can see is leather and flipped strands of hair in your vision. Instead you can only focus on the sound of his deep, shaky breath. Along with the sound of him shuffling to remove his own clothes. He moves on top of you, lanky body pressing against your behind, practically caging you. So close that it's hard to thrash around. And even if you could, you'd only be pushing up against him more.

You gasp when he puts his skinny fingers between your thighs, spreading you apart with a swift motion. Sebastian doesn't waste any time in pushing his fingers inside of you, hunched over as he continues to whisper to himself.

The pounding of your heart is loud in your own ears, you're sure he can hear how it patters against the couch more when he decides to curl his fingers. You whine, almost unintentionally arching at how good it shouldn't feel. But it does, and he knows because he lets out a laugh, “You like this?” It sounds both mocking and genuine.

The leather muffles you, but you manage to moan out a “No–” to which Sebastian seethes at. He leans into your ear, fingers still pumping into your heat. “Don’t lie. You– you wouldn't be this wet if you didn't.” 

You’re unsure if Sebastian is trying to convince himself or you. The slight waver in his voice pairs with the hastiness of his fingers, itching to draw out more moans from your mouth. It’s impossible to ignore the several digits Sebastian pumps into you, him noticing how your thighs begin to quake and muscles tighten around his fingers. As quickly you're brought to the edge, Sebastian retracts. You whine at the now empty sensation, practically huffing like a brat. You don't even realize. Now his hand grips at your side of your hips, your own wetness uncomfortable on your skin. 

“Maybe you’ll like this more.” Sebastian whispers, prodding at your entrance with this length. It’s hard to speak with how he continues to push your head down into the cushion, though any denial would fall on deaf ears even if you could. He slips in too easily, practically bottoming out the second your tightness wraps around him.

Sebastian is all too loud, words and moans mixing into pure nonsense. You wonder why nobody has heard anything yet. The door isn’t even locked. He doesn't care at all it seems, too engrossed in the feeling inside you to even consider the consequences of being caught. 

Sebastian’s hand on the back of your head releases, and you think maybe he’ll let you turn. Maybe you’ll actually be able to scream properly for Luther with air properly filling your lungs and mouth not pressed against leather. He isn’t slowing down at all though, his hips snapping roughly against your ass. A hand snakes around the back of your throat and squeezes, your heart dropping at the growing pressure on your windpipes. 

Sebastian's grip on your throat tightens, the need to claim something, anything, overtaking him. He's spent. He's so close, and he's not about to stop now. He's on the brink, and the feeling of you tightening around him, the way you're almost helpless under him, only serves to push him further.

You can't breathe, your eyes widening frantically, and the only thing you can manage to do is grip the couch. The lack of air is making your vision blur as Sebastian continues to thrust into you, not seeming to notice or care. Your mind begins to swim, the dim room now spinning in your vision.

It's a terrifyingly intense sensation, being so close to the edge yet being choked, the mix of pleasure and pain leaving you feeling dizzy. Your body betrays you, arching and pulsating at the rapid thrusts. Croaking out whatever air left in your lungs, you come with a shudder, your muscles gripping Sebastian’s cock as he continues to pound into you.

Sebastian follows with a guttural moan, thrusts becoming more erratic as he reaches his own climax, shooting into you. The hand around your throat tightens momentarily, before finally releasing, sending you gasping for air. He practically collapses on top of you, his own breath heavy. 

He still holds you against the couch, though you wouldn't have the strength to move him to begin with. You feel the shuffle of him getting off on top of you, finally pulling out with a small groan and letting you at least get onto your side. He now lays beside you, body wrapped over yours. The couch barely fits you both, all you can feel is the heat of both your bodies and the sensation of wetness dripping between your thighs. 

Sebastian nuzzles against you like a baby. He looks exhausted, eyes shut and brows furrowed. You look to find any empathy—any guilt. It isn't there. If anything, he looks content. As if you both will stay like this forever. 

“You're right.” He murmurs, a soft rasp in his voice you aren't used to. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

[fletcherwilbury]

@febuwhump Day 14: Blood-Stained Tiles

Warning for Illness, flu, pneumonia, fever, coughing, wheezing, blood, dizziness, lightheadedness, fainting, overworking, exhaustion, medication, mucus

[kingschclar]

cw: choking, slapping (once), gn!reader, no gendered pronouns/petnames used

i’ve been getting back into obey me recently,, and lucifer,,, head in hands

imagine using his own tie to choke him… his face was all red but his eyes were rolling to the back of his head. his dick was already completely hard, and his mind was fuzzy. i think he’d actually be able to cum just with you choking and dirty talking him… or maybe with a bit of spanking?

“you’re such a dirty bitch, lucifer,” you laughed, watching as his legs slowly opened. the slightly wet patch on the front of his pants was obvious now. “getting turned on when i’m choking you?” he whined, hips thrusting up into nothing. you tutted, landing a playful slap on his thigh and making him jolt. drool was slipping out from of corner of his slightly parted lips, but he couldn’t care less. you hummed, ghosting a few fingers along his erection. “such a whore.”

lucifer cried out, much to your surprise, and you noticed the dark spot on his pants get much bigger. you loosened the tie, and he fell forward, taking in large breaths of air. his pants were mixed with whimpers, and as soon as he recovered from his lightheadedness, his eyes snapped to you. “i’m s-sorry! i didn’t know i’d cum from that!” he’d plead, but you were too distracted from how hot that was to punish him that night.

[hvman-scvm]

zombie ghost and vampire gn reader literally eating each other out of love send message

YOUR MIND !!! you are so fucking real 4 this

!! CW ;; cannibalism ? Question mark ?, I am a bit descriptive w this, usual zombie n vamp stuff, zombie ! Ghost is somewhat sentient ig, self mutilation, I am not sure if this counts as deaddove but it cld so beware, this is honestly shitty as hell since it was rushed out of excitement so beware of tht too lmao. Not proofread. !!

You happily watched as ghost attempted gnawing your arm, his broken jaw slack as his top teeth pressed hard against your cold skin. You cooed at him, petting the top of his head as you watched his attempt at eating you. You were feeling a bit hungry yourself, you realized, the lightheadedness that comes with craving blood coming back as you smiled fondly at the sweet sight in front of you.

“Hungry, are we?” You asked him, receiving a nod and groan. Back when your Ghost was alive, you two would discuss this vaguely, talking about the possibility of consuming each other’s flesh. He dearly wanted to; it felt like the only appropriate way to show his love. It never went past discussion, however. Maybe a few deep bites and cutting each other up to lick up the blood, but never anything past that. You knew how badly he wanted to eat you, and you felt similarly. It was this deep ache, this hunger in you that you feel in your chest, to consume the one you love and have them be a part of you forever and vice versa.

The aching consumed you whole, and you decided that there’s no better time than now.

“Hold on, dear.” You spoke softly to him, watching him pull away from your arm and looking at you with his cloudy eyes. You reached for his knife, the one in his belt, and without hesitation, dug it into your stomach after lifting your shirt. You carved in a circular motion, gritting your teeth in pain as you felt the piercing sting of your muscle and nerves being cut up. He watched intently, groaning occasionally as you finished your job. You dug your fingers into the wound and ripped it off the small piece of skin it was hanging off, smiling at him as your bloody hand reached for his jaw, your other one placing the piece of flesh inbetween his teeth and helping him chew. It was a lovely sight, and an even lovelier feeling. Your fingers caressed his bottom jaw as you loved it up and down for him. Hearing him groan in appreciation was music to your ears.

You carelessly threw his knife to the side. Holding his jaw in place, watching him swallow with slight challenge as he went limp against your shoulder, leaning on it and groaning happily. You went back to petting his head, leaning close to his neck where his throat is and taking a deep breath, the smell of dirt and rot strong on him, making you groan. “Ready?” You said, though you weren’t asking; you were going to do it anyways. You sunk your fangs into the side of his neck where his carotid artery was, feeling the blood gush out of it. It was like nothing you’ve ever tasted before, before you ever sunk your teeth into him you’d known that his blood would be special. It tasted strongly metallic, so strong it was almost disgusting. You could feel the maggots getting sucked out of his artery, and you carelessly chewed them up, feeling the squishy creatures almost explode in your mouth was so disgustingly good. Luckily, the strong taste of his blood covered up the taste of the maggots, not that you would’ve minded either way.

As you got bored of sucking, another idea crossed your head; you sunk your fangs deeper into his neck, hearing him let out a groan akin to a quiet scream as you ripped open he side of his throat with your strong teeth. It tasted horrible and dear god did you love it. His whole weight was practically on top of you, and if it weren’t for the fact that you were sitting down you would’ve fell to the floor. Their was more maggots on his skin than his blood, and you were glad as you chewed the soft, rotting flesh. You felt nauseous from the taste, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You felt it go down your throat slowly, struggling to stop yourself from gagging as it went down.

You were shaking; if there was a feeling shove euphoria this was it. He let out another, quieter groan, nuzzling your neck as you pulled away from his. Kissing the top of his head with your bloody lips, you told him how much you loved him. And although all he did was groan back, you knew he meant to say it back to you. You both were more than just happy at fulfilling this fantasy, you were on cloud 9.

[moonstruckme]

hello hello lovely! so the other day i donated blood for the first time and i felt perfectly fine the whole time but then like ten minutes after i threw up with like no warning?? (im fine now turns out i hadnt eaten enough during the day!!) but anyway i was wondering if you might please do a similar scenario with emt!marauders? doesnt have to be exact of course 💗 love you!

Oh I'm sorry that happened to you babe!! Thank you for requesting <3

cw: mention of past blood draw, nausea, lightheadedness

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 798 words

You’re bent over so that your head is almost resting on your knees when a pair of shoes comes into your periphery. It seems they’ve sent someone to make sure you’re not going to pass out. 

You force yourself to sit up, every muscle in your body feeling strange and overwrought, and oh. It’s three someones. You’d worry your vision was tripling if they didn’t look each very distinct, save for their black EMT uniforms. 

The owner of the shoes you’d seen sits in the chair beside you, all brown eyes and kind, gentle features. “Hi,” he says, “I’m Remus. Are you the one who had trouble with the blood draw?” 

You sigh. “Yeah.” Give him a small smile you hope looks reassuring. “I’m fine, though. It passed quickly. I’m just waiting for the go-ahead to go home.” 

“You got sick?” A second paramedic asks you as he sits down on your other side. This one has glasses and thick, curly hair that falls just above his eyes. The third, with sleeves rolled up to display arms full of inky tattoos, leans against the wall across the hall from you. 

You’re not entirely sure which one of them to look at, but you decide upon the boy who’d asked the question. “Yeah?” 

His lips tilt with a sympathetic sort of smile. “Probably best not to be walking or driving anywhere while you’re feeling ill, love. Do you feel up to some crackers?” 

You take the package of saltines he offers you. Notice for the first time how badly your hands are shaking as you try to tear it open. He notices, too. 

“Here, I’ve got that.” He takes it back from you, ripping it open with one easy motion. As he holds it out for you, he says, “I’m James, that’s Sirius.” The tattooed paramedic shoots you a wink. 

“Nice to meet you,” you mumble. “Look, I’m really okay. They didn’t need to send three of you to check up on me.” 

Sirius laughs. “Don’t worry, babe, no one’s worried you’re going to have a seizure. We’re just a package deal.” 

“The staff is all busy with the blood drive,” offers Remus when you still look perplexed, “and we’re between calls. We just thought we’d sit with you on our break, if that’s alright.” 

“Oh.” You swallow a bite of cracker. “Yeah, okay. Thank you.” 

He gives you a soft smile. “How do you feel?” 

“I’m okay.” 

“You’re shaking down to your kneecaps,” Sirius says dryly.

“The nurse said you looked like you were going to faint after you got sick,” James tries in a lighter tone. “Do you still feel that way?” 

He keeps his eyes on yours, warm and gentle, as you chew the inside of your lip. “I don’t think so,” you say. “Just a bit weird, I guess.” 

“Weird how?” Sirius presses. 

You shrink some under his gaze, and Remus says sternly, “Sirius.” 

“You’re scaring her.” James’ hand lands on your thigh almost absentmindedly as he gives the other boy a faux glare. “Go get some juice. Begone.” 

Sirius huffs a laugh, pushing off from the wall. “Pricks,” he says as he goes. 

James turns back to you, smile turned up to full wattage. “Don’t mind him. What were you saying about how you feel weird?” 

“Just…mostly fine.” It’s impossible not to grow shy under the attention of the prettiest guys you think you’ve ever seen. Remus nods for you to continue. “A little bit nauseous, I guess, and shaky. Just…weird.” 

James makes a sympathetic sound, rubbing your thigh. The way you go shock still at the touch appears not to catch his notice. “Yeah, sounds like lightheadedness to me. S’alright, though, we’ll get you fixed up in a minute here.” 

Sirius saunters back in with a cup of orange juice. “Look,” he says as he hands it to you, “I even got her a straw to prove I’m not mean. See?” 

“I didn’t think you were being mean,” you say quietly.

Sirius grins. “No.” He chucks you gently under the chin. You shrink even further into your seat. You swear these boys are only making your trembling worse. “You never said a bad thing, gorgeous. It’s just these two, they love to tyrannize me.” 

“You could stand to be tyrannized from time to time,” says Remus. 

“Yeah,” James agrees heartily. “Keeps you from tyrannizing everyone else so much.” 

Their easy bantering brings a smile to your lips. Remus smiles back at you, nodding to your orange juice. “Take small sips of that,” he says. “Don’t drink too fast and stop if you start to feel sick again.” 

“Attagirl,” James encourages when you raise the straw to your lips obediently, rubbing your thigh again. 

They’re lucky the orange juice doesn’t come out your nose.

[crystalflygeo]

Safeword. ft Zhongli + fem!reader

cw/tags: a bit of anxiety/panic attack, bit of dirty talk but it's all praise, bit of nipple play and fingering, safeword use, bondage (tied arms, blindfold) hurt/comfort, aftercare, just reader in general dealing with negative feelings but being comforted PLEASE BE WARNED IF THIS MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE. READ THE TAGS.

notes: I literally just woke up and wrote this in a rush in my phone lmao what. Listen my mood jumps between depressed and horny and I've always loved safeword use and aftercare done right, it is very important and intimate. Also who doesn't want Zhongli softly soothing and kissing them? I almost made this gender neutral reader but I ended up being self indulgent so sorry.

Everything felt hot, too hot, but not in a good way. It was... sticky, ah, uncomfortable.

You squirm a little, shifting on your legs until you feel Zhongli's hands slowly caress your skin, making you shiver. His breath fans your neck "Good girl.” He mumbles at your shoulder, and kisses there.

Yes, this was fine. This is what you wanted, to just let go and release that pent up energy.

Right?

"Hmm... you've been so stressed lately, darling, haven't you?" His strong hands start massaging and kneading at your shoulders and you groan, it feels pretty good.

Until one of his palms lowers to your chest and starts playing with one of your nipples and you hiss. It hardens under his attention, sure, but feels... odd, it kind of hurts.

You shift again awkwardly, and the rope holding your wrists together digs into your skin.

You don't know what's wrong but something is. You don't feel the same lightheadedness as usual, in fact you're hyperaware, parted lips panting but the pressure is not on your lower belly, it’s at your chest instead. It feels cold, empty, oppressive.

Your hands clench into fists and you whimper.

Zhongli kisses around your chest down to your navel and that feels good too, tender, loving. His voice soothes you, even though you feel oddly disconnected.

"You look so beautiful my dear, laid out like this."

Did you really? The anxiety starts gnawing at you, body tense. Your mind is far away, going over some dumb mistake you made some days ago, some stupid thing you said last week...

You've been so frustrated lately, feeling sad, and angry, and disappointed and-

Zhongli's thumb circles over your clit and you gasp and keen, hips jerking on reflex.

Oh. That felt good, but-

But then why did you feel so wrong?

"Z-Zhongli." You hiccup. Voice wobbly, you feel your eyes start to water. What is wrong with you? You're suffocating. Choked up. Sweaty and awkward and-

His fingers dip inside you and you clench on them, crying out.

"Fuck... Y/N you're so tight." He rasps.

It's too much, you can't, you can't-

"Hng r-red. Red!"

In an instant you feel the mattress dip and shift with his weight as Zhongli quickly takes off your blindfold, and just like that the damn breaks. You start crying and hyperventilating as he curses and immediately frees your hands.

"Y/N, my love, are you alright? I'm so sorry." He starts, and though his voice is leveled as ever you can feel the slight stutter of panic. "It's alright, everything is okay, I'm sorry."

You shake your head, crying into your hands, you want to tell him it's not him. It's never him. But words fail you, you breath stutters.

You know he won't touch you without explicit permission, so you lean into him, your smaller frame trembling as you press closer to his chest. You need this. You need him.

"May I embrace you darling?" You nod frantically and feel his arms curl around you just so slightly, as to not make you feel trapped. One of his hands sweeps your hair over your shoulder and starts rubbing circles on your back, soft. "Is this alright?" He asks.

You nod and try to find your voice again "S-sorry. Sorry... don't k-know... wh-what's wrong."

Zhongli shushes you gently. "Please my love breathe, focus on calming down, slowly. It's ok. Just breathe. I'm so glad you used your safeword. You did well."

You placed a hand at your chest feeling your fast paced heartbeat and trying to calm down a little, regulating your breathing, leaning onto his comfortable touch and words.

You made Zhongli worry, you panicked out of nowhere and still don't know why, you feel dumb, needy, annoying. "S-sorry I'm-" You sob. "Don't know what's wrong...” You repeat unable to find words to express that creeping cold numb feeling that took hold you. “Please d-don't be upset." You add quietly.

You hear him sigh, his hand never stopping tracing soft shapes on your skin. "May I kiss you?" He asked instead and you gave a weak nod. Zhongli planted a soft kiss on your hair, on your forehead. "My dear, I would never be upset. I love you. I'd never wish to make you uncomfortable, I'm sorry I didn't notice in time." Zhongli sighs again, heavy. "But right now, I need you to calm down, you don't have to explain or apologize at all, what matters is that you're safe, and I'm here for you for anything you need."

Your eyes flutter close and minutes pass by while he holds you, whispering sweet nothings, your breathing calming down to a steady rhythm. You place a small fleeting kiss against his shoulder and he replied by nuzzling at the top of your head. After a while, you shift and look up at him, red puffy eyes staring at his beautiful cor lapis ones.

"Better?" He asks, swiping his thumb over your cheek tenderly. You nod. "Would you like to eat something? Or I can prepare a bath for you?"

Oh he's so doting, your heart flutters. "Zhongli I'm- I'm sorry I didn't want to make you worry." You can see he's holding back from objecting again but lets you continue. "It's just... I've been so stressed lately and I thought, if we... played... I could let out all that. I-It did feel good! But then it was just... too much. I don't know." You avert your gaze. “It wasn’t you I promise, I just got overwhelmed and everything felt… wrong.”

Zhongli caresses your cheek with his knuckles softly "As I said, you have nothing to apologize for dear, and I'm glad you spoke up. I'd be happy to offer you whatever support you want and take care of you. You're beautiful, hardworking, strong, kind, and I love you."

You feel your cheeks heat slightly and let out a small smile. You're truly literally blessed to have him. "C-Can I... take you up on that bath offer?"

He chuckles, and it's so refreshing. "Of course." He kisses you again and you nuzzle into his touch this time.

"I love you too, Zhongli. Thank you."

[xf-cases-solved]

i made more x-files words with my brain, wrote them down, and then put them on the internet for you to read and process into meaning with your own brain, if you're so inclined. cancer arc angst for those who are always sluts for s4 like me

click on the following link to consume my words: She Still Has Her Hair

[cw: suicidal ideation and descriptions of illness/hospitals/ivs/pain medication]

here's a snippet:

She hasn't lost her hair, and that's so much worse.

If she had lost her hair, maybe he would have noticed how bad things have gotten before now. 

Because that's what you think of when you think of cancer patients, right? You picture bald heads and missing brows above sunken, darkly circled eyes. You picture tears in the bathroom as the buzz of a razor shears away the remaining tufts among the patchy surface of a scalp. You picture each fallen strand as another inch marched toward a headstone. When you see a cancer patient with no hair, you know that they are Sick with a capital S. When a cancer patient with no hair shows symptoms of their illness, it doesn't come as a surprise.

However, Scully hasn't lost her hair, and so when she calls him at eleven fifteen on a Sunday night—voice a cracked windshield about to shatter into a million pieces, and a sob lodged in her throat like a chicken bone she can't cough up—he's taken by surprise.

He shouldn't be, but he is.

She still has her hair.

But "Mulder, it's me" has never sounded so frail before, and it terrifies him almost more than the voicemail she left on his answering machine two, nearly three years ago; the one that ended with the sounds of a physical fight filled with cries for help before being abruptly cut off, leaving nothing but horrible questions and no answers.

"What's wrong?" he asks. He'd been dozing on the couch with the lights of a muted infomercial dancing over his face, but at the sound of her voice he is instantly upright and alert. When she doesn't answer right away, he presses, more firmly, "Scully? What's wrong? "

"I was prescribed a new medication at my appointment Friday afternoon, and I can't..." Through the receiver he hears her take a steadying breath. "Supposedly this medication is meant to have a less nauseating effect on patients, but in roughly seven percent of cases, it has actually been shown to increase nausea in certain individuals, leading to severe emesis which eventually culminates in dehydration, presenting with symptoms such as dry mouth, lightheadedness, infrequent or oddly colored urine, confu—"

"And are you one of these patients in the seven percent?" Mulder asks, interrupting her clinical recitation that he suspects is her way of keeping herself detached from her own experience. Scully's silence is answer enough. "When was the last time you were able to keep something down?"

"I don't know," she says quietly.

"More than twelve hours?"

"Yes."

"More than twenty-four?" Nothing. "More than thirty-six?" She's silent. "Scully, you haven't been able to keep down food or water for over thirty-six hours?"

"It started early yesterday morning. Before sunrise, I think."

"Is it just vomiting? Is there anything else going on?"

"I..." She trails off, and Mulder suspects her innate desire to never show a shred of weakness to anyone (but especially him, for some godforsaken reason) is currently at war with the part of her that's spent the better part of two days all alone on the bathroom floor. 

"Tell me, Scully. Don't try to lie or sugarcoat it, just be honest."

"The medication, in conjunction with the physical act of vomiting, has led to a fairly severe case of myalgia—muscle pain—that began and is most prominent in the neck and upper back, but which has since spread to... to... oh God, Mulder"—the crack in her voice is heartbreaking—"it hurts everywhere. Everywhere . I'm in so much pain and I haven't taken a piss in over a day and every time I throw up my head pounds so hard my vision goes white. That's not hyperbole, Mulder, these headaches are quite literally blinding, and what if it's not the pain causing it? What if there's new tumor growth affecting my optic nerves, and this is just foreshadowing for what's yet to come? I don't want to go blind, Mulder, what am I going to do? I can't work if I'm blind. I can't do anything. I don't like the dark, and everything in my body hurts, and I just want it all to stop. Please help. Please help make it stop, Mulder, I hurt so bad." 

By the end of her venting, the sob that had been stuck in her throat has been set loose, and she's crying freely now, pouring out her heart in a way that would probably sound like full-blown bawling if she were strong enough. As it is, her weeping comes out in a strained wheeze, like the squeaky whistle of air sneaking through a small crack in the window when the car is speeding down a highway. 

"Please," she begs again, and the way she speaks reminds him of what it was like to wake up with a stomachache in the middle of the night as a kid and cry out for his mother. It reminds him how desperately afraid and alone he'd feel until his mother was finally roused by his calls, and padded into his room with sleepy eyes and a soft voice so as to not wake up his sister in the room next door.

Maybe, he thinks, it doesn't matter how old you are—that no matter what, being sick by yourself will always be your loneliest moment.

"I'm grabbing my keys right now, Scully, I'm on my way out the door." He jingles the ring of keys in his hand by the receiver of the phone so that she can hear their little chime and hopefully be comforted by it. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Okay," she whispers, no longer crying, but Mulder suspects it has more to do with a lack of physical strength than anything else.

"I'm gonna have to take you to the hospital," he warns. He's sure she expects as much, but it would be easier to get the fight out of the way now if she's going to be resistant.

It's a testament to how utter dogshit she must feel when she says nothing more than another melancholic, "Okay." Somehow, her agreeing to seek help scares him more than if she were refusing. 

"Hang tight, Scully," he tells her gently. "I'm coming."