#morgan writes

[ssamorganhotchner]

The Flogger

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

WC: 399 (not me actually writing something under 800 words???)

Warnings: minors dni, talks of kink, floggers, paddles, shy!aaron, d/s undertones, that’s about it.

Summary: you take your husband on a trip to the store 🙊

Authors Note: just a little drabble i found in my docs today ◡̈ it is not proofread

i think this was posted before but i never linked it so i lost it 🙃🥲

This isn't your first time at an adult store with your husband, but it is the first time he has taken the initiative to explore some of his own interests. He's a private man when it comes to his love life, so not surprisingly, the thought of someone he knows possibly seeing him here with you makes his whole body warm as he slowly walks towards the back of the store.

Aaron's always been curious about kink, but was never able to thoroughly explore it, at least, not to his own satisfaction. He dabbled a little in college when he and Haley took a break from their relationship, but as far as he was concerned, he still didn't know a whole lot about it. So it's not surprising when he turns to you, a confused look on his face as he holds up a piece of leather.

"Uh, what about, what about something like this?"

The material in his hand is black and leather, thin at the handle and wider at the end, with an engraving of brat spelt backwards in big red letters.

A paddle, you think to yourself.

Smirking, you reach and pull it from Aaron's grasp. “Sweetheart, that's a regular paddle; we are looking for a flogger. You know, with leather tails at the end." You lean in closer, and when your hot breath hits Aaron's ear, he shivers. "Besides, sir," you put emphasis on his title, placing the paddle behind him and tracing it down his jeans, "...if you're spanking me, it's only going to be with your hand."

Aaron chokes, covering it up with a cough, and when you look back up at him, his ears are bright pink. The redness has crept up his dark blue tee shirt and onto his neck, the color making the large vein on his throat stand out, and you bite your lip, willing yourself not to get needy in public.

He's cute like this - shy and apprehensive, and just by looking at him, it would hardly be believable to anyone else that you call him daddy in bed; that tying you to the bedposts with his ties and making you beg is his favorite pastime.

Hanging it back up, you tsk and smirk, and when you walk toward the area of the rope and floggers, Aaron's brain finally catches up to him, trailing not too far behind.

[plurapony]

i miss my girlfriend we are so lesbian like trixie and starlight

[merginyourface]

Womp womp here's another

Day 2: JOI- Mountain/Cirrus

Listen Carefully

Cirrus knows how to make Mountain behave like a good boy.

Content- 2k, explicit, Mountain on his knees, Cirrus in heeled boots (no boot tho kink sorry)

[morgan-writes-fics]

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Rating: Mature

Tags: AU - Modern Setting, Slow Burn, Human AU, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Rivalry, Alcohol, Gay Male Character

No Archive Warnings Apply (at this time)

Summary: Alastor is a Late Night Radio Show Host and Angel is his faithful listener

[mossflower]

there's a boy climbing through your window.

it's been months and you don't talk anymore. but he looks at you with those eyes and there's blood on his face and he doesn't say a word, for a change. he doesn't say a word as you lie him on your bed, as you untie his shoes and sit them neatly on the floor. not a word as you pull your duvet over his body. no, he doesn't speak until you make to leave him. leave him alone, because you don't talk anymore. but he grabs your arm and says please, and you're not sure you've ever heard him say that word before. certainly never so softly. he slides his hand down over your bare skin, takes yours in his, oh so gently. he has never been gentle, not really. you ask him to shift over to one side, and you lie on top of your covers, and you watch him fall asleep.

and when you wake up he's gone. he's always gone. the only proof he was ever here is the dried blood on your pillow and your curtain fluttering in the breeze from your open window.

[attapullman]

letting a fic marinate and come together is *chef's kiss*

[temporary-dysphoria]

it be slow, but it do be coming.

Lupin follows Fujiko to work and meets Zenigata. While he's there he meets a very cute 'eyebrow wiggle' baker.

[morganwriteblr]

I was looking through some of my older WIPs to prepare for World building Wednesday, just to remind myself of place and character names, and now I want to bring them ALL back into the current rotation.

Seems like my master list might need an update already....

[imagineannemorgan]

Perhaps I should get back into updating fan fiction which I haven't done in a long time with lack of motivation. I am going to continue Evolution but I feel both this fic and Hot Zone need a rewrite.

[all-that-glitters-is-goldfish]

Red

Summary: You try to surprise Luke for Valentine’s Day and it becomes a hot mess. (Just a lil drabble as I try to get back into writing!!) 

Pairing: Luke Alvez/Female Reader

Word Count: 759

“FBI, drop your weapon!” 

The bottle of wine crashed to the floor, a puddle of red liquid seeping underneath the white shag carpet. 

You definitely did not expect to have a gun pointed at the back of your head, a dark figure threatening to drive a bullet right into your skull. 

“I-” Throwing your hands up, you blink against the bright light as you slowly turn around ready to show that you were in fact unarmed despite the large shards of glass spread across the floor that could easily be used to slice the jugular of who had the gun that was now aimed between your eyes, but probably not as fast as they could pull the trigger.

“This is a misunderstanding.” You attempt, looking at the blood pooling up at the tip of your finger. You barely registered slicing it as you dropped the bottle, too startled by the booming echo of the man ready to end your life in a second.

“This is my boyfriend’s house.” You desperately explain, attempting to peer into the darkness and put a face to the intruder. 

Suddenly, the flashlight burning your eyes drops to the man’s side and you’re grateful that you weren’t blinded. 

“Y/N?” The agent lowers his gun and you finally see his face. 

“Luke?” 

“Oh baby I’m-” He holsters his weapon, crossing the room in one step to see if you were hurt. “I am so sorry. I thought you were out of town- I didn’t know who it was.” 

His hands are warm, one on each cheek as he examines you. You gulp once, twice, as you stare into his worried eyes. “I was, but I managed to catch an earlier flight, and I wanted to surprise you for Valentine’s…” 

The room was a mess. The red stain spread across the carpet, appearing disturbingly familiar to Luke and the countless number of crime scenes he had shown up to. “I should have known that surprising an FBI agent in the dark with no warning was a bad idea.” You laughed, but it was forced, and he noticed, not surprisingly, given his work with the behavioral analysis unit. 

His eyes dart back and forth as he studies you, gripping your hand tightly where he notices the small cut. His eyes don’t leave yours as he reaches to grab a kleenex from the table behind him, quickly pressing it hard against your thumb. 

“I’m so sorry, Luke.” What a mess. This is where trying to be romantic got you. Why did you take that advice from JJ? She and Will had been together for years, of course they’d try to surprise each other to spice things up! You do not do this to someone you’ve been seeing for less than a year, especially when they walk around armed with a weapon!

“Hey.” Luke snaps you out of your daze. “You have nothing to apologize for. I pulled a gun on you! I’m the one who’s sorry!” 

You shrugged your shoulders. “You thought I was a burglar.” 

His hand moves from your face to your shoulder as he sighs. “You alright?”

You nod. “I think the wine had it rougher.” 

Luke smiles, pulling you in close for a kiss. His lips are chapped, dry, but you still see the fireworks when you close your eyes like you had the first time he pressed his lips into yours. 

He pulls away, though you can tell he didn’t want to, but his face looked like he had better plans. 

“What is it?” You smirk. 

“I think we should clean up.” 

“Oh.” Frowning, you try to move past his tall figure to grab some paper towels from the kitchen. He caught you off guard as he playfully pushed you back. 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“Huh?”

He pushes you towards the sofa, your back arching against the arm as he pins you down leaning in closely, feeling his breath on your neck. “I’m going to start a bath. And you’re going to grab the bottle of wine I was saving for when you got back from your trip.” 

Your heart flutters against your chest, butterflies swarming in your stomach. “Luke…” 

“Does that sound good to you?” 

Your grin practically stretches ear to ear, completely forgetting the mess. “I love you.” You blurt out, your eyes widening when you realized that was the first time you had said that out loud. 

He kisses you again and the butterflies settle when he pauses to whisper the phrase back. “I love you too, baby.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” 

[ssamorganhotchner]

writing at Starbucks before work 🩷☕️

[plurapony]

oh when she holds me there's this wave of feeling incredibly safe and I know that for as long as I'm in her arms I'm in heaven.

the lesbian experience of being with the girl I love most

[merginyourface]

Controlled Burn

WC: 1512 

Aether watches over Dew as he undergoes the transformation into a fire ghoul. 

Warnings! The themes in this are pretty heavy? I’m sure a lot of yall have read worse but I’ve never written worse and I don’t want to seriously upset anyone! Themes of death, decay, grief, etc. so forth. If that’s stuff that might make you upset pls avoid!!!!

“It fucking hurts, Aeth.” Dew says on a large exhale after drawing in his first full breath in what felt like hours.

“I know,” Aether says in the softest voice he can manage, running a free hand down his back, up to his shoulders, and over again. His own voice is tight, the ever-present burning in the back of his throat showing how close he is to losing it. But he can’t. Not while Dewdrop is here.

He crouches down in front of the seated ghoul and wipes the tears from his face. He was losing control, Aether could tell as the water slipped down his cheek, cascading over his jaw until it fell solid on the floor, splashing out. The quintessence ghoul watches the droplet on the floor, as if maybe if he could collect it, he could give Dew back what he was losing.  

“Fuck.” Dew’s voice cracks. It seemed like might have been supposed to be a scream, but it comes out as no more than a broken whine. He fists his hands into his light hair, grabbing at his horns as if he might pull them out.

Aether tries to pull his hands away from the mess he’s making of his hair, but Dew just pulls away from his touch and locks his hands harder in, curling in on himself as if he might collapse into nothing. He wanted nothing more than to collapse into nothing. To have never been, that’s how bad it’s hurting.

And maybe he’d vocalize this. Certainly, he would. If not for the nausea that burns so violently through him every time he opens his mouth, nausea so intense it makes his legs cramp.

Aether can see the way he tenses at the thought, “You need to breathe, droplet.” He uses the nickname out of habit and it pulls a cynical one-huff laugh from Dew. Aether picks up all he needs to know about what Dew thinks about the nickname now just from the laugh. He’ll have to be careful not to use it again.

This was the most responsive he’d been since the beginning of this. Damn them for making him do this. Damn Dew for agreeing. Aether knew, too, that this at best was the eye of the hurricane. He didn’t know how Dew was going to make it through this if it really was going to get worse again. He didn’t know how he was going to get through this having to watch.

“Dewdrop, you need to lay back down.” Aether tried to guide him back down, but he weakly pushed his hands away.

“I fucking can’t” He grits out, before picking up the small trashcan next to him and hacking violently. He coughs and chokes until something comes up. Aether’s stomach turns. It looks like slime but smells like pond scum. Dew takes a shakey breath, struggling to hold his head upright as his eyelashes flutter.

Quickly after, his eyes roll back into his skull and he starts to slump forward. Aether catches his dead weight and slings him back so he doesn’t crash forward. The pail falls forgotten to the side.

“Dew?” Aether tries, shaking the smaller ghoul’s shoulders ever so slightly. Aether calls his name, again and again. Because even as they went into hour 15 of this mess, he’d never passed out like this before. The longer Dew isn’t responsive, the harder and harder Aether’s heart seems to beat.

Heartbeat. He thinks, throwing his head down onto Dew’s chest. But he can’t keep still, he cant focus enough in the panic to hear anything. Does he hear anything? Is there nothing to hear? Did he give up? Is he—?

Bile rises in his throat. “No. No, no, no, no. You’ve gotta—you can’t—” He’s already lost so much. So many people. He can’t lose Dewdrop.

“Dew!” He calls, shaking limp shoulders.

“Dew.” He tries again, but it’s broken, borderline empty. And for a second, all the pain settles away. He stares blankly down at Dew, who’s gone completely pale. And he just…

He can’t believe it. Deep in his chest, he can feel the pain there. He wants to bring it to the surface. He wants to feel it. But, nothing. He feels like he doesn’t even recognize the sharp cheekbones. He doesn’t recognize the face below him without a sneer, a line of tension, a frown of annoyance. This can’t be Dew.

Delicately, as if he might fade into dust, Aether lifts Dew’s limp hand. He brings the soft, cool skin to his face and rests it against his cheek. This is wrong. It can’t be real. He lets go, expecting Dew to hold his hand to his face, but the arm just falls back beside him.

And in an instant, the pain slams back into him. Aether’s lip quivers as his lung coughs out a small, choked sound. Tears well up and spill down his face as his chest shakes and heaves over and over again. In the back of his mind, he’s aware that words are spilling out of his mouth in desperate gasps and pleas.

They had agreed to do this alone. Dew didn’t want anyone else besides Aether to see him when he shifted. But now, Aether felt like he was the only person left. Like the world was a desolate space. That if Dew was gone, beyond that door there would be nothing but shattered buildings and fallen trees. Brittle grass and raging fires.

All he knew, was that he didn’t know what to do. He felt like jumping up, running, screaming. He felt like breaking shit. Killing someone. Killing anyone who ever thought that putting this shit on Dew was a good idea.

But he didn’t move. Barely even a muscle, he wasn’t even sure if he was breathing anymore either.

He couldn’t hold himself upright anymore. Miserably, he collapsed forward, resting his head on Dew’s chest, trying not to think about the way it didn’t move. And would never move again.

He thinks he might lay there forever. Wait until they both turn to bones and the earth swallows them whole.

Eventually, the place where Aether touches Dew stops being cold. His own heat must be keeping him warm, and the thought is sour in his stomach.

That is what he thinks until the places they touch heats up even more, until a sweat breaks on Aether’s brow.

His head shoots up, analyzing Dew for any signs of… anything. He hasn’t moved yet but… has some of the color returned to his skin? Aether couldn’t be positive this wasn’t all some sick trick his mind was playing on him.

And he believes this, that it was nothing more than his imagination, until Dew’s eyebrow twitches. Quickly, Aether sits up and grabs hold of Dew’s hand again, calling his name.

And Aether was right, Dew’s skin was hot before, but burning up now. It continues to burn, to grow hotter and hotter until Aether can’t bear to touch him anymore.

Suddenly, Dew’s eyes shoot open and he tenses up on the bed. Aether is about to ask if he’s okay, as well as a million other questions but he never gets the chance. Dew takes a deep breath in and uses it to scream like nothing Aether has ever heard in his entire existence.

Aether does his best to try and soothe him, but even being in the space around him was growing more difficult as his temperature seemed to climb beyond anything he’d ever experienced. Ifrit had told him not to get involved in the process, to not try and fix the pain. He’d told Aether the Dew needed the pain or else he would never be able to tolerate his own flame.

But the way Dew’s skin was starting to dry, to crackle and split. It was making him sick.

Eventually, Dew’s skin went beyond drying and cracking as his screams and twitches continued. It darkened and darkened until it was entirely the color of ash. Dew began to thrash harder, breaking off chips of skin and leaving a new layer beneath it all.

He leaned as close as he could manage to Dew, using a façade of calm to try and comfort him. Wanting nothing more than to hold him and let him take the rest he needed while Aether cradled him. But it wasn’t possible.

The cloud of heat was so thick around him that it was like a force field keeping Aether out. But he continued to whisper everything he loved about Dew. Everything he cherished about their time together. Everything he looked forward to with him. Everything and anything he thought of.

That seemed to go on for hours until every piece of blackened skin had dissolved away and the heat finally died down.

Delicately, Aether laid a single finger on his arm, worried about hurting him. The skin was impossibly smooth and flawless. Dew shivered but didn’t wince.

And for the first time as a fire ghoul, Dew opened his eyes.

[morganali-writes]

An unexpected development

The halls of the Fortemps estate were dark as the former Count, Lord Edmont de Fortemps, made his way towards his chambers – and no less quiet. It was the comfortable hush of household at rest. As he walked, he was startled then to hear the quiet murmur of voices. Most of the servants should have long since retired, late as it was. Curiosity piqued, he snuffed out the candle he carried between the pinch of his fingers and set it aside. He crept towards the adjoining hallway as quietly as an old man could, hesitating before the corridor's intersection.

“—dnight, Mistress Sombreterre,” came the quiet voice of his son.

“Artoirel…” A pause. “You are always so formal with me when we chance to talk alone – did you not instruct your own staff to treat me as family?” The Warrior of Light hesitated, then continued, her voice softer than before.

“Won’t you call me by my name, then?” A telling silence fell between them, and Lord Edmont held his breath despite himself.

“You are right, of course. Forgive me,” came his son’s reply after what seemed an interminable age. “Goodnight then, Cessalie.” His voice was little more than a whisper, but there was a reverence in his tone that was unmistakable. Neither of them made to move. Where once Edmont had been entirely ready to retire for the evening, he was suddenly wide awake.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Her voice was bright, but tremulous. “I… like the way my name sounds when you say it. Would you mind terribly if I told you that I– I like a great many things about you?"

“I shouldn’t mind that at all… Cessalie, may I tell you something—”

“—Please.”

“Oh... Cessalie, I... I’ve grown very fond of you. Mayhap moreso than is wise." He took a breath, and his next words seemed to tumble out in a rush. "Forgive me, but I did fear you might not regard me quite as fondly and did not wish to discomfort you." There was a flutter of laughter at that, so quiet that he nearly did not catch it.

"I knew that should I treat you with the same easy familiarity my brothers seem to excel at, my own regard for you would be plainly writ across my countenance for all to see.”

“Then you do not wish to regard me as merely a sister?” There was a teasing note to her voice, and Edmont could just about imagine the coy smile she must have worn.

“I— No. No, I do not.”

A pause laden with expectation hung heavy in the air. A moment later, he thought he heard a quiet shuffling, followed by a curious thud. A wry smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as their quiet gasps for breath echoed down the hall a few moments again later.

“Sweet, serious Artoirel…” Cessalie murmured, and his son huffed out a quiet laugh.

“Dearest Cessalie…” Somewhere in the distance, the hour chimed – two bells past midnight. Inwardly, Edmont sighed.

“Gods, is that the time?” Cessalie said, dismayed. “Though I regret to say it, we truly ought to retire. Good night then, Artoirel...”

“Good night, Cessalie – dear Cessalie.”

At last, Edmont heard the scrape of her chamber door open and the solid clunk as the door latched closed once more, but it was still long moments before his son deigned to move from where he stood. Once roused however, his eldest swept down the hall and by him without acknowledgement – undoubtedly lost in a world of his own musings. Shaking his head, Edmont smiled to himself and finally turned to make his way back to his own chambers.

--------------------------

I had started thumbnailing this as a comic, but I absolutely couldn't figure out the pacing without a solid grasp of their conversation, so I had to comit it to writing first. Anyway, another one for the project list :)

[feral-ballad]

Craig Morgan Teicher, from To Keep Love Blurry; “The Prince of Rivers”

[attapullman]

bottle of wine open and re-writing Choose-a-Fic, let's goooooooo!