#rather than loads of patterns

[void-tiger]

Maybe it’s the “avoidant” part of my “fearful avoidance,” but. I really just…don’t care if someone I’m attracted to romantically likes someone else, or doesn’t share those feelings. Like, you do you. We’re not dating or owe eachother anything, and it all boils down to autonomy and compatibility, anyway. (And let’s face it, I don’t believe I’ll ever be compatible with anyone in terms of physical intimacy and I’m not able to compromise that without bruising my own boundaries, so.) But also like. I’d just. Turn attraction “off” if I could reach inside my head and flip a switch. Sadly humans aren’t that simple. Absolutely unfair.

Nah. What does get me into the Fearful instead (and struggling with that FA push-pull of “keep away/please don’t leave”): whether or not someone even wants to be my friend. Especially when I also accidentally developed attraction to them.

[seokgyuu]

The Sweetest Thing

All your life you’ve been your sisters’ punching bag. Never good enough. Never fully accepted. When your mother makes one of them choose you as her maid of honor you reluctantly agree. Semi-vacationing in Tuscany with your ‘beloved’ family, you meet two handsome strangers one night and let them do whatever they want with you. Too bad you didn’t ask for their names first.

Pairing: Heeseung x F!Reader x Sunghoon 

Genre: Strangers to ???, Porn with Plot

Warnings: CHEATING!!! reader is hooking up with her sisters’ fiancés, sisters are horrible and suck, mentions of past verbal abuse, reader is somewhat a pervert (she defo is), heeseung & sunghoon definitely are perverts, heeseung & sunghoon are mean, they have nothing good to say about their fiancés, alcohol consumption, adult content MDNI! smut warnings under the cut

Word Count: 9.2k 

a/n: and here it is!! my little box of filth. i wanna give a shoutout to @c-oupsie for hyping this up and telling me to keep going, ilysm!! and also @chwepen for beta-reading!! sending you smooches. <3 now everyone, please enjoy this sausage fest.

Taglist: @skzenhalove, @haelahoops, @deobitifull, @shiningnono, @jakeswifez, @slut4hee, @gyuhanniescarat, @branchrkive, @doublebunv, @capri-cuntz, @jaehyuniewifeu, @whateverhoon, @c-oupsie

Smut Warnings: threesome, dom!heeseung, dom!sunghoon, sub!reader, lowkey public sex, p in v sex, throat fucking, unprotected sex (be smarter than this pls!!!), degradation (usage of the words: whore, slut, filthy, stupid (only indirectly?)), praise, tit job, mc is described to have big tits, sunghoon can carry mc, manhandling, cum eating, cum play, shower sex, consensual sex taping, pls tell me if i missed any!!

Pastel colors are slowly but surely becoming your greatest enemy. You can’t count how many different patterns and matches you have seen on this day alone - and the preparations for this wedding have been going on for months. 

In all honesty, you didn’t even want to be here. As pretty as Tuscany is - this is the last place you want to be at right now. You would rather sit at home and play a game, would rather sleep in and not have your mother be all over you, pressuring you to do better in a job you never wanted in the first place. 

It is your sisters’ wedding. Yes, sisters’. They are both getting married at the same time, same place. Just the grooms are two different men (even though you wouldn’t put it past them to share a man for convenience). Men, you haven’t even met yet. Men, that your mother and sisters kept on swooning over. Look, it is no surprise your sisters got lucky in that department; They are extremely conventionally attractive and they love doing fun things like going out and spending money on things they really didn’t need. 

You grew up with them being six and seven years older than you, making them already inseparable when your mum decided to push another one out. Getting along with them sure as hell wasn’t an easy task, in fact it still isn't. It’s pretty clear you only got the job as Linda’s maid of honor because your mother threatened her to do so. There was probably a very heated rock, paper, scissors round going on between your sister dearests to decide who got to have you. 

And now you are here. In warm, beautiful Italy with yet another color scheme to look over and authorize. You surely didn’t sign up to suddenly become the wedding planner as well. 

“Yeah, that’s perfect, thanks,” you say to one of the florists who are just now setting up the arrangements for the rehearsal dinner happening tonight. 

It’s hot, so hot that you have to take shelter every ten minutes because of the fear of burning up. You don’t usually like to spend this much time outside - let alone in the scorching hot sun, so this is rather the change for you. 

When the florists leave to get another load of flowers, you decide to take this as the next round of shade and air conditioning inside the resort your sisters have chosen for their special day. 

It’s insanely beautiful. High ceilings, incredible murals on the wall, a big round table in the center of the entrance hall with a crystal vase on top, filled with flowers that would make the florist outside turn green in envy. 

The air inside immediately cools you down and you take the moment to sit down in one of the arm chairs in the lobby to calm yourself. Only a week. That’s all you need to survive. A week with your sisters and their fiancés, soon to be husbands and your and their families. Guests would arrive the night before the wedding and as soon as the reception was over - you could finally leave and hopefully not see your sisters for another year or so. 

“Ah, there you are.” You close your eyes for a second. 

“Shouldn’t you be outside?” Linda and Liza are standing in the lobby in their designer sun dresses, very obviously judging you for not being where they want you to be. 

“I just came in to escape the heat for a second, that’s all.” You explain as you open your eyes again. The two certainly don’t look happy. In fact, they roll their eyes and flick their perfect hair over their shoulders.

“Okay, well, time is up. If this wedding doesn’t go according to plan, it’s on you.”

“You don’t want us telling mum you don’t care about your big sisters, do you? She’d be so disappointed knowing you aren’t doing your job right.” 

Your fists almost immediately ball into fists. How many times have they been like this over the three days you’ve already been here? You honestly lost count. One week. Just one week.

“I was just about to go back outside, don’t worry.” 

Anger well hidden away, you stand up and present them with a fake smile, moving to go back outside. 

“Oh and, Y/N?” Linda’s voice feels like a ray of ice hitting you, “try to look a little bit more presentable when talking to our staff. We don’t want them to think we can’t actually afford being here.” 

Your sisters giggle happily all while you bite your tongue once more. One week. Stay calm. One. Week. 

Something about the Italian sky seems different. Maybe it’s because you’re not close to a big city, but the stars shine brighter than you’ve ever seen them. It feels like a movie; the stars and moon so visible with no cloud in sight, the small street of Arezzo you’re currently sitting in - a small restaurant with a small menu but a nice older man that speaks decent English. A glass of wine standing on the small table beside you and the first bit of peace you’ve felt in days. 

It’s when you take your next sip of wine you see them. 

Two men straight out of a magazine walking towards one of the free tables next to yours and sitting down. There is nothing you can do but stare. Both of them have dark hair, one of them a bit shorter than the other. They are dressed elegantly, designer shoes and pants, blazers hanging over their chairs. Even if you wanted to - you could not possibly say which one was more attractive. 

What a nice way to end a horrible day, you think. Smiling, you finish your glass and immediately order the next, not entirely used to drinking so much, but not caring since you are miles away from home and no one here knows you anyway. The waiter nods and then proceeds to go over to the newcomers. The one with the slightly lighter hair and the mole on his nose orders in perfect Italian, with just enough of an accent for you to know they aren’t from here. Your choice of table appears to be perfect for watching them, listening to them converse in a language you understand. 

And it all stays innocent like this - they talk about their flight and about friends - until suddenly the conversation sways.

“I honestly- fuck, I can’t believe we’re actually doing this, you know?” The one with shorter hair says and his friend sighs, taking his wine glass and finishing it in one go. Impressive. There was at least half left in yours. 

“I don’t know what to tell you. We committed and now we’re fucked.”

“Just that we aren’t getting actually fucked.”

They look at each other before they laugh, shaking their heads. Meanwhile, your ears perk up. 

“Fuck, I really don’t know the last time she let me hit it, Hoon. I think I’m going crazy.”

“Yeah, same here. Like, yeah, we fucked once the day before her flight. But literally only missionary and she didn’t suck me off.”

“Again? Dude, is she ever even putting her mouth on it?” 

“Nope. Ever since we got engaged she’s like this fucking prude. Is yours like that too?”

“Yeah. I got her flowers and her favorite chocolates and she still wouldn’t even jack me off, like fuck, if it’s gonna be like this forever I can just go cut my dick off.”

Jesus. These two seem to be in very happy relationships. Makes you almost feel better to not be in one. Even if your mother would beg to differ. She’s been desperate for you to find a match for ages. For whatever reason, really, considering her two golden girls were about to get married to rich and handsome heirs. 

“Just one good blowjob, man, that’s all I want, really. I miss getting some good fucking head.”

The way short hair looks at mole - with so much understanding and pity, you can’t help but chuckle. Chuckle loud enough for them to take notice. 

Their gazes burn on your face before you even see them. But when you do your smile dies and instead makes room for horror. They heard you laugh at them. Even worse, they know you’ve been listening. Shit. 

Thankfully, you are three glasses of delicious white wine in and the fourth one is almost empty. Which means you aren’t the sweet little wallflower you’d usually be. Scary, how alcohol can change people.

“Oh, I am sorry. I shouldn’t have eavesdropped.” You apologize, placing your hand over your heart. 

“Agreed.” Short hair says, his eyebrow raised. Now, with both of their eyes on you, it seems like they are even more attractive. Perfect faces with pretty eyes and soft looking hair. Handsome men in unhappy relationships that fail to give them what they need. It’s almost comical how the switch in your head turns over, how the persona you normally never let anyone see until you’re in a secluded space comes out and gives you the courage to speak your next words.

“I just couldn’t believe my ears,” you let your finger glide over the rim of your glass, eyes on the two men with your tongue slipping out to lick over your bottom lip, “how anyone would be opposed to having sex with you.” 

Oh.

Sunghoon and Heeseung’s ears perk up just like yours did earlier. Eyes widen slightly as they understand the innuendo in your words. 

They think about the same thing - the last time they took a girl together. Probably during senior year in college. Back then, they used to do that regularly. Having almost the identical type in women. Instead of having to let her choose, she’d get them both. 

But it’s been years since then. They are in committed relationships now, about to get married. And still - neither of them can deny that you fall right into their usual prey, or well, the prey they’d chosen back in college before their parents had picked out their wives for them. 

It’s the way you look at them, the way your eyes say so much more than your words. It is also the way both of them feel like they are 22 again with nothing but getting their dick wet on their minds. One thing about Heeseung and Sunghoon - they always worked perfectly in a pair. Back in college and now, too. They can almost read each other’s minds at this point, only a short exchange of looks needed to know neither of them gave a single fuck about anything right now.

“Want to sit down with us?” Sunghoon asks and points at the free chair opposite them. You smile. 

“It’d be my pleasure.”

The very small bathroom stall is crowded with three people, but you make it work. 

Sunghoon is holding your head in place, his cock buried so deep down your throat he’s seeing red. You’re perfect. The sweetest thing on the outside, and a filthy little whore behind closed doors. You literally begged him to thrust down your throat without paying you any mind. You wanted, no, needed him to use your throat, to act like you were nothing but his little fuck toy. And, shit, he was more than happy to do exactly as you asked. 

His hips are moving in rapid speed, his groans music to your ears. Drool is running down your chin and dripping onto your knees. He is not holding back, he is just doing whatever he wants with you and you are throbbing. Throbbing around Heeseungs fat cock that is fucking into you with no care in the world. 

Heeseung is sitting on the toilet seat, his hands on your hips, cock rapidly leaving and entering your sopping hole. His head is literally spinning at how fucking good you feel. He bets you’d also sound fucking perfect if only Sunghoon’s cock wasn’t in the way. He can tell by the way you are already squeaking around his best friend’s cock, how your pussy is continuing to spasm around him after you already came on his cock once before.

“Take it, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Heeseung breathes out, hips speeding up and your eyes roll back into your head, your body seemingly on fire. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been fucked this good by a strange or, in this case, two strangers. All you know is that you’ve already cum before and that Heeseung surely will get you over the edge another time. He’s thick and veiny and he fills you up so good there was nothing you could do but cum after only a minute of him fucking you like an animal. 

“Shit, look at you,” Sunghoon groans, one hand now wrapping around your throat, his eyes glossy as he stares down at you, still fucking down your abused throat, “you’re a perfect little fucktoy, aren’t you? Enjoy being used by two cocks, huh? Fuuuuuck, you’re gonna make me cum, fucking slut.”

Heesung feels you squeeze around his cock, feels the way you suck him in even deeper. 

“This filthy little thing likes when you talk to her like that, Hoonie. Squeezing my cock so fucking hard.” His head tips back and his mouth drops open as he focuses on his pleasure, already fantasizing about stuffing you with his cum. He moves his hands up, squeezing your perfect tits over your dress and you moan around Sunghoon’s cock, tears streaming down your face. Every touch, every thrust, every word is getting you closer to another high. With Heeseung’s hands on your breasts you can freely move your hips now, bouncing up and down on Heeseung’s cock, matching his thrusts perfectly. 

There is no chance Sunghoon will last much longer. Your mouth, your throat - he’s scared he already developed an addiction to them. Maybe it’s the long time he hasn’t experienced anything like this, but right now it feels like no throat has ever taken his cock so well before.

“Where should I cum, huh? Down your throat? On your pretty face?” Sunghoon groans, his cock twitching over and over before he finally pulls out, jerking himself off so you can answer the question. 

“Cum on her tits, look at those fucking perfect tits, bro.” Heeseung decides to answer for you and Sunghoon smirks as he watches Heeseung get your tits out of your dress for which you thankfully don’t need a bra. Your perfect tits bounce free now and Sunghoon nods, eyes glued to them and how they bounce now that Heeseung continues to fuck into you, your back now arched against him. 

“Fucking hell, such fat fucking tits,” Sunghoon is in a trance, mouth dropped as he jerks himself off with the help off your spit and his precum. 

“Tell him to cum on your tits, slut, come on, tell him how much you want his cum all over you,” Heeseung whispers into your ear, his cock still continuing to ram into your g-spot like it has never done anything else. 

You moan loudly, eyes flying open and Sunghoon almost doesn’t need you to say anything - your fucked out face could well be enough to make him cum. 

“Pl-please g-give me your cum, want it a-all over my tits, pl-please, need it so bad!” You cry out and Sunghoon feels his orgasm hit him, thick spurts of cum landing on your tits and neck, some even on your lips that you hungrily lick off of them, only making another spurt come out of Sunghoons cock. 

“Holy fucking hell, shit,” he groans, falling against the stall door, his chest heaving. 

Heeseung, meanwhile, grabs your hair and tilts your head back as he does his final thrusts, filling your pussy with his seed, white making you feel warm inside and tipping you over the edge, milking him for all he has with your own orgasm, high pitched moans escaping you as your toes curl and your hands grip the material of your dress. 

Once he’s done fucking both of you through your orgasms, Heeseung helps you up, his cock slipping out of you. You’re a little shaky on your legs and Sunghoon catches you before you can fall, his eyes immediately going to your tits that are covered in his cum. He licks his lips. 

“If we had more time I’d take you to my room and fuck those tits until they are covered in even more layers of my cum, baby.” He mumbles, one finger scooping up some of his release and shoving his finger in your mouth, watching in awe how you eagerly suck it clean. 

“Holy fuck, you’re perfect.” Heeseung has put his cock back into his pants, considering to get it back out just to have you lick it clean of your and his juices. He decides against it mainly because he knows there isn’t much time. He and Sunghoon have to get back to the hotel, their fiancés probably awaiting their return. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” Sunghoon says, but you shake your head, only putting your tits back into your dress and stepping back into your panties.

“I wanna keep it for a bit, keepsake if you will.” 

Both men are silent. Where the fuck have you been before they got engaged to the sisters from hell? For a second they contemplate just keeping you. Using you for when their soon to be wives were being difficult again. 

Obviously, though, this was just a fantasy not meant for reality. 

Perhaps it’s well deserved. Having the worst morning all week, the day right after you fucked two strangers in a restaurant’s bathroom. Two engaged strangers. It’s not a surprise that you didn’t care about the blurred lines of their… relationship status, considering you’ve had quite a few hook-ups with married men who were out of town and needed someone to fulfill their needs while their perfect trophy wives were sitting at home waiting for them. Not the proudest thing you’ve done, but whatever gets you cumming. 

Today, your sisters seem to have it out for you especially. You blame it on the nerves, after all their perfect fiancées are about to arrive today. Everything needs to be in order, their dresses, their hair, their nails, everything. 

You’ve become their personal stylist, nail artist and hairdresser all for nothing more than a chuckle at the way your shirt rises up and shows your stomach that they love to comment on. It’s a win-win situation, for sure. 

“Can’t you see you’ve made a mistake!” Liza screeches, pointing at her (to your eyes) perfectly drawn eyeliner. You blink at her and take a deep breath. Six days. 

“I apologize.” Quickly, you move to fix your error, but your sister slaps your hand away and rips the pencil out of your hand.

“No, thank you. I’ll do it myself, like everything else, you useless piece of trash.”

Six. Days. 

Since there is no point in responding to her, you only nod and turn to Linda who is currently checking herself out in her hand mirror. 

“Anything I can do for you?” You ask, feeling ridiculous. One could think you’re their personal assistant and not their younger sister. 

“Just get out, Heeseung and Sunghoon are about to arrive and I don’t want them seeing you first thing, imagine their shock.”

Heeseung and Sunghoon. 

Something rings in your head. Had they ever mentioned their fiancés names before? Probably - why else would they be so familiar to you. 

“Alright. I’ll be by the pool then.” 

Neither of them deems it appropriate to even slightly acknowledge you before you leave the room.

A huge sigh leaves you the second you step out of Linda’s room and instead head for your own. Just a quick change into a bikini and down you go. A few hours in the sun, maybe a couple laps in the pool. Another bit of peace while your sisters are occupied. Sounds like the perfect morning to you. 

Just that, when you reach your room and change into said bikini - you notice a bruise right above your hip. Your eyes widen at the sight, moving closer to the mirror to inspect it. There is no other possible reason but what happened last night. 

“Shit,” you mumble, looking around your clothes for this one light pink scarf you could easily wrap around your hips as some sort of cover. The last thing you want is for your sisters to see this and ask questions. Bad enough you had the face and figure you had - imagine their outrage if one of these was even further damaged! 

For as long as you can remember your sisters had been your biggest haters. No matter what you did, if you changed your hair or your wardrobe, they’d be mean to you about it. To them, you were nothing but an unwanted addition to a family they had deemed already perfect. Neither of them had ever wanted another sibling, especially not six and seven years apart from them. Suddenly, you were the center of attention, had your mother cradling you and loving you and not giving them the attention they were sure they deserved. 

Even now, at their grown ages, about to get married, they couldn’t seem to get over it. 

From an outsider's perspective their lives were fairly more successful than yours. With great jobs in high positions, a perfect routine that included gym visits four times a week, and of course their perfect soon-to-be husbands. If it weren’t so frustrating it might have been funny how they literally kept them from you - kept everything from you. Blocked you from their socials to not be associated with you, living in their own little bubble, acting like you didn’t exist. 

So, expect your surprise when Linda called and asked you to be her maid of honor. You had only accepted because you know your mother would be devastated if you didn’t. 

That all seems like an okay trade for the view of the hotel pool right by the beach, your body rubbed in sunscreen and your sunglasses on top of your nose listening to music and enjoying your moments without a sister (or mother) around to tell you what to do. 

But your life wouldn’t be yours if your peace weren’t suddenly interrupted by the high pitched laugh of one of your sisters floating through the air and reaching your ears. It hadn’t even been half an hour. Maybe, you think, they won’t even come over. After all, they had hidden you away from them for as long as they had been together. Perhaps they wanted to wait til the day of the wedding next week to finally introduce you. 

Curiosity gets the best of you at last. Who are these men they’ve been gatekeeping from you, who have been nothing but your mother’s pride? Slowly, you turn into the direction of the high pitched laugh, opening your eyes behind your sunglasses. 

And the world around you seems to shake. 

“No fucking way,” you breathe out, moving quickly to get up. Panic arises within you, sheer ugly panic that has your body shaking. This can’t be true. This can’t be happening! You move to throw your phone and headphones onto the lounge chair, your eyes darting back and forth between here and your sister’s location, finally freeing yourself of all the things that can’t get wet to jump into the pool. It seemed like the only way not to get noticed by them. 

There are several other people in the pool and the splash of you jumping in had been drowned out by the sound of a child laughing and screaming. You stay underwater for a good while, thanking your strong lungs, and only come back up when you feel like enough time has passed for them to have left - only to be met by absolute horror. 

They had taken seats right next to your stuff. In their bathing suits from Chanel or Prada or whatever, they looked breathtaking. Not that they would ever get into the pool. It wasn’t them, though, who made your blood turn cold and the insides of your stomach threatening to say hello again - it was their fiancés. 

Short dark hair, beautiful faces. One with a mole on his nose. The other with clear shock in his eyes. 

The men from last night. 

As if to remind you further, you feel the bruise on your hip suddenly starting to throb with pain. You wince and look down, noticing your make-shift cover up being gone. Wonderful. 

Your sisters notice you now, their eyes widening when they see you in the state you’re in. Dripping with water, your hair pushed back out of your face, your body dressed in nothing but a flimsy bikini. They had always envied you for your breasts - not that they would ever admit this. But seeing them right now made them even angrier, after  all Heeseung and Sunghoon were right here and could see those monstrosities! 

And yeah, they see. See your body in that bikini that is leaving nothing to the imagination. See your tits almost falling out of the bikini top - tits that were covered in Sunghoon's cum not even 24 hours ago. They see your pretty face, your long eyelashes, droplets of water sliding down your soft skin. 

Heeseung and Sunghoon don’t realize the gravity of the situation yet, right now all they think about is how they’ve hit the jackpot because you’re in the same hotel as them. Right now, neither of them knows who you are besides the girl they’ve fucked the night before. 

“Y/N!” Liza screeches, “get out of that pool right now, you look ridiculous!” 

Linda gets up and grabs one of the towels next to her, throwing it into the Pool. She wants you to cover up, needs you to cover up. 

It is then that Sunghoon and Heeseung slowly understand. Your name. They have heard that name before. Time and time again. 

“Mum made me pick my ugly little sister as my maid of honor, Hoonie, can you believe her?” 

“Ugh, Y/N, called today. Wanted to congratulate us. Can you believe her? I bet she is so jealous, Hee, she could never get a man to stay. She’s just… too…. ew.”

You’re their sister. Their little sister they have nothing good to say about. 

You. The girl from last night. The girl who potentially could become the best fuck of both of their lives. 

If they had been able to, they would have looked at each other. But they are too mesmerized by you getting out of the pool with the towel wrapped around your body, or at least around your upper half. They can still easily see your legs, your perfect thighs, the little bikini bottom that does almost nothing to cover up your ass, can see the bruise that is a clear indication of what happened last night. It’s safe to say they are both growing harder in their trunks. Relatively bad timing. 

“Sorry, I told you I would be at the pool,” you mumble once you get out, grabbing for your stuff.

“I don’t think so, I would have remembered that!” Liza hisses, her arm sneaking around short hair. So, he must be Heeseung. Heeseung who had his cock buried inside of you mere hours ago and whose cum was most likely still inside of you. 

“Just go back upstairs,” Linda shoos you away with her hand and you let your eyes wander to mole next to her. Sunghoon, then. Sunghoon who had been craving a mouth around his cock, Sunghoon who had his cock in your mouth, who had cum all over your exposed tits. 

Your body heats up and you quickly turn around to leave. 

“It was nice to meet you!” Sunghoon calls after you and you swallow hard, not turning back to them before you leave. 

Dinner that night is horribly awkward, to say the least. The fact you’re even allowed to participate is insane. Your parents are delighted to welcome you once you sit down, your sisters and their fiancés showing up a little while after you. 

As it turns out, the two men had insisted you’d join them for dinner. Judging by the way they look at you, you feel like they’d rather have you be their dinner. 

Nothing could have prepared you for this. For the utter want you see in their faces, the utter want you feel in your bones. It makes all of dinner extremely awkward, makes you press your thighs together, shove around your food on the plate because suddenly your appetite is for something entirely different. 

But you know you can’t. The first time, so you tell yourself, was fine because you didn’t know who they were. You even go as far as to blame your sisters for this, after all they had never bothered to show you what Heeseung and Sunghoon look like. 

Now, it’s different. Now you know who they are. And as much as you despise your sister’s, you don’t think you could do this to them. 

… Or at least that’s what you tell yourself. Because the second you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and find yourself pressed against yet another stall door, you know you’ve been lying to yourself.

It’s Heeseung, his hands on your hips, digging into the bruise on your side, having you moan in no time.

“What are the fucking odds, hm?” He whispers, his breath hitting your face. You open your mouth to answer, but Heeseung dips forward, his tongue sliding into your open warmth, his lips pressing down on yours. It doesn’t matter what you thought of before, doesn’t matter who he is. Your body is taking over, melting against the strong man, against his chest and arms. 

Heeseung kisses you hungrily, like he has been starving for days. He had wrapped his hand around your wrist and yanked you into the one bathroom stall for men, had claimed you as his for the next few minutes.

“We-we can’t!” You cry out, pushing him away, but Heeseung only grabs you harder, turning you around, your chest hitting the door and a gasp escaping your mouth.

“If we can’t, why are you so fucking wet, baby?” His fingers are inside your cunt the next second and your eyes roll back, hips already chasing his touch. He smirks behind you, shoving your dress up with his free hand. Your backside is a sight to behold and he licks over his lips before landing a slap to your right ass cheek. You squeak. 

“I guess bathroom stalls are just our thing now, aren’t they?”

Just that this one is spacier. You’re pressed against the door that leads right into the open restaurant. You can hear the people outside, can hear the sound of cutlery meeting plates, of glasses clinking. 

“Hee-Heeseung, yo-you’re my sister’s fiancé!” You tried again, even though your hips were already bouncing on his fingers. Heeseung chuckled lowly.

“Don’t tell me now you care about the fact I’m in a relationship. It seemed like yesterday you couldn’t wait to get this taken cock shoved into your pussy.”

He’s not wrong. You bite down on your lip and turn slightly, looking over your shoulder into his dark eyes. God, he’s beautiful.

“Please,” you pout then, and his smirk comes back, his nimble fingers freeing his rock hard cock. You lean back against the door, your cheek pressed against the cold wood, your hands on either side of your head. Your pussy is dripping down his fingers and once he removes them, you’re already impatient to feel his huge cock fill you up.

Wiggling your hips, he lands another slap on your ass before shoving his cock into you, both of you groaning once he bottoms out. 

Then, he doesn’t show you any mercy. One of his hands sneaks around you, pressing down on your mouth to keep you quiet as he fucks you right into the door. He is panting, staring down at the way his cock slides in and out of you over and over again. His other hand fishes for his phone in his pocket, halting his thrusts for only a second to concentrate on opening the camera on the phone and hitting record. 

“Need to bring Hoonie something to jerk off to later,” he grins as he continues to fuck you, your moans getting numbed only by his hand. He just feels too good. Feels like no other cock you’ve had before. He’s big, wide and so god damn veiny. Every vein seems to drag along your walls, seems to push you closer to the edge. Your eyes are rolling back as your ass bounces off his hips, as his thrusts become sloppier with every second. He needs to cum soon and so do you. There isn’t much time for this, no time in fact. But he’s been craving you, and so has Sunghoon. Thank all the luck in the world for him to have won that rock, paper, scissors round. 

“God, you take it so well, you’re such a good little whore, aren’t you? All ready to go when I need to get my cock in you, fuck.” 

Heeseung’s words make your pussy spasm around him, his next groan deeper than before. He changes the angle slightly, fucking into you faster and harder, his orgasm getting closer with every little squeeze of your pussy. 

“Gonna cum so hard into your pussy, gonna have you sit at that table with my cum trickling into your panties.” He breathes into your ear and bites into your earlobe after, causing you to triple over the edge and cum hard around his cock - taking him right with you. 

He curses as he fucks both of you through your orgasms, his cum filling you up, warming you from the inside. 

Planting kisses on the back of your neck, Heeseung pulls out, watching his release drip out of you. 

“I could get used to this,” he says and puts your panties back into its rightful place. 

It doesn’t stop there. And it also doesn’t stop with Heeseung. But while Heeseung is more daring (coming to your hotel room at night, sending you pics of his dick after a shower, telling you to send him a voice note of you cumming), Sunghoon decided to take his time to make his move. You know it’s coming. You just don’t know when. 

Heeseung is like a wild animal - he can’t get enough of you. He wants to have his hands on you, his dick in you and his cum all over you as many times as he can. But the week only has seven days, and you only have four more to go until this whole thing is over and they are married to your sisters. 

Four days until you won’t be around them all the time, four days until Heeseung won’t be knocking on your door at two in the morning asking you to get on your knees. He fucks you like he owns you, like he knows your time is limited. It is, after all. He leaves marks where it is hard to spot them, kisses you in places no one has ever kissed before. 

Yes, the nights with Heeseung are special and steamy and perfect - and yet you wonder where Sunghoon is in all of this. You see the way he looks at you, and you did get a dick pic from him the night you and Heeseung fucked at that first dinner, courtesy to him seeing the video Heeseung took of you. And that is the thing, Heeseung films you. He films you when you’re on top of him, when he’s behind you, when you got his cock down your throat, when you’re bouncing up and down his cock. All of it goes straight to Sunghoon, all of it leads to Sunghoon cumming all over himself in the bathroom and sending you a picture of it. He never leaves his room, though, never does anything about it.

It’s day minus three til the wedding and you’re at the beach with everyone. The other maid of honor has arrived, and so have the two best men. Jake and Jay, they had introduced themselves as and judging by the way they were looking at you… they knew exactly who you were. If you weren’t so busy with Heeseung, you’d gladly have slipped into one of their rooms at night. 

You’re laying on your towel, happy to have everyone around you be busy with something that isn’t you. Your book is in your hands, the words getting more and more raunchy, your thighs pressing together. Perhaps this isn’t the best place to read smut, but it’s not like you have any control over when these scenes happen in the book. You just know every word hits you deep and has you biting down your lip. Even with the soreness still left between your legs from last night's visit, you feel yourself growing wetter with every sentence. 

“In broad daylight, sweetheart, really?” 

The voice makes you flinch, your book flipping closed as you turn around, spotting Sunghoon standing right above you. He is wearing a slight smirk on his lips and you feel your cheeks heat up. Not just because he caught you with your book but because he’s standing there in nothing but his trunks, a cup of iced coffee in his slim hand. His chest is defined, so are his abs. His arms look strong, toned, like they could throw you against a wall and hold you there. You swallow the lust that is daring to come up.

“What do you want?” You hiss, sitting up and looking at him. 

He hasn’t really talked to you much. Too busy giving you looks and pretending like he didn’t when your sister or parents or any other already arrived wedding party approached him. 

“What would I want?” Sunghoon asks back, tilting his head. The view he has from up here, your tits sitting in your bikini top, looking as delicious as they always did. It takes all in him not to drag you up and take you in front of everyone. 

You snort and roll your eyes, turning back to your book.

“Well, if there is nothing you want, you can leave me alone.” 

He watches you, how you lay back on your stomach, how you open the book and look for the page you just read. Licking over his lips, he roams his eyes over you. At this point, he has lost count of how many times he’s looked at you. How many times he has waited in the bathroom at night for Heeseung to send the videos, the pictures. As much as he was jealous, he enjoyed looking at you as he used his lubed up hand to get himself off. Except… for the last two days. He hasn’t sent you a picture of him with his cum all over his torso or thighs for two days because he simply hadn’t let himself reach climax. He’s been edging himself for all this time, waiting for the right time to unload all of his seed… preferably on you. 

It doesn’t feel like enough. Just getting to watch you through a screen, imagine what you would feel like. Your mouth, he remembers. Vividly. Your pussy… he can only wonder. Only guess when Heeseung sends him those videos or when he tells him before they head down to breakfast. 

Letting his eyes wander over your frame, your neck and back, your hips and ass, your legs… 

“Get up.” He says. You don’t move. 

He growls.

“I said,” his voice is low and warmth gathers at your core, “get up.”

It is when you still don’t move, Sunghoon feels his patience run thin. He places his iced coffee on one of the tables next to the lounge chairs.

Then, he is quick to pull you up, both his hands on your hips, a yelp coming out of you as he skillfully gets you on your feet. You stare at him with wide eyes and your mouth agape. Oh… your mouth. He has to restrain himself - already half hard in his trunks. Sunghoon looks around, sees his fiancé in a conversation with your mother. An idea flashes before him and he smirks slightly, alarm bells ringing in your head. What is he planning?

Not even a second passes when he grabs his iced coffee and spills it all over himself.

“God, watch where you’re going!” He yells, making all of your family members and their friends look at you. This little shit. 

Linda immediately jumps to her feet.

“Look what you’ve done!” She screeches and you press your lips together, acting the part of the guilt ridden sister.

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to!” You defend yourself, but your sister just shoots you a deadly gaze. 

“My darling, are you alright?” She is looking at Sunghoon now at his coffee stained self. He shakes his head.

“I really wanted that coffee. And these are my favorite trunks,” he sighs, “come on, Y/N, you’re gonna get me a new coffee.”

“I can get you a new coffee, babe!” Linda tries, her fingers wrapping around Sunghoon’s arm. It fills you with a sense of triumph when he moves out of her grip.

“You didn’t do this, honey. She did. Go back to your lounging.” He says it to her, but looks at you. And, god, you don’t think you’ve ever been more aroused in your life. 

It starts in the elevator up to his room. His hands are on your tits and your tongue is in his mouth. He groans when he feels you grabbing around his cock, hand swiftly inside his swimming trunks. There are no words being exchanged, only moans and sighs and gasps as he presses you against the wall, your kisses getting deeper and heavier by the second. 

Sunghoon has never wanted anyone as much as you right now. His cock is begging to be freed, leaking into his trunks. His thoughts are spiraling, a part of him just wants to push those skimpy bikini bottoms to the side and just fuck you right here, no matter if someone could walk in at any second, the other wants to take his time, bring you to his room and explore every inch of you. 

When the elevator stops at his floor, he drags you out, glad no one is around to see as he pushes you against the wall next to the now closing elevator doors, his hand immediately moving between your legs. He moans at the wetness already there. Well aware you haven’t been in the pool or the ocean today. 

“Fuck, look at you. So fucking wet.” He mumbles against your lips, pulling them into yet another heated kiss just as his fingers slip underneath your swimming suit, making you whimper. Your hips roll against his hand and he bites down on your bottom lip, fingers getting closer to where you want them, need them, the most. 

But he pulls away, grabbing your hand and leading you to his room, getting the keycard out of the small pouch he had in the pockets of his trunks. You watch as he opens the door, watch as impatience and need radiate off him and another feeling of triumph, of confidence overcomes you. He is actively choosing you over your sister. He wants you not her. 

Once you’re inside and the door is closed, you find yourself stuck between him and yet another wall, or in this case, door. His first mission is to get your tits out, his hands losing the strands of your top, the little fabric falling onto the floor a second later. He licks over his lips.

“I’ve been dreaming of these, baby,” he whispers, “come on, get on your knees.”

You do as told instantly. Dropping to your knees, eyes focused on him and only him. On how he now shoves his trunks down slowly, his cock, hard and red at the tip, springing free for you to admire. Your pussy starts throbbing. How badly you want him inside you, how badly you want him to fill you up with his cum, joining Heeseung’s from last night. 

“Open up, slut.” Again, you obey. Your mouth drops open, tongue sticks out and Sunghoon’s cock twitches at the sight. This is what he has been dreaming about. Your mouth around his cock, your perfect heavy tits naked and oh-so ready to be painted like that first night. 

“Good girl, so, so obedient.” He moves closer, right hand around his cock as the left is leaned against the wall, helping him keep his balance. Slowly, he brings the tip of his cock to the tip of your tongue, watching as you lick over it immediately. His eyes don’t leave yours when he begins shoving it in, his chest heaving. There is a good chance he might not last long, but he won’t let you leave this room without his cock having been inside you and if that means going again right after his first or second load. 

You take him like a pro. Feel him slide down your throat, hitting the back of it before going even deeper. You choke just slightly, breathing through your nose. He stops only when he is fully buried, his breath getting heavier with every passing moment.

“You take it so fucking well, what a good little whore.” Sweat is pooling at the top of his forehead, his knees about to give in. He begins to move his hips slowly at first, but when you tap his thigh, he takes it as a sign to go harder. And, shit, does he go harder. Throwing his head back as he brings both his hands to your head, holding it in place as he thrusts down your throat over and over again. His balls hit your chin whenever he moves to bury himself again, his moans and groans nothing but music to your ears. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck!” He groans in pleasure, pulling his cock out and the next thing you know there is cum all over you. Your tits are full with his seed, your neck, your chin, your face. You gasp slightly, staring at him with your lips swollen from the roughness of his movements. He breathes hard, hand around his cock to hold it steady as waves of his pleasure make more cum land on your tits. 

“That’s right, look at you, fuck,” his eyes are glossy watching your tits covered in his cum, his cock not losing any of it’s hardnes even after the amount of cum he just left on you. It’s not hard to notice. Your fingers scoop up a bit of it, sucking them clean and not letting him out of your sight. Sunghoon feels like he might have reached heaven. 

“You’re so fucking filthy,” he grumbles, pulling you up by your arms and crashing your lips against his again. He pulls you to the bed and pushes you down, watching your cum-covered tits bounce as you fall. You know what he wants and you slightly sit up, your elbows behind you, watching as he moves on top of you. His eyes are still so full of hunger, of need, of pure and hot lust. 

His cock slides between your tits, his hands pushing them together around it. Then, he begins to thrust again. Just like he had wanted back at the restaurant. Fuck your tits covered in his cum, add a little more. 

You feel like the luckiest woman on earth with him like this. Using you to get off, his cock fucking your tits like a madman, whimpers and moans and groans, his head thrown back as he enjoys the feeling. It is even better than his imagination. Every second feels like he’s gonna ascend any moment now. His skin is tingling with desire and he wonders if it’ll ever stop. Right now, he thinks, he could probably go on for hours, for days. Just you and him and your tits and your mouth and your pussy. 

When he looks down again, sees the way you look at him, see the way his cock looks sandwiched between your breasts, Sunghoon can’t help but cum again, less than before but still enough to cover your chest and neck, adding even more paint to the already perfect canvas. 

Exhaustion is starting to spread through his bones, but he’s ignoring it. Instead, he pulls you up with him again, kissing you hard, fingers now finally finding their way into your bottoms again. He shoves them inside you immediately. 

“Sunghoon!” You cry out, fingers gripping his strong shoulders as he places you on his lap, straddling him. He fucks you with his fingers, hard and fast. Your pussy squeezes them, your arousal dripping onto his bare thighs.

“So, so wet. So fucking filthy with my cum all over you. Tell me, baby, are you a whore?”

“Y-Yes!” You squeak. He grins wickedly, adding a third finger to the two. You cry in pleasure, bouncing up and down on his long, perfect fingers.

“So eager to be called a whore. Fucking a taken man, two taken men. Your sister’s men. Aren’t you ashamed?” He breathes into you ear and you moan again, nails digging into his skin.

“N-No!” You answer and he laughs quietly, thumb now pressing down on your clit. You feel the first tears starting to pool in your eyes.

“Oh, but you should be. Such a dirty fucking whore, full of cum, getting her pussy fucked by her sister’s fiancés fingers,” He chuckles, “and soon his cock.”

You reach the edge just then. When he promises you his lengths, when he tells you how ashamed you should be. As if you don’t know. That’s what makes this whole thing so ridiculously hot. 

He fucks you through your orgasm, kissing your mouth again, tongues slashing against each other in a heated fight. You need him to fuck you. Right now. And as if he could read your mind, Sunghoon picks you up, hands underneath your thighs, lips never leaving yours and brings you to the spacious bathroom. 

First, he fucks you in front of the mirror. Makes you watch yourself, getting fucked like a cheap whore by his sister’s soon-to-be husband. He makes you lick his cum off his fingers, thrusts them as deep down your throat as his cock is penetrating you. 

Your pussy might be the best he’s ever had. The second he was buried inside of you, he knew he was done for. Knew this couldn’t be the last time he did this. Every bit of you, he wanted for himself. He even thought about asking Heeseung to back off, which he knew his best friend never would. Not with you. Not when you were this perfect. Fulfilling their every need, letting them do with you whatever they wanted. 

When he gets you in the shower, he washes the drying cum off of you softly. He’s still inside of you, his still not fully satisfied cock. You squeeze around him, throb around him. You need him to do more, he knows it as well as you. But he’s gentle. Uses a sponge to get every bit of his seed off your body, his lips kissing your cheeks, lips, nose, neck and breasts. It’s almost too soft for you. 

This is supposed to be about nothing but sex. He is supposed to fuck you, call you names while you’re at it and then disregard you. Instead, he’s being gentle. 

That is, until the door outside opens and your sister’s voice interrupts the softness. It makes room for yet another wicked grin and Sunghoon’s first thrust inside of you for minutes. Your hand flies to your mouth covering the pathetic whimper that would have come out. Sunghoon’s eyes sparkle.

“Hoonie? Are you in the shower?”

He begins to thrust again, his hands on your hips, staring into your eyes as he gives you his fucking all. Your eyes roll back.

“Yes, darling. Your stupid sister managed to get me all sticky with that coffee!”  

Your pussy fluttered at the words. He grinned wider.

“Oh, like it when I call you stupid?” He whispers into your ear, cock twitching rapidly as he bites into your neck, hips showing you absolutely no mercy.

“Ugh, I am so sorry about her! She’s not just a klutz, she’s also insanely dumb. I can’t wait to never see her again after this is done.”

Perhaps these words would have hurt you, if Sunghoon wasn’t railing you like the god he was. Every thrust was smooth and yet hard enough to make your toes curl. He made quick work to lift you up, your legs now wrapping around his middle as he continued to fuck into you, moaning into your neck to drown out the noise. 

“Yeah, she is a real piece of work,” he finally replied, his eyes staring into yours as he smirked. 

“No wonder she can’t get a boyfriend! Who would ever want to be with that?” 

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, pressing his body closer to yours, kissing you again, his tongue licking sensually over your bottom lip. It makes a shiver run down your spine. 

“Anyway, where did she go? I didn’t find her in her room.”

Sunghoon reluctantly parts from you.

“No clue. She got me a new coffee and stormed off like the big baby she is.” 

He grabs your tits again, squeezing and massaging, nipple between forefinger and thumb, leaning down so he can put it in his mouth and suck and bite down, your hand on your mouth pressing down harder. 

You explode around him. Squirt like a fucking porn-star, liquid shooting out of you and down his legs, mixing with the water of the shower. Sunghoon’s knees are once more about to give in. He moans against your lips, hoping Linda didn’t hear and at the same time also hoping she did. Your climax makes him cum for the third time that day, his hot semen filling your spent pussy, painting it white like the clouds. 

“That, she is indeed,” Linda laughs, “anyway, we’re gonna go get dinner in the city, baby. I’ll be at Liza’s room, love you!”

Sunghoon doesn’t answer and Linda just leaves. You feel like no words were even needed to understand. 

Once you’re sure Linda is gone for good, Sunghoon and you step out of the shower. It’s quiet between you, quiet and somewhat heavy. You don’t like it one bit. You’re quick to grab your bikini and put it back on, relieved to know you most likely won’t find your sisters back at the beach where you’re headed now. 

You don’t turn around again when you leave the bathroom. And you also don’t expect Sunghoon to say anything. Still, when you open the door to leave, you feel just a tiny bit disappointed that he doesn’t hold you back. 

How utterly pathetic of you. 

Heeseung doesn’t come for you that night. You wonder if it’s because of Sunghoon and decide it most definitely is because of Sunghoon. 

Yet, the slightly younger male doesn’t come to seek you out either. 

Tonight, it’s just you. 

And perhaps, you think, that’s just how it’s supposed to be. 

to be continued...

header & divider credit to the wonderful @wongyuseokie <3

[fastandcarlos]

Bracelet Making : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: to prepare for the concert you're busy making friendship bracelets to swap, only for charles to suddenly decide he wants to join you too

Your eyes widened in confusion as the puzzled expression on Charles’ face shocked you. The endless number of beads that you had was more than he could have ever imagined, unable to take it all in. There were so many different colours, designs and letters, you had plenty in front of you to keep you both entertained for hours. 

“What do you think?” You chuckled as you picked up the elastic, taking some scissors and cutting two lengths of it before tapping the space beside you on the living room floor, inviting Charles to take a seat down beside you. 

He did as you asked, his eyes still wide. “How many bracelets do people actually take to these concerts? We’re going to be here all night making bracelets for tomorrow love,” he commented. 

“But it means we can swap them with other people there.”

Charles took the elastic from you, stretching it a couple of times. He followed your lead as he watched you tie one end so that the beads couldn’t fall off when you beaded them together, getting himself into a little bit of a tangle. 

“What’s the point of making these bracelets if we’re just going to give them to other people?” Charles pondered, running his fingers through some of the beads to get a good look at them. 

When Charles told you that he had managed to get tickets to Taylor Swift you were beyond excited, and as the big fan that you were, you wanted to make the most of the experience. Charles thought you were joking when you suggested making bracelets, but now he found himself with no way back. 

“Where do I even start?” Charles questioned as he picked up one red bead and threaded it through the elastic, watching it hit the bottom where he had tied up his knot. 

“Just make it look nice, trust your instincts,” you tried your best to tell him, “It’s fun being able to swap because loads of other fans will have made bracelets too, it’s a thing to swap them to show friendships amongst all of the fans.” 

Charles nodded as he listened intently to you, “that’s quite a sweet reason. I’ve seen a couple of fans doing this at the paddocks before but I never realised that was the meaning behind it,” he then added. 

The room fell silent as Charles looked through a few of your beads and placed them onto the elastic. His eyes looked closely at what he had done, tipping some of the beads off and rearranging the pattern again so that he was happy with what he saw. 

“You seem to be taking this quite seriously,” you laughed, nudging Charles’ side. His head nodded as he picked up another bead to make sure that his pattern was still followed. 

Once it was on, his eyes turned to look at you. “If I’m giving them to other people then I’ve got to make sure that they look nice, I can’t be given people a lazy bracelet that doesn’t look nice.” 

Charles had watched you for the past couple of days as you began to make bracelets for the concerts, dismissing it pretty quickly.

However, as he saw how focused you were whilst doing it, he began to pay a bit more attention, finding himself interested. When you offered the chance for him to do it with you, he soon said no, but it didn’t take long for you to twist his arm. 

“Do I have to give all the bracelets away or do I get to keep some of them for myself?” 

“You can do whatever you want Charles.” 

Charles hummed in acknowledgement as he reached out for another few beads, threading them on with ease. “I think the first bracelet that I make I want to keep for myself, well, I think I want for the bracelet to be yours rather than anyone else’s.” 

Your eyes flickered to what Charles was doing, noticing that he’d picked up a couple of your letter beads. “What are you writing on that bracelet?” You quizzed, putting your own down for a second to concentrate on him. 

“It’s for me and you,” he proudly smiled, twirling it around so that you could get a better look. “So that anyone who looks our way tomorrow knows that you’re mine.” 

Although Charles had managed to get you into the VIP section of the stadium, he still had concerns. He’d seen the way some fans had treated you at races before, and didn’t want for the same to happen at the concert, especially when you were there to enjoy yourself too. 

He’d seen how you played with some of your bracelets before when you got nervous and knew you’d love to do the same with a bracelet that you knew was made by Charles too. 

The silence that stayed between you both had Charles worrying, concerned that he’d done the wrong thing. “If you don’t like it, I can make it to give to a fan instead, I’m sure you’ll end up with hundreds of bracelets tomorrow night anyway love.” 

Your head immediately shook as Charles spoke. “No. I’d love to wear it. I just didn’t think I’d be the first person that you’d think about when making a bracelet.” 

“You’re always the one occupying my mind,” Charles mused. 

Your eyes rolled as Charles’ attention turned back to his bracelet, determined to make it perfect for you to wear, and hopefully want to show off too. 

It was fascinating for you as you watched the concentration on Charles’ face, a look that you had only ever seen before when he was behind the wheel and fighting for that P1 position. 

After a few minutes, and a bit of a mess from Charles as he tried to tie his bracelet together, he was done. He proudly called your name, stretching the bracelet so that you could slide your hand into it, letting it sit perfectly around your wrist. 

Your smile was wide as you turned your wrist to admire what Charles had made. “This is beautiful Charles; I don’t think I’m going to need any more bracelets for tomorrow now.” 

“Don’t be silly,” he laughed, relieved to see how impressed you were by what Charles had made. “I bet there’s some awesome bracelets that you’ll be given tomorrow, I barely know what I’m doing with all of this.” 

“But none of them are made by you,” you reminded him. 

Charles leant across and pressed a kiss to your cheek, only for your head to come down and rest on his shoulder, forgetting about what you were doing for a few moments. 

“You should make some more of these, I bet they’ll be a few of your fans there tomorrow who would love to have a bracelet from the hottest F1 driver in the world,” you teased. 

Charles’ eyes widened again as you spoke, poking against your cheek. “Maybe one day when I retire I can just go into the bracelet making industry, set up a stall at the entrance to the paddock or something.” 

A chuckle came from you as you listened to Charles’ suggestion, “you’d make a fortune, I bet. I’d say that the bracelet that I’m wearing right now is probably worth a million pounds.” 

Charles’ smile turned up as he watched you fidget with the bracelet that you wore, exactly like how he expected you to. “Come on, we’ve got more bracelets to make, I want to exchange as many of these as possible tomorrow to make some people smile.” 

“How are you somehow more enthusiastic about bracelet making them I am?” 

Charles shrugged, “I’ve got the bug now, I get why you enjoy it so much.” 

“By the way, Taylor would be proud of you making all of these.” 

“I bet she doesn’t even know who I am,” Charles protested. 

“Everyone knows your handsome face, trust me.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[wqnwoos]

there’s a familiar knock on your door, and you know without checking that it’s wonwoo. some things don’t change; wonwoo’s patterned knock is one of them.

some things do change. the feeling that swells in your chest when you hear it is one of them.

once upon a time, it was butterflies. swooping stomach, giddy smile barely suppressed as you skidded to the door in sock-covered feet. and now — now you can taste bile on your tongue. there’s a raw and unforgiving lump in your throat, and with every step you take towards the door, it seems to swell.

you don’t bother with the peephole, just open your apartment door, and with no surprise, it’s wonwoo. and he looks a wreck — dark hair sticking in all directions, smudged glasses, soft purple shadows under those eyes. he stands in front of you, awkward and uncertain; it almost reminds you of the first time he came over.

“hey!” you greet, not quite able to bite down the instant grin that spreads when you see your boyfriend. “you’re here!”

“i’m here,” wonwoo echoes softly, eyes a little wider than usual. one hand rubs the back of his neck — the other clutches a bouquet of pale pink and purple. he catches the way your eyes fall towards it, and laughs awkwardly, offering them to you with a sheepish grin. “these are for you.”

something inside you blooms, pink and red and pale blue. “they’re beautiful, wonwoo. thank you.”

his smile brightens a little. “i thought they’d match the blanket,” he explains. “the one you said you keep on your couch. can i — can i come in?”

you laugh at his shyness. “of course you can. you don’t need to ask.”

you snap out of it as quickly as you fall into it. he does need to ask now. and you’re not likely to say yes. you focus back on him, hovering uncertainly in front of you. “you shouldn’t be here,” you state flatly.

hurt flashes in his eyes. you can read him so well, picking out every twist in emotion, every twitch of his finger. you hate that you can’t forget things like that; things like his smile when you kissed him on the cheek; like the scar on the back of his left shoulder; like the smell of jasmine fabric softener and woody cologne.

you studied jeon wonwoo like your life depended on it. somehow you’re surprised that you can’t unlearn him.

somehow you still wish he’d had the time to do the same for you.

“i know,” wonwoo says finally. “i just — i brought food,” he says lamely, holding up a bag of takeout.

you recognise the brand. it’s your favourite — or rather, it was. you’ve found a new favourite, a hole-in-the-wall that delivers super quick, but he doesn’t know that. he doesn’t know you have a new coffee table. he doesn’t know you’ve swapped the cupboards for the plates and the bowls either, and suddenly you realise that two months is both forever and no time at all.

“go home, wonwoo.”

“___, please. i just want to talk.”

“i don’t think i want to listen,” you say quietly. and you don’t intend to be malicious, you don’t intend to hurt his feelings. you’re saying it how it is: plain and simple.

“you know what i like about you?” wonwoo says suddenly from below, where he’s resting his head against your lap. his hands are busy tracing the lines of your right palm, while your left runs through his hair idly.

“hopefully a lot of things,” you say lightly, tugging a little at a lock of brown. his hair is recently dyed, and you’re not quite used to it. “or this is going to be awkward. since we are, you know. dating.”

“you know what i mean,” he says, poking your cheek. “i like how straightforward you are. you don’t play games.”

you do, however, play avoiding compliments. “i play loads of games,” you answer, avoiding his serious gaze. “monopoly, for one. the sims, and stardew valley, and —”

he swats your wrist playfully. “since when do you play stardew valley?”

“for like, two months!”

wonwoo looks desperate now. he says your name again, pleading and soft. you ignore it, and it feels like the twist of a knife. you’re holding the handle.

“go home,” you repeat, rough and scratchy, readying yourself to shut the door.

his voice stops you. “i love you.”

you freeze, hand on the door. there’s a moment that stretches out forever, just like the first time he said it to you.

“i can’t quite say it when you’re awake, not yet,” you whisper, brushing a strand of hair away from wonwoo’s sleeping face in the early hours of the morning. “i love you, jeon wonwoo. like i’ve never loved anyone before.”

and with that off your chest, you lie back down, ready to curl up and sleep, until —

“love you too, baby.”

“oh my god, you were awake?”

it’s been two months since you broke up, but three since you’ve heard those three words from him. how easy they seem to come to him all of a sudden — it’d be funny if it wasn’t so fucking tragic.

“i can’t — we can’t do this.”

“why not?” he presses. he’s heard the crack in your voice, the one that mirrors his: the weak point.

“you know why, wonwoo.” as if it isn’t enough to taste your own bitterness, your mind plays flashes of the last few months. the tears, the late nights, the missed dates and repetitive apologies. the fighting — and then suddenly the lack of fighting. the giving up.

“but you know how i feel about you,” wonwoo insists, stepping closer. and this is where you remember how late it is, how he’s still standing in your hallway, the threshold between in and out. “i love you.”

how fitting, you muse. the cusp of being in or out of your life. “i believe you,” you say. and just as quickly as you put a glimmer of hope in his dark eyes, you crush it. “but you just don’t have time to love me, not properly. not how either of us want. i gave you everything, wonwoo. you know i did. i fucking fought for you — for us. you didn’t. it wasn’t on your fucking schedule.”

the little dregs of anger you have are drained out in only a few sentences. you’re over anger. you’re exhausted.

and you deflate, looking at his wide, guilty eyes. because you know that despite everything that went wrong, there was so much that went right. three years collapsed in three months, but they weren’t outweighed. “you’re a good person, wonwoo. you were a good boyfriend. but it’s time to move on. we don’t fit. not anymore.”

“is that what you’re doing?” he says hoarsely. “moving on?” it doesn’t sound accusatory, not even jealous — it sounds searching. you find the defeat in his eyes, the way they rove across your face like he’s trying to memorise you. like he’s trying to say goodbye.

you exhale, and it’s the most painful thing you’ve ever done.

“i still love you,” you say finally. “but it’ll pass.”

an / i have no idea how many times ive tried to post this . insanity. it won’t show up in the tags so im scheduling this for later while i go to sleep and if it doesn’t work i cannot bring myself to care anymore!!

apologies to everyone who got tagged multiple times!!!!

perm taglist: @n4mj00nvq @eoieopda @som1ig @glowunderthemoon @wondering-out-loud @tokitosun @hannyoontify @sahazzy @dokyeomin @icyminghao @smilehui @nicholasluvbot @lvlystars @immabecreepin @hanniehaee @kokoiinuts @astrozuya @doublasting @yepimthatonequirkyteenager @qaramu @weird-bookworm @phenomenalgirl9 @lightnjng @strnsvt @onlyyjeonghan @athanasiasakura

@iamawkwardandshy @twilghtkoo @yuuyeonie @lllucere

[kurocamille]

❝maybe frat boys aren’t so bad (aka miscommunication leads to makeup sex?!) ❞

Frat!Bakugou Katsuki x reader (second part of my frat!Bakugou series) mdni

part 1 / master list

5.3k+ words

after your hookup with Bakugou, somehow everyone knows. this means that you’re on mean girl Mika’s watchlist and that you’ll have to distance yourself from him. however, Bakugou gets it in his head that you don’t want to be with him, and when he sees you with Kirishima, he doesn’t think you’ll ever let him back in your life (or your bed). Turns out it was all just miscommunication…

warnings

part 2 of 2, jealous Bakugou, miscommunication trope, fingering, cunnilingus, hand job, blow job, making out, hickeys, he bites you once?, penis in vagina sex, loss of virginity, inexperienced reader, female/afab reader, creampie, “baby” as a pet name

It had been exactly one week since your night with Bakugou Katsuki. As you had expected, rumours about the two of you had reached far across campus in no time. After all, Bakugou is very popular.

Unfortunately, the result of this rumour was that everyone knew what happened… including Mika and her minions. So, last week, instead of waking up to an expected empty phone, it was instead alive with thousands of nasty messages.

When you opened them, the bulk of the message spam followed the same pattern. ‘You’re such a whore,” or “I can’t believe you’d steal Bakugou from Mika, you bitch,’ or, at worst, from the culprit herself, ‘I heard you got with Bakugou. If you think you can take him from me, you’re wrong. I’ve got loads of people who can fuck you up.’

Obviously feeling threatened, because only the lord knows what Mika can do with her money and power, you had chickened out and never replied to Bakugou’s message. No matter how much you wanted to see him again, it was not worth the damage Mika would inflict.

—-

Now, after seven days have gone by, all spent avoiding Bakugou like the plague, you finally think you can go to class and fly under the radar. You arrive on time as usual, sitting in the middle row of the lecture hall.

It’s a massive class, and although many people are already there, there are others filing in as the prof starts their lesson. You, being too engrossed in your note taking, don’t notice as a body slides into the empty seat beside you.

“Hey, what did I miss?” the voice says in a hushed tone.

You look up and see none other than Bakugou Katsuki, still very much blond and still very much attractive. Instead of replying you turn back to your notebook, tearing off a piece and quickly scribbling a message down.

You slip the note reading, ‘Literally nothing, pay attention during class!’ into Bakugou’s waiting hand. He huffs and attempts to speak to you again, but you face your paper and ignore whatever he’s saying.

“Please be quiet up there!” The professor calls him out, and he slouches down in his seat, begging for class to end.

After everyone finally gets dismissed, Bakugou tries to poke your shoulder to get your attention, but you’re already dashing out the door, praying that nobody saw you together.

“Wait, Y/N,” Bakugou calls for you, jogging to catch up to you. Damn him for having such long legs…

“Sorry, I can’t talk to you,” you reply. It comes out more harshly than expected, but no sense in trying to chummy up to him again if Mika was threatening you. So, you turn on your heel to leave him again.

“Just hear me out,” he blurts out, lightly grabbing your shoulder to make you face him.

You don’t move, instead you stand there with your hands on your hips, waiting for him to continue.

Finally, he gets the hint and speaks again. “I’m sorry if it was bad for you…”

What?! “It wasn’t bad for me, it’s just–”

“No, it’s okay if you don’t want to see me again, but I’d rather you tell it to me now, to my face,” he interrupts you mid sentence.

Ha, you think, Ironic that the frat boy doesn’t want to get ghosted, but as you had realized much longer before this, Bakugou is not your average frat boy. Although he looks like a pretty boy with no space for a committed relationship, he has much more depth than you could even imagine. Despite being a flirt and allegedly a playboy, Bakugou had only ever treated you with respect, so you suppose you at least owe him this one conversation.

“Bakugou,” you start, unsure of how to follow through to your point. “It wasn’t bad. If anything it was too good. I just– I just can’t afford to be seen with you.”

A hurt look flashes through Bakugou’s eyes before he gives a slow nod of understanding. “I get it, you don’t want to be with a guy like me. It’s alright, guess I won’t bother you anymore.”

“Wait, that’s not–” you start, but Bakugou is already walking away with his hands stuff in his pockets.

You stand in the middle of the busy hallway for a good few seconds before you hear a giggle that breaks you out of your daze. It’s Mika, she’s leaning on the wall we chatting to her friends.

“She’s almost as much of a player as Katsuki is,” she says to her friends in what she pretends is a whisper, but you know she wants you to hear.

“Yeah, but at least he’s good in bed. She seems like the desperate type.” All of them burst out into a fit of giggles. Y walk off, not even bothering to hear the rest of the conversation.

—

A month later, you haven’t heard from Bakugou at all, his one lone message still sits in your inbox, unanswered. You can’t help but be a little upset knowing it could’ve happened if not for the circumstances. It doesn’t matter, though, as far as you know Bakugou got back with Mika for a bit, dumped her, and is now moving through girls like a snowplough.

You’re sitting in a cafe when somebody plops down in the booth in front of you. He seems to recognize you, but you can’t fully place his fiery red hair and toothy grin. “Hey, Y/N, right?”

You furrow your brows. “Who’s asking?”

He laughs heartily at your question. “Sorry, I thought you might remember me. I’m Kirishima Eijiro. I was at that party a few weeks ago.”

Looking down, you see him offer a hand, which you shake quickly before placing your hands back in your lap. Even though the issue with Bakugou and Mika had blown over, and you had fallen back into your mundane life, you were still trying to avoid anything “boys and Bakugou” related.

“Well, I’ve been having some concerns about my buddy,” he thinks out loud.

“Are you really certain I could do anything about this?” you reply hastily. Maybe you shouldn't have said that so soon.

“That’s the thing,” Kirishima replies. “I’m not tryna blame you or anything, but I think you might be causing some… altercations… in his sex life.”

You smack your hands down on the table, catching the attention of surrounding customers. “What?!” You sink back down after receiving a glare from a neighbouring table.

“I didn’t mean that it was bad!” Kirishima speaks for you as you drown in embarrassment.

“Sorry, you kind of implied it though.” The flush on your cheeks doesn’t dissipate.

“Right, actually, moreso the opposite. You might’ve heard Bakugou’s been sleeping around a lot. He and Mika are officially over this time. I’m not going to tell you why, but what matters is that he’s been trying to make up for losing you, at least I think,” Kirishima spills.

You make a non-coherent splutter, but Kirishima doesn’t let you reply. “I tried to tell him this was all about Mika and her stupid followers, but he’s not into socials, and he’s stubborn as hell, anyway. He believes you’re avoiding him because of his reputation, but you’ve gotta help me. He’s been insufferable lately, and even as a member of our frat, the number of girls he’s been with is getting slightly concerning.”

Kirishima looks at you with begging eyes, and you know it’s serious if he came to see you. You look down at your lap, your heart racing with confusion and anxiety.

“I’m sorry, but how can you be so certain? I’d like to help, really, but I’m not sure where I come in,” you say slowly.

“Call him or something. Give him some closure, and let him know it isn’t because of his “player” mentality or whatever he’s got stuck in his head.” Kirishima gets up and places a bill down to pay for your food.

Just then, a familiar figure passes by and notices you through the window. You’re too wrapped up in your conversation with Kirishima to notice the way they ball their fists and huff away.

“Thanks. Hope to see you around.” Kirishima leaves you sitting there confused.

You sit there in awe at the conversation. Why are you supposed to care about Bakugou’s overactive libido anyway?

Sighing, you stare at your empty cup and decide to leave the cafe. It turns out it’s just starting to rain when you trudge back to your dorms, and you get drenched.

—

That night, you lay in bed, unable to fall asleep. Thoughts of Bakugou continue to invade your mind, and you hear yourself groaning in annoyance.

Maybe I should call him, you think. But, ugh, that’s kind of weird and pathetic.

However, the more you think about it, and him, the more your thoughts start to go back to your night in his car. You remember how it felt to have his big hands on your body, how they felt inside your–

You stop that thought before it can progress.

Again, you let your mind wander. If you think about it, if you actually wanted him again, would it really be fixing his libido? If it benefited both of you, it couldn’t be that awful to call him again.

Nevermind, you’re just thinking too much. How could you even consider it?!

Just go to bed, you beg yourself.

You stare up at the ceiling until your eyes blur out of focus, but somehow, somehow, everything leads back to him.

Flushing, you try not to think about his adept fingers moving in and out of you. Slowly, your panties get wetter and wetter, and you realize that the only way you’re ever going to get over him is by getting under him.

Finally, you decide to roll over and give in to your desires. The glow of your phone screen is glaringly bright, and it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. When things come into focus, you unlock your phone and click on Bakugou’s number before you lose confidence

“Hello?” Bakugou’s raspy voice answers after five rings.

“Hey, Bakugou,” you whisper. “I wanted to tell you something. Don’t hang up, please.”

“Okay,” he yawns.

“Kirishima came to me today. Can we talk this over or something?”

“We are talking. And I know. I saw” is his gritted reply.

“You’re right, I’m in no place to be asking for anything. I’m sorry. I just need to talk to you in person. I need to get something off of my chest.”

“Oh, something? Or, somebody… like, Shittyhair?!” he practically seethes through the phone.

“Wait, what?!” you yelp.

“Why are you even calling me over if you’re with him.”

“What?” you repeat yourself. “I’m not with him?”

“You literally just said you saw him today,” he argues.

“That’s what I was calling about. He sai–” you start.

“If you’re coming to me with your boy problems, hang up.” You can tell he’s on the verge of leaving.

“No!” you huff madly. “If you’d let me finish, you’d know that he came to tell me he’s worried about you.”

“Oh, really? Are you sure? Because I’m pretty sure you’ve been fucking, since apparently I wasn’t good enough for you, or whatever,” he replies angrily.

“I swear, Bakugou,” you sigh. “I haven’t been with anyone since our night together.

Bakugou pauses before replying. “I don’t fully believe you. Especially when you just gave me proof you went out together”

You blush as you speak your next words, admitting something to him you thought would happen under different circumstances.

“I haven’t been with him, and I swear it, because…” you hesitate. “I’ve only ever been with you.

A sharp breath is blown out on Bakugou’s end, and you wonder what’s going through his mind.

“Seriously?” His breaths are suddenly slower and calmer.

“Yeah, I swear. Can I just talk to you in person? I really do need to tell you.”

Bakugou makes a slight shuffling noise on his end, and you hear someone’s murmuring in the background, likely one of his frat brothers.

“Fine. You want me to come to you?” he finally replies, giving in (almost too easily, in your eyes).

“Yes, please,” you reply quietly.

“I’ll be there soon.” With that, he hangs up.

After the same short drive from last time, Bakugou shows up in your dorm parking lot. He shoots you a text message that he’s here, and you greet him at the door.

It’s about one am, and despite your disheveled tank top and shorts, Bakugou is dressed as handsomely as ever. “Hi,” you say.

“Hi.” He gives you a sad smile in return.

“I want to apologize.” You bow your head shyly. “It was my fault for all the confusion. I should’ve told you what was up. I just didn’t want to mess up my chances with you or your relationship with Mika. Kirishima told me about everything that’s been happening.”

“It’s fine, I’m sorry, too,” he replies.

You look up in surprise. Altogether, pathetically, you had expected more grovelling, so this is unexpected.

“It was all Mika’s fault, anyway, and I promise things are over with us,” he says, his face pink with embarrassment. “And… I guess I could say that my judgement of you and Shitty hair was a little preemptive.”

“You think?” you laugh quietly.

“I really am sorry, okay.” He looks up at you and deep into your eyes to solidify his point.

Your face feels hot, and you’re sure he can see the growing blush across your cheeks. Even so, you smile and say, “So, are we good?”

“Yeah,” he replies, returning your smile.

There’s a long pause between the two of you, but it doesn’t feel awkward like you might expect. The gap between you feels like it’s closing, and eventually your lips are just barely touching. His breath fans over your face, and you grip his shirt, taking him in a kiss.

Bakugou holds you to him, his back pressed against the door of your dorm. When you slip your tongue against his, he doesn't decline. He gingerly holds you, squeezes your hip with one hand, and cups your face with the other.

“I don’t deserve you,” you sigh as Bakugou starts to pepper kisses all over your neck.

“You do, it’s me that doesn’t deserve you.” He moves your face so your gazes can meet.

Bakugou gives you one of his signature grins and catches you in another heated kiss. His tongue swiftly swipes across yours, causing you to moan in his hold.

When he changes the angle of kiss, you become entangled, your hips pressed flush against his, earning his groans in your ear. With his newly growing boner and your wettening panties, you feel unbearable lust growing.

“Can we go upstairs?” Bakugou asks.

You nod, keying yourselves in and rushing to your room that’s right around the corner.

As soon as the door opens a mere inch, Bakugou jumps back on you and pushes you down to the bed, a haze of desire over his eyes.

“Fuck, I’ve been waiting for this for so long.” He nips on your neck.

You can only moan in response when he kisses down your chest. Pulling your tank top over head, Bakugou, or Katsuki, you suppose, focuses his attention on your chest. Your body stiffens as he glides his tongue over your hard nipple..

“That feel good?” he asks when he pinches the other nipple while continuing to lick long stripes on your breast.

“Yeah,” you hum in reply.

You feel so good under Bakugou, writhing in pleasure as he sucks hickeys into your skin. You feel his hand sneak up to the top of your waistband and you yelp in surprise. “Ah! Katsuki”

“Can I continue what I started last time?” he says in a begging tone, lightly tugging at your panties.

“Please,” you moan equally as wanton as him, and you’re almost immediately spread bare for him.

Kissing down your chest, Bakugou gets spurred on by your moans. He gives your clit the sensation it's been craving. Slowly, pressure is added to the bundle of nerves, and you feel yourself seeping down onto your sheets.

When he sees your glistening pussy, he laughs, “So wet again, baby, and I’ve barely even touched you here.”

“I was getting wet thinking about you earlier,” you mumble into the back of your hand.

“Good.” He smiles. “Don’t think about other guys from now on, you’re all for me.”

There’s no time to reply in shock because Katsuki dips into your depths, swiping up and down your wetness. One finger slips inside smoothly, moving in and out with ease.

Testing it out, Katsuki moves down to your sex and adds his mouth to the mix. This new feeling sets your body on fire. What he’s doing to your body is more than anything you’ve ever experienced, and your core tightens uncontrollably.

“Wait, ah!” you cry out, but Bakugou doesn’t relent. Instead, he adds another finger and curls it into your g-spot.

Working in and out of your cunt, you feel yourself squeezing around his fingers. The feeling of his strong fingers moving inside of you and his lips sucking on your throbbing clit brings you to your limit embarrassingly quickly. You can’t find it in yourself to care, though, because it just feels so good.

With one last strangled moan, you cum, the pleasure sending you over the edge. You tingle all over post orgasm and feel your eyes slip into the back of your head for a second. As Bakugou continues to finger you, your body lifts off the bed into his mouth.

Then, suddenly, you feel something else coming. Something that you feel coming upon you just as fast as your orgasm. You try to sit up and stop Bakugou, but his hand keeps you pinned to the bed. The overstimulation on your body creeps up on you, and there’s a new pain that accompanies your pleasure, adding to your second high.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cry out when Katsuki switches his fingers for his mouth.

Nimble fingers swirl circles on your clit as his tongue darts out to meet your pussy. It licks up and down, teasing your entrance with the occasional poke inside. And, when you’re least expecting it, it finally slides to your hole, working on thrusting as far into your depths as you can.

This feeling is incredible, and the way Bakugou groans into your pussy drives you mad. Feeling the finger leaving your clit, you whine, but it’s replaced with his tongue again. This time, his tongue switches between your folds and you clit, stimulating every inch of your already twitching sex.

“You’re so good, baby. Love this so much,” Katsuki murmurs when he lifts off of you for a moment.

“Kiss me, and let me touch you, too,” you moan, bringing his face to yours.

You aren’t bothered by the fact that he was just eating you out when you start dipping into each other’s mouths. If anything, the look in Bakugou’s eye tells you it turns him on more. The genuinely lewd look of his tousled hair and wide pupils raises your heartrate so high you can feel it beat inside your chest.

Absent-mindedly, you fumble with the buttons on Bakugou’s jeans. He helps you by leaning back and pulling his shirt over his head. You don’t miss the way his muscles flex and the way he flaunts his abs.

Then, with a quick tug, Bakugou’s pants and boxers slide off. His dick stands proudly, pretty and thick as ever. You place your hand on it like you did last time. He responds well to your touch and groans lewdly when you give it a squeeze.

You slick your palm with spit, and Bakugou helps guide your hand back to his leaking cock. Together, with his hand wrapped around yours, you move on his member, fingers trailing along the prominent vein down the front.

Once you’ve built up a rhythm, you meet Katsuki’s tender gaze. The red of his irises disappear as his eyes flutter shut. He leans forward and recaptures your mouth in a slow but sloppy makeout.

You twist your hand on Bakugou eliciting a breathy moan from him. He twitches in your hand signalling his impending orgasm.

“Can I cum in your mouth?” His mouth is by your ear, moaning and releasing hot breaths to spur you on.

You freeze, and your motions stop. Bakugou notices your alarm and moves to look directly in your eyes. “You don’t have to– I would never force you.”

“No.” you shake your head. “It’s just that I’ve never done that.”

Bakugou’s eyes widen in shock temporarily then fall back. “You want me to teach you tonight, baby?”

You bite your lip meekly and nod your head. Bakugou grins in return, helping you down to his crotch. As you come face to face with his cock, it twitches releasing some precum out of the slit.

“Just put your lips on it. Do what feels right,” he says and pulls your hair into his hands.

You kiss his member just like you would his lips. The wet noises coming from your mouth are so loud and such a turn on for Bakugou. His grip on your head tightens, and he has to force himself not to push you down.

Bakugou hisses when you place the tip in your mouth and give it a hard suck. Wanting to please him even more, you take more of him deeply in your throat. At this point you feel impaled by his large dick with your nose just a few inches from his groin.

Despite your struggle to take him in entirety, Bakugou doesn’t notice and instead groans every time you slide down on him. You gag frequently, and you’re more than certain your teeth have grazed his shaft multiple times, but Bakugou acts like this is the best head he’s ever received.

The longer you go, the more moans fall out of his open lips. His head tilts back when you curiously brush a finger down his balls. He’s much more sensitive than you imagined he would be, and his hips thrust up uncontrollably.

“Fuck, sorry,” he groans, he pulls you off of him to check if you’re okay.

“It’s alright.” You lick him one last time. “Do you think we could maybe go all the way?”

Bakugou blinks at you wordlessly. Then, after about a minute of silence, and worry, on your part, he replies. “You mean, can I take your virginity?”

You hum in reply, and Bakugou throws you back to the middle of the bed

“I left the condoms in my car,” he realizes aloud.

“That’s okay,” you whisper in his ear as seductively as you can. “I’m on the pill.”

“Fuck, okay.” Bakugou acts like your response is the sexiest thing ever.

He leans down and kisses your neck one last time. You feel his cock against your stomach leaving a hot trail of precum on your skin. Everything about this moment is hot, but you can’t take his slow kisses any longer. You need him inside of you, thrusting deep into your core.

Just when you’re about to take matters into your own hands, Bakugou leans forward and brings himself to your entrance. It is at this moment that you realize how big he is, and that he’s going to try to fit that entire thing inside of you.

You let out a deep breath when he finally slips inside. The stretch is rough, his cock prodding your most intimate crevices. As he inches into your depths, he grasps onto your hand, pulling you to him in a surprisingly romantic way.

The way Bakugou moves within you is gentle, far softer than he was when he ate you out. You can only assume he wants your first time to be soft and sweet. He grips softly at your waist, slowly moving in and out. When your eyes meet, you give him a sweet smile and a nod, hoping he’ll move a little faster.

He takes the hint well, and suddenly Katsuki leans over you, your hands meeting his hardened chest. You jolt with both pain and pleasure after the first deep thrust. Then, as he pumps his cock more and more, you feel the pain fading away, the stretch to accommodate becoming pleasant.

After Bakugou notices your growing comfort, he goes ahead with pulling almost all the way out and thrusting back in. Differently from before, you can feel him even deeper, and your body arches to meet him when your groins come together.

Swiftly, Katsuki moves you from your back to a position where you’re sitting on his lap. The sensation of him thrusting up into you makes your toes curl and loud moans to fall from your lips. In turn, Katsuki groans and continues to rut his hips like it’s his sole mission.

“You tighten up when I’m in you like this, did you know?” Katsuki groans in your ear, his hot breath hits your skin and makes you shiver.

The feeling in your cunt overwhelms you, but it’s so good, and you know now you won’t be able to get enough. Meeting Bakugou’s thrusts, you attempt to ride him, earning deep groans in return. Bakugou screws his eyes shut and allows you to move opposite to his thrusts. With the constant movement, and the occasional brush against your pleasure spot, your cunt tightens further.

Bakugou grips your ass with his large hands, wanting to feel your insides constrict even further. Unbeknownst to you, this is his first time going raw, and it’s making him cum like it’s his first time, too. So, unashamedly chasing your highs, you grind against each other as fervently as you can.

The air in the room is hot, but the heat in between your bodies as you ride him is far hotter. Both of you elicit loud noises from the other, your neighbours probably hearing your moans through the wall. Normally something like this would embarrass you to no end, but Bakugou’s fucking you so well that you feel you inhibitions melt away along with your innocence.

The coil in your stomach twists, and you feel your high coming. However, Bakugou stops short and leaves you bouncing on him by yourself. After only a split second of confusion, Bakugou slaps your ass, leaning back into a pillow.

“Want me to ride you?” you breathlessly say, attempting to make your voice sultry and not actually inquisitive.

It fails, but Bakugou doesn’t make any visible notice. Instead, he grunts out a quiet ‘yeah, please’ and grips your flesh, moving you against him. The pleasure of having him grind you on him does wonders for your pussy, and the new angle he’s hitting you at has you seeing stars.

Unlike before, Bakugou’s cock hits your g-spot every time now that you're fully riding him. The new feeling sends waves of heat to your stomach, quickly pushing you towards the edge.

Katsuki had been holding out strongly for a while, but as soon as he leaned back and let you ride, he was pretty much done for.

He feels himself unable to control his orgasm, which is creeping up way too fast. You don’t mind, though, as you’re equally as close. When you feel his dick twitching deep inside you, balls contracting and signalling his release, your cunt tightens more than it ever has before.

“Fuck, I’m cumming!” Bakugou grips your ass and pushes himself up so he can thrust again.

You, on the other hand, yelp in surprise at him readjusting your position, moaning uncontrollably as he goes so deep you think he’s hitting your cervix. You fantasize about how Katsuki slips in and out of you with ease, balls coming up to hit your ass, which unknowingly makes you milk his cock harder.

With a surprising bite to your neck, Bakugou thrusts into you one last time, and calls out your name.

The spurts of cum he makes into your pussy have you cumming on the spot, as well. Both of you moan as you reach your highs together, Bakugou trying to quell his own by pressing his hot mouth to your skin.

“Katsuki!” you cry one last time, slumping forward onto his shoulder.

Neither of you have ever felt this good—you especially, never having thought your first time would be this wild. But Bakugou surprises you with his sexual prowess, and has you basking in a hazy afterglow, one that you won’t forget anytime soon.

You blissfully gaze at him as he continues to thrust ever so slowly, milking out your orgasmatic pleasure.

His eyes are half-lidded, yet you know he’s still very alert of your bodies. Then, he, for the first time since he penetrated you, lets go of your body for a split second, and you miss the warmth of his hands, but you’re quickly satisfied by him going to grab your waist.

Bakugou effortlessly pulls you off of his body, his heavy breathing, muscled chest catching your attention. The genuine ‘splurt’ that comes from between you two when he unsheathes himself makes you blush and awkwardly chuckle in embarrassment, but Bakugou stares amazedly at your pulsating cunt.

You try to cover yourself, despite the fact that he’d seen it all before, but his hand pries your legs apart and dives towards your pussy.

“Wait,” you abruptly say, hoping he’s not already wanting more.

“Hmm?” he hums, curiously drawing a finger down your slit.

“I’m not sure I can go again.” You look at him as he dips his fingers into you ever so slightly.

Instead of replying, Bakugou sets your nerves on fire with his feathery touches. Then, when you look down, you see what’s caught his attention. It’s his milky white cum thatleaks out of your hole and onto your dark bedspread.

“Katsuki, I’m so sensitive. Am I supposed to be able to go again?” You stop his hand’s movement with your own.

“Oh, nah, sorry, baby. You were so good, I forgot you were a virgin.” He grins at you, and you feel heat blooming on your cheeks

He finally takes his hand off of your body and mumbles something about going to get something to clean you up.

“Ah, wait!” You stumble after him, your limbs too sore to hold you up properly. “Let me find something for you.”

You meet Bakugou in your ensuite where he’s already holding a towel. From the doorway, you take a step forward, but your knees buckle and you fall right into his arms.

“It was that good, huh?” he jokes, making you flush in embarrassment.

“Nuh uh,” you counter, but your wobbly legs betray your words.

He chuckles in response and sets you down on the counter, the cold surface strikingly frigid against your burning flesh. He gently pats you down with the towel, making sure his cum is wiped clean from your skin.

“All done,” he says once he’s finished wiping all your skin down.

You go to thank him, but stop when you notice yourself in the mirror. Bruises litter your neck and even your chest. When did those get there? you think to yourself.

“Oh my god, Katsuki!” You go to playfully punch him, but he catches your hand in his.

Placing one hand on your waist and the other on your chin, angling your head towards his, he places a chaste kiss on your lips.

Then, when he pulls away, a goofy grin breaks out onto his pretty face. “Oh my god, Katsuki? That’s what you’ll be saying next time.”

Your face bursts into flames, and Bakugou chuckles, holding you for a moment in your dim bathroom light. “So, when’s next time?”

a/n: hi guys!! i’m back with part 2. i’d love it if some of you sent prompts to my inbox or even commissioned me because i tried extra hard to finish this promptly 😃

tags @oldfruitloop @mimi53213 @cheyehc

[gojos-thot-patrol]

And with this, it all comes to an end...

Now Loading: Kinktober Season Finale

Synopsis: It was supposed to be a fun little joke, a gag you and your friends indulged at your annual Halloween Party. Of course it wasn't going to work, no way a "ritual" you found on WikiHow of all places was really going to summon an Incubus. But, if that was the case, then who was the almost angelic looking man standing in your room?

Kinks: Spectrophilia, Non-Con/Dub-Con, Mirror Sex, and Dacryphilia

You laughed at your friend's silly joke as you readjusted your witch hat and took a sip of your drink. Halloween night- the spookiest time of the year, and you were spending it with five of your closest friends. You couldn’t think of another place in the entire world you would rather be than right there on that couch, drinking suspiciously vibrant green cocktails and watching trashy B-grade horror flicks.

That was until the host's phone went off. Her excited squeal told her everything you needed to know. 

“Ew, Is that Grease?” You asked, earning you an eye roll from the hostess and a giggle from the rest of the group.

“Why do you insist on calling Toji that?” She asked as she typed away a response.

“Cause he looks greasy.” You reminded her. She scoffed at you and shook her head.

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you can’t get laid.” She rebuffed.

“You’ve resorted to personal attacks, this means I automatically win!” You celebrated, sticking your tongue out at her. 

“Wait, you still can’t get any?” One of your other friends asked, inserting themselves into the conversation, “Why not? You’re hot.” You just shrugged at their question.

“I haven’t found anyone worth my time.” you simply stated.

“She’s picky.” The host said. As she did, you saw a spark of an idea light up her eyes, and she more aggressively typed on her phone.

“Wait, weren’t you talking to that Zenin guy?” Another friend entered the ring, “What happened to him?” He asked.

“You mean Naoya? He dropped on the third date that he didn’t believe in the female orgasm. I wasn’t going to waste any more of my time with that.” You sighed, mostly out of pity for whatever woman he did trick into his bed, and sipped your cocktail.

“What if you fucked a demon?” The host asked, looking at you with frantically excited eyes.

“Congratulations! That’s officially the fourth weirdest sex question I’ve ever been asked.” You clapped for your friend.

“Only the fourth? What have you?- Not the point,” She shook her head and showed you the article she had pulled up on her phone. The Wikihow article, to be specific. You laughed as you read the title HOW TO SUMMON AN INCUBUS BOYFRIEND. 

“Well shit, it’s worth a try,” You joked as you handed back the phone.

“Are you serious?” She asked, grinning like a mad man, “Because I have the things to perform the ritual, and I can’t think of a better way to spend Halloween night than getting you some demonic dick.” She winked. You chuckled as you thought about the ridiculous nature of mixing the metaphysical with cyberspace. Eh, fuck it, what was the worst that could happen? You finished off your drink and nodded.

“Fuck it, let’s summon the devil!”

“Well, an incubus not the devil-” Your friend corrected, “But yeah!”

🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

The room was dark. You had just finished anointing the ceremonial candles- which definitely wasn’t just a pretentious way to say  the six of you put essential oils on half used yankee candles. It was way more legit than that! You guys like…added intentions or whatever it was the article said to do. You all placed them on the reverse pentagram pattern on the ground, and you specifically lit them in a clockwise order, starting from the bottom) most point…Wait. Wait, no you definitely started from the upper right point. Oops?

Maybe you all shouldn’t have been doing this drunk. But, no one noticed! So you continued to spend more energy giving the bit far more commitment than it ever warranted. You moved to the hostess. “The scene is set Sister,” you fought giggles, “How shall we proceed?”

“Thank you my companion of darkness. I shall consult the sacred tomes.” She said pulling out her phone with a flourish and pulling back up the- and I can not stress this enough- WikiHow article, on how to summon a Sex. Demon. What a wild Halloween.

“It says we all need to do now is put the sacrifice in the center of the inverted star.” Your friend said. The room fell quiet for a second. As jokey as this had all been up until this point, the use of the word “sacrifice” had shifted the air to something much colder. More serious. You felt about a thousand sets of eyes on you, but you knew in reality it was only five sets. Five sets of burning, nervous eyes.

“Ugh, okay fine!” You groaned, dramatically throwing your head back to break the tension, “I’ll go get in the star!” You said with a playful smirk as you positioned yourself in the center of the pentagram. “Besides, who doesn’t want a Sexy demon boyfriend? I’ll gladly get sacrificed for that.” You joked.

“Excellent!” The hostess said with an excited clap of her hands. You watched as your friends went to their places, one for each point of the star. “Okay, I’m gonna send you guys the like, script I guess? So you guys know what we have to say.” She said as she sent the text to the group chat. You watched as everyone checked their phones.

“Is that…Latin?” one of your friends questioned.

“I think?” The hostess asked more than said.

“What does it mean?” A different friend inquired.

“I don’t know, demons come fuck me? How should I know what it means?” The hostess snapped.

“Shit- sorry I asked.” Your friend mumbled, and you felt kinda bad for them. 

“Can we get on with this? I’m getting tired.” You said. It wasn’t a lie. You had felt your energy slowly sleep out of you from the moment your friends took their spots on the star, and a nap was really starting to sound phenomenal about now.

“Right, sorry babes.” The hostess said sympathetically, reaching out her arms. All of the friends complied, reaching out with their entire wingspans but still only managing to touch fingertips. It was enough though, the pentagram was transformed into a pentacle, and suddenly, you felt woozy. 

“Gojo est optimus,” The all chanted in unison, low and serious. “Gojo tam terribilis est, vis eum tecum dormire.” Your ears started ringing, loud and hateful. “Colendum est Satoru Gojo!” As the last syllables fell from their lips, the flames of the used overpriced candles erupted into a brilliant indigo inferno with a molting cerulean core. The wall of fire surrounded you and warmed your body to the point of overheating. You stumbled to keep your balance. The air suddenly felt like thick oil, and your head felt like it was filled with cotton. 

As quickly as the flames exploded, they vanished, leaving you to hyperventilate in the darkness while your friends all tried to process what just happened. Suddenly, a laugh split through the air and your skull.

“That's crazy!” one of your friends laughed, “I didn’t know essential oils reacted to fire like that!” He said. Slowly, the rest of you all joined him in his laugh, small nervous giggles finding the will to become genuine. Yeah, that made sense. The oils must have had..something in them to make them do that. Yeah. 

You tried to ignore the feeling of someone grabbing your ass.

🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

You didn’t stay at the party much longer after that. You told all of your friends you were tired, which, was true. You didn’t tell them that you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched though. Or that every once in a while you felt like you were being touched. A thumb rubbing your thigh, or a kiss ghosted over your neck. You kept that part to yourself. 

You knew you were probably just over thinking the whole ritual thing. The human brain was a powerful lump of electricity, and the placebo effect was undeniable. You probably just tricked yourself into feeling these things cause you fake summoned a fake demon. Yeah, that made sense.

As you walked into your apartment door, you felt it again. A firm hand grabbing the fat of your ass. In the safety of your own home, you gave into your initial reaction of swatting the invisible pervert away. “Quit it.” You growled at the wind.

You could have sworn you heard someone respond. “Tch.”

No, no you didn't hear that. You can’t be feeling phantom touches and be hearing things, you had to pick a lane for your crazy. You rolled your eyes at how silly you were being as you dragged yourself into the bathroom. All you wanted was a shower and to get to bed. Tonight had been surprisingly taxing. As you undressed, you couldn’t stop feeling overly self conscious of your body. As if a pair of eyes were burning into your very soul, seeing you both inside and out and leaving you with no secrets left. Like someone was looking inside your heart to see your desires, your hopes and dreams. You hurried into the tub.

The warm shower cascaded over your cold body, making your skin erupt in goosebumps. You sighed as the cleansing waters washed away your sins from the night, and finally put your mind at ease. For all of about two seconds.  Then your imagination started to wander. What chemical was in those essential oils to make them turn such a deep blue? Was such a color even possible for fire? It was so dark. You closed your eyes as you followed your train of thought. What did all that Latin mean? And how did your friends, who had never spoken the language a day in their life mind you, nail the pronunciation and reading of it on the first try? Without so much as a practice read or example no less. 

"You think so much. It's kinda cute." That voice was definitely in your mind- but it wasn't your own. Your eyes suddenly shot open as you jerked your head around the bathroom, trying to see who could have said that- despite knowing you would find no one. Steam was all that greeted you. Jesus fuck, what was in those drinks to be making you feel this way? You quickly finished your shower and got out. 

You felt it again before you could grab your towel. Two hands, playing with your chest. You almost screamed, frustration mounting in yourself. Then you caught a glimpse of the mirror. Temporarily, you didn’t feel the hands on you anymore. You didn’t feel anything as your brain tried to process the impossibility of what it was seeing. And then you felt everything.

Visible through the slight fog in the mirror, and only the mirror, were two hands- large and pale, long nails (claws?) tipped in pink and black- groping your breasts. You watched in awe and horror as the two hands kneaded the flesh of your chest, rolling their (it's?) thumbs over your hardening nipples. You watched as one of the disembodied appendages left your breast and moved lower. Moved to touch you in a place you hadn't been touched yet tonight. The hand vanished from the view of the glass, and seconds later you felt a spark of pleasure as (what you assumed to be) a finger flicked your clit.

Suddenly, your brain worked again, and you screamed as you tumbled away from the mirror, nearly tumbling over and back into the bathtub in your panic. You caught yourself just in time though, breathing heavy as you leaned against the wall of your shower. You heard that fucking voice again, this time it had the audacity to laugh.

"Such a tease." It mused. You needed to get out of here. You screamed as you ran out of the bathroom, and down the short hall to your bedroom. You crashed into the room, unsure why you ran here other than the fact that you always felt safe in this space. You tried to calm yourself but found it impossible. You went to sit on your bed, but- you stopped in your tracks as you caught a glimpse of the full length mirror facing your mattress. You blinked as you stared at it, your confusion being replaced only by more bodily feelings as you watched the impossible scene unfold in the glass.

You watched as a figure pushed his hips into yours, fucking you into your mattress. Your fucked out face contorting in pleasure as you moaned out helplessly, eyes glazing over in a daze. The figure wrapped his large hand around your throat, and you couldn’t help but notice the way the pink and black claws dug into your skin. 

And you felt all of it. You could feel the shadow on top of you, feel its hand tighten around your throat. And you felt him in between your legs, heavy and thick, dragging out of your heat at an agonizing pace. You felt every deliberate thrust into the sweet spot that laid inside you, making you feel delirious with pleasure. Mirror you moaned a name you didn’t quite catch and clawed the shadows biceps. You felt his skin under your nails as another wave of arousal overtook you.

Your knees felt weak with desire and you found it suddenly hard to stand. You made eye contact with yourself in the glass, and stumbled backwards as your knees suddenly gave out. You didn’t hit the ground, though, a part of you wished you did. Instead, you landed against a wall of muscle. Strong arms encircled you, and you felt a low chuckle reverberate from the chest you were braced against.

“You’re clumsy, aren’t you Honey?” Yep, that was definitely the voice you heard in the bathroom. You scrambled away from the arms in a sudden burst of energy, and spun around to finally get a good look at the entity that had been haunting you all night. 

He was tall, 7 feet at least, with ghost white hair and glowing- unnaturally vibrant- sapphire eyes. He was a pale man, clad in leather pants and corset adorned with pink chains. Giant bat wings framed him, and two black devil tails- tipped with sharp pink hearts- flicked excitedly behind him. He flashed a smirk, showing off the long fangs he hid behind perfectly pink lips.

“Like what you feel, Sweetheart?” He asked, musical voice dripping with smug condescension. 

“Who are you?” You asked as you tried to steady your heart. He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Shouldn’t you know? You called out to me.” He reminded you gently. Oh fuck. 

“You’re the fucking WikiHow demon?!” You scoffed with a humorless laugh, “Are you fucking kidding me?! What self respecting demon puts their summoning ritual on fucking WikiHow?!?!” You lashed out in frustration, to hide from the fear. You didn’t sell your soul to this…being, did you? He chuckled at your sudden outburst, as if he was watching a cat try and escape a laundry basket it trapped itself in.

“What self respecting human performs a ritual found on WikiHow?” He threw that right back at you.

“That can’t be working out well for you.” it wasn’t quite what you meant to say. Your body felt like it was on fire with desire right now, and more than anything you wanted to rip him out of those leather pants. You’d be forgiven for not being the most articulate person right now. You got your point across, that’s what mattered. 

“Why can’t it be?” He asked with a tilt of his head, “It’s worked out great for me so far. I get hundreds of thousands of curious summoners, and I get to respond to the ones I find interesting. Honestly, I think it was pretty genius.” He grinned. It was true. He ate way more now than he ever did when his summoning rituals were locked behind ancient, dusty tomes, long since forgotten to time. You huffed at him and shook your head.

“I still don’t know your name.” Why did that matter to you so much? Maybe it was because you wanted to know the name of the demon that had damned you. Maybe you wanted to know what name you’d be screaming later. Who knows. He smiled wide and with a flourish bowed before you, wings spreading out behind him and tails swirling in front of him.

“Satoru Gojo,” He said, “At your service.” With that, he straightened back up.

“Satoru Gojo, huh?” You scoffed, Trying to focus on your rage to distract yourself from the pleasure pooling inside of you. “So you’re the pervert that’s been groping me all night?”

“Strong way to put it, but yes.” He shrugged, nonchalant grin never leaving his face, “Who could blame me? Have you seen yourself? I couldn’t keep my hands off you even if I wanted to.” you ignored him.

“You’re a fucking creep!” You accused, “I didn’t consent to-”

“Oh you didn’t?” He cut you off with a scoff. “Oh, my mistake. See, I was under the impression that you had willingly entered the star to be sacrificed into my power, and willingly- if not even enthusiastically- participated in the ritual to bind yourself to me.” 

Oh yeah. You did do that, huh? Your face said everything, and his smirk (somehow) got even more smug. “That’s what I thought. You see Sweets, in my world, you’ve already consented to everything I have planned for you.” He walked past you to sit on your bed, and you turned to not take your eyes off him. 

“All of this,” he gestured widely with his hands, “Is really just in respect to your human culture. That, and everything tastes better when it’s given willingly.” he laughed. 

"And what if I don't give it willingly?" You asked, crossing your arms.

"You will." He said that so matter-of-factly that it made your stomach burn. He said it as if he was telling you the time or reading off instructions. As if it was just an objective, unavoidable, fact. 

"And what makes you so sure of that Lover Boy?" You scoffed, trying to hide the fact you were unnerved. 

"Because I can smell your arousal from here,” He smiled, flashing those dangerous fangs again, “and you’ve been rubbing your delicious thighs together this entire conversation, and you refuse to look me in the eye cause you know the moment you do, all of this” he gestured at you with a single hand, “edgy mean girl attitude will vanish.” he said as he crossed his legs and held his knee with both hands. “You want me. You want me so bad, you’re struggling to think of anything else. It’s only a matter of time until you give into that carnal desire.”

You hated how accurately he read you. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to guard your body from his invasive gaze. You hated the fact that you could feel your hips buck against his illusions. And that as good as they felt, they just weren’t enough. Your cunt was clenching around nothing and your skin burned for his touch. You could feel your resolve dissolving, fear giving way to lust.

“Will it hurt?”

“Not unless you want it to.”

“I’m not talking about sex dipshit,” You groaned, “I’m talking about losing up my soul.”  For the first time this entire encounter, he looked confused.

“I-I’m sorry, what?” He asked.

“My soul,” You said, feeling his confusion rub off on you, “You’re an incubus, right? Isn’t that like…your thing?” 

“No?” His confusion slowly transformed into chuckling as it finally dawned on him what the hold up was. “Oh sugar, is that why you’re fighting this so hard? You think I want your soul? Baby, you gotta stop watching so many movies. Mortal souls are absolutely worthless. Mortal pleasure on the other hand, now. That’s where the money lies.”  You weren’t sure if that thought should have comforted you- or scared you more. 

But before you could get too lost in your head, he uncrossed his legs and leaned back on the bed. His tight pants left next to nothing to the imagination, and you bit your lower lip so hard you were sure it bled. 

"Come here Sweets." He said, opening his arms out to you. Your body acted on its own accord, walking over to him without any say from you. Before you knew it, you were straddling his lap. He placed his hands on your side, rubbing your hips and smiling at the way they bucked against him. "Look at you. Frustrated to tears and fighting, what, six months of tension? Don't do that to yourself Sugar. I can help you. You just have to let me."

You looked down. Some primal part of your brain knew this was a bad idea. This man(?) Was a predator who made no attempt to hide that fact about himself. You knew you should run. 

And yet that same primal part of your brain wanted him all the more for that exact reason. "Let me take care of you." Gojo requested, running his hand up your bare back to tangle his fingers in the hair at the base of your neck. You felt yourself break.

"Okay…" you finally said, "Help me." He didn't need to be told twice. In a blink his lips were on yours, the taste of cherry and peaches invading your senses. His tongue slid past your teeth to tangle with yours, and for the first time you got a sense of just how long the muscle really was. The hand tangled in your hair gave a sharp tug, making you moan against his mouth. You could feel the already impressive tent in his pants get bigger.

Nervousness mixed with excitement as he flipped you over, pressing your back into your soft mattress. His head moved to kiss dark bruises into your neck, making sure to let his fangs nip the thin skin there. A reminder of what you were dealing with. He kissed down your body, finally landing at the place you needed him the most. He threw your leg over his shoulder, and pressed his face against your sticky cunt.

You let out a truly embarrassing moan as you were finally graced with the relief your body had been begging for. You whined as you felt him pressed his unnaturally long tongue into your weeping cunt, reaching places you didn’t know possible and stretching you in a deliciously devious way. He licked at your g-spot, sending shock waves of pleasure straight to your core and throughout the rest of your body. 

His expert fingers worked at your clit as he lapped as your cunt. Your body reacted to him in ways it had never reacted before, overly sensitive and needy. Your hands reached down to tangle into his moon-pale hair, pulling on the soft tresses found there. Pulling him even closer and deeper into you. His long, thick tongue pushed in and out of your weeping cunt, and if you felt this fucked out from just his tongue, you were almost scared to think about what his cock would feel like. You saw his wings flutter in delight as you pulled at his hair again, and the coil inside of you got tighter.

Pleasure pulsed through your body, reaching every part of you and making your back arch off of the bed. You could feel your body buzzing with anticipation as your climax approached at breakneck speeds. You had felt nothing like this before, nothing had made you feel so euphoric. No boyfriend had ever even come close, and no toy could ever compare. Your head was exploding with heavy desire as your climax overtook you, shattering your world and wrecking your body with tremors. 

You watched as he rose up from your legs, his heavy lidded eyes clouded with lust, a satisfied, lopsided grin on his face. "You taste even sweeter than I imagined." He complimented. 

"Thanks, I eat a lot of pineapple." You muttered, still coming down from your earth shattering high, still trying to regain your bearings. He chuckled softly, leaning over you. Your face turned red as you realized your slick was still glistening in his lips and chin in the moonlight. 

"I can tell." He winked, "Can you?" Before you could properly process his words, his hands were on the side of your face and pulling you into another heated kiss. You tasted yourself on his lips, and felt his nails press red crescents into the side of your head. He was right, there was a sweetness there, and you felt a sense of pride swell inside you as you realized that.

Your hands found the back of his head, tangling into his hair and pulling him even further into the kiss. Your recuperation made him feral, and his hands went from the side of your face to your hips, grabbing you in a bruising grip and pulling your body closer to him. His touch set a fire inside of you, making your heart work over time as your hands clumsily tried to pull him closer. You found the joint connecting his wings to his back and grabbed into them for dear life, sending a shudder through his entire body. He looked at you with dark, blown out eyes. 

“I’m going to fucking devour you.” He growled lowly at you. It sent a lighting bolt straight to your cunt. He pulled away, revealing that the leather corset and pants were finally gone. You felt your throat dry as you took in the sight of him. His body seemed to glow softly in the moonlight, lean and beautiful, his wings behind his frame making him look particularly ethereal. Your eyes trailed down and you choked back a moan.

You would never say this out loud, or about any mortal man for that matter, but…that mother fucker had a pretty cock. Long, with prominent veins and a baby pink tip. It stood proud against his stomach, already dripping with need, and all for you. 

“You look like an angel…” You whispered without even thinking. He chuckled, showing off his fangs to remind you that looks could be deceiving. 

“Is that what you want me to be?” He asked with a hum, grabbing your beautiful hips and positioning them against his, “I can be that for you. I can have you screaming out for god.” He shoved himself into you in one unforgiving go, sending a shock through your body as you moaned expletives, trying to adjust to the sudden intruder. “I can’t promise he’ll hear you though.” Gojo chuckled, “You’d be better off screaming for me.”

You moaned his name softly as you gripped onto his biceps, a scene that felt very familiar to you for some reason. He dragged himself out before pushing back in, perfectly gracing you G-spot with expert precision. He moaned as he did, trying to keep from losing control and fucking you like an animal. Your cunt was warm, and so welcoming. Pulling him in deeper and begging him for more. And who was he to deny you what you so desperately and clearly needed? 

You felt his tails wrap around your knees and spread you wider for him, giving him more room to work. He adjusted your position under him, letting him get deeper inside of you than any man had ever been before. He filled you to the brim, overflowing your senses with euphoria as he made sure you felt every inch of him pounding into you.

“Fuck, ‘Toru!” You moaned as he overtook you. Every thrust sent a new wave of electrical fire through your body, leaving you completely at his mercy as your second high approached. The scene was sinful, even for Satoru. The soft nickname made his heart ache (which, weird not gonna unpack that) and the scene before him made his dick swell. 

Your hair was messy from all of the pulling, and your eyes were fucked out and foggy. Your kiss swollen lips were red and parted, panting his name so beautifully. Your chest bounced with every push of his hips, and you took him so perfectly, it was like you were made to be his cock-sleeve. It was a scene he didn’t want to share with anybody else.

He leaned down closer to you, using his wings to shield your sin from the rest of the world. For the first time in his existence, he felt possessive. He didn’t want anyone else to see you like this, so pretty and needy. It was a sight only for him. The close intimacy overwhelmed you as his hand came to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to break you. 

Your second climax of the night hit you like a hurricane, a wall of ecstasy crashing into you and sweeping you up in the whirlwind of mind numbing pleasure. You felt like you were on top of the world as it coursed through you in pulsating waves, his refusal to slow down for even a second putting even more power behind them.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until you felt his tongue lick up your cheek, collecting the salty tears. “Look at my little cry baby,” He teased, “tearing up while falling apart around my cock. Do you even know what you’re fucking doing to me?” He growled as he dug his fangs into your neck hard enough to draw blood. 

You let out a broken sob as his teeth dug into your skin, the pain mixing with the pleasure and making you clench around him. Your hands found where his wings attached to his back again, and grabbed onto them for dear life as you tried to ride out your intense high. The feeling of your nails in his wings sent him over the edge. He moaned your name pathetically as his tip kissed your cervix and he came deep inside of you. You felt the warmth of his climax mellow out and flow through you as he rode you through both of your highs, only stopping when both of your bodies forced you too. 

He was breathing hard when he finally pulled out, collapsing on your bed next to you. He took a second to catch his breath, before pulling you into his arms and wrapping his wings around the both of you- not bothering with a blanket. You felt warm and safe inside of his wings, as if none of your problems or the evils of the real world could get to you as long as you were here. 

“So…” You finally asked, breaking the silence, “What happens now?” 

“What do you mean?” He asked, gingerly licking away the blood that trickled down your neck. 

“Do I die? Do you leave? What comes next?” You asked, confused as to how to further explain. Your confusion turned into frustration as he laughed.

“Do I leave?” He chuckled, “Honey, did you not read the article? You summoned an incubus boyfriend. Good luck getting rid of me.”

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・ Taglist ・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

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Thank you so much for all the support lovelies, and for continuing to read my work! You've all been wonderful, and I hope you all have a spooktacular Halloween!

and if you wanna read all of the Kinktober fics, you can find them all: Right Here!

[tempe-brennans]

and i'd come back if you'd just call

author's note: soulmate au + apocalypse

summary: you show up in jackson and turn joel's life upside down

warnings: implied smut and handsy touching

word count: 2.7k

There’s gray in his hair. He’s sure he should feel grateful for that–especially now–and some part of him does, he supposes.

He has people.

There’s Ellie and Tommy and Maria. You.

He’s not sure exactly what to do about you.

Besides, he’s more concerned about the ache in his back and the knots in his muscles–much more important problems than the love he’s beginning to think he still feels for you or the sunflower burning on his wrist.

There’s heating pads for his muscles and pain pills for his back–concrete solutions.

You, on the other hand, you’re young and fun and something he can’t quite get his fingers around.

And, you had left him–a fact he can’t quite forget. No matter how much he’d like to.

His throat is sore, scratchy in the way that tells him he spent last night snoring. Sighing as he sits up in bed, he cracks one shoulder and then the other.

His feet don’t want to find the floor. His body doesn’t want to hide behind the curtains in his own home because he can never be sure if you can see him.

Tommy thought he was so funny, making you two neighbors.

Joel does turn, eventually, let his feet land on the too cold floor. Toes slip into slippers he’d left in reach when he’d gotten into bed last night. He reaches blindly for the faded flannel robe that’s draped over the chair in the corner of his room.

He hasn’t had time for such indulgences, too busy running–from life, monsters. Anything. Before, he simply hadn’t wanted them.

But, Ellie had presented them both–a set, though the patterns didn’t match at all–as a gift and he hadn’t been able to say no.

He’s tired of being so sharp, so tough. In his own home, at least, maybe he can rest.

Home.

The thought brings his mind back to you, against his will, and as he pours his coffee he tries to see if your lights are on.

He can’t tell. The sun is working against him. He resolves himself to the fact that he’ll run into you at some point in town, so, really, what does it matter if you see each other sooner rather than later?

Besides, he’s almost positive you aren’t sitting in windowsills, pining after him.

He sits in the recliner Tommy had insisted he just had to have and welcomes the ability to put his feet up. It’s a relic–a handle raises and lowers the foot rest–but, somehow, it still works.

Taking a drink of his coffee, he thinks.

There’s no sound in the house, something Joel still hasn’t gotten used to since Ellie moved out.

I’m 20, she had said when Joel had asked if she was sure she wanted to leave, as if that was an explanation. Besides, don’t you want your own space?

He didn’t, if she wanted to know the truth. He wanted to hear her downstairs cooking breakfast or the sound of her snoring through the crack in her bedroom door.

He knew why she had gone, though. It was the same reason he had left home the moment he turned 18.

Freedom.

So, he could understand it, even if he wasn’t entirely fond of it.

He sees her every few days anyway.

Coffee now gone, he knows his day has to start, even if the town now feels like a loaded gun is waiting around every corner. He dresses–a flannel still happily coasting between cozy and too threadbare and jeans. He cracks his front door, feels the bite of the winter wind, and shuts it firmly.

An extra jacket wouldn’t hurt.

x

“I’m telling you,” Joel mumbles, “she probably doesn’t even remember.”

Tommy quirks a brow. “Are you kidding?” Shaking his head, he laughs. “You spent the better half of a year together. The tattoos–”

“I don’t wanna talk about the tattoos,” Joel dismisses. “Besides,” he mutters, “it was eleven months.”

“Oh,” Tommy hums. “My mistake.”

Silence and then, “You know someone will notice, right?”

Joel tilts his head. “You see me wearing a lot of short sleeves in the winter?”

“You can’t use the weather to hide forever, bro. The minute Ellie–hell, anybody–notices the two identical sunflowers on your arms?” He shakes his head. “Secrets out.”

“Yeah?” Joel asks. “What secret is that?”

His little brother leans in, whispers, “You can still find your soulmate after the apocalypse.”

“She’s the one that left.” Joel sighs. “Obviously, she didn’t care that we were soulmates.”

“You don’t even know why she left!” Tommy exclaims, exasperated.

Joel quirks a brow. “Somehow I haven’t had a lot of time, what with the apocalypse and all.”

His brother claps him on the shoulder. “You’ve got nothing but time now.”

x

Joel walks the streets of Jackson, spitting snow beginning to fall around him.

Maybe Tommy is right. It’s not like Joel doesn’t have some extra time on his hands, a strange concept after the last twenty years, he has to admit.

Maybe he should take advantage of it.

It’s that thought that’s rattling around in his brain when he collides with someone else.

“Sorry!” He reaches out, blindly, tries to catch the person or their belongings–something. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” a voice says. It’s a voice he’s never forgotten–couldn’t forget, even if he wanted to–and he kicks himself that this is the way he’d run into you again.

Literally.

“It was really,” you stand, catch sight of his face for the first time, “my fault.”

He’s older now, grayer and a little softer around the edges, but, still, he can see the moment recognition lights on your features.

“Joel?”

He nods, suddenly sheepish. For once, his mind is completely blank. It can’t begin to come up with an adequate greeting for an old flame that, maybe, still burns somewhere behind his rib cage. He settles on an all too casual, “Hi.”

You smile, a soft thing. “Hi.”

On instinct it seems, you take a step closer and hug him. Though it’s been years, the feeling of you pressed against him, your arms around him, it’s familiar.

He wants to hate it, but he doesn’t. Not even a little.

He barely resists the urge to press a kiss to your forehead, take a minute to inhale your scent, before you pull away.

“S’nice to see you.”

Joel nods. “You, too.” Somewhere between the truth and a lie.

“Your hair, it’s…softer,” you murmur.

“Yeah?” Joel reaches up, runs an idle hand through it. “Haven’t had a lot of time for haircuts, I guess.” He shrugs. “I kinda got used to it.”

You nod. “It’s been a long time.”

Joel quirks a brow. “Whose fault was that?”

It’s too sharp, too biting, and he can see the results flash across your face.

Shaking your head, you glare at him, blow out a breath. “I should have known you hadn’t changed.”

You turn on your heel, away from him, and he wants to reach out, tell you he’s sorry, but something won’t let him.

He thinks it’s his heart.

“I’ve changed plenty!” He calls after your shrinking form. “Changed enough to know I should stay away from you.”

You look over your shoulder–just for a second–long enough to cut him to the core. “The feeling is mutual!”

He sighs and continues on his own path, towards his own lonely house, entirely too close to you for comfort.

x

“So.” Ellie sighs. “That went well.”

Joel chuckles, rolls his eyes. “You think?”

“We can fix it,” she says, sitting on the couch closest to him. “It’ll be fine.”

“Sure about that?,” he asks. “It’s not a leaky sink, you know.”

Her eyes light up in the very particular way that tells Joel she’s had an idea he won’t be fond of.

He’s suddenly nervous.

“That’s it,” she exclaims.

“What’s it?”

Ellie leaves the room, obviously in search of something, and ignores him.

“Ellie,” he calls after her. “Ellie, what’s it?”

x

It’s her scheming that puts him on your porch, in fact, toolbox in hand and looking for something to fix.

Real or fake, it hadn’t really mattered to Ellie.

He should never have told her he had been a contractor.

The door opens and you glare at him, unsurprisingly.

“What do you want?”

He spits it out, before he can change his mind, run back home and hide.

“I’m sorry for earlier.” He shakes his head. “You left…before. And, I was angry and seeing you again…” He trails off, settles on simplicity. “I’m sorry.”

Something in your face softens as you step aside to let him in.

“I’m sorry for leaving, you know.”

You take him off guard, turn his pulse to a gallop.

“I was…I was afraid,” you murmur, skipping over his own apology in a way that’s entirely you.

Of course it’s the way you’d let him know things are okay.

“I should have told you that, though, instead of disappearing.”

He nods, swallows down a memory he doesn’t exactly want to relive right now, whispers, “It’s okay.”

You nod, smile at him. “You want a drink? Some food?”

He nods, places the toolbox in the floor next to your couch.

“That’d be nice.”

x

Joel isn’t sure how long the two of you have been talking–minutes or hours. Maybe days. Easy familiarity settles over the pair of you, and things are like they used to be.

He’s glad for it.

“Were there others?” Joel asks, words slipping out before he can stop them.

It’s the question that he somehow desperately wants the answer to and also never wants to hear.

You nod. “A few.” But, then, “None like you.”

It’s more honest than he expected, like your heart has opened to him once again.

You’re vulnerable. He knows you hate that.

“That makes sense.” He nods, rising to his feet, hand curling around the handle of his toolbox, imagining you want him to take his leave. “I’m pretty unforgettable.”

You laugh, look at him with something he would have called affection, once upon a time. “Yeah, you are, Miller.”

Something buzzes inside of him at the knowledge he can still make you laugh, even after everything, and he ducks his head, starts to head for the door.

“Joel?”

He turns, finds apprehension on your features.

He aches to set you at ease.

“Yeah?”

“Could you…would it…” You shake your head, shoulders squaring like you’re heading into a fight. “Would you want to stay? The night? With…with me.”

In a minute, he forgets it all. The pain and heartache and anger disappears with one look at your eyes.

“Yes.”

Simple–the way it’s always been between the two of you.

x

You crawl on top of him in a way he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined over the years.

His hands find a resting place on either of your hips, squeeze the flesh there lightly.

“Hi,” you murmur, grin on your face.

“Hi.” He smiles.

It’s different when you’re with your soulmate.

Joel had been with others, sure.

Tess comes to mind, but he quickly shakes the thought away–along with the memory of her death.

But, every time, even when stars popped up behind his eyelids and warmth erupted through his every limb, it wasn’t what it had been with you.

The best way he could think to describe it was…more.

As you lean down, press a kiss to his lips, he finally admits to himself how much he’d missed it. You.

x

Joel feels you pull away and squeezes you closer. “Where you goin’?,” he mumbles, already half asleep.

“Shirt,” you whisper.

He shakes his head, nuzzles his nose into the hollow of your throat.

Chuckling softly, you say, “S’winter, Joel.”

He holds you even closer–if that’s possible. “I’ll keep you warm.” Then, just to tease, fingers dance over your hip bone, inches from the crux of your thighs. “Any way you want.”

“Joel…”

“Or, are you too old for this game?” He hums, getting a rise out of you too tempting to ignore. “You get soft on me while you were away?”

Your own hand–cold from it’s trip beyond the faded quilt that covers you both–dances along the soft skin of his stomach, curls around his still too sensitive length. He jumps, hisses out a breath, interest already simmering at the base of his spine.

“I can still play,” you purr. “Can you?”

Your hand works him over, languid strokes finding a pattern that makes his skin buzz.

Joel rises, mouth desperate to find yours.

He’s always liked to be kissed–especially by you, especially when you’re touching him the way you are.

You indulge him, lips parting to let his tongue tangle with your own. He can’t help but grin into the kiss.

x

In the morning, he wakes alone. Part of him isn’t shocked. Part of him is heartbroken all over again.

Quickly, he gets dressed–avoiding mirrors with the hopes of missing any evidence you’d left behind of the night before.

He goes to Tommy’s, doesn’t even look towards your house as he walks down the street.

x

“You’ve been in love before.” Tommy shrugs. “Maybe it could happen again. Nothing says you have to be with your soulmate.”

Joel hadn’t thought about it when he’d fallen in love with Sarah’s mother.

He hadn’t had much choice, if he’s honest. One look at her and he had been done for.

So, the fact she didn’t have a sunflower on the soft skin of her forearm wasn’t of much consequence. The fact she had her own tattoo–purple dahlia petals curling around her own wrist–had never mattered to her either.

They had shared a life and love and had turned that love into something that lived outside of them.

Sarah.

It was only a few months after she was born that Joel had woken up alone to the sound of Sarah’s crying.

He had adjusted, though. The two of them had made a team and found happiness all on their own.

Until…well, Joel didn’t really like to think about that day–that last day. He preferred to imagine her laughing, head thrown back in joy.

“I know,” he murmurs. He adds, almost under his breath, “I don’t think I want to fall in love. Not if it’s not with her.”

Tommy ducks his head, sheepish all of a sudden.

“What is it?”

“I promised I wouldn’t tell you.”

He leans forward, insistent. “Tommy, what is it?”

“She told Maria that she was…thinking of leaving Jackson.”

Joel is off Tommy’s couch and out the door before Tommy can ask where he’s going.

Joel suspects he knows.

x

His knocks are incessant, barely a pause between them.

“C’mon,” he murmurs to himself. “Please don’t be gone.”

The door opens, shocking Joel, and he almost falls through it.

“You can’t leave Jackson,” he pants. There’s an ache in his side, a pulling at muscles that scream with use more often than they don’t these days. He’s certain he shouldn’t have run to make sure he caught you.

You shake your head, hands coming to rest on either side of his face.

It’s a gesture full of affection and hope ignites in his gut.

“I’m not leaving,” you murmur.

Joel’s tongue is heavy, suddenly too thick to form a reply. “You…you’re not?”

“No.” Gently, your thumb rubs back and forth over his cheekbone. “I thought of something to stick around for.”

“Yeah?” Joel hums. “What’s that?”

“You.”

Joel feels the heat flush his cheeks. The emotions he really feels are too much–too real–so, he settles for a joke.

“That makes sense.” He nods. “I’m pretty unforgettable.”

“Yeah.” You laugh, duck your head for a minute before your eyes meet his again. “Yeah, you are, Miller.”

x

Later that night, with most of your closet mingled with his own, he pulls you close to him in bed. His lips ghost over your forehead and an arm wraps around your side.

He glances down at his wrist, takes in the bright yellows of the sunflower petals. With gentle fingers, he finds your wrist, brings it to his mouth and kisses the yellow of your own petals.

There’s gray in his hair, but, right now, he couldn’t feel more grateful for it.

[strawberrystepmom]

nsfw - mdni. f!reader, gojo and reader are in a semi established relationship aka idiots in love. they are skinny dipping!!!!!!!!! he’s a little mushy here ngl. wc 1142

“Have you ever skinny dipped before?”

Satoru’s question catches you off guard as you both watch the sunset over the horizon, your knees pressed to your chest while the gentle roar of the ocean drowns out any other sound you could possibly hear for miles.

Except for him, of course.

Turning your face to look at him, you raise a brow and make a show of absentmindedly brushing grains of sugary sand off of your thigh. He tilts his head and waits, surprisingly patient, but takes note of the way you chew your bottom lip with a half smile before finally answering.

“Have you?”

It’s not the retort he was expecting and you can tell immediately, his uncovered eyes widening as you unfold your legs and stretch them out in front of you.

“Of course. Tons of times.”

He’s lying but what else is he supposed to do?

You’re dressed in your yellow bikini - something stupid you dug out of the back of your dresser drawer for this trip just in case the two of you could find time to stop at the beach - and he watches as the strings tying the flimsy fabric sag after a day of being taut across your body.

If he untied them, he bets he’d feel indentations in your skin from the ties. Little patterns he could drape his fingers across, something only he’d get to see.

“Was it as magical as the movies make it look?”

Your voice makes him shift his gaze off of the crease where your thigh and hip meet and back up to your face, sunkissed and stunning even as night falls around the two of you. The beach is empty, almost surprisingly so, and part of you wonders if his question was an invitation rather than a stroke of curiosity.

He shrugs.

“Would’ve been more fun with better company.”

You snort, one of his favorite sounds, and he wonders who you think he has done it with. It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility for it to have been Shoko and Suguru at one point in his life. Maybe it was with someone you’ve never met, a mysterious stranger who was lucky enough to rove their eyes across each blue vein beneath his pale skin in the moonlight just like this.

“Like me?”

The question is loaded and you both know it, meeting the others’ gaze with equal parts amusement and uncertainty. Your face feels warmer than it did under the blazing midday sun when he looks down at you through his lashes and nods.

There’s something almost uncharacteristically shy about the way he looks right now. It’s hard enough to tell him no on any given day, it’s damn near impossible when he looks at you like that. You look around the beach to make sure it’s truly as empty as it looks and sounds.

Not a soul in sight besides him, the one who makes the stars seem less dazzling in comparison and the one you’re almost certain you’d give your heart to a hundred times over if he asked.

Without another thought, you shrug.

“I’ve already given you a few of my first times, what’s one more?”

A grin spreads across his face as you reach behind you rise to standing, brushing any excess sand off of your legs, and head toward the water’s edge. He waits back for a moment, watching your every step. He scrambles to run toward you when you look over your shoulder with a salacious half smile, your fingers making quick work of the knot at the base of your neck.

“Let me help you,” he offers while he bounds over, lithe and long fingers quickly handling the knot in the middle of your back. Your top flies off without a second thought and you don’t feel as embarrassed as you assumed before taking it off.

It’s exhilarating, even more so when you look up to see the faint dusting of pink across Gojo’s nose and cheeks. Your hands move next to your bottoms and you watch his every glance while you untie one side and then the other, fabric fluttering to the sand below.

Stepping closer to the water, you dip your toe into the waves and yelp at the coolness. It doesn’t stop you from continuing, walking until the water is to your knees and your thighs and eventually covering your hips. He gapes from the shoreline and you pout, almost too far out for him to tell but close enough he knows exactly what you’re about to say.

“Come on, Satoru. You’ve never been shy before.”

The words are what have him reaching for the waistband of his trunks, pulling them down over his muscled thighs and your breath catches seeing him just as you imagined he’d look in this moment.

Otherworldly. Ethereal. Glowing, even. He rivals the stars, the moon, the men you used to dream about after sneaking into your mom’s romance book stash.

If you weren’t so eager to get one up on him tonight with his flustered state you’d say those things aloud but instead you let him wonder. You watch him enter the water until it’s knee deep, thigh deep, hip deep, and you let him come to you and scoop you up in the water.

You little siren, he thinks. It has to be true, water sparkling across your shoulders and arms like gems.

Gathered in his arms, bare chest pressed to bare chest as you situate your legs around his waist, you giggle and crane your neck to kiss his cheek.

“I know you’ve never done this before,” you tease and he grumbles under his breath that he’s been caught. You simply giggle and kiss him again, your lips finding his own quickly while his arms wrap around your torso.

“How’d you know?”

Shrugging, you smile.

“Good intuition, what can I say?”

He smirks and without warning, he walks the two of you deeper into the water until it covers your chest and half of his torso, his eyes heavily lidded as they look down at you.

He’s a vision.

You love him so much it’s almost painful and you have to look away, enjoying the view of the glistening moon across the surface of the water in the distance.

“For what it’s worth,” he captures your attention again and you smile while letting your hands dangle off of his shoulders. “I’m glad this is my first time.”

He dips his head and kisses you again, his lips salty from the gentle sea breeze. You memorize the taste knowing it’ll become synonymous with this night, with him, with the way he shines brighter than the moon.

“Good enough company?”

Your tone is teasing and you reach up the back of his neck to absentmindedly play with the hair growing at the base of it.

“The best I could ever ask for.”

[officialclangen]

CLANGEN: POTATO UPDATE

Clangen has updated! Cat and Sprite Changes: - New sprites for paralyzed, sick/injured, and newborn cats. - Separated vitiligo and points from white patches. It's now possible for a cat to have all three! - New vitiligo patterns: PHANTOM, MOON, and POWDER - New white patch pattern: PETAL - New eye colors: SILVER and BRONZE - New accessories: Nylon Collars (in all colors), and INDIGO and WHITE collars of all types! - New mask-based tortie system! Tortie patches can now be any color/pattern. - New tortie patch patterns: REDTAIL, DELILAH, MINIMALONE, MINIMALTWO, MINIMALTHREE, MINIMALFOUR, OREO, SWOOP, MOTTLED, SIDEMASK, EYEDOT, BANDANA, PACMAN, STREAMSTRIKE, ROBIN, ORIOLE, BRINDLE, and PAIGE. - Rare "Wildcard Torties", which bypass the normal rules for tortie patch color/pattern to allow for wacky combinations. - Smoke pelt colors have been slightly tweaked for consistency. GHOST smoke has been given lighter points. - New separate tint that is applied only to the white patch and point markings. - You can now favorite cats! You can toggle favorite cat indicators on the list and patrol screen. - Pregnancy is now a condition that may prevent cats from patrolling. - EXP limit has been increased, and the EXP levels have been renamed. - Apprentices now graduate based on EXP, rather than age. This can be turned off in settings, if desired. - Cats can now retire any time between 110 - 140 moons. - New prefixes, suffixes, and loner names! - Some prefixes and suffixes are now specific to your biome. - You can now override special rank suffixes for particular cats. - New randomize buttons on the change name screen. - Moved list of possible names to a .json for easier customization in compiled versions. - The code handling relationship events have been rewritten, and new types of relationship events are now possible. Relationship and Moon Events Changes: - New system for accessory moon events, alongside many new accessory events and possible "congratulatory" accessories after a cat gives birth. - There is now more variation in relationship initialization, which allows cats to have more varied relationships with their family. - Lots of new relationship events! - Group relationship events have been added. - Affairs have generally been made more common. - Lots of fun new moon events, including special events for medicine cats and elders with certain skills. Thoughts Overhaul: - Thought code has been reworked to be way more specific. - Cats can now have thoughts based on their status, age, backstory, and even permanent conditions! - This should also have fixed those pesky bugs where cats would think about dead or lost cats as if they were still around. - In light of this update, A TON of new thoughts were added. Other Significant Changes: - New auto-updater! The game will now alert you when a new version is available, and will update without the need to re-download. - New re-designed family page! More family relationships are now shown, and it's easier than ever to browse through a cat's lineage. - Save files are now stored in an OS-specific data directory. You will no longer need to move save files when updating. - Added a button in the settings menu to open the save data location in your file-explorer. - New backgrounds: Shipwreck and Crystal River - Revamped background: Gully - Overlapping cat sprites on the clan page has been reduced. Once two cats are on a single spot, that position is considered "full." - You can now choose the starting season when creating a new clan. - Most backgrounds have unique cat placements. - The appearance of the allegiances page has been changed, and descriptions have been updated to flow better. - On the allegiances page, kits will now be listed with their parent, if they have one. - Lots of new patrol artwork! - New error screen when saves fail to load, which gives more in-depth failure messages. - New custom cursor (it's a little paw!) - Lots of bugfixes and QOL tweaks!

[cyjammy]

Magenta or Green When Alastor Desires to be Seen

After rewatching the pilot and the scenes where Alastor is singing, I realized his palette swaps may be emotionally/situationally dependent. At first I thought, “Yeah, this is just a callback to the pilot where he sang with Charlie,” but I think it’s deeper than that.

In both instances of singing with the Morningstars, Alastor is seen to have a palette change.

When he has the duet with Vox, he stays in his original color palette for the entire number.

Once is coincidence and twice is a pattern. When the color green is so engrained in Alastor's abilities, it's difficult not to notice.

When he’s in the presence of someone he considers powerful, he puts in that extra effort to change appearances. If it was only for production sake, he could have remained in his usual red outfit with a different background color to push him forward like in Stayed Gone. Even then he was still on a red background most of the time.

Both of these performances take place within the Hotel, which has become Alastor’s domain. Even then, at the end of Stayed Gone, he was in his radio tower in the Hotel. There were no special effects and Alastor only showed off his demon form.

When Alastor feels like he needs to posture, he changes his color. In the pilot, he demonstrates his strength by changing everyone’s outfits, manipulating the environment and summoning demons under his control. That really means that Vox isn’t shit but an annoyance to him. And I think that's hilarious.

Alastor at the end of his breakdown is enshrouded in green.

When he gets upset with Husk, the chains are green. When he makes deals with both Vaggie and Charlie a green outline is around their hands, within the walls, spreading in the cracks of his face.

Almost like a poison dart frog, Alastor wants to be seen as a danger. He wants to be a warning sign. Always caring for his image, he desires to take attention away from his possible weaknesses. He was reborn as a deer in Hell which is something I and many others head canon that he's insecure about. His perceived lack of strength as a creature commonly considered prey is definitely a factor in how he portrays himself.

Alastor's deep rooted insecurities led him to begin antagonizing Lucifer. He's held under strict contract with his deal and his power has been stifled. Alastor's dignity has been stripped away under these constraints, he's forced to follow orders when he yearns to be the one in control.

When Alastor is in that green and magenta state, he is posturing. This is his attempt at taking back his agency, showing that despite his situation and probably poor choice to have signed a deal with a currently unknown entity more powerful than him, he is still strong. He is the infamous Radio Demon, a sinner full of natural magical talent who took down countless Overlords within his first few weeks in Hell.

(Unless that happened due to his deal rather than his own ability and he postures to make up for that to get people believe that he is all powerful.)

Alastor only feels the need to do this in the presence of those who he considers a threat -- no matter how reluctant he may be to admit whether they are or not. To him, other Overlords, especially Vox, are considered low on his list. His first targets when he arrived in Hell were Overlords

Meanwhile, the Morningstars are a whole different ball game. Two holy entities that are ranked higher than him on the food chain are most definitely threats, so he tries to act unbothered and remain confident in his abilities.

For someone so adamant about hiding his emotions with a smile, he's certainly created a whole load of flashing tells for others to key in on his wavering mental state. Alastor is not as fortified in will as he claims.

[shirefantasies]

Things You Do Together- Thorin's Company

You love reading stories, as does Balin; thus, you often take turns each night reciting old wonders to each other, perhaps even the folk tales of your own culture. Sometimes he reaches over and turns the page for you as you get lost in the tale, imagining yourself in the characters' shoes or pondering the outcome of an unfamiliar suspenseful story.

Dwalin has a deep-down love for anything domestic, thus his heart goes out to you when you invite him to bake together. He loves being the first to try whatever you make, the way it becomes second nature to move around each other in the kitchen, even doing the tasks which are your least favorite part to lighten your load! If you truly are in private, he will tell you that you are the greatest treat of it all.

Thorin takes an interest in your interest. You’ve been whittling for some time, but one day you catch the king peeking over your shoulder and, giggling, invite him to join you. His carvings, though not expert, depict far more regal subjects than the simple sights of nature you attempt to capture, but both his traditional dwarven effigy and your merry robin sit atop the same shelf together at completion.

Gardening is something Oin joins you in once you get settled, whether it’s potting plants within the great mountain itself or finding a patch outside of Dale. Such is a perfect activity for him to start an herb garden and help you keep up tending the soil. He knows a slew of tricks to keep it healthy and makes even tasks like weeding more enjoyable with his company.

Gloin teaches you every tavern game in the book and all the ways they try to throw them, too. So proud is he as you start out-gaming even the older members of the company, remembering all the tells Gloin spilled to you and imitated, making you laugh nonstop! You always tell him that no matter what, though, he is your favorite to play with, teasingly supposing he just throws the dice the best.

Bifur teaches you how to polish stones, even cut them yourself. The process is quite difficult at first, but seeing the way your eyes lit up at your craft was worth it. You keep a box to house most of your stone collection, but a few of the cut ones that turned out well seem to go missing until Bifur surprises you with jewelry made from them!

A lover of music, Bofur is over the moon teaching you how to play his flute or otherwise learning a new instrument with you! You get a laugh at how the sour notes of learning sound and even play wrong on purpose just for the joke. Progress makes him proud, though, and he always says you two could be in a band in no time!

Bombur loves building things for the children, the sight never failing to bring a smile to your face. You join him in repair of their roundabout, a bit awed at the confidence with which the quiet dwarf works. Once the children arrive and he lights up, you smile and rest a loving hand upon his shoulder- you can see exactly from where he derives his strength and focus.

Dori learns to crochet with you, having seen his brother do something similar. But with you, you make little dolls, trinkets that remind him of his toymaker friends. More than that, though, he adores more intricate patterns. They may be more difficult, but all the more beautiful if he can actually manage them! Gushes over your work even if he thinks his isn’t good.

Typically Nori hides the fact that his eldest brother forced him to learn to sew, planning to take that fact to his grave, but one day the gears turn within his mind. He could make you something rather fetching, after all. Suddenly you become his real-life model as he chooses the cut and color he’s always wanted to see you in, barely able to keep his hands off you during the pinning.

Ori would love learning languages with you, whether they are native tongues to you or you pair learning together, creating a bond and a secret way to talk just the two of you. He especially loves learning a new character system to write in, it's like a code! Soon you two are always passing messages back and forth, chatting about anything you want unabashedly, and giggling to each other.

If you delight in dancing, Fili adores learning every move with you, hands taking yours or sliding over your hips with a teasing wiggle of his eyebrows. His blue eyes will be locked on yours with every move, even if the steps require you to separate his gaze will search for you again.

Kili is fascinated by your writing. The fact that tales spring into your mind upon the hearing of a song or even endurance of pain amazes him beyond all else. Sometimes he puts a hand on either side of your head and says he wants to absorb your thoughts with a teasing smile. Kili has endless questions, though, about your stories, truly your biggest fan and supporter hanging on the edge of your every word.

Reading maps. Bilbo has countless in his study, old and new, that he likes to pore over and scour for new details. You join him out of natural curiosity one day, but as his hands pass over the delicately drawn features you find yourself falling in love. Well, and with the maps, too. It is amazing to think how far you both have traveled in your days when you see the whole world lain before you.

[ssa-dado]

10 - The Reaper Aftermath

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader Genre: slow burn, fluff, weird stuff Summary: After a tense night together, you and Hotch navigate a strained morning at work, where the unspoken weight of your shared intimacy lingers. Rossi’s sudden retirement adds to the turmoil as Hotch steps into his new role as lead profiler amidst a challenging new case involving the Reaper, a killer whose chaotic pattern masks a deeper psychological game. Despite the emotional undercurrents, you both reaffirm your partnership, finding solace in the familiar rhythm of working side by side, trusting each other completely. Warnings: Use of alcohol, implied sexual intercourse, CM case, ungodly privation of the filthiest smut ever known to mankind. Word Count: 7.8k Dado's Corner: I don't know about you but I'm obsessed with their quick-witted humour, I could write a whole chapter of them just teasing each other. I chose to approach the Reaper case with a more psychological focus, emphasizing the emotional and mental shifts that occur during the investigation rather than the details of the case itself. (especially since the details of the case are already explored in 4x18, and I will probably touch on that in Act 2). Feel free to hate me for the lack of... you'll see.

previous chapter ; masterlist

The morning after that last night out with Hotch, you found yourself standing in front of your mirror, meticulously buttoning your shirt from the bottom up. Each button felt like a tiny act of defiance against the emotions swirling inside you, your fingers pausing over the last one at the collar, the one you never left undone. This morning, you paid even closer attention, fastening it tightly as if the extra effort could hold back the flood of thoughts and emotions from the night before. You tugged at the fabric, straightening it in an attempt to hide the unease lingering beneath your usually composed exterior.

The drive to Quantico felt quieter than usual, the familiar route stretching out before you like an endless loop of half-formed thoughts. Everything felt heavy, from the overcast sky outside your windshield to the weight of your own footsteps as you made your way inside the building. It wasn’t like you to feel this out of sorts; usually – as Hotch always seemed to remind you - you were the second one in, eager to start the day. But today, you had let yourself linger too long in the quiet of your apartment, the memories of last night’s closeness replaying in your mind, making you hesitant to face the day ahead.

When you arrived, it was almost on time - not early, not rushing in at the last second, but exactly when you were supposed to be there. It was a stark contrast to your usual punctuality, and it made the bullpen feel off-kilter, like you were arriving in a world that wasn’t quite your own.

You walked past the familiar rows of desks, noting the absence of your early morning routine: the extra coffee you usually grabbed for Hotch, the quiet moments where you caught up before the office filled up. Instead, you felt the eyes of your coworkers, subtle but present, as if they could sense something had shifted between you and Hotch, even if they didn’t know exactly what.

You dropped your bag onto your desk, letting the thud of it break the silence that seemed to hang over everything. Hotch was already seated across from you, his posture stiff and his focus unnervingly intent on the paperwork in front of him. You were used to seeing him like this - calm, composed, always in control - but today, there was something else. A stillness, a carefulness in his movements that felt forced, as if he was deliberately trying not to meet your gaze.

“Morning,” you said, your voice sounding strangely formal, even to your own ears. It was a simple greeting, but it felt loaded, heavy with the weight of everything you weren’t saying.

“Morning,” Hotch replied, his tone equally distant, almost clinical. He glanced up for the briefest of moments, his eyes locking with yours in a fleeting exchange that was too intense, too knowing. It was as if he was searching for something in your expression, but when he found nothing, he quickly looked away, burying himself back in his work with a determined focus that only made the awkwardness between you more palpable.

There was no banter, no teasing remarks, none of the familiar rhythm that usually defined your mornings together. Instead, you both fell into an overly professional demeanor, a sharp contrast to the easy comfort you usually shared. It felt like you were tiptoeing around each other, careful not to let your eyes linger too long or your words stray too close to the truth.

You stole a glance at him, your eyes tracing the familiar lines of his face, searching for some indication of what he was thinking. But Hotch was strangely unreadable, his expression a careful mask that gave nothing away. His fingers tapped rhythmically on his desk, a subtle, nervous habit that you’d seen him do only when he was deep in thought or wrestling with something he couldn’t quite put into words. The sight of it sent a pang of something uncomfortably close to guilt twisting in your stomach.

You knew why this morning felt so strange, why the air between you was thick with a weight neither of you dared to address. The silence, once easy and familiar, now hung heavy, echoing everything that had transpired the night before.

It was all still so vivid in your mind: the way his touch lingered when he’d pulled you onto the dance floor, his fingers grazing your skin as if testing a boundary neither of you had acknowledged but both knew existed. His voice, soft and intimate, had dipped to a lower register, words murmured close, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver through you that you couldn’t ignore.

The laughter, the shared drinks, the sway of your bodies in perfect rhythm, it all felt like a game you’d played a thousand times, only this time, the rules were different. Each step, each touch, blurred the line between friendship and something deeper, something uncharted.

And then, as if it were the only possible outcome, you crossed that line.

It wasn’t just a kiss or a fleeting moment of weakness; it was a quiet, reckless decision that led you into his bed, the unspoken tension finally breaking.

Later, in the stillness of his apartment, everything had shifted. The way he whispered your name in the dark, soft and vulnerable, filled with an emotion you’d spent months pretending wasn’t there, shattered any illusion that this was just a one-time mistake. It wasn’t casual; it wasn’t simple. It was the culmination of the months of stolen glances, lingering touches and hidden feelings that you could no longer deny.

Now, in the cold light of morning, you both knew: there was no going back, no way to tuck what had happened neatly back into the box of “what ifs.”

But you’d both agreed - silently, in that unspoken way you often communicated - that it couldn’t happen again. You were partners, first and foremost, and whatever had happened last night couldn’t be allowed to interfere with that. Yet sitting across from him now, the absence of your usual camaraderie felt like a physical ache, a reminder of everything that had shifted in the space of a few hours.

Your eyes flicked back to him, lingering longer than necessary on the bruise just visible under his jaw, a faint shadow that stood out against his otherwise immaculate appearance. You knew exactly how it got there, and the sight of it sent a rush of heat flooding your cheeks, your mind replaying the moment when you’d pressed your lips to his skin, lost in the haze of too many unspoken words and too many – but in reality just enough - drinks.

You hesitated, the silence between you thick with unspoken tension. Unable to take it any longer, you broke it with a quiet, pointed remark. “You missed a spot. Bottom left, under your jaw.” The words were soft, but they landed like a dart, sharp and deliberate. You watched as Hotch's eyes flickered with something you couldn't quite name, his expression hardening.

His hand automatically went to the spot, fingers brushing against the faint bruise. His gaze turned razor-sharp, locking onto you, and in that moment, everything you’d been avoiding was laid bare between you. It wasn’t just the hickey you were pointing out, it was the fact that you both knew last night had crossed into dangerous territory.

“You weren’t exactly subtle yourself,” he replied, his voice low, almost gruff, as he dropped his hand and straightened his posture. His jaw clenched, as though willing the conversation to end there, to move on as if nothing had changed. But the bruise remained, a visible reminder of how close you’d both come to losing control.

You glanced down at your desk, pretending to shuffle through papers you didn’t need, trying to distract yourself from the way your mind kept drifting back to the feel of his touch, the way his breath had hitched when you’d moved closer. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

You’d been so sure that if you ever gave in to the tension between you, the crush you’d nursed for the past month would diminish, that it would finally be out of your system, allowing you to go back to the easy camaraderie you valued so much. But instead, it had done the opposite. Your feelings hadn’t lessened, they’d deepened, complicating everything in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

You stole another glance at Hotch, but he was focused on his work, his face a mask of concentration that did little to hide the tightness in his shoulders, the way his pen tapped absently against the desk. You wondered if he was thinking about it, too - about how last night hadn’t felt like a mistake, but something far more significant.

Before you could linger on the tension any longer, a second realization tugged at your focus: the absence of Rossi. His desk, typically the source of chatter, knowing looks, and smug remarks - especially when it came to you two - was oddly quiet. You had been bracing yourself for his inevitable teasing, the sly comments you were certain would come after last night, but there was none of that.

The papers on his desk were neatly stacked, untouched, and his chair sat conspicuously empty, the usual hum of his presence missing from the room. It was unusual, and for the first time that morning, a small sense of relief crept in.

You exchanged a puzzled glance with Hotch, the shared silence between you breaking just enough to shift your focus away from the awkwardness of your own situation. It was rare for Rossi to be late, even rarer for him to miss a morning without so much as a heads-up. You both stared at his empty desk, the unease you’d felt all morning now tinged with a new kind of worry.

Hotch cleared his throat, his voice low but steady as he spoke. “Have you heard from him?”

You shook your head, the tension between you momentarily forgotten as concern took over. “No, nothing. And he usually -”

Before you could finish, the sharp buzz of Hotch's phone broke the silence, the sudden noise jolting both of you. He grabbed it quickly, his brow furrowing as he listened, the seconds stretching into minutes. With each passing moment, his expression darkened, the tension in his features deepening. The lines of his face tightened, hardening into a mask of unreadable intensity, his eyes distant as he absorbed whatever news was being delivered on the other end.

“What is it?” you asked, the uneasy feeling in your gut growing stronger.

Hotch hesitated for just a moment, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. Whatever he was about to say, you knew it wasn’t good.

Hotch’s eyes met yours, lingering for a moment longer than necessary, as if searching for some unspoken reassurance. He looked back down at his phone, the subtle tremble of his hands betraying his usually composed exterior. You had never seen Hotch look quite like this, caught between disbelief and a sense of duty, grappling with emotions he couldn’t quite show.

“It was Gideon,” Hotch began, his voice tight and strained. “Rossi has decided to retire. Effective immediately.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and for a second, you couldn’t quite grasp them. Your mind flashed back to the night before: Rossi belting out karaoke tunes with exaggerated flair, his face alight with mischief as he dragged the two of you into the chorus. He had been so full of life, so present. The idea that he had been planning this, that he was ready to leave everything behind, felt surreal.

“What?” you said, your voice breaking slightly. “He didn’t say anything last night. We were with him. He was - ” You trailed off, unable to reconcile the man who had been the life of the party with the one who had just walked away without a word.

Hotch nodded, his jaw clenched, his eyes darting to Rossi’s empty desk as if he still couldn’t quite believe it. “I know. Gideon said he didn’t want to make a fuss, didn’t want to say goodbye. But… it’s done. He’s gone.”

The finality of it hit you like a punch to the chest. Rossi was more than just a colleague; he was a mentor, a friend, the glue that held the team together when the cases got too dark. You glanced over at his desk, neatly organized, as if he’d planned his departure meticulously. It felt like a betrayal, not because he left, but because he hadn’t trusted any of you enough to tell you. You had thought you knew him, thought you could see through his bravado, but now you were left with the unsettling realization that maybe none of you had really seen the signs.

You tried to piece together the clues from the night before, replaying every interaction, every smile. Had there been a moment when Rossi seemed distant, a flicker of something behind his eyes that you missed? You remembered his laugh, loud and genuine, the way he had raised his glass to toast to more adventures, the way he winked at you and Hotch like he was in on some private joke. It hadn’t seemed like the last night of anything.

Hotch’s voice pulled you from your spiraling thoughts. “There’s more,” he said, his tone filled with a heaviness that made your heart drop. “We’ve got a new case.”

The words were like a slap, jarring you back into the present. There was no time to process Rossi’s departure, no moment to grieve the sudden loss of his presence. Your stomach tightened as you tried to keep up with the shift in focus.

“A new case?” you echoed, still disoriented. “But… who’s going to lead? Hotch, who…?”

Hotch looked at you, his expression resolute yet laced with a flicker of doubt that you’d never seen in him before. His next words were soft but firm, tinged with a reluctant acceptance of the reality before him.

“I am,” he said, the weight of the admission settling between you like a heavy stone.

You stared at him, absorbing the significance of his words. Hotch had always been driven, tirelessly dedicated to the job in a way that made him seem almost invincible. Every late night spent poring over case files, every sacrifice he made in his personal life was a testament to his commitment to this role.

You knew that leading the BAU was something he had worked toward for years. But seeing him now, his face shadowed with the weight of his new responsibilities, it was clear this wasn’t the triumphant moment he’d dreamed of.

“Hotch…” you began, but the words faltered. You wanted to tell him that he deserved this, that you trusted him more than anyone to lead the team, but you could see how deeply he was struggling with the suddenness of it all. There was no joy in this victory, no time to celebrate a promotion. It was just an abrupt shift in power, thrust upon him without warning, in the wake of a friend’s quiet betrayal.

Hotch straightened his posture, the flicker of vulnerability quickly replaced by the stoic resolve you were used to seeing. He opened the case file on his desk, his movements precise and deliberate, as if falling back into the familiarity of work could steady him. “We’re heading to Boston. Detective Tom Shaunessy requested our help,” he explained, flipping through the pages. “He’s been chasing this killer for a while, but it’s gotten out of hand. He wants us to take over.”

You nodded, the gravity of the situation slowly taking precedence over the turmoil in your heart. Hotch read the details aloud, his voice firm, but you could hear the undercurrent of determination driving every word. “We’re looking at a series of brutal murders dating back to 1995. Nineteen victims so far. No clear victimology. He kills men and women of all ages, no specific type. He’s erratic. The press has named him ‘The Reaper.’”

You listened closely, your mind already working to piece together the profile. The randomness of the victims was unsettling: no patterns, no predictability. It was the hallmark of an omnivore, a killer who could strike anyone, anywhere.

But it was the signature that caught your attention: The Eye of Providence. You knew it was more than just a calling card; it was a message, a symbol that carried layers of meaning about control, power, and perception. You could feel the challenge of the case already pulling you in, your philosophical background itching to untangle the complexities behind the Reaper’s twisted mind.

Hotch turned to you, his expression softening slightly as he acknowledged your expertise. “I need you on this,” he said, the intensity in his eyes making it clear how much he was counting on you. “Your insight, your understanding of symbolism, it’s going to be crucial. The Reaper doesn’t just want to kill, he wants to send a message, and I need you to help us understand what that is.”

You nodded, swallowing the knot of emotions still lodged in your throat. “Of course. I’m with you, Hotch. All the way.”

Hotch’s shoulders eased slightly, the faintest trace of relief crossing his features. He gave you a small, appreciative nod, and for a moment, the heavy tension between you lightened just enough for you to feel that familiar connection, the unspoken bond that had always made you such effective partners.

But then the weight returned, heavier now that you were both staring down the reality of this new chapter without Rossi. Hotch turned his attention back to the task of assembling the team, calling on Gideon, who looked as shaken by Rossi’s departure as you felt, and Peter, who was eager but visibly unnerved. Everyone was trying to process the absence of Rossi, and it left the team feeling unbalanced, vulnerable in ways that none of you were used to.

As Hotch briefed the group, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him, watching the way he stood at the head of the table with a mix of determination and quiet fear. This was his moment, his chance to prove himself, but it came at a cost none of you had anticipated. The room felt different without Rossi’s larger-than-life presence, the silence of his empty chair serving as a constant reminder of how quickly everything had changed.

Hotch addressed the team, his voice strong, commanding, but there was an underlying edge to it, a strain that hinted at the pressure he was under. You could see it in the way his fingers tightened around the file, the way his eyes flicked briefly to Rossi’s desk before he refocused. He was trying to hold everything together, to be the leader the team needed him to be, even as the loss of Rossi lingered like a phantom in the room.

You looked around at your colleagues: Gideon, who was visibly struggling without his long-time partner; Peter, who had been left stunned by the news; and Hotch, standing at the helm, carrying the weight of leadership on his shoulders. It was a team in transition, a group of people trying to find their footing in the wake of unexpected change.

As you gathered your things to head out on the case, Hotch pulled you aside, his expression serious but softened by an unspoken concern. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asked, his voice low and tinged with the hint of last night’s lingering awkwardness. “After everything… after what happened between us, I just need to know you’re okay.”

You looked up at him, feeling the familiar pull of your emotions, the ones you had been trying to suppress since that morning. “I’m okay, Hotch,” you reassured him, your voice steady even though your heart was anything but. “We got a job to do, and I’m with you.”

He nodded, relief flickering across his face, and you could see the gratitude in his eyes, mingling with all the unspoken things neither of you were ready to say. He placed a hand on your shoulder, a brief but reassuring touch that sent a jolt through you, a reminder of the connection you shared, of the trust that bound you together even when everything else felt uncertain.

Hotch’s voice softened as he looked at you, his eyes holding a mix of gratitude and determination. “And I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know how this is going to go, but I know that with you on the team, we’ve got a shot.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle into your chest. It was more than just professional respect, it was trust, a mutual reliance that had been built over countless cases and long nights spent dissecting the darkest parts of human nature. But now, with Rossi gone and Hotch unexpectedly thrust into the role of lead profiler, that bond felt even more vital, more fragile.

As you turned to head out, the tension between you and Hotch still hummed beneath the surface, unspoken but palpable. Every stolen glance, every touch lingered longer than it should have, and it was impossible to ignore how last night’s encounter had shifted something between you. The professionalism you were both desperately clinging to felt like a thin veil, barely concealing the emotions roiling beneath.

The ride to the crime scene was quiet, the usual banter replaced by a heavy silence. Hotch sat beside you in the SUV, his gaze fixed out the window, lost in thought.

You could sense the storm brewing inside him: the pressure to perform, the weight of filling Rossi’s shoes, and the lingering awkwardness from the night you’d spent together. Every so often, he’d steal a glance at you, as if seeking reassurance, and each time your eyes met, there was an unspoken acknowledgment of yet another new, uncharted territory you found yourselves in.

You reached the scene, a stark contrast to the quiet of the drive. Detective Tom Shaunessy greeted you, his face lined with fatigue and frustration. He was an old-school cop, worn down by the relentless chase of a killer who always seemed to be one step ahead. Shaunessy’s voice was gravelly as he filled you in, his tone edged with a mix of desperation and begrudging respect for the BAU’s expertise.

“We’ve been after this bastard for years,” Shaunessy said, his gaze shifting between you and Hotch. “The Reaper’s not like the others. He doesn’t have a type. He doesn’t play by any rules we can figure out. He’s just… hunting. For sport, for fun…I don’t even know anymore.”

Hotch nodded, listening intently, his face betraying none of the emotions roiling inside. He was back in his element now, the weight of leadership pushing him into action. But you knew him well enough to see the subtle tension in his posture, the flicker of self-doubt that lurked just beneath his composed exterior.

As you arrived at the police station, the atmosphere was thick with tension, every officer’s expression tinged with frustration and exhaustion. The walls were lined with photos of the Reaper’s victims: men, women, and children of all ages, each face a reminder of the indiscriminate nature of this killer. The room felt heavy, filled with the unspoken dread of a case that had plagued the Boston PD for years without any hope of resolution.

You stood shoulder to shoulder with Hotch, examining the board filled with crime scene photos, articles, and evidence. His proximity was comforting, but today it felt charged, every brush of his sleeve against yours sending sparks that you tried to ignore. Hotch’s focus was laser-sharp, but you could sense the weight of Rossi’s absence pressing on him, every decision carrying the burden of his new role.

Hotch’s voice cut through the quiet, steady and analytical. “We’re not dealing with your typical killer. He doesn’t have a clear type, he doesn’t fit into any neat boxes. The Reaper’s victims range from teenagers to the elderly. Men, women, different ethnicities, there’s no commonality except for one thing: his need to dominate. He’s not just killing; he’s proving that he’s in control.”

Gideon, who was pacing the room with his hands clasped behind his back, nodded, though his usually confident demeanor seemed muted. Without Rossi beside him, he seemed adrift, his eyes darting restlessly as if searching for the right words. “He’s a narcissist. It’s not about the kill, it’s about the power he gets from it. Every murder is a performance, a way to manipulate the narrative and assert his superiority.”

You took a step closer to the evidence board, staring at the dark, foreboding symbol of the Eye of Providence that had been carved into every crime scene, its triangular shape and watchful eye casting a shadow over the investigation. The weight of its meaning settled in your mind, and you could feel Hotch’s gaze fixed on you, waiting. He knew the significance of your insights, the philosophical perspective that often unlocked pieces of the puzzle others might overlook.

“The Eye of Providence,” you began, your voice steady but tinged with unease, “is more than just a symbol. It represents an omniscient force, an all-seeing presence that’s often tied to themes of divine judgment, control, and authority. To most, it’s a symbol of God’s watchful eye over humanity, but to the Reaper…” You paused, searching for the right words as the team’s eyes turned to you, each face a mix of focus and anticipation.

Hotch’s brow furrowed slightly, and he leaned forward, his intense gaze never wavering. “What does it mean to him?” he prompted, his voice low, urging you to continue.

“To the Reaper,” you said, meeting Hotch’s eyes briefly before returning your focus to the symbol, “it’s more than a calling card, it’s his way of asserting power. He’s saying, ‘I see you. I am above you.’ This isn’t just a game for him; it’s a declaration of superiority. He’s setting himself up as judge and executioner, and that symbol is his throne.”

Peter, standing to the side, crossed his arms, his jaw clenched as he considered your words. “So he’s just some narcissist who thinks he’s God?” he asked, but there was an edge to his tone, a mix of frustration and anger directed at the man they were hunting.

“Not just narcissism,” you replied, shaking your head. “It’s deeper than that. Michel Foucault, a French philosopher, explored the concept of constant surveillance as a form of control. He talked about the panopticon: a design for a prison where the mere possibility of being watched was enough to alter behavior. The Reaper uses this symbol not just to leave a mark, but to instill fear and submission. He’s telling everyone that he is always watching, even when we don’t see him. He’s creating his own psychological prison.”

Hotch nodded, the lines on his face deepening as he absorbed your insight. “He’s weaponizing the idea of being watched,” he said, almost to himself, his mind clearly turning over the implications. “He’s not just taunting us. He’s controlling us, making us feel his presence every time we look at this symbol.”

Gideon, who had been listening quietly, stepped closer, with a feeling of grim understanding. “It’s a power play,” he added, his voice thoughtful. “But it’s also personal. He’s not just some detached observer; he’s putting himself in the role of a god, and he’s making sure everyone knows it.”

You glanced at Gideon, then back at the board, the discussion pulling at the threads of deeper meanings. “Philosophers like Nietzsche warned about individuals who saw themselves as beyond conventional morality. What he called the Übermensch, a figure who creates his own values, sets his own rules, and places himself above the rest of humanity. The Reaper is doing just that. By using this symbol, he’s telling us that he’s not just playing by his own rules; he’s making them. He believes he answers to no higher authority, because in his mind, he is the highest authority.”

Peter stepped forward, his arms wrapped around himself, a contemplative look in her eyes. “It’s like St. Augustine’s idea of divine providence,” he said, catching your attention, recalling your mother’s Italian literature lessons at University. “Augustine talked about God’s omniscience being active - guiding, shaping, and controlling human destiny. The Reaper isn’t just watching; he’s actively shaping the fate of his victims. He’s not passive. He’s taking on the role of the one who decides who lives and dies.”

Hotch’s expression tightened, his eyes dark and focused. “So every time he leaves that symbol, he’s reinforcing his belief that he’s untouchable,” he said, his voice filled with determination. “That he’s the one in control of this game.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of it all settle over the team. “Exactly. This isn’t just a message; it’s a declaration of dominion. He’s trying to tell us that he holds all the power, that in his mind, he’s not just a participant in this twisted game. He’s the god who sees all, who judges all, and who decides the final outcome. And until we break that illusion, he’s going to keep playing with us like we’re his puppets.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the reality of your words sinking in. Hotch turned back to the board, his jaw set in determination. The game wasn’t just about catching a killer anymore; it was about dismantling the delusion that the Reaper had constructed around himself. And until they did, he would continue to watch, and act, from above.

Gideon, who had been silently studying the photos, broke his silence. “He’s not following any set rules. He’s an omnivore. Most serial killers have a type, a preference, but the Reaper’s all over the place. It’s like he’s trying to prove that he’s untouchable, that he can kill whoever he wants, whenever he wants.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, the strain of the case visible in the lines of his face. He leaned closer to the board, his eyes tracing the patterns in the killings, his mind working overtime. “He’s escalating. He’s testing us, seeing how far he can push before we catch up. And the victims... the younger women, he focuses on them with his knife. It’s personal. The knife becomes a substitute for penetration, a way for him to assert even more dominance.”

Gideon’s gaze flickered to Hotch, his voice quieter than usual, filled with a sense of urgency. “We need to be careful. He’s already evolving, and if we don’t get ahead of him, he’ll keep pushing boundaries. He thrives on chaos, and the more unpredictable he is, the more control he feels.”

Before you could add your thoughts, the door swung open, and Detective Shaunessy strode in, his face pale and lined with exhaustion. The stress of years chasing an invisible predator showed in every step he took, every furrow in his brow. “We’ve got another one,” he said, his voice tinged with a mixture of anger and defeat. “But this time, there’s a survivor.”

The room fell into a stunned silence, each of you processing the rarity of that statement. Hotch’s head snapped up, his expression a mix of hope and determination. Survivors were almost unheard of in cases like this, they could be the key to unraveling the Reaper’s patterns, to finally understanding the mind of the man behind the mask. “Who is it?” Hotch asked, his voice laced with urgency.

Shaunessy handed over a thin file, his hands trembling slightly. “George Foyet. Twenty-eight years old. He was found in his car, severely injured but alive. His date, Amanda Bertrand... she didn’t make it. The Reaper got to them both, but somehow, Foyet survived.”

Hotch’s face hardened as he skimmed the report, his grip on the file tightening with every line. Foyet had been stabbed repeatedly but had miraculously pulled through. Amanda, just nineteen, had been left to bleed out beside him. And once again, the Reaper had marked his territory with the Eye of Providence, drawn in blood on the car window.

Gideon glanced over Hotch’s shoulder at the file, his eyes darkening with a mixture of anger and resolve. “He’s getting bolder. He’s not even trying to hide anymore. Leaving a survivor wasn’t a mistake, it was deliberate. He’s taunting us.”

Hotch nodded, his focus razor-sharp. “We need to talk to Foyet. He might have seen something, heard something, that can give us insight into the Reaper’s methods. We can’t afford to let this slip through our fingers.”

But before you could move, Shaunessy’s voice cut through the room, filled with an unexpected bitterness. “It doesn’t matter what he saw. We’re shutting this down.”

You blinked, stunned by the sudden shift in Shaunessy’s tone. “Shutting it down? We’re finally getting somewhere -”

Shaunessy rubbed his temples, his expression strained. “The DA wants to cut our losses. The city’s in a panic, the mayor’s breathing down our necks, and they think we’re chasing shadows. They’re calling it. You’ve got to pack it up.”

Hotch’s composure wavered, frustration seeping through his usually calm demeanor. “This isn’t the time to back down. We’re close. We’ve got a survivor, a lead-”

Shaunessy’s voice was flat, weary. “I’m sorry, Agent Hotchner. Orders came from the top. We’re done here.”

The team was left standing in the silence of the conference room, the sting of defeat heavy in the air. It wasn’t just a case ending, it was a door slamming shut on the first major challenge Hotch faced as the new lead profiler. He stood there, file still in hand, shoulders tense, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. This wasn’t just about the Reaper; it was about his leadership, the responsibility of carrying the team forward without Rossi.

Back at Quantico, the bullpen felt heavier than usual, the usual hum of voices and movement replaced by a somber, almost stifling silence. Hotch sat at his desk, his eyes fixed on the scattered files in front of him, each one a stark reminder of how close they had been, and how far they still were. The frustration and guilt hung over him like a cloud, every document, every photo another jab at what they hadn’t been able to finish.

From your own desk, you watched him, feeling the pull to reach out. It wasn’t just about the failed case; it was the unspoken weight of everything that had happened between you in the past twenty-four hours. Summoning your courage, you stood and walked over, perching on the edge of his desk as you searched for the right words.

“It’s not your fault,” you said softly, breaking the silence between you. “We did everything we could. The Reaper’s been playing this game for years, and we were closing in. You did a great job, Hotch.”

Hotch looked up, his eyes meeting yours. In that brief moment, you saw the vulnerability he tried so hard to hide. “But it wasn’t enough,” he said, his voice raw and edged with frustration. “Rossi would’ve handled this differently. He always found a way.”

You leaned in closer, offering him a reassuring smile. “Rossi left because he trusted you to lead, Hotch. He knew you’d step up, and you have. And if he were here, he’d remind you of the same thing: it’s not over. The Reaper’s still out there, and we’re going to find him.”

But as you worked in companionable silence, Hotch’s demeanor shifted. You noticed his brow furrow, a telltale sign that something was bothering him. His eyes flicked over the crime scene photos again, more intently this time, as though searching for a hidden detail.

“There’s something off about this case,” Hotch murmured, his voice low, almost as if he was speaking to himself. “Something we haven’t seen yet.”

You paused, glancing at him, your curiosity piqued. “What do you mean?”

Hotch picked up one of the photos: the Eye of Providence scrawled in blood on the window of George Foyet’s car. His thumb brushed over the image, his expression darkening. “It’s not just about control. The symbol, the randomness… it’s all too calculated. We’ve been looking at this like it’s all part of his MO, but what if it’s more than that? What if there’s a pattern we’re not seeing?”

You leaned closer, your focus sharpening as you tried to connect the dots he was hinting at. “You think he’s using the randomness to hide something? Like there’s a method in the chaos?”

Hotch nodded slowly, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of frustration and determination. “Yes. It’s like he’s hiding in plain sight. We need to go back through everything: the timelines, the locations, the victim profiles. We’re missing something, and I have a feeling it’s right in front of us.”

The urgency in his voice sent a chill through you. It wasn’t just a hunch, it was the kind of instinct that had saved lives before, and you knew better than to ignore it. You picked up the nearest file, flipping through it with renewed purpose, your mind racing alongside Hotch’s.

“We’ll figure it out,” you said firmly, meeting his determined gaze. “Whatever he’s hiding, we’ll find it.”

Hotch looked down, a faint, weary smile tugging at his lips. The exhaustion in his eyes was still there, but your words had sparked something, a glimmer of renewed resolve. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For being here. For… everything.”

The weight of his gratitude hung between you, thick with unspoken emotions that neither of you seemed ready to address. You could sense the frustration gnawing at both of you, knowing the Boston PD had shut you out of the case just as things were beginning to make sense. But you knew better than to let the burden fall entirely on him. So, without hesitation, you reached over and grabbed half of the paperwork from his desk, pulling it toward you.

“Hey,” Hotch protested, his voice tinged with both surprise and amusement.

“Don’t even start,” you interrupted, flashing a playful grin. “They made you lead profiler and then doubled your paperwork load without so much as a warning. Seems a little unfair, don’t you think?”

“You don’t have to,” Hotch said, shaking his head slightly, though the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease a bit.

“I want to,” you insisted, picking up your pen, the one Hotch had given you a few days ago, engraved with a small ‘200’. You held it up with a smirk. “Besides, this pen is way better than the garbage I used to use. I could file reports all day with this thing.”

Hotch chuckled, a sound so rare it almost felt out of place in the tense atmosphere. “I’m still the one required to do them. You’re just trying to get out of your own work.”

You glanced up at him with a mock-innocent expression. “You’re welcome to report me to Gideon if you want. You could even throw in how highly unprofessional we were last night.”

Hotch’s smile faltered, his eyes flickering with that mix of embarrassment and amusement you’d grown to appreciate. “Let’s not touch on that,” he muttered, his voice low but carrying a dry, wry edge.

“Oh, I agree,” you teased, keeping your tone light despite the undeniable tension that lingered between you. “Highly unprofessional. I mean, drinks, dancing, and then… well, you know. I think HR might have a field day.”

Hotch shook his head, glancing back at the paperwork, but the tension between you was briefly replaced by a shared, private joke. “Yeah, let’s keep last night out of the official report.”

You both laughed, the sound cutting through the heavy silence. For a fleeting moment, the weight of everything - Rossi’s departure, the case, the uncertain lines you’d crossed - lifted, even if just a little. But the chemistry between you lingered, unshakable, no matter how hard either of you tried to focus on work.

You tossed your pen down for a moment, giving Hotch a pointed look. “Honestly, I think we’ve moved well past ‘highly unprofessional.’ I mean, dancing that close? I’m pretty sure we crossed some boundaries that even the handbook doesn’t cover.”

Hotch gave you a mock-serious look, the smile tugging at his lips betraying him. “They’ll probably have to write a whole new chapter for us. Something like, ‘How Not to Conduct Yourself at an After-Hours Team Gathering.’”

You leaned in, raising an eyebrow. “Right? And then there’s the ‘Never, Under Any Circumstances, End Up in Your Coworker’s Bed’ subsection. That one’s definitely bolded and underlined for emphasis.”

Hotch rubbed his hand over his face, but you could see the grin threatening to break through. “You’re forgetting the appendix. The part that says, ‘Absolutely No Whispering Your Colleague’s Name in the Dark Like You’re in a Damn Romantic Drama.’”

You burst out laughing, and Hotch finally let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. You both knew how ridiculous it sounded, but there was something comforting in the banter, something that made the tension between you easier to bear.

“Honestly,” you leaned back, arms crossed, a teasing glint in your eyes, “at least we didn’t end up doing karaoke. Can you imagine the disaster if we’d ended up singing a duet on top of everything else?”

Hotch’s eyes widened in mock horror, raising a finger as if warning you. “No. Absolutely not. That’s where we’d draw the line. The second someone suggests karaoke, we’re leaving the bar.”

“Aw, come on, Hotch,” you teased. “I bet you’ve got some killer Sinatra vocals hiding in there somewhere. ‘Fly Me to the Moon,’ perhaps? I could see it.”

He chuckled, shaking his head with an amused sigh. “I’d rather chase the Reaper through the dark again than face that kind of embarrassment.”

“Too late,” you grinned, tapping the paperwork pile between you. “You already slow-danced with me in public to Celine Dion last night. The ship of embarrassment has definitely sailed.”

Hotch gave you a playful glare, leaning in just slightly. “I think I need to file a new report: ‘Behavioral Inconsistencies in BAU Members Post-Tequila.’”

“Oh, you mean me being the perfect model of professionalism at all times?” you shot back, unable to suppress your laugh.

“Sure,” Hotch deadpanned, though the smirk was still there. “Except for the dancing. And the… well, everything that followed.” He paused, his gaze holding yours for a moment longer than necessary, and you felt the tension ripple back between you. He chuckled softly, but his voice was more serious now. “Let’s not make ‘that’ a habit, okay?”

You winked, leaning back in your chair, your voice light but with just the slightest edge. “What’s ‘that’ exactly?!”

Hotch’s lips twitched at your response, a faint smile breaking through his otherwise serious expression. He leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing playfully. “You know what ‘that’ is,” he said, his tone low but teasing.

You laughed, folding your arms across your chest, challenging him with your gaze. “Oh, come on, Hotch. You’re going to have to be more specific. Dancing? Tequila? Or maybe it’s the part where we-”

He cut you off, raising a hand in mock surrender. “Okay, point taken.”

The moment stretched between you, a mixture of playful banter and something deeper lurking beneath. It was a balancing act you both seemed to be performing, skirting around the edges of the unspoken while pretending everything was back to normal. And yet, somehow, it felt like you were falling back into your rhythm, the natural back-and-forth that made you such strong partners on the job.

“Partners,” Hotch finally said, his voice steadying, as though reminding both of you what mattered most. “We’re partners first. Whatever else happened… that’s what needs to stay the priority.”

You nodded, feeling the seriousness return, but also the reassurance that this conversation, this acknowledgment, wasn’t meant to push you apart, it was to bring you back to where you belonged.

“Agreed. Partners first,” you echoed, softening the weight of your words with a smile.

The tension in the room seemed to ease, and Hotch’s expression reflected the same. His shoulders relaxed, and the silence between you shifted from awkward to comfortable again, like slipping into something familiar after a long day.

“So,” you continued, leaning forward and placing the paperwork back on his desk with a deliberate thud, “shall we tackle this mess, partner?”

Hotch nodded, that quiet, steady determination settling back into his features. “Let’s get to it.”

As you both dived into the files, it felt like old times, just the two of you, working side by side, falling into the familiar groove of sharing ideas, analyzing details, and teasing out the patterns that made sense of the chaos. The banter flowed easily now, with Hotch giving you subtle smiles every so often, and you returning them with your quick-witted remarks, each one a reminder of why you worked so well together.

Hours passed, the silence between you only broken by the occasional flip of a file or the tap of fingers on the desk. It felt like the old days again: before the case, before the night out, before things had gotten complicated. There was comfort in that, and you were grateful for it.

Finally, as the evening started to creep in, Hotch leaned back in his chair, stretching slightly. “You’ve still got some paperwork left,” he pointed out, glancing at the pile on your side of the desk.

You looked at the stack, then back at him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re one to talk. You’ve barely made a dent.”

Hotch’s smirk returned, that rare, dimpled smile that he only showed when he was truly at ease. “I’m the lead profiler. I delegate.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress your grin. “Uh-huh. Convenient.”

He pushed his chair back slightly, standing up and stretching more fully now. “Come on. We’ve done enough for today. Let’s get out of here.”

You stood too, collecting your things, feeling a sense of peace that you hadn’t expected. The tension between you had simmered down, replaced by something more solid, friendship, partnership, and that unspoken bond that you both knew was there, but didn’t need to be addressed right now.

As you walked out of the office together, side by side, Hotch glanced over at you, his expression softer than usual. “You know,” he started, his voice thoughtful, “I wouldn’t have gotten through this without you.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the honesty in his words. “Hotch-”

He cut you off with a small shake of his head. “I mean it. We’re a team. And I trust you. More than anyone.”

For a moment, the air between you shifted again, a quiet understanding passing between you both. There were no grand gestures, no dramatic confessions, just the acknowledgment of what had always been there, the trust, the bond, and maybe something more that didn’t need to be named.

You smiled, bumping your shoulder lightly against his. “Right back at you, partner.”

Dado's Corner pt.2: Is it okay if I say I am unwell? With this we mark the end of Act 1. I'm going to miss them so much, especially because in part 2 there will be the whole team as well, so we won't probably have as many solo moments between the two. They're so cute, help I'm obsessed. Also in Act 2 there will be Unit-Chief Aaron (aka grumpy Aaron, dad Aaron and much more). I will miss this light-hearted version of him so much - although this doesn't mean it will be lost forever. I've only written the 1st chapter of Act 2 so - if you have any suggestions - feel free to share them! Also - prepare yourself to cry for the interlude. Probably it will be the most bittersweet chapter so far. BYEEEEE

[remuslupinslittleslut]

NSFW Alphabet - James Potter

A - Aftercare

James wouldn’t have that much experience in giving specific aftercare to someone in say subspace, but he’d be very aware of the importance of making sure the both of you were comfortable afterwards. He’d be getting sweaty and not really want to cuddle immediately, but he’d make sure to be close, hold your hand or scratch your scalp to make his presence known. He’d also be good at telling you sweet things, letting you know how much he appreciates you and how good it was.

B - Body Part, favourite on himself and you

James Potter is a jock, he’s a fit guy. He isn’t taller than Remus, but his shoulders are broad and I think he loves that about himself, he likes to feel strong so his favourite parts of himself would be shoulders, back, arms. Feeling strong makes him feel sexy, and it’s those parts of his body that he’d try to accentuate when he wants to get you in the mood.

On his partner he’s a big thigh and tits guy. He loves squeezing, pushing his face into soft skin, and placing kisses there. He wouldn’t care about size, in either direction, he’d just really love to touch and nip at soft skin.

C - Cum

Not that much of a breeding kink, but I think he likes cuming on you. He’s got a big load, and covering your skin in his pearly white liquid makes him go feral. He loves the way it sticks to your lashes or the patterns it leaves on your back. He’d make sure to swoop a finger down, spreading it around further.

D - Dirty Secrets

James isn’t very secretive about his sexlife, he’s ready to ask his bros a question or bring something up. He would, however, be very secretive about your body, he doesn’t want anyone else seeing you naked, and he doesn’t want to tell his friends about you like that, he’d be more comfortable talking about his own experience, never talking about what you look or feel like. That’s just for him,

E - Experience

He could be either. He’s a big slut, and could have a lot of experience, both romantic and sexual. But he could also be the type of guy who doesn’t get around much but rather wait for the right person. Either way, he gets a lot of propositions. Cause he’s hot.

F - Favourite Position

James would love to either go missionary/missionary with legs on shoulder or cowgirl. He wants to see you, and if you’ve got tits he’d want them right in his face, and easy to grab.

G - Goofy

He’s a goofball, he’d make sex fun for the both of you. Not unserious, but fun. He’d make a funny face, or make a weird sound as a joke, or sing along to the song playing. He’d still take the actual fucking seriously, though.

H - Hair

James feels like he would shave, if you preferred it that way (he doesn’t want his baby to get hairs in their mouth), but it doesn’t make a difference for him, so I don’t think he’d shave just for himself. I think he likes it natural, on himself and his partner. I HC James Potter as indian, so he’d have lots of dark hair, all over <3

I - Intimacy

James is so intimate. I feel like out of the marauders, he’d focus most on romantics during sex, he’d enjoy lighting candles, setting the mood, feeding you chocolates. He’d love keeping eye contact during sex, he just wants to feel close to you.

J - Jack Off

I think he’s a jacking off in the shower kinda guy. He likes the way it feels when he’s all soaped up - and he enjoys the privacy of it. It’s also a smooth clean up, which is always a plus. He doesn’t need to use pictures or dirty mags, he’s got enough filthy memories of you to get himself going.

K - Kink

I think Jamie is a switch, who sometimes wants to take care of his girl, be strong and in command. But other times, I think he’d have a huge mommy-kink. “Wanna be good f’you mommy” is so James Potter coded <3

Other things he’d enjoy:

He could for sure be into some feet-stuff

He doesn’t have a breeding kink, but he does have a pregnancy kink, he’d go feral for fucking you when pregnant.

He’d want to keep your spoiled panties, just for safekeeping

Food play

L - Location

James is a bit more risque, he’d take you in a broom closet and he’s not afraid to tease you under the table. He, again, likes to do it in the shower/bath. If you move in together, he’d want to take you on every surface, several times.

M - Motivation

He gets riled up from playing quidditch, before and after games, he’d love to have you on your knees, just to release some of his pressure.

Other times, he’d just go crazy for your tits, flash them and he’ll be ready to go <3 Or just any kind of nudity, he’d jump at any chance to touch you, but he’s a bit more afraid to assume things, so I think he’d like it if you were the one to initiate.

N - NO

He’s probably the most vanilla out of the three, I think he doesn’t want to go too far in any way. He’d be against all things that could potentially hurt you or himself, he’d also not enjoy piss/scat play, he feels it’s just too unsanitary.

O - Oral

I HC James as the kind of person to come untouched in his pants from eating pussy, and I stand by it. He loves going down on his partner, no matter what genitalia they have. He loves the way your mouth feels, but he’d never assume he’d get to fill it up, but whenever you propose it, he’s so excited.

P - Pace

His pace changes a lot, but most of the time, he’d want to go quite slow, to have time to be in the moment, feel you in every stroke and just connect. Sex with James is a holy experience every time. 

Q - Quickie

He’d be adventurous in the way that he’d easily shove you into a broom closet, get on his knees and go to town. He’d also love flipping up your skirt and thrust inside you just long enough for you to come all over him.

R - Risk

As stated, he’d be a bit risky in the way he’s not scared to be seen, he likes taking you into the broom closet and making you cum, he’d also not be too careful with silencing charms or closing the curtains.

S - Stamina

He’s fit, so he’s got enough stamina to hold his position, but I think after he’s made you cum, he’d be ready to let go, knowing you like the way he feels when he cums inside you.

T - Toys

He isn’t that interested in toys, but he’d let you tie him up, and he’d be OK with trying some if you were into it. I think he would not hesitate one moment to bring in a vibrator to make you feel even better.

U - Unfair

James can be a bit of a tease, he’d take his shirt off and strut around, making you squirm. He also feels like the kind of person to tease you without knowing it, he’d brush against you without thinking and only realize when you squeeze your thighs shut.

When you’re having sex, I think he’d never feel done if you didn’t cum.

V - Volume

He’s a moaner, he’d push his mouth against his ear and make you hear how good you make him feel.

He loves hearing his partner moan, but he’d also looove to tell you to be quiet, holding a hand over your mouth, “hush baby, don’t want anyone hearing us”, he doesn’t really care if they do, but it’s fun to play.

W - Wildcard

No matter who his partner is, James is willing to experiment with anal, he’d like a finger in his arse, a rim job or even to be fucked/pegged. Not really a wild HC for Jamie but this is where it fits <3

X - X-Ray

Quite normal in size. He’s not small, but not scarily big either. He’d fill you up just right, but it wouldn’t hurt. He’s just very normal in size, but I will tell you, James has got a pretty dick.

Y - Yearning

James would have a pretty standard sex drive, I think he’s not up for fucking on the daily, but he’d be willing to get you off if you were in the mood. I think maybe 3-4 times a week would be perfect for him <3

Z - Zzz

After sex, he’d have to cool off for a bit, but then he’d be ready to cuddle and he’d be so relaxed he wouldn’t be able to help falling asleep. If you scratch his back, he’d doze off so quickly.

[mspaesthetic]

Tidbit: The “Posterization” Effect of Panels Due to the Consequences of GIF Color Quantization (and Increased Contrast (And Also The Tangential Matter of Dithering))

There’s this misconception that the color banding and patterned dithering found in panels is an entirely deliberate, calculated effect Hussie manipulated the image into looking with some specific filter, but this isn’t the case, exactly. It wasn’t so much a conscious decision he took but rather an unavoidable consequence of the medium he partook in: digital art in an age where bandwidth and storage was at a premium.

Not to delve too deeply into the history and technicalities of it, but the long and the short of it is back in the early nineties to late aughts (and even a bit further into the 10s), transferring and storing data over the web was not as fast, plentiful, and affordable as it is now. Filesize was a much more important consideration than the fidelity of an image when displaying it on the web. Especially so when you’re a hobbyist on a budget and paying for your own webhosting, or using a free service with a modest upload limit (even per file!). Besides, what good would it be to post your images online if it takes ages to load them over people's dial-up Internet? Don't even get me STARTED on the meager memory and power the average iGPU had to work with, too.

The original comic strip's resolution was a little more than halved and saved as a GIF rather than a large PNG. That's about an 82.13% reduction in filesize!

So in the early days it was very common for people to take their scans, photographs, and digital drawings and scale them down and publish them as smaller lossily compressed JPEGs or lossless GIFs, the latter of which came at the cost of color range. But it had a wider range of browser support and the feature to be used for animations compared to its successor format, PNG ("PNG's not GIF").

You'd've been hard-pressed to find Hussie use any PNGs himself then. In fact, I think literally the only times he's ever personally employed them and not delegate the artwork to a member of the art team were some of the tiny shrunken down text of a character talking far in the distance and a few select little icons.

PNGs support semi-transparency unlike GIFs, which is why Hussie used them to preserve the anti-aliasing on the text without having to add an opaque background color.

While PNGs can utilize over 16 million colors in a single image, GIFs have a hard limit of 256 colors per frame. For reference, this small image alone has 604 colors:

For those who can't do the math, 256 is a pretty damn small number.

Smaller still were the palettes in a great deal of MSPA's panels early on in its run. Amazingly, a GIF such as this only uses 7 colors (8 if you count the alpha (which it is)).

Not that they were always strictly so low; occasionally some in the later acts of Homestuck had pretty high counts. This panel uses all 256 spots available, in fact.

If he had lowered the number any smaller, the quality would have been god-awful.

To the untrained eye, these bands of color below may seem to be the result of a posterization filter (an effect that reduces smooth areas of color into fewer harsh solid regions), but it's really because the image was exported as a GIF with no dithering applied.

Dithering, to the uninitiated, is how these colors are arranged together to compensate for the paltry palette, producing illusory additional colors. There are three algorithms in Photoshop for this: Diffusion, Pattern, and Noise.

Above is the original image and below is the image reduced to a completely binary 1-bit black and white color palette, to make the effect of each dithering algorithm more obvious.

Diffusion seemingly displaces the pixels around randomly, but it uses error diffusion to calculate what color each pixel should be. In other words, math bullshit. The Floyd-Steinberg algorithm is one such implementation of it, and is usually what this type of error diffusion dithering is called in other software, or some misnomer-ed variation thereof.

The usage of Pattern may hearken back to retro video game graphics for you, as older consoles also suffered from color palette limitations. Sometimes called Ordered dithering because of the orderly patterns it produces. At least, I assumed so. Its etymological roots probably stem from more math bullshit again.

True to its name, Noise is noisy. It’s visually similar to Diffusion dithering, except much more random looking. At least, when binarized like this. Truth be told, I can’t tell the difference between the two at all when using a fuller color table on an image with a lot of detail. It was mainly intended to be used when exporting individual slices of an image that was to be “stitched” back together on a webpage, to mitigate visible seams in the dithering around the edges.

To sate your curiosity, here's how the image looks with no dithering at all:

People easily confuse an undithered gif as being the result of posterization, and you couldn't fault them for thinking so. They look almost entirely the same!

Although I was already aware of this fact when I was much younger, I'm guilty of posterizing myself while editing images back then. Figured I may as well reduce the color count beforehand to help keep the exported GIF looking as intended. I view this as a complete waste of time now, though, and amateurish. Takes away a bit of the authenticity of MSPA art, how the colors and details are so variable between panels. As for WHY they were so variable to begin with, choosing the settings to save the image as requires a judicious examination on a case-by-case basis. In other words, just playing around with the settings until it looks decent.

It's the process of striking a fine balance between an acceptable file size and a "meh, good enough" visual quality that I mentioned earlier. How many colors can you take away until it starts to look shit? Which dithering algorithm helps make it look not as shit while not totally ruining the compression efficacy?

Take, for example, this panel from Problem Sleuth. It has 16 colors, an average amount for the comic, and uses Diffusion dithering. Filesize: 34.5 KB.

Then there's this panel right afterwards. It has 8 colors (again, technically 7 + alpha channel since it's an animated gif), and uses Noise dithering this time. Filesize: 34.0 KB.

The more colors and animation frames there are, and the more complicated dithering there is, the bigger the file size is going to be. Despite the second panel having half the color count of the first, the heavily noisy dithering alone was enough to inflate the file size back up. On top of that, there's extra image information layered in for the animation, leaving only a mere 0.5 kilobyte difference between the two panels.

So why would Hussie pick the algorithm that compresses worse than the other? The answer: diffusion causes the dithering to jitter around between frames of animation. Recall its description from before, how it functions on nerd shit like math calculations. The way it calculates what each pixel's color will be is decided by the pixels' colors surrounding it, to put it simply. Any difference in the placement of pixels will cause these cascading changes in the dithering like the butterfly effect.

Diffusion dithering, 16 colors. Filesize: 25.2 KB

This isn't the case with Noise or Pattern dithering, since their algorithms use either a texture or a definite array of numbers (more boring nerd shit).

Noise dithering, 16 colors. Filesize: 31.9 KB

Pattern dithering, 16 colors. Filesize: 23.1 KB

There's a lot more I'd like to talk about, like the different color reduction algorithms, which dither algorithms generally compress better in what cases, and the upward and downward trends of each one’s use over the course of a comic, but since this isn’t a deep dive on GIF optimization, I might save that for another time. This post is already reaching further past the original scope it was meant to cover, and less than 10 images can be uploaded before hitting the limit, which is NOWHERE near enough for me. I should really reevaluate my definition of the word “tidbit”… Anyway, just know that this post suffers from sample selection bias, so while the panels above came from an early section of Problem Sleuth that generally had static panels with diffusion dithering and animated panels with noise dithering, there certainly were animated panels with diffusion later on despite the dither-jittering.

Alright, time to shotgun through the rest of this post, screw segueing. Increasing the contrast almost entirely with “Use Legacy” enabled spreads the tones of the image out evenly, causing the shadows and highlights to clip into pure black and white. The midtones become purely saturated colors. Using the Levels adjustment filter instead, moving both shadow and highlight input level sliders towards the middle also accomplishes the same thing, because, you know, linear readjustment. I'm really resisting the urge to go off on another tangent about color channels and the RGB additive color model.

Anyway, there aren't any examples in MSPA that are quite this extreme (at least in color, but I'll save that for a later post), but an image sufficiently high in contrast can be mistaken for being posterized at a glance. Hence the Guy Fieri banner. In preparation for this post, I was attempting to make a pixel-perfect recreation of that panel but hit a wall trying to figure out which and how many filters were used and what each one's settings were, so I sought the wisdom of those in the official Photoshop Discord server. The very first suggestion I got was a posterization filter, by someone who was a supposed senior professional and server moderator, no less. Fucking dipshit, there's too much detail preserved for it to be posterization. Dude totally dissed me and my efforts too, so fuck that moron. I spit on his name and curse his children, and his children's children. The philistines I have to put up with...

In the end, the bloody Guy Fieri recreation proved to be too much for me to get right. I got sort of close at times, but no cigar. These were some of the closest I could manage:

You might be left befuddled after all this, struggling to remember what the point of the blogpost even was. I had meant for it to be a clarification of GIFs and an argument against using the posterization filter, thinking it was never used in MSPA, but while gathering reference images, I found a panel from the Felt intermission that actually WAS posterized! So I’ll eat crow on this one... Whatever, it’s literally the ONE TIME ever.

I can tell it's posterization and not gif color quantization because of the pattern dithering and decently preserved details on the bomb and bull penis cane. There would have had to have been no dithering and way fewer colors than the 32, most of which were allotted to the bomb and cane. You can't really selectively choose what gets dithered or more colors like this otherwise.

Thank you for reading if you've gotten this far. That all might have been a lot to take in at once, so if you're still unclear about something, please don't hesitate to leave a question! And as always, here are the PSDs used in this post that are free to peruse.

[peachymcqueen]

HC that although Lightning is *technically* a multi-millionare, most of the time, he's broke asf – especially in the early days of his career. While he definitely receives a hefty paycheck from prize money, sponsors, and advertising, most of it goes directly back into racing – the engineering, the equipment, maintaining the car, etc etc. Just fixing up the 95 after one race alone can cost hundreds of thousands of dollars.

So while Lightning is on the glossy cover of 'Forbes list of youngest millionares,' he is still struggling to repay the $16 on his credit card for some tacos and iced coffee he bought 2 weeks ago.

On the other hand, Doc is absolutely LOADED. Lightning didn't expect it, but it makes sense when he thinks about it. He's been a doctor and a lawyer most of his life. He's been making BANK while having little to no expenses and he's been saving up for essentially 50 years with nothing to spend it on. Throw some of that money into a few investments, sit on it for 50 years, and boom – Doc is essentially the wealthiest person within a 100 mile radius. And that's not even considering the hefty pension he would receive as a retired judge, the fact that he is probably the only doctor with a clinic in the whole region, and his crew chief salary. 

Doc learns about Lightning's... umm... impecuniosity when he is stuck with him on a shopping spree in LA after a race. The kid is trying to buy a simple pair of shoes for a sponsor event that evening. His card declines and Doc watches him rummage through his wallet and fumble with his credit cards in front of the exhausted cashier before stepping in to save him the embarrassment.

––––––––––––

Cashier: that will be $149.99.

Lightning: uhhhh ok i got *checks pockets* 5 bucks. wait– i have my card though, just gimme a minute i need to transfer some money and i'll just–***DECLINED FOR INSUFFICIENT FUNDS*** oh haha wrong card. sorry, lemme just–

Doc: *sigh* ... move out of the way.

––––––––––––

Lightning: i'll pay you back next week, i swear.

Doc: i know you won't.

Lightning: ...

Doc: it's fine.

––––––––––––

This ends up turning into a pattern, but Doc’s fine with that. He knows he has more money than he can spend in this lifetime and he’d rather spend it on the kid and the town than have it go to his estate after he dies or god forbid – pay more tax. 

What Lightning doesn’t expect is to receive a customised red Corvette for his birthday one year. He doesn’t even want to imagine how much it’s worth. 

––––––––––––

Lightning: what idiot parked their car in our driveway? 

Doc: it’s for you. 

Lightning: ME?

Doc: the keys are on the table. 

Lighting: but how did you–

Doc: at least you’ll stop begging to use the Hornet now. 

––––––––––––

Lightning: where on Earth did you get all this money by the way?

Doc: that’s classified. 

Lightning: huh? 

Doc: don't worry about it.

[alexanderwales]

Pitchposting: Bad Detectives

content warning: bdsm, sexual violence, suicide, murder, police

Pitchposting is when you write about a thing that you're not going to write to exorcise the demons.

I was a big fan of the Hannibal TV show, partly because it was a bit silly. I'm worried that the thing I'm going to describe here will feel like a riff on that, but hopefully it's just an influence. The actual core of the idea came while watching Presumed Innocent.

The book follows two detectives who hunt serial killers. I'm not sure I care all that much about actual serial killers or the actual people who hunt them, though I have read a few nonfiction books from former FBI people, mostly to make sure I understand the perspective of government employees and how their process of self-mythologizing goes (for a different book). This book takes place in one of those worlds where there are a ton of serial killers, they're clever and artistic and tortured, and they're caught by looking at their signatures and through careful psychoanalysis rather than security cameras, fingerprints, and other features of the national security panopticon.

Our male lead is scruffy and tightly clenched. He's a loner. He doesn't talk much, but when he does, it's insightful and poignant. He's weird, but not in a way that maps well to any actual diagnosis. He's extremely good at getting inside the head of serial killers, understanding their patterns, knowing the things that will give them away, how they'll inevitably slip up or be caught. To the extent we get his inner thoughts, he is absolutely fucked in the head: the only reason you wouldn't call him a serial killer is that he's never actually killed anyone, and the only reason he hasn't done it is because it's wrong. He instead satisfies his urges through his job with the FBI, which allows him access to tons and tons of photographs and the chance to visit crime scenes, to talk to serial killers, to confront his darkness over and over, flirting with it. Maybe there's actually some question whether he has killed someone, and in what circumstances, if he's an Ethical Serial Killer of some kind. You can smell the frustrated impulses on him.

Our female lead is carefully put together and very cold. She's a loner. She doesn't talk much, but when she does, she's sad and distant. She's weird in a way that doesn't map to any diagnosis. She's fastidious. She has eight of the exact same suit and three pairs of the same shoes. She's extremely good at getting in the heads of serial killers, which again, is the main way that serial killers are caught in this world rather than, I don't know, loads of interviews, tip lines, etc. She is absolutely fucked in the head: she's drawn to killers like a moth to flame. She is, essentially, prey incarnate, a lamb who would willingly lie down to be brutalized by the lion. The only reason she hasn't been killed is that she has a sense of self-preservation and thinks that killing and hurting people is wrong. She satisfies her urges through her work, which gets her access to serial killers, lets her interview them, lets her see the crime scenes and imagine herself in them, etc.

I think for the purposes of pitchposting, we could stop there. Obviously we have two completely insane people in a very high-stress high-stakes job who happen to match each other in a way that no human ever actually does. They have these private inner lives that they cannot, under any circumstances, share with other people, but the central tension is that if they did share with each other, they would find that they're a perfect fit.

The scene that's been kicking around in my head is the two of them trying to recreate a crime scene together, with her in the role of victim and him in the role of perpetrator. They're in their work clothes, conservatively dressed, both playing the part of professional, and each actually thinking while they're playing it cool "wow, this is so hot, god I wish this were real".

It's basically this, as a fucked up psycosexual erotic thriller/romance:

I think as far as this core relationship goes, it's pretty solid. Both have a dark secret, their dark secrets complement each other, there's plenty of reason for both of them to misunderstand the other (because both would naturally assume that the other is repulsed rather than attracted).

But at the end of the line, I'm not sure what an ending would look like for the two of them. He's not just a sadist, he has a hunger for murder, and his whole character orientation has been around trying to satisfy those urges in other ways that don't quite work. And she's not just a masochist, she has erotic suicidality, which I might have just coined (but probably did not). The ending that their internal drives are pointing at is with him as a killer and her dead. That would be a very daring ending, and I'm not sure what it would mean ... but I also don't know what ending would work better, or even what the themes of this book would be, other than just "look at these two freaks". (And of course the audience for the book is people who see themselves in one or the other of these two freaks. I'm using "freaks" affectionately here.)

The main problem is that this is all sort of gross. Hannibal steered away from sexual violence, one major notable exception aside, vaguely implying it sometimes but often using murder as a stand-in for sex. I thought the show worked best when it was the most divorced from reality, when it was being serious about its camp. The serial murders are works of art, things of beauty, dark and horrible but also aesthetic and neatly planned.

Maybe you can do that here. Maybe serial killers in this world have absolutely no interest in sexual violence of any kind. Maybe our protagonists are vaguely sexless themselves, and when they're acting out murders together the sex stuff exists only in the mind of the reader. And then when they do have sex, if they do, then that's a stand-in for murder. This is less gross than, e.g. having sexually violent crimes that sexually excite our protagonist, at least in my opinion, maybe because that would be less divorced from reality.

A woman with an interest in getting raped is ... I mean, there are real women like that out there, ones who have that fantasy and ones who actually would want to make that fantasy a reality in some way. But a woman who thinks it's hot to be ritually stabbed fifty-two times in the stomach is less real, and her dark desire is more clearly a stand-in for other dark desires, whatever repressed urge our audience feels, or sees in others, or how we understand ourselves and our thoughts. Easier to do the mapping when it's clear that we're not mapping to anything substantially real. (Knowing humans, I am sure that there probably is someone out there with vivid fantasies about basically anything, but if I wrote the story it would be with "this is not literally about dismemberment, decapitation, vivisection, bondage, stabbing, etc." in mind.)

I think having the serial killers be over the top also helps to take you out some of what tends to be a icky about true crime. It becomes clear that this is a fantasy, that it's exploring something in our brains, rather than doing the typical procedural thing of "ripped from the headlines". These would be killers with their own weird fucked up demons they let free, artists, rather than the serial killers we get in the real world, who are mostly impulse idiots. I think it's easy to not be exploitative if you're completely divorcing yourself from reality.

I think I'm the wrong person to write this, which makes it perfect for a pitchpost. I enjoyed Hannibal, but it seems like an exhausting thing to write, and trying to strike the right balance for both main characters seems tough and like an ongoing battle I'd be fighting with every word. There'd be a risk of teetering over into grimderp shock value at every turn.

I'm trying, right now, to think about a way to have that same dynamic I like without it being some sex-murder thing, and I'm coming up blank. Two people who are serious professionals with a dark secret whose careers are ostensibly about stopping that thing ... you know, maybe just set the story in a repressive society where the things they think are horrible and would offend the other are things we maybe find a little boring or everyday, though this loses you the aspect of "our desires would literally destroy us". So I don't think it would be quite the same, but I'd be more likely to write it, rather than wallowing in the sexy murdersphere.