#some semblance of coherency

[phantom-of-the-501st]

Arthur's death and the collapse of the gang: How did it impact Charles?

Time for sad(ish) rambles!

Content warning for mentions of alcoholism and death.

A while ago I saw a post on this app from someone who said that Charles grieved Arthur longer than he knew him and while I was aware that that was the case, seeing it so bluntly stated has forever altered my brain chemistry and I have not emotionally recovered since. So now I’m going to go on a ramble and make you guys bear the brunt of that pain with me! (Including you @the-bi-space-ace )

Now as a big Charles fan, I always get excited seeing him again in the epilogue, but there’s always been a part of that story that has stood out to me, and that’s the fact that out of everyone in the gang, one of the people who is hit the hardest by it’s collapse is Charles, a man who had only been a part of it for several months. And in my attempts to understand why, it has always taken me down an interesting exploration of Charles as a character, one that I want to share my ramblings on. Welcome to my TedTalk on the story of Charles Smith.

Charles’ Background

We're gonna start near the beginning because it's important. Charles has not had the best life: his mum was taken when he was young, he lost his mother's tribe which he used to be a part of (and now has no idea if it even still exists), his father turned to drink, and Charles ran away as a young teen, subsequently spending much of his life alone. For over half of his life he's been running as a lone ranger, living as a black Indigenous man in the late 1800s, a time that was far from accepting. He lost everything and as a result, has never really fit in anywhere.

And all of this is the basis for why Charles was hit so hard by the events of the game. It underpins his entire story arc.

We don't know the full details of Charles’ past, but he certainly never had it easy. He's spent his entire life on the end of racist abuse, will have been no stranger to what people thought of him as an afroindegnous man, and has likely experienced many of the awful things that happened to people of colour at the time (and while there's never any confirmation in the game, it isn't entirely out of the realm of possibility that Charles ended up in a reform school at some point in his life).

He would have been treated as an outcast. And part of this plays into why he's so reserved. Charles has to be incredibly careful about who he opens up to and about who he trusts. Even within the gang there are people who view him negatively because of his heritage and so he has to be incredibly careful within the group as well. He lives in a society that deems him as someone that has no place and it is one of the key things that underpins Charles’ struggle to find a sense of belonging.

Charles’ Struggles with Finding a Place in the World

Charles himself admits that he struggles to understand what his purpose is: where he's supposed to be what he's supposed to do. He finds it really difficult to find a place where he fits in. And honestly, it's to be totally expected.

This is a man who has had everything taken from him. His family, his home, his childhood. Charles lost everything. He's someone who had to grow up too quickly in a world that stripped him of every part of his life that gave him any sense of belonging. He has no family, no friends, he's an outcast in society, he can't open up to people out of fear for his own safety. How can a man who lives in a world like that feel like he belongs there?

Charles on the outside seems like someone whose incredibly competent and confident, someone who won't back down in a fight, who will help those who need helping, who isn't afraid to defend those who need defending, and can stay calm in the face of it all. And he is all of those things. But he's also someone who is incredibly lost.

He's incredibly competent, but likely doubts his ability to protect people because of how many people he has lost. He appears confident on the outside and yet he has lived a life where he always has to be looking over his shoulder and be very wary of everyone. He won't back down in a fight but he carries the emotional weight of those choices and actions deep within him. He will always help those who need helping, but likely feels he can never help enough, that there's so much suffering that is entirely out of his control to fix. He'll defend those who need defending but has also found himself defending people he realises he probably never should have (Dutch for example). And he's not calm all the time, he's angry and frustrated and has a short temper but works to keep those emotions under control as much as he can because letting those emotions burst free rarely results in good outcomes.

I've never understood the argument that Charles is emotionless or stoic. He's far from it. He's a man I believe feels very deeply and very strongly, who holds the weight of the world on his shoulders in a way that's far heavier than I think any of us will ever truly understand. He's reserved, keeps many feelings close to his chest. He doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve, but as mentioned earlier, why would he? In a world that has driven him to loneliness, why would he be so open with people?

Finding the Gang

So where does the gang (and in a more focused sense, Arthur) fit in to all of this?

Well, for Charles, this is the first time in many years where he's felt a sense of belonging. No, not everyone welcomed him in with open arms, and he does tend to keep many at arms length with his walls kept firmly up, but he has a purpose, and a group of people who have (to a certain extent) taken him in. The gang is the closest thing Charles has had to a family in a very long time and it likely felt like things were starting to fall into place a little bit. I don't think he ever felt completely comfortable and at home, but it was somewhere for him to belong after spending most of his life being cast out by society. They're a group of people who exist in a world that doesn't want them, and part of that resonates with him because that's what his life has been for so long.

(SIDE NOTE: That's not to say that they're all treated the same way by society. Charles does not share the privileges that many of the other gang members have and as a result has to he more cautious about things than some of the others. For example, Charles is fully aware that Arthur is more likely to be able to have some influence over what happens to the Wapiti Tribe on the basis that he is white and far more likely to be listened to. It will never be an even playing field, no matter how understanding members of the gang may be).

And among all of those is Arthur. I've rambled before about how much these two trust each other and how insane it is in some ways. Arthur became someone Charles trusted enough that he was willing to share his concerns about Dutch with a man who had been raised by him and stood loyal to him for over twenty years. Charles went to Arthur about the Wapiti Tribe because he was the person he trusted most to help. They had each other's backs through incredibly tough times.

“Charles, will you ride with me?”

“Always.”

Despite spending most of his life pushed out by society and living for many years alone, Charles not only had a family, but a close friend he could trust. There were others he grew to care about too: Lenny, Hosea, Sadie, John, Abigail, Jack, just to name a few. Yes he was closer to some than others, but they were still his family in a way. But Arthur was the closest Charles had been to anyone in a long time (as far as we know) and one of the people he had the strongest connection with (in whichever way you view it because I'm not going to try and put labels on it).

Not only was Arthur someone Charles could trust, but he made sure to let Charles know that he was appreciated: letting him know how much the gang needed him, telling him he was glad to have him around, expressing his thanks about Charles having is back. Arthur always made it clear that Charles had a place with them and that was something Charles had not had for much of his life. For someone who has always struggled to work out where he's supposed to be in the world and whether he's even supposed to belong, having someone say “I'm glad you're here and I don't know where we'd be without you” is so important. Through all of it's messes, the gang was Charles’ home.

Which is why it's such a tragedy that it didn't last.

The Collapse of the Gang and a Loss of a Best Friend

Charles, a man struggling to find his place in the world, finds a home ans a family, somewhere where he might finally belong.

And then he loses it all.

Charles’ whole life has felt like the universe telling him he doesn't belong. He lost his mother, his tribe, his father, his home, all by the time he was just thirteen years old. He was alone for years, in a world that never wanted him. And then when be finally finds a place to belong, all of that is taken from him too.

I always wondered why Charles was one of the people who struggled the most after the gang collapsed because he's one of the people who has been there for the shortest amount of time. Many of the others manage to find their way; Tilly got married and was starting a family, Mary-Beth became an author, Pearson found a job at the general store, and John, Abigail and Jack finally started to settle down into a life (we're going to ignore the events of the first game for the time being). And then there's Charles, who is throwing fights for money.

For Charles, the collapse of the gang must have been confirmation that he didn't belong. If he truly had a place in the world then why was everything always being taken from him?

And to lose Arthur in the midst of it all. Charles found someone he could trust, who he could rely on. A man that, despite everything that the group was going through, would hopefully have his back for years to come. Even without the Van der Linde gang, Arthur was likely someone Charles could rely on after it all. But that was never to be.

As I said earlier, Charles has always had to be careful about who he opens up to and who he expresses his emotions and concerns to because the wrong person would weaponise them against him. But Charles found someone he could trust, someone he was willing to share his vulnerabilities with. He began letting his walls down around Arthur only to lose him within just a matter of months. And Charles was the one who buried him.

Think about this for a moment. Charles lost his best friend, made the decision to go all the way back and bury him somewhere he knew Arthur wanted to be (bearing in mind the man has been on top of a mountain for (at least) several days and is going to be in horrendous shape), went through the effort of carving out a proper gravestone for him, and then also makes sure to tell Mary where Arthur was buried so that the people in Arthur's life could mourn him properly and get closure. Charles put himself through what would have been an incredibly traumatic set of events to make sure that this friend got the burial he deserved. I don't even want to imagine how difficult that would have been for him.

(I'm also going to quickly throw in an idea that Noshir himself has mentioned before, which is that Charles’ mother used to sing him lullabies, which he then sung to himself as he buried Arthur. It's a possibility that has broken a piece of me into many pieces that I don't think I will ever put together again but it just encapsulates how tragic this whole experience was).

The collapse of the gang and the loss of Arthur once again left Charles alone in the world, unsure of his place or where to go. A feeling of hopelessness so deep that he was still struggling to find his place in the world eight years later.

Rekindling Old Friendships and New Hope

Thankfully, Charles’ story does not end (as of right now) in complete tragedy. Throughout the epilogue, we begin to see Charles find stability again. Working on John and Abigail's ranch gives him a sense of purpose. He forms stronger friendships with the Marstons, Sadie, and even Uncle, once again giving him people to trust, a place where he feels he has a right to be.

But what I find even more moving is Charles’ acceptance that that isn't where he should stay. His place isn't at the Marston's home, it's out in the world somewhere with his own family. After having everything torn away from him for much of his life, and after being repeatedly thrown out into the world with no clear sense of direction, Charles is finally in a position where he has the agency to make that decision for himself. He takes that step not because he's forced to but because he understands that that is what he needs to do. It's on his own authority and while we don't know exactly what happens to Charles next, seeing him finally have that agency over his life and that understanding of where he needs to go after feeling so lost for so long is honestly the best place I could hope for Charles to be at the end of the game.

I'm sure he thinks about the gang a lot and the people who were a part of his life, even if only for a brief time. Hosea, Lenny, Arthur of course. People who have shaped Charles into who he is now. Do I like to believe that Arthur's unwavering belief in Charles is something that the man holds with him to remind him that he really does have a place in the world? Yes. I do. But I do also think that Charles’ growth is down to much of his own learning, understanding and reconciling. Though only knowing each other a short time, Arthur was an integral piece in the puzzle of Charles’ life.

[95-6qrsk2rx9uq42069nnnnnjthewolf]

"Princess"

Red Robin has been hanging around Hood like a persistent gnat he can’t swat lately. And sure, they’ve come to an understanding and collaborate frequently on cases. But this isn’t a predetermined meet-up to exchange intel or brainstorm an infiltration. This is Tim dropping in unannounced on a stakeout, or taking out a goon in a brawl that totally wasn’t about to get the drop on him, Hood had it all handled, really. And then the replacement doesn’t leave. Looking over his shoulder while Jason rifles through cargo holds, or ‘tsking’ from some high perch while watching him make a field repair on his gear, all with some vague air of expectancy like he was waiting for Jason to do something.

But he never gives any indication what it is he’s expecting from Jason, or whether or not Jason actually delivered. No rhyme or reason for when he decides he’s done being a nuisance, from what Jason can tell, though he’s sure it's all very precisely timed in Tim's head. 

The thing is, though, that Jason would maybe like to give Tim whatever it is he seems to want. He knows part of it is just how Tim is; the guy would probably have neglected to mention he runs a fortune-500 company if it hadn’t made national news. But he also knows that if you don’t ask for something, nobody can deny you it. He and Tim tend to run their mental gymnastics on a similar course. Probably part of why they get along so well. 

It’s the very same reason why, instead of asking for clear communication, what comes out of his mouth instead is, “You can pout all you like, princess, but that don’t make me any more of a mind reader. The sooner you tell me what you’re after, the sooner I can tell you to fuck off.”

Red Robin pouts even harder and straightens up, and Jason panics for a second that he actually is about to fuck off. A baseless worry though, when there’s still shit for Tim to poke his nose in. His frown only turns into a satisfied smirk as he points out the false wall in the office he’s decided they’re now investigating together.

~~~

Jason’s pretty sure he solves the mystery of what Tim’s after about two weeks later. 

Tim has turned Jason’s couch into a battle station; laptops, photos and files strewn around him. The coffee table is marginally less cluttered thanks to Jason only just having cleared the empty mugs and energy drink cans away. They’d returned from an extremely fruitful bust on a trafficking den that was the product of days worth of prep, and Tim is already picking up where they left off, pulling on the threads that will lead them to the next step up in the operation, not even fully out of his body armor and buzzing off the adrenaline of their success. Jason had barely gotten Tim’s jammed fingers in a splint before a laptop was being booted up and documents updated, dots connected. 

Normally Jason is more than happy to let Tim’s ridiculous brain run ten steps ahead and in five different directions at once; had once watched him solve a different case from the one he was actually working on accidentally. But Tim’s been burning the candle from both ends even more dramatically this week, prepping with him for this bust in the evenings, and dealing with bullshit meetings at his day job (Jason resents being aware of corporate finance calendars). Jason hears the beginning of frustrated grunts and pronounced keyboard clacking as Tim’s fingers start to stumble over one another and he has to delete more words than actually make it into the report he’s writing. 

“Alright, I’m calling it. If you crash here for the night you can get right back to it when you wake up,” Jason offers, like there’s actually any room for debate, sweeping up papers from the couch. And Tim must be even more exhausted than he realized, because he only gets half-hearted grumbling in response.

“You better save whatever you’re working on by the time I come back with blankets or I’m closing that laptop right on your fingers.”

And miracle of miracles, the laptop is already closed and atop the slightly precarious pile on the coffee table when he returns to the living room, Tim horizontal and watching him with pale eyes as piercing as ever, even behind heavy eyelids he can barely keep open.

Jason can’t do anything but drape the sheets over him, make sure he’s fully covered. Can’t help the words out of his mouth, not nearly as teasing as he meant them to be, 

“Sweet dreams, princess.”

And in response he gets the warmest, sleepiest smile he thinks he’s ever gotten from Tim, nuzzling happily into the blanket before he’s fully asleep in seconds flat, leaving Jason to stare and will his heart to not beat out of his chest.  

[angelsdean]

So, meditating on a few things after my 3x07 rewatch.

Dean's recklessness in this episode is pretty central and explicit. I've already touched on it here, and how what the vampire says mirrors what Dean has been feeling since making his deal.

And here are these threads of loss, recklessness and suicidality with various characters throughout the episode. The vampire, Dean, Gordon and...Sam.

VAMPIRE I was desperate! You ever felt desperate? (shot of DEAN's face) I've lost everyone I ever loved. I'm staring down eternity alone. (shot of DEAN's face) Can you think of a worse hell? DEAN Well, there's Hell. VAMPIRE I wasn't thinking. I just ... I didn't care anymore. Do you know it's like when you just don't give a damn? It's like ... it's like being dead already. So just go ahead. (looks down at DEAN's knife) Do it.

Here we see the vampire lay out his loss (lost his family), his recklessness (stopped caring), and his suicidality (goads Dean to kill him).

Throughout the episode Dean has been acting reckless. First with playing bait to draw out a vampire. Then running out to draw Gordon and Kubrick's attention away from Sam and getting shot at. Now he wants to take on Gordon alone. Sam is rightly not happy with this plan and calls Dean out on his behavior.

DEAN Sam, I don't need you to sign me a permission slip, okay? He's after you, not me, and he's turbocharged. I want you to stay out of harm's way. I'll take care of it. SAM Well, Dean, you're not going by yourself. You're gonna get yourself killed! DEAN Just another day at the office. It's a massively dangerous day at the office (smirking) SAM So you're the guy with nothing to lose now, huh? Oh wait, let me guess. Because, uh, it's because you're already dead, right? DEAN If the shoe fits.

Dean is again exhibiting recklessness (wanting to take on a turbocharged Gordon alone), and suicidality (admits to feeling as good as dead, not caring that he could get himself killed), because he feels he has nothing to lose (he's already been damned to an eternity alone in Hell).

Then we have Gordon. And Sam. In the two quotes below, Gordon compares his monstrous self to Sam. He views them as the same. Gordon's view of monsters has always been very black and white.

GORDON You have no idea what I faced to get here. I lost everything. My life. But it's worth it, 'cause I'm finally gonna kill the most dangerous thing I ever hunted. You're not human, Sam. GORDON I got to hand it to you, Sam. You got a lot of people fooled. But see, I know the truth. I know what it's like. We're the same now, you and me. I know how it is walking around with something evil inside you. It's just too bad you won't do the right thing and kill yourself. I'm gonna ... as soon as I'm done with you. Two last good deeds. Killing you, and killing myself.

Gordon speaks of his loss -- he's "lost everything." Like the vampire earlier, he's lost his family (his sister to vampires, killed his only friend Kubrick). He's also lost his humanity. To Gordon, there are no innocent monsters. Even as a monster now himself, he could have fought his urges and instincts. Sam even calls him out, saying he's acting like he doesn't have a choice and Gordon says he doesn't. For Gordon, becoming a monster is an absolute damnation and a death sentence. It's why he's so adamant that Sam needs to be killed.

I don't have a specific line to highlight Gordon's recklessness or lack of caring but it's kind of self-evident in his actions after he is turned and tied into his suicidality. He is a lot less reckless than Dean, the vampire, or Sam because he's so mission driven at the moment. But his suicidality is the most overt and shows he no longer intends to live after he kills Sam.

Now, Sam. How is Sam tied into these themes? He argued against all these things throughout the episode, right? But, well, I think Gordon's words get to him. Because these are all things Sam has been worrying about since he found out about his powers and all throughout s2 once he found out about John's dying words. It's just that these worries have been put on the back-burner since Dean made his deal. But Gordon brings them back to the surface.

Sam is reminded of his supposed loss of humanity. He also knows, if he doesn't find a way save Dean, that he will soon lose the only family he has left. He is told he should kill himself. And then--

SAM pants from the effort, stares down at GORDON'S head on the ground, and examines his bloody hands. DEAN You just charged a super-vamped-out Gordon with no weapon. That's a little reckless, don't you think?

Sam brutally murders Gordon in an impulsive reckless move.

And I think Sam looking down at his bloodied hands may be wondering if Gordon was right. Wondering, despite the fact that his powers vanished after Azazel's death, if perhaps something in him is still fundamentally altered and unhuman.

After all, Gordon's death is just another in a line of cold-blooded brutal murders Sam has committed since being brought back. First there was Jake Talley and Sam's overkill continuing to shoot him after he was dead. Then in 3x04 there were the human hosts of the two demons, Casey and the priest. He feels bad about killing them but then Ruby quickly convinces him that he did the right thing. Telling him they were likely as good as dead. And then in 3x05 Sam quickly progresses to not feeling any remorse for shooting the crossroad's demon (and in turn killing her vessel) out of pure spite.

Dean himself has been wondering, ever since Azazel put the thought in his head, if what he brought back is Really his brother. We the audience are meant to be wondering this as well. The difference on a rewatch is that, we are omniscient in a sense. We already know. This is all Sam. Which is crunchy and interesting but not something I'm really going to delve into in this already long post.

But the point is, Sam too I think is wondering in that moment if he's a lost cause, if Gordon is right. If he's better off dead. These are the fears that plagued him all last season. He begged Dean to promise to kill him. He was convinced he there was something inherently wrong and evil in him, simply for having supernatural abilities.

Him going after Gordon without a weapon was reckless as Dean pointedly calls him out on, and I think, for a split second in that moment, he really thought "well if I die trying to take out Gordon then so be it." Mind you, this is also right after he saw Dean get bitten by Gordon, not yet knowing if Dean was okay. So I think Sam might've doubly been thinking "I have nothing to lose" when he charged at Gordon.

[fogemorfem]

I live for the fanfic trope of Crowley basically fighting for his life while hearing Aziraphale making "almost pornografic" noises while eating. I have read fics where they eat and Aziraphale just enjoys it and it's not a Thing and Crowley is normal about it, and I'm always disappointed.

[distant-screaming]

i simply must ask you about ‘mtshn menaces getting together’ 👀

HIII LENA <3 you picked one of the ones I'm most excited about HSFKDJFJ

[ails-of-ardor-au]

Y’all I just got such a good idea for how to rewrite DOTC,,,

[daybreakrising]

managed to get a couple of things done, still want to do some more later but first i have to consume dinner & be social for a while

there's also a hc i wanna write up today but we'll see where the brain is at

[ruairy]

.

[nats-other-archive]

tbh i want varholt to call kuft alum her useless foshayti bitch whos only independent because of her own mercy but she wouldnt do that

[gold-onthe-inside]

i watched the songwriter documentary about ed sheeran and i will be obsessed with him for a month, apologies in advance

[goldendivinewrath]

@millionsnife

Vash claps his hands together entirely too loudly, which matches perfectly with the oversaturated, over-wide, over-enthusiastic smile that is immediately pasted onto his face because if he tries hard enough then surely no one will see the fear and desperation in his eyes. "I don't suppose either one of you are well versed in exorcising demons from objects? Or demons that are objects? I really didn't ask."

The blanks looks he gets are not promising, so he claps again. Louder. It kind of hurts, but that's fine too. "Wolfwood, do something-- Uh, priestly." He's pretty sure that spitting on the ground is not that, however.

Smile turning into a very realistic pleading look, his hands are still clasped together as if in prayer as he looks at Meryl. "Please yell at it? Tell it to go away?"

"Wha--" Is as far as she gets before Vash's shrill "PLEASE???" interrupts, managing to drown out the otherworldly screaming if only for a moment.

"Well, what do I say?" Meryl tries for annoyance, but the growing concern in her voice is clear. "Go away, demon, there are more fun places to haunt?"

"Possess." Wolfwood corrects, not sure that he's correcting anything. "Ghosts haunt, demons--"

"Somebody just do something or we won't have any salt left." Vash insists with a hiss.

"I'm throwing salt at everything when we get back." He can hear what sounds like Wolfwood's bike roaring up, so hopefully they'll have assistance soon. The screaming is starting to fray his nerves.

"...What the fuck," Wolfwood says, when he parks. Meryl tumbles off behind him, before echoing the question.

"Demon," Knives answers. "Reporter. Start yelling at it."

[mariasont]

Sending another thought that I can’t think of a way to elaborate on to your magnificent mind

Aaron Hotchner with his assistant who’s rambling (like every other day) about random stuff and she’s just like “I want kids someday” and Hotch is like “oh yea?” And she’s like “yea! And if I ever have kids I hope they’re just like Jack, he’s such a little angel” blah blah blah and poor Hotch is screaming in his mind like YOU COULD HAVE JACK??? BE HIS STEPMOM????

Sorry I’m absolutely feral for them ily bye

BUSINESS OF MAKING BABIES - A.H

a/n: i took this in a slightlyyyy different direction but ugh same im so feral for these two!!!! thank you for your most amazing request! i <3 you!

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: references to baby making!!!!!!

wc: 0.6k

Aaron needed to get work done, but his focus was more trained on the delicate patch of skin that connected your shoulder to your neck, smooth and glowing like you'd just stepped out of the sun. You smelled delectably good, which was sending his neurons into overdrive. You were saying something, formulating and articulating thoughts from that perfect brain and through your also perfect mouth. 

He was concentrated on making sure you knew he was listening, nodding and humming every so often as you continued on your tangent, hands waving dramatically through the air, heels clanking on the floor in his office as you paced the room. His gaze moved to your thighs, only for a second, he was a gentleman after all. 

"And she's just, you know, popping them out left and right, and I'm over here like, Hello? Can I get a turn? I'm not asking for much, just a sweet guy who's willing to, you know, help me out with the whole baby-making thing."

You stopped dead in front of his desk, placing your hands atop the wood as you let out a melodramatic sigh. This caught his attention, eyes snapping up to meet yours.

"You want kids?" The words left his mouth before he could filter them. "Isn't that a bit premature at your age?"

"Okay, Grandpa," you giggled, plopping yourself down in the chair before him. "And, of course, I want babies. They'd be the cutest, hopefully just like Jack. He's the sweetest, isn't he?"

Hotch felt his heart plummet to his stomach, jaw clenching and unclenching as he rubbed his thumb along the rough edges of his chin. "Yeah, he's pretty great."

You sighed again, a common occurrence in this conversation, as you stood up and moved around the desk before plopping yourself down on it. Your calve grazed accidentally against his thigh. You absentmindedly adjusted a wrist full of charm bracelets, creating a gentle jingling sound that should've annoyed him, but it did anything but.

"Honestly, though, who even needs a boyfriend these days? I could totally just take the whole donor route for the baby thing. Easy-peasy!"

Hotch's response came after a brief, flustered pause, during which he seemed to search for the right words. Clearing his throat, he managed to look anywhere but at you as he carefully said, "Ah, yes, I suppose you could... do that."

In an effort to regain some semblance of control over the situation, Hotch took a deliberate sip of the somewhat stale coffee sitting on his desk. However, before he could swallow, you bounded off the desk, eyes wide with sudden realization.

"You know what? You would be a great donor."

The coffee in Hotch's mouth nearly made a swift exit as he choked, trying to comprehend what you had just said.

Hotch opened his mouth, attempting to form a coherent response, but before he could broker a single word, you had both hands on his shoulders.

Your eyes were sparkling as you took in his face. "Yeah, like, you have great hair--totally not receding--perfect eyes, great skin..."

Your rapid-fire compliments left him momentarily speechless, a rare flush making its way to his cheeks.

"Well, I--" Hotch began, but your excitement had already taken the reins before he could even navigate through his thoughts.

"I can totally see it; we'd have such cute kids!" you gushed, practically dancing towards the door as if your dreams were almost tangible in the air.

Hotch watched you leave, stuck in his chair, dumbfounded and momentarily lost for words. A bemused smile formed on his lips as he realized he didn't hate the idea at all.

No sooner had the door closed behind you than Morgan appeared, looking thoroughly baffled. He crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze flicking between Hotch and the door you had just exited through.

"Since when are you and Miss Pretty in Pink in the business of making babies together?"

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[lotties-ashwagandha]

(nsfw, mdni, fem!reader in mind, adult timeline)

when taissa and van are fucking you and you let ‘mommy’ slip out before you come, neither of them are sure who you’re referring to — but both of them are eager to claim it.

tai had pulled out her favorite strap, making you take her — it was her favorite way to have you, writhing where you laid while van kissed you and sucked marks so viciously onto your neck and chest that you suspected they might never fade, hands roaming your body softly in contrast to the roughness of tai thrusting into you. you had long lost the desire to think by then, after you had lost count of how many times you had come. you had very willingly let go of any semblance of control or very coherent thought, you had surrendered it to them, and it had slipped out before you could stop it — with van’s hand around your neck and taissa’s strap buried in you, you could never have stopped it. it was a faint and fleeting title you uttered as you moaned their names when you came. the next morning, you weren’t even sure if you had said it.

they were. they remembered all too vividly how beautiful it had sounded, the title gracing your lips, in the desperate tone you always used when you were close. it was an unspoken thing between them as they got ready that morning, as they had their morning coffee together in the kitchen after you had left for work and van was nearly ready to leave to go open her store. but then van began to gloat — she made some casual remark about she always knew you would be into calling her mommy, she had only been waiting for you to initiate it, how tonight she would make you say it again and again.

“you think that was for you?” taissa had shaken her head, setting her coffee mug down on the counter, the sound of it sharp through the quiet kitchen. “i was the one fucking her.”

“it was a joint effort,” van crossed her arms.

“i was doing most of the work,” taissa said, boxing van in where she stood leaning back against the kitchen counter, hands coming to rest on van’s hips. she studied her for a moment, expression contemplative. “i’m surprised you never said it for me first, though…”

van scoffed, looking away for a moment before meeting the other woman’s gaze again. she looked at her incredulously. “you want me to call you mommy?”

taissa stepped back with a shrug. it would be everything to her, hearing van say it for her, for van to give up control to her in the same way you do when you’re beneath both of them. but what she also wanted was to win — for van to admit that it was tai you were addressing last night — and it was too easy for van to recognize the game.

again, unspoken, a new arrangement: if they couldn’t tell who you were blessing with a new title last night, the only option would be to make you say it for them again.

daylight savings is KICKING MY ASS so short little thing bc im so tired. that’s all thank u for reading here’s my masterlist if u want it!!!

[hoshifighting]

can't stop thinking about dumbification w wonwoo....he's one cocky mf and I just KNOW he'd be so filthy😩😩

what are your thoughts??

dumbification with wonwoo WARNINGS: smut, dumbification, fingering, squirting, dirty talk.

tbh you never expected this kind of shit to happen with him, least of all. wonwoo—who barely blinks when u flirt or tease, as if he's above it all. but now, fuck, he's got you on your back, legs spread wide and trembling, fingers pressing so deep inside you that your mind is starting to blank out, and all you can think about is how good it feels. you’re already a mess, whining and squirming, trying to catch your breath while he's got that stupid smirk playing on his lips like he’s enjoying every second of watching you fall apart.

“shit, look at the mess youre making of yourself baby girl, so fucking wet f'me” he mutters, voice raspy, fingers pushing in and out of you at a slow, agonizing pace. “can’t even think straight, hm?” you try to form a response, something snarky or witty, but all that comes out is a whimper, hips lifting to meet his touch, desperate for more. he’s dragging this out on purpose, you know it. trying to push you past the point where you can keep that sharp tongue of yours and turn you into nothing but a mess beneath him.

“wonwoo,” you manage to gasp, voice catching as he curls his fingers inside you just right, brushing against that spot that makes stars explode behind your eyelids. “please—" he chuckles, deep and dark, and you can feel the heat of his breath against your neck as he leans in closer. “please, what?” he taunts, fingers slowing down to a maddening pace, just enough to keep you on the edge but not enough to push you over. “you want more? or are you already too fucked out to handle it?” you shake your head, trying to clear the haze, but it’s impossible. the heat pooling in your belly is making you splash, fever spreading through your limbs and making your mind go blank “answer me,” he commands, his free hand coming up to grip your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his. “use your words, baby. or is that too hard for you now?”

your brain is a foggy mess, but you try to focus, try to form some semblance of thought. “fuck—more, please, i—” your voice cracks, the words barely coherent, but it’s enough for him.

“good girl,” he purrs, and his fingers speed up, pumping into you harder and faster, the wet sounds of your arousal filling the air. “see? you can be good when you try.” it’s embarrassing how fast you lose yourself after that. the pleasure is too much, too intense, and all you can do is lay there, legs twitching, hips bucking, completely at his mercy. you’re babbling now, words that barely make sense falling from your lips as you beg for more, beg for him to let you come, to end this delicious torture. “you like it when i make you stupid, huh?”

you can’t respond. not in any way that matters. the only thing you manage is a broken moan, hands clutching at the sheets like a lifeline as the heat builds inside you, threatening to consume you whole. you’re so close, teetering on the edge, and he knows it. “go on,” he whispers, breath hot against your ear. “show me how dumb i can make you. show me how fucking good i can make you feel.”

t hits you all at once. your vision goes white, body convulsing as the orgasm tears through you, so intense you barely register the flood of wetness soaking his hand and the sheets beneath you. you’re shaking, gasping, unable to form a single coherent thought as the pleasure washes over you. wonwoo watches you fall apart, “fuck, that’s it,” he murmurs. “look at you. didn’t think i’d get you this messy.” u’re still trembling, still trying to catch your breath, and all you can do is nod weakly.

[wanders-in-wonderland]

Marriage is a Contract

Sooooo I got this idea in my head after reading way too many "arranged marriage between grumpy ceo x sunshine wife" tropes... it's quite honestly just a bunch of scenes I had in my head that I mashed together for some semblance of a coherent plot. And 100% self-indulgent fluff and so wildly different from what I usually write but please enjoy because I love this. Also so sorry there is no smut in this oops... but enjoy!

My marriage was a business agreement in every sense. A match made in a boardroom with a dozen bland, graying men who decided how they could sell me to the highest bidder and who that would be. A merger that let every person in that boardroom walk away with hundreds of millions while I got a new last name.

My family was wealthy and influential but a crumbling institution. A few too many bad investments and scandals meant we needed a lifeline, a distraction from the failing dynasty. What better than a shiny new-money CEO who built his company from the ground up. It didn’t matter that he had a ruthless reputation, known to cut down his boardroom rivals without a second thought, coldly pragmatic with no concern for anything other than the growth of his own empire. In fact, all of those were positives and I made the perfect bargaining chip.

-

He remembers the meeting, the boardroom cold, every person present speaking in calculated measured tones. My father had smiled too wide, my mother’s gaze blank, neither of them concerned with the idea of selling their daughter off to the best buyer. And me? I sat there, silent, hands folded, almost bored looking as I surveyed my surroundings with a gaze of indifference.

He almost respected that. The terms were too attractive for him not to agree with. His company would absorb my family’s, he could restructure easily, cut out the rot and save the parts that were still worthwhile. He would get a foothold into the old money world, the connections forged in generations of blood and wealth, a place he could never enter without a connection like mine. The fact that I was well-bred, sat pretty, and kept quiet was an added bonus.

He signed the papers without looking at me.

-

I moved into his penthouse in the city. Separate bedrooms and his busy work schedule meant that I hardly saw him. We found a new normal: polite, indifferent words exchanged the few times we did cross paths during the week (nothing beyond a cursory inquiry and a blank smile); formal events added into our calendars by his secretary where our combined presence was required, charity galas, investor dinners, flashy events of opulence where he needed his pretty wife on his arm; the biweekly date penciled into our calendars to keep up public appearances so the high society papers kept their noses out of our lives.

Months passed. Our wedding became old news, our regularly scheduled appearances and perfectly tailored performances of romance made us a boring couple to keep an eye on. His company’s performance was stable. Life was standard, clinical, unobtrusive.

Until I got bored.

-

His company has been deadlocked in a merger for months. A deal worth billions that could either double the company’s profits or bankrupt them. And right now, they were losing. He was furious, going over every contract, negotiation, email, and memo to try to salvage what should have been his legacy.

Every internal c-suite meeting feels like a step off a fast-crumbling cliffside. Every lawyer on retainer at the company is working overtime, every consultant ordered to drop other cases to focus on this single merger. It’s the third meeting of the day, he sits at the head of the conference table, fingers steepled, jaw clenched tight enough to crack granite. The silence is suffocating as every executive stares helplessly at the strategies they’d laid out on the screen, nothing good enough to salvage this. Until, his CFO cleared his throat hesitantly.

“There might be someone who can help.”

His gaze swings to him, sharp enough to make the CFO cower a little before clearing his throat and standing his ground.

“She’s a strategist, consultant for hire but she hardly ever takes cases and no one has really heard much from her in the past year.”

“Who is she?”

“No one knows, she operates under a pseudonym. Rumor has it she forced Harvard Law to sign an NDA when she graduated and demands the same from every company she works with. Top firms have tried to hire her but she’s never accepted. Refuses to be on retainer for anyone.”

He rubs his temples, his voice cold with barely contained frustration. “Get a meeting with her.”

Two hours later, there’s a memo on his desk.

She agreed to meet but wants a million and a half upfront. 30 minute meeting, Thursday 10am.

He feels his blood pressure rise. This bitch is playing him. But he has no choice, he fires off an email to approve of the meeting… and the $1.5 million wire transfer.

-

Thursday 9:55am

The boardroom is ice cold. His patience is in the negative as he sits, tapping his fingers furiously against the conference table. The rest of the c-suite executives sit around him, each of them wearing various faces of trepidation, anxiety, and sheer exhaustion.

10:05am

He is ready to murder someone. She’s five minutes late, for a meeting that cost $1.5 million to set up. No one has spoken since the clock ticked past the hour. One of the lawyers coughs and he glares hard enough to make the man swallow his next cough, choosing to lose oxygen rather than piss of the CEO any further.

10:07am

The sound of clicking heels comes from down the hall and he looks ready to burn the building down as every head turns towards to door in anticipation.

The door opens silently.

His sharp inhale is the only sound in the room. Then his voice, barely restrained fury.

“What the fuck?”

A light chuckle bursts out of me. “Is that any way to greet your wife?”

The room is frozen. I take my time sauntering around the conference table, taking off my coat to settle in the one empty seat across from him.

“What the fuck is the meaning of this?”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Honey, you’re paying a million and a half for me to be here. I sure hope you know the meaning of this.”

He scoffs, ears reddening. I can see his hands fisting on the table, the vein on his forehead pulsing with his fury.

“I paid for some expert to come fix this merger, so unless you somehow have a law degree hidden under that pantsuit, you have nothing to offer here.”

I roll my eyes, “Touchy, is this because you didn’t eat breakfast this morning?”

His response is more of an angry growl than anything resembling the English language.

I laugh, “I am in fact, hiding a law degree under here. A doctorate too. It’s really not a good look for a husband to not even know about his wife’s background.”

I turn to his CFO and smile sweetly. “Now, you all know how expensive my time is, so let’s not waste anymore. I’ve seen the documents, there’s another angle you all haven’t considered…”

It takes me seven minutes to dismantle their merger and redesign it into a deal that no one could turn down. It’s a solution so elegant it’s almost insulting that no one else saw it. I watch the vein on his forehead pulse as every sentence that leaves my mouth effortlessly rewrites the deal he'd struggled with for months.

The tension in the room finally breaks and there’s quiet celebration from every executive. A collective sigh of relief in knowing that they no longer have to consider the reality of bankrupting the company and losing billions.

It’s 10:27 when we wrap up the conversation. He dismisses the meeting with cold efficiency, every member of the team scurrying off to cross T’s and dot I’s before sending out the revised contract to the opposing side.

I stay seated, playing with a pen while staring at my husband.

“You still have 3 minutes left, dear husband,” I say, smiling.

He glares, “Technically, I have 10, you were 7 minutes late.” He stalks around the table towards me, grabbing my chair and hauling it to face him.

I stand to look at him, a little smile still playing across my lips.

“Why did you never tell me you were more than a trophy wife?” His voice is low and angry.

I blink at him, “You never asked. Plus, it was in my file and in our marriage contract. I would know, I wrote that contract myself. It’s not my fault you didn’t read it.”

“You fucking brat,” he growls before his hand comes up to tangle in my hair and his lips find mine.

We violate several HR protocols in the remaining 10 minutes of that meeting before he drags me into his office.

—

That night, the financial news runs the headline: "Billion Dollar Merger Saved by CEO's Secret Weapon—His Wife."

Meanwhile, his secret weapon is currently bent over their bed, moaning into the sheets as he ruins me, his grip bruising, his teeth on my neck.

"Still—fuck—smug now?" he rasps.

I gasp, arching. "Y-Yes."

He snarls, flipping me onto my back. "Good."

When we’re both spent and collapsed on the bed, my body curled into his and his fingers stroking through my hair, he finally takes the time to learn about his wife. To ask questions and actually care about my answers.

He learns about the Harvard law degree I never mentioned. My PhD in Economic Theory I keep hidden away. The published papers under a penname he actually recognizes from industry journals. He truly sees me for the first time, a nuclear weapon hiding right under his nose. I could've bled him dry months ago.

“What are you even going to do with the 1.5 million?” He asks, his tone an exasperated tease. “Don’t I give you enough of an allowance?”

I grin at him. “I want a yacht.”

He rolls his eyes, “You’re insufferable.”

The next day, at his board meeting, I text him a photo of a yacht listing with a heart emoji.

He responds with an eyeroll and a barely there smile that makes the executive next to him choke on his coffee.

At the end of the meeting, his VP hesitates before clearing his throat.

"Sir, should we draft paperwork for your wife’s board seat?"

He replies coolly.

"Yes. And she goes by Doctor."

And of course, when he hands me the paperwork to sign, I turn it down at first and made him negotiate (beg) for it. I think he’s really pretty on his knees.

-

The company gossip takes on its own life as I reshape his empire at my will.

I attend board meetings when I want and I spend most of them doodling in my notes.

I’m drawing my husband as an angry stick figure when I glance up at the quarterly finance presentation and interrupt the speaker without even looking at him. “Your projections are off by 16% because you didn’t consider the Asia-Pacific market value.”

The room is silent. My husband coughs to cover his laugh before ordering his research team to come back with updated numbers.

I get my own corner office with a view that rivals his own. I never use it, instead, I spend my time lounging on his office couch, snacking while I tear apart his contracts with red pen and doodles in the margins.

I send memos with contract corrections signed with kissy faces to the c-suite members.

I befriend every intern, assistant, and even the janitorial staff. When I find out my husband made some poor college intern cry by snapping at him in a meeting, I send out a company-wide email of him, the feared CEO, passed out on our couch, with drool on the corner of his mouth and my lipstick stain on his cheek. He makes me pay for that but he never yells at another intern again.

When there’s a flash rainstorm and he tracks mud and water into the office, I yell at him and make him clean it himself because “the custodial staff just waxed the floors and you need to respect that.”

I completely restructure compensation for all employees at every level. Benefits are tripled, six-month paid parental leave is guaranteed, student debt for all employees and their children is 100% covered by the company. When news got out, the company’s stocks tanked for a day before I rewrote every ongoing deal we had to force every other competitor to match our benefits and we made back triple the losses. My husband took a screenshot of the stock chart from those 48 hours and had it framed in the company lobby.

The stories only escalate from there. It seems like every single employee has some juicy gossip about the scary CEO and his badass wife.

"The way the CEO looks at her when she corrects him in meetings—like he wants to either strangle her or bend her over the desk." (He’s done both individually and simultaneously).

“I was at the quarterly meeting where she threw a pen at his head and called him childish because he yelled about Q2 losses.” (This is true and I made him apologize to everyone at the meeting after).

“I saw him carrying her out of the late-night Blackstone negotiation and it was so cute. Then he glared at me but #goals.” (Also true and I demanded that we get McDonald’s on the way home.)

“I heard she rewrote the indemnity clause of the Hong Kong deal while they were having sex.” (Sometimes inspiration strikes at odd times. He came so hard he blacked out a little.)

“The Kensington CEO had tried to write a clause into their contract to bar her from attending joint meetings.” (It didn’t work and I show up to every single one out of spite.)

-

There is a private Slack channel that has literally every employee in it called #overheard-from-mr-and-dr-ceo with a pinned message that reads: DO NOT LEAK ANYTHING FROM THIS CHANNEL, HE WILL FIRE US ALL.

The top messages include:

[Anna_Finance]

She demanded we add ‘company-wide nap pods’ to the budget in the last finance meeting. He said no. She stared at him for five seconds. He caved in three.

[John_Intern]

I shared an elevator with them. She wanted to drink his coffee and he didn’t even hesitate before handing it over. She called him 'good boy.' I thought he was going to kill me.

[Luke_ExecutiveAssistant]

She called him “a little bitch” in the boardroom for vetoing her childcare policy for employees. We got the go-ahead three minutes after the meeting ended.

[Paula_PublicRelations]

I overhead them fighting at lunch. It was about pineapple on pizza.

Dr. CEO: "You’re wrong, and I will die on this hill."

Mr. CEO, while cutting her burger for her!!!: "Then I’ll bury you here."

[James_VP]

I just witnessed a masterclass in the global investor call:

Mr. CEO: "We are not restructuring the Asia-Pacific division."

Dr. CEO, from off-screen: "We are restructuring the Asia-Pacific division."

Mr. CEO, pausing mid-sentence: "...We are restructuring the Asia-Pacific division."

Investor: "Since when?"

Mr. CEO, sighing: "Since my wife said so."

[Lauren_Intern]

GUYS. SHE JUST CALLED HIM 'BABY TYRANT' TO HIS FACE IN THE ELEVATOR. HE JUST SIGHED AND LET HER FIX HIS TIE.

[Dr. CEO]

Hey guys. Just so you know—he reads this channel.

(Read by 3,742 users. 2,916 panic reactions.)

[Mr. CEO]

…Keep the quotes coming. I need evidence for my eventual defamation lawsuit against her.

[Dr. CEO]

He’s lying. He thinks they’re cute.

(Mr. CEO is typing…)

(Mr. CEO has left the channel.)

[Dr. CEO]

Don't worry, he'll be back. <3

Is this pure, disgusting fluff? Yes. Do I understand anything about the corporate world that I just wrote about? No. Do I know what an indemnity clause is? No. Nor do I fully understand what a merger is. But I love this story and will take no criticisms. <3

I lowkey don't even know how to tag this...

[monstersflashlight]

Commission for Vamp

Nipple-tastic

Minotaur (Ambrose) x fem!reader || sfw (mostly), teasing, double POV, (very light) nipple play, UST (Unsolved Sexual Tension™)

Reader’s POV

“I’ve always wanted those,” you let out a mumble when he walks in the living-room without a shirt on. Well, you mumble that after spending about half a minute gaping and trying to make your tongue cooperate.

He scratches his chest absently as he lays snacks on the coffee table. “Wanted what?”

You point at his chest. “Nipple piercings.”

“Is that so?” You think you might've imagined a hint of teasing in his tone, but you aren’t sure. He’s staring down at you, and when you’re sitting on the couch your head is way too close to his groin for you to form coherent thoughts.

And then an idea forms in your brain as he’s sitting down: “Would you do mine?” You try not to sound too excited, but you’re definitely very excited. “Would you pierce my nipples, I mean?” You clarify. “I’d be more confident if you were the one doing them.” Which is true, you’d be more calm if he were the one piercing you, he makes you feel comfortable and safe.

He stutters his answer, “I- Your- Yes. Sure.” He covers his lap with a pillow as you smile big at him.

You let out a happy squeal. “Yay! Can you make the appointment, or should I text Poppy?” You’re already reaching for your phone.

“DON’T-” You jump and look at him, startled by his outburst. “Don’t text Poppy,” he repeats in a calmer tone. “I’ll make the appointment for next week, I think I have a free hour on Thursday, does that work?”

“Yep,” you let out in a strained voice, he’s sitting close and you can feel his heat right at your side, melting half of your ideas and thought.

You’re fumbling with the remote, trying really hard not to stare back at his furry chest and pierced nipples, because then you’re sure you’d have to excuse yourself to the bathroom to masturbate, and you really want to watch a movie.

“I’ll text you the details,” he lets out as you put on the movie distractedly.

Ambrose’s POV

You can do this, you can be normal about it. You can be totally normal about it. You can be professional. You're a professional.

It doesn't matter how many times he’s tried to convince himself that he can deal with the appointment as if nothing’s happening, his half-hard dick and racing heart are calling him a liar.

And then his phone rings from a text message, startling him and making his heartbeat even faster. Fuck, is he having a heart-attack? Can minotaurs have heart-attacks? He doesn’t think so, but maybe he’s the first one. Maybe he’s about to die because he’s pining so hard that his heart is going to explode just because his mate’s name flashes across his screen.

He checks his phone, trying to be sly about it. The second he grins at his screen, Poppy is chuckling. “Hey Brick, look at lover boy being all stupid-faced because of a human,” she teases.

“Shut up, Poppy,” he retorts.

It was only a text to ask if you could spend the night at his house, and yet he feels stupid as he tries to text a ‘yes’ and fumbles with the letters on his phone until the message is “ues”. He can feel his face heating as he sends a second text quickly after, this time with the correct letters. He can’t stop making a fool of himself, can he?

Brick is chuckling when he teases him: “Awwwww! Look at him, Poppy! I think he just blushed!”

“I hate you both,” Ambrose complains. He can see Brick about to say something when the bell above the door rings.

You walk in with a plushie in one hand, looking incredibly cute as you close your umbrella with the other. Ambrose tries really hard to gather the neurons in his slow-melting brain.

He cannot be normal about this.

He swallows hard as you exchange some pleasantries and fun banter with his friends and walk into the station. He’s trying to regain at least a semblance of a calm demeanor before you enter and he sees your boobs. There’s no way you’re about to walk in his space and pull off your shirt as he stares at and touches your tits.

HE’S GOING TO TOUCH YOUR BREASTS. YOURS!

Oh, goddess… He might just die today.

He barely hears anything being said, completely dissociating until he hears you close the door behind yourself and lay on the reclined piercing chair he prepared. “Okay, take off your shirt and let’s begin,” his voice sounds strained, even to his own ears, but you don’t seem to notice as you comply.

He has a mini crisis when you take off your crop top and realizes you weren’t wearing anything underneath it. All his brain is capable of conjuring up is thoughts of ‘free access’ as he blinks slowly and turns around to hide his erection from you. You’re humming quietly as you fold your shirt and he re-organizes his already organized tools.

Do not grope her. Do not caress her skin. Do not think about licking her boobs until she’s a wet mess under you and begging to be filled by your cock-

Yeah, no. His inner monologue is absolutely not helping right now, and he’s powerless to change it to safer topics because your boobs are right in front of him, and you’re waiting for him to touch them.

Professionally. PROFESSIONALLY! Be professional, Ambrose.

He swallows hard before continuing: “I’m going to pinch your nipple lightly so it hardens, okay?” You nod, looking away as your face gets incredibly pink.

He pinches the tender flesh between the tip of his fingers and almost moans. You let out a tiny huff, and the way your skin blooms with goosebumps makes his brain start running rampant with more dirty thoughts. Stop it you perverted bull, he reminds himself.

“I’m going to sanitize the area and equipment with alcohol wipes, then with a marker I’ll mark the spots on both sides that the needle will pierce into and come out of. After that, I’ll use the forceps to ensure that the area is as still as possible before piercing the needle through your nipple and putting the bar in its place. In a couple of months you can choose to come back to size them down, if you want.” You hum in agreement, and it’s him who has to take a deep breath before proceeding.

You cover your face with your plushie and Ambrose has to bite his lip not to coo at you. At the same time, he’s way too focused on the task at hand- on your breast in his hand, to be precise. Then at how, the second the needle pierces through your nipple, you give the absolute quietest gasp and he smells a surge of arousal in the air. Fuck, he forgot that you like a little pain, and now he’s having trouble breathing with how aroused it seems to have made you.

He’s biting the inside of his cheek so hard he can taste blood, but he doesn’t care as he changes the needle out and holds your other boob carefully. You aren’t looking at him, but the way your breathing is increasing and the way your nipple doesn't need help getting hard this time makes him want to moan out loud.

“All done?” You ask excitedly. He nods and hums an affirmative ‘Mhm,’ not trusting his own voice.

You get up with a tiny jump that makes your tits shake and bounce, and he mumbles a curse under his breath as his dick throbs inside his pants. He’s pretty sure he’s going to have an imprint of the fly off his pants on his dick at this point.

You’re looking at your reflection as you excitedly state: “Awesome!”

Your excitement is contagious and he can’t avoid the smile growing on his face. You turn around, pressing your tits together as if offering them to him, and he has to cover his groin with his hands, scared his dick is about to burst through the fabric. “What do you think? You think they look cool?”

You’re completely oblivious to his struggles as you examine one of the bars. “Yup. Nipple-tastic,” he says in a short breath, making you awkwardly pity-laugh as he regrets his life choices while glancing at your breasts jiggling. “Wait for me outside while I sanitize everything and we can go, okay?”

You nod shyly, your face completely blushed and giving him all kinds of dirty ideas of when else your face would be that pink. How far that blush would go… Fuck. You put on your crop top and walk out with a big grin.

He’s cleaning up and trying to hold his breath in so he doesn’t inhale more of the delightful scent of your arousal when he hears Poppy shit-talking: “Yeah, minotaurs love some good riding, just like bulls.” He’s disconnected enough not to understand the context of what she’s saying, but the thought of his friend talking to his mate about riding minotaurs is getting him dangerously close to losing control.

Calm down, he reminds himself.

“Come on, Ambrose! The human is waiting for yaaaaaaaa…” Brick says in a sing-songy tone as Ambrose tries to regain some of his inner control. He’s trying to willpower his dick to go down enough to survive the drive to his house.

He can do it. He can do it. Think of old ladies’ pussies. Think of rotten food. Think of that disgusting mold Brick was trying to feed him back when they were kids.

He’s almost gotten his dick down when he takes a deep breath and... He can’t do it.

He’s looking down, annoyed at his still hard dick as he mumbles: “Will you just calm down so we can leave, dammit?”

He can hear his friends laughing uncontrollably as you ask what’s happening, your human ears not able to catch his mumbling. Poppy and Brick are too busy laughing to respond, so he rapidly finishes cleaning and walks out, trying to hide his hard dick as best as he possibly can.

“Are you ready to go?” He asks as he glares daggers at his friends.

You turn around with a soft smile that melts the anger inside of him instantly. “Yeah, sure. I thought we could order some food, or did you wanna stop and eat somewhere?” you ask as the two of you walk out, leaving his stupid friends snickering like hyenas behind.

He’s so going to kill his friends.