#the twirling of the cables around his finger

[bunny-carrothunter]

LOOK GARY THERE I AM

Junk on the Internet

<<< part 1 / part 2 / part 3

------------------ 🕴I'm not really used to working with lineart anymore, so this took me a while, As I said, I tried to do something more decent, But I think that after doing this and practicing, finally when I do the fourth part I will do something with the quality that these comics deserve.

[luvingspence]

𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙜𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙡𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙩

early seasons!spencer reid x fem!reader

spencer gets emotional once he realises how much his girlfriend loves him <3

also spot the taylor swift and twilight reference girlies! and apologies for how cheesy this is, it’s very rushed bc exams so it isn’t proofread :(

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

His apartment felt different now that she was here. There was more colour, her pink slippers were next to his, she now kept tulips in a lovely patterned vase in the kitchen, and there was now a thrifted clothing rack in the corner of their shared bedroom for the clothes that refused to fit in the large oak wardrobe.

The atmosphere felt different too. The candles she burned smelled warm, he now couldn’t wait to come home, compared to how he used to feel. Knowing he would be coming home to an apartment that wasn’t empty and lonely filled him with a feeling that was almost indescribable. It was like having butterflies in his stomach, but all so much more than that. Something in his chest blossomed and happiness spread to every corner of his body when he saw her perched on the sofa with her fingers skimming the pages of one of his books, or when he saw her in one of his sweaters with the most adorable frilly apron around her waist when baking in the kitchen.

Though, today was an unusual day off. By some miracle, Hotch had managed to convince Strauss to get another team on-call for the coming week. After three back-to-back cases, all lasting a week long, Aaron knew his team needed to sleep in their own beds.

So there he was, in thick, odd socks many sizes too big for him, a green cable knit sweater, and grey plaid-pyjama trousers on his sofa watching re-runs and more re-runs, waiting for his girlfriend to come home. It felt strange to be the one at home for once, but it was pleasant.

“Spence, honey.” Manicured fingers carded through his long-ish hair, he jumped. She giggled.

“Sorry, you looked like you were about to doze off there,” She circled around from the back of the sofa and sat next to him, thighs touching and arms now tangled together, “guess you didn’t hear me come in, huh?”

“Guess not.” He bashfully winced, embarrassed by his skittishness.

“How was your day off then, genius?” As she asked about his day she pulled a multi-coloured blanket that Penelope had knit Spencer off from the back of the sofa and wrapped it around them.

“Good, it was good.” He leaned his head on her shoulder and cuddled closer. “It was going to read today but I just watched Doctor Who re-runs, I don’t get to do that often.”

“Sounds good, honey.” Y/n smiled softly and kissed his forehead, “you of all people need a lazy day every now and then.”

Spencer silently nodded and slide further down the sofa so he could rest his sofa against her chest. He felt something cold and metallic against his chest. A curious hum escaped his lips. “What’s wrong, honey?”

He sat up straight, now looking down at his sweet girlfriend. He brought his hand to her chest and fingered at the new metal handing from her neck.

It was a cute little golden locket. It looked to be vintage. It was oval in shape and had floral patterns and vines creating a lovely botanic boarder around the locket.

“This new?” He mumbled, still twirling the locket between nimble fingers.

“Oh this?” Y/n softly smiled down and wrapped a gentle hand around Spencer’s wrist while he played with the chain, “Yeah, it’s new. I saw it in a little vintage shop when I was out with Penny last week. It’s cute, right?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” It did look adorable. It fell neatly just below her collarbones. It was a very her necklace. He imagined it would look well with all of her clothes, especially the sundresses and lacy tanks she loved so much. “It’s very pretty. You look very pretty.”

“You’re the sweetest, Spence.” She grinned widely. She ducked her head and laid chaste pecks along his neck before resuming their cuddling. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He pulled her close and ran his fingers down the side of her arm, his fingers touched her so gently it felt like he was barely there. It was a sweet, rare moment of uninterrupted peace for the couple.

Spencer though, his brain was still whirring. Why hadn’t he noticed the locket this past week? It was more than unusual for him to not notice something new about Y/n. Maybe he should ask.

“Have you been wearing this all week?” She shook her head.

“No, I didn’t want to wear it empty.” She laughed softly, she removed her head from it’s place on her boyfriend’s shoulder and fiddled with the locket’s opening.

“Did you put a picture of Taylor Swift or that other singer you like in there?” He chuckled.

“Lana Del Rey?” She corrected, “and honestly, I thought about it, but no.” She glanced up at him and smiled, he noticed a flustered expression on her face.

Once she got the locket open, he saw it. In a heart shapes frame inside the pretty locket, was an even prettier picture of the two of them. How she managed to get a photo small enough of the two of them to fit inside the locket, he was clueless.

“It’s us?” His voice became quiet, his pink lips formed a small pout.

The picture was simple, they had been out with friends in the summer. He was in casual attire, which was a very rare occurrence, ordinary black trousers and a beige sweater with his usual converse. Y/n was a sight to behold, however. Perched on his lap comfortably in adorable sandal-wedges and a sweet white sundress, she was planting a loving kiss on Spencer’s cheek while he grinned at the camera.

“Of course it’s us,” She looked down as if she had a reason to be embarrassed, “I know it’s cheesy but, I just… I don’t know. I love you. Like, a lot.”

He was for once, speechless.

He suddenly felt like the young, timid, and perpetually awkward twelve year old version of himself with too-long hair and glasses a little too big for the bridge of his nose. Never, and he could not stress the never enough, had he thought that would find someone who cared and loved for him in such a pure, wholesome, unabashed way.

“I love you.” He quickly said. He had never been more sure of anything.

She cooed, obviously enamoured with the man before her. “I know you do, Spence.”

“No, I mean,” He took a shaky breath, “I am unconditionally and irrevocably in love with you. Loving you and being loved by you has made me feel a form of happiness I never thought possible for a person like me. Before I experienced this, love, I thought it would be simple, black and white, but it’s so golden. You’re my golden.”

He’d lifted her hand to his mouth and gingerly placed a teary kiss on the back of her palm. He didn’t let go. He couldn’t let go.

He’d never let her go if she’d let him.

“Spence, honey,” She sniffled. Making her cry hadn’t been his intention, obviously, but he assumes that from her giddy smile and softened gaze that they were tears of happiness, of love, of all things good. “I’m golden?”

He only nodded, but that was all she needed.

“You’re my golden too, Spencer.”

[mahboimahboi]

reader getting absolutely destroyed by gojo, toji, getou, and nanami😇

A SEX FEST x M!Reader (featuring Getou, Gojo, Toji)

Smut

As the phone rang that was seated on top of the table, Gojo whistles to a tune he created on the spot as he picked up the phone and placed the it near his ear. "Hello~ This is Gojo speaking." He spoke in a singy-song voice as a light chuckle moves past his lips.

"Oh, Mr. Gojo, good morning. I would like to ask if Y/N is with you? He told me that he would be there at your house for a very important tutor lesson." A boy's voice spoke from the other end of the line as Gojo begins to play with the telephone's cable, twirling it around his finger.

One side of Gojo's lips move upward upon hearing your name, as he kept his composure and spoke as poised as he can, being known as one of the most prim and proper teacher in their school. "Yes, he is." He replied, eyeing the scene unfolding on his bed through the side of his eyes.

"Oh, can I have him over the phone please? I would just like to talk to him about something." The male spoke, Gojo's smirk just growing wider, if possible.

Gojo pops his tongue and replies with sinister laced in his voice. "Of course, give me a minute."

He passes the phone over to you, whilst you covered your mouth trying to restrict any sound of sex satisfied noise from ever coming out of your mouth as Toji holds you down in place like you are some kind of sex toy or fleshlight, drilling his cock in you roughly. "R-Ryuuji? What is it?" You tried to answer the phone with all the strength left in you, but you accidentally drop the phone as Toji pulls your body back towards him, Gojo getting the phone from where it fell and ends the call after telling your brother that you are busy. "F-Fuck, yes, sir. Fuck me, fuck me good!" You moaned out, rolling your eyes to the back of your head, your eyes hanging out of your mouth in pure bliss.

"Huu, yes, kiddo. I'll fucking give you what you want." Toji groans out, gritting his teeth as he fastened his pace, his strong arms holding you in place, your own strengh nothing compared to his, letting yourself just melt into lust and left your body to be used at his own advantage. "That's what I love about you, kid. You're a really good cum dumpster." He degrades you, the word enough to drive you crazy as you felt a very familiar coil in your stomach.

"S-Sir! AH, FUCK! NNGGH! I'M CUMMING!!" You let out, holding onto the adult male's biceps, but your pleasure is not long lived when you feel something wrap around the base of your cock, making you whimper as your climax got rejected. "N-No! NNYAH!" You moan in pleasure, but the noises was too much for Getou that he pulls your head by your hair and inserts his fat dick in your mouth to cover the irritating sounds coming out of your mouth.

"Didn't actually perceive you as a person who likes noisy bitches like this slut, Toji." Getou comments as the male starts to fuck your mouth without even giving you a proper warning, holding onto your throat with one hand. "Hm, fuck. Well, I say this one's a little different. Bitch knows how to use his mouth." He said, howling in pleasure when you start twirling your tongue around his thick rod. Getou pushes his head back, letting Toji's thrusts be a moderator to your head sucking his cock.

"Careful boys. I still haven't had my turn yet." Gojo stated, pushing down the glasses he had on a little as he smirks, finding your fucked up state a total turn on. It is as though you are purposely seducing him, which you are. You tap on Getou's thigh to signal him that you wanted to say something, the male groaning in annoyance as he pulled out.

"S-Sir Gojo, my ass still feels empty even w-with sir Toji's cock in me." You said, which made Toji stop his movements, his pride being stepped on at your words. He lets out a dark chuckle, dropping his head low. "Please, fill me up, sir Go—AAH!" You're cut through your words when Toji suddenly starts fucking you roughly, practically just vibrating in your place.

"You fucking slut! You could have just asked Gojo, not say shitty words and hurt my ego." Toji grunted in anger, using you to let his frustration out. I mean you are the reason he is angry right now, so you basically deserved getting your brain completely fucked out.

Gojo stifles a laugh before he joins you, Getou, and Toji in bed. "Don't worry, hon. We'll have our own little fun time once they're done with you." Gojo smirks, before he got out of the bed and moves towards his own room, leaving you to be a mess with his co-teachers.

[alvfr]

hey I saw you're open to requests and I'm so obsessed with your "Accidents" series with Hotch x Reader! I totally get you're taking a break from it atm so feel free to ignore but I'd love a drabble or whatever you're comfortable writing/sharing from the series? Maybe like a snapshot of when they were still figuring things out before they crossed that line or became established.

Thanks so much!

A/N: Aah, it's been so long since I've written for Hotch so I hope I managed something at least. I really tried to keep this short-ish and more of a drabble, but yeah, this would be set after the shower-scene in "Elevators" but before the bonus-part, I guess. Not super exciting maybe, but good practice for me. cw: none? sfw. awkward phone call. fem bau!reader, no use of y/n, part of "accidents" wc: 1.3k

Call me maybe

The first time Hotch called you was around eight in the evening, the day after your team got back from the conference in Florida. While you could not say you had been expecting it — a pessimistic part of you always expected the worst case scenario — your body told a different tale. Every inch of you had buzzed with anticipation since you stepped foot in your own apartment. Making sure to keep your phone charged and unmuted for a change, going as far as keeping it within sight when taking a shower and still checking it religiously every few minutes in case you had missed something. 

You argued with yourself, scolding yourself for waiting around like a lovesick schoolgirl and then berating yourself for doubting his word in the first place. He had said he would call and Hotch did not lie so why were you getting so worked up? 

When the day dragged on, without even paperwork to distract yourself with, you spiraled into increasingly worse scenarios as to why he had not called. He had been called into work, he had lost his phone, he had forgot his charger, he was discovered he was under surveillance by some shady government officials. Or something had happened to him, or to someone he cared about, or something had happened to both him and someone he cared about. Or, and this was simultaneously the best and worst one, he had changed his mind.

So when the call came that night, you had worked yourself into a bit of a frenzy and jumped at the sound of your own ring tone. The display glowed with the name 'A. Hotchner' and you forgot all about basic human behavior, like blinking or even breathing. 

It rang three times before your body bypassed your meddlesome mind and you picked up with the standard greeting of your last name, just in case he was under surveillance somehow. A theory that gained traction with every loaded second where you could not hear anything from the other side.

“Hotch?” you asked and held the phone out to check if the call was still active. In your state, you would not have been all that surprised to find if you had hallucinated the whole thing. “You there?”

“Yes.” The smooth sound of his voice sent rivers of idyll into your veins while your heart threatened to pound out of your skull. “Sorry. Hi.”

A stupid grin overtook your face and you twirled the still-connected charger cable with your fingers before catching yourself. Dropping the cable, you cleared both your throat and face. “Hi.” 

“Hi. Sorry, is this a bad time?”

“No, it’s good.” 

You tried to avoid looking at the mess of your apartment, all chores neglected for the day in case you wound up missing his call. In truth, you’d drop everything in a heartbeat and come over if he asked, although you had no idea where he lived. 

“I mean, I can talk?” You winced at how you had managed to phrase it as a question and cleared your throat again. “What’s up?”

And the award for worst conversationalist goes to this girl right here, you thought with a hefty roll of your eyes. What’s up? What were you, fourteen years old and trying to impress your friend’s older brother?

“Not much,” Hotch admitted from his side of the line and you thought you could detect a hint of gratitude in there. “Just finished up some overdue paperwork.”

“San Joaquin county?” you guessed, knowing without a doubt how much paperwork that case still generated. 

“Parts of it, yes. There’s also the budgets, protocols and various administration memos I’m forced to have an opinion on.” A slight pause and you caught a slight intake of breath on his side. “I didn’t call to talk about work.”

You forced yourself to keep your breaths slow and controlled instead of shivering as you knew they’d be. “Okay.”

“How are you?” The tenderness in his voice wreaked havoc with your inner organs and you could imagine his expression. The tilt to his eyebrows that matched the tilt of his jaw where he looked up, resting his eyes on whatever was near the ceiling to the left of him. “You get home okay?”

“Safe and sound. You?”

“All in one piece.” 

A silence stretched on for an uncomfortable few heartbeats and you wracked your brain for something worthwhile to say. It was uncharted territory to talk to him casually like this. No time crunch forcing you to keep the small talk to a minimum and no risk of getting caught forcing you to speak in code. Neither did your forte lay in phone calls and, as the profiler you were, you wished you could have had his facial expressions and mannerisms to reveal more of his thoughts during the conversation. The same probably went for him, you realized and it made you breathe a little easier.

“What did you think of the conference?” he asked just as you were about to say something completely different.

“Uh…” Your brain did a full reboot to no avail. “Are you asking about the actual conference or—”

“The actual conference,” he clarified and you thought you could hear the smile in his voice. “Did you catch the mass-shooting response training?”

“I did and it was okay, I guess, even if it felt a little dated.” You wandered around in your apartment, needing to get rid of the built-up excess energy. “Doesn’t this count as work talk though?”

“You’re right. Sorry, I’m,” you heard something brushing against the microphone, maybe him dragging a hand over his forehead, “not very good at this. I, uh, wanted to call to reiterate that I fully understand if you’ve changed your mind about this.”

“I haven’t.”

The words came out faster than you had anticipated, some part of you determined to deny him any possibility of doubt. 

“I’m really glad you called, Hotch.” You did a few test-runs at yourself in the mirror and corrected yourself to: “Aaron.”

“Good. I’ve been working up the nerve to do so for the past hour.”

Again, you could imagine his expression. The slight secretive smile, his head now tilted downward, exposing more of his neck to the room.

“Well, I’ve been waiting for it since I got home last night.” You tried to match his unabashed honesty, the need to convince him that you wanted this still present. “If that makes you feel any better.”

“A little,” he murmured and you could almost feel how he settled in wherever he was, maybe lounging back against the couch or chair, getting comfortable and the phone scratched again as he shifted it around. “What kind of movies do you like?”

The question blindsided you and you blinked at your own reflection in the mirror. “Uh, I’m omnivorous really. Why?”

“I’m looking through the show times for Friday night. I was hoping you would like to go see a movie with me, if we don’t get a case.”

“Oh.” Your stupid grin returned tenfold and you absentmindedly twirled the charging cable again. “Well, then I really like the movie that is playing this Friday night.”

In the end, you settled for a title and time, both of which would be rescheduled over and over again because of a case getting in the way. It took you a month to go see a movie together, but it did not really matter. By then, you had talked on the phone every night you were off a case (and sometimes he called you from a hotel room that were just a few doors down the hall from yours to say good night when you were on a case.) A torturous slow pace, maybe, but well worth it in your opinion.

-----

Thank you for the request!

If you want to read the rest of the series, it is on AO3 here (E-rated)

Let me know if you liked it, thank you for reading ❤️

[queenimmadolla]

Eddie, ass, fluff

𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩, 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞

It started off innocently, a complete accident.

You’d been walking with Eddie, down the Wheeler’s driveway after a small get together with your friends while he tossed one of his dice and caught it.

He’d been distracted by your conversation about how you didn’t care for The Terminator, which he took personally, fist closing before he could actually catch the die and it bounced off of his fist to tumble along the driveway.

“I’ll get it!” You were closer to it, anyways, dashing forward to bend down and swoop it up.

You’d turned to him, tossing it back before you could take in the stupefied look on his face, “Eddie, catch it!”

He fumbled to do so, snapping out of whatever was on his mind while his face turned red.

“Uh, my bad. Thanks.”

Weirdo. 

At first, you thought maybe he was just getting clumsy because after that, he kept dropping everything.

More dice, pencils in the hallway, his rings, just about anything he could get his hands on ended up on the floor, you’d never picked up so many objects before.

You’d begun to refer to him as butterfingers.

Then you noticed it was only something that happened when you were alone. Eddie could impressively twirl a pen between his fingers with no problems during the Hellfire sessions he’d invite you to sit in on and you didn’t notice him drop any of his lunch from where you sat with your other friends, across from the Hellfire table. He remained dexterous around others, so why was he constantly dropping stuff around you? 

The idea of Eddie being nervous in your presence came about, but you couldn’t figure out why he would be. Other than dropping things, he acted pretty normal.

He invited you over for a movie after school, and since it was a Friday, you’d agreed on the basis that you got to choose the movie. There was no way you were gonna watch The Terminator, which you knew he’d pick just to spite you.

That’s how Girls Just Want to Have Fun ended up in the VCR and in the middle of his empty threats to commit bodily harm to himself, you attempted to turn on the television.

It didn’t turn on.

“Eddie,” you frowned, pressing the power button a couple of times. It was making the clicking sound but the picture wasn't coming on, “I think your TV is broken.”

“Huh,” Eddie’s eyebrows scrunched together as he joined you in front of it, nudging your hand aside to press the same button and you rolled your eyes.

“Did you think I did it wrong, Eds?”

Eddie didn’t respond, just held his other hand over your face like a face-hugger before he darted back to the couch and jumped onto it.

“Maybe it’s unplugged.”

You glared, gesturing to the tv stand, “Then plug it in.”

He smirked, lounging back with his arms folded behind his head and mocked in a high pitched voice that sounded nothing like you, “You’re closer.”

“You little shit,” You mumbled as he laughed, the sound deep and rumbling through the trailer. With a sigh, you got down on your knees and crawled to the side of the stand, peering behind it. 

Sure enough, the thick cable cord had been pulled from the wall. 

“Gotcha,” you muttered, reaching your arm between the space to fumble around for the cable. Once it was in your grasp, you spent the next couple of seconds randomly pressing it into the wall until it finally caught along the plug and you pressed it the rest of the way in.

Shimmying backwards enough to sit back on your legs, upper body turning towards Eddie, you began to ask, “Can you turn on the─”

You stopped short, having noticed Eddie’s eyes pry away too late to not be caught and you finally got the missing piece of the puzzle, realizing exactly what his sudden clumsiness was about.

Eddie wasn’t dropping things around you because he was clumsy. He wasn’t even nervous around you!

“Were you staring at my ass?”

“No.” He answered too quick, face getting red like it had done that first time in the Wheeler’s driveway. Then his gaze flickered briefly away before it was back on you, a telltale sign of guilt.

He was lying. 

Eddie had been staring at your ass, had been dropping stuff so you’d bend over and pick it up for him. All to get a good look at your ass.

“You were!” You gasped in delight, pointing your finger towards him, “You were staring at my ass! Oh my god, this whole time I thought your equilibrium was off or something, but you’re just a perv trying to get an eyeful!”

“I wasn’t looking…” He mumbled, now actively avoiding your gaze as he turned even brighter but you could see the corners of his lips twitching, the smile he was trying to hide.

“You know, I don’t think about my ass often, but it must be somewhat impressive if it caught your attention,” You baited him and like a chum he fell for it, head turning to you.

“It’s really—” His palm slapped across his mouth as he caught himself but it was too late. Eddie Munson was about to make a statement about your ass because he had been staring at it.

“Hah! You fool!” You pushed yourself up and made your way over while he groaned, grabbing one of the pillows on the couch to smother himself. Maybe death would save him from embarrassment.

“You’re definitely a pervert, but I’m kind of flattered.”

You heard him mutter something that sounded like shut up against the fabric of the cushion, and just for shits and giggles, you pushed the remote off the coffee table. It tumbled against the carpet.

It took a moment, but Eddie lowered the cushion to glance at you, eyes widening in amusement when he made eye contact, having expected you to be bent over picking it up. Looks like Pavlov's experiment worked both ways: you had unknowingly been trained to bend over and pick up anything Eddie dropped, and he had unknowingly trained himself to look in your direction anytime something dropped. 

He’d expected to see your ass again.

“I knew it!” 

Eddie couldn’t deny it any longer, laughing as you teased him mercilessly. He most definitely wouldn’t be hearing the end of this.

And if it got him out of watching Girls Just Want to Have Fun, then he could live with it. 

He hoped.

[misskentuckyrain]

The Queen to the King

Word Count - +1.1k

Warnings: Not really. Smut got left behind for New Year but I did throw in some mild dirty talk to make up for it! - Happy New Year to all!

Chapter 5

“Dija Evah?”

May 1960

Elvis chuckles down the phone line at you “Baby, I’ve been gone less than 24 hours and you’re joining me in less than 48 hours and I miss you already”. You laugh along with him, twirling the receiver cable around your index finger. “You just miss having someone in your bed Mr Presley…” He lets out a guffaw “I miss having YOU in my bed and I miss having YOU with me. We was apart for 2 years, ya’d think the universe would see that as enough time”. A rustling comes dow the line as Elvis makes himself more comfortable in his trailer. He was in LA and had just started on his next movie, GI Blues.

You were aware of the storyline of the movie and were very much looking forward to seeing Elvis in uniform once again. You didn't think you had a kink up until Elvis enlisted but the second you saw him in his uniform you fully understood that you did. The second he stepped out for the first time in uniform you felt yourself getting inappropriately wet. You found your mind starting to wander to the night that he returned back to Graceland after serving his two years overseas in Germany. You had asked him to put on his uniform one last time that night and as you recall the events that followed you start to feel that arousal tingle down your spine once more.

“Baby?…Ya still there?” Your day-dreaming is interrupted by Elvis’ voice in your ear “Sorry…sorry…" you stutter "The line got really bad there for a moment or something” Elvis laughs again “Or something… I know that tone in ya voice, I can always tell. Come on, tell me what it is that’s on ya mind”

You felt yourself getting a little red with embarrassment, which was ridiculous as Elvis couldn’t actually see you, but you forget how intuitive he is with you. “I….I..was just thinking back to your first night home from Germany is all” The line goes silent and then some more rustling. “Hhhmmnnn” you hear Elvis sigh “THAT was quite the night. You really showed me how much you missed me that night honey! Rocked my socks right off…an' my pants…an' my co…” “Elvis!” you squealed into the telephone, making him laugh. “What?!? You did! I mean I know we have some good lovin’ often but that night nearly topped the night of the first” “And we don’t need to talk about that right now!” you interrupt. “Awww baby, no need to be embarrassed. I’m proud of the fact I made our first time so good you passed out cold on me. I was clearly too much for ya to handle” he laughs some more. You know he’s being a little cocky now but at the time he freaked out so much his mamma had him breathing into a paper bag.

Your mind starts to wander again this time back to that night. Elvis had made you come so hard the second time you passed right out in his arms not long after. He had run out of the bedroom, butt-naked, yelling to his mamma and daddy to come help as he thought he had killed you somehow. Thankfully you came around fairly quickly but were mortified to be surrounded by Elvis and his parents fussing over you, as you lay in Elvis bed, naked. It wasn’t funny then but ever since it brings Elvis much amusement to refer to it only as “the night of the first”.

“Keep teasing me and the other night will be the night of the last” you mutter down the line, referring to the night before he left for LA when you had ridden him, several times, into the early hours.

“Don’t be sore baby, you know I’m just teasing ‘cause I love you. Biggest fright of my life that night. Pretty sure Daddy hasn’t got over it, he didn’t know what to do or where to look!” he pauses “Maybe I can try again tomorrow night when you get here? Celebrate my baby coming to be with me by making sure my baby is coming over and over again…” “Elvis!…” you interrupt him again with a laugh “You and your filthy mouth!” You berate him but your tone gives away the fact that you don’t mean it, you quite like his filthy mouth.

“Ok, Ok I’ll behave. What time does your flight get in? I’ll get one of the guys to come pick you up. I want to do it myself but I’ll be on set. I’ll get them to bring you here so I can see you the second I’m done.”

Leaning over to the bedside table you scour the flight details that you’d scrawled on a bit of paper earlier.“It get’s in at 1pm….” It was Elvis’ turn to interrupt “So I can get in you around 8pm?”

Rolling your eyes with a smile “How’s that good behavin’ workin’ out for ya? Besides I can’t believe you would make me wait that long!” there’s a moments pause, you can hear Elvis’ mind whirring away. “You’re right…” he starts “I need to get in you around 3pm, then I’ll take you for dinner and then I’ll take you from behind at 8pm” You try not to encourage him but you can’t help it “Ooooh I’m gettin’ the fancy treatment tomorrow night”

You’re both now laughing. It’s part of why you are so in love with Elvis Presley. Aside from his often filthy mouth he makes you laugh like no other has.

“In all seriousness honey I’ll take you somewhere real nice tomorrow night. Somewhere romantic and private, just you and me.” Elvis states softly. “I’m very much looking forward to it. Who knows if it’s private enough maybe I can get on my knees for dessert” you say quietly, hearing a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line.

“Who’s got the filthy mouth now honey?” he tries to ask seriously but you can actually hear the smile on his lips.

“But isn’t that one of the things you love most about me Mr Presley? My filthy mouth or…" you pause, pretending to thing for a moment "more accurately your cock being in my filthy mouth?” More rustling sounds out down the line. You imagine Elvis is having to rearrange himself in his pants, aroused by your conversation. Maybe lingering his hand there longer than necessary. You shake your head to try to clear your thoughts, before the spike of arousal in your own body gets stronger and you find yourself doing the same.

“Well, the future Mrs Presley. I do confess your filthy mouth to be one of the reasons I asked you to marry me”

Elvis chuckles and you along with him as you glance down at your left hand. The light coming through the window hits the diamond sat on your ring finger at that moment making it sparkle.

Tags:

@iloveelvisss @atleastpleasetelephone @wildhorseinkansas

[radioisntdead]

Mine

Vox x reader

Song used

Warnings: TOXIC TOXIC TOXIC T-O-X-I-C

have you strung

His swirling eye hypnotized you, you felt everything turn faded, you could barely hear the words he was saying, you just saw the swirling eye of the television, what were you so mad about again? You couldn't remember...

Strung in my web

You felt his sharp fingers wrap around your chin, pulling you closer to him.

Everything was just so hazy, it was like everything that wasn't him faded away into the background.

A candle burning slowly by the bed

How did you get here?

Shadows tangle like a vine

You felt something slithering up your arms, twirling around them until they were firmly wrapped around them.

Crawling up the posts within our shrine

You felt his grip on your chin tighten and harshly pull you forward to face him

"Right now, you're mine," he said sending shivers down your spine, not of pleasure but of fear.

You needed to leave, you wanted to leave but you couldn't, he kept you there, wrapped in his grasp.

"All mine," you struggled against the wires and cables wrapped around you, the more you tried to get away the tighter they would become.

"Give in, you're mine," you felt more wires slithering up your legs taking away your ability to stand, relying on only him to keep you up right.

"All mine," he moved his grip from your chin down to your neck, he pressed down on your neck, taking away your ability to breathe for a few moments before loosing his grip.

He had full control over you.

I love that you shake

Your eyes drooped, almost closing, you felt him completely let you go, leaving you hanging from the wires like a puppet.

When I ravage your skin

It's so easy to bite with your hands pinned

You heard him step away, the sound of his footsteps disappearing.

Slowly but surely you felt yourself regain control of your body, your eyes snapped open before you ripped the wires off of you, trying to undo the tangled mess and get out of there.

Shadows dancing on the sheets

If you obey, I might give you a treat

Ice cold panic filled you as you heard his footsteps once more, you hurried to rip the rest of the wires off of you and run before he could catch you.

Right now, you're mine,

The moment you got the wires off you book it, running as fast as your legs could take you, to rip open the door that held you back from freedom.

"All mine," only for more wires to wrap around you and drag you back over to Vox.

"Give in, you're mine," you screamed, kicked and tried to hang onto the floor, you left behind claw marks as you were pulled away.

All mine

You tried fighting back but in the end you were sat in front of him, restrained on your knees.

"You look so good, there on your knees," you felt his hands move around your head, lifting it up to look him in the eyes.

"Such a good girl knows how to please," you shut your eyes as tightly as you could trying to free your head from his grasp.

Only for him to grab your head with both hands and pulled it towards him, you couldn't keep your eyes closed forever, eventually you'd have the urge to open them.

"Look at me, look me in the eyes," He brushed one of his fingers gently over your eyelid causing it to just barely open.

And barely was enough to get you back under his control.

"Forget yourself, surrender your mind," your eyes opened up properly as he hypnotized you, his eye swirling around and round keeping you back in his control.

"Right now, you're mine," you felt his grip loosen as you slouched back, losing control over yourself once more.

"All mine," you felt the wires loosen and fall off of you.

"Give in, you're mine," you felt yourself being picked up and carried away.

You weren't ever escaping his grasp, were you?

All mine.

[whiskey-bumblebee]

Hey, hope you're doing good today 🤠 dbf!Hotch who notices reader "having trouble with her car" and he helps her? She's more than capable of doing it herself, but she just wanted a reason for Hotch to come over while her parents were away. She may or may not have self sabotaged it to get him over there shirtless in the blazing sun, offering a dip in the pool as repayment, but hinting at more 👁️🫦👁️ i hope that makes sense lol

I LOVE THIS IDEA! thank you bestie <3 get ready to meet the smartest bimbo ever

Uptown Girl

Pairing: dbf!Aaron Hotchner/Reader (gender neutral!)

Word Count: 1695

Warnings: Innuendo, dbf!hotch (reader is an adult), brief mention of reader's parents (vague but they are Rich).

Tagging: @ssamorganhotchner @hotchsdoormat i think you two will like this <3

You can't hold back a smile as you dial Aaron's number from your parent's house phone. You twirl the cable around your finger as you glance around the freshly cleaned kitchen. There's a chilled bottle of San Pellegrino on the counter, the glass sweating from the heat. It's so quiet that you can hear birds outside, no doubt eating some fallen fruit from the trees outside the kitchen.

"Hello, Aaron Hotchner speaking."

"Hey Aaron Hotchner speaking," you tease. "My car won't start. I know it's your first weekend off for a while, but is there any chance you could come over and help me fix it?"

"Hmm," He says playfully. "And how do I know this isn't some elaborate ploy to spend time with me?"

"Come see for yourself," You reply, smiling. "It just won't start."

"Mhm," He agrees, and you can hear the humour in his tone. "And I suppose you can't just use daddy's Bentley?"

"Daddy doesn't drive a Bentley," You reply seamlessly.

Aaron's stumped for a second, and the line goes silent. "I thought he just bought a new one? A silver Continental?"

"Daddy drives a black Chevy Suburban," You say. (A/N: non-car besties: this is hotch's car <3)

Hotch clears his throat. "Baby, you can't just call me that."

"Aaron, please?" The playfulness has dropped out of your voice. "My car really won't start, and I'm supposed to meet my friend for tennis this afternoon."

"Of course," He replies. "Sorry, I thought you were just trying to convince me to come over."

"Would it be so terrible if I was?"

You feel a pat of guilt seep into your stomach, wondering if Aaron really did have more important things to do than attend to your car trouble.

"No," He adds, quickly. "I'd love to see you. Are you home alone?"

"My parents are in the Seychelles."

"Ah. So not home for dinner, I take it?"

You shake your head out of habit, then say no.

_______

When Aaron's black Chevy pulls up into your driveway, you come out onto the balcony and wave, then rush down the stairs to meet him. Sure enough, he sees your Corvette parked next to your dad's silver Continental.

"So you do have the Bentley," He teases, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist.

You kiss both his cheeks. "It's so good to see you."

"Well, you know why it's been so long," He sighs, caressing your cheek.

You look him over, his casual outfit throwing you off a little: dark blue Lacoste polo, straight-leg jeans, New Balance 574s. It was so different from his typical suit and tie, more dangerous somehow. Where you normally saw yourself as a paramour, sneaking in moments after work with your suit-clad lover, this felt more... ordinary. Like he was picking you up for a day of shopping, or to travel down to the yacht club. Like he might join you for tennis later. You tried to push the thought out of your mind, and to quell the fondness blooming in your chest.

"New York called, and I had to answer," You reply airily. "And you've been busy on cases, so it's not all my fault." You poke him squarely in the chest, and he smiles at the gesture.

"Alright, where's this car trouble you were telling me about?"

You lead him over to the spacious garage.

You slip into the driver's seat and turn the key. The car gives a few revs, then falls back into silence. You do it again for good measure.

"Let me try," Aaron says, leaning through the window.

He reaches into the car, turning the key himself. Sure enough, it doesn't start.

"Does your dad keep a set of car tools around in here somewhere?" He looks around.

You roll your eyes. "I have a set. I might be young and beautiful and wealthy, and young, and wealthy, and beautiful," You emphasize the repeated words, giving him a pointed look. "-but I'm not completely incompetent."

"Of course not, honey," He coos soothingly. "Are they in the back?"

You nod.

He walks around your car, and you watch him go in the side mirror, enjoying your view of his cute little ass in those jeans.

You hear his typical high laughter as he finds the tool set. When he walks around to the driver's side again, you smile innocently.

"What?"

He nods for you to get out, and holds up your tool set.

"The Swarovski crystals are a nice touch," He laughs. "And the pink."

"What? I can't have a cute little tool set to go with my cute little car?"

He rolls his eyes at you, but his grin tells you it's not with any real menace.

You hop out of the car and open the hood, leaning in just enough that you know your shorts will be showing off your assets.

"It's hot," You mention innocuously, and pull off your tank top, tossing it aside without looking back at him.

You hear Hotch take a deep inhale from directly behind you. "It is," he replies.

When you turn around, he's taken his own shirt off. There's just a small patch of chest hair, but the droplets of sweat are just glowing. He's as fit as ever, and you can't help yourself, you reach out and touch his chest.

"What are you doing?" He murmurs. "What about the neighbours?"

You pull away then, and look from side to side. "Aaron, do you seriously think we're close enough to any other houses that anyone will be able to see anything? It's like your place," You say, starting to run your hands down his abdomen. "And I'm sure you remember all of the mischief we..."

"4th of July weekend," He finishes. "I remember."

"You normally don't need much convincing," You say softly. "Is everything okay?"

He nods. "I'm just focused on trying to fix your car so you can go to tennis later. I promise, if we had a bit more time, I'd be all over you."

You smile at that. "Do you have time?"

Aaron leans in and nips at your earlobe. "I would've invited you over today to catch up. I was trying to come up with an excuse," He kisses your neck, "-when you called."

You catch his jaw in your hand and glance at his lips until you're sure he's caught you looking. His lips part, and his breathing turns slow and deep. That's all the encouragement you need, and you kiss him.

Your lips are soft and slow against his own. Immediately, his hands settle on your hips, ever the gentleman, not wanting to go straight for your ass. He does, however, nudge your legs apart so he can slot his thigh between them.

Whining softly, you rub yourself against his thigh.

"Can I be honest?" You gasp as he angles his knee just right, sending hot pleasure through your veins.

"Go ahead," He says coolly.

"I broke the car just so I could watch you come and fix it," You whisper.

Aaron smiles at the fact that you were also trying to come up with some excuse to see him, then his expression lapses into one of sympathy. "Oh, baby. You could've just called. You know I'll come running."

You press your face into his neck, embarrassed by how desperate you were to see him. It wasn't the fact that you wanted him that worried you. Any reasonable person would want him. He was tall, handsome, and had a dick the size of Saturn. No, it was your need that worried you. The deep-seated longing that settled onto you like dust whenever you didn't see him. Sure, you'd been having a great time in New York, meeting people, buying art, hanging out with your best friends, but it was hollow without him. More than once you'd thought of calling him on the hotel phone, letting his deep, calm voice lull you to sleep. You always felt your best when you were around him, like he drew out your best attributes in the same way that a perfect wine would match the meal, note for note.

"You smell so good," You breathe. "I want you all over me."

"We should fix your car first, or call a tow truck. I don't want you to be stranded," He said, stroking your hair.

You shake your head, a small laugh passing your lips.

"It's not that serious. Watch."

You turn your attention to the hood, and after a few minutes, you're in the driver's seat, starting your car as normal.

Aaron quirked his brow at you. "How did you do that?"

"I disconnected the starter relay earlier," You call, then walk back over to Aaron so you can show him. You open the hood again, then show him the plastic box where you can remove the relay from.

"It even has a little diagram showing you how to take it out," You point out, laughing to yourself.

"Right," Aaron replies. "And where exactly would someone like you learn how to do that?"

"Someone like me goes to a lot of parties. Nothing convinces a bunch of wasted rich kids not to drive quite like not being able to start their Lambos."

You can tell the way that Aaron's looking at you, so you don't look over at him.

"Don't do that," You mumble.

"Do what?"

"Look at me like that. Don't give me brownie points just for not being a total asshole."

Aaron sighs lightly. "Okay. But for the record, I think saving lives like that is commendable. Even if they're just 'wasted rich kids'."

"Alright," You say, closing the hood, trying to lighten the mood. "Do you want anything? Lemonade, coke?"

"I'm never sure if you're offering soda or something I could get in trouble for," He teases, catching your hand in his own as he follows you up the stairs to the house.

"Well, I'm sure my dad does have coke in the study, but if you're only looking for trouble," You pause in front of the door, turning around with a wide smile and your arms raised. "I'm right here."

"What about the tennis?" Aaron's already running his hands over your chest, nudging you through the doorway, towards the pool.

You grin. "She'll just have to play singles."

[chiphersconsort]

Showmanship

They had an impressive run, this faction. No points for creativity. The Anti-Cipher Coalition. Ford supposed all the fun names had been taken already. That said the way they had managed to rally together rebels from all over was commendable. Their warding magic was tight, though not impenetrable. That much was obvious considering Ford had already found his work around and infiltrated their base. Their defenses were down and they didn't even know it yet. One sloppy mistake would be the last these people ever made. It was time to stamp out yet another rebellion before they could pose a threat. Ford couldn't blame these people of course. Bill was a shit emperor. That didn't matter. This dimension was on the brink of collapse and Bill was load-bearing. Ford had to protect his husband at all costs, even if it made him the villain. Oh well, enough stalling. Ford took a long swig of jellybean vodka to chase down his nose candy and prepared his performance.

Click.

"Hello everyone." He greeted warmly. His voice echoing over the intercom to every inch of the facility. "This is your Royal Consort Supreme speaking, The Right Hand of God." He blustered. Pacing the announcement room and twirling the microphone cable around his finger as he swayed to the soothing sound of his own voice. Panicked fists and boots banged on the door he'd reinforced to no avail. His image was projected currently over every digital screen in the building. Ford made sure to give the people his good side. "I'm here on behalf of his Imperial Pain in the Ass to deliver a message." He announced. "All personnel are to report to the auditorium in the next 60 seconds." He explained. "Those who fail to do so will be vaporized." With a snap of his fingers, a deadly wave of stellar heat formed a bubble around the compound that began to shrink. Ford pretended to check a non-existent watch on his wrist. "One, two, three… oh wait." He snarked. "I forgot, the clocks don't work. My bad."

He looked back out at the crowd he'd soon be face to face with. The banging on the door had stopped. "I hope for your sake I'm good at counting."

Ford heard the early screams of the first couple unwitting stragglers to be caught by his spell and vaporized. They didn't scream for long. The way the sound cut off was something akin to a bug zapper.

Showtime.

Ford chucked the mic and lazily drew lines in the air. Slicing through the room's front wall with its large observing window that overlooked the auditorium below. The dense material curled down for him like the top of a sardine can. The sound of screeching metal nearly drowning out the frantic din of folks rushing into the auditorium.

A couple rebels had come prepared. Armed with all manner of monster hunting gear. Some of it was pretty advanced stuff, Ford would definitely give them that. The first hit was a fireball of all things.

"Aw, baby's first spell." He coed as he tanked it without a scratch. Walking through the flames as he trotted down the platform he'd created for himself to the center stage.

More shouting. Bullshit heroic speeches. Ford had heard them all.

A magic disabling pulse from a two-manned cannon was a bit more impressive. AOE, hard to dodge. Enough to make Ford's power flicker. He felt it in his chest. His connection severed temporarily, though not completely. Not so much that he couldn't dodge the following plasma attack. Tuck and roll. Take that one down with a punch to the throat. Another with a leg sweep.

The siblings with their pulse cannon made a frantic effort to recharge for another shot as Ford's rings sparked back to life.

They were fast. Not faster than him. Two snapped necks and the power was back on. He disintegrated the cannon with a snap of his fingers, and with it, every other weapon in the room.

A few people shrieked. The braver ones fell back into phalanx formation around the weak and tried to melt him with their moralizing glares.

Ford pulled his vodka back out of his coat pocket and took another swig. He juggled his bottle in one hand. Preforming cute little party tricks and swaying on his heels. Savoring the heat that flushed in his chest and the splash of sickly sweet. Whistling a little tune to himself.

He looked to be the only person amused.

"Tough crowd." He chuckled. More people were filing in as his spell corralled them. Ford could see through the walls. A few stranglers trying to teleport people out. Attempting different methods to get around Ford's bubble. Zodiacs he assumed. Every rebel group had a set.

Ford clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "I swear people never listen." He sauntered up onto the auditorium stage. He snapped his fingers and summoned all the zodiacs and their assisting comrades directly into the auditorium. Lining the Zodiacs up on stage behind him, their feet now swallowed up by the floor. Arms bound. Pinning them all in place. "You give people simple instructions and they just can't resist letting you down." He lamented to his prisoners as he paced down the line. Taking in each of their faces. He knew each and every zodiac. Knew their types. They all looked the fucking same. "I'm not an unreasonable man people. I don't ask for much."

One Zodiac at the end of the line reeled back as Ford approached. A former acolyte…

This one had Ford's touch on their face. An inky black handprint stained into thier skin.

Two guesses which one of them was the Six Fingered Hand.

Ford reached out to cup the boy's face in hand where he had apparently done so once before. He tried to remember who this one was. When and why they had come to him.

"You know all about that, don't you boy?" Ford cooed softly. Leaning in to read the fire in the boy's eyes. He was young when he accepted his God's mark. A lonely child who had lost everything. Ford rubbed his thumb affectionately over the boy's cheekbone.

It wasn't the first time Ford had been spit in the face. Made him grateful for his glasses. "I'm not your boy!" The now young man hissed.

"Adrian, right?" Ford recalled as he stepped back and put the vodka away to clean his glasses on his shirt.

Adrian didn't reply. That was fine. Ford probably wouldn't have either. He put his glasses back on and turned to face the crowd. "All right which one of you is in charge around here?" He asked the crowd.

No answers.

Ford combed over the sea of faces and skimmed their minds. It was clear they had all been trained to guard their thoughts. The high-ranking members wore devices to protect themselves from psychics. Ford looked over the warded members, whose minds he couldn't read, and pointed with a finger.

"Eeny, meeny, miney- You." He announced as he singled out the leader. He knew her by the main character scar across her face. She was a grizzled older woman in a trench coat. It wasn't hard to figure out.

One of Ford's hands burst up from the ground below her and snatched her up. Yanking her up to the center stage to hold her face-to-face with the god these people sought to defy.

"Clarrise I'm geussing? Don't tell me-" Ford laughed and waved a hand at her. Closing his eye and holding two fingers to his temple as he guessed. "They call you Cleaver or Glaive, some kind of bullshit hipster weapon. The last person to use your birth name was your mother right before she sacrificed herself to save you. You were…" He looked up again and squinted at her. "Seven, maybe ten… am I in the right ballpark?" He asked.

The contorted rage on this woman's face confirmed he did indeed have her pegged.

She spat in his face. "Go fuck yourself, demon whore!"

"Ok, so we're doing this again." Ford sighed as he stepped back to clean his glasses again. Like he said, no points for originality with these people.

Ford paced the stage as he addressed the crowd. "Alright, now that I've got you all here, let's talk."

Ford tucked his hands into his pockets and rocked on his heels. "You all know why I'm here. I know what you're planning. I know it won't work. I think deep down you all know it too." Ford watched the crowd for the tell tale signs of the easily swayed. "Now, I could have just wiped this place off the map with everyone inside, but I didn't, why?" Ford cupped a hand to his ear and waited for an answer from the crowd.

His eye flashed with blue fire when he didn't get one. "I didn't because…?"

Confused murmurs came back from the crowd before their leader barked at him.

"Because the Chipers are a pair of show-boating sadists!" Clarissa, or Cleaver or Glave or whatever she called herself, snapped at him. Struggling against the hand that held her.

Ford's hand tightened it's grip till everyone in attendance could hear the crack of her ribs. She cried out and choked on the breath that fled her lungs. Winded from the pain.

"Wrong answer, try again."

Ford looked back out at the crowd when he heard a meek voice attempt to speak up. She was barely more than a child. Sixteen, maybe seventeen.

Ford turned to her and offered a hand in her direction. "Excuse me miss, can you say that again?"

The girl was tucked behind some of the front liners who had tried to fight back. Her comrades looked at her mortified as she mumbled. Still too soft to be heard by most. Ford could hear her though.

He snapped his fingers and summoned up his stone thone to sit in. Teleporting the shy girl to his lap. Perching her on his knee like a demented mall Santa.

"Say it one more time." Ford instructed. Bringing his bottle back out for another swig. "Louder, for the folks in the cheap seats."

Ford's magic amplified her voice when she spoke.

"T-To… to g-give us, a ch-chance-" She stammered out at a snail's pace.

Ford swallowed and groaned. "Uhg, come on I have a meeting to get to, I don't have all day."

"To Surrender Sir!" The girl barked obediently.

Ford offered her a warm smile and patted her back. The girl flinched under his touch but made no attempt to flee. "Good girl." He praised gently.

"Can I get your name sweetheart?"

"M-Molly." Molly was shaking. On the verge of tears.

"Would you like to leave?" Ford rubbed reassuring little circles into her lower back. Leaning down to her and speaking softly like one would address a child.

Tears spilled over. Ford could smell the fear rolling off her. Hear the whirring sparking gears in her mind as she struggled to process if he was being sincere. She looked him in the eye. Scanning for answers.

"I… I d-don't…" Her words were so quiet and meek.

"Speak up." Ford directed sternly.

"I-"

"Louder. I want everyone to hear you." Ford replaced his vodka with a microphone he held to the girls lips as she sobbed.

"I don't want to die!" Molly wailed. Screaming hysterically into the mic for everyone to hear. She crumpled into a soggy mess of snot and tears. Collapsing against Ford's chest.

"Good girl." Ford praised again. Combing his fingers through her tight curls. "You did so good." He whispered.

Ford snapped his fingers and an opening appeared in the deadly force field that confined them all to this room.

All eyes locked on that opening. An out. A chance at freedom. At survival.

Ford nudged Molly and led her gaze to the exit. "Go on then." He told her. "You can go."

Molly stared at it wide eyed. Chest heaving. Frozen in place.

"Unless you'd rather stay here with me." Ford teased. "You've been lovely company but I don't think you want to stick around for the rest of the show."

Molly looked up at Ford for a few seconds before hesitantly slipping from his lap. She took a few steps back. Not taking her eyes off him.

Ford smiled and twiddled his fingers farewell to her.

Another step back, then another, when Ford made no attempt to stop her, she finally made a run for it. Bolting for the exit like her life depended on it.

Once she made it through the field Ford sealed the exit once more. Molly's comrades watched through the semi-transparent wall of magic as the girl booked it down the hall without once looking back. Some looked disgusted, some betrayed. Ford watched the light in other's eyes die as they watched their opening dissapear.

"There, you see what happens when you behave?" Ford offered the crowd. Returning to his drink and reclining lazily on his throne. Speaking like a father in his comfy chair. "I don't want to have to be the bad guy here. All I need is for you all to give up on these silly little dreams of yours. Quit while you're ahead kids."

"Go to hell!" The old woman growled. Blood dripping from her lips.

Ford glanced back at her with a raised eyebrow. "Very orginal sugar plum. Got any more zingers where that one came from."

"I.. don't care… what you do… to me…" What's her face gasped between straining for air. "We'll never stop fighting."

Ford sighed and pulled himself up from his seat. "If I had a dime for every time I heard that-" he walked over. His heels clicked against the stage. Ford stopped shy of the woman's face. "Well, I'd be a much richer man." He laughed.

"You disgust me."

Ford honestly wished she'd gone out on better last words. What a waste. He liked this woman's fashion sense. Ford placed a hand on her head and lit her on fire. Her screams filling the auditorium.

"See this is the problem with these hero types." He explained. "Everyone wants to believe they're the hero. That when it came down to the wire you'd do the right thing, rise to the occasion, beat the big bad, and save the world." He mused. Serenaded by a dying woman's screams as he went down the zodiac lineup. He ran his hand over the shooting star, an alien girl with crystal eyes. Her skin peeled away like wallpaper. Exposing her musculature to the open air as she wailed in agony and bled out for the crowd.

"But that's just it. You aren't the hero. This isn't your journey."

The next zodiac had a glass bubble filled with water materialize around his head. Forced to drown on his feet.

"There are no chosen ones. You aren't special. The universe doesn't care about you."

Frozen to death, eaten alive by moths, each death was agonizing and slow for the crowd. Some Zodiacs tried to spout trite rebuttals at him about doing what's right, good triumphing over evil. Ford didn't even respond. Just spoke cleanly past them with his displays of power.

Ford looked back at the crowd as he approached the last boy in the lineup. Adrian. His boy. He placed his hand on his stray acolyte's shoulders. Adrian was doing an admirable job of fighting back the tears as he shook in Ford's hands.

"That's just it though, I'm not the universe." Ford reminded his audience. "I do care. You're my people after all. I don't want to do this."

The crowd stared in a tense silence.

Ford leaned down to whisper in Adrian's ear. "You could still walk away." He reassured him. His little lost lamb. The little boy he saved so many years ago. "It's not too late. You could put all these ambitions behind you. There's good money to be made out there as a monster hunter. I'm sure you'd be good at it." Ford watched the boy closely as he tried to hide his face behind a curtain of hair. "You could make a life for yourself. Find someone. Settle down. Start a family." Ford offered. The same had been suggested to Ford when he was young and ambitious.

Bitter spiteful tears spilled over as Adrian finally mustered the courage to look his former god in the eye. "I would rather die than live in Cipher's world." So much conviction in his voice.

Ford hadn't taken the deal either.

A man after his own heart.

Ford pressed a hand to the boy's head and granted his wish. Splattering his brain matter across the stage. Unlike the others, this one was quick. Painless. It was the least Adrian was owed.

Ford looked back out at the crowd one last time. "Alright then, last call. Raise of hands, who here wants to leave?"

[scaredyspooks]

I’ve finished the first chapter of the Felix x reader fic! It picks up more after this chapter.

05:30. The robotic beep of an alarm across the room, eyes already half open before it goes off and a tired form stretches to life. Feet on laminate flooring, a shiver at the cold wood, and trudging footsteps carrying you to your dresser. The clock is silenced, the sound of a live radio feed taking its place, spilling out the early morning news as you move to the window, tugging the blinds open and squinting at the pouring light. Still wriggling the life into your fingers and toes on the way to your bathroom, you stifle a yawn feeling unusually groggy this morning.

By 05:45 you’re kitted out for your morning jog, a smug smile lifting your lips as you relish in the quiet streets, loving being awake before most of the other people in your neighbourhood, a certain pride at being active and ready for the day. The chill of the fresh air filling your lungs helps push any residual sleepiness from your mind, and kick start your appetite for breakfast.

Having eaten, showered and dressed for work you’re settled at your desk by 09:00, sifting through files of data and trying to force your eyes to adjust to the scrolling code on your screen. Page after page of information and as you scan through them, you jot down notes in shorthand of all the connections between them, your notebook quickly filling up, the margins taken up by reminders of other things to check, people to reach out to and eventually you have a full web of data to present to your boss. As per usual, you work through lunch, too distracted by your work to notice time passing. When 18:00 came, your phone trilled to life just as you were tidying everything away, with slight apprehension, you lift the receiver to your ear.

“Hey, it’s Troy Marshall, remember from that Expo a few years back?” His voice is warm and friendly, but there’s a tension below the surface that tells you something’s wrong.

“Yeah, of course I remember, you okay? How’s your mum and Terry?” You could already tell this wasn’t a social call, but you didn’t want to jump straight into whatever was bothering him.

“They’re good, they’re good…” Oh god, he’s getting ready to spill something. Your finger twirls the cable anxiously, foot tapping away at the linoleum floor of your office, “So, you remember the expo… You know how you owe me that favour? You need to get to the airstrip for o-three-hundred tomorrow morning. Pack light, I’ve wired you some files to read up on while you fly over. You got all that?” His instructions are rushed, like time isn’t on his side.

“Uhh… Airstrip, three AM, pack light. Right?” You’d noted it down as he spoke, panic rising in your throat as you say your goodbyes and place the receiver back down once you hear the beep at the other end, rushing to catch up with your boss before he leaves for the evening.

The moment he sees you, he beams with pride, gushing about how his trusty intel officer was going to help Frank Woods, a personal friend and the man he thanked for not having everyone around him speaking Russian. You give an awkward laugh and he explains how it’s all been covered on his end - your absence would be recorded as an injury and he’ll make sure your job is secure for whenever you come back. The whirlwind speed at which your comfortable life had been thrown into disarray within a mere ten minutes has your head spinning, but either way you have work to do.

By the time you get home, the sun has gone down and rain is hammering at your windows like a clock ticking down until you needed to be at the strip. You stuff the basics into your duffle bag, a couple of outfits, a towel, pyjamas, toiletries, notebook, pens, and you place the files you’d printed at the very top for easy access.

The cab dropped you off at about 02:15, giving you time to sprint up the runway and be herded onto a helicopter, the guard in the passenger seat with you pulling you up as the propellers start to oscillate. You buckle in, pulling on a headset for communication with the pilot and that’s when you find out where you’re headed. Bulgaria. Just after the lifting of the iron curtain, specifically an abandoned KGB safe house, according to the files Troy sent you.

Said files seem to be dossiers on the location, along with each member of your team. Troy Marshall, who you already knew from an expo event that saw each of your promising career programs, among others, coming together to blow air up each other’s arses. He’d gotten you out of some bother with higher ups after you got tipsy and told them all about your opinion of them parading their overworked protégés around, using them and you to stroke their own egos. Since then, you owed him a favour, and this was how he was caching it in. William Calderon, Troy’s teammate who’d joined him in going rogue. Frank Woods, whose reputation precedes him, and a smile lifts your features when you see he’s taken Troy under his wing. That leaves Sevati Dumas, a freelance assassin who struck out from the Guild in Avalon, previously helping Adler investigate Pantheon, and finally Felix Neumann. Ex Stasi, completed compulsory military service in Germany and then went into training with East Germany’s secret police. You knew of them, Germany’s answer to the KGB, seeding distrust among their people and collecting informants among the general populace through fear and coercion. He’d been one of their enforcers, you dread to think the things he’d done at their orders. But apparently he’d seen the light, fleeing to West Germany in a bid to escape their brutality and wash his hands of violence. Direct violence, at least, as he’d moved onto providing his technical expertise to criminal organisations instead.

I guess we all have to get our hands dirty sometimes, you think, and this time it’s your turn. Once you’d scanned through every document, you let yourself drift off into sleep, hoping the remainder of the nine hour journey would pass you by in your slumber.

[slowd1ving]

[OUT ON A LIMB] SNIPPET ゜・DAN HENG

I think I like writing interactions now

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

From its mahogany depths, he pulls out a hard black guitar case—and silently you wonder at the coincidence. It zips open with a strangled buzz: careful teeth sawing against careful teeth under his nimble fingers. You watch, entranced, as he pulls the guitar out by the neck.

It’s not six-stringed like you expected. Rather, the black fretboard and polished azure body boasts only four strings. He’s a bassist, you realise with a start; the notion enthrals you, just a little. 

“That’s yours, right?” You point, double-checking not just the way he took it from the cupboard, but to make sure you aren’t hallucinating it. 

“And to whom else could it belong?” he humours you. 

“Oh wow.” You sit up, setting the headphones around your neck while he sets up. “It must’ve been fate leading you here.”

“I would’ve come here to collect my guitar regardless of fate,” he answers.

“So fate assigned me this room in particular,” you shoot back, undeterred. 

“Coincidence.”

“Explain why no one else wanted you in their practice rooms then.” It’s a pointless back-and-forth, which is precisely what entertains you. 

“As you said—” and here he looks up, eyes catching yours in such a placid stare with lips poised in a nigh-triumphant grin that you can’t look away. “—they’re all competitive pricks.”

Seamless. You can’t even argue back; he’s agreed with you and gone against your words in the same breath. 

“Shame,” you sigh, twirling with the length of headphone cable streaming out from your guitar. “Here I was, about to use it as an excuse to get you to play with me.”

“You needed an excuse?” he comments. You look on as he fiddles with the amp: too preoccupied with the technical aspects of setting up to notice your stare honed onto the back of his curls. Or maybe he does notice—he’s observant, after all. 

“Who knows? Maybe you’d demand my name in return.” You pluck the D string lazily—it faintly echoes against your neck through the headphones. Jokes aside, there’s something itching against your flesh that urges you to take this opportunity for practice. 

“Great idea,” he replies laconically. Just like that, he’s standing with his own headphones still in his grasp—as clear as scales with just another push to tip the balance in your favour. “You’re quite stingy, after all.”

“Act broke to stay rich.” You pluck another string, then another. With the presence of your hand covering the fretboard, there’s only a jarring quality to each note. 

“So—” you look up this time, only to find he’s already staring your way. Got him. “—wanna play with me?”

“Depends. Can you keep up?”

“I mean, based on your spying, what do you think?” 

One stingy, the other arrogant. It’s a perfect joke—a meticulous comedy Kafka would no doubt write in a moment of drunkenness. 

Your hand wavers on the headphone jack, as though awaiting his answer. A stingy, hesitant fool.

Thump. That’s what you hear when he tosses his own headphones onto where his long coat rests on the couch. You received your answer after all. 

It’s safe to say that your first encounter with Dan Heng is neither bad nor good, just a mixture of both that titrates itself into mundane neutrality. 

His notes are mellowed against yours—smooth, buttery—and it’s like you read his mind and he yours. But it’s futile to ponder on the concept more; after all, it’s not like you’ll encounter him any more often.

[icallhimjoey]

Infinite Fizz

♥ ♥  Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: On your last day as a temp PA, there's no more holding back. This is the cut scene, the one entirely jumped over, from part 5 of In 120 Hours, remastered in full HD for your enjoyment. Full smut, little plot (although, read in 120 hours because it'll help)!

CW / disclaimer: 18+, smut, language, rpf, fem!reader

Author’s note: okay so the horny bitches in my inbox kept asking me to write this, and who am i to tell you no? here you go my cumcum twats, enjoy!

Wordcount: 3.7K

Kissing Joe at the bottom of the stairs, your hips pressed up against his knees until he opened his legs and made room for you to slot yourself in between, was good in the way that it made your vision blur.

Joe spoke the exact words you asked from him into your mouth, your ear, your neck, your skin.

“You’re fired,”

You were very aware that you weren’t really fired. Of course, you weren’t. But you kind of needed to hear Joe say it anyway. Needed to make him say shit he didn’t mean, just to prove and to confirm that, yes, Joe wanted you. Right now. No postponing any longer. The award ceremony was over and done with, and so was Joe, unable to hold back anymore.

“You’re fired. You’re fired, fuck– you’re so fired,”

Joe’s lips grazed all over. He just needed his mouth on you, not even necessarily to kiss, but just to roam, to taste. Mouth open, his lips touched your hot skin and his breath fanned over your face, your jaw, your neck.

Making it up one flight of stairs, you assumed you’d take this into the guest room. You already had one foot over the threshold when Joe’s hands yanked you into his body by your waist, back into the hallway where he turned you towards the second set of stairs that lead up to his bedroom.

It took a moment for your feet to find the first step up, because Joe had ducked down and his lips had found your neck again. You whined, not wanting it to stop, just, happy to be stood on the landing with Joe warmly attached to the back of you. When one of his hands found its way into your hair on the side of your head to support it, fingers twirling, softly scratching, you gasped, jaw completely lax.

Joe’s touch was electrifying and had your mind spinning.

“Come on, up,” Joe said softly into your ear, and one of his knees pushed your thigh up, helping you find the first step. Trembling fingers then found the banister, necessary for balance and for pulling yourself up before Joe’s hands reached and took hold of your sides, fingers encasing the small of your waist, guiding you up one step at a time.

Standing in Joe’s doorway, his hands still at your sides, now both covered with your own, you paused for a second. You remembered being in there five days ago, how the room had been so empty. Void of everything; just dumped mess, tangled cables and... not much else. So empty. It left a lot of room for loneliness and the thought of Joe’s loud TV made your eyebrows twitch with sadness for him. You had joked about that TV, because if you hadn’t, you’d have cried at it. It seemed to only really land now. Now that it looked vastly different in there.

Joe’s bed was big, but soft and fluffy. Colourful, warm. There were wooden matching bedside tables with lights on them that were set to timers, filling the room with romantic mood lighting and you smiled at how great of a choice you thought you'd made.

There was a seating area near windows on the one side of the room, and a dressing area with a mirror, dressers, and a little ottoman on the other. The soft rugs and the matching floor-length curtains really pulled it all together.

“Do you like it?”

You asked, realizing that, you hadn’t actually checked with Joe after finishing it.

“Do I like it?” Joe was still stood behind you, rested his head on your shoulder and let his arms wrap around again. Tighter this time.

“Look at it,” he said, and you felt Joe’s lips press against your neck once more, prompting you to move your head to the side to give him more real estate to work with.

“It’s gorgeous,” he whispered into your neck, and you didn’t quite trust yourself to speak, afraid your words would be a shaky trembling mess.

Joe stepped around you and one of his hands trailed down your arm until it found your hand, pulling you along with him towards the bed.

You spoke of Joe’s metaphor in a moment of clarity, before you were going to let that fucking smile fully bewitch you.

“Careful, I’m going to lose my fizz fast,” you said, now by the foot of his bed where Joe turned and got you in front of him.

“All these bubbles up in my coca cola? They’ll be gone before you know it,” you warned, but you could see Joe was already too far gone. Too little blood left in that pretty little head of his to think straight. Hazy eyes stared back at you, lids barely even open now as he pushed you onto the bed and he didn’t wait a second to follow you, pressing knees into the mattress and towering over you.

“I know,” he said, and smiled a slow smile that was different. It was a smile that dripped with adoration as he looked you in the eye and it made you completely lose your breath. You were glad you hadn’t seen it earlier, because you would’ve absolutely jumped him.

“But the caffeine of you will do.”

It was the perfect answer that filled something you didn’t even realise was empty within you. Joe drove it home by diving down, his mouth finding yours, pressing hard before he let his tongue roam deeply.

With your arms around Joe’s neck, his body heavy on top of yours, you just made out for a little while. Soft and slow, and then wild and hungry, alternating between the message no let’s just stay here and do this for a while, and, I need more from you right this second.

It was romantic and sexy – heartfelt and wanting.

Whilst you felt a little embarrassed about your sounds, just in general, Joe moaned freely, didn’t hold back on his noises, his breaths, the stutters erupting from his throat. Especially when you got your teeth involved, Joe gasped, unable to contain it, and suddenly, you’d had enough.

Enough.

Not breaking your kiss, with your eyes still closed, you blindly brought fumbling, impatient hands down to undo his trousers. But there was no button in the center. Instead Joe’s trousers had those stupid side adjustors that cinched him in, little straps and buckles on the sides of his hips. Your fingers found them fast enough, but you didn’t for the life of you know how to undo them, and frustration built.   

Joe laughed silently, went, “Hey,” as he sat up a little. “Calm down,” and squeezed both of your hands in his.

“Take ‘em off,”

“Do you know how expensive these are?”

Joe crawled back a little, got off the bed and started slowly undressing, careful with the fabric, the closures, the buttons.

“You can afford it,” you teased, propping yourself up on your elbows, hinting that you wanting to rip them from his body really shouldn’t have been a problem.

Joe huffed a laugh, “Could I? I think I’ve spent a lot of money these past few days,” he gestured a hand around before bringing them to unbutton his shirt.

All you could do in response to that comment was smile. You had spent a lot of Joe’s money.

“But it’s gorgeous,” you said pointedly, repeating words Joe had spoken earlier.

“You’re gorgeous,” Joe bit back, flirting in response, and you giggled as you let yourself drop back down onto the bed.

“Come here,” Joe reached a hand, now just in his boxers, and pulled you fully upright. “Turn around,” and you did as you were told, got on your knees, and turned around, knowing it was to expose the zipper on the back of your dress so Joe could take it off.

You waited and expected fingers to find the zipper, but instead, you got soft lips pressed on top of your shoulders first. Then your shoulder blades, and soft, featherlight touching fingers slowly moved up and down your arms. It left you breathless and shaky, and when finally, you heard the zipper slowly being undone, you were left feeling stupidly needy and fragile. Joe worked your dress down your body, followed swiftly by the unhooking of your bra.

Joe was incredibly delicate, and the anticipation left your whole body tingling.

With your dress still around your thighs, and your knickers still on, Joe pressed his chest against your back and the skin-on-skin contact let a happy sigh fall from your mouth. Joe then quickly let his big hands find your chest and you were shocked by the sounds that escaped you. You were quick to bite your lips into your mouth to keep all those filthy noises inside, where they belonged.

Joe caressed, squeezed, let his fingertips slowly stroke and then would grab. He alternated, would lose himself for just a second and grow rougher before pulling himself back into tender, sweet, and soft touches.

Then, he let an arm curl underneath that then slid up in between your boobs and you couldn’t help the grin that spread on your face. You took hold of his arm with both of yours, let fingers intertwine with his and pressed his full forearm against you, hugging it, just like you had done in your sleep the first time you’d woken up next to each other. You could feel Joe’s smile against the skin of your neck and you dipped your head down to press a chaste kiss onto his hand before turning around to face him.

Joe helped you get fully naked, carefully and sensibly, because Joe also knew the price of the dress you were wearing, and when you laid back down onto the bed with Joe at the foot, still in his boxers, he took a moment to look at you.

Really look.

What an angle, you thought, imagining the double chins Joe was catching from where he was standing and you grew insecure. Even more so when you saw what parts of you Joe’s eyes were scanning, and suddenly, maybe the bedside table lamps were too bright and didn’t need to be on a timer. They could just be off and you could be together in full darkness, wasn't that a fantastic idea? Wouldn't that just be grand? Just, so much better?

"Fucking hell," Joe spoke on an exhale, climbed back onto the bed, unfairly in his boxers still, and planted knees either side of your thighs, his hands finding your hips. "This is–" Joe dropped his head, slammed his eyes shut and breathed deeply, seemingly unable to deal with this.

"You must get this all the fucking time, but you look– it's–... you're perfect,"

You didn't. You very much didn't get that all the time. You tried remembering if anyone had ever called you perfect, but even from your ex, who you had been fucking engaged to, you didn't think you'd ever gotten a compliment in which he had called you perfect.

Joe dipped down, kissed your chest, your stomach, then randomly would bring one of your arms to his mouth to bite before finding your face again to put your mouth to work.

No one had ever called you perfect, but also, no one had ever kissed you the way that Joe kissed you. Or touched you the way that Joe touched you.

Your ex had proposed to you. Had gotten down on one knee, professed his undying love, said he wanted to spend his entire life with you... and yet, he'd never done any of the things Joe was currently doing to you.

Joe was all over you, worshipped every little piece of you he could hold, touch, stroke, kiss, lick and bite and you just... kind of laid there. Let him. Accepted it all. Stared at the ceiling, and tried to focus, tried to be there in the moment, but somehow you'd invited your ex into your brain and your thoughts started running away from you. Away from Joe. From his bed, from his bedroom, down the stairs, all the way down to the front door, nearly escaping out of the house all together, slipping into the dark night.

"No one’s touched me in a really long time," you suddenly confessed, and Joe halted, stopped what he was doing and moved to look at you.

"No?"

You got a kiss pressed to your cheek, just beside your ear, before Joe moved up and met your gaze again. You shook your head a little, swallowing thickly as Joe moved to the other side of your face, pressing his lips against your skin there too.

"What a waste," Joe spoke into your neck, and you felt him move, wiggle his way out of his boxers. "What a fucking waste,"

You looked down, caught a glimpse of how hard Joe was before he tipped your face up by your chin to make eye contact again. His brown eyes danced between yours, and there was something soft about them, something endearingly sweet and caring.

"What an idiot,"

You both knew who he was referencing and you winced slightly, not wanting to talk about an ex when you could feel Joe's full erection pressed up between you against your stomach.

Then Joe found your hand, laced his fingers with yours and brought it up to his mouth. You expected a soothing kiss placed on the back of it, because that was kind of the mood he'd set. But instead, he turned his wrist and brought your ring finger to his lips, kissed right where an engagement ring was supposed to sit and you wanted to cry.

You wanted to cry, sob, wail, and tell Joe all about how fucking awful everything had been the last few months. It all came up at once, bubbled up from deep dark pits, but then it lingered in your throat where it waited, and burned you, and you just wanted it out.

Joe sensed it. Felt something had shifted.

"Hey,"

Both of Joe's hands took hold of your face, bringing your gaze to his own, and his forehead pressed against yours.

"You're here," he whispered, and you let your eyes flutter shut, both of your hands finding his wrists to hold onto.

"Say it, say you're here,"

"I'm here,"

"Say you're fine,"

"I'm fine,"

"Say you're here and you're fine,"

"I'm here and I'm fine,"

"Say you're fired,"

Your eyes shot open and you were met with a dopey smile and loving eyes and it was alarming how loved you felt. Warm, and safe, and... perfect.

Joe was perfect.

You laughed, moved your head upwards, found Joe's mouth and pulled him into a kiss that told him everything you left unsaid. Yes, you can touch me. Yes, I want this. Yes, let's fucking go.

Joe's thick fingers felt you out, touched you in the exact right spots, tested how ready you were for him and his touch had you squirming. You were pulsing as his digits filled you out, his thumb doing the most, and you could see Joe's teeth grind together hard, jaw tensed and biting.

Shock overtook you when you realised you were quite literally about to orgasm any second.

Where the fuck had that suddenly come from?

You had never climaxed from so little touch, so fucking fast. But then, no, of course you hadn't. You'd also never been involved in such lengthy foreplay before and when you started losing full control of your breath, Joe sped everything up.

With your head thrown back, your expression creased and then fully fractured as you came, fully coming undone on Joe's hand, and it had you shaking all over.

"What the fuck,"

Breathing heavily, you caught Joe's eye as he moved up slightly. You saw his plush lips all pink and parted slightly as he stared at you and then broke into a smile. That fucking smile that, even though you'd quite literally just orgasmed, tightened your stomach right back up, fully knotting at your core.

"Yea?" Joe asked, like he needed confirmation. Like you coming within a minute didn't bear all.

You kissed him in response. Deeply, because holy shit, and in the meantime, found Joe's throbbing hard-on with your hand.

You didn't want to waste more time. You squeezed him, pulled on him, let Joe groan guttural noises into your mouth and shifted your hips. Let him know you wanted him inside.

Joe was quick. Knew what you were after, sat back on his heels and positioned himself, lining himself up.

Just before he was actually going to let himself inside and let his hips push into yours, his eyes shot up to look at you and then, without breaking eye contact, he moved forward, making your breath hitch.

Joe moved slow, gave you time, took his time and it was an all-consuming pleasure to feel him fill you out whilst looking at his face. Joe was close to breaking, you could tell from his tight expression that he struggled as he held his breath. It was incredibly hot and it did things to you that you couldn't really put into words, not even if you tried.

Joe stilled for a moment. Caught his breath a little, flashed dark eyes at you, and then, started moving. Joe picked up his pace fast, and you linked your ankles behind him to encourage him.

You saw Joe lean back, hands finding your knees on the side of him, eyes on where the two of you connected. Panting, all breathy. Building up a sweat. Joe looked fucking hot, so insanely handsome, and when a lone curl escaped onto his forehead, you fucking lost it.

You were moaning, let high-pitched and loud inhales and exhales fill up the room. Fuck the neighbours. This was too good for you to hold back, and Joe loved it. Loved every noise he could get out of you, every hitched inhale, every loud exhale, every moan, groan, gasp- it was all too good and it made his fingers tighten, squeezing into your flesh harshly.

Suddenly, you reached an arm up, but Joe was too far away for you to grab hold of him.

"Joe,"

Joe saw, leant closer, let your hand reach around his neck for you to pull him down.

"Want you here," you whimpered into his ear as Joe fully laid down, his front pressed against yours all the way down, hips connecting, still rocking back and forth. This was better. You were sticky with sweat, and very hot, but this was still infinitely better.

And it seemed Joe agreed, because with him so close to your ears, you could really hear every little grunt, and you let none of them escape you.

"Perfect," Joe whispered and got the most wanton moan from you. You'd never sounded sluttier in your life.

It was enough.

Joe sped up more, movements stuttering before he pulled out, just in time and it was stupid, but you felt your chest bloom at the action. You'd not spoken about protection, about birth control, about any of that. Hadn't even thought about it if you were honest, because you'd both been swallowed up in the moment of it all. You realised then that you absolutely wouldn't have minded if Joe hadn't thought of pulling out, but you appreciated with all of your heart that he did.

You moved an arm up, blindly found the drawer to his bedside table and opened it to reveal tissues.

You'd put them there yourself, and Joe chuckled a little through his heavy breathing as he took them from you. Cleaned the mess. Took your hand and kissed it again before darting off to his dressers.

"Second drawer," you said, and he laughed loudly with his head thrown back when he checked and found his T-shirts. He threw you one.

"Boxers, top drawer on your left," you said as you pulled it over your head, and you sneakily watched Joe awkwardly step into fresh boxers before he made his way back over to you.

"This is so normal," he said sarcastically, making you huff a laugh.

Joe sat upright, leant back into his pillows and then pulled you into his lap, your back against his chest, before reaching and covering both pairs of legs with his covers.

You noticed that Joe liked that, had done it several times. Be behind you. Wrap arms around you from the back. Press up against your ass.

You didn't mind.

His arms were slung around your neck now as he held onto his own elbows, chest still heaving from the psychical activity, and he pressed the side of his face against yours.

It was a cute way to cuddle. You kind of loved it, if you were honest.

"So, caffeine, huh?" you broke the silence after a little bit.

Joe chuckled softly, and said, "You've no idea how little I've slept these past few days,"

It was a compliment, but you couldn't help but think that maybe he would've gotten more sleep if he'd turned the fucking TV down. You didn't share that, though.

"All caffeine, no fizz... how's that going to work? You'll never sleep again,"

"I think," Joe started, played with your fingers a moment, then said, "No, I think I was wrong. You're infinite fizz. All fizz, I can feel it, here, in my stomach," Joe moved, pointed just below his bellybutton before he let a chuckle escape his throat.

And you were about to be snarky, say something like, "Those are butterflies, Joe," but you didn't, because you felt it too. Bubbly fizz, deep within, all sparkling and tingling.

Lying in Joe's arms, your back against his front, perked up against the pillows, you had perfect view of the TV.

"Do you want me to turn the TV on?"

"Piss off,"

"I can go back downstairs and sleep in my own bed, use my earplugs, let you get some-" you couldn't finish, turned into a giggling pile of mush as Joe playfully bit into your jaw.

"You're staying," Joe said, his voice low in your ear. "I'm keeping you right here."

You fell asleep in each other’s arms after, both hands with fingers intertwined, legs tangled up, and the TV still turned off. The way your bodies pressed together erased all the loneliness that had lingered in between these walls before.

It was healing in the most wholesome of ways and it filled the dark corners of the both of you up with light. All caffeine. Infinite fizz.

the end

---

The Taglisted: 

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@munsonmunster @kellysimagines @mybffjoe @chaoticgood-munson @harringtonfan4 @sherrylyn628 @bdpst-massacre @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @munsonswhore86 @alwayslindie @thefemininemystiquee @hauntingbastille @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s

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(taglist currently full, sorry)

[hazelnut-u-out]

Helloooo 👋

I bet you didn’t expect me to actually get around to posting a fic request, did ya? Tsk, tsk, tsk… Ye of little faith!

Anyway, sorry these have taken so long. I have the other four I’m prioritizing drafted up, but considering my health decline and full-time job, it’s not been easy to find the time to finish them. I’m doing this because I love writing them, so it was really rewarding for me to finish something up today— even if it’s just short and sweet!

Enjoy! I’ll post this on Ao3 as well and update this with a link when I get around to it. Sorry I can’t tag you, anon. 🤷

———

Rick clenched his jaw, stretching out further on his cot.

He’d been lying in the dark for what must’ve been hours now, nearly comatose. When he felt himself slowly slipping closer towards sobriety, he would unfurl his cold, ghostly fist and fish for the bottle of vodka resting on a pile of dirty laundry to his right.

This time, he noticed that the sliver of light leaking in through the crack in his door lit up the alcohol to give it the illusion of a gently glowing halo. Rick moved his digits closer to the neck of the bottle, soaking in the warmth as the soft projection lovingly traced his fingers with its proximity.

The sun must’ve gone down at some point. Rick could smell the scent of spice that hung heavy in the air while the typical humdrum of Tuesday evenings droned its way up the stairwell to his nearly-numb ears.

He closed his eyes, pressing his left thumb and index finger into the lids. He abandoned the bottle.

Rick knew things were getting bad when he couldn’t even find the energy to lift alcohol to his lips.

He was empty. He could feel everything dissipating inside of him, forming a vacuum beneath his ribs.

Morty laughed from somewhere downstairs and Rick heard the distinctive murmur of Beth’s cheery voice follow.

He was so close to life that he could taste it, the essence of of steak and potatoes soaking into his dry tongue.

So close, just to feel so far away.

Rick wrapped his mechanical arms around himself, squeezing tightly– holding himself together. His nose was cold, and he felt like he would either fall apart or plummet into the deepening pit in the center of his chest if he moved too much.

He didn’t know if he really missed people or simply mourned the idea of having people around him.

In concept, it was great. He wouldn’t be lonely; He’d have a hug or two when he needed it; His grandson could catch a marathon with him on interdimensional cable so he wouldn’t drown in his own thoughts.

On the other hand… Did he even want people around him? Did he even like other people? Did they even like him? Was he really worth that sort of thing, or was he just a burden that burnt bridges the moment they were built?

He heard meek footsteps approaching his room, not acknowledging Morty’s silhouette as he gently pushed open the door with a soft creak.

“Rick?” Morty said, his tone downy and careful.

“Hmm?” Rick grunted, turning his head and squinting until one eye was closed to block out the offensive light from the corridor.

“Mom said to tell you dinner’s ready,” the boy whispered, twirling his fingers nervously.

“I’ll eat later,” Rick replied with a huff, turning over. The coils of the cot groaned beneath him.

“I– uh… I convinced Dad to go get some ice cream for us! I thought we could have dessert and watch Summer and Mom play video games after?” Morty said a bit too-quickly. Rick was familiar enough to recognize the worried tone in his voice. His grandson was probably leaning forward expectantly, hoping Rick would oblige. “Space Mom, I–I mean, haha… Space Mom brought home some new console she got for her ship. They’re gonna test it out– see if it’s worth it, sort of thing. I thought maybe we could heckle for–for a turn!”

Rick laid in silence, Morty’s words lingering in the air for an uncomfortably long moment. The elder winced. He couldn’t exactly tell the kid ‘no’ without worrying him more.

“Pshhh…” Rick let out as he gave in, stretching his arms above his head before yawning. “Yeah, sounds fun, buddy.”

Rick sat up too fast, rubbing his eyes as he felt a bit unsteady.

Oh, yeah. He was still drunk.

“Thanks,” Morty said, smiling a bit more naturally as his shoulders fell forward with relief. “I-I’ll, uh…” Morty stuck a thumb out and gestured towards the stairs. “I’ll just go set the table, then?”

“Yeah,” Rick said, burping a little. He shot Morty a subtle embarrassed look and brought his hand up to cover his mouth.

“Cool,” Morty said, turning and walking away awkwardly. Suddenly, he paused, poking his head back in the doorway. “You sure you’re okay, pal?” The boy’s brow furrowed in concern.

Rick gave a half-hearted smile, shrugging off the way the younger’s question stung.

He blinked a few times. Rick hated when he wasn’t going to cry but someone had to go ask that stupid question. It always burned his eyes, something miniscule inside of him crumbling.

“Yeah– Yeah, I’m good,” Rick chirped.

Morty’s expression relaxed. “I love you, Rick. You’re a pretty cool best friend.”

Rick cleared his throat, pulling his shoulders up and giving Morty an awkward thumbs-up. “Thanks, dude.”

Morty smiled softly and finally turned away. Rick listened as his footsteps grew quieter before sinking his face into his hands and gasping for air.

God, how could he do this to him?

Not only did he have to pretend to be sober, he had to pretend he could feel. He thought of how to smile convincingly when Morty effectively bartered a turn on the game or handed him his bowl of vanilla ice cream.

Rick sighed.

“I know you’re not real, but…” Rick clasped his hands together and looked up. “I mean, if… Whatever’s out there other than me– than him…” He paused, his mouth going dry. “Eh… Nevermind. Fuck you.”

Rick waved a hand dismissively, standing on unsteady legs and heading for the hallway.

———

[syntia13treeman]

Case files 12.01

what I think happened in:

Case 12.01, the case of "Stag Hunter" or "Mr. Bonzo's toothy maw"

We need to talk about Gwen.

Full name Gwendolyn Bouchard, child of a rich family, strangely fixated on making career at OIAR of all places.

On 9th of January, after several years of exemplary if a bit slow work, she looked her boss dead in the eye and stated she wanted her job.

On 29th of January she received an email with a video of attempted murder (Lena on Klaus gun violence).

On 12th of February, after doing some additional research, she confronted Lena with the video. She assumed that Lena's superiors* wouldn't be happy to know that the 'murder' was a failed one. She let it be known that her source (singular) confirms that said mysterious superiors believe Klaus to be dead. As payment for her silence, she demanded to be let in on whatever extra operations were going on here. Lena graciously 'promoted' her to "Externals Liaison."

On Friday (March 8) Gwen received her first 'assignment' – to deliver an envelope to one Nigel Dickerson and 'any companion' of his that might be present. (So, glorified postal service).

On Saturday, (March 9) she got to meet her first 'External'. She was NOT prepared for the experience. She handed off the envelope as instructed. It got chewed in teeth that weren't soft. Mr. Bonzo the External lumbered away into the night, while somewhat shaken Gwen returned home.

Let's take a break from Gwen for a moment, to meet Ms. Jordan Bennett (age: early 20s). She's acquired bartending skills in 2020, and got hired at "Soho Jack's" strip-club in spring of 2021. Her employment there ended rather abruptly on Saturday night, 9th of March 2024. On that fateful night she was tending bar in a private suite on the third floor, where a Bachelor party was in full swing. The party consisted of (presumably) former high-school or college sports team, now in their 30s/40s, celebrating upcoming nuptials of their bud, Baz (full name unknown). (For now).

The chain of events was thus:

Somebody(/something?) planted a box of Bonzo merchandise among the presents for the groom.

Baz the Groom, a faithful Bonzo-fanboy, delightedly asked for the planted CD to be played.

Bonzo's theme-song started playing from the room speakers, and continued to play, getting louder, even after Jordan turned off the CD-player and disconnected the cables. (Later on it not only got louder, but also changed – from 'he wants to stay' in kids' voices to 'he's here to stay' in… different voices).

Summoned signalled by the music, Mr. Bonzo killed the bouncer guarding the room, and entered.

The party-guys did not notice the fresh body and were happy to see their favourite monster TV-mascot.

Mr. Bonzo somehow realized that the bartender did notice the body, and shushed her with a finger to his mouth.

Still unaware of danger, the guys found it hilarious when Bonzo picked up the groom by the arms and twirled him around like a toddler. They didn't even notice when

Bonzo ripped the man's arms right off. They did notice when Jordan screamed, and Bonzo tore Baz's head apart, and then pulverized and ate his body.

After that the guys tried to attack, without any real effect, aside from a trickle of some kind of stinking liquid from a cut (if it bleeds… can we kill it?).

After obliterating the groom Bonzo struck a playful pose, unfolded his mouth into a bigger, toothier maw and proceeded to bite chunks out of remaining people. Those who survived all lost something (Jordan's hand being the smallest loss). Those who didn't make it were devoured whole.

Notably, it seems that none of the people in the room tried to leave it, and none of the crashes, screams, nor the loud distorted music, were noticed by anyone outside the room; the security cameras weren't working either.

After the fact the club got sued for recompense by Jordan (and possibly other survivors and families of the deceased) and tried to get their insurance to cover it. Their claim was denied as fraudulent.

With that bit of unpleasantness out of the way, let's go back to OIAR.

On Monday, March 11, a very disgruntled Gwen confronted Lena again, this time about the nature of her assignment. Lena cheerfully advised her that screaming is good for the soul, that externals may be grotesque, but are valued assets, and that sleep is important. Also that Gwen should have already figured out whose name was in the envelope she'd delivered.

On Wednesday, March 13, Gwen's caseload included a graphic description of events of last Saturday at Soho Jack’s. She had… some kind of reaction, before Alice cut it off with a 'joke.' (btw, Alice's jokes sound more and more like 'shut up about stuff that can get us killed you idiot!')

There's a lot to unpack here, and I'm not sure if I want to touch most of it.

WHOSE name was in the envelope and why? At one point I considered a theory that the intended target was actually the Bartender (not to be killed, but maimed and traumatized), but as she wasn't the only survivor, just the 'luckiest' one, and she was way too young and poor to be Gwen's associate, I have to go back to option nr 1: The groom. Bonzo did zero-in on him upon entry, and only after completely removing him from this world did he change to more casual look and leisurely eating mode. (Work before play; at least he has good work ethics?) (No! Kill it with fire!) So. Why did 'Baz' have to die? Lena expected Gwen to know. Originally I was sure it was Colin or Alice, who both know too much. Since it's not them, the only thing that comes to mind is the 'source' who told Gwen that Klaus is believed to be dead. If a scary shady spooky government branch learned that they had a leak, they absolutely would plug it with excessive force and no consideration for collateral damage. Imagine you're Gwen, and you had a friend tell you something as a favour, and then you listen to a tale of how that friend got eaten by a creature you personally sent after him. 😬 Slightly more fucked up though less likely option: the 'source' was actually the bride-not-to-be. The Stag Night Massacre was a punishment and warning for both her and Gwen.

*Who actually are Lena's masters superiors? The ministerial prick who keeps nagging Colin about the app just… doesn't sound like someone who'd order a supernatural hit on someone. I have some thoughts, but they're too muddy to articulate just yet, so I'm moving on to:

Bonzo music. What is up with that? Nigel turned it on to call Bonzo to the door, and at the club he didn't come into the room until it was playing. Is the music just a way to get his attention, or is it like his Manchurian Candidate trigger phrase, turning him from Mr. Bonzo to Bonzo Butcher? Or is it just … part of Bonzo himself? It was getting more distorted and unsettling just as Bonzo was getting more monstrous in action and appearance. What was the cause and what was the effect here? Or: the music had to play, because it was the music that kept people from trying to run, and kept other people (and cameras) from noticing what was going on in there. So many options, so little certainty. :(

Gwen is now an accessory to murder, most likely of somebody she knew. I wonder what she's gonna do with that knowledge. Will she double down on "I can do it and I'm cool with it actually", or will she try to opt-out? (it's too late, but she could try…)

Unrelated: if at any point we meet a very angry young woman sans one hand, I'm doing the DiCaprio me

[ru-draws]

Slowly Learning (That Life Is Okay)

——

A Little Night Music AU

I’m still writing it, never fear, it’s just slow going. I have this habit of writing completely out of order—especially since this story is based in music, and my song fixations are fickle AF.

(Excerpt from a far-away chapter) We’re Talking Away:

Moon stared at your phone—but to your dismay, he didn’t move to take it. For a moment, you were afraid Sun had been wrong—that not even this kind of olive branch would work.

When he finally moved, you nearly jerked back. He paused. Watching you. Reading you. Moon touched down onto the carpet. Then, he touched the phone at last. And he scrolled. For the longest thirty seconds of your life.

When his hand slid from the device, you frowned at his selection. It was the track you’d been looping since your talk with Sun. He’d been listening.

“…You sure? You’re not bored of this one yet?”

His eyelights shuttered briefly. Then nothing. If you didn’t know any better, you could have mistaken him for an elaborate art installation; standing like a mannequin in the neon light. His stillness in these moments still unnerved you just enough. Which was likely their intention, regardless of the fragile bridges you were rebuilding.

He lifted a hand—the lack of bells nearly startling you; an unpleasant reminder of how you got to this point. But you didn’t flinch. You promised. You waited.

Moon’s faceplate rotated, slowly, the gears clicking mutely. And slowly, gently, his fingers touched the edge of your phone again.

Tap. Tap.

You huffed.

“You’re the boss.”

You hit play.

As the first wave of synth drums pulsed in your fingers, Moon lifted off the ground once more. He regarded you, ever silent—his eyelights glowing across your face. You searched for words. Something, anything, to keep this moment from ending—to delay Moon from taking off into the dark again.

And then he’s soaring. Twisted up in that cable like aerial silk, swinging, tinny laughter floating over the familiar synthesized music. Something in your chest unclenched. You couldn’t help a smile as he passed just a bit too close, brushing your shoulder, the point of his hat nearly hitting your chin. He twirled, hooking the wire around his foot, and swung by again. Like he’s remembering how to fly.

Show off.

[charlesandmartine]

Wednesday 10th April 2024

Wednesday dawned with strong sunshine in the east and blue skies pushing across the vista from our apartment windows.

We had pre-booked a tour to Robben Island; a boat trip of some 11km taking 30 minutes. The girl at the ferry terminal yesterday wagged her finger at us and told us to be there by 10.30 for the 11am ferry or else. So it all relied upon Ivan the taxi turning up at our apartment at 10am as promised. Fat chance of that happening. Well he romped in at 10.15; very pleasant, but announced that we had to make a small detour to pick up some Americans somewhere downtown. We crossed the finish line at 10.45, so not too late I suppose. Ivan was unrepentant and accepted his tip with grace.

The actual trip was conducted at a pace completely outside of Ivan's understanding. The ferry docked on the Robben Island quayside and we were instructed to board buses in order to fulfil phase 1 of the prison tour. A small black child in the row in front of us on the crowded single deck bus wept, I don't want to go to prison! The old rickety bus clattered around the site and our cheery guide pointed out the little house where Robert Sobukwe lived for 6 years in silent solitary confinement with 4 guards outside and 2 inside with him. The bus slowed but did not stop; we were on a schedule. Next to Sobukwe's house were high risk political prisoner cells. We did not dwell. The bus carried on and pulled into a parking area with toilets and souvenirs. Despite the 13 minute queue for the toilets we were allowed 10 minutes before instructed to reboard for phase 2 of the tour; the main prison block. Once more the small child pleaded that he didn't want to go to prison.

Phase 2 was the thing. This time we were out and about, loose but with our guide, an ex political prisoner. We were lead through the virtual system that was in place from 1962 including being admitted, stripped, assessed, categorised, uniformed and assigned a cell; single, isolation or communal. The whole process designed to dehumanise and humiliate. The regime did all it could to make life hard or nigh on impossible for the prisoners; severe punishment, hard toil, restrictive communication and family visits and no parole. The prison complex is now a UNESCO world heritage site and the intention is to maintain its integrity and authenticity. Curiously although Nelson Mandela is mentioned a lot, the whole museum does not revolve around his story. Moreover, his cell was not even labelled; just the one with the red bucket. The reason given was that all prisoners were there because of political persecution and he would not be singled out as being more important than anyone else. We came away subdued but very much in awe of what these people were prepared to suffer for their cause. He might have had a long walk to freedom, but we had an exceedingly choppy sea to contend with on our return to Cape Town. Sick bags were provided!

We had hoped we could catch a cable car up Table Mountain after this adventure. The weather had improved enormously during the day, and there was only one cloud in the sky. Sadly this was over Table Mountain! It's closed the lady said. Come back tomorrow she said.

Instead we repaired to a nice bar on the waterfront where we could sup local beer in the sunshine whilst watching various street entertainers. Our closest artiste appeared to have been given a gold lame Darth Vader outfit for Christmas from his mum and the success of his act relied entirely upon twirling battons majorette style. It might have worked if he could stop dropping them. Still, it was entertaining.

Home after all that excitement to chicken and SB.