#which is CRIMINAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[zyxoxox]

you absolutely cannot tell me sylus doesn’t do a little happy dance in his head every time mc does something to show she trusts him more.

i was playing the new event today and. THIS MAN IS SO STOKED WE LIKE HIM NOW 😭

dangerous criminal man, they say, about the loser who visibly gets excited when mc treats him slightly more kindly than usual. and he brings it up every time as well it’s so pathetic (affectionate) 😭

“sylus, close the roof, i’m cold.”

“you’re worried about me :>”

“…?!”

“you like me :>”

“is that not obvious at this point?!”

he’s so clearly lost all sense of pride when it comes to mc, but he still has the audacity to pretend like she’s more down bad than he is, which is both endearing and fucking hilarious at the same time, bc

“i am not letting you paint on my face,”

“but i want to :(“

“no.”

“but i’m only like this with you :((“

“your wish is my command, paint all you want.”

he’s so smitten for mc it’s insane. if she gave the word i’m sure he’d bend backwards, do a backflip and destroy the world, all for her. i wanna say he’s like a puppy who just got approval, but he’s honestly more akin to a person whose cat just snuggled up against them for the first time.

and that’s also so sad because all the stuff he does for mc, he does without expecting any kind of reciprocation at all. i’m sure he’s aware that he likes her, but i don’t think the thought that she likes him back has even struck him until this point.

so when she lets herself be relaxed around him, when she subtly looks out for his well being, when she plays around with him, he absolutely needs to point it out to prove that it’s real.

sylus, the leader of onychinus, meticulous in his planning, always two steps ahead, never stopped to think that treating a girl with love and interest in mind could lead to her doing the same to you.

somebody please tell this man we love him 😭 he’s so smug for someone so helpless 😭

[tswkento]

nanami likes to take pictures of you when he finds you looking especially pretty.

his camera roll is filled with photos of you; smiling at the camera, waving at the camera, winking, giving a silly little pose, unaware of the camera, holding the camera in an attempt to hide from it and a lot more than that.

and kento likes to swipe through them whenever he misses you a little too much, meaning — his fingers itch to the hidden folder, where he has put some pictures of you he has taken when he found you not just beautiful, but ethereal.

the tips of his ears turn red as soon as his eyes start roaming through the little squares, having learned by heart which one is which and able to recognise the day and date it was taken on without checking.

it’s a goldmine — dozens of photos that he has taken just because he thought you looked criminally beautiful; too sinful and inviting not to revisit the moment, however his favourite will always be the picture he took when you first blew him.

a cheeky smile on your face and visible hunger in your glossy eyes as you held his dick in your palm. the smeared red lipstick on your lips, the way you felt his cock’s weight against your cheek, soft hand caressing it in a way that made nanami go crazy — oh, you knew what you were doing and he was so fucking in for it.

[avocado-writing]

pairing: logan howlett x reader x wade wilson

rating: E, minors dni, 18+ (mmf threesome; resolved sexual tension; sex pollen; unprotected p in v sex; oral [f receiving]; double penetration)

words: 6.7k

summary: you, logan and wade are on a stakeout after reports of a new drug which only affects mutants. but what happens when you accidentally get a hit of it yourselves…? (the sex pollen fic from the poll! thank you @eupheme for betaing for me, i owe you my life!)

“I spy with my little eye…”

“Wade, I swear to god…” Logan’s voice is a low rumble, a warning.

“Awww c’mon, peanut! What else do we have to do? Indulge me in my childlike whimsy.”

“Let me guess,” you say, shelling a pistachio before throwing it in the air to catch it on your waiting tongue, “you spy something beginning with R-D, which is the rising damp, which is the fourth goddamn time you spied it because there’s nothing else in this fucking place.”

Wade huffs and throws himself back in his chair. 

“Killjoy,” he mutters, and goes back to carving obscene doodles into the side table with baby knife. 

On the first day you were happy to play along, just to ease the boredom and tension which came hand-in-hand with this arrangement. Now it’s been five of them, stacking on top of each other and getting claustrophobic-heavy, the three of you crowded into each other’s space and on the razor’s edge.

Something is going to break, and you’re worried it’ll be Wade’s nose under Logan’s fist.

What a stupid fucking mission. You should never have said yes.

Ever since the whole Void situation was resolved you, Logan and Wade have been X-Men adjacent. Not part of the group exactly but happy to play along if needed. This most recent assignment had been a request from Piotr - there was something going on downtown to do with trafficking drugs which affected mutants, and someone needed to keep an eye on it. Couldn’t be anyone from the mansion, they’re all hands on deck at the moment keeping an influx of kids in check. But the three of you? With no jobs between you and an urge to do good?

It was a problem with an obvious solution.

It’s a stakeout. Which means sitting and waiting and holy fuck is it boring. 

You can tell something is going on in the alley across the street but you’ve had strict instructions not to take action until you see the guy in charge: thickset man with a penchant for misdeeds and built like a brick shithouse. Once you have proof he’s involved, you’ll get the go-ahead to close in and shut the place down in whatever manner you see fit.

But until he comes in, your little trio has no choice but to stay put, watching petty criminals come and go with no idea they’re being monitored.

Life has revolved around watches from the dingy window. Usually two of you will stay up while one of you tries to get some sleep on one of the uncomfortable twin beds that have been provided, but it isn’t easy to drift off when it feels like the mattresses are made of cinder blocks stuffed with broken glass. It isn’t that you’re unused to being in each others’ spaces - if you’re not at their apartment they’re at yours, after all, you are friends - but this is different. You have the luxury of walking away from each other in normal day-to-day life when things gets too much. Here? Here, you’re stuck until you’re done with the job. You’re all tired, irritated, and desperate for entertainment. You’ve even considered chopping off your own hand to watch it grow back, just for something to do.

And the thing is that’s not the worst of it. Ever since the three of you returned from the Void there’s been something there. Something difficult to pin down, exactly.  A niggling little feeling worming its way through your body. Something which thrums every time Wade flexes the muscles in his hand and you see his long, strong fingers; every time Logan grits his jaw and the tendons in his neck throb. 

Oh, right. You sort of really want to fuck them both.

You don’t go through something that traumatic and not have deep-rooted feelings which surpass normal boundaries. You fought for each others’ lives. You’re bonded in a way people rarely are. And the more time you spend with them the blurrier the lines between platonic and fucking soulmate become. You’ve seen both of them stare at you - and each other - when they think you’re not looking, so you’re sure this isn’t something that only you are harbouring. It’s a secret desire harboured by all three of you.

Like you said, something is gonna break. And in this shitty little surveillance room? It’s gonna break soon.

A movement outside. The three of you sit forward to take a look at the evening’s street view, only to fall back into your chairs as it turns out to be a false alarm. Just a pedestrian walking by. You’re going to go insane.

You drum your fingers on your thighs just to keep them busy, then turn to Logan. 

“You got a smoke?”

He cocks a brow at you.

“You want a cigar?”

“Nothing else to fucking do.”

“Whoa, hey!” says Wade, putting his hand on Logan’s arm as he roots around in his jacket pocket, “no no no, you quit last year! Don’t start up bad habits again unless I’m the one convincing you to, pookie.”

“Wade, c’mon. I’m gonna lose my mind if I don’t have something to do,” you groan. Plus, really, you’d kinda like something to suck on, just to relieve some of the ache in your belly.

As if Wade can hear your thoughts he pipes up again.

“Well if you’re that desperate to use your mouth, I know what we could play to pass the time…”

You and Logan groan in unison, and he balls his fist in a way which suggests it’s not long until the claws come out. Wade holds up his hands to signify peace.

“Whoa, chill out, honeybadger. No need to get scratchy. You don’t have to join in if you don’t want to… but it’s more fun the more people there are.”

Accepting there’s nothing else to pass the time, Logan lets out a long, exhausted sigh and lets Wade continue.

The mercenary licks his lips as if, for once, considering his phrasing. Then blurts out what he wanted to say anyway.

“We could play blowjob roulette.”

It was a foolish time to take a drink of your soda, because you spurt it out your nose. After a moment of mopping yourself up with your sleeve you manage a, “what?!”

“Well, oral roulette I guess, if we’re being PC about it.”

“Oh my god,” Logan groans, getting to his feet and stomping into the tiny excuse for a kitchenette, grabbing a beer and opening it with such gusto that the cap bounces off an adjacent wall.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything! We just spin the bottle and whoever it ends up pointing out deals out a round of Australian kisses for the other players. Relieves the boredom, and it’s fun to see how long everyone lasts.”

Your mouth is open, you’re sure of it. You’re looking at Wade in abject horror. This has got to just be part of his stupid bravado, right? Making an ill-timed joke?

Because the other option is he’s serious.

Logan drinks. You stare. Wade rabbits on.

“I’m just saying we used to play it at Sister Margaret’s all the time, when we were waiting for new marks to come in and didn’t have anything better to do! It wasn’t gay or anything except for, you know, the rampant homoeroticism of slurping everyone’s gherkin.”

“Did you… did you ever have to do it?” you ask, morbid fascination taking over. He scoffs.

“Did I ever have to… pookie, I’ve taken more loads than my building’s washing machine. Yeah, I’d say I’m pretty fucking great at it.”

He’s staring at you with an intensity which makes you feel like you’re on fire, but from embarrassment or enthusiasm you’re not sure. 

“So?” he asks, quietly, putting a hand on your knee. Your body burns. You swallow. You look to Logan. 

He sighs. Finishes his beer, but in a way which suggests he’s giving in. You see the way Logan’s teeth touch his bottom lip. The start of a fricative. 

He’s going to say fine.

Movement out of the window. You bolt up, knocking Wade’s hand away. He deflates.

“Aww. But I really wanted to - ”

“No, guys - look!”

They quickly crowd you, following where you point. A huge man walks into the alleyway, flanked by underlings, the bulk of him taking up the small space.

“There’s our guy,” you say, “let’s go.”

You descend upon the alleyway in a flash of swords and claws. You tug your cowl up over your nose to protect your face, hand on one of your Brügger & Thomet MP9s as the three of you come face-to-face with the door you’ve been monitoring all week.

“So are we going in sneaky style, or—”

Logan rips the door off its hinges, throwing it down the length of the alley; he is desperate to be done with this. You exchange a look with Wade.

“Okiedokie, asked and answered I guess,” he sighs, grabbing his Desert Eagles from his holsters.

You both follow Logan who’s thrown himself into the middle of the lab claws-first. Two-thirds of the people scream and flee, the others stand their guard and grab their guns.

Fingers on triggers, you take a beat to examine the situation.

Equipment everywhere. Beakers and cylinders you can possibly guess the use for, set up on desks and synthesising something nasty. The boss is standing in the middle of the room, eyebrow cocked and mild annoyance plastered on his face. Bingo. You make a beeline for him, taking a couple of bullets in your flank as you go.

“Cover me!” you shout to Wade. He pulls his katana out of a guy’s head and throws you a bloodied thumbs-up.

“Got your back, pookie! Hate to see you leave, love to watch you spill entrails as you go!”

As if he was predicting your next action, you whip your knife out of your belt and stab it in an assailant’s belly, watching his warm guts slide onto the floor. He releases a strangled noise as he drops to his knees - you make a move to continue on your way to the boss only to feel someone pick you up.

“Shit!” you mutter as you’re hoisted into the air. Wade and Logan stop their onslaught to turn at the sound of your panic, their eyes both going wide as they see you restrained. With a twinned shout of your name they come running to help.

Aww, your boys. It’d be cute if you weren’t bracing yourself for the pain.

Your attacker launches you across the room. A couple of seconds go by as you fly through the air - and then into a table full of test tubes and pipettes.

A great cloud rises into the air. A cloud of spores?

Before you can get a chance to properly read the situation, Wade and Logan are at your side. Sturdy hands grasp around your forearms and you’re dragged to your feet. 

Of course, it goes unnoticed…but all three of you take in a deep breath.

“You okay, baby?” rasps Logan. 

“Yeah, I’m f— move!” you scream, shouldering him out of the way so you can sink your knife into the neck of the man about to spray bullets down his spine. As you rip through the soft skin at his throat something occurs to you. 

‘Baby’? Where did that come from?

Not that it isn’t nice, obviously, but… it’s unlike Logan to show that much tenderness ever. Especially with pet names.

Oh well, no time to dwell.

Picking bits of glass from your biceps you tank a punch from a man closing in on your left, parry his next couple of blows, then shoot him in the dick. Wade has called this a ‘low blow’ before which isn’t incorrect but honestly, there’s no time for fighting fair when it’s 3-versus-30. 

The boss has finally gotten involved. A pair of brass knuckles shines against his fist as he swings at Logan, a meaty crack filling the air in a way which you’re worried might actually have dented one of your friend’s ribs. Wade uses the distraction to stab a katana into the guy’s back, then another one a little further up - using him like a goddamn climbing wall. The boss roars like an animal and attempts to swat him off but there’s no use. His massive bulk is working against him, and Wade can be a fast little motherfucker when he wants to be.

Wade lets out a ‘peekaboo!” as he pops up over the boss’s shoulder, pressing his pistol into the meat of his neck and firing. Blood sprays across the floor but somehow the guy doesn’t stop, not even when Logan picks himself back up and sinks both his claws into his stomach; it only elicits another snarl.

Okay, time to close.

You sheath your guns and go back to your knife, using Logan as a launchpad as you throw yourself off the arch of his back and into the air - stabbing down into the boss’s skull with a dull thunk.

A line of blood dribbles out of his mouth. He starts to fall.

“Uh oh - call me Ke$ha, because I’m yelling timber!” Wade warns. With a snarl Logan rips his claws free from muscle, snatching you off of the boss’s corpse as he stumbles forward under his own weight. Pulling you free you both lose your footing, and you crash down onto your friend.

You look at Logan.

He looks at you. 

Suddenly, his hands clasp around your hips. Probably you move you off of him…

And then you’re on fire. 

Like gasoline has made a line from his touch to your cunt, everything in you is set ablaze. Your pussy clenches and you’ve never felt so empty before - or at least not so aware of it.

There is a cock-shaped hole and it’s begging to be filled.

You expect Logan to freak out, you’re freaking out - you never thought you had a murder kink but you guess you’re never too old to find out something new about yourself - but he doesn’t.

Instead you just see him furrow his brow as if processing something; then acknowledge the press of his hardening cock rub against your thigh as he bucks up into you.

Oh no. Something is wrong.

When you feel Wade grab your shoulder and haul you back to your feet it’s the same, that delicious burning sensation rocketing through you… and from the way he moans as soon as his hands are on you, the feeling is mutual. 

“Fuck. Fuck,” he breathes. Yeah. You want to, that’s the issue.

You stagger away from him with wide eyes and electric skin, a beat passing between the three of you as the people left in the lab decide to give up the fight now their boss is toast. Hearts racing, hands wanting to reach out and touch.

Logan is the one to break the silence.

“We should call in and let the others know we’re done,” he manages. You nod.

“Yeah. Can we… can we go back across the street? I don’t feel so good.”

“Oh, don’t you go Spider-Man Infinity War Part 1 on me,” Wade chuckles. You don’t have the energy to work out what he’s referencing, especially when a jolt goes through your body to your cunt when you feel his eyes meet yours. 

Damn. This is bad. 

“Yeah. Of course, honey,” Logan manages. He goes to put his hand on the small of your back and then thinks better of it, though you can feel its nearness like a magnetic pull. You almost moan when he retracts his touch instead. Wade whips his phone out and fires off a message to let someone know a cleanup crew is needed as you stagger out of the alleyway and back across the street. 

You didn’t bother closing the door when you ran out, too desperate to monopolise on the chance of getting your mark. The three of you tumble back into the room you’d been dying to get out of just a scant few minutes ago, relieved to be in the privacy of its confines again.

A moment passes as all three of you adjust to the feeling coursing through your bodies.

“What’s happening?” you breathe, bracing your hands on the back of your go-to wooden chair and breaking it with the force of your grip. You wince at the sound of splintering, blood dripping down your palms before you feel it heal over.

“I’ve not felt like this since I first discovered how easy it was to masturbate to Good Housekeeping,” Wade groans, whipping off his mask as he flops down onto the battered-up-couch. Logan has made his way to the fridge again, practically ripping its door off to get to a beer which he downs in one swig. Fuck. It’s so sexy. You want to lick the muscles in his neck.

“It’s a pollen,” he states, voice rocky in a way which goes straight to the burning pit of your stomach. You and Wade exchange a look and then turn to him, waiting for further explanation. “Only has a reaction in mutants. Charles said it was something about putting the id into overdrive, like a fuckin’ adrenaline shot to the libido.”

“It… it makes you aroused?” you manage, attempting not to rock your cunt into the palm of your hand. Logan grunts.

“Was trying to be more tactful, but yeah, honey. That’s the idea.”

Honey. The pet name once again goes down your spine.

“Fucking sorry,” says Wade, “someone was manufacturing this stuff as a drug for what? To make mutants too horny to fight?”

Logan shrugs, still not tearing his gaze from his empty bottle, as if to agree it’s his best guess. Wade’s head falls back against the sofa’s arm.

“I mean, damn, they could have just shown me any frame from Magic Mike XXL and it would have had the same result. Seems like a lot of effort.”

Something about the way Logan talks sticks out to you, you circle back around to it. 

“Logan, you seem to know a lot about this stuff… have you encountered it before?”

Another beer grabbed and chugged down, the forward hunch in his shoulders physical evidence of his walls raising. 

“Once. Back in the day with the other X-Men.”

“How did you get through it? Does it go away?”

Logan doesn’t reply. Drinks.

The unspoken answer sinks in.

“Oh my god, you had to fuck it out, didn’t you?” gasps Wade. Logan doesn’t even growl. Jesus Christ he’s right. “Who was it? Storm? Beast? By the love of all things 100k+ enemies-to-lovers-slowburn, tell me it was Cyclops.”

Logan doesn’t dignify him with an answer, instead putting the empty bottle down with enough force you’re surprised it doesn’t shatter.

“It’ll pass. I just need to sit it out,” he reasons, the grit in his jaw suggesting this isn’t the optimal solution. You feel your eyebrows tug together, a crease of concern settling between them.

“But…”

“I’ll be fine.” The way he says it, he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone. With the room in the air practically throbbing he heads to the bedroom, leaving you and Wade alone.

Holy shit. You and Wade are alone.

Your eyes wander over to him, to find his gaze is already resting heavy on you. Your skin lights up.

“So, uh,” he starts, shifting himself awkwardly where his hard-on is trapped in his suit, “you read any good books lately?”

That does help to alleviate the tension and you find yourself chuckling, only for the relief to be ablated when your empty pussy pulses. You whine.

“Wade…”

As soon as you say his name he’s rushing over to you, helping you sit down on the ruined chair. You both moan as hot skin slides against hot skin. 

“Look, it isn’t…” you groan as you slide your hand up his bicep. Fuck, he’s strong. “...it isn’t a crazy idea to help each other out, right? We’re friends. It’s just two friends giving each other a hand…”

Wade dips down to run the bridge of nose along the line of your jaw, letting his lips drop to the pulse in your neck.

“Just friends…” he mutters. You buck up into nothing. Oh, god. You’re going to die here. “Baby?”

Oh shit, oh fuck. You want him to call you that over and over again, stamp it into your fucking mind.

“Yeah?” you reply, the word ripped rawly from your throat.

“I wanted to do this before we even left this goddamn apartment, you think I might have changed my mind after the mutant viagra?”

He pulls back just enough for you to see the seriousness on his face. No, he’s not joking, not saying something dirty just because he thinks it’s funny. 

He’s saying it because it’s true, and it’s both thrilling and terrifying. 

“Can I?”

Oh, it’s so tempting to say yes yes yes… but the more tempting thing is to tease him. Just a little.

You hook your leg over his shoulder and he groans as you dig your heel into the muscle of his back. He groans loud and long.

“Wade?”

“Mmm?”

“Ask me properly.”

His breath hitches in his throat, and you’re pretty sure he’s making a mess in his suit.

“Fuck, can I eat you out, baby? Please?”

You nod so fast you fear you’ll break your neck.

Wade lifts you like you weigh fucking nothing at all, strong arms scooping you up and bringing you to the couch - desperate for more space. His hands move quick and roughly as he goes to the pants on your suit, so wracked with need his fingers shake just from the promise of getting to touch you properly. You help him as much as you can, toeing off your boots and helping him tug your underwear off along with your waistband. His eyes widen as he realises your panties are in his hands. He takes a moment to run his thumb over the cotton of them and he fucking moans. Oh, god damn it, you’re going to be fucking ruined.

“Fuck. Never seen a pussy look this good,” he breathes as he finds himself face-to-face with your dripping cunt. You’re already so wet that it’s embarrassing and, while it would be easy enough to blame on the pollen, you know that you’ve wanted this for months. When he drags his tongue up your puffy, desperate folds, you pretty much combust.

“Oh shit,” you groan, wrapping your other leg round his face to hold him flush against you - not that Wade needs any convincing though, because you’ve never seen a man so desperate to fuck you with his mouth before. He buries himself in you, scarred hands reaching up to dig into the soft skin of your thighs and keep you steady. He wants you at his own pace, it seems, and is strong enough to make it happen. Fuck, you are not complaining.

Wade’s eyes flit upwards to see how you’re reacting as he moves his whole face side to side to bury himself into your cunt deeper. It’s like he’s trying to find where your scent is the strongest and, honestly? With what you’ve heard about this pollen stuff? Seems right on track. He has no hair for you to bury your fingers in so instead you press your hand to the top of his head and pull him closer, because god knows you don’t have the ability to vocalise it. You sink your fingernails in so he knows, though.

Holy hell you’ve never felt so good. The pollen is heightening everything, each movement he makes into you shooting shockwaves through your nerves. Wade’s tongue is insistent in exploring every inch of you, pressing bluntly into your clit; lapping at the wetness seeping from you like he’ll die if he can’t taste what he’s doing to you; dragging down to your ass and toying with you there, too. Yes, fuck, anything he goddamn wants. When his teeth skim the needy folds of your cunt you jackknife into his mouth, almost breaking them clean out of his gums.

“Holy shit, babe. What’s gotten into you?” he chuckles, pupils so blown wide with lust that his eyes are eclipsed with black. You chase after him with your hips.

“Not you, and that’s the problem,” you harrumph. He grins and you see how covered with your slick he is and fuck you are going to die here. 

“I’ll take care of you. That’s what friends do, right?” he asks, putting emphasis on the word you’re both masquerading behind. When you reach out with a searching hand he threads his finger through yours wordlessly, using the other to grab a pillow so he has something to fuck up against. You feel a tiny bit bad for not offering to help but you know he’ll get his in time - in fact just thinking about sucking his cock your mouth begins to water.

He presses his palm into yours as he goes back to your cunt with his mouth. It takes only moments for him to start up his desperate pace again, tongue sinfully sweet, and you’re chasing and chasing…

Stars explode in your vision and in your blood. The noise you let out is feral, a euphony of pleasure and you don’t care who hears. Wade’s eyes drift close as he tastes your orgasm directly at his lips, drinking you down. You’re certain his hips stutter as he comes just from getting you off. Oh god it’s so hot.

Oh god, you’re not done.

Wade surges up your body and kisses you ferociously, you moan at the taste of yourself he gives back. 

“Fuck, yes, do you taste that, baby? What did I do to you? Holy fuck you are the hottest thing I’ve ever seen…”

“Wade, I need you.”

“Yeah, fuck, okay. Let me get this stupid sexy suit off…”

Hands begin to fumble messily, needily at each other’s zippers in order to strip. You sit up to get a better handle on him—

And freeze when you see you have an audience.

Wade follows your gaze to where Logan is standing in the bedroom doorway. He’s managed to get his suit off and change back into his jeans, though you can’t imagine he’ll want to stay in them for long the way his trapped cock is staining dark blue denim even darker. He’s gripping the doorframe with such force that his claws have popped out, eyes a matching pitch black to Wade’s, chest heaving as he watches the show.

“You okay, honey badger?” Wade drawls, a cocky smile dragging across him. Logan grunts. Swallows hard. You go for a softer tactic.

“Logan, sweetheart, you wanna join in?” your voice is husky as you ask, oh so inviting. Logan squeezes his eyes shut and his fist tight, taking a chunk out of the wall.

“Get into the goddamn bedroom, both of you,” he growls. The two of you absolutely do not need to be told twice. Partially undressed you vault over the back of the dishevelled sofa, letting Logan lead the way. As soon as you’re within arms’ reach he snags you around the waist and pulls you in for a kiss.

Logan kisses like he wants to devour you. Rough, commanding, dragging his tongue into your mouth as if trying to claim you. Oh, you’ll let him a hundred times over. You mewl when his hand reaches down you cup your still dripping pussy, immediately swiping a thumb against your clit. It pulses as if Wade didn’t just pull an orgasm out of you.

“Fuckin’ needy little thing,” he snarls, delighted. You reach down to grab the bulge he’s rocking, squeezing hard enough to get him to groan.

“Look who’s talking,” you chuckle. He taps at the top of your suit, an instruction. 

“Off,” he says, but that’s as much as he gets to say, because Wade grabs him by the beard and steers him in for a kiss. You pause for just a second to see what will happen but clearly you needn’t have worried - Logan moans into your friend’s mouth, grabbing a handful of Wade’s pretty decent ass and digging in his fingers. While they’re busy you finish stripping, going for the zipper on the back of the red suit and pulling it down. It’s such a goddamn stupid design having it at the back like a goddamn prom dress - but at the moment you’re kinda thankful for it because it means you get to kiss along the revealed plain of skin. Wade has such beautiful fucking back muscles, you’ve stared at them for long enough to memorise every damned one.

He steps out of the suit when you get to his feet - yeah, he did come just from eating you out earlier and holy fuck are you proud - and lets out a strangled noise when you bite the meat of his asscheek hard enough to leave a mark.

“Fuck, are you gonna rim me? Because if so I’m a thousand percent down,” he chokes, pulling away from Logan’s mouth and leaving a string of spit between them, evidence of a messy kiss. You shrug.

“You want me to, baby?”

Wade seems to have a crisis of faith as he considers this, letting Logan nibble down the length of his neck; eventually he shakes his head though.

“No, I wanna be inside you, like, yesterday,” he confesses. 

“I’ve got enough room for two,” you state, so absolutely sure the pollen will accommodate that you don’t even need to think about it. Both Wade and Logan suck in a breath at that idea.

“Fuck, baby, aren’t you just perfect,” Logan drawls, grabbing you by the hips as you stand up and pulling you to the pathetic twin bed this apartment was provided with. Not how you wanted this first time to go down but hey, at least it’s going down at all. No longer just a dirty fantasy you bury your fingers into your cunt imagining but a real bonafide liaison (boner-fide liaison, Wade’s voice in your head pipes up).

You paw at his jeans, desperate to have all three of you naked and ready. There’s nothing to hide between you any more. Any boundaries have been not only crossed but decimated, absolutely destroyed beyond repair, and you couldn’t be happier. When his cock falls heavy into your palm you can’t help but suck air in through your teeth at its sheer size. Logan chuckles, gravelly and tempting.

“Oh it’ll fit, baby,” he coos, as if reading your mind. Fuck. Yep, it will. There’s no two ways about it. You’re having both Wade and Logan inside you if it kills you.

He wraps you in his arms before you can have any more thoughts on the matter and pulls you down onto the mattress with him, the pollen in your veins making you feel every touch like the end of a live wire - yet you keep coming back to get shocked. Logan positions himself under you, chest-to-chest, grinning at the way your nipples rub against the coarse and gorgeous hair of his chest. There’s a slapping noise and you realise it’s Wade’s hand on Logan’s thigh, encouraging him to move up the bed.

“Big boy, you know you have to scoot up if this is happening. I’m all for fucking the same pussy together but you have to be realistic…”

Obscured by your body, only you get to see the way Logan rolls his eyes fondly at Wade’s blabbering. He manouveurs you both to allow Wade room to kneel on the mattress behind you and you gasp at the feeling of their cocks bullying at your entrance.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, body on fire and desperate to be extinguished by them. Logan hums in your ear.

“I know, baby, I know. We’ll take care of you.”

“And each other. I got sex-pollened too, old man,” Wade harrumphs, rubbing his head against the slick lips of your cunt. 

“Nobody’s forgetting you, princess,” he murmurs, “now be good and put me inside.”

Logan probably misses the soft hiss Wade lets out at that, but you feel the way the mercenary’s hand wraps around his cock and presses Logan to your empty cunt. You moan in pleasure as he follows the path Wade has laid out and pushes himself inside of you, no resistance given. It takes you only a couple of seconds to adjust to the pure size of him. Holy shit, if this were any other time you’d be falling apart by now, but the way your body pumps with desperation suggests one dick alone isn’t going to be enough.

“You okay?” Logan rumbles by your ear. You cling onto him for dear life, nodding.

“Yeah. Fuck, Wade, I know you’ll fit, you’ve gotta fuck me too.”

Wade doesn’t even have an answer for that. Instead you feel his thumb tug at your lips, stretching you for him - or just watching the way Logan fills you, getting off on the filthy way you’re plugged. Another cock begins to press at your already stuffed hole and you whine.

“S’okay, I gotcha,” Logan says through gritted teeth as he feels Wade’s length slide along his own, the feeling almost overwhelming for him. You drop your head to his shoulder and choke on your own spit as Wade forces himself inside of you. Your cunt feels like it is about to burst into flames in the most satisfying way possible, flowering open between them both.

“Fuck, never felt anything so goddamn tight in my life…” Wade manages. Eventually he bottoms out alongside Logan, both of them sitting snugly inside of you, sharing you, clutched in your warmth. 

“There we go,” Logan growls. “You okay, baby?”

Not knowing if the question is aimed at you or Wade you both whine a yes. Logan laughs and you feel his chest move beneath you, all muscle and heat.

“I’m gonna move now.”

He drags himself out of you, inch by glorious inch, like a match striking against a box and sparking an ember. A deep ragged breath shudders through you at the feeling of it but it is nothing compared to how he slams back inside. Lights flood your periphery. You are going to fucking die between these two men and that is fine. Heaven, even.

Once Wade feels Logan’s rhythm it is too much of a competition for him not to match it. The mercenary’s arms fall either side of your bodies to support himself as he works himself in and out of you, sliding deep as Logan retreats to the tip. Your cunt makes a lewd noise as they piston inside of you and you have never cared about anything less in your life. You are bathed in light, high off this, euphoric over being fucked. A tiny rivulet of drool falls from the edge of your mouth into Logan’s chest hair and he curses at the glorious rawness of it all.

Above you, Wade has finally found his voice again.

“Look at you taking us so well. Oh, fuck, goddamn. I’ve wanted you like this for so long. Remember when we were neighbours, honey? Those guys who you used to bring home… fuck, baby… I used to give myself the old low-five to the sound of you getting fucked…”

You make a pathetic little noise which spurs him onwards. Wade’s mouth drops to your ear.

“...and I used to get angry because I knew I could do it better myself.”

“Oh my god Wade…” you whisper. Tears are beginning to pool in your eyes at the way you’re starting to get overstimulated, two cocks hitting that sweet spot inside you verges on being too much. Were the pollen not still in full force you’re sure you’d need to tap out.

“And you?” Wade’s hand grips Logan’s bicep, squeezing appreciatively. “Do you know what it’s like to wake up every morning and see you shirtless on my couch, and not be able to fuck you? You do it on purpose, peanut, I swear…”

Logan chuckles again, that deep honey-rich sound eked out in magnitudes. 

“And what if I do, Red?”

Wade pauses in his thrusting, you don’t have to see him to know that his eyes are wide.

“Wait, what? For real?”

“Wade!” you whine, reaching over to slap at his arm, annoyed that he’s stopped moving. “Can we all just agree we’ve gotten off to the thought of each other and we’d have fucked eventually anyway?”

The men either side of you seem to think it’s a good compromise to come to and redouble their efforts. All you can do is to cling onto whatever muscles you’re able to find and ride the wave of pleasure. Fireworks go off in your synapses, brain a messy goo of euphoria, cunt fucked out and thoroughly taken care of. 

They speed up, thrusts getting messy and arrhythmic and yet still somehow matching, and you know that they’re going to come together. What a fucking treat, how divine, oh god. Logan’s hands sink into your ass to keep you anchored as his cock goes faster, skin slapping on skin as his sac moves against Wade’s - causing the merc to let out a string of curses - and you’re suddenly flooded with his warm, sticky cum pumping inside you in jets. Wade whines at the feeling of himself being doused and follows Logan’s lead. The filthy cocktail of them drips around both their lengths and out of your hole, falling onto the pathetic mattress below. One last little nudge of the hips is all it takes to push you over the edge again. Your next orgasm is dragged out of you… but you know your body will demand more.

For now, though, respite. The urge to reach that peak again immediately has at least settled for the moment.

“Holy fuck,” you sigh. Logan hums an affirmative note, fingers playing with the small of your back as Wade peppers kisses across your shoulderblades.

“We should go on stakeouts more often, if this is the nice little bow everything gets tied up in,” Wade sighs, dreamily. You nod against Logan’s chest. His hair rubs your cheek deliciously. Your pussy throbs again, reminding you this dirty escapade needs to continue soon. “So what does this mean? Are we a little mutant charcuterie now?”

Your brow furrows as you try to parse what Wade has just said.

“Oh. Wade, baby, do you mean ‘coterie’?”

Logan bursts out laughing, a noise you’ve never properly heard before, and it has you grinning - and Wade, too, even though he grumbles a little at being corrected. Their cocks jostle inside you and you feel them getting hard again and, as you prepare yourself for round two, it’s nice to know that whatever the three of you face at the end of this will be happy.

Three days later, you’re laid across the couch, head in Wade’s lap and legs in Logan’s, all tangled together as you get the single worst telling-off of your life.

“Non-lethal mission, Wade! How many times did I have to tell you, it was meant to be non-lethal!” Piotr shouts down the line. Wade grimaces.

“Look, there were other things we had to sort out first, okay? We kinda forgot about the no-killing part. Besides the guy can’t traffic drugs if he’s dead,” he confesses. You can picture Piotr’s disappointed face.

“Other things!? WHAT other things, Wade?!”

“Okay so there was this horny pollen, and we all had to—”

Logan grabs Wade’s phone and hurls it across the room. It shatters into pieces against the wall. Wade gawps.

“Hey! That was new! Well, okay, not new, but it wasn’t cracked. Well, it was cracked, but it had all my best dick pics on there!”

“You can take new ones,” Logan states. 

You smile. Yeah. The charcuterie is nice.

[itneverendshere]

you and your sister going out to the store, and milo’s so wiggly in the cart and you over hear your sister tell him “go hang with uncle rafe” and he zooms to rafe and it’s so cute to see

thank you for the request!!! 🫶🏻🫂 it's so cute watching them all grow up/old together it kills me

i'd give up everything - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

It’s almost golden hour, and the parking lot of the grocery store is lit in that perfect, warm light that makes everything look prettier than it is. You’re pushing the cart while Monica’s next to you, holding onto Milo’s hand as he bounces with energy he clearly stole from the depths of kid’s chaos. It’s like he never stops.

You can’t remember the last time this kid sat still.

“Why did we even bring him?” You laugh, watching as Milo keeps trying to wriggle out of her grasp. "It's like he's allergic to being still."

Monica sighs, throwing you a half-hearted grin. “I know, right? Kid’s got more energy than I did in college.”

Milo makes a break for it, slipping out of her hold and darting towards the cart. He’s got this wild grin on his face like it’s the most fun game in the world. And to be fair, it kinda is. His growing legs are sprinting towards the cart before Monica can even react.

“Come on, Milo!” she calls after him, rolling her eyes but not too mad about it. She’s used to this routine by now.

You scoop him up, plopping him back into the shopping cart with a laugh, wheezing in the process because wow he’s grown now. “I got him,” You say, but he’s already jumping, trying to climb out like some mini escape artist. His hands grip the edge, feet kicking out as he tries to launch himself toward freedom.

“You know who’s better at wrangling this kid?” Monica says with a smirk, like she’s got the perfect plan up her sleeve.

“Don’t say it,” You warn, knowing exactly where this is going.

“Go hang with Uncle Rafe,” she sing-songs, like it’s the solution to every kid problem in the world.

And, of course, the second the words leave her mouth, Milo’s entire face lights up. He lets out this high-pitched squeal, the kind that only a soon to be six-year-old can make without bursting their vocal cords, and he’s off. He shimmies out of the cart like a squirrel, landing on the pavement with all the grace of a tiny athlete.

“Milo, wait!” You laugh, but honestly, you don’t even try to stop him. The kid’s determined, and you all know where he’s headed.

Rafe’s leaning against the hood of his truck, looking way too cool for a grocery store run. He’s on his phone, completely oblivious to the tornado zooming his way.

Milo barrels into his legs with full toddler force, grabbing onto his jeans like his life depends on it. “Unca Rafe!” he shouts, voice so full of excitement it makes your heart flip. 

Rafe looks down, caught off guard, but then his face softens into this smile that’s...it’s so unfair how cute he is. How does he manage to go from looking like the most intimidating guy in the world to this softie in two seconds flat? It’s criminal, really.

“Well, hey, little man,” He says, tucking his phone into his pocket and crouching down to Milo’s level. “What’s up? You causin' trouble already?”

Milo giggles, throwing his arms around Rafe’s neck in the clumsiest, cutest hug. Rafe lifts him up with ease, like he weights nothing, holding him against his chest like he’s done it a thousand times before — which, honestly, he kinda has. 

You lean against the cart, watching the whole scene unfold, and you can’t help but smile. It’s such a simple thing, but the way Rafe is with Milo always gets you. Like, he’s got this side to him that not a lot of people see, this soft, caring, protective side that only comes out when he’s with the people he loves. And watching him with your nephew? Yeah, it makes you feel things. Big, mushy, embarrassing things.

“He’s obsessed with you, you know,” You say as you walk up to them, folding your arms over your chest and raising an eyebrow.

Your boyfriend gives you this cocky grin, holding Milo with one arm like it’s nothing. “Can you blame him?” he teases, winking. “He’s just like his auntie.”

Even though you roll your eyes at his teasing, there’s no denying that he’s right. Milo is kind of like you—especially in the way he seems totally infatuated with Rafe.

You can’t blame him.

“I don’t know who you think you’re flattering right now,” you reply, smirking as you grab a few of the grocery bags from the cart. “But fine, I’ll give you that. Kid’s got good taste.”

Rafe chuckles, the sound low and warm, while Milo tugs at the collar of his t-shirt, trying to get his attention again. “Unca Rafe, can I go in the truck?” Milo asks, bouncing with the same boundless energy that’s been following him all day. You really miss the days he called him Rafey.

He raises an eyebrow, glancing at you for approval like the responsible uncle he pretends to be sometimes. “What do you think? You wanna let him play around inside?”

You shrug, already giving in because, let’s be real, there’s no stopping Milo when he’s this excited. “As long as he doesn’t drive off, I’m good.”

“No promises, baby."

Before you can say anything, Rafe’s already tossing Milo into the air, earning a high-pitched squeal that echoes through the parking lot. You can’t help but watch, feeling that familiar tug of affection as he catches him effortlessly, setting him down in the open passenger door of his truck.

Milo immediately starts pressing all the buttons, making the truck beep and flash like he’s setting off a mini-light show, but Rafe doesn’t seem fazed in the slightest. He’s leaning back against the side of the truck, crossing his arms as he watches Milo with the prettiest smile on his face. 

Monica finishes loading the last of the bags into her car, and she glances over at the scene unfolding in front of you with a smirk. “He’s a natural, huh?” she says quietly, nudging you with her elbow. 

You try to play it cool, even though your heart’s swelling in your chest. “Yeah, he’s alright,” you joke, but the truth is written all over your face. You’re totally, hopelessly in love with the guy standing there, pretending not to care that Milo’s probably activating every feature his truck has to offer.

Your sister gives you a knowing look, like she can see straight through your attempt to be nonchalant. “Milo’s lucky. He’s got you both wrapped around his little finger.”

You laugh because, yeah, that’s probably true. Milo’s got this charm that no one in your family can resist, and Rafe’s just as guilty of it as you are.

As if on cue, Milo pops his head out of the truck window, eyes wide with excitement. “Unca Rafe, can I honk the horn?”

Rafe shoots you a glance, “Should I let him?”

You sigh dramatically, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “Go ahead. Just don’t blame me if he thinks he can do this every time.”

Rafe laughs, reaching over to ruffle Milo’s hair. “Alright, little man. One honk. Make it count.”

Milo slams his tiny hand down on the horn, the loud sound blaring across the parking lot, and you wince even though you knew it was coming. Rafe’s laughing, Milo’s giggling like he’s just pulled off the prank of the century, and you—well, you’re just standing there, taking it all in, wondering how you got so lucky.

It’s moments like this that make you realize how different things are now. Two and a half years ago, if someone had told you that Rafe Cameron—golden boy, Kook prince, with a reputation for being that guy—would be standing here, playing the perfect role of doting uncle to your nephew, you probably would’ve laughed in their face.

But here he is. 

And here you are, watching the two most important boys in your life bond over something as simple as honking a horn. Rafe catches your eye again, his grin softening as Milo scrambles back into the truck, happily babbling to himself about how loud it was.

“Think he’s ready to drive it for real?” Rafe jokes, stepping closer to you.

“Absolutely not,” you laugh, shaking your head. “But thanks for getting him all wound up right before we’re supposed to head home.”

Rafe shrugs, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “What can I say? He’s fun to mess with.”

You roll your eyes but lean into him, enjoying the warmth of his touch. “Yeah, well, you’re the one who’s gonna have to deal with him next time he demands a honk.”

Rafe chuckles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you both watch Milo crawl back over to the driver’s seat, completely mesmerized by the truck’s dashboard, “You know I love it.”

You glance up at him, and for a second, you feel this overwhelming sense of gratitude—like you’ve somehow stumbled into the best version of your life without even realizing it. This is the guy who has seen you at your worst, dealt with your stubborn streak, and still chooses to stick around. And not just stick around—he’s fully here, present, loving your nephew like he’s been part of your family all along.

You can’t believe he only left rehab a month ago. 

“Okay, but seriously,” Monica says, glancing between you and Rafe, “How am I ever going to survive without seeing you being in love every day? It’s sickening.”

You can’t help but snort, nudging Rafe with your shoulder. “Sickening, huh?”

“Pleases,” she rolls her eyes but is smiling. “I can’t believe you’re moving together.”

“Moving in?” Milo suddenly chimes in, his head popping out of the truck window like a jack-in-the-box. “Are you gonna live with Uncle Rafe forever?”

You share a look with Rafe, and he raises his brows in mock surprise. “What? You don’t wanna share her?”

Milo’s eyes widen, contemplating this monumental decision as if it were the biggest thing he’s ever had to think about. “Will I get to come visit?”

“Every day if you want,” Rafe assures him, still grinning as he crouches to Milo’s level again. “You can help us cook and make all the noise you want. We’ll even have a trampoline in the backyard. Sound good?”

Milo claps his hands, clearly sold on the idea. “Yes! And can we have pizza every Friday?”

You chuckle, glancing at Rafe. “I think we can manage that.”

[lazycats-stuff]

Hiiii! I was wondering if u could so a batfam x deaf male reader? Where everyone in the family knows sign language and all that. But during one of Bruce's galas the reader gets kidnapped and no one's knows until Damian notices that his younger brothers not there anymore? U can decide how u wanna finish it and its completely if Ur not comfortable writing it. Also I love Ur writing 😙

Oh hell yeah. Thank you for loving my questionable writing though.

Summary: (Y/N) is deaf. That doesn't help him when he gets kidnapped.

Warnings: kidnapping, protective family, fluff I guess...

Bruce was protective of all of his children. But he was more protective of (Y/N), his youngest child. Why? The reason is very simple. (Y/N) has been deaf since birth and that made Bruce beyond protective. (Y/N)'s brothers were no better than Bruce. Of course, they knew that deaf people could function normally in society. They knew that very well.

However, problem lies in two points.

First one being that they live in Gotham City. Crime is rampant, criminals are absolutely everywhere and the fact is that you get mugged at any point during the day or night. Although most of criminal life in Gotham operates during the night, no one wants to take any chances.

And even though (Y/N) doesn't go on patrol, Bruce still worried about his youngest son. Always has and always been.

The four birds shared the same sentiment. Everyone made sure to learn sign language and how to live with a deaf person. Rules were determined, such as, if entering (Y/N)'s room, just push your hand in and then flicker the lights on and off to signalize that you are entering. Don't approach (Y/N) from behind because he would often get spooked.

(Y/N)'s own words.

The second problem lies in the last name Wayne. Bruce Wayne is a well known businessman in the world. And the world of business is like a sea full of sharks. Bruce knew that very well. One drop of blood and they would be out for you and your weaknesses. And one of those is your public image.

Bruce was a proud father, attending anything that his children might have. Anything there is. He wants to be there for his kids, sue him. He would never allow work to take him away from his children. And the way he presents himself in the public is the way he is. More often than not, he hates how many people can be ignorant about deafness.

Sure, some may be genuinely curious about it and the questions come from a genuine place of interest. Unfortunately, such people are far few in between. Bruce can sniff them out rather quickly. More often then not, they often look condescending. Which is a rather judgmental way of looking at people, yes, but it's obvious.

Whenever they had a gall, one of the boys would be with (Y/N) to translate. And despite the fact that (Y/N) can read lips, he's not a fan of that. If someone turns their head and he can't see their lips, it gets more complicated.

Even now, as they are at the gala full of people, (Y/N) stuck close to his brothers, needing a translator. Bruce and others often rotated, to make sure that (Y/N) knows what's going on and that he's in the loop. (Y/N) was happy with that he wasn't out of the loop. It's not a good feeling to be out of the loop. Hearing or not.

He signed to Jason that he was going to go to the bathroom, who nodded, sipping his drink.

Jason signed back. " Sure, go ahead. I'll be moving around so don't expect to find me here. "

(Y/N) nodded and started walking to the bathroom. Jason glanced at him for the last time before moving to the table with food, ready for a snack. He was hungry and the catering at galas is just great since rich people pay for it. AKA Bruce Wayne pays for it and he also loves good food.

As Jason went to the food table, (Y/N) was on his way to the bathroom. He was about to enter when someone grabbed him from behind, putting a cloth over his mouth. (Y/N) panicked and tried to remember the self defense that he was taught. He tried to break free from the person, but the smell of the cloth made him go out cold.

Something was off. Damian glanced around the room, trying to spot what that something could have been bothering him so much. His eyes moved around the room, trained to find anything out of the normal. Then it hit him.

Where is (Y/N)?

Damian moved around the room discreetly, trying to figure out where he went. He talked to Jason about it and Jason told him about (Y/N) going to the bathroom. But that was far too long ago... Damian now became more suspicious and worried. He was on edge. He could feel himself getting more and more restless, his mind screaming at him that something is wrong.

He quickly walked over to his family as they all took a chance to breathe on the balcony. Damian made sure that they had some sort of privacy.

" Are you alright Damian? " Bruce asked, glancing over Damian. He could feel that something is wrong with Damian.

" I'm not alright father. I can't seem to find (Y/N) anywhere. " He crossed his arms as he leaned on the railing of the balcony. Everyone tensed up at that.

" Hold on, he went to the bathroom the last time I talked to him, " Jason declared and Damian nodded.

" But it's been far too long though, " Damian countered the point.

" Did he come to anyone, at all? " Bruce asked and everyone shook their heads.

" Okay, maybe he went to his room, " Tim said, trying to provide a logical explanation. " But he would have told one of us where he would go. He would find one of us and he would tell us... " Tim muttered, now worried himself.

" Should we check the security cameras? " Dick asked, worried, but trying not to show it.

" I'll check the cameras near the bathroom. " Bruce took his phone out of his pocket and going into his security feed.

Jason remained silent, feeling guilty that he didn't notice sooner. Bruce noticed and put his hand on his shoulder. " Do not blame yourself Jason. Please. You couldn't have known. This is our home and none of us should be on guard in our own home, " Bruce murmured and Jason sighed.

Bruce brought Jason into a hug. " (Y/N)'s going to be fine. We are going to find him quickly. "

Dick and Tim furrowed their brows. " What do you mean? " Dick asked.

" You 4 have to swear to me that you won't tell (Y/N), " Bruce stepped away from Jason and everyone muttered that they won't tell.

" I put a tracker on his suit. It's a small one, " Bruce admitted and everyone was shocked by it. They knew that their suits that they wear for their vigilante activities have trackers on them, but a normal suit, for galas and other events...

" It's only when we are at galas and such. There's no tracker on him 24/7, " Bruce elaborated before his sons could accuse him of something.

" Well, we can't tell (Y/N). But lets go get (Y/N) please, " Tim said and everyone nodded.

" I'll have Alfred make something up and we'll make a story so it doesn't seem suspicious about why we didn't know (Y/N) was taken. "

And that's what happened. They concocted a story about it and once Batman dropped him off at GCPD, Bruce came in as a worried father. Media had a field day with the story, a father and son reuniting after a such traumatic event. Bruce couldn't care less about them, his sons are his priority. Screw the media.

Understandably, (Y/N) was shaken up by the entire ordeal. Anyone would be shaken up after being kidnapped in their own home, but with (Y/N) being deaf, he couldn't hear anyone walking up to him. Not to mention, they put a bag over his head. Being in the dark, not being able to hear...

It tugged at Bruce's heartstrings. The other 4 weren't immune either. Damian, the normally stoic one, was affected by that aspect. Even he saw how scary it was. Not being able to see due to the bag over your head and not being able to hear because you are deaf sounds like hell. Damian saw it as a form of torture. And in a way it is. Sensory depravation. Only being able to feel with your touch or feel vibrations, but still...

Damian still shuddered as he tried to envision it.

The other 3 shared the very same sentiment.

And even now, as (Y/N) was with them, on the couch, bundled up in blankets, sipping some herbal tea that Alfred made to calm him down. Both Bruce and Alfred were trying to calm him down too. Bruce was going to find a therapist for (Y/N), that much is sure. It would have to be someone who can sign though...

Well, he'll make sure to find one. For now, he'll focus on making sure that (Y/N) is calm enough to try and sleep. Buce knew that adrenaline was still pumping, but that it will stop soon and (Y/N) would essentially crash.

Everyone sat around (Y/N), trying to calm him and make him feel safe again. Bruce and Tim were going to see how in God's name they managed to get into the manor. This place is more safer than Pentagon, designed to keep any intruder out. And he was going to find out why they wanted to kidnap him.

The best bet was probably money, but then again, you never know. And Bruce was going to make sure that he knew why. You have to nip the problem in the bud.

[flying-fangirls]

As a music, religion, and literature nerd, the Dies Irae has been one of my favorite go-to pieces of trivia for a long time, which means that this line:

Has been driving me batshit BONKERS since part 42! And also as a semi-professional media analysis yapper, I figured I might as well dive into the exact reasons I jumped up and audibly gasped upon first hearing this line and have subsequently lost my mind since then. So!

Here is why I think that the Dies Irae is the perfect analogy for John and Arthur:

Religion

Let's start with the most straightforward meaning: "Dies Irae" is a Latin term, and it translates to the "Day of Wrath." Or otherwise known as the Judgement Day, the foretold second coming in Catholic canon, when Christ will "come again in glory to judge the living and the dead." It's at this Last Judgement where God will wield perfect justice to send the worthy to everlasting peace and the unworthy to everlasting punishment. (everyone say "thank you" to excessive childhood Catholic lessons for burning this into my brain)

There's a kind of irony to the fact that Arthur so vehemently rejects Christianity and religion as a whole, and that John spends much of his arc trying to distance himself from the role/identity of a god, yet both are given this incredibly religious title, effectively restricting them from ever forgetting the presence/influence of religion in their lives.

This title has a couple layers though, because we have to consider why it's the Day of Wrath specifically that represents Arthur and John. Now, I don't think I have to tell you that those two are bursting with anger 80% of the time. But I am going to tell you that those two are not just angry, but moreso "divine fury" incarnate.

The Day of Wrath, the Final Judgment, is the final and eternal judgment of God on all: "For now before the Judge severe / all hidden things must plain appear; / no crime can pass unpunished here." (Dies Irae, Dies Illa). The final Judge, the all-powerful God, can see the objective morality of every single person, and is thus the sole, rightful determiner of fate.

This assumption of their right to perfectly and single-handedly decide others' worthiness shows up over and over, not just John and Arthur's actions, but also in how they describe these judgments.

When Arthur kills the widow on the island, it's not because she was dangerous, but because she was a cultist who "deserved" to be punished.

When John and Arthur need to get rid of Mr. Scratch's stone, John says they should give it to "criminals" who are "deserving of this curse." Even though, just moments before, Arthur refused to give the stone to Oscar because to do so would be to cursing him to a fate of eternal suffering.

And I can't go into every single detail about the entire Larson plotline because this post would double in size, but it obviously needs to be included here. Possibly the strongest tie between this arc and the idea of the Dies Irae is Arthur's conviction through it all. Arthur vows that he is going to kill Larson in divine retribution not because he wants to, but because he has to. He even goes so far as to admit that killing Larson will be a mistake, a cruel and overly-bloodthirsty action that goes against his compassion. But killing Larson isn't a choice to Arthur, it is the unavoidable punishment for Larson's sins and Arthur is simply the enactor of justice. Just like the Final Judgment, there is no sympathy, no hesitancy— the judgment is absolute, divinely ordained, and cannot be stopped no matter how undeniably horrific it is.

If we look at the Catholic Catechism, principle 2302 states that it is sinful to kill out of desire, but that it is "praiseworthy to impose restitution" and use violence to "maintain justic." So even if Arthur has intent to kill, his actions count as divinely sanctioned. He is acting as the hand of God's punishment.

Over the course of Season 3 and 4, Arthur's fiery rage dies down to a more gentle simmer, but his conviction only seems to grow, and John follows suit. Despite previously reprimanding Arthur for his unquestioning wrath, John eventually becomes just as convinced that Larson "deserves" to face a wrathful reckoning. The "fact" that Larson is wholly unforgivable and is fated to receive eternal punishment becomes more indisputable in their minds, and they both stop questioning the morality of their intentions, entirely convinced of their judgment.

Throughout the story, Arthur and John insist upon the importance of kindness, compassion, and forgiveness, and say that these are the values that guide their every action. Yet, time and time again, they approach certain people with nothing but wrath and resentment. It's a sharp contrast to the benevolent figures they make themselves out to be, and Arthur and John are often blind to the contradiction because, in their eyes, they are still following those values in every action. And in the moments when they do recognize their horrific words or actions, they still cannot let their judgment go, convinced that it is their "duty" either way.

In Part 35, Arthur says "Just because you can't make the hard decision, doesn't mean it's wrong." This is exactly how John and Arthur view themselves. They know that some of their actions are harsh and violent and painful, but they are don't view that violence as wrong, because they are enacting that violence in justice. They move through life with carefully-selected destruction, culling the world of those they view as unforgivable sinners, and punishing them with divine righteousness. Arthur and John carry righteous fury in their every step, bringing the Day of Wrath down upon the world around them.

Now, there's already a ton of meaning just in this religious allusion alone. However, there's another application of the Dies Irae in modern culture, which brings us to the second side of this title:

Music

Back in the 13th century (sounds like a familiar setting...), friar Thomas of Celano wrote a poem for and about the Dies Irae. The poem was recited at Requiem Mass (church services to honor the dead), and it ended up being set to a Gregorian chant tune.

Over time, this melody has been used by a variety of composers, but the one we're focused on is Hector Berlioz. In 1837, Berlioz used the Dies Irae melody as part of his narrative symphony, Grand Messe de morts, in order to communicate that the main character had died. Then a lot of other composers saw that and said "Hey that's a cool idea!", and started also using this melody to represent death in their music. Nowadays, it's a fairly staple part of modern film and musical storytelling. If you've listened to literally any major soundtrack, then there's a good chance you've heard this motif (or a variation of it) used before. It's often subtle, sometimes loud and obvious, but no matter what, it reveals the inevitable presence of death. (essentially, the Dies Irae=death)

Now, obviously there's something tragically ironic about Arthur being likened to a musical motif when he tries so hard to distance himself from it, and there's something tragically ironic about John being associated with such a dark piece of music when he shows so much fascination and joy toward the art. Again, though, we've got some layers here. Yorick doesn't just compare Arthur and John to the Dies Irae, he literally defines them as the Dies Irae, a full embodiment of it.

Even before the story started, Arthur lost both of his parents, his friend and wife, his daughter, and his best friend.

John, when he was part of the King in Yellow, knew only how to harm and attack. In the Dark World, he falls back on this fearful lashing out with violence, harming even more people.

And throughout the story, John and Arthur seem to bring devastation to everyone else around them: Lilly the buopoth, Oscar, Noel, Collins, Daniel, Larson and Yellow.

The arrival of Dies Irae musical motif in a film always indicates that death is approaching or that is has already struck— a host carrying its blight to spread onto others. Just like the musical motif, the arrival of Arthur and John foretells the near-arrival of death. They play a duet together— John and Arthur, and death— always singing and dancing around and with each other.

These two never succumb to death, always finding a way to slip through its fingers and survive every situation. But they cannot escape death's presence because they are death's partner— singing the melody to death's subtle harmony. They cannot escape death because they are its host— destined to carry and spread devastation to death's victims. From the moment you meet John and Arthur, you know that death is inevitably approaching just a step behind, waiting to strike you down.

Whether it's the religious or musical side, we can see that John and Arthur are the literal embodiment of these allusions. They carry these powers and ideas in their every action and word, in their every step, in their very breath and blood.

Arthur and John. The hands of God's justice. The enactors of divine fury.

Arthur and John. The hosts of blight and destruction. The partner of death's song.

The man himself. The voice inside his head.

The Day of Wrath. The Dies Irae.

[artyandink]

breaking profiler’s block

SUMMARY: You and Spencer have a sorta thing going. All for your genius, there are times where, y’know, you get stumped, and that was dubbed ‘profiler’s block’ by you and Spencer. Well, he knew exactly how to fix that, and this isn’t the first time he’s helped you break it.

TW: Post-prison Reid, so basically it’s an extremely hot Reid, talk of asphyxiation murder, criminal psychology, unspecified relationship, talk of masochism, BAU!reader, relatable-ass profiler’s block which is the BAU version of writer’s block, smut

STW: oral (f. receiving), dirty talk, Spencer being kind of a little shit, softdom!Spence, profiling during eating out, pussydrunk!Spencer cause yes, threat of exhibitionism, praise kink, hair pulling kink, thigh slapping, slight degradation, filthy stuff guys, you’re welcome

A/N: I don’t think this kinda trope’s been done before, so here we go

NOW PLAYING: Side to Side by Ariana Grande

Think, c’mon, think. Though that’s a pretty impossible task when Spencer Reid’s eating your pussy like he’s on death row.

“Shh, sweetheart, use that pretty head.” Spencer murmured as he sucked on your clit, two fingers pumping relentlessly in and out of you. Long-ass fingers, talented-ass tongue— you were done for.

Every lady out there was done for in the presence of this man. You too, all you out there.

You and the team were currently in Vegas — Spencer’s turf — to try and find a man who was out there strangling low-end members of society. But you couldn’t think straight — not just in the current circumstance — but in general. You’d hit something that you and Spencer called ‘profiler’s block’, and lucky you that Spencer knew how to snap you out of it.

Not his first rodeo with you where that’s concerned.

Spencer used his free hand to shove your legs further apart, spreading you open with his two fingers so he could lap up everything he could from your dripping cunt, moaning when ambrosia hit his tongue. “You know the drill.” He panted, eyes rolling back briefly as you pulled on his hair— fuck, that’s good. “Strangles his victims. S’ that tell us, hm?”

You thought you said a coherent sentence, but apparently it came out jumbled, because a quick slap to your thigh by Spencer had you moaning out an answer. “He wants p-power — oh — and control— fuck.”

“Don’t stop there.” He murmured, lapping at your clit. “Or are you just so fucking drunk on my tongue? Huh? Imagine the team seeing you like this, can’t even say a sentence properly.” Now, that shouldn’t have felt as hot as it did, but you did clench around his fingers, which were reaching spots you didn’t know you had.

After a few moments of how the fuck is he this good, you managed to regain a bit of footing, your blissfully blank mind allowing for new, sweet clarity, even if it was brief. “Incompetent. O-Overcompensating. He’s killing brunettes with blue eyes, he’s got an authority figure in his life that makes him feel small.”

“Good girl— shit, such a good girl.” Spencer cooed, which had your eyes rolling back. Soft voice, low tone, his hand pressing down on your stomach to make you clench on his fingers, to feel him taking you apart by the fucking seams.

You couldn’t deny the praise kink. It was definitely there.

“Gonna fuck you so hard when you get this right.” When was a comforting thought amid his fingers curling against your g-spot deliciously— his fingers were hitting your g-spot. “You want that? Wanna get drunk on my cock, darling? Make you walk funny and have the BAU see what I do to you?”

Oh, god, you wanted that. Spencer wanted that too, wanted to feel your pussy in every way possible. The man was whipped for pussy, and with the sloppy way he was devouring yours, you’d say he got drunk on you before you had the chance to go delirious on his cock.

“Spence—” You were so close, it was embarrassing, but you couldn’t help it. But you knew the drill: no coming until you’d given a substantial profile. No coming until the profiler’s block was smashed through by his fingers working that one spot in you that had you seeing stars. “S’ close, can’t — ah, shit — don’t stop. He’s a white m-male, thirties, married possibly with kids, works a job — yes — that he’s not seen in and is a low paying job,” His tongue flattened against your clit, “h-he kills low end m-members of — mm — society because he’s a masochist. T-The p-pain of not going outside of h-his comfort zone feels like a r-release when he kills because he’s inflicting it on himself—” A third finger stretched you open, “Spence, m’ gonna—”

“Come, sweetheart.” Spencer murmured, harshly sucking on your clit to tip the dominos and make you come — hard — and sink into the mattress, your mind wiped clean, eyes rolling back and hips bucking against his mouth, hands roughly gripping your hips and holding you to his mouth so he could lap and swallow everything that you had to offer, every drop of come as he moaned sinfully against you— as if that made matters better.

White vision, satisfied pussy, that’s what Spencer Reid did to you.

And even as your vision was starting to return back to 18/20, the tip of his cock nudged against your cunt, fingers reaching to spread you open.

“Ready, darling?”

TAGLIST: @goldngguk @sweetpeachbombshell @slut-for-stiles @staple-your-mouth @daddyscrimsstuff

@dob-4-life @marcis-mixtapez @nonoreas0n @gabrielasilva1510

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@a-girl-who-loves-disney @jeneelsworld @deans-spinster-witch @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @kayleighwinchester

@cheynovak @tofics

[chickren]

the way that jaime and brienne are created to be unobtainable to each other is so damned delicious

brienne is the embodiment of virtue. so naturally she thinks jaime is an utter reprobate. irredeemable. and if she didn’t already know more of jaime’s crimes than anyone else on earth, he makes sure she knows the ones no one else ever pinned on him, like rossart. but the thing is, he longs to be considered just. he is dying to be thought honorable.

it rarely comes up in his chapters, but everyone else in the universe knows that he could have basically any woman he wanted. the only time you hear him even vaguely imply it is with catelyn, but it’s a known thing. then he encounters brienne. and she sits there, judging him, obviously wishing she had an excuse to kill him herself. she is not playing hard to get, she actually is impossible for him to get. how could this honorless criminal hope to tempt her? she is beyond his reach.

then you have jaime. a legendary beauty. born the heir to a great house, the most powerful house. he is considered the greatest swordsman in the land. and to top it all off, he’s not only a member of the kingsguard but is the lord commander. he’s both what brienne wants to be and what she wants to fuck.

and he immediately confirms for brienne that he thinks what everyone thinks: she’s ugly. she’s a woman in breeches who fights like a knight, which is grounds for more than half the people she meets to disdain her. and the things that might make her an attractive mate to some men are meaningless to jaime—her inheritance is inconsequential to him, he gave away more power than her lesser house would ever possess. he’s completely out of her league.

so what happens when you tell someone that something’s off-limits? when you say: “them? you can never have them.”

[anamericangirl]

A South Carolinan woman was arrested and held for 22 days in jail after being initially denied bond, but eventually released with an ankle monitor, after suffering a miscarriage of a wanted daughter in the second trimester and being charged with murder.

This is the horror of criminalizing abortion. Jail time for a miscarriage.

It's great that y'all send me these stories because the lies you and the media spread need to be exposed and I'm happy to be the one to expose you as the liar you are.

And I'm done being nice about this. Just so you know, spitting lies in my inbox doesn't work on me because I actually read the stories and will provide the context you maliciously leave out and show everyone that pro-aborts like you never tell the truth.

First of all, the story you are referring is about a woman named Amari Marsh and what actually happened here was she woke up in the middle of the night in a lot of pain and went to the bathroom where she gave birth to a live baby over the toilet.

Her boyfriend called 911 and dispatcher repeatedly told her to get the baby, who was still alive, out of the toilet but no one did. And the reason she gave for ignoring the dispatcher and just leaving her child to drown in the toilet was "“I couldn’t because I couldn’t even keep myself together.”

When the emergency responders arrived the baby was still in the toilet and still alive. They attempted to perform life saving procedures and rushed the baby to the hospital but sadly, the baby died while at the hospital.

The reason she was arrested is because she failed to remove her living daughter from the toilet as she was instructed to do several times by the dispatcher which ended up being "a proximate cause of her daughter’s death."

Anti-abortion laws had nothing to do with this case and the CNN article that reports on this story even includes that admission from the prosecutor even though it's at the end because, like you, they are liars and want people to believe this is somehow the fault of abortion bans when it's not.

So tell me, what do abortion laws have to do with this? What anti-abortion law is responsible for the death of a baby that was born alive?

This baby was born alive and her mother left her to die in the toilet. So she should not be charged for that?

And also, just going to add people like you always claim infanticide has nothing do with abortion and y'all are still laughing at Donald Trump for talking about babies being left to die after birth following failed abortions because iT dOeSnT't HaPpEn but here we have a case of it happening. This baby was born alive and left to die. This was a case of infanticide and you pro-aborts are immediately blaming anti-abortion laws but I thought abortion and infanticide aren't related so how come they are in this case?

Anyway, you should feel bad about how you presented this story. You should be ashamed of yourself for either being willing to lie to promote murder or being too lazy and stupid to actually read about the case before spreading blatant disinformation.

I know me responding to you with what really happened will not change anything for you and you will continue to lie and spread disinformation because the reason you are willing to do that in the first place is a serious flaw in your character that will only change when you decide to be a better person but at the very least people reading this will know not to ever trust these claims from pro-aborts because it's always a lie.

So please keep sending these because it helps everyone see that pro-aborts are bad people who lie about everything.

[theunholyvirginemilyprentiss]

I love all the Criminal Minds fandom girlies. The Spencer girlies are so deep and romantic. The Hotch girlies just give me ‘pretty girl’ energy. The Garcia girlies are adorkable rays of sunshine. And the Jemily girlies are feral sexually confused gremlins with raging mommy issues. I love it here—I am amongst my people…

(Kinda tempted to make some aesthetic boards for this not gonna lie—send me a request if anyone want that)

[reidmania]

Every night i go to bed praying for new mgg pictures by the time i wake up.

[mogamuncher]

Heeey I'm back! It's finally time for the full Cakeverse analysis gang!

Ok, so, for a refresher:

There's the Forks, the Cakes and the Plates (normal people), and it goes like this:

Plates are just normal people, the majority of the world population, nothing new here.

Forks: Can't taste and sometimes can't smell either, sometimes they used be able to taste but lost it with age; either way, they can only ever taste cakes.

Cakes: Basically normal people except that they're delicious, everything from them (flesh, tears, saliva, etc) tastes like cake (or other foods if you want). You can't tell who's a cake or not unless you're a Fork that's tasting them in some way.

Now, I have to add some stuff that's really interesting and that the og author said, that we'll be getting into today.

• Forks go absolutely bat shit insane when they taste the Cakes most of the time, that can lead to a lot of things, cannibalism, sex, or (if you're cultured) both.

• Both Cakes and Forks suffer from their own societal plights. Cakes die a lot, and Forks when discovered are instantly pinned as murderers, criminals and perverts, even if they haven't done anything wrong yet.

• Cakes can derail a Fork's entire life, and Forks are like sin and temptation to Cakes.

Now, I want to talk about these because they absolutely fucking vexed me and now I want to make this all of y'all's problem.

「The First Taste」

It's essentially a common rule as said by the author that the Forks go insane after feeling the taste of a Cake, now, let's talk about: Why?

See, Cakeverse is technically an Au based from the likes of Omegaverse, which you can see by the structure being similar to Alpha/Beta/Omega with the three types of people out there. But, in ABO the Alphas going insane is due to a specific event, heats, which are there specifically for reproduction and are said to bring out animal instincts out of people's control, while Forks are based on simply taste, food, and not something as biological.

Of course it's up to the individual writer to an extent, but my interpretation of why Forks lose it when they taste Cakes is more psychological when compared to Alphas in the Omegaverse.

Imagine that you are completely unable to see color, never once have you seen one, you grew up hearing all about how wonderful colors are, you saw others compliment the colors of several works of art, you heard all about the colors of the world around you, but all that you see is beige and grey. Now, imagine that one day you bump into someone, and suddenly you're able to see all the colors, for the first time ever in your life, you can finally experience blue skies and green grass, you can see the same way the rest of the world sees, something that was fundamentally missing from you is finally gifted to you by this stranger on a silver tray.

You're finally complete.

That's the reality of what Forks go through, years of eating tasteless food, seeing people enjoy food wholeheartedly and rant about the tastes, hearing about the differences between expensive food and cheap food, and then suddenly finally tasting cake. Of course they go insane and fixate on it, it's like the final puzzle piece finally sliding into place, something that they've been missing this whole time being manifested with only a taste.

Before, eating was a chore, something simply to survive there was no joy in it, no fun to be found in desserts or snacks, but with only a single kiss the Fork finally feels what it is like to crave food, to want food for the taste.

Cakeverse in nature is oddly psychological, playing with the concept of taking away something extremely core to the human experience, taste. It's inherent and everyone has it, you'd probably feel like a freak of nature if you didn't have something while everyone else has, right?

That's what Cakes bring Forks; normalcy, joy and purpose, it's basically like a shot of endorphins all at once straight into your bloodstream, there's a good chance it'd hit like a truck and fuck you up majorly.

Forks acting rashly probably looks different than when Alphas do the same, because the motive is inherently different, but the desperation is arguably more raw.

A lot can be written on what that reaction would be:

Immediately trying to taste the Cake (kissing, licking, biting), trying to play cool only to strike later (potential kidnapping, manipulation, planning and scheming in general), the Fork can try to resist temptation or maybe the Cake can notice the extreme reaction and run away, maybe the Cake can instigate and bait the Fork to take a bite.

It could lead to fluff, to relationships starting, relationships ending, it could smut, it could be gory cannibalism, hell, it could be both.

Either way, the sheer amount of character study that could be made out of this tidbit alone is insane, and the story concepts don't stop there!

「We Do, In Fact, Live In a Society」

Cakes don't know who they are until it's too late, but I can imagine that in society they'd be treated with a lot of extra care if they are known beforehand, as they are constantly in risk of dying.

Imagine that they'd also be majorly babyfied, the "nooo poor babies that can't do anything wrong, poor helpless and weak Cakes, they clearly can't take care of themselves, they're so vulnerable, don't worry I'll speak for you to protect your honor" would be insane. Any Cake that consensually and willingly gets with a Fork will be doubted if they truly wanted to do it, think nosy people pulling them aside to ask if they're ok and pressing to see if they're abused, think people immediately thinking that Cakes can't consent to anything with a Fork on principle despite them being grown adults.

Online discourse would definitely have people saying "Cakes are minor coded" or some shit, mark my words.

While Forks would be instantly persecuted for everything. Because of something they didn't choose, that was inherited at birth, they now are fully seem as murderers, kidnappers, rapists and just the lowest of the low. People will gossip, people will get defensive, people will cower any time you slightly raise your voice, you're seen as a predator, treated no different than a wild bear. To society at large, you're an unruly dog, and all eyes will be on you forever, watching, waiting for the day that you take a bite.

In a sense, it's almost like any Forks that do commit crimes instantly have a justification to do so, it's expected, really, you're a Fork, if course you'd snap one day. It's both maligned and normalized, everyone expects it and it almost gives Forks a reason to do so. Forever a self fulfilling prophecy.

Now I'm sorry that I'll keep bringing the Omegaverse up, it's just that it's really handy for comparison, but I find it fascinating that in a way, the societal effects of this are a mish mesh of the societal views seen in ABO, but like, in a way that doesn't make me want to vomit.

Can I be so fr with you guys right now? I don't like the societal parts of the Omegaverse, ever since I was a kid in the early hay days of the internet, that always made me uncomfortable, and it's also a bit lazy in a way. The problems in society with the Omegaverse are basically just Sexism, it's misogyny with mpreg, and a lot of fics end up feeling like a Handmaiden's Tale with mpreg. Replace Alphas with men and Omegas with Women and you get the Omegaverse, though it gets a bit interesting since there technically is a built-in "fuck or die" and aphrodisiac system with heats/ruts, but very few writers do something interesting with it.

My problem is that it's always either uncomfortable or outright boring, very little fics do it well and most of the time authors simply choose to side step it altogether, which I completely understand and actually prefer at this point.

I bring all this up because Cakeverse actually brings a lot of interesting concepts up in it's consequences on the world at large, the nature of Forks and Cakes mirrors a lot of real life concepts, but leaves enough fantastical elements that there's still intrigue in what could be explored and seem from authors writing certain details of it.

Would there be Cake support groups? Would there be Fork rights activists? Would there be people who are both Forks and Cakes, like a hybrid type? What are different relationship types seen as in the eyes of society as a whole?

It's all so complicated and the problems are different between the both of them, also, they're evenly split, which is a breath of fresh air.

Now, it's time to get even deeper into this, what are exactly Forks and Cakes relationship with each other like?

「Would You Still Love Me If I Was Cake?」

According to the author, Cakes can derail a Fork's life and Forks are temptation to Cakes. Now, why is that?

Imagine you're a Fork, living your life trying to do what you can with what's been handed to you, probably being discriminated against if you haven't been able to hide it well, when suddenly you taste someone (kiss or by accident, like a shared water bottle), and next thing you know you lise your mind. Your entire world falls apart, thoughts of dreams, future, your own sense of morality, it all melts away like sugar in water because you just experienced heaven and now it's all you can think about.

Someone completely normal beforehand, suddenly driven to obsession with just one moment, an entire life detailed into the unknown because they just had a taste of cake, thoughts being all about one person and their taste, the inability to stop even you're desperate to do so. It's madness, and almost like a tragedy, doomed by their own personal narrative of Fork meets Cake, the Forks turns into a starving beast whether they want to or not.

But Cakes? Imagine you have someone you love, and they want you so badly it drives you mad, imagine kissing the same lips that want to be stained with your taste, imagine putting yourself in the way of jaws that any of these days can close down on you and swallow you whole. You're constantly in contact with someone that could just straight up eat you, consume you whole and leave nothing behind, but your heart aches for them, you present yourself in a silver platter again and again.

Maybe you want to be eaten, to be consumed. Maybe you like being wanted, maybe you enjoy providing something to to others, you made them so happy that it doesn't even matter to you that they are taking chunks out of you, you'll gladly let yourself be torn apart if it means someone else is satisfied.

It's all about the usage of "Cannibalism as a Metaphor for Love™", it's all about loving someone but constantly wanting to eat them into non-existence, it's about to struggle between your brain heart and stomach.

It's about having your cake and eating it too.

The themes, the metaphors, the opportunities are endless and frankly I'm driving myself insane just imagining all of it, the angst also would be utterly fucking insane, imagine you live someone and you eat them, wouldn't you be upset? You loved them and you killed them yourself, with your own hands, their taste is on your lips and you locked your plate clean.

I'm screaming and crying and throwing up as we speak, the number of things you can do here are endless, soooo. . . Let's talk about some of my ideas!

「All My Fanfiction Titles Are Just Songs」

Last post I basically tagged a bunch of fandoms that I wish would use this trope (I'll also be doing that with this post), so now I'm going to showing some of the ideas I had for this AU that I might or might not write in the future, all of which you guys are totally free to use as prompts as well (just tag me on them lmao)

So, going ship by ship:

「Loveit」: Dead Plate fanfic, Vincent x Rody, Fork!Vincent and Cake!Rody. I imagine that the moment Vincent finds out is during the Best Served Hot ending, after biting Rody's ear, his reaction would show instantly on his face and Rody would notice right away. After that it can lead to a lot of things, fighting, smut and cannibalism galore, their relationship would only get more complicated after such a discovery. Hell, you can even have Vincent find out earlier, if you truly want more juicy drama, maybe Vincent will attempt to make Rody into the meal instead of Mason this time? For funsies you could even reverse it, Rody as a Fork would be fascinating to see, him bonding with Vincent that he also can't taste anything, only for him to find out later that he can taste Vincent himself, holy shit the intrigue.

「Eat You」: Death Note, Lawlight, Fork!Light and Cake!L. Imagine Light both having to hide the fact that he's Kira, but also having to hide the fact that he's a Fork, imagine the never leaving stain that being a Fork would be on his own self-perception of perfection, imagine the so called god that punishes criminals also being considered a criminal by default in society's eyes if he's ever found out. Kira selling out his own kind because most criminals would likely be Forks (whether they were rightfully convicted or not), and then comes in L, a detective, a nuisance, Light's equal and a Cake. Maybe Lights would find that out later on, maybe while they're playing as friends in college or while chained together, and now L had effortlessly thrown another wrench in his life yet again by default, like they're meant to be opposed by fate itself, where Kira is a Fork L is a Cake. L would likely goad Light on, trying to bait Kira out, by any means necessary, even if it means being eaten.

「Eat You Piece by Piece」: Hear me out, Batjokes. Fork!Bruce having to hold himself back from breaking his own morals due to finding out Joker is a Cake, Fork!Joker only getting deeper into his Batman obsession after tasting a Cake!Batman, Both Forks bonded by not having taste, maybe both are Forks that differ on how they react to Cakes (Joker regularly eating them while Bruce retains his morals and chooses to not hurt them), maybe both Cakes that got here because they were almost eaten (different Batman and Joker origin stories?). The opportunities are all intriguing and promptly end in bloodshed, expect angst and discussions of what is moral, also just so much angst holy shit this shit hurts.

「I Eat Boys Up」: Dungeon Meshi, Labru, Fork!Laios and Cake!Labru. I'm thinking post canon by accident, maybe something like sharing utensils, and I'm going to be so fr with you right now, this story coming from me would be a lot of romanticism through food metaphors and unending smut, feral Laios is my equivalent of heroin and I could imagine him describing Kabru's taste in detail to him while eating him out. But if smut isn't your jam, exploring how Laios and his monster obsession, especially in the form of food, as someone who can't taste would be intriguing, in a story so closely tied to food, you have to wonder how it would all change if the main character couldn't even taste. Also, I doubt Kabru would take the knowledge of him being essentially prey well, so there's that bag of worms to go into if you want.

「Blame Gluttony」: This one is purely self indulgent but like, Re:Zero with any ship, Cake! Subaru and Fork!anyone else. Imagine Subaru's world doesn't have this Cakeverse nonsense at all, but the world he's transported to has, imagine how scary it would be that one loop he suddenly finds out that he's essentially universal prey here (maybe in the second loop with Elsa), imagine the weight of all the things that already are trying to kill him along with the fact that he's also got a new thing to worry about? Maybe instead of just the rabbit loop, there's now multiple loops where Subaru is eaten alive, maybe there's loops where his dear friends themselves are eating him. Can you imagine if Emilia was a Fork? If he found out after the kiss of death and she commented on the taste of his lips as he was dying, if it came up again after their kiss, Subaru having to tackle with his love and heart belonging to someone that would one day eat him whole. Imagine the witch not longer just wants to touch his heart or kiss him, but she also bites him when he tries to tell the secret. Imagine maybe Rem is also a Fork, imagine that his death by her hands also involved her tearing into him chunk by chunk. What if Otto was a Fork, what if Reinhard was one? Seriously all the opportunities are equally traumatizing and I'm living for it!

Honorable mentions include: Persona Shuake and Shuada (Fork!Protags and Cake!Detectives) for the optimal mutual murder extravaganza, Okegom DSP Satanivlis (Fork!Ivlis and Cake!Satanick) for a rare case of role swapping, South Park Kyman (any way works tbh) for mutually assured destruction, Slay the Princess (Fork!Princess and Cake!Birb) because themes, Soukouku (Fork!Dazai and Cake!Chuuya) for making canon even worse than it already is, frankly any investigrave game would be peak here, Hannigram for obvious reasons.

But that's all I have for now, so, what have we learned here?

We learned that: I'm mentally ill and you need to write about the Cakeverse NOW.

[hoe4hotchner]

Hi! Congrats on 3k love! So well deserved.

Stressor with Professor!Aaron Hotchner who have to deal with one of his students (she/her!Reader) which is a complete brat during his classes 🫣 ❤️

Thank you!!! ❤️

The art of provoking | [A.H]

Pairing: Professor!Hotch x fem!Reader CW: Smut, MDNI, 18+, power play, age gap (consenting adults), Hotch is the king of consent, also the minister of making sure you're okay, bratty behaviour, teasing, piv, student/professor relationship, authority. WC: 4.5k

Summary: Professor Hotchner navigates the challenges of a bratty student who tests his patience while concealing a deeper desire beneath their banter.

I'm sweating, i'm panting, my nose is suddenly not stuffed anymore!!!! I'm laughing uncomfortably in a good way. I went so overboard with this one that the only thing i can say is bon appétit, enjoy this very delicious meal i'm serving for you.

Join my Profiling 101 - 3k follower celebration here

           The lecture hall was quiet as Professor Hotchner stood at the front, his voice steady as he explained the finer points of criminal law. His presence was commanding, as always, and his students hung on to his every word - well, almost all of them.

           You sat near the back, arms crossed, your notebook untouched before you, except for the occasional bored doodles. You hadn’t written a single word, and the look of disinterest on your face hadn’t gone unnoticed. You always found a way to test him, whether arriving late to class, challenging his points with sarcastic remarks, or simply tuning out altogether.

           It wasn’t that you didn’t understand the material - you were one of his brightest students, in fact, you somehow managed to ace every single test despite your lack of attention in class - but you enjoyed pushing his buttons. There was something about the way his jaw clenched when you interrupted him, or the way his eyes would narrow whenever you challenged him. You liked getting a rise out of him, watching his usual exterior crack, even if only for a moment.

           Today was no different. As Professor Hotchner continued his lecture, you slowly raised your hand, an amused smile playing on your lips.

           “Yes?” he asked, pausing mid-sentence, his eyes locking on yours with that same unreadable expression.

           You leaned back in your chair, feigning innocence. “I was just wondering, Professor,” you began, your tone laced with mockery, “how much of what you’re saying actually applies in real-world scenarios? Or is this just another theoretical debate you like to have in your ivory tower up there?”

           The room went silent. A few of your classmates exchanged glances, but no one dared to laugh. They knew better than to cross Professor Hotchner, but you? You thrived on it.

           His jaw clenched slightly, but his expression remained calm. He stepped away from the podium, folding his arms across his chest as he regarded you with a cold stare.

           “Care to elaborate on that thought?” he asked, his voice dangerously smooth.

           You shrugged, sitting up a little straighter. “I just think maybe we should focus more on what actually happens out there,” you said, gesturing vaguely, “rather than talking about hypotheticals all the time.”

           Professor Hotchner nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “So you believe this class lacks practical application?”

           “Maybe just a little,” you replied, biting back a smirk. You knew exactly what you were doing.

           There was a brief silence, the tension thick in the room as he considered your words. Finally, he took a slow breath and walked toward the edge of the stage, his hands resting on the edge of the desk next to him.

           “Let me clarify something for you,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Everything I teach in this class is rooted in real-world cases - cases I’ve worked on personally. If you’d been paying attention instead of trying to undermine every point I make, you’d understand that.”

           You felt a flicker of satisfaction at the sharpness in his tone. He was getting annoyed. Good.

           “Of course, Professor,” you replied, feigning contrition. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

           His eyes narrowed slightly, and for a moment, you thought he might snap, might finally lose that calm, composed exterior he always wore. But instead, he straightened up, his gaze never leaving yours.

           “See me after class,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

           Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t expected that. Usually, he just brushed off your comments and moved on. But today… today was different. Something had shifted in the air, and the weight of it settled in the pit of your stomach.

           The rest of the lecture passed in a blur. You couldn’t focus, couldn’t even remember what he was talking about. All you could think about was what would happen after class. You’d pushed him too far this time, and now you were going to have to deal with the consequences.

           When the lecture finally ended, your classmates filtered out, casting curious glances in your direction. You stayed seated, watching as Professor gathered his papers at the front of the room. His movements were slow and deliberate, and it felt like he was taking his time just to make you wait.

           Eventually, the room was empty, and Professor Hotchner glanced up, his eyes meeting yours across the room.

           “Come here,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.

           You hesitated for a moment, then stood, walking down the aisle toward the front of the room. Your heart was racing now, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you neared him.

           He didn’t move as you approached, his eyes locked on yours, his expression unreadable. You stopped a few feet away, suddenly unsure of yourself, but you weren’t about to back down now.

           “Do you enjoy testing me?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

           You shrugged, playing it cool. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

           He stepped closer, closing the distance between you in an instant. He was towering over you, his presence even more intimidating than usual.

           “I think you do,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

           The air between you was thick with tension, and you could feel your pulse quicken as Professor Hotchner loomed above you, his eyes locked on yours. He was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from him, close enough to make you realize that you may have pushed him a little too far this time.

           His gaze was intense, scrutinizing as if he were trying to peel back the layers of your defiance to see what was really the root of it. You didn’t back down, though. You couldn’t - after all, this was the game you’d been playing for weeks, and retreating now would feel like defeat.

           “Testing you?” you repeated with a hint of mockery in your voice, though it wasn’t as sharp as before. “Maybe I just like seeing how much it takes to get under your skin.”

           His jaw tightened slightly at your words. He hadn’t expected you to admit to it, and certainly not with such brazen confidence. His eyes darkened, and his expression turned serious, a subtle shift that sent a thrill through you.

           “I think you enjoy this far more than you’re willing to admit,” he said slowly, his voice was calm. “You push and push, hoping to see where the line is. But what happens when you cross it?”

           Your breath hitched at the implication in his words, but you quickly recovered, masking your unease with a smirk. “I guess we’re about to find out, aren’t we?”

           Professor Hotchner's eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place - frustration? Amusement? It was hard to tell with him. He was always so controlled, so precise. Even now, standing this close, he hadn’t lost his composure.

           “You think you’re in control, don’t you?” His tone was quiet, almost too quiet, but there was an edge to it that made you shiver.

           You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything, he took another step toward you, closing the distance between you entirely. His voice dropped lower, more intimate, as he leaned in just enough that only you could hear him.

           “You’re not,” he murmured. His breath ghosted against your ear, sending a shockwave of heat through you, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. “And it’s about time you realized that.”

           The challenge in his tone hit you hard, stirring something deep inside, but you refused to give in so easily. You weren’t going to back down, no matter how intense the tension had become.

           You tilted your chin up slightly, meeting his gaze head-on. “You sure about that, Professor?” you replied, your voice soft but laced with defiance. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I’ve been getting exactly what I want.”

           His eyes flashed, getting darker, and for a brief moment, you wondered if you’d gone too far. He wasn’t just some professor to toy with - he was Aaron Hotchner, a man who commanded respect and had little patience for insolence who had climbed the ranks ever since he got his first position within the FBI. Yet, here you were, pushing him to the limit.

           But instead of snapping, his lips curled into a tight, almost predatory smile. “You think this is what you want? You’re playing a dangerous game.”

           His words hit you harder than you expected, the weight of them settling deep in your chest. You swallowed, suddenly feeling the anticipation between the two of you shift in a way that you couldn’t control, and the power dynamic you’d been clinging to started to slip through your fingers.

           Professor Hotchner took a step back, his eyes never leaving yours as he surveyed you, taking in your defiance, your composure - everything you’d used to mask what was really happening beneath the surface. The authority he commanded in the classroom extended here, too, as if there was no escape from the weight of it.

           “I think it’s time you understood something,” Hotch said, his voice low but firm. “You can’t keep walking into my class acting like you can undermine me and expect no consequences. If you think this is all just a game to push boundaries, you’re wrong.”

           You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words settle in. There was no denying the power he held in this moment, and for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were in control of what was happening between the two of you. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out.

           “Do you have anything to say?” His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable authority behind it that made it clear he wasn’t going to tolerate any more of your defiance.

           Your pulse raced as you searched for a response, but the smirk you usually relied on had faded. He watched you closely, waiting for you to either respond or break under the pressure, but you held his gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

           After a long, tense silence, you finally managed to speak, though your voice was softer than before. “And what if I don’t stop?”

           Professor Hotchner's gaze didn’t waver, but there was something different in his eyes now. Something darker, something that sent a thrill through you even as it made your stomach twist. His expression remained unreadable, his tone firm but quieter than before as he replied:

           “Then we’re going to have a problem. One that you’re not prepared to handle.”

           His words hung in the air, and for the first time, the reality of what you’d been toying with began to sink in. You’d pushed him far enough to break through the facade he kept up with the rest of the class, but in doing so, you had unleashed something far more vicious than you’d expected.

           And now, you had to decide if you were going to keep playing this game - or back down.

           He took a step closer again, his presence overwhelming as he looked down at you. His voice was calm, but the edge of authority was unmistakable.

           “Because if you don’t stop,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, “I’ll make sure you do.”

           Your breath caught in your throat, your mind racing as the full weight of the power play between the two of you settled in. The tension crackled in the air, and it was clear that whatever happened next was entirely up to you.

           You had crossed that line - now the question was whether you’d be able to handle what came next.

           The air in the room felt suffocating, it was thick with unspoken words and the electric pull between you. Professor Hotchner's eyes bore into yours, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze as he stepped even closer. Your heart pounded in your chest, the sense of control you’d been clinging to slipping further away with each passing second.

           Without warning, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist firmly but not painfully, pulling you forward. Before you could react, he backed you up against his desk, the hard surface pressing against the small of your back. His grip was commanding, as though this was the moment he'd been waiting for.

           “Enough is enough,” he muttered, his voice a low growl, his breath hot against your skin.

           The words barely had time to register before his free hand came to your waist, pushing you back onto the desk in one swift motion. You gasped, your other hand instinctively reaching out to brace yourself on the edge as he towered over you, his presence was overwhelming. Your heart raced, but you weren’t afraid - if anything, the surge of adrenaline coursing through you made everything feel sharper, more exhilarating.

           His hand tightened slightly on your waist as he leaned down, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. The weight of his charge pressed down on you, but instead of cowering, you met his gaze with equal fire. The challenge in your eyes hadn’t faded.

           And then, before you could say anything, his lips crashed against yours in a searing and desperate kiss.

           It wasn’t gentle - it was rough, a battle for dominance as his lips claimed yours with the intensity that had been building between the two of you for weeks now. The force of it sent a jolt through your body, your mind going blank as you were consumed by the sensation. You tried to pull back, to push him away, but the second your hands came to his chest, something shifted.

           Instead of shoving him off, you pulled him closer.

           Your hands fisted in his shirt, yanking him down as you kissed him back with equal ferocity. The tension between you exploded in that moment, your lips moving against his in a way that felt both angry and frantic, a clash of wills as neither of you was willing to back down. You felt his hands tighten on your waist, pulling you further against him as the kiss deepened.

           The sound of your own ragged breathing filled the air as you pushed yourself up from the desk, your body arching into his as you deepened the kiss, parting your lips slightly to let him in. You felt his hesitation for a split second before he gave in, his tongue sweeping into your mouth in a way that made your head spin.

           The intensity was overwhelming, every nerve in your body on fire as you kissed him harder, needing more. You felt his hands slide up your sides, gripping you tighter as he responded to the challenge, the kiss turning even more heated, more desperate.

           It was a power play in its rawest form, neither of you willing to give an inch, both of you consumed by the battle for control. The push and pull between you was intoxicating, and for the first time, you weren’t sure who was winning.

           Your lungs burned as you both finally broke apart for a split second, gasping for air. The room spun, your lips tingling from the force of his kiss, and you barely had time to process before Professor Hotchner moved. His hands gripped your hips, lifting you slightly as he flipped you over, your stomach coming to rest against the wooden surface of his desk.

           The movement was swift, almost effortless, and you couldn’t suppress the surprised gasp that escaped your lips. Your hands flew out to brace yourself against the desk, your chest pressing against the smooth surface as the world tilted beneath you.

           Your legs hung over the edge, toes barely touching the floor, but before you could shift your position, you felt his hand on your lower back, firm, keeping you in place. The pressure of his palm was grounding, heavy with control as he leaned in close, his breath warm against the nape of your neck.

           You shivered, but it wasn’t from fear. The tension had reached a fever pitch, and you could feel it in every inch of your body.

           Without a word, he slid his hand down your thigh, only to pause halfway, gripping firmly before nudging your feet apart. His touch was assertive but not rough, guiding, commanding. You felt a flush of heat as your legs spread slightly, feet planted more firmly on the ground now, creating just enough space for him to step closer, his presence looming over you.

           Your breath hitched as you felt his hand press firmly against your lower back, keeping you pinned in place. Every nerve in your body was on edge, the authority in his touch overwhelming yet thrilling. His warmth was so close, suffocating in the best way, and when his voice came again, low and commanding, it sent a shiver down your spine.

           “Stay right there,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.

           Your lips parted, and the words slipped out before you could stop them, breathy and submissive. “Yes, sir.”

           For a moment, there was only silence, but you felt him stiffen behind you, his grip tightening just slightly. Then, he chuckled softly, a dark, mocking sound that sent a jolt of heat through you.

           “Oh, so you do know how to follow orders,” Hotch murmured, his voice filled with amusement as he leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “And here I thought you were incapable of it.”

           His words dripped with sarcasm, and you clenched your fists against the desk, torn between the need to snap back at him and the overwhelming desire to submit. The way he mocked you, the condescension laced into every syllable, made your pulse race. He knew exactly what he was doing - pushing and prodding at the edges of your defiance, breaking you down piece by piece.

           His hands moved with a sharp precision, gripping the hem of your skirt as he flipped it up over your stomach in one swift motion. The cool air of the room hit the bare skin of your thighs, sending a jolt through your body as the fabric bunched around your waist, leaving you exposed to his gaze.

           He stood still for a moment, and you could feel his eyes on you, heavy and intense as if he were taking in every detail.

           “So quick to submit now,” he murmured, his voice dark and almost mocking again. “I wonder where all that attitude suddenly went.”

           His fingers grazed along the edge of your hips, teasingly light, and you had to fight the urge to arch back into his touch. Every movement was calculated, designed to remind you of who was in control now, and you knew he wasn’t about to let you forget it.

           Professor Hotchner's lips curved into a smirk as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Look at you," he whispered, his tone dripping with satisfaction. His fingers traced the edge of your panties, feeling the dampness that had gathered there.

           "You really are a brat, aren’t you?" he teased, his voice low and sultry. The way he pronounced each word made your heart race, a mix of embarrassment and excitement flooding your senses.

           His gaze lingered on you, taking in the flush that crept up your cheeks and the way you squirmed under his touch. "I didn’t expect you to get so worked up, but it seems you’re enjoying this a little too much," he continued, the smirk never leaving his lips.

           You could feel the heat radiating off your skin, the reality of the situation crashing over you. He had you right where he wanted you - vulnerable, exposed, and ready to follow his lead.

           Professor Hotchner's hand shot out, gripping a fistful of your hair as he pressed your body further into the desk. The sudden pull made you gasp, a rush of excitement coursing through you. He leaned over you, his weight settling against your back, creating a pressure that heightened the thrill of the moment.

           “You’ve been a real distraction in class,” he murmured his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. The way he held your hair firmly yet gently sent a mix of vulnerability and exhilaration through you, amplifying the tension in the air.

           With his body hovering above yours, you could feel the heat radiating from him, and it sent your heart racing. The cool surface of the desk contrasted sharply with the warmth of his presence, and you found it hard to focus on anything but him.

           “What are you going to do about it, Professor?” you challenged, your voice laced with desire.

           A smirk played on his lips as he tightened his grip on your hair, forcing you to arch your back slightly. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he replied, his voice thick with promise.

           He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, sending tingles throughout your body. “But first, you need to learn how to behave,” he whispered, the words igniting something deep within you.

           As Professor Hotchner pinned your body to the desk, his free hand snuck down to your waist, slowly maneuvering your panties down to your knees. You could feel him as he rubbed himself against your pussy. Jolts of excitement ran through your veins with each teasingly slow thrust.

           He couldn’t take it anymore. The tension had reached a boiling point, and he felt an overwhelming surge of desire pulse through him. He stepped back, allowing the space between you to grow, and a low growl escaped his lips, reverberating through the silence of the room as you tried to move, it was enough to keep you in your place.

           You felt the sudden shift. The sound of his belt unbuckling broke through the stillness, each metallic click sending a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t see him, but you could imagine the intense focus in his eyes, the way he held himself with an authority that both thrilled and terrified you.

           The soft hiss of his zipper being pulled down followed, and you felt your breath hitch, your heart racing as the anticipation built within you. You were acutely aware of the overwhelming silence surrounding you, punctuated only by the sound of your own heartbeat and the rustling of fabric.

           With every sound, your body responded, craving the connection you knew was coming, and the knowledge that he was just behind you, poised and powerful, left you utterly captivated, longing for what was to unfold.

           “Do you want this?” he murmured, his voice husky and laced with an edge of dominance that made your stomach flutter. It was both a question and a command, and the way he said it made your heart race even faster. The thrill of his control was intoxicating, sending a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

           You nodded instinctively, unable to form words, the desire bubbling just below the surface, threatening to overflow. The anticipation was a sweet torment, your body aching for his touch. The fluttering in your stomach intensified, the heat pooling deep within you, urging you to surrender completely.

           “Use your words,” he teased, a hint of amusement threading through his tone. “Tell me what you want.”

           The challenge in his voice ignited a spark of defiance within you, making you shiver in anticipation. You knew he wanted you to submit, to give in to the pleasure that hung in the air between you like an unbroken promise. It was both thrilling and terrifying, the power dynamic shifting and swirling around you like a tempest.

           “Please…” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, laced with longing. It felt like an admission of vulnerability, and yet the act of saying it sent a thrill through you, a reminder of the power in your own submission.

           “Good girl,” he replied, his voice low and velvety, sending another wave of heat coursing through you. The praise wrapped around you like a warm embrace, reinforcing the tension that filled the room.  "Will you behave?"

           "Yes sir, please I need it!" You begged.

           And with that he lined the tip of his cock with your soaking entrance, slowly pushing against it, filling you up with a shared moan resonating off the walls in the lecture hall. He set a slow pace as he rolled his hips against you, watching you squirm underneath him as you tried to push back against him to quicken the pace.

           It wasn't long before Hotch started thrusting into you harder and harder with each move of his hips. His thrusts were painstakingly harsh. You grabbed at the edge of his desk, whimpering with pleasure as jolts of pure bliss overtook you. You felt every part of your body respond to him.

           You felt as both of your releases washed over you, the warmth of his cum coating your walls as he filled you up.

           As the tension in the air began to dissipate, Professor Hotchner slowly pulled away, his breath still heavy against your skin. The room was filled with the remnants of what had just transpired, an electric pulse lingering between you both. He shifted his weight, allowing you to turn over, your eyes meeting his in the dim light of the office.

           Your heart raced, still echoing with the thrill of the moment. There was a vulnerability that hung in the air, and despite the heat of passion, a sense of intimacy enveloped you. You caught your breath, letting the silence settle as you and Hotch shared an unspoken understanding, one that transcended the physicality of what had just happened.

           His gaze softened as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and filled with concern. The authoritative demeanor was replaced by something more tender, a gentleness that surprised you.

           You nodded, your heart swelling at the sincerity in his eyes. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you came to your senses. There was a lingering shyness between you now, a recognition of the boundaries you had crossed together.

           His lips curled into a small, affectionate smile, and he leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft kiss that held promise and warmth. It was a stark contrast to the intensity of moments before, but it spoke volumes of the connection you shared.

           After pulling away, Professor Hotchner hesitated for a moment, his expression shifting to something more contemplative. “This can’t happen again in class,” he said, his tone serious but softened by the affection that lingered in his eyes. “It’s not professional.”

           You could only smile at his earnestness, knowing deep down that this was more than just a fleeting moment. “I know,” you replied, a playful glint in your eyes. “But maybe outside of class…”

           His laughter was deep and rich, filling the room with a warmth that made your heart flutter. “Maybe,” he mused, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. “But we’ll have to navigate this carefully.”

           You both shared a knowing look, a blend of excitement and uncertainty swirling between you.

[cosmicconversations]

Thoughts On Libra (Sun, Moon, Rising) 😍

LIBRA SUN

Those with the Sun in Libra are interesting people. They have complex personalities but tend to hide that behind some sort of veneer they think is acceptable. But, they are generally not phony people. In fact, they are the least likely to fit the stereotypical “fake nice” Libra mold. Many of them are quite assertive and have no issue fighting back or standing their ground. However, they will default to whatever they think is fair. But, fairness can mean convicting a criminal and sending them to prison. Libra Suns are like judges. They make objective and impartial assessments and they know how to get people to listen to them. If they are ever harsh, it is usually warranted. But, they can also become overly fixated on the idea of “justice”, which can make them a bitter enemy to have or bring out a vindictive streak. Relationships matter a lot to them but largely because they feel like others need them. Kind of like Cancer, they need to be needed; not so much emotionally but more so to give feedback, validation, and encouragement. When they are younger or not so self-aware, they may project this role on to others, feeling like they are the ones who need other people to thrive. But, no. They are the ones who keep their loved ones balanced. In a romantic context, they are the strong man/woman behind their partner. (But, they deserve the same support in return!) Their famous flaky or noncommittal streak can stem from insecurities regarding the pressure of being that support system. If they don’t see the value of their partnership or presence in others’ lives, they can become avoidant in response.

LIBRA MOON

Libra Moons have a hard time telling the difference between their need to keep the peace and their insecurities. An essential insecurity of theirs is being disliked or having someone else reject them. At the same time, it is hard for them to be fully honest with themselves about their emotions or motives. So, they may convince themselves that they are being thoughtful or kind when they are really just avoiding conflict or suppressing their needs or ignoring deeper feelings. It might seem like it doesn’t take much to make them happy. But, sometimes, they don’t actually know what makes them happy. Moon in Libra people tend to kiss the ground their mom/mother figure walks on. They put this parent on a pedestal and can struggle to acknowledge their actual issues with her. Doing so can give them major inner child healing they didn’t know they needed. They have to realize their needs matter, too! Many people with this Moon sign are very, very sweet and thoughtful. They feel very fulfilled by acts of kindness toward others and will go out of their way to make their family or friends or significant other feel special and loved. They are sensitive but in a more intellectual way. As Air Moons, it can be harder for them to grasp the emotional nuances of situations. Yet, they will always be there with a comforting word or a listening ear. But, less evolved or mature people with this placement could expect others to always be there for them or see their point of view while failing to realize they don’t give them the same consideration or support. Avoiding accountability can be their way of avoiding possible rejection.

LIBRA RISING

So, I agree. I think Libra Risings are really pretty. But, it is not just a physical thing, although it can be for many. With Venus influencing their Rising sign, a lot of them are blessed with a facial harmony and lovely features that go beyond genetics. Your energy and aura affect your appearance. So, since Libra Rising has such a lovely aura and energy, it is like they were just meant to be pleasing to look at. But, their overall vibe is highly attractive, as well. Without even trying, they charm and endear and win people over in any given situation. Most Libra Risings are never single, either always jumping from one relationship to the next or spending most of their life in a major connection, for better or worse. Select people with this placement may spend long periods single but still live their lives in ways that put others at the center, like being of service or always being there for the people they love. A fixation on fashion or passion for art can be other ways they strive to bring beauty or happiness to others. Let’s be honest, though. Some people with this placement can be horrifically fake. Not all of them, though. I feel like there are three types of Libra Risings. The first type has a “niceness” that is largely a facade, smiling in your face but then talking shit behind your back or being secretly manipulative. The second kind is genuinely super-sweet and caring, to the point where they either need to get better at asserting themselves or making sure others don’t take advantage of them. The first kind can often present themselves as the second but their true colors are eventually revealed. And the third type can be a little blunt and “tell it like it is” but only because they want others to do the same for them. So, they are treating them how they wanted to be treated. This is part of their charm and, in spite of their potential harshness, they are very likable and kindhearted.

[stayevildarling]

Emily Prentiss x Reader- You're the greatest thing I lost

A/N: I'm back after a little break. I have been binge watching criminal minds for weeks and am currently on Season 7. The last few episodes gave me this specific idea. I'm sure people must have done this before given the size of the fandom. 🤍

prompt: You watch Emily die on a mission, unable to cope with the aftermath of her passing until your supervisor Hotch gathers you all for an important meeting and your world spins around completely once more

tw/tags: female reader, mentions of death, mention of blood, mention of gunshots, mention of depression, mention of alcohol consumption, mention of smoking, mention of self destructive behaviour, mention of insomnia, mention of troubled eating, heavy angst, happy ending though as always

word count: 3.8k

taglist:

@lunaticwhittaker , @billiebeanhoward , @lanawinters-ily , @kenzbro , @minaslittleone , @httpfiftyshadesofgay @whitelotus00 , @ninaahs , @paulsonsratched , @vintagepaulson , @isle-of-earle , @grilledcheeseandguavajelly , @lucyintheskywithxanax , @fanfics4world , @mymiraclewitch , @hazard-to-myself , @awritersometimes , @wastdstime , @p1pecleanerwitheyes , @queen2234 , @ihartnat , @lifebyinez , @stepintomyworld , @ahsatanizgay , @blu3dimples

,,No'' Penelope's begging startles you, followed by JJ's ,,She never made it off the table''.

With tears streaming down your cheeks and panic deeply settled into your chest, you find yourself sitting upright in your bed, the little sleep you had managed to get lately, interrupted by another one of the nightmares. It had been the same for months, the lack of sleep, the exhaustion creeping deep into your bones, the headaches and the fight to stay awake during the day. Yet each night, you would lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling her beside you when in reality it was simply Sergio, trying to find some warmth beside you.

It had been hell, the mission, everything happening so fast as you and Morgan made it there, finding Emily on the floor, barely hanging on. The next thing you know, you had all been waiting in the hospital for hours, pacing back and forth before JJ shared the news. You couldn't breathe, collapsing into some bright bathroom, as the sheer panic gripped you. And it seems to have never quite left you, your chest always tight, your hands always shaking and your heart hurting every minute of every day.

The woman with dark brown hair and those brown eyes you could get lost in was gone. You had worked beside her and the BAU for several years, Morgan your partner at first until the three of you became the perfect trio. You worked well together, alongside Reid and Rossi and Hotch of course. There had always been a silent understanding between you and Emily, the deep trust that took a while to build, until the two of you knew you had each other's backs. But there was something else beside the trust, which you shared with other members of the team. There was something in each other's eyes that captivated you both. During a boring meeting, your eyes would find each other, silently communicating and remembering what gossip you would share over coffee afterwards.

An uncomfortable case or interrogation when either you knew Emily needed a break or this was getting to you a little much. A bumpy plane ride which Emily knew made you nervous and a gentle and subtle hand resting somewhere near you. In return, you knew exactly what got to her, certain cases, the paperwork in the middle of the night and so you kept her company, eventually growing close and seeing each other outside of work. It wasn't anything major, the occasional drinks after work, the occassional coffee before work but it had been obvious as neither of you minded it being simply the two of you rather than the whole team. Neither of you ever dared to express the underlying feelings and truths hidden beneath the smiles and the gentle strokes of each other's thumbs.

Emily had a feeling once, brushing it off as she wanted to focus on her work, and assuming that you couldn't be interested in her, when an unpleasant unsub on a case came a little too close to her and you sent him flying to the nearest wall. She had been impressed at first, but after giving it some time, she couldn't forget the expression on your face, more than it being your job, more than wanting to protect your partner. She had sensed love, in it's purest and truest forms but she brushed it off, despite her having the same feelings towards you, too busy with the cases piling up to ever adress what she had witnessed and what had been on her mind.

It had been the funeral that hit you the hardest, placing flowers on her coffin, standing beside Penelope as she held your hand, sobbing by your side while you remained with an empty expression on your face. You never cried in front of them, brushed Hotch's assessment aside as you couldn't talk about it but they had noticed. The long nights at your desk, the extensive research you had been doing on Doyle, helping Morgan find him and chasing nothing but revenge and making him pay for what he had caused. They noticed the bags under your eyes, the shaking of your hands and voice. And Reid has his suspicions about the contents of your coffee cup. Penelope worried as she never saw you eat anymore, at least around them and seeing how thin you had become. Yet throughout it all, you remained the best at what you are doing, profiling. You broke through even the toughest of cases with your team, often giving them important intel and chasing the unsubs down. And so neither of them could really do or say anything, simply watching you suffer in silence.

Your life had become dark, despite never really having Emily the way your heart had hoped, she was gone. No more smiles to share, no more silly gossip, no more running into missions with her, no one to comfort you on the plane, no one to get coffee or drinks with. And so your days had looked the same, working in the office until the late hours, long after the team had already left home. Stumbling home before forcing some small food down your throat in order not to pass out. Staring at the ceiling for hours, thinking of the woman suddenly gone from your life, getting little sleep before getting interrupted by the same nightmare. Like a robot, you got yourself in the shower and dressed, looking responsible for your day before grabbing a togo coffee and putting a little something in there in order to get you through the day.

At least three times a week you would stop by her grave, at first ever only managing to stay for a couple of minutes until it turned into hours. Sitting in front of her tombstone, no matter the pouring rain or blaring sun coming down on you as you would talk to her, cry over her, beg her to come back. The stages of grief hit you hard and each one was harder to overcome. The last couple of days had been different with you and Morgan finally chasing down the man responsible. When Morgan brought him into the BAU, you watched as anger bubbled over you, your fists clenching as you felt the urge to reach for your gun and cause him the same pain that he had inflicted upon you all. You weren't needed for the interview and you couldn't stomach it, so you remained by your desk. Yet the days leading up to this had you so exhausted, you felt on the verge of falling apart, your body barely keeping it together and the only thing getting you going the amount of caffeine in your body.

It's not until JJ finds you, asking you to join the others in the meeting room, that some adrenaline kicks back in, hoping on some updates with the case. You stand beside the table with the others, watching as they chat along. Seconds pass until your supervisor walks inside, having been gone for some months, his appearance different as he isn't wearing a suit and his facial hair grew in the past few months.

,,Welcome back'' one of them greets him, unable to quite make out who it is as everything arounds you feels a bit muffled due to your state of exhaustion.

,,Thanks. Everybody have a seat'' he encourages and his eyes fall upon you, and you reluctantly take a seat, worried you may fall asleep depending on the reason of this meeting.

,,Why? What's going on? Everything alright?'' the team almost asks in unison.

,,7 months ago I made a decision that affected this team. As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle.'' he begins.

Your eyes force closed, really not able to stomach another one of these meetings or even hearing her name.

,,But the doctors were able to stabilize her. And she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration. Her identity was strictly need-to-know. And she stayed there until she was well enough to travel. She was reassigned to Paris where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security.'' he explains, your whole world spins at his words, this feeling like another one of your nightmares.

,,She's alive?'' Penelope asks, tears already streaming down her cheeks.

,,But we buried her'' Spencer stutters, unable to believe a word your boss is telling you.

,,As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision. If anyone has any issues, they should be directed toward me'' he carries on and as you glance at Morgan, you can tell he is about to lose his temper.

,,Any issues? Yeah, I got issues'' he argues, staring at you in disbelief. You can't react, sitting there frozen, hoping you would wake up from this nightmare sometime soon, not able to stomach this change in your dreams and the option of her being alive. Your nails dig into your skin involuntarily, hoping this can wake you up.

,,Oh, my God'' they whisper and turn around in unison.

,,I am so sorry. I really am. Not a day went by that I didn't want to... Really, I-- you didn't deserve that. And I'm so sorry. There's so much I want to tell you guys, and I will. I promise. But right now I really need to know what's going on with Declan'' her voice cuts through the air, instantly bringing tears to your eyes, not being able to hide them this time.

You couldn't bear to look at her, the realisation slowly creeping in that this was far from a dream. Your eyes dart between JJ and Hotch, having figured by her positioning next to your boss that she had something to do with this, at least knowledge before you all did. Penelope is the first one up, taking the brunette into her arms.

Without another word you reach for your jacket, standing up before walking out of the room, ignoring their concerned faces and ignoring the woman's presence altogether, not being able to handle this. Somehow through the panic and tears and shock, you manage to make your way to the rooftop, your secret hideaway lately as no one ever really came there, fumbling the inside of your jacket pocket until you reach the packet of cigarettes and the lighter, quickly putting one between your lips before lighting it. For a moment it all seems to stop, the only noises the background noise of the usual busy city, your thoughts, emotions all stopping for a moment before they come crashing right back, forcing you to your knees and sliding down the wall, sitting in silence as the cigarette continues blowing smoke into the air around you.

,,Morgan follow her'' Hotch orders, knowing they needed you on this case. ,,I don't think we should'' Penelope tries, knowing how hard the last few months have been for you. ,,With your permission, I'll do it'' Emily offers but he shakes his head, ordering them to finish this interview first, knowing how time was running out and they needed answers fast. ,,Give her whatever time she needs, let's finish this case first'' he orders, thinking it through and they all nod, before getting back to work, Emily's mind unable to think of anything other than you or your wellbeing.

They had been so busy with the case and catching the man responsible for this that by the time they return, neither of them due to the adrenaline had noticed that you never ended up joining them again. Hotch is the first one in his office and on the desk, he finds your gun, credentials and your resignation. He sighs, having expected his decision to cause consequences, knowing the emotional torture this had been for you. Emily lingers by his door, wanting to check in whether he had heard anything when she connects the dots. „No“ she whispers, already having a bad feeling from your prior behavior. Hotch looks at her, the guilt written across his face before he takes a deep breath. „I will give her a few days before I make this official, she can change her mind until then and we never speak of this again“ he says, knowing this was the only thing he could really do to help. „Thank you“ Emily sighs in relief, hoping sincerely she could find you and fix this by then.

The team waits by the cubicle desks, hoping for some information but as Emily returns and tells them, they simply look down, understanding your decision. The brunette is quick to gather her stuff, telling them not to worry and that she will figure this out. Before she can reach Penelope‘s office, hoping she could maybe share some insight on your whereabouts, Derek stops her. „Emily.. you gotta understand what Y/N went through“ he sighs before she gives him a questoning look. „Haven‘t you all went through the same?“ she questions before he shakes his head. „Not like her, she‘s been a wreck, I haven‘t seen her smile since, you know she has been sitting at your grave almost everyday?“ he asks snd this statement sends tears to her eyes, the usual strong and put together woman losing herself in the pain of his truth.

She simply nods, gesturing that she will figure this out. By the time she leaves the BAU for the night, Penelope having checked your phone and figuring you must simply be at home, sharing some insight on her suspicions snd how worried she had been about you, Emily‘s heart is both filled with anxiety and pain. She hated having to do this to her team but especially to you, not a day went past where she didn‘t think of you, hoping she could reach out and tell you it‘s all just a cruel joke. By the time she makes it to your apartment, the sky is pouring buckets on her, the occasional strike of lighting illuminating the dark sky and the sound of thunder crumbling in the background.

With caution she makes it to your apartment door, knocking gently before the knocks grow more desperate. You stumble towards the door, opening it without your usual care before laying eyes upon the woman responsible for your grief. „Y/N thank god“ she sighs in relief, her eyes scanning every single one of your features. And she could see it now, the pain behind your eyes, how thin you had become. „I“ she begins, unable to finish as you interrupt her. „I‘m sure your here to get Sergio, let me just grab him and his stuff“ you announce. By her puzzled reaction you should have known that she had no knowledge of you taking him for her yet, this definitely not the reason for her standing by your door in the middle of the night.

,,Y/N wait'' she pleads, grabbing your wrist so you can't leave her standing there. You turn around, avoiding her eyes as you wait for what she is about to say. ,,Can I please come in?'' she almost begs and by the desperation in her voice, you can't say no, never really being able to deny Emily of anything. You nod, allowing her to enter before you walk towards your living room. She stands there hesitantly, glancing at the empty bottles on the table, the empty medication wrappers laying around and the packet of cigarettes. She remains silent, unsure what to say and how to ever make you forgive her.

,,Drink?'' you ask as you gesture towards one of the bottles but she shakes her head, gesturing towards the sofa and you nod, making sure to take the opposite sofa across from her, unable to be anywhere near her as your feelings are all over the place. The thunder grumbles loudly in the distance, the lighting illuminating your apartment further before she begins speaking. ,,Y/N I'm so sorry'' she apologies, her voice sincere as she struggles to keep her emotions at bay. ,,I never meant to leave any of you but I had to'' she confesses. ,,Not a day went past when I didn't think of you'' she admits, for the first time addressing you directly rather than the team. You manage to meet her eyes at her statement, seeing the raw emotion in them, the honesty and the truth.

,,I care about you Y/N and I'm so sorry for hurting you and what you have been through'' she apologises again, her eyes glistening with tears as she takes in your state again. ,,Why didn't you tell me?'' you ask, speaking for the first time since having her back. ,,Why JJ?'' you blurt out, understanding why Hotch knew but unable to understand why she would have trusted the blonde over you after everything you had been through together. ,,She.. you know her position, she was the one able to get me the fake identities and make this whole thing possible'' Emily tries reasoning, sensing the frustration in your voice. ,,You know I have had your back for years Emily, I would have taken that secret to the grave, I could have helped you'' you blurt out, angrily reaching one of the cigarettes before lighting one in frustration.

There is a long moment of silence, the storm outside matching your emotions on the inside before Emily sighs. ,,Started again hm?'' she whispers, gesturing towards the cigarettes, knowing it had always been one of your vices in the past. ,,You have no idea what the last few months have been like'' you sigh. She stares at you before sighing again ,,I do'' she acknowledges. ,,I know you have sat at my grave everyday, I know you carried my coffin, I know you have been struggling but please let me help you'' she begs, glancing at the countless empty bottles and packets again. ,,Why do you care?'' you blurt out, the anger now very visible in your features.

,,Because I care about you.. more than you know'' she admits, letting her guard down in front of you. Her words take a while to register and before you can say anything, Sergio suddenly makes an appearance, jumping on the brunettes lap, greeting her with kisses and you can't help but smile at the picture of the two of them reuniting. He eventually settles beside her, curling up in a little ball as she focuses her attention back to you. ,,Please let me back in, I know I messed up but I will spent the rest of my days making it up to you'' she pleads and something in her statement finally causes you to break, the walls suddenly crumbling right in front of you as you fall apart on the sofa right in front of her.

The tears begin pouring, matching the rain outside before sobs wreck through your body. Emily's lips part in shock, her eyebrows knitting together seeing you like this. Without another thought, she lunges forward, kneeling down in front of you before taking you into her arms. You stifle at first, those arms having felt so familiar before and at the same time praying every day to be in her arms again for the past few months, before relaxing. Emily was back, Emily was safe and home and all you can feel in this moment is the grief of it all but her safe arms grounding you. Her own tears run down her cheeks but she still makes sure that her thumbs catch every single one of yours. ,,I'm so sorry honey'' she whispers as you continue falling apart in her arms, the weight and grief finally lifted off your heavy chest a little.

By the time your tears are dry, the sobs having subsided by now, you catch a glimpse of her eyes as she continues kneeling in front of you, her hands stroking gentle circles on your knees, a weak smile on her face, yet the worry remains. Suddenly you feel this urge to tell her, tell her all of the feelings you had been keeping in for so long, scared she would slip through your fingers again. And Emily can tell, the way your eyes dart between her own, the slight trembling of your hands and the face of realisation. ,,Emily I..'' you mumble, your emotions taking over you as you would have never told her in any clear state like this, especially after a night like this.

,,Y/N I know'' she whispers, a small smile on her features despite the pain of your truth written in her eyes. You search her eyes for any sign of disgust, of shame but all you can find is sadness between her brown orbs. You close your eyes and sigh, worried you had made a mistake, worried you had ruined whatever you may have left with her before her lips come crashing onto your own, the usual composed and careful woman not able to hold this back for a single moment longer. She had these feelings for so long and if Paris proofed anything to her, it was that she couldn't do life without you by her side. She had missed you every day, your smile, your silly jokes and needing you close to her. Tonight was all the confirmation she needed.

Your eyes force open, shocked by her actions before you relax, your lips moving in synch as your heart beats out of your chest. When the two of you pull away, a tear streams down both of your cheeks, as well as a small smile in the corner of your mouth. ,,I didn't know you..'' you whisper but she shakes her head gesturing you to shush. ,,I have known for a while, I have missed you so much darling and I don't want to do this without you, ever.'' she confesses. The night passes on, the storm eventually settling outside and in your chests as you lay in Emily's arms, the events from today having shocked you, not having expected any of this but her confession making your anger subside and hopeful for what was to come next.

,,You still wanna quit the BAU?'' she whispers with a smirk and you shake your head as you nuzzle closer into her chest. ,,Tomorrow morning, we'll go to Hotch together, alright trouble?'' she smirks, causing you to giggle into her as you nod. The brunette can feel you relaxing in her arms, assuming this must be the first night in months you would be able to get some actual sleep. She holds you throughout the night, not wanting to be anywhere else as she watches over you protectively, her arms involuntarily wrapping tighter around you. And she wasn't going to leave you ever again, not being able to stand being away from you.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel Frankenstein is not, of course, an example of the imperial gothic but instead a still relevant anti-Enlightenment fable. If a novel ever illustrated how the sleep of reason begets monsters, it is Shelley’s story of how a scientist’s urge to create artificial life leads to utter destruction. However, in Universal Studios’s 1931 Frankenstein, the many pertinent philosophical issues that the original gothic novel explores reshape into thinly veiled imperial gothic through the introduction of a eugenic and highly racialised discourse that changes the monster from a rightfully vengeful and eminently intelligent being into an atavistic criminal. In its Hollywood guise, the monster is not a tragic, lonesome and then understandably vengeful product of unethical science but instead a reincarnation of the degenerate criminal whose brain the monster is provided with in the film. This takes on a peculiarly American dynamics in the movie. As Elizabeth Young suggests in Black Frankenstein: The Making of an American Metaphor (2008), a connection between the monster and the supposedly primitive black American was made as early as during the immediate post-Civil War period when ‘the “hideous progeny” of Shelley’s novel was symbolically reborn in racist parody as the symbol of the miscegenated nation’. An important reference to American Reconstruction history is also the ending of the movie. Instead of escaping to the North Pole, as is the case in Shelley’s novel, the monster is exorcised by what amounts to a lynch mob. In Frankenstein the movie, as in the American South, justice is done by the people on the spot; by ‘lynch law’. The violation of the sanctified space and body of Frankenstein’s fiancée, Elizabeth, as much as the accidental drowning of the little girl, justifies this public rage in the eyes of the movie audience. This is the end that comes to those who dare violate the purity of white women, or oppose the progress of modernity in any form, be they black Americans in the South, Native Americans on the reservations or unruly natives in the Philippines. Like so many lynching victims, Frankenstein dies in flames. In this way, the discursive conditions that informed the British colonial enterprise as well as the racism that structured black and white relations in the US permeate Frankenstein. The childlike and aggressive monster is an example of the kind of human category that can never ‘possess the intelligence to make a rational choice of political allegiance’, as Lansing put it. In addition to this, the audience is also free to imagine an alternative narrative in which Fritz never drops the jar with the ‘normal’ brain to the floor. It is not science or faith in modernity that Frankenstein fears, it is atavism. The resolution to the crisis that atavism constitutes is the sad but necessary violence of the lynch mob. When the monster has been burned, the movie can end with the happy union of the film’s central white couple.

Johan Anders Höglund, The American Imperial Gothic: Popular Culture, Empire, Violence