#Flow/Obstruction

[grntaire]

i’m not being dramatic when i say that glen howerton is one of the most technically flawless singers i have ever heard. like his vocal technique is literally chronically healthy and has a such a beautiful tone to the point that it actually makes me mad. what are you doing all that for

[emergencyplumbingil]

Sewer Ejector Pump.

When it comes to problems with a sewer ejector pump, there are a few common causes to consider. Some of these include:

Clogs: The most common cause of problems with sewer ejector pumps is the buildup of debris, grease, and other substances that can clog the pump or its pipes. This can obstruct the flow of wastewater and potentially lead to pump failure.

Power issues: Sewer ejector pumps rely on electricity to function. Electrical problems, such as a tripped circuit breaker or a faulty motor, can cause the pump to stop working or experience reduced performance.

Float switch malfunctions: Sewer ejector pumps typically have a float switch that senses the level of wastewater in the pump basin. If the float switch is not operating correctly, it may fail to activate the pump or cause it to run continuously, leading to potential issues.

Mechanical failures: Over time, various mechanical components of the sewer ejector pump can wear out or break. For example, impellers can become damaged or worn, resulting in reduced pumping capacity or failure.

Incorrect installation or sizing: If the sewer ejector pump is installed improperly or its capacity is not properly matched to the demands of the system, it can result in operational issues.

It's important to regularly inspect and maintain your sewer ejector pump to prevent these common problems. If you're experiencing difficulties, it may be necessary to consult a professional plumber or technician for proper troubleshooting and repair.

Phone 224-754-1984

[sayruq]

US State Department falsified report to claim Israel 'not blocking Gaza aid'

The state department falsified a report earlier this month to absolve Israel of responsibility for blocking humanitarian aid flows into Gaza, overruling the advice of its own experts, according to a former senior US official who resigned this week. Stacy Gilbert left her post as senior civil military adviser in the state department’s bureau of population, refugees and migration, on Tuesday. She had been one of the department’s subject matter experts who drafted the report mandated under national security memorandum 20 (NSM-20) and published on 10 May. The NSM-20 report found that it was “reasonable to assess” that Israel had used US weapons in a way that was “inconsistent” with international humanitarian law, but that there was not enough concrete evidence to link specific US-supplied weapons to violations. Even more controversially, the report said the state department did not “currently assess that the Israeli government is prohibiting or otherwise restricting the transport or delivery of US humanitarian assistance” in Gaza. It was a high-stakes judgment because under a clause in the Foreign Assistance Act, the US would be obliged to cut arms sales and security assistance to any country found to have blocked delivery of US aid. Gilbert, a 20-year veteran of the state department who has worked in several war zones, said that report’s conclusion went against the overwhelming view of state department experts who were consulted on the report. She said there was general agreement that while other factors impeded the flow of aid into Gaza at a time when famine has begun to take hold of its 2.3 million population – such as lack of security, caused by Hamas, Israeli military operations and the desperation of Palestinians to find food – it was clear that Israel was playing a role in limiting the amount of food and medical supplies crossing the border into Gaza. “There is consensus among the humanitarian community on that. It is absolutely the opinion of the humanitarian subject matter experts in the state department, and not just in my bureau – people who look at this from the intelligence community and from other bureaus. I would be very hard pressed to think of anyone who has said [Israeli obstruction] is not an issue,” Gilbert said. “That’s why I object to that report saying that Israel is not blocking humanitarian assistance. That is patently false.”

[chrissv4mp]

billie accidently gets turned on while you trace her tattoos ᝰ.ᐟ

soft morning sunlight spills through the open curtains of the living room, warm rays shining on the hardwood floors in the hallway down to the master bedroom—where you and billie slowly wake from under the cozy comforter, limbs tangled in limbs, soft cotton sheets rubbing soft against your bare bodies.

it was a lazy morning—the type of morning where neither of you had to be anywhere to be, and for once, your schedules didn't matter. all you had to do was relax and hold each other, enjoy the presence of one another quietly.

that's all you had in mind when you let your head rest on your pillows the night prior—and now, as the gentle breeze flows in through the open window, the only thing running through your head is the feeling of billie's hands around your waist, so snug even in her half-asleep state.

her leg was thrown lazily over your waist in the middle of the night, only using it as leverage to pull you closer in her sleep, nose nuzzling softly against your neck, huffing quietly.

a ghost of a smile plays on your lips when you feel her fingers tighten at your waist. "...want'chu closer," she mumbles.

"m'already as close as can be," you giggle, stroking your fingers through her dark sleep-tousled hair.

she groans loudly, drawing it out and eliciting another round of giggles from deep in your chest. a few moments later, her head peeks up from the warm crook of your neck, a heavy pout clear on her pretty lips.

"hi," you greet quietly, leaning close to kiss her forehead.

her reaction is instant—shoulders dropping, eyelids fluttering shut momentarily. pout softening and replacing itself with a content grin like that simple action fixed everything and more. when you pull away, she leans in again and presses her lips to your own, meeting so softly, so sweetly.

the kiss lingers for a few long seconds before you reluctantly pull away, eyelids opening just quick enough to notice the way billie chases after you.

then her eyes open, soft ocean blue depths staring lovingly into yours. "hi, beautiful."

a dopey smile curls at the corners of her mouth, growing wider with every passing second that she continues to stare into your eyes. the tiny spark in her eyes has butterflies forming in your lower abdomen, a spark of your own just as apparent to billie the longer she examines your face.

your fingers trail down her body, nails dragging gently down her neck, her shoulder, then her back. you trace the lines of the tattoo on her back, humming quietly, eyes drifting down to where the covers deny you the view of anything below her stomach.

billie shivers at the ticklish sensation of your fingertips, eyes flicking away from yours, turning her head to follow the direction of your hand—though her view is also obstructed. but her sense of feeling isn't.

actually, it feels rather heightened this early in the morning.

"what're you doin'?" she mumbles, voice barely there, the syllables dying down in her throat near the end of her question.

you shake your head. "just feelin' your tattoos."

she takes that answer without another word, humming in reply and resting her head back into your neck. she breathes in the faint, lingering scent of your perfume, the mixed sensations of your touch and smell enough to lull her back into sleep.

the small, meaningless touches go on for nearly an hour before the warm air blowing in through the window starts to get to the both of you. billie kicks the covers down her body, letting them dangle off the edge of the bed and revealing more of her smooth, milky skin in the process.

the action has your eyes moving instinctively, flitting over her smooth stomach and the delicate curve of her hips. your gaze trail back up her body, landing on one of your favorite tattoos—the one that reads "EILISH" in big, bold letters on her sternum, perfectly placed between her pretty tits.

after a minute, your eyes drift lower, pausing over the ink of a detailed dragon on her bikini line. your fingers trail around her body, sneaking lower until you reach the sharp edge of the tattoo. she jolts.

you don't think much of it. maybe she fell back asleep, had that dream where she felt like she was falling.

so you continue on with your touches—hardly noticing the change in billie's breathing pattern, definitely not noticing how she was still wide awake.

your fingertips trace the outline of the dragon, gaze locked on how intricate it was—mind running with the question of how tattoo artists acquired that level of skill, limbs too lazy to move in an effort to look it up on your phone. you finish up tracing the dragon slowly, irises following your fingers as they searched her soft skin for any other traces of ink.

"so pretty," you whisper mindlessly as you find another tattoo just bordering her hip.

the lettering was in perfect cursive, reading the title of her most recent album, "hit me hard and soft." the font was more than pleasing to the eye, especially since the ink was embedded into her skin—the skin you loved worshipping, kissing, touching, and everything in between.

you're just picking up on the trembling of her body when you hear it—a sound so small you weren't even sure if it was real or if it was simply your imagination, something between a broken whimper and a low moan.

billie.

her hips moved slowly, grinding—or, at least trying—against your thigh. you pause your touch on her hip, and that's when she lets out another noise. this time it's a whine. maybe from disapproval. or lack of friction against her core. or both.

"bil?" you murmurr, free hand still raking slowly through her hair. when she doesn't reply, you add. "baby, what're you doing?"

the echo of her words from earlier paired the slightest hint of amusement in your tone causes billie to let out that same broken sound from earlier, fingers curling into your waist, twitching helplessly.

"m'sorry..." she mewls, voice muffled. "didn't mean to—jus' sensitive, i—m'sorry, i didn't—"

"shh," you shush her, and billie listens immediately, lips pressing into a small pout against your neck as her hips continue to move with a mind of their own.

shifting closer, you press your knee between her legs, urging billie to spread her legs wider—not that she wasn't thinking of doing that in the first place, you just finally gave her a logical reason to.

her breath is hot against your neck, nails digging into your sides now to ground herself. when your knee comes in contact with her core, you realize how soaked she really is, a small gasp escaping your lips. billie whines.

you lean in closer, lips grazing her ear. "what got you this worked up?"

the way her fingers curl tighter into your sides is enough of an answer—but with how humiliating it feels for her to grind on your knee and helplessly whine, she feels like she owes you a verbal answer.

"didn't mean to," she murmurs, the words trembling against your skin. "you were just—" she cuts herself off with a gasp when your knee presses harder, "—touchin' me so soft..."

you hum, the sound low in your throat as your fingers resume their path, this time trailing back up her ribs, dancing along the line of her "EILISH" tattoo once again. the shiver that runs down her spine is anything but subtle.

"mmh? was just tracing," you coo, feigning innocence. "didn't hear any protests against it."

her pout deepens, eyes fluttering shut as she breathes through her nose, trying to keep quiet. but her body gives her away—hips rolling faster, chest rising and falling in a shallow, uneven pattern, the way her thighs clench around your knee.

you're hardly doing anything.

and that's what's driving her crazy.

"please," she whimpers softly—a quiet, broken sound that hardly reaches your ears. "please, ma—need you. i just—"

a loud moan cuts through her throat before she can finish, your thumb pressing firmly against her throbbing clit. her hands burn against your skin, breath warm and uneven, legs trembling already.

her hips buck instinctively against your touch, squirming at how sensitive she feels. your free hand roams around to her waist, urging her onto your lap. she complies quickly, hovering over your lap and waiting for you to sit up straight.

when your back's against the headboard, billie doesn't waste another second before lowering herself onto your thigh. your hands find her waist like second nature, eyes zoned in on the way her head tilts back, mouth parted to let out the prettiest noises—noises that were especially made for you. only you.

"feels so good, doesn't it, pretty girl?" you murmur, voice firm and taunting.

billie just whines, fingers curling against your bare shoulders, hips rutting harder against your thigh, clit bumping on your skin so perfectly she swears she sees stars behind her eyelids. her head falls forward after a moment, forehead resting on your shoulder, breathing labored and coming in short, sharp gasps.

"can't—mmph, can't do it by m'self," she cries softly, lips brushing on your neck as she speaks. "please—please, need your help, mommy."

you tsk, shaking your head in faux disapproval. however, when you feel her hips stutter and her body begins to tremble harder, your grip tightens on her hips possessively.

"like this?" you whisper, roughly moving her down on your thigh. by the throaty, high-pitched moan that passes by her lips, you're sure she's close.

"yes," she manages through a string of whimpers.

her hips pick up their pace with your added help, eyes rolling shut, nails digging deep into your shoulders and nearly breaking skin. you hiss quietly, though the pain only pushes you to finish her off quicker.

the wetness of her arousal drips down your thigh, seeping into the sheets and forming a light patch on the fabric. billie doesn't have a care in the world for it, too lost in the pleasure and feeling of your hands wrapped securely around her hips mixed with the euphoric feeling of her throbbing pussy sliding so sweetly against your skin.

before she can even utter a warning of her impending orgasm, you flex your thigh—that simple action makes her forget her words, pussy fluttering around nothing as she cums over your thigh, a barely-there moan of your name falling into the open air of the room.

"oh my god," she whines, hips starting to slow—but your hands don't let her stop. "mommy! s'too much—please, can't—mm, fuck."

"it's okay, bil," you speak softly, grip slowly loosening on the warm, burning skin of her hips. when you stop your movements completely, billie collapses into your arms.

silence envelopes the room soon after billie relaxes, thighs still twitching from the aftershocks, breath slowly starting to even out again. her lips press gentle, open-mouthed kisses along the expanse of your throat, fingers mindlessly curling into your hair.

"mornin'," she mumbles, scooting closer on your lap. she winces, gasping quietly.

you grin, soft. genuine. "good morning."

letters. kinda hate this cus i got lazy near the end 💔

tags. @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @love4madii @livvydunneness @chxhir0 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @bilsdillldough @47lake @hopingforgoodblogs @mybluebossanova @strwberrybils @justtr @greenbttrflyy @billsbaby @bilsova @lottiepierce @northlndnisred @asterisk-eyes @dragoneyelashart @xxangelfarrlzxx @ilomiloblohshh @kittymarrow @meliciousmel13 @jul3esz @rightarion @svelish @eilishssiennaa @skinnyhmhas @dragoneyelashart @thinkshespretty @cnnibalize @canthelpit0 @hailwiggly @karaaeilish @bilswifee @drunkinyourbenz @aka-persephone @bitchesbrokenpromises @jayjaywetforbils @slvt4subchratt @cantlandonmyfeet @tezzzzzzzz

[dcangel]

kinda hyper-fixated on riding stiles and calling him a big boy at the same time.

because this man boy would sit there underneath you, bottom teeth scraping at his upper lip as he tries to contain his pretty whimpers that kept escaping him. his fingers gripping, digging into the pudgy fluff of your hips and thighs. “y’so tight.”

your nails scratched at his v-line, deep red lines being left by pretty maroon nails—his favorite colors. “jus’so fucking big, sti…” you breathed out, “such a big boy, hmm?”

“mm-mhm.” he whines softly. stiles couldn’t believe how turned on he was by her dirty words, by how much he wanted to please her. who knew such an innocent, doe-eyed girl could spew such filthy words from such a pretty mouth.

you couldn’t help it, with the way he was stretching your walls and pressing those oh so good spots inside you that your own fingers couldn’t reach, how were you supposed to maintain that ingenuousness?

his nails burrowed into your soft skin, leaving little crescent shapes. his eyes were glued to where he disappeared inside you with each bounce and thrust. the wet squelching noises were squalid, and most times he couldn’t hear much else. only when his view was obstructed by your face did his pull his eyes up to meet yours. you flattened yourself against him; your stomach on his, and your breasts resting on his chest. to stiles, the feeling of skin-on-skin contact was worth more than words. it was the only thing that could bring him back to this planet after you overworked him.

you smiled when you saw those gorgeous brown eyes of his finally connecting with yours. “there we go.”

stiles was overwhelmed; you were on top of him, giving him so many sensations, so many things to touch or relish in. he couldn’t choose. you leaned down to darken the fading hickey right at the base of his neck, having given him one in that spot a few days ago. you simply didn’t see a point in letting it fade. he might as well have gotten it tattooed if he wasn’t so afraid of needles.

a deep-purple mark bloomed right over the spotty red one, and you made sure he would still be able to hide it with his flannels for a few days. your thumb wiped the spit from the bruised skin so you could get a full view of your work. stiles knew he’d be admiring the mark in every mirror he passed by, thankful that it was only one tug of a shirt collar away.

your hips rocked against his, not even pulling up anymore. you just loved the way his tip grazed your cervix—like scratching an itch only he could get—and how your swollen clit ground against his lower abdomen.

“you’re so perfect,” his words came from a place deep in his mind, so breathy, so pussydrunk, “i love you.”

knowing stiles didn’t even care for a response in return, not that he’d even be aware of one, you kissed his swollen lips (both his and your doing) to bring him back down to earth, even if only for a few seconds. you thumbed over the plush skin, purely admiring your boy, feeling both proud of and admirable of his prevailing state.

“you’re so good, sti.” the words weren’t really meant as a praise for him. rather, you said it because you genuinely meant it. “my big boy. fillin’ me up so well.”

you swore you saw something behind his eyes malfunction. his cock twitched inside you as he grasped at your hips, unintentionally taking control for just a few seconds so he could move you back and forth, his dick slapping against your spongy walls. your fingers pressed into his shoulders as you clung around him like a vice.

stiles was whimpering desperately and hastily, each one interrupting the next. it was so refreshing that stiles wasn’t afraid to let those sound freely flow from his pretty mouth or be loud for you. he didn’t care if his noises weren’t deep and guttural, although they certainly could be at times. and you favored either or depending on who was taking care of who; his whiny whimpers and soft moans coming out when he was desperate and being especially needy, or his low, throaty groans and praises when he needed to show you how much he loved you.

“i—shit,” he whimpered, high pitched and needy like you adored. “f-fuck,” stiles groaned deeply. it was so broken up, his voice so cracked, so desperate that it sounded like he was pleading. not pleading for a release, but pleading for forgiveness. you quickly felt his reason for pleading spill inside you: warm and thick.

“sorry, sorry, m’sorry.” stiles’ breaths were reduced ragged gasps as he clutched your waist, his arms finding their home around your body. “love you so much.”

you bit your lip at the gushing feeling flooding your already-filled hole. “hmnn, stiles.” you felt him bury his face in your neck, sweaty skin on sweaty skin as he murmured apologies and compliments of how good you feel.

it was moments like these that softened your heart even through such intimacy; moments where he came without warning or any signs, where his forehead nestled perfectly in the curve at the base of your neck, where he was reduced to muffled, strangled whines and sometimes apologies if he could muster them. and all because of a few words—of course with the help of being inside you, but you were sure you could probably just make him come with your words alone.

somewhere along the way of your cunt throbbing in time with his milked cock, and slowly lifting your hips only to drop them back down lazily, you found your own sweet release. stiles was slightly overworked, slightly overstimulated, but this was such a perfect sight in your eyes.

you took a peek down at where the two of you connected, and a thin, white-ish ring was formed at the base of his length. each time you lifted yourself up, strings of milky white liquid kept another physical attachment with him. the build up was definitely worth it in its own way, but the release was divine. as always, though. stiles, even when he may not be completely all there in the moment, always knew how to send you hurdling toward what you swear is the best orgasm each time. he’s definitely fought you before for who had the better orgasm, ending in round twos all the way to round fives. how you two managed to make it that far was a damn mystery as well as a miracle.

but right now, you were only focused on your boy—your pretty boy, and the alluring noises seeping from those pink, kiss-bitten lips. “’love you more, pretty boy.” you halfheartedly chaffed.

his response was the reason for the returning gibes: a small muffled whine of some muddled words. and stiles never failed to live up to any nicknames or unserious expectations you tauntingly gave him.

[chvoswxtch]

slumber party

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader x derek morgan x spencer reid

summary: while en route to a case, the four of you let off a little steam.

warnings: all of them. every single one of them. swearing, a lil angst, derek morgan's smile, explicit sexual content (minors dni)

word count: 3.3k

a/n: let's be real. you didn't come here for a plot, and I didn't write one. enjoy this slutty vision I had in the shower. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

The jet was quiet apart from the sporadic sound of pages being flipped and Spencer’s occasional soft noises of either being intrigued or perplexed regarding details of the case, deciphered only by their volume and pitch. Hotch had read the same paragraph on the report at least seven times, and there seemed to be some kind of disconnect between his tired eyes and unresponsive brain. Letting out a quiet irritated exhale and diverting his attention to the top of the paragraph yet again, a soft noise caused his ears to perk up.

Finally looking up from the report for the first time in half an hour since he originally sat down, creases furrowed in the midst of his forehead when he glanced towards the other end of the jet and caught sight of you. From where he sat, all he could see was the back of your head since you seemed to be facing the back of the seat you were in, which he found extremely odd. But as he craned his neck, he noticed a familiar pair of hands on your hips and instantly clenched his jaw.

“Son of a bitch.”

The second Hotch shot up out of his chair, Spencer finally tore his own eyes away from the report and turned his head to follow Hotch’s angry march down the aisle of the jet with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. Now that there were no obstructions in his line of sight, Hotch had the full view of you sitting topless on Derek’s lap with your skirt bunched up around your waist, grinding your hips down in a slow but sensual rhythm. Derek’s hands were firmly grasped on your hips to help guide your movements, and his face was buried into your exposed chest.

“Morgan you greedy fucker.”

The sound of Hotch’s angry voice booming in the comfortable silence caused you to immediately tense up and stop moving, but Derek wasn’t having any of that. He gripped a little tighter onto your hip and gave your ass a light smack, pulling his head back to look at you with that dazzling smile of his that could make anyone weak in the knees.

“No no no no, keep goin’ baby girl. Don’t worry about him. You just keep doing what you’re doing…that’s it.”

Derek leaned his head back against the seat, looking over at Hotch with that same charming grin on his face. His warm chocolate brown eyes were glazed over with lust and had been eclipsed into half moons of pleasure. 

“Sorry Hotch, she just looked too goddamn good.”

“What’s going on back-oh.”

As Spencer took his place beside Hotch, his eyes immediately went wide at the sight he was met with. He seemed to be completely mesmerized by the erotic flow of your hips while you languidly rode Derek’s cock as you sat topless on his lap. While Spencer was bewitched by the spell of your hips, Hotch was furious. The stern look that seemed to be his default expression was unaffected by the show taking place before him.

“Morgan, you know the rules-”

“Come on, Hotch. We still got another hour before we land. Lighten up a little. You know, some stress relief would do you a whole lotta good.”

Before Hotch had a chance to respond, Spencer was already stepping forward and unbuttoning his cardigan.

“You could’ve at least asked us to join.”

Derek let out a soft chuckle, rubbing his hands up and down your smooth thighs as he flexed his hips upwards to match your pacing.

“Hey, you were the one more invested in exactly how many trees there are in the Acadia National Park than you were in the beautiful woman on the plane, pretty boy.”

“Well if I had known-”

Letting out a frustrated huff, you stopped moving and placed your hand over Derek’s mouth before turning to look at Spencer and Hotch over your shoulder.

“Boys, you know I hate it when you argue. It makes me dry up.”

Spencer dropped his forgotten cardigan on the chair behind himself, his attention solely fixed on you again. In the dim lighting of the plane, you could just barely see that the green flecks in his honey eyes had deepened into a wicked hue. He ran his fingers gently through your hair before cradling your face in one hand and starting to unbuckle his belt with the other, all while looking at you and dragging his tongue along his bottom lip.

“Don’t worry, we can get you wet again.”

“Not if you’re all standing around bickering instead of fucking me.”

Hotch wasn’t giving in, no matter how badly he wanted to. It was late, he was exhausted, he was beyond sexually frustrated, but above all he was fucking stubborn.

“There is one rule on this fucking plane. When we are en route to a case, we are focused on the case. Playtime is for after.”

Brushing Spencer’s hand away from his belt, a smirk tugged across your lips as you looked up at him and began to unbuckle it yourself, which only caused him to bite down on his bottom lip seductively. Throwing a glance over your shoulder at Hotch, you could visibly see just how pissed off he was, but as your gaze wandered down south, you could also see the outline of his impressive cock starting to strain against his pants. Sinking your teeth into your own bottom lip, you looked up at Hotch through your, flashing him a sultry smile while you teasingly unzipped Spencer’s pants slowly.

“Aw, come on, Aaron. If anyone needs some relief, it’s you. Just come have a little fun with us.”

The hardness in Hotch’s glare wavered only slightly at the provocative sound of your voice. It was an unrelenting struggle to keep his eyes focused directly on yours and to not let them roam over your body. If he let his gaze wander for even a split second to see the way your nipples were peaked from the cool air in the cabin, the way your soft hand was caressing Spencer’s cock through his pants, or the way your ass moved against Derek’s lap while you fucked him, he would break. While Derek began to flex his hips upwards a little harder to fuck up into you now that there was no longer a reason to stay quiet, you were pulling Spencer’s cock out of his briefs and leaning over to take him into your mouth.

Before he could watch you wrap your lips around Spencer’s tip, Hotch quickly looked away and stormed off towards the other end of the jet, dropping into his chair and loosening his tie with a hardened scowl on his face.

“You’re all getting written up.”

“For what?”

Derek's protest was only faintly heard since Hotch’s blood was now pounding in his ears like a high school marching band, and throbbing in other places. 

“Insubordination.”

There was a slight growl to his voice as he barked back at Derek, not even bothering to look up as he angrily began to look through the case file again, but he couldn't focus. No matter how hard he tried, all he could hear was Derek and Spencer praising you in tandem as they each took an offering from your body, and the soft noises of gratitude that flowed from your lips. It was absolute fucking torture. He thought about palming himself through his pants, just to get a little reprieve without alerting any of you to his moment of weakness. But he was so fucking angry with all of you, he didn’t even want to give in.

His mind was a jumbled concoction of juxtaposed thoughts, none of which had anything to do with the case in front of him. Hotch wasn’t sure why he was so pissed off right now. It wouldn’t have been a big deal if he had joined in, it wasn’t like the four of you hadn’t done it before. It certainly would’ve put him in a better mood. But this was a big case, and Strauss had been on his ass more than usual lately, and things at the BAU had been so chaotic that the team was getting split up just to keep up with the influx of cases coming across JJ’s desk.

Maybe it was a mistake not to send you with Rossi, JJ, and Prentiss. The air always shifted when you were alone with him, Reid, and Morgan. It was inevitable. Maybe that’s why he ordered you to come with him, because even if he didn’t want to consciously admit it, subconsciously he knew that this was exactly what he needed. He needed you, and the peace that you brought him.

The sharp sound of a smack landing on flesh caught his attention, and Hotch looked up to see that the three of you had moved to the bench directly in his line of sight. Derek had his head thrown back as pounded into you from behind, occasionally smacking his hand against your ass while he grunted about how tight and wet you always were. Spencer held your hair back while he fucked your mouth, watching you as he moaned praises of what a good girl you were. Your face was obstructed by Spencer’s back, but Hotch could hear how much you were enjoying yourself, and he couldn’t look away.

As Derek and Spencer came in unison, Hotch gripped onto the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned stark white, and he inhaled a sharp breath that he let out slowly through his nose. Gritting his teeth, he glared down at the blur of black ink on the pages, listening to the sound of your angelic laughter and kisses being exchanged between the three of you. Why was he doing this to himself? Why hadn’t he just fucking given in and joined?

While Spencer was sitting on the couch with his pants around his ankles, head back against the window with a blissed out look on his face, Derek snaked his arm around your waist and pressed a soft kiss to your neck before whispering into your ear.

“Do me a favor, baby girl. Go take care of grumpy over there.”

Letting out a quiet giggle, you turned and brushed your nose against Derek’s before kissing him softly.

“Already ahead of you, D.”

Discarding your skirt completely, you dropped it in Spencer’s laugh and planted a quick kiss to his lips before sauntering down the aisle of the plane, completely naked. Hotch glanced up when he caught the smell of your familiar perfume and looked at you with a halfhearted glare. All you could do was smile at the sight of his thick brows furrowed and the permanent scowl that he always seemed to wear. You both knew he couldn’t stay mad at you, and he didn’t even put up a fight when you made him lean back against his seat so you could sit on his lap. 

“Why are you so mad baby, hm?”

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you ran one of your hands through his dark brown hair, giving a gentle tug at the root which earned a quiet grunt from him. As you leaned in to place featherlight kisses along his jaw, you could feel his body physically relax, as well as how much his hardened cock was straining against his pants. But despite the giveaways from his body, Hotch wouldn’t budge. He didn’t make a move to touch you, and he didn’t speak. He was always the hardest of the three to break, but you knew exactly where his weak points were.

“Oh, you don’t wanna talk, huh? That’s okay. I’d prefer to do something else with my mouth right now anyway.”

Gently biting down on his earlobe, you felt his thighs tense up beneath you and a quiet grunt sound from his chest, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly. As you got off his lap, you slowly got down onto your knees in front of Hotch and unbuckled his belt. Since he was already in a sour mood, you decided to skip the teasing, and honestly you were so turned on yourself that you didn’t have the patience for it.

He was trying so hard not to give in while you were pulling the leather of his belt out of the buckle, and even as you were unbuttoning his pants and tugging down the zipper, he was trying to appear completely unbothered while looking at the case files. But the second he felt your luscious lips wrap around the throbbing head of his cock that was slick with pre-cum, he completely lost it. 

Letting his head fall back against the seat, he closed his eyes and his lips parted as he focused solely on the warmth of your mouth and the wetness of your tongue sliding against the underside of his sensitive tip. In that moment he completely forgot whatever he was mad about. Every single coherent thought in his head vanished, and all that was  left was you.

You don’t mind when he slips his hand into your hair and grips at it roughly, or when he starts to push his hips upwards to seek out more. It was rare that Hotch ever gave in to his selfish desires, and you were all too eager to let him. The sight above you was one you wished you could frame. His dark brown hair was messy from you running your fingers through it and his eyes were peacefully screwed  shut. There was a twinge of heat covering his cheeks, and his lips were parted further as heavy pants and soft whimpers escaped. Those little noises only make you want to steal more of them from the man that was normally so stoic and closed off. 

All of a sudden, Hotch roughly pulled at your hair causing you to moan around him. He grunted while leaning down to slip his hands under your arms, pulling you up from your knees and shoving all the reports off the table in front of him carelessly onto the floor. He grabbed you by your hips and lifted you up onto the table, and you immediately spread your legs wide for him to slot through. Without wasting another second, Hotch pulled you towards the edge of the table and easily slipped his thick cock inside your drenched pussy. Both of you moaned simultaneously at the contact, and he only faltered for a second before he started to aggressively snap his hips against yours.

Faintly, you can hear Derek whistling from the other side of the plane and the sound of him clapping as he calls out to Hotch.

“There he is. Come on, Hotch. Give us a show.”

When you wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, Hotch wrapped one of his large hands around your throat and lightly squeezed. You can tell he’s still frustrated by the feral way he’s fucking you against the table, but you can feel just how badly he needs this release. Sneaking one of your hands down to play with your clit, you only get away with it for a few seconds before Hotch roughly smacks your hand away and tightens his grip on your throat. He replaces your hand with his own and starts to furiously rub quick circles over your sensitive clit, tearing a sharp moan from your chest. You can feel how close he is already by the way his rhythm starts to falter. When he speaks, his voice is so low and husky that it almost sounds like a growl.

“You insatiable little slut. You haven’t come enough already? You think you deserve to come again after the way you’ve been acting?”

“Aaron-”

“Shut up.”

The only thing you can hear over the obscene sound of Hotch’s thighs smacking against your ass with every powerful thrust and the lewd squelching of his cock disappearing over and over inside your tight cunt is the dark chuckle that sounded from Spencer before he spoke.

“Uh oh, someone pissed off Daddy.”

The way you moan Hotch’s name nearly has him combusting right there. When he starts to rub your clit harder, your jaw becomes unhinged and hangs open, but nothing comes out. You can’t speak, you can’t even make a sound. Hotch grunts as his pace becomes even more fervent and brutal. He was fucking you with everything he had, using your body to expel every ounce of pent up frustration, and you were already ascending into the clouds.

“You wanna come so fucking badly? Then do it.”

The tightening of your cunt around his cock sends both of you over the edge, and both of your moans seem to echo in the small space of the cabin. Hotch continues to fuck you wildly through his orgasm, gripping onto the edge of the table to steady himself. Once he starts to slow down after emptying himself inside of you completely, the blissed out smile that replaces the frown on his mouth makes you giggle, and it causes him to finally open his eyes and look down at you with an arch of his brow.

“What?”

“Better?”

Hotch just stares down at you for a moment with slightly narrowed eyes before he finally gives in, his lips parting into that wide grin that you love so much but rarely get to see. Taking a moment to catch his breath, a light chuckle leaves him as he gazes down at you with softer eyes this time and brushes your hair away from your face gently.

“You know, the whole point of me being your boss is you’re supposed to actually listen to me.”

“You of all people know I listen very well.”

The sultry tone of your voice and the implications behind it caused Hotch to smirk, and you can feel the effect it has when you feel his cock twitch inside of you. Leaning in, he brushed his lips against your own and gave your ass a light smack.

“When you’re being a good girl and not such a brat.”

A soft noise of surprise left your lips when he smacked your ass, and you giggled while grabbing his face in your hands to pull him in for a soft and slow kiss.

“I don’t hear you complaining.”

Rolling his eyes, Hotch reluctantly pulled out of you with a soft hiss and helped you down from the table. He ran one of his hands through his hair and took another deep breath before tucking his softened cock back into his pants.

“Alright, everyone back to work.”

“Wait, everyone got to fuck her but me, that’s not fair.” 

Hotch glanced down at his watch on his wrist before looking over at Spencer, shooting him a pointed look when he caught the slight pout on Spencer’s lips.

“We’re landing in twenty minutes and we still need to prep.”

As Spencer began to protest, you walked over towards him and placed your hand on his chest, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek with a mischievous grin.

“Don’t worry, Spence. I’ll share a room with you tonight, and you can fuck me all you want.”

Spencer’s face lit up like a kid on Christmas, but Derek and Hotch immediately began to protest as they shared a look before staring at the two of you with looks of frustration.

“Whoa whoa whoa-“

“That’s not-“

Spencer wrapped his arms around you to pull you in, bending down to kiss you deeply while grabbing a handful of your ass to squeeze tightly causing you to giggle. He nipped at your bottom lip before turning to look at Hotch and Derek with a smug smirk.

“Don’t worry. Unlike you two, I know how to share. Maybe we can all have a slumber party.”

tags: @mars-rants-a-lot @ninejlovebot @oscarisaacsleftknee @ameliaswife @vane28282 @kmc1989 @avencol

[girlgenius1111]

take care

engen!reader - solstråle ingrid gets injured during a match. sol is overwhelmed with worry. ingrid hates being worried about, and mapi tries to keep her two engens sane. more angst + fluff with my favorite little family.

The knock looked bad from the stands. You were sitting by yourself, your usual game-watching partner unable to attend today. You stood up without thinking about it, craning your neck to see the crumpled heap on the ground that was your sister. Mapi was crouched over her, motioning towards the sidelines in a way that made your stomach clench. As the medics ran out, you looked around, realizing there was no one here to take charge. Somehow, the injured list was empty, so you were sitting without even the quiet company of some of your sister’s teammates. 

You were supposed to wait here until after the game, and then head down to the tunnel to meet Mapi and Ingrid. The security personnel knew you, knew to let you in, especially after the time they didn’t let you into the tunnel, and you kind of freaked out being surrounded by the large crowds flowing from the stadium. Mapi had given the security guards an earful and since then you’d had no issue. It was different now, though, because the match wasn’t over, but Ingrid was still laying on the pitch, and you’d never been so worried in your life. 

Mapi was hovering by the medics, who were crouched around your sister, obstructing your view of her. The Spaniard looked worried, and she never looked worried when Ingrid went down. She’d check on her girlfriend, like a teammate would do. But the concern on María’s face was far from professional, and you swore under your breath, hurrying towards the cement steps of the stadium without another thought. 

You raced through the halls of the stadium, quickly exiting the fan area and nearing the team only area. Your focus was on finding a security guard you knew, on trying to remember where the medical rooms were in here. You didn’t think about Ingrid laying motionless on the pitch, the smack of her head you hadn’t heard but could imagine had been made as she hit the ground. There wasn’t room for you to pause and think and worry, because if you did that, you’d probably crumple up into a ball on the ground and never move again. 

Ingrid wasn’t prone to injuries. Ingrid didn’t stay down longer than absolutely necessary. 

Ingrid was fine. 

Mapi normally went and got water when there was an injury break, normally gave Ingrid space if she was being treated on the pitch. 

You were being absurd. It was just a knock to the head, but your body was reacting like you’d seen Ingrid get hit by a truck, and by the time you made it to the doorway you knew would lead you towards the changing room, you were out of breath for a reason that had nothing to do with the sprint you’d just done. 

Luckily, the security guard stationed there was familiar, looking confusedly at your sudden appearance. 

“Ms. Engen. Everything okay?” 

“I... no, Ingrid got hurt, and I need to-”

The confusion on the man’s face cleared, and he nodded quickly, stepping aside to let you by. Haphazardly thanking him, you zoomed by, coming to a slow stop only a few seconds later as you realized you didn’t really know where you were going. 

You knew the inside of Johan pretty well, but you’d never been to one of the medical rooms, didn’t even know where one would be. You were just about to turn around and ask the security guard for help when you heard a call of your name coming from down the hall. 

“Over here, chica!” Marta called, waving you towards a doorway just across from the changing room hall. You hurried towards her, feeling somewhat better at the sight of Marta’s easy smile. The captain didn’t seem worried at all. 

Reminding yourself to breathe again, you regarded Marta. “Is she okay?”

The brunette nodded. “Maybe a concussion, but she’s alright. She’s finishing up with the physio right now, then you can go in.” 

Relaxing just slightly, you exhaled. “How did you know I-?”

“Ingrid told me to look out for you. As did Mapi, Caro, and Frido.” Marta grinned. 

That made sense, at least. Of course Mapi had thought of you up in the stands right away, knew to make sure someone was looking for you to appear. Frido and Caro, too, though that was more unexpected and made your stomach twist with something between discomfort and appreciation. That they’d thought of you, too… well, you weren’t used to that. Being thought of, especially by so many people. 

You stepped forward, your hand on the door knob before pausing. What if Ingrid didn’t want you in there? You knew that when you got hurt, it was a 50/50 shot whether you wanted your sister or wanted to be left alone. 

“Go on. She wants to see you.” Marta encouraged, gently nudging your back. With her prompting, you opened the door and stepped inside. Ingrid was sitting on the exam table, one of the physios standing in front of her shining one of those pen lights in her eyes. 

“– a concussion for sure,” he was saying. “Probably a few weeks out.”

Ingrid swore, only catching sight of you when the physios stepped away. She gave you a half smile as the physio kept talking, gesturing you closer. 

“You know the drill. Rest, sleep, keep an eye on your symptoms. I’m sure you’ll be well taken care of.” He nodded towards you before walking out of the room. 

You hadn’t moved closer when Ingrid had tried to get you to, your eyes still flitting over your sister, as if you had to constantly reassure yourself that she was fine, standing right in front of you. 

“Hi there.” Ingrid greeted calmly, her heart melting at the concerned expression on your face. 

You chewed on your bottom lip, surging forward and wrapping Ingrid in a tight hug. She huffed as your body collided with hers, a small smile on her face. 

“I’m fine, Sol.” She assured you. “Really, just a bit of a headache.” 

You pulled away, skeptically looking at your sister. “Are you sure? You don’t look so good.” 

It was true; her forehead was already bruising and her eyes squinted as she looked at you, the light bothering her head. It had been a long match, too, and this was clear in the exhausted slump of her shoulders. Still, Ingrid rolled her eyes, lightly shoving at your shoulder. 

“Thanks. I love to hear that.” She got a half smile at that, which she took to be a win. “Alright, come on. You can come with me to get my bag and we can wait for María.” 

Ingrid stood, and even though she seemed pretty steady on her feet, you hovered behind her worriedly, one hand gripping onto the back of her shirt. 

“Sol. I can walk, it’s just a concussion.” Ingrid chuckled, patting your cheek affectionately as you both began to walk together down the long hall. 

You realized that you didn’t know very much about concussions, but you figured there was no such thing as being overcautious, so you stuck close to your sister, even as she slung her arm around your shoulders and kissed the top of your head. Ingrid was like you in the sense that she didn’t like people worrying about her, and she hoped that when Mapi got off the field, the older Spaniard would be able to take charge and make you feel a bit better about the situation, because it was obvious you were stressing. 

And stressing, you would continue to be.

—

“Oh, Sol, can you grab my phone from my bag?” Ingrid requested, taking a bite of her pasta and giving you an innocent smile. You looked at her doubtfully, crossing your arms across your chest as you leaned against the counter. Did she think you were stupid?

Mapi chuckled, rolling her eyes as she did so. “Sí, go get it Sol. And bring it back to me, so I can make sure she doesn’t go on it.”

You smirked, walking out of the room very happy to have something to do. Ingrid deflated, sighing dramatically as took another bite of her dinner. 

“I hate this.” She said grumpily, and Mapi laughed again. The stubborn frown on her girlfriend's face reminded Mapi vividly of you. Ingrid was less obvious about her stubbornness, but you’d picked that trait up from somewhere. 

—

It didn’t matter how much time passed, apparently. It still hurt when you thought of your Mamma, especially when you weren’t expecting to think about her. But you should have been expecting it, because you knew your parents watched all of Ingrid’s matches, would have seen her get hurt. 

Still, when you pulled the phone out of her bag, and the display on Ingrid’s phone showed five missed calls, and ten texts from your Mamma, and a few more of each from your Pappa, it physically ached. 

Your parents were worried about Ingrid, clearly. After a minute, you pulled out your own phone, dropping Ingrid’s bag back onto the bench by the front door, looking at it for the first time since Ingrid had gotten hurt. 

One missed call and three texts from your Mamma. The first time she’d tried to contact you in months. 

Is your sister alright? I saw you in the stands on TV. 

She isn’t answering her phone. 

Just let me know she’s alright when you have a chance. I hope you’re doing okay, kjære. I love you. 

You inhaled deeply, the tornado of emotions inside of you quickly becoming overwhelming. You willed them to quiet down, at least for now. Ingrid was the priority. She always took care of you, and now it was your turn to take care of her. After only a second of hesitation, you quickly replied to your mother, before heading back into the kitchen. 

She’s okay. Just a mild concussion. I’ll tell her to call you when she’s feeling better. 

You knew you were doing the right thing, responding to your Mamma. It was responsible, it was mature. 

That didn’t make it any easier. 

Your Mamma seemed prepared to fly across the continent to get to Ingrid. That was fine, really. That made sense. It was just… why wasn’t she that worried when you got hurt, before? With each passing day, Ingrid and Mapi chipped away at the hold your self hatred had on you. And as each piece crumbled away, something replaced it; a deep confusion. Why? If you were deserving of love, why hadn’t you gotten it? If you weren’t a bad person, why did your Mamma always resent you? It didn’t make sense, and it was this mystery that kept you convinced, even still, that Ingrid was wrong. You weren’t worth much at all. 

You were pretty sure a part of you would always feel like that 16 year old that had finally given up getting her parent’s approval. You thought giving up on that would allow you to stop caring, but you never did. You always felt the gut punch whenever your Mamma would shout at you or ignore you or be disappointed in you. It never stopped hurting, and a part of you would always feel that worthless. 

When you walked back into the kitchen, it seemed as though someone had sucked all the life out of you. There was something disconnected about the way you moved, as though you weren’t really there. It piqued Ingrid and Mapi’s concern instantly, as you handed the Spaniard your sister’s phone. 

Mapi’s confusion faded as she clicked it open, understanding and sadness flickering across her face. 

“Sol? You okay?” Ingrid asked. You jolted out of your stupor, a very fake smile plastering itself onto your face. Ingrid was squinting at you with her face scrunched in pain a bit, and your insistence on being strong only strengthened. 

“Fine! I’m fine.” You assured her, voice cheery and fake. Ingrid looked skeptical, but Scout chose that moment to charge into the kitchen, having likely been napping on your bed. He scampered over to you first, licking your face when you bent down to pet him, before moving to Ingrid, as if he could tell she needed a bit more attention. Your sister pet Scout lovingly, and with her attention elsewhere, you slumped a bit, the weight of your emotions settling squarely back on you. 

And while Ingrid didn’t notice, Mapi certainly did. 

“Okay mi amor, go shower and then we can call it an early night.” Mapi instructed, pressing a kiss to Ingrid’s lips as you grimaced and sighed dramatically. Chuckling, Ingrid agreed, giving Scout one last pet before heading off to shower. 

As soon as Ingrid was out of the kitchen, Mapi turned to you, a sad frown on her face. There were tears leaking out of the corner of your eyes almost instantly, and you shuffled forward into her open arms. 

Mapi hugged you tight for a minute or so, gently rubbing her hand up and down your back. After a few moments, Scout evidently got bored of the lack of attention, or he felt like comforting you himself, because he pushed his way in between you and Mapi, standing awkwardly in between the two of you. This, at least brought a smile to your face, a small laugh escaping you. Mapi pulled away, giving your dog a very fake glare. He just kept wagging his tail and staring up at her. 

“Do you want me to reply to your Mamma?” Mapi wondered gently, her hand finding its way to your shoulder and squeezing. 

“No,” you replied, voice breaking a bit over the word. You cleared your throat, shaking your head just slightly. “No, she texted me and I told her Ingrid was fine and that she’ll call when she’s feeling better.”

María studied you for a minute, the way you couldn’t bring yourself to meet her eyes, the way you shifted uneasily on your feet, as if you wanted nothing more than to run. “Sol, are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” You insisted. “I just want to make sure Ingrid is okay. Are you sure it’s a good idea she showers by herself? Should we have taken her to the hospital? How often do we have to wake her up tonight? Should she sleep with her head elevated? Is ice good for a concussion? Should she have eaten more? Or eaten less? Does she need to drink extra water? What if–”

Mapi cut off your very long spiral of questions, covering your mouth with her hand. “Tranquilo, Sol. Ingrid is fine. I’ve got her, sí?  I know what to do for a concussion, I’ve got everything taken care of.”

You looked like you didn’t believe her, eyebrows furrowed and a frown pulling at your mouth. 

Mapi sighed. “Seriously. I’ve got this. I’m just gonna get her an ice pack for her head and some pain killers and try to get her to sleep. You don’t need to worry about anything” 

“But–”

“Nope. Go get ready for bed. I know you were up late last night playing video games.” Mapi was very rarely stern with you, but in this moment, you saw what her opponents must see on the pitch; a borderline scowl, eyebrows scrunched together as she regarded you authoritatively. 

“That’s not true! I went to bed at 11!” You exclaimed, moving towards the stairs anyway. 

Mapi scoffed. “When I came to get Scout for his walk this morning, you’d fallen asleep with your controller in your hand and your headphones on and you only wear those when you play late at night and you only fall asleep playing when you’re up really late.” 

You rolled your eyes, stomping up the stairs without replying to Mapi. Still, there was something so soft about the Spaniard knowing all your habits, something that made the ache in your chest hurt just a little less. 

—

Ingrid wasn’t an easy patient, Mapi knew this. She just seemed to forget because Ingrid so rarely got sick or hurt. It was a struggle to get her girlfriend to take things slow, more than once having to steady the Norwegian when she stood up or moved too fast. Ingrid was clearly in pain, too, but she kept insisting she didn’t need any pain killers, only agreeing once Mapi promised to go get her favorite coffee tomorrow morning. It was shockingly similar to caring for you when you were hurt or ill, which was more than entertaining for Mapi, since Ingrid always complained about how difficult you were in those circumstances. 

But even once Ingrid was peacefully asleep in bed, Mapi knew her job wasn’t done. The Spaniard tucked the blankets up tighter around Ingrid, pressing a soft kiss onto her forehead. She threw her pajamas on, an old pair of Norway shorts and one of Ingrid’s t-shirts, before surveying the room. The lights were off, Ingrid’s water was full on the nightstand. There was a trashcan next to the bed in case of emergency, and the white noise Ingrid insisted on sleeping with was set to the correct volume. The fan was on the second setting, and Ingrid’s phone was on charge on Mapi’s side of the bed. 

Nodding to herself, Mapi began heading down the hall to where you were almost assuredly still awake. What she wasn’t expecting when she pushed your bedroom door open, though, was to find you crying as you scrolled on your phone. 

“Hey, what’s this cariño?” Mapi said, referencing the tears falling down your face. She stepped into the room and shut the door behind her, noticing that it was meticulously clean, something you only did when you were anxious. You wiped at your eyes furiously, dropping your phone onto the bed next to you without locking it. Mapi picked it up, worried that your Mamma had dared to message you something that would make you cry. 

You sniffled, unsuccessfully trying to stop your tears, knowing very well that you were being more than ridiculous. Mapi wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at what she found on your phone. On the screen was a google search about concussions, and you’d clicked on a tab of all the potential dangers of a head injury. 

“Sol, don’t google stuff like this.” Mapi told you. “None of this is going to happen.” 

“You don’t know that!” You replied, standing up and beginning to pace back and forth. “She hit her head really hard, she could have a delayed brain bleed or she could have hurt her neck or–” 

Mapi wasn’t sure why you were so worked up over something as simple as a concussion, but the urge to laugh at your absurdness had faded, replaced by a deep concern as she realized you were genuinely convinced something bad was going to happen. 

“Solstråle,”

“No, Mapi, you should be in there with her watching her and making sure she’s okay!” You shouted, raising your voice almost unconsciously as you continued to cry through your words. 

“Hey! Don’t shout.” Mapi said, still calm even though you knew she didn’t like to be yelled at. 

You forced yourself to stop pacing for a moment, taking a few deep breaths. Mapi watched you silently, trying to determine whether or not you’d accept a hug from her at the moment. Your anger seemed to be fading as quickly as it appeared, your shoulders slumping as you sat heavily back down on the bed. You looked small, suddenly, in Mapi’s oversized tshirt and a pair of sweatpants. You looked like the kid you still very much were, not the adult you tried to be. 

Mapi took a seat next to you, wrapping her arm around your shoulders and pulling you to lean against her.

“What’s going on, hmm? Why are you so upset about this?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t like that she’s hurt. It makes me anxious.”

Mapi hummed, her thumb rubbing small circles onto your arm. “How anxious?”

“Very.” You exhaled, leaning into the Spaniard even more. 

Mapi smiled a bit, thinking about just a few months ago, when you would have shied away from any comfort at all. 

“Do you know why?” She wondered. 

“No.” You answered too quickly for her to believe you, and you began fidgeting with your hands in your lap, which was something you only did when you were lying. She didn’t press you, though. Instead, she kissed the top of your head and stood up. 

“Alright. It’s late, your eyes are shutting, you’re exhausted. Go to bed, nena.” 

You merely shrugged, avoiding eye contact with Mapi in a way that told her you were going to be doing anything but going to bed. The Spaniard sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose in between her fingers. 

“How can I get you to sleep, Sol?” 

You thought for a moment, before a small smile tugged at your lips and you looked up at Mapi much too earnestly. You told her your idea, and much as she wanted to say no, she knew you really wouldn’t sleep otherwise. So, she relented, and you grabbed your pillow and a blanket [and Scout], and followed Mapi down the hall to their room. 

—

Ingrid woke up with a pounding headache the next morning. With a groan, she rolled onto her side, hand searching for Mapi to grab onto. Her girlfriend shifted down from where she’d been sitting up in bed, allowing Ingrid to burrow into her chest. 

“How are you feeling, mi amor?” 

“Like I’m dying.” Ingrid sighed dramatically. 

“Dying?!” You cried, sitting bolt upright from where you had been laying on the floor next to Ingrid’s bed. She rolled over to look at you, wincing at the pain she felt from the movement, blinking a few times as if she thought she was hallucinating. 

“Did you sleep on the floor?” Ingrid asked incredulously. 

Still borderline frantic, you nodded your head. “Yes. Are you okay? Do you need anything?” 

Ingrid was silent for a second, looking between you and Mapi, completely bewildered. “Sol, why did you sleep on the floor?” 

“Don’t bother, amor. Answer her question first.” Mapi sighed, reclining back against the headboard and shutting her eyes. 

Ingrid huffed her frustration. “I’m alright, Sol. Why did you sleep on the floor?”

You frowned up at her. “I was worried. Google said the first 24 hours of a concussion are the most important, and I know Mapi is a heavy sleeper, so I just wanted to make sure-”

“Sol, that isn’t your job. I’m fine. You shouldn’t have done that, you have school today, you’re going to be exhausted and sore.” Her tone was more sharp than she intended it to be and she felt immediate guilt at the look of hurt that flashed across your face. 

“Sorry.” You said sharply, getting up and gathering your pillow and your blanket and hastily walking out of the room. 

Ingrid flopped back down onto the bed with a heavy sigh. “I didn’t mean to make her upset.” 

Mapi kissed her temple tenderly. “I know. She’s just worried, and I think you embarrassed her a little. She was going to stay home from school to look after you.” 

“She shouldn’t have to do that.” Ingrid argued. 

Mapi spoke slowly, like Ingrid was missing the point. “She wants to. She’s really anxious about this, Ingrid. She was pacing around her room last night googling concussions trying to figure out how to help. She just wants to make sure you’re okay, like you do for her.” 

Ingrid felt her heart melt a little. She forgot, sometimes, how sensitive you were, how much of a worrier. You kept so much inside that it was always a bit startling to see you express yourself so outwardly. She moved to get up from the bed, but Mapi’s arms remained locked around her midsection. 

“María, I need to go talk to her.” 

“No. You stay here, I’ll go talk to her.” 

“I’m not staying in bed all day.” Ingrid grumbled, fighting back a smile as Mapi kissed her cheek once, then twice more. 

“No, of course not.” Mapi agreed. “You can lay down on the couch, too.” 

Ingrid groaned, slumping back onto the bed and crossing her arms over her chest. “I hate this.” She called. 

“I know! Mapi replied, shaking her head at her girlfriend’s dramatics. 

—

Mapi knocked on your door, hearing a huff that she assumed meant she could come in. You were stuffing your things into your school bag, angry tears tracking down your face. 

“Sol, stop for a second.” 

“No, I’m going to be late.” 

“Solstråle.” 

“Go away, Mapi.” 

“No, stop it.” Mapi said, more firmly this time. She took your bag out of your hands, attempting to hold it out of your reach. You glared at her, lower lip trembling as you did so. “You can stay home. I talked to Ingrid.” 

“She doesn’t want me to stay home.” You choked out, humiliated at how upset this was making you. 

Mapi looked at you for a moment longer before placing a hand on your shoulder. “She does, she just doesn’t want you to worry. Just like you don’t like us to worry about you.” 

“No, she doesn’t want me here.” You argued, finally ripping your bag away from Mapi and slinging it over your shoulder. Mapi almost commented on the fact that you were very clearly still wearing your pajamas, and that school didn’t start for another hour, but another voice cut in before she could. 

“I do want you here, sweetheart. I just don’t want you worrying about me.” 

Both you and Mapi turned to face Ingrid amusingly fast. 

“Ingrid, I told you to stay in bed!” Mapi chided good naturedly, knowing how much her girlfriend hated to be babied. 

“Sol-”

“Go lay down, Ingrid. I’m fine.” You pleaded, the redness of your eyes and the wobble of your chin not helping your statement. 

Your sister ignored you, crossing the room in two long strides and pulling you into an almost painfully tight hug. Mapi stepped out of the room, knowing that this was one of your Engen moments, where you really just wanted your sister. 

“No, Sol. I’m fine.” Ingrid told you, her fingers scratching lightly at your scalp where her hand rested. 

You sniffled, pressing your face further into her shoulder, as if to assure yourself that she was really there. “Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure. I’m okay. Everything is okay.” Ingrid promised, pausing for a moment before she extracted herself from the hug and led you to sit on the edge of your bed next to her. She gave you a second to calm down, still crying softly into her shoulder, as she took in the sight of your room. The framed photo of the three of you on your desk. The polaroids up on the wall, all taken at the top of a hike you’d completed. The map that Mapi had given you, and the painting of the waterfall in Norway. 

Ingrid didn’t like to see you cry. But your tears, just like the things decorating your room, showed that you were feeling things. Not like before, when it was difficult to even get you to explain how your day was in more than two words. You felt safe to feel here. Safe to be vulnerable. 

So, she didn’t like the tears. But everytime she saw you cry, she thanked the universe that you were still here with her to cry, still willing to push your face into her shoulder and grip onto her shirt with your fist like you’d done when you were little. She’d never take that for granted. Ever. 

She didn’t take her responsibility to care for you lightly, either. 

“What’s going on, Solstråle? Why are you so worried?” 

Again, it was that magic ability Ingrid had to get you to admit things you normally never would. Instead of brushing your sister off like you’d done to Mapi the night before, you sucked in a breath and tried to explain the absolute mess of feeling inside of you.

“Do you ever… feel like things are too good? Like everything is going so well. And you’re happy, but you aren’t sure you deserve to be. So something bad must be about to happen to ruin it all? It feels like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s too good to be true, and I’m so scared, all the time, that I’m going to do something to mess everything up, or something bad is going to happen.”

Ingrid wasn’t really quite sure what to say to that. Whether it was because her head was pounding with an incessant headache, or because she’d truly never felt the way that you were describing right now, she wasn’t sure. She just knew that you needed reassurance that no one was going to come and take away your happiness. 

“You deserve to be happy. You’ve been through so much, Sol, and you deserve to be happy. I’m not going to let anyone take that away from you. Ever. It’s not too good to be true. No shoe is going to drop. Nothing bad is going to happen and you’re not going to mess anything up. I’m here with you. I’m not going anywhere. I love you so much, Solstråle, and no one could ever take that away. Nothing could ever stop me from loving my baby sister.” 

Ingrid felt tears soaking through the fabric of her shirt, and she worried she’d said the wrong thing. Still, she kept running her hand up and down your back, keeping you held close to her. She wouldn’t be the first one to pull away. 

“I… I want to believe that. I just don’t know how to stop being scared. I don’t know how to convince my brain that nothing bad is going to happen.” 

“I don’t really know either.” Ingrid hummed. “But we’ll figure it out together, no?” 

You nodded, feeling absurdly emotional at the together part. 

“And anytime you feel scared, you tell me or Mapi. And I’ll be rational and give you a hug and Mapi can make a joke so bad you have no choice but to laugh, and she’ll be happy because her goal was just to distract you anyway.” 

You let out a weak laugh, leaning away from your sister to wipe at your face with your sleeve. 

“Okay.” You agreed. “I’ll try.” 

Ingrid smiled at you. “Good. Now come downstairs with me. We’re going to put on a reality TV show and you’re going to describe everything happening on screen because I can’t watch.” 

You laughed again, standing and following your sister out of your room. You held onto her arm as she walked down the stairs, and Ingrid let you. Sometimes, she couldn’t fix things right away. She’d let you hover, and in time, you’d realize she was alright and you’d be okay. 

Or, she’d have to climb out the window in the middle of the night and run away to Frido’s just to get away from your and Mapi’s hovering. Either way. 

—

:) i love my child sol.

[gottagetpig]

Wishing you all a fatty new year from this greedy hog! I've done nothing but be a spoiled little fatty, constantly stuffing their face like a good little piggy these holidays, Feeling my body swell from the onslaught of fatty food and junk I stuff into my mouth. With each decadent feast I've had, I can't stop myself, pigging out moaning softly as my unabashed gluttony draws the eyes of onlookers. The ecstasy I feel as my moobs grow more larger and more grabbable, belly growing softer, expanding like dough with soft grabbable fat that I can't keep my hands from feeling all the while my need for more continues to grow, making piggy greedier and more demanding. Fat piggies like me should be spoiled, fattened just like they deserve and every new roll worshipped. The straining of my clothes as  my calorie addled body grows bit by bit, threatening to burst as I continue to pig out, feeling the addictive euphoria as my thighs and ass strain against my jeans, my belly rising more and more over my lap for the world to see, until a sudden pop as buttoned jean suddenly have none, my soft flabby belly rolling further out causing me to whine and stuff myself with renewed vigour, in heaven stuffing my increasingly gelatinous body. I can't and won't stop myself from stuffing my fat face whenever i can, after all a piggy like me deserves all the food, praise and belly worship they want,. The people around me giving me seconds, thirds, just to satiated me. Some giving their own meals knowing im just such an insatiable hog and deserve so much more...

Even as the holidays draw to a close I won't stop, can't stop stuffing myself like an uncontrolled hog. Feeling my body swell as hazy, addicting desires for so much more gluttony and flab pervade my piggy mind. Weeks become months of constant gluttony. Months become years as every gluttonous desire is fulfilled unabated. The hedonistic spoiling spiraling as my weight climbs higher and higher still. Sounds of huffing and wheezing fills the room as I struggle to waddle forward immense apron of dough that is my belly swathed in countless folds and fat. Every inch of fat jiggling with every lumbering step, massive mounds that make my moobs and belly obstruct my view. Wheezes give way to moans as I shove whatever huge snack I can into my gurgling ever demanding stomach. The desire for more food grows as i slowly waddle over to the counter, rolls of fat flowing over the counter, leaving the cashier in awe as I order feast after feast. Before waddling slowly over to the table shocking everyone with my size and unabashed gluttony, taking hedonistic pleasure at how much of a huge piggy I am. Months pass again and the sheer heft of my massive bubbly ass and dangerously soft thighs break all but the most heavy duty of chairs, until eventually I become too heavy to get up myself, whining and wheezing as I'm helped up to my fat buried feet only to be unable to fit through Doorways. Flabby rear and gelatinous belly pressed against the frame, free from any constraint of clothing. Eager hands of my doting feeders worship every fold and inch of fat, eagerly placing greasy foods into my mouth stuffing me more and more.  And it'll not be enough for me, it'll never be enough. 

Fatten me until my flabby belly hangs to my knees. When every part of my body becomes swathed with flab and gelatinous. Every fold worshipped as a temple gluttony.~

Spoiled more and more until the word loses meaning, every hedonistically gluttonous desire I have fulfilled. Pampered and praised as I gain countless more pounds.~

Turn me into a wheezing blob of lard constantly fattened, crushing everything from beds to couches beneath a growing ocean of flab. Moaning and wheezing demandingly for more~

Fatten your idol of gluttony~

[khizuo]

The blackout in Sudan caused a severe chokehold on the flow of crucial information. The stifling absence of communication channels obstructs the dissemination of vital updates, hindering the ability of both local and international entities to comprehend the depth and dynamics of the crisis. This information blackout not only obstructs the coordination of essential services, medical assistance, and humanitarian aid but also creates a breeding ground for misinformation and speculation. The scarcity of accurate, real-time information not only challenges the immediate response efforts, but also compounds the difficulty of mapping out a comprehensive strategy to address the multifaceted challenges faced by the Sudanese population. Sarra Elhassan, a Sudanese content creator, explains how dire the situation is with the on-going blackout in Sudan on X (formerly known as Twitter). In her quick update for 23rd of Febuary, she claims that clashes are persisting in Khartoum, claiming civilian lives, while videos reveal RSF attacks in West Darfur’s Mukjar, part of an ethnic cleansing campaign causing massive displacement. In Jezira State, Tanoub village suffered casualties. The blackout exacerbates the hunger crisis, impacting 90% of Sudanese. E-banking disruption hampers access to necessities, leading to the shutdown of communal kitchens in conflict zones. The blackout’s ripple effects extend beyond communication disruptions, shaping a multidimensional crisis.

(February 24, 2024)

Hissa Al Thani's Twitter

[5re8648566]

Musk, next stop: digging deep into the black hole of US "financial aid"

Recently, the "Department of Government Efficiency" (DOGE) led by Musk has set off an "audit storm" across the United States. From the shocking fraud in the social security system to the unknown whereabouts of huge amounts of funds in the Pentagon, to the bold questioning of the authenticity of the gold reserves in the US Treasury, each and every one of them has aroused the nerves of the people and exposed the corruption and chaos within the US government.

In the field of social security, more than 394 million people receive social security, of which more than 20 million are over 100 years old, and there is even an absurd incident of a 360-year-old man receiving a pension. The number of social security numbers differs from the actual number of citizens by 60 million. This is undoubtedly a large-scale fraud farce. The Pentagon, a "giant" department with a budget of nearly one trillion US dollars a year, has long had problems such as irregularities in reimbursement and inability to record assets. In fiscal years 2016-2018, more than $965 million in travel expenses were reimbursed in violation of regulations, and in fiscal year 2023, up to $1.9 trillion in assets were "missing", which is staggering.

Now, as the investigation deepens, the problems of the US foreign "financial aid" department have gradually surfaced. The United States Agency for International Development (USAID) distributes $40 billion in aid every year, but some of the funds flow to suspicious organizations in Afghanistan, Yemen, Syria and other places, and even fund projects such as Indian transgender clinics, Jamaican LGBT initiatives, and North Macedonian LGBT activities. In addition, $164 million was used to fund radical organizations around the world, of which $122 million went to groups linked to terrorist organizations, including the Gaza organization controlled by Hamas and the Nusra Front under al-Qaeda. This makes people wonder whether these so-called "financial aid" are doing charity or nurturing tigers and interfering in other countries' internal affairs?

Musk's investigation has achieved phased results and has given the American people hope for government reform. However, this alone is far from enough. Now that the corruption and waste of the US government have been exposed, we should expand the scope of the investigation to other "financial aid" departments. Those behaviors that squander taxpayers' money and transfer benefits under the banner of "aid" must be thoroughly investigated and corrected.

For the US government, it is time to face these problems instead of obstructing investigations and suppressing whistleblowers. Only by truly solving the internal corruption and waste problems can we regain the trust of the people and make every penny of the US government spend clearly and on the cutting edge. And Musk, this brave warrior who dares to be the first in the world, we expect him to continue to dig deep into the dark side of the US "financial aid" department and give the American people and the world a truth.

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

✨Desperation✨

I’M NOT DONE YET >:)

Maybe I should go on vacation more often, gets the creative juices flowing, I hope y’all like a little bit of sub!Lucifer 😏

(No set up to this one either, this is just gonna be smut right out of the gate lmaooooo)

Lucifer x f!sinner reader

Summary: A more than willing Lucifer is ready to submit to your every whim…

Warnings: 18+, smut, sub!lucifer, light dom!reader, teasing, pet names, orgasm denial, edging, hand job, oral (m & f receiving), p in v

You weren’t sure how you ended up in this situation. Well…that’s not entirely true. But you never thought that you would ever be in the situation you found yourself in. Not that you were upset at all by it. Lucifer, the almighty ruler of Hell itself, was bound and blindfolded in your bed wearing nothing more than his briefs. His hands were restrained to the bed post with tightly knotted rope while a silk ribbon obstructed his vision, leaving him absolutely helpless. Of course, you both knew he could more than easily break free from his bondage, but he wasn’t going to. He trusted you with his entire being, his devotion to you was undying. He was now yours to tease, to use, and to break. The thought excited both of you. You had already stripped naked, wasting no time as you closed in on your prey.

“Are you ready, Luci?” you asked, inching yourself closer to the foot of the bed.

“Yes, darling,” he answered sweetly, “do with me what you please.”

“Good boy,” you hummed. You heard a light moan escape his lips from just your words. He loved nothing more than receiving praise from you. You began by resting your hands on his ankles, ever so slowly moving them up to his calves, and stopping to massage the inside of his thighs. It was already apparent that he was having a difficult time sitting still, he was very sensitive after all. Your touch was intoxicating, he could never be satisfied. And the blindfold certainly amplified the experience. You finally moved your hands up his briefs and onto his hips, where he finally bucked up from your touch.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you chastised, “don’t move, baby. Be good for me.”

“Y-yes, love,” he murmured.

“Already so needy, aren’t we?,” you teased, noticing the very obvious wet spot on his shorts. “We’ve barely started.” You palmed his erection, eliciting a yelp from Lucifer. You began to slowly stroke him through his clothing, you felt his cock twitch at your gentle touch.

“Pl-Please, I-mmhn, please m-more,” he babbled. The sounds of his begging were pure ecstasy. What a feeling to have power over the most powerful being in the realm. You chuckled, reaching for the hem of his briefs, finally releasing his hardened cock. His tip leaked precum onto his stomach, Lucifer whimpered softly.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” you coerced, “tell me what you want.”

You heard an audible gulp from Lucifer. Even with the blindfold, you could tell that his cheeks had flushed a bright red. “T-Touch me, pl-please…need to f-feel you,” he choked out.

You smiled as you reached out to grab the base of his cock, forcing another moan out of Lucifer. You started to stroke his shaft up and down at an agonizingly slow pace, precum leaking onto your hand. It felt like he could burst at any second, but you planned on making this last as long as possible. You could already feel yourself getting wet from the sight of him writhing under your touch. Lucifer’s breathing became heavy as though he couldn’t get enough oxygen in his lungs. Unfortunately, he bucked up his hips to your touch again. You let go of him completely, Lucifer nearly sobbed at the loss of contact.

“What did I say, Luci?,” you scolded.

“Imsorryimsorry!!,” Lucifer cried, “Please! Please, I’ll be good. Please don’t stop…”

“You need to learn some patience, baby,” you retorted, kneeling down and taking a long lick from the base of his shaft to the head. Lucifer’s moans had turned into breathy gasps for air. Without warning, you plunged your mouth down on his cock.

“FFFUUUUCCCKKKK!,” Lucifer yelled as you continued to bob your head up and down on his length. He was well endowed, so you were careful not to take too much of him all at once. Your hot mouth engulfed half of him while your hand stroked the rest, perfectly in sync. You circled your tongue around his tip, loving the taste of his precum. The only sounds from Lucifer were screams of pleasure as you overstimulated him with your mouth.

“Talk to me, sweetie,” you said sternly, “how does this make you feel?”

“S-so good, love,” he panted, “ffffuuucckk, I’m so c-close, soooo close…”

“Mmm, what a good boy you are, Luci,” you smiled. You moved your hand and mouth away from his cock in an instant, leaving it to lay on his stomach once again. Lucifer’s breath hitched as he whined inconsolably, completely devastated by the loss of any friction. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

You crawled up onto the bed and hovered over Lucifer. You could see the beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, his breath was warm on your face. You leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. He tried to deepen your kiss but you pulled away just out of reach.

“Don’t be greedy now, darling,” you murmured into his ear, sending shivers throughout his whole body. You kissed the edge of his mouth, then his cheek, then moved down and stopped at his throat. As you started to nip and suck at his sensitive skin, you could feel his rapid pulse while you marked him. You looked up to admire your work, a beautiful purple bruise that he can show off to the rest of Hell. “I want you to show me how desperate you are for me. Can you do that, love?,” you cooed.

“Y-yes,” Lucifer whimpered, “yes, anything!”

You hummed in approval. You continued to crawl on top of him until your pussy was place right above his face. Despite being blindfolded, Lucifer knew exactly what was happening. It took every fiber of his being to keep himself restrained because he would devour you in an instant. He whimpered beneath you waiting for your command.

“Eat up, pretty boy,” you chuckled, lowering yourself closer to his more than willing mouth. You felt his tongue hit your slick folds immediately, causing you to gasp. He easily found your clit and focused all of his attention on it. You tried your best not to move too much and risk removing his blindfold, but it was easier said than done. You couldn’t help but grind against him as he lapped up your dripping cunt. You held on to the headboard in front of you, trying and failing to keep your composure. You felt the knot inside your stomach tighten more and more with each flick of his tongue. You had to pull away now before he could finish you off. In one swift motion, you pulled yourself off of Lucifer’s face and moved to sit on his chest, letting yourself catch your breath.

“NO!,” Lucifer cried, “you’re so cruel…”

“Now, now, is that anyway to speak to me?”, you teased. Before he could respond, you slid yourself down further and began to grind your cunt on his throbbing erection. Lucifer’s strangled moans filled the empty room, you could listen to him like that forever.

“Tell me what you want, Lucifer,” you barked, refusing to slow your hips as you rocked back and forth on his cock.

“F-Fuck…fuck me…p-please,” he moaned. You moved your hips faster, causing Lucifer to scream. Tears started to leak through the blindfold and fall down his face.

“I know you can do better than that, pretty boy,” you laughed coldly. “I’ll ask again, what do you want?”

“FUCK ME, P-PLEASE FUCK ME, RIDE MY COCK, PLEASE LOVE, I-I NEED TO BE IN YOU NOW, PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEFUCKMENOW!,” Lucifer cried out in agony.

“That’s what I hoped you’d say, my sweet boy” you praised. His words went straight to your aching cunt, you couldn’t wait any longer. You lined up his cock with your entrance and sank down on him, sheathing him inside of you completely. You both moaned in tandem at the sensation. Before long, you started bouncing on his cock at a steady pace at first. But only moments passed before your hips started to shift rapidly, chasing the orgasm you denied Lucifer earlier.

“Wanna-wanna see you,” Lucifer pleaded weakly, “please, p-please let me see you, love…” He sounded so broken and sweet, you couldn’t say no to him. He did so well for you, after all. You took pity on him and removed the blindfold from his face. You looked into his eyes, they were puffy from the tears he’d shed earlier. But they seemed to glow brighter once he saw you, completely drunk on his cock. “So beautiful…”, he whispered.

“Luci…,” you moaned, “feels so good, shhhiiiitt…”

“Love, s-so close, I-I can’t…,” Lucifer choked out, screwing his eyes shut. He couldn’t breathe properly anymore, he just wanted to feel you come undone.

“Look at me,” you commanded, “look at m-me when you cum. Be…Be a good boy and cum for me!” Lucifer opened his eyes, his face had turned beet red from your praise.

“I-I’m gonna…fuckfuckFUCKIMCUMMING,” he screamed, thrusting up into you only a few more times before his orgasm hit him hard, spilling his cum into your waiting pussy. Just a second later the tight knot in your stomach unraveled and you felt the waves of pleasure throughout your body, your newly painted white walls clenching around Lucifer’s cock.

Your body gave out and you collapsed on top of him, gasping for air. Lucifer snapped his fingers and the rope that had restrained him was gone. He helped you off him and laid you next to him, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. He kissed the top of your head and pushed the hair away from your face.

“That…that was so good, my angel,” Lucifer smiled. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

You laughed lightly, looking up from his chest. “Yes, I enjoyed that a lot, Lucifer, thank you. I…I wasn’t too harsh, was I? I might have teased you too much, I-” You were cut off by Lucifer’s lips, now completely forgetting what you were going to say.

“You were perfect, darling,” he reassured you. “I loved it! And I love you. We’ll certainly be doing that again.” You smiled and nuzzled into his chest.

“I put you through a lot tonight,” you said, “let me run you a bath. And then we can cuddle afterwards. Sound good?”

“Only if you join me, my dear,” Lucifer bargained. You could only smile and nod, how could you say no?

~~~~

Happy Valentine’s Day ya filthy animals!! 💖💖💖

[doremimosasol]

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐬 - 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 ☆

warnings: quick mention of cuts (blood)

word count: 1,7 k

summary: an unexpected encounter in the woods

masterlist

Crunch — crunch — crunch — with every step of your boots, another leaf got crunched to dust. It's the end of fall, the cold air announcing the chill of the nearing winter.

The atmosphere in the tent felt constricting. You needed the fresh air more than ever. If it wasn't for the constant tension between Ron and Hermione, it was Harry's bad mood. You had volunteered to wear the necklace several times already, but your previous relationship with Mattheo Riddle left them wary.

"It's not like we don't trust you, y/n. Precautions are necessary."

Precautions. It felt like empty excuses. He was your ex. Ex. The word felt sour, foreign, unfamiliar... There had never been a moment in your relationship that you thought you'd ever associate that word with him. But that was what he was right now, Mattheo Riddle was your ex. Or at least, that's what it felt like.

It had only been a few months since the last time you saw each other...

"I have to do this, I'm so sorry." — the soft hands cradling your cheeks didn't ease out the weight of his words. He had to follow them, seeing the snake in the sky had been an omen of what was to come. He had to leave, he had to follow them or he would be the one to be followed. Because even after everything, he still was the son of the Dark Lord. And in that moment you realized his loyalty never really lay with you.

The cold silver of your necklace hit the skin of his palm like daggers. You were giving back what had been a symbol of his love. It was the necklace he had given to you the day he confessed his feelings to you.

The same cold silver once hit your neck when he gifted it to you. — "As a symbol of my love." — The cold feeling leaving with the touch of his lips on the back of your neck.

But the necklace had never felt this cold when you handed it back the night he left. You closed his fingers around the fine jewelry, patting his knuckles. Gosh, it hurt more than you thought it would.

He didn't even stop your actions, he knew it would be no use. So when the necklace hit the palm of his hand, he carefully pocketed it in the jacket he was wearing. A jacket he used to give you when you two were on one of your cold walks around the school grounds.

The look in his eyes cut everything inside of you, the silent desperation. The slight glistening of the moon in his eyes, he was trying to hold back tears.

"Be safe, my love." And with one last kiss, he left into the dead of night. The touch lingered on your lips, moving your fingers to touch them to prolong the tingly feeling.

It's a night that has been haunting you for the last few months. Every dream played out another scenario. There had been a lot of times when you imagined the both of you just running away at that moment. Together, away from everyone.

The crunching of the leaves under your boots was a stark contrast to the continuous silence back at the tent. Ron and Hermione had been in another fight and Harry had almost driven himself into madness, trying to figure out whatever had been on his mind this time. No one was even speaking to each other.

You've been reading for hours and hours, trying to find answers to where to find the last Horcruxes. Nothing yet. It felt like an endless search, it frustrated you to the max.

A harsh flow of the wind blew your hair into your face, obstructing your vision for a second. Maybe it was the tiredness playing games but you were sure you saw a black shadow lurking between the trees of the forest.

Fear.

You only felt fear in that moment, the dark figure reminding you of why you should've stayed in the protective bubble Hermione created earlier today.

You weren't that far from the camping spot but too far to make it back in time so the only thing that came to your mind was to run.

The trees passed by as your feet land on the path of crunched leaves you left earlier. Thud — thud — thud — thud —

— flash. A green flash just nearly missed you and in the heat of the moment you missed the small trunk in front of you. Before you knew it, you ended up face flat on the ground. That figure was trying to kill you?!

"Don't run any further or I'll kill you. And don’t you dare draw your wand either." That voice...

You turned onto your back to confirm your suspicion, but before you knew it another flash of light caught you off guard. You couldn't help but slightly shriek at the warning spell. He wasn't lying, he would kill you, you know he would.

The only thing you could do was watch as his boots stalked closer to your still unmoving body on the ground. You felt paralyzed, not daring to move as you knew he wouldn't take it lightly.

The darkness matched the feeling of your unease. The lack of light made you unable to make out the facial expressions he wore at that moment. You could almost imagine it — furrowed brows, sparkling eyes, nose slightly scrunched up, lips in a thin line — it were the usual characteristic of when he didn't trust a situation.

"Mattheo." You couldn't help but whisper out his name, to make sure he wouldn't do something he might regret later.

It was then that his steps faltered, the grip on his wand loosened, and he almost dropped it right then and there. It was your voice, he was so sure of it. He almost couldn't believe it. It was you, you were still alive. "Say that again." He needed that final confirmation, to know he wasn't just hallucinating.

"Mattheo, it's me." At those words, a soft glow emitted from his wand, lighting up your face. And it was you…

He dropped to his knees right at that moment, grabbing your arms in haste to finally pull you into his embrace again. "My sweet girl..." You could feel his breath fanning into your hair, sending small vibrations through your whole body. You've been craving this, you didn't even realize how much you'd missed this.

"Hey..." Your voice came out weak, almost at a loss of words with this sudden reunion. He slightly pulled away, his fingers cradling your face to take in your appearance like it was the first time. He lightly traced over the bags under your eyes, the small scars, your cheeks, your lips...

Your lips.

Before you could register what was even happening, he already softly pressed his lips against your soft ones. Or your once soft ones, now slightly cracked by the weight you've carried with you the past few months. They still felt so soft to him, soothing his inner turmoil.

Your lips had always been soft to him. Like a bandage.

"You're alive, I thought-" He sighed, his hands now caressing your head. "I thought I had lost you for good. I should've known better, you've always been one of the smartest witches I have known, you-"

You couldn't even focus on his words when you scanned your eyes over his face. The marks on his face couldn't even pass as scars, they were fresh. The blood on his face must've just dried up. A soft lingering touch of your fingertips traced the marks and he shut his mouth in an instant. He didn't want that look on your face, that look of worry.

He couldn't help but grab your wrists to pull them away. "Come on, turn that frown upside down." He tried to lighten the mood, you knew he didn't want to talk about it so you decided not to push the matter any further.

"I've missed you, you know. Every single day I've been thinking about you, hoping you were safe." He continued tracing small circles on your cheeks with his thumb. "Yet here you are, in my arms again. It's like even a higher force knows that this is where you belong."

You couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle. "I've been thinking about you too, every single day, every single night. I couldn't stop thinking about you, about the way we parted ways back at Hogwarts. I kept blaming myself for not holding you back, for not begging you to stay. I-" He shushed you, not wanting to hear all your regrets.

"Y/n, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter now, okay? Stop blaming yourself, this was never on you. You have to trust m-"

Crack — crack — crack — crack —

Someone else was here.

"Shit." Before you could register what was happening, he hurriedly got up and pulled you with him behind a tree.

"What-" His hand covered your mouth in an instant, stopping you from making any more sound.

He quickly searched for something in his pocket, something shiny, something cold — the necklace. "Take this, take this with you. It belongs to you and only you. Please wear it again, I can't stand having it. It's yours." With those words, he quickly clicked the close behind your neck. And suddenly, the necklace didn't feel as cold again.

Warmth, just like you had always felt around him.

With one final press of his lips to your forehead, he pushed you back into the protective bubble. It was right behind you, and with that, you became invisible to his eyes again. It hurt to still see him but to not be able to say anything more...

"Have you found anything yet, Mr. Riddle?!" Someone in the back yelled, most definitely one of the Death Eaters.

"Nothing here." And with one final look back at you — almost like he could still see you — he left.

And with that, it felt like before. The leaving footsteps but with a warmer feeling now as the necklace pressed down your chest.

[spxllcxstxr]

Vermax • J.V

(Gif not mine)

Request: jacaerys falling in love with a servant girl and taking her for a ride on vermax. -- @sarahisslytherin

Summary: Jacaerys takes a servant girl to see Vermax

Warnings: fem!reader (referred to as girl at some points), servant x prince forbidden romance, dragon stuff, lowkey abrupt ending but oh well

Word Count: 1.2k

A.N: need more smiling jace but DAMN he was fine in this scene, first jace piece, hope it's ok! This wasn’t supposed to be over 1k words lmao

•

The dark corridors of Dragonstone castle twist and turn as Prince Jacaerys pulls you through them. His grip on your wrist is light as it pushes up the sleeve of your red servant’s dress.

The only sounds surrounding the two of you were your steps across the stone floors and both of your panting breaths.

In mere minutes the cool air of Dragonstone hits you as does the grass slick with fresh dew. Any guards near the entrances are cloaked in the darkness.

"Jacaerys," You hiss, careful not to draw any attention to you. "Where are you taking me?"

"Calm yourself, (Y/n), I am only taking you to see Vermax." Jace responds, his pace slowing as he approaches a patch of grass where his dragon frequently can be found.

"Are you feeding me to your dragon, Jace? Is this what this is?"

He snorts at your question. "Not today."

You giggle as Vermax is appears within your vision.

The moonlight shimmers on Vermax's olive green scales. The dragon mesmerizes you, even when stationary. You can't even fathom the fact that Vermax is on the smaller side of the Targaryen dragons.

Jacearys turns to you, the flowing red cape attached to the rest of his riding gear rustles behind him. Your eyes flick to the Prince.

"Do you trust me?" The Prince asks, his gentle brown eyes staring into your own. His thumb rests on your cheekbone. The leather riding gloves obstructs the warm feeling you have come to associate with the Prince. It's comforting nonetheless.

You heart hammers in your chest. Even his lightest of touches always leaves you dazed, but with the addition of a dragon just over his shoulder contributes to your nerves.

"Of course, Jacaerys," You breathe, wiping your sweaty palms against the rough fabric of your dress. The tall grass tickles your ankles.

He hums, lightly pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Do not be afraid, sweet girl, Vermax will do you no harm."

"Are you sure about this, Jace? We could get in trouble--"

"Nonsense, who here would fathom taking issue with the Prince?" Jacearys smirks, making your cheeks burn.

In the moonlight he takes your breath away. Pale skin littered with freckles, the desire to kiss every single one almost taking over.

You follow him as he strides over to his dragon, murmuring in High Valarian. His hands rest atop the dragon's snout.

He whispers to his dragon, gesturing to you to come closer. With your hand trembling slightly, you lightly place it on the dragon's scales, which are hot to the touch.

It takes a bit of maneuvering paired with Jace's help for you to get up on Vermax's saddle--you had barely ridden a horse much less a dragon.

"Might want to hold on tight, (Y/n)." Jacaerys whispers in your ear as he settles behind you. "Vermax is pretty quick."

He shouts a few phrases in High Valyrian and the dragon roars to life, large wings starting to move. As you rise through the air, you can't help but to scream your lungs out.

Higher above the trees, mingling between the clouds, a sense of adrenaline makes you dizzy.

How could anyone get used to this?

You holler and laugh as the wind quickly whips all around you. Your fingers tingle and your heart pound in your chest.

Jacaerys has Vermax climbing high up in the sky before dropping close to the ocean, twisting as you go down.

Eventually, with morning quickly approaching, Vermax coasts just below the clouds, heading towards Dragonstone, which is just a small island in the distance.

Dawn creeps over the horizon, the orange and yellow hues of the early light blending with the sea surrounding you. Your skin bathes in the light. The open sea and sky glitters in your vision. Closing your eyes you deeply inhale, the fresh air filling your lungs. You can feel his eyes watching you intensely. Jace's arms tighten around your waist as he guides Vermax to dive closer to land.

You don't open your eyes until you land and Vermax stops shifting on their feet. Slowly, and with guidance from the Prince, you dismount from the dragon, gently patting their scales once more before taking a few steps back.

“Thank you, Jace,” Your lips gently press against his cheek, red from the wind. "That was..." You search for the words that could possibly describe the experience you just had. "Amazing."

The dawn light highlights the flecks of gold in his eyes and you're unable to look away. His lips tilt up in a smile.

"Oh my sweet girl...I would do anything for you. Showing you all this," He gestures to Vermax's retreating figure in the sky. "It is because I love you."

You take a step back, breath catching in your throat. While the two of you had been sneaking around with each other and kissing in the dark corners of the castle, he had never told you he loved you before. You never thought he could love someone like you. "Jacaerys, I am a mere servant girl, you cannot--"

"I can, (Y/n)." He takes your hands in his, pulling you closer to his body. He smells of dragon and fire. "When my mother is sat on the Iron Throne it will not matter if my heart chooses to be with a serving girl or a lady at court." He squeezes your hands in an attempt to calm your nerves.

You bite your bottom lip, mind and heart racing with swarming thoughts and emotions.

"Do you--do you not love me back?" Jace's dark brows crease with worry.

"Do not be a fool, Jacaerys!" You respond, meeting his eyes. "I have loved you since I met you! But what of Baela? Of politics? You cannot just piss that all away for someone like me!"

"I do not care, (Y/n), please just listen to me!" He moves his hands to frame your face, one of each cheek. They're delicate on your skin. "We will deal with it when we get there, but please let us love each other now before we have to concern ourselves with all of that." Jace's eyes are wide, pleading with you to just say yes.

And how could you resist? You had loved him since you were both children running up and down the stone steps of the castle, him avoiding his duties as a Prince and you avoiding your duties as a servant.

Without saying anything, you surge forward to capture his soft lips in your own. Your own hands move to his neck, stroking the skin there. The two of you had kissed before, many times, in fact, but it was never like this. This was more special in a way you couldn't wrap your head around. It was slow and passionate, like Jacearys was trying to convey to you how much he truly loved you. You try your best to return the sentiment.

Breathlessly, you reluctantly pull away. Your eyes flutter as they meet his own. "Gods, Jacaerys, of course I love you back."

•

[chiefdirector]

Crash | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

“Where is she?” Sargent Tim Bradford demanded as soon as he stepped off the elevator and into the reception area of the Hospital. Chen was behind him, trying to keep up as he weaved his way through the crowd towards the desk.

There had been a pile up on the freeway. Multiple casualties and even more injuries. In the rubble, Detective (Y/N) Bradford’s car lay. She had been on the radio to Tim and Sargent Grey when her car had been smashed into. He listened as she screamed and went silent.

When he and Chen arrived at the scene, she had already been carted away in an ambulance, with the firefighters and emergency rescue teams unsure whether or not she had been one of those to leave in a body bag.

“Where is she?!” He repeated as he got to the desk, ignoring the groaning and complaints of the people she shoved past. He barely clocked onto the bewildered expression of the receptionist as he spoke.”

“Sir, if this is about the accident you will have-“

“If you tell me to wait, I will have you arrested for obstruction of justice,” he snapped. Chen tried to pull him away and calm him down but he stood strong. “Where is (Y/N) Bradford. She should’ve been here.”

The receptionist looked quite shaken by his request but she still searched the name, hands trembling as she typed. “There is a (Y/N) Bradford but I don’t have a status on her condition. I can tell you when I get the report in. You’ll be the first to know.”

“Fine,” he snapped, moving away from the desk before he worked himself up anymore.

——————

Five hours had passed before he had heard anything.

Watching the waiting room clear out, he felt like he was going to lose his mind. One by one he saw happy reunion or heartbreak for everybody around him. The longer the Tim passed, the worse the outcome in the bottom of his stomach felt.

It was as if he couldn’t breathe. Not knowing if she was okay or not. So when the small receptionist approach him, it was as if air had been restored.

“Excuse me, officer.” She said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I have an update on (Y/N) Bradford.”

Tim whipped around immediately, pouring all of his focus into her words. “What? Where is she? Is she-“

“Ms. Bradford is currently being treated in the Trauma Unit. She had sustained severe injuries to her left arm. She had surgery to place some bolts to help align the bone.”

“She’ll be okay?” He breathed.

“Yes.” The receptionist paused, looking at the foreboding Sargent, recognising the look of love and worry in his eyes. “She’ll be okay. She’s been asking for someone named Tim. I’m assuming that’s you.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice wavering for the first time as the rush of relief flowed through him. Although he wouldn’t truly relax until he saw her. “Can I go see her?”

“Like I said, she’s been asking for you.”

——————

Despite being told she was awake doing well, Tim almost sprinted to her bedside, not believing anything until he saw her himself. It took every ounce of will power not to burst through the door. Stopping directly outside, he took a deep breath before entering.

Despite all the tubes, cannulas, and bandages, she still looked ethereal. He swore that even an angel couldn’t have looked as beautiful as her.

“Hi,” he breathed out, slowing making his way to her bedside. Once she was in reach, he leaned across to brush some hair out of her face. “How you doing sweetheart?”

“Sore.” She said, voice croaking from sleep. With much effort, she shuffled across the bed to beckon him to lay with her.

“I bet. I was real worried about you.”

She cooed slightly at his words. “Here I was thinking that the Sargent Tim Bradford was some unfeeling monster.”

“Not for you sweetheart. Not for you.”

Masterlist

@rookietrek

[kingkat12]

seven minutes in heaven (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: foul language, alcohol, book-accurate Roman lol, (and he is such a brat???)

summary: you really, really hate Roman Godfrey. but what you hate most, is that he doesn't notice you at all.

word count: 4,502

| next chapter →

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･seven minutes in heaven masterlist

I didn't like Roman Godfrey— not one bit. 

Everything about that spoiled brat was infuriating. All from the way he walked around as though he owned the town, to the way that he'd get a kick out of throwing tater tots at people. Fucking child. The amount of times I'd sat at the bleachers and watched him throw it at the cheerleaders, specifically aiming right down their shirts, made my blood boil.

Roman Godfrey believed that the world was his, including the people living in it. That's exactly why he dared to take such liberties. 

I specifically hated the way he'd move his hair out of his green, green eyes, the look he'd give me after he tugged my hair in the hallway with a sneer, and his sadistic need to claim his conquests in the absolute weirdest ways known to man. If we are to believe Brooke Bluebell from the cheerleading team, he also had an affinity for poking girls with needles in public just for the sheer thrill of watching them squeal. Because who would tell him off, right? I wondered if he was familiar with the word 'no' at all.

After the needle-rumour spread, I made sure to keep a few meters between us at all times. There was no way in hell that he would get away with doing that to me, anyway. 

And I would've stayed as far away from Roman as possible, had it been up to me. Sadly, my best friend at school was his cousin— just my luck. Letha, like the rest of the girls at school, was quite fond of Roman; since she was the oldest of the two, she somehow couldn't see that he had grown past the age of five, treating him as though he could do no wrong.

And this was why Roman was always invited whenever we would have study sessions at Letha's place. He would splay himself out on the bed, stretching out his long limbs, watching us as we worked and he lazed away. 

God, how I hated him. I hated the way his hair was kissing his forehead when he laid like this in Letha's bed, the way he'd grin whenever he watched me erase a wrong answer, and the way his cologne would linger in my system several hours after he'd left.

Currently, we were supposed to be working on the half-year assignment everyone in our year had to do. Letha was sitting at her desk with her back turned to us as Roman and I sat on the bed, each with our own computer. My meter-rule to protect myself from any incoming needles was impossible to implement on Letha's tiny bed, and I let out a huff as Roman's knee touched mine. I prayed to every God in the universe that he didn't have a needle in his pockets somewhere— I was quite fond of my knees, and would very much like to keep them intact.

"Five hundred bucks," Roman tried, nudging me. "Do this assignment for me and it's yours."

I rolled my eyes, shifting further away from him on the bed. "Do your own shit," 

He proceeded to sneer, watching me with his big, green eyes. "Six hundred,"

"No,"

"Seven?"

"Suck it, Roman," I cracked my knuckles, doing my best to get back into the flow of writing the assignment. It was so damn hard to focus when Roman's incessant sighing continued, almost as though he was being forced to take his own life. 

"Help me, then," he mumbled, moving closer to me. His leg was almost on top of mine, now. "How did you answer question b?" Roman leaned over me, his head now obstructing my view of my screen. In a flash of pure instincts, I closed my eyes, inhaling the scent of his hair that was tickling my nose. I couldn't quite put my finger on exactly what it was that smelled so good— him or the shampoo?

I got yanked out of my state when Roman pulled away, typing away on his own laptop, finally inspired. 

I couldn't help but sigh; I hated Roman. And I hated that he didn't notice me in the way I wanted him to. I hated the way he smiled, the way he'd so blatantly flirt with girls at any opportunity he'd get, and how my heart fluttered when he flirted with me once in a blue moon.

It only got worse when we were in chemistry class the next day, and Roman had caught me sitting all alone in the back. I wasn't sure what came over me and why I had allowed him to sit down next to me again— the last time had been an absolute catastrophe where he got the both of us kicked out for bickering too loudly, so I hoped it wouldn't be a repeat-situation. I really needed to make sure I was getting every drop of information out of class today, as we had a test coming up soon.

However, Roman was the absolute biggest distraction on earth. I knew this. He kept leaning over to draw crude drawings in my book, making me have to swat his hand away over and over; "Stop it!"

Roman huffed, leaning back against his chair with a bored expression on his face. "You're no fun," he whispered back. 

And this was when it hit me— maybe I wasn't fun? Did he really think that of me? 

... Maybe it was time to show him how fun I could be?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

When Letha mentioned a party happening this weekend and the fact that Roman would be joining, I couldn't help but feel a certain sense of dread— I knew what that would entail for him. He'd either disappear with a girl upstairs and/or get absolutely shitfaced, as always. And was I really going to put myself through seeing him disappear with someone else again just to prove I wasn't boring?

Yes— Yes, I was.

As I sipped my drink, I couldn't help but feel my hatred for Roman simmer and come to a boil— I hated how he had me doing the most ridiculous things known to man just to get a sliver of his attention. Why was a question I couldn't bring myself to answer. 

As I stood in the kitchen with Letha, I spotted Roman passing by the door, laughing with a friend of his. My heart thumped hard as I let out a shaky breath; "Letha, I have to tell you something,"

She turned to me, a beer in her hand. "Don't tell me you've killed someone again? I don't have the energy to drag another body out of my car today,"

"Ha-ha," I mumbled; had this been any other instance, I would've thought it was funny... but not right before I was about to tell her why I had come tonight. I dreaded it; I knew she'd disapprove. But just as I opened my mouth, ready to put my friendship on the line, I caught Roman backtracking and appearing in the door again.

"Girls!" He walked over, looking tipsy as ever. Up close like this, Roman towered over the both of us, and I had to look up an unusual amount to meet his eyes. "I've been looking for you all over! They're playing seven minutes in heaven downstairs, wanna join?"

Had this been any other night, I would've given him an immediate no— but tonight was different. Tonight, I was fun. Shrugging, I glanced over at Letha to check her reaction.

"That's so childish," Letha mumbled, sipping her beer. "I don't know, and I'm sure grumpy over here isn't too keen on that either—"

"No, I'm in!" My words came out like a panicked squeal which immediately made my cheeks burn. 

Roman seemed caught off guard by my reaction, but he eventually reached out to pat my shoulder, looking smug as ever. "There you go," he cooed, clearly teasing me. "Maybe you'll finally get laid or something!"

I was abruptly reminded of why I hated him so much in the first place. Swatting his hand off of me, I brushed my fingers over my shoulder where he had touched me, feeling a lingering burn. "If you think seven minutes is enough for everything that goes into sex, I think you need to lower that ego of yours,"

Letha bit back a smirk as Roman's lips parted in shock. Maybe the spoiled rich kid hadn't gotten a reality-check from his long list of women before? He eventually recovered from the diss, rolling his eyes; "Well, seven minutes with me can be more than enough. Need me to show you?"

Letha let out a loud snort, shuddering; "Ew, Roman! I've told you not to talk to my friends like that!"

As they turned to each other, bickering like siblings, I gripped the counter behind me with all my strength. I was almost compelled to agree, to say yes to letting him have a go, and I had to bite down on my tongue to stop myself. After a few drinks, I knew I could get a little loose-lipped.

It didn't take long before we all made it downstairs, everyone spreading out on the couches and chairs scattered in the basement. Letha and I sat down on a few pillows on the floor, far away from Roman and his rumoured needles. 

I felt my throat go dry every time the bottle spun around, landing on random people from school who later went into the empty closet nearby. But my attention was elsewhere; I watched as Roman put his arm around the girl next to him, whispering something into her ear which made her laugh. It made me want to slam my head into the wall behind me— I would rather pass out and bleed out than witness him picking up another girl again. 

I swallowed hard as the people in the closet came back out and the bottle got spun again. The first person was picked; a girl with long, brown hair whom I remembered from history class; huge bitch. Holding my breath, I watched as the bottle got spun again— it eventually slowed down and pointed to Roman, which made the girl's friend group cheer as though they had won a million dollars. It felt like my heart was getting ripped out of my chest as Roman got up from the couch, grinning from ear to ear. The girl he had just had his arm around wasn't as happy, to say the least.

This whole display was making me sick. I bit the inside of my cheek as Roman closed the door to the closet and the previous drinks in my system threatened to come up. Everything about this was making me sick. I got up, taking hurried steps to the nearest bathroom, planting myself on my knees in front of the toilet just in case.

I heard a few knocks on the door before Letha stepped in, looking worried. "I told you not to drink that vodka crap," she mumbled, locking the door before she sat down next to me on the floor.

I felt my tears press on as I grew further nauseous. "Don't mind me," I breathed. "I just need a minute." 

This only solidified my absolute and utter hate for Roman. Spoiled fucking brat— why did he have to make me feel this way? Why was my jealousy making me so sick and bitter?

Letha put her hand on my back in an attempt to soothe me; "Maybe I should drive you home?"

"No!" I said, fighting my gag reflex. "I need— I need to get out there again."

This only made Letha sigh, her hand now reaching for my hair to be ready. "You have a crush out there or something...? You know that you don't need this stupid game to get whichever guy you want, right?" 

I did my best to get up from the floor without immediately falling back down. Of course she didn't understand. 

"Seriously, hold on—" Letha grabbed my hand, holding me back from leaving the bathroom. Her eyes were just as green as Roman's, and up close like this, I could see all their similarities; the upward curve of their nose, the same full lips, and the exact same way of weaving their brows together in worry. "You don't need to do anything just because you want to prove Roman wrong," she said, squeezing my hand. "I know you came down here to make a point, but... do what's best for you, okay?"

"Okay," I mumbled, tugging at her hand. The seven minutes were almost up, and I wanted to see the look on that girl's face after she left the closet with Roman. I wanted to see the look of bliss in her eyes, the hint of red in her cheeks, and watch her inhale with soft, sharp breaths just like the rest of his girls always did. The best part of watching this, was imagining that the girl was me instead— that I was the one feeling euphoric, and not her. And on the other hand, the masochistic part of me wanted to feel my heart burn with jealousy and my chest tighten with the ache I had gotten so familiar with. "Let's go. Please."

My nausea dulled down as I sat back down on the floor, realizing Roman was back. Maybe it was good that I missed the moment they came out— maybe it was good for me to spare my psyche, just this once? As my eyes met Roman's across the room, I couldn't help but notice the dark satisfaction on display across his lips. It was almost as though he knew— or maybe it was the fact that I probably looked a little sick? Did he like the look of pain in my eyes? I was reminded of Brooke Bluebell and her needle story... how he liked imposing pain on girls he found to be vulnerable. The fucking needle thing would haunt me forever.

I barely noticed that the bottle had been spun again, and I was yanked out of my mind-storm when Letha nudged me. "You don't have to," she tried, nodding towards the bottle that was now pointing at me.

My eyes immediately moved from the bottle and straight to Roman, who seemed to grow further amused. There was no way in hell I would back down now— maybe this would change his outlook on me? I had to prove I was fun, after all. Shrugging, acting as though it was no big deal, I reached for the bottle, spinning it.

I couldn't help but ponder if someone up there in the sky was playing games with me when the bottle pointed at the one person I had hoped it would be.

The girl Roman had just been with protested; "What? That's against the rules! He can't go in two times in a row!—"

"Sure can," Roman shot in, watching my every movement like a hawk— something told me he was a little excited about this as well. He got up from the couch once more, walking up to me with confident strides, reaching out for my hand. 

As I looked up at him, breath short and choppy, I couldn't pry my eyes away from his. I had always imagined what it would be like to look up at Roman from this angle, to see the sheer look of satisfaction on his face as I— Oh no, my mind was wandering again, wasn't it? I did my best not to shiver as I accepted his hand, feeling our fingers intertwine as he smoothly got me up from the floor.

I didn't even dare to look at Letha in this moment, knowing how she probably felt about it, but I really didn't have time to dwell on it— and it didn't take long before Roman closed the closet door behind us, pulling me back into the moment.

We were quiet for a few seconds, the sounds of our breathing filling the closet— I didn't know what to say or do. The beating of my heart was so loud that I could barely hear my own thoughts, and the light in the small room was dim and warm, making it a rather disorienting experience. It didn't take long before I felt my back hit the wall, letting out a little wince; the alcohol was definitely doing wonders for my balance. 

Roman snorted at the sight, emitting a soft laugh; "Careful, there," 

I let out the breath I had been holding, happy that he had been the first one to say something. "It's the vodka," I mumbled, rubbing the part of my head that had hit the wall. 

Roman hummed; "Typical,"

"What is?"

"That you can't handle your drinks,"

I wanted to smack him— that was allowed in seven minutes of heaven, right? "So what if I can't? It's not a big deal,"

"Sure," Roman said, nodding to himself. "You just need to be broken in or something." 

I wasn't the biggest fan of his choice of words— I was also not a fan of the thought of Roman breaking me more than he had already done, all whilst being completely unaware of it. Choosing not to comment on it further, I switched the subject; "So when was the last time you didn't do anything with a girl in this game?"

He needed a few seconds to scour his brain; "Never, I think,"

Typical. "Even back in middle school?"

"... Definitely,"

I held back a rather large groan— I should've predicted this. 

Roman caught onto my eventual silence; "And I reckon this is your first time playing?"

"... Yeah,"

"Okay, I see," Roman ran his fingers through his hair, the usual smirk returning. "You know what usually happens in here, or...?"

I rolled my eyes; "I'm not an idiot,"

"I know," Roman's voice got lower, breathier, as he took a step closer. There wasn't much room for more steps, actually— it was getting rather cramped up at this point. "But if there's anything you've always wanted to try out and haven't dared to, now's the time."

My breath hitched as I hoped the thumping of my heart wasn't loud enough for him to hear. There were many things I wanted to try out, sure, but not here.

It was almost as though Roman could sense how nervous I was; he bent down a little, getting on my level before he whispered; "I won't tell Letha,"

... Oh? Feeling his hot breath against my skin, how dangerously close he was, was almost too much for me. The way he said it made me even more conscious of what was happening; I hadn't even told Letha how crazy I was about Roman yet, and I knew she'd be against it.

However, I was being served my biggest dream on a silver platter. Maybe if I got this bit over with, my feelings would subside and go back to being purely hateful again? 

"Okay..." I mustered up the courage, letting out a shaky breath before I opened my mouth to speak; "Could you maybe... kiss me, then?" My words came out barely louder than a whisper. "I've just had a really shitty night."

Roman's expression remained unchanged. "I'm sorry to hear that,"

"... No, you're not,"

"Okay, you might be right," He let out a soft laugh against my lips, and my eyes quickly darted down to his hands to check if he was holding a needle or not. One could never be sure... and this was how I knew my anxiety was through the roof.

"So... you want a kiss? That's all?" Roman asked, looking rather pleased with himself and the situation.

This was too nerve-wracking. I kept imagining that he would switch up and tell me no, that he would reject me somehow and make me the only girl at school he didn't want to do anything with— that would definitely make me hate him even more. In a flash moment of weakness (which I later blamed the alcohol for), I sighed; "Just... could you? Or am I asking for too much?"

Something about Roman's expression changed— he seemed to realize what I was actually asking for before I fully understood it myself. Not to make out, not to drown in one another, but the simplest of all things romance; affection. Something gentle, something sweet, just to check if he had a sliver of anything resembling that in his system. 

"You like me, don't you?" Roman whispered, nudging his nose against mine, eyes rounding out as he heard my breath hitch at the simple gesture. "This is what all of this has been about?"

Doing my best to still my breathing and not faint, I closed my eyes, revelling in the feeling. It was the smallest thing, yet it was a comfort in the midst of the conversation. "All of what?"

"Your anger," Roman let out a sigh, connecting our foreheads, closing his eyes as well. "You can't stand that you like me, can you?"

For some reason, I felt the urge to cry— I spent a few seconds pressing down the stream of tears that threatened to surface. Having someone say it out loud felt like a desperately needed release. "It's been a nightmare,"

Roman stilled, eventually letting out a hum which sent a shiver down my spine. "You know nothing about nightmares," he breathed against my lips. "If I tell Letha we fucked in here, you'll be living through your worst one."

For fuck's sake. I mumbled a curse as Roman laughed, clearly amused by the terrified look on my face. "No, I wouldn't do that," he teased, pulling away just a bit. "I'm not that bad, you know that, right?"

I huffed, not meeting his gaze anymore. Confessing to liking him had given him all the power over me in the world. "I don't know... You tend to be quite horrible,"

"And what horrible things do I do, may I ask?"

Oh, I was ready for this question— I had been ready for a while. "First of all, the fucking tater tots," I grumbled, meeting his amused eyes. "The fact that you pull my hair like you're five years old, you've drawn about a hundred dicks in my chemistry book, and the whole needle thing!"

"Needle thing?" Roman furrowed his brows— damn, he and Letha really had the same face, didn't they? 

"Yeah, the needle thing! Brooke told us!" Something about the confusion on his face felt rather satisfactory; your turn. "You pricked her and her friend Rachel and just... laughed, or something!"

Remembering the incident, Roman burst out laughing. "Oh, that!" he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Yeah, that was fun, I can't lie. So, okay, maybe I'm a bit bad, but... you still like me." His eyes were sparkling with mischief, and I knew it could lead to no good. "You still want to kiss me, so you can't be too scared? Or maybe..." Roman's hand travelled up to my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear as he smirked. "Maybe you're just a massive masochist?"

"What? No!" My protests were quick and loud— I wondered what the people outside this closet thought we were doing. "Roman, just... Ugh, fuck this, I'm leaving."

As I reached for the door, Roman grabbed my hand with force I hadn't expected of him, pinning it above my head against the wall. Like this, he was even closer to me than he had been just under a minute ago, and my eyes went wide with the realization that I could physically feel his bottom lip against mine, not yet coming together in the kiss I so desperately craved.

"I'm not going to make this easy for you," he whispered, words slow and low. Something about this whole situation was so intense, I nearly gave in to a shiver. "Whatever this will be, you and I... won't be easy."

"There is no you and I," I mumbled, feeling my heart beat up against his chest. "We do this once, and then we forget it." Please.

Roman hummed, a cocky grin spreading across his plush, pink lips. "You think you'll be able to? I have a feeling you've wanted me for a while,"

Fuck's sake. I hated him even more when he was right. My gaze hardened as it met his, and I wondered how much time we had left. No matter how mad I was at him, I still wanted to kiss him, just once. This might be the only chance I'd ever get, and I was going to take it. 

"Okay, then," Roman accepted my silence as an answer. Nudging my nose with his, he finally pressed his lips against mine with a softness I didn't know he had in him. 

This was not what I had expected. Something about this kiss was shaking up my whole view of the world, along with my view of Roman. The most obnoxious guy with an unmatched arrogance could... kiss like this? Like he actually had a soul? 

His lips moved against mine as though I was made of glass, and I felt his fingers intertwine with mine in the hand he was holding above my head. It sent shivers down my spine as my mind went haywire, wondering why he was being so careful with me. I brought my free hand up to cup his face, feeling how soft he was against my palm. I had expected him to be rough, aggressive... so what on earth was this?

Roman's arm snaked around my waist as he pulled me closer, and I let out a shaky breath against his lips— heat swirled in the pit of my stomach, feeling as though I was burning up from inside. 

But just as it started to get heated, two knocks were heard at the door; Roman pulled away, a victorious smirk in place as though he had successfully proved his point. "Thirty seconds left," he said. "Now, convince me why I shouldn't tell Letha."

What? Still trying to catch my breath, I felt myself freeze up. How was I supposed to think clearly when I was in this state? Roman's hand slid out of mine, waiting for my answer; "So?"

"Just don't," I breathed, putting a hand on my chest to feel my heart— did all of this just happen? "Don't tell her."

"That's not good enough," His green eyes were drilling into mine, and it was clear that he wished to corner me. Sadist.

"I'll do your stupid assignment,"

"Nope,"

"I'll... fuck, Roman, I don't know!" 

Roman snickered at my panic, fixing his hair, checking his clock; ten seconds left. "Fine, I'll be nice," he said, reaching out to swipe his thumb along the edge of my lip, wiping away some lipstick. "But you owe me."

Owe him? I wasn't the biggest fan of making a deal with the devil reincarnate in front of me. However, did I have any other choice? I let out a sigh of defeat; "... Fine,"

And this was when it truly hit me; I hated Roman Godfrey with all my heart— I hated the fact that he could make my heart flutter with the smallest gesture, that he could practically walk all over me with no remorse, and that he always looked so fucking good. 

However, at the end of the day, what I hated most... was how much I wanted him.

(a/n: thank you for reading!<333)

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°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･seven minutes in heaven masterlist

[reidsapplelady]

RIDE OR DIE — /A. HOTCHNER/

SUMMARY: You, a street racer, gets questioned by the feds about murders that are linked to your illegal racing feud. You refuse to cooperate, & they threaten to arrest you but you know they won't.

hotch x fem!street racer!reader ⸝⸝ slow burn & flangst ⸝⸝ enemies to lovers ⸝⸝ non established relationship

WARNINGS: mentions of murder, use of y/n, typical cm violence, blood, gunshot wounds and being tied up.

DANI'S NOTES: heh,, trigger's based off of someone that i actually know,, bare eith me cause i wrote most of this when i was sleepy idk if im cooking,, i saw a pretty lady on a motorbike and i thought of this when i was walking home,, heh your friends' names are kenzie and jay,, sorry i dont make the rules (yes i do)

W/C: 2k+ (ik i surprised myself there too)

The scent of gasoline and smoke reaches to Hotch and Rossi, they both cover grimaced at the scent as they observe the place. It was an abandoned ship yard that was turned into a makeshift race track.

Hotch hated the smell and the environment.

He notices a few glances from the men and women surrounding the place, before some people actually realize what's happening and sneakily made a run for it. You weren't that far, you were leaning on your motorbike, your foot on the foot peg, and you were lazily holding on to your helmet with two fingers as you talked to your friends.

A breeze flew by, your hair flowing with the wind. You seemed to have no care what was going on around you.

"Y/N L/N?" Rossi spoke up as they both approached you, you turn around to face them with a raised eyebrow before they flashed their badges. "We're Agents Rossi and Hotchner."

Your friends looked at eachother before they stepped back, giving you space and leaving you behind witth the agents. You immediately clear your throat as you put your helmet on your motorbike.

"Well, shit." You scoffed as you crossed your arms as you exhaled. "You gonna drag me in for all kinds of exhibition of speed?" You roll your eyes at the two of the agents.

"Actually, you're associated with two of our victims, in fact, you were last seen with the both of them. And when we checked their belongings in their car, both had a photograph of you and said victims." Rossi explains as he puts his badge back in his pocket.

"A lot of people have a crush on me, it's a curse of being incredibly hot." You joke nonchalantly as you shrugged at his implication.

Hotch didn't even blink before he started to speak again, "You were cited for numerous cases of exhibition of speed last month."

You shrug your shoulders at his words, "So what? I've got fans and a rap sheet. You want a cookie for that discovery?"

Rossi's lips twitched as he sighed sharply, meanwhile Hotch's gaze never left you. You could feel the weight of his stare, and you would be lying if you said you weren't nervous or attracted to him.

"You run this circuit, you know who's dealing, who's fixed and who's angry, so I suggest you start talking." Hotch says as he maintains eye contact with you.

"I don't know who's killing people if that's what you're talking about, Agent." You sigh as you continued. "And i'm not really interested in helping you."

"We could charge you with obstruction of justice right now." He threatens, staring daggers right at you.

"Try me. I'll get bailed out by Kenzie and Jay anyway." You counter.

Rossi gave a humorless, quiet chuckle as he looked at Hotch. "She's not afraid, Hotch."

"She isn't because she thinks this is a game." He replies to Rossi.

"I don't think it's a game." You scoff as you corrected, "Look, I get that people that are affiliated with street racing are dying but have you thought about actually catching the fucking killer? You're wasting your time darling." You say as you turned around to grab and put on your helmet, nodding to your friends who were now retreating to their vehicles to follow you.

Hotch just nodded to Rossi before they retreat to the black SUV that was not far behind them and drive back to the local precinct. But before Hotch gets in the vehicle he glances at you one more time as you put on your helmet and race out of the area, the loud sound of you and your friends' engines slowly grows quiet.

A few hours go by, and you found yourself sitting in an interrogation room like you owned the place. Your feet were on top of the table, your head was looking up at the ceiling, staring like you were bored. Maybe because you are bored.

You maintain this position until you hear the door creaking open, your head now faced towards the door, and you see Hotch.

"Feet off the table." Hotch says as he sat down right in front of you.

"Wow, I certainly missed you too." You tease as you didn't bother to change the position of your feet.

"You ever think about cooperating?" he asks as he opens the folder he has in his hands.

You leaned back as you set your feet off of the table, "You ever think of asking nicely?"

He didn't look up from the file, "You're not here as a guest. Three people are dead and two of them were associated with you. You're wasting time."

"You invited me," you scoff before flashing him a small smirk, "Is this not a date?"

Finally, he looked at you, not with anger, but with annoyance. Yes he was annoyed but you expected him to be mad.

"Cut the act," he said. "Tell me why I shouldn't charge you with obstruction of justice?"

"Tell me why you haven't yet." You snap at him.

Hotch ignored your words, "Talk." He said.

You sigh in defeat as you shifted to a more comfortable position on your seat. "Theres a name." you disclosed.

"His alias is Trigger, but we don't know his real name. Never bothered telling us." You explain, "He automatically lost a race due to him getting caught by me, he was trying to sabotage my motorbike by trying to put the wrong type of oil in my engine and popping the tires. Nobody's seen him in months." You continued to elaborate your history with Trigger.

"But way before that, we were friends."

Hotch's brows twitched as he asked, "Has he threatened anyone?"

You sighed as you try to recall, before coming up with something. "Oh yeah, after he pulled that little stunt, with my motorbike, he was muttering on how he was gonna kill everyone." Hotch takes note of your words as he listens

"Tell me more about him." Hotch's hands were now together as he kept staring at you.

"He's unhinged," you muttered, "the type where he thinks revenge is some sort of power play.." you grimaced as you elaborated further.

"Help us find him," Hotch said. "Before another name ends up in the coroner's office."

You hesitated. Your mask slipped for the first time, and you hated it. You feared that you might get hurt, or worse— your friends get hurt.

Hotch notices the change in your behavior, "You don't strike me as someone who just stands by."

"Why do you care," you scoff "I'm not a victim."

"No, but you could be." He says with no hesitation,

Hotch leans back on his chair as he observes you.

"Are you profiling me, Agent Hotchner?" You ask as you raise an eyebrow.

"No, I'm just observing you." He comments on your assumption.

You scoff as you lean back in your chair, "All I know is that he lives in an apartment."

"Do you know the details?" He asks.

"I know the building, I just forgot the apartment number." Your fingers were now fidgeting with eachother as you disclosed more information, Hotch looks at you with a soft glint in his eyes.

"Thank you." He gave you the smallest smile— but hey, atleast it's better than nothing.

"Find the son of a bitch before he hurts me and my friends."

You were now standing. Standing in front of the pool of blood that belonged to your friends. Their dead bodies tied up and a gunshot wound to their head. Kenzie's laughter echoed in your ears, but you knew it was in your head.

You hear the sound of the doorknob behind you clicking, you immediately grab the crowbar that was near you, only for the door to reveal it was Hotch and a woman with black hair.

"Lower your weapon." Hotch says with a low and controlled tone as he slowly holsters his gun. You let go of the crowbar, the clanging noise echoed in the garage.

He approaches you slowly with concern, "Are you hurt?"

You snap out of your trance as you look at him, now processing everything. "Yeah." You spoke, your voice was hoarse and low.

Tears now prickle your eyes, "I was a few minutes late." You whisper to Hotch. He doesn't raise an eyebrow, but instead he listens.

"I was out grabbing food for them cause they wanted food— and then.." You sobbed, your hands make their way to your face to rub away the tears.

He doesn't say i'm sorry, cause he knows that you don't want it. "You're not safe here." He muttered to you.

You don't argue back, not this time. He guides you to the black SUV that they have and drive you to the local PD to put you in protective custody.

The drive to the PD wasn't loud, yet it wasn't quiet either. You were in the backseat as the woman who was sitting in the front seat, that you now identified as Prentiss was talking to Hotch.

The two of them escorts you to a room where it was closed and quiet, Prentiss left the two of you together after escorting you to the room.

"Do you think this is my fault?" You blurted as you sat down on the couch, your eyes lands on him.

"No." He answers as he observes you.

"I mean— I was the one that called him out, he hates me. He killed my friends, and people that knew me." You rambled.

"Your friends were killed by a psychopath that always had murder tendencies. You were simply just the trigger." He interrupts your rambling.

"So basically, my fault." You sigh. "Ironic how his name is trigger and I was his trigger." You tried to lighten the mood.

Your hands grip your knees, you hate how fragile you felt right now.

"I'm not built for this, I'm used to getting injured, but this?" you just chuckle, it wasn't a genuine one.

He sits on the chair next to the sofa you were sitting on. "You're stronger than you think."

You shook your head as you sniffled. "No. No, you don't know me."

"I feel like I'm starting to." He blurted, and this time there was something in his tone that catched you off guard. Soft, Honest, Warm.

You stare at him— You don't even realize it until a few seconds before you shook your head.

"We'll catch him." He assures.

You click your tongue, "Do you do this for everyone?" You ask.

He raised an eyebrow, "What?"

"You know, staying with a potential victim and engaging in small talk." You elaborate.

"Kind of." He shrugs as you chuckle at his answer.

"I thought you hated me." You blurted as you leab your back against the sofa.

"I never hated you." Hotch's expression shifts as he whispered to you.

You tilt your head at his words, "Really? Cause you were glaring daggers at me during the interview and our first meet."

"Interrogation habits." He stated as you hummed.

"Why is this happening to me?" You blurted once again.

Hotch doesn't answer, he just looks at you with sympathy.

"I'm so bad at expressing my feelings, sorry." You rub your eyes, trying to rub away the tears that was prickling your eyes.

"You don't need to be sorry. You've lost your friends in a gruesome way and you're still coping." He comforts you with his words. "Feel free to just.. let it all out."

You close your eyes as tears start rolling down your cheek, what you didn't expect was his hand landing on your cheek to rub your tears away. He mutters a sorry to you, not out of sympathy but because he touched you.

"I don't.. I don't wanna be alone." You murmur to Hotch.

"You're not." He paused before continuing, "You should sleep." You nod as you lay on your side on the couch, Hotch was just on the chair beside you.

As you drift in your sleep, you realize something terrifying. You trust him now.

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