#I fall FIRMLY in the latter

[aquariansarehumanitarians]

Forget being a dog person or a cat person. Are you a “I’d rather deal with the scorching summer than deal with any temperature below 60 degrees” person, or a “I’d rather deal with the frigid winter than deal with any temperature above 80” person?

[madschiavelique]

accidentally overstimulating miguel while you’re riding him so he literally has to lift you up off him and he’s like “okay, yeah, that’s enough”

yESSSSS AAAA (i know this is not a request per se but i felt like writing a lil smth about it)

summary : overstimulating miguel while riding him to the point where he has to lift you off him... so he fingers you and gives you oral instead

content warnings : SMUT (18+) minors dni, pnv sex, oral sex (reader receiving), fingering (reader receiving), reader riding migul, overstimulation, no use of Y/N, fem!reader word count : 839

tag list : @fandom-ash

Miguel couldn't wait, it had been too long since you and him had fucked. The reasons were varied: you were on a mission and he wasn't, he was on a mission and you weren't, you were both on a mission and had to take care of business, or you had to take care of reports and other interdimensional problems.

So when you had a little more free time and he welcomed you into his home, he couldn't hold on any longer. He'd double-locked the door, and as soon as he'd done that, he'd guided you in the bedroom, pulled down your bottom, practically ripped off your panties and thrust himself inside you.

And now you'd been in there for over an hour. You were on top of Miguel, riding him, undulating your body perfectly on top of him as he just had an orgasm.

He'd gripped your buttocks tightly, taking your skin entirely between his fingers as he'd pressed his pelvis as close to yours as possible to go deep inside you.

At last, he'd let his head rest on his pillow.

Only you hadn't stopped moving. The sensations you were experiencing were delicious, his whole length and width plunged into you and stretching you to perfection. The rocking of your hips was delicious, yet Miguel's sensitivity was beginning to kick in.

It was as if you were gently caressing a fresh wound, each movement turning the touch into a painful grip.

He grunted, sighing as you continued your movements. He looked at you, absolutely magnificent above him.

He had no desire to interrupt your pleasure, to suddenly stop the superb sounds you were producing thanks to him - he was too proud of making them.

But the sensation was becoming less and less sustainable, and with a final grunt he gripped your thighs firmly and lifted you off him to let his cock fall back against his lower belly, still glistening with your juices.

"Okay," he huffed, completely out of breath and relieved, "yeah, that's enough."

You looked at him, equally breathless, the small regret that it stopped so suddenly settling on your face.

Miguel felt almost guilty at your apologetic expression, but he was unable at the moment to continue satisfying you like this, unless he proceeded otherwise...

"Still wanna go at it, nena?" he questioned, stroking your thigh.

You nodded softly, the warm desire in your lower belly still present and demanding attention.

"I'll give you a choice then," he nodded, "choose: fingers, or mouth?"

You bit your lower lip with a smile before only leaning into him and confirming:

"Both."

A low rumble vibrated in his chest as a sneer stretched one of his lips in a dark smile.

"Good choice."

In one swift movement you found yourself in his place and he in yours, towering over you with his massive body as he began a trail of kisses across your skin and you chirped under his touch.

He moved down to your lower belly, leaving small marks in his wake before bringing his hand to your wet folds, coating two of his fingers with your wetness before sliding them in.

The shaky breath you took made Miguel smile against your skin, the warmth of his breath crashing against your exposed flesh. You deserved this attention, and he was going to give it to you.

As his fingers slowly began to curve in and out of you, he came to kiss your skin, moving down with each kiss towards your clit. The sensation of his lips grazing the latter inevitably brought your hand to rest in his hair as you arched your back.

The gesture elicited a slight moan from him, which vibrated on the sensitive ball of nerves, and you sighed a mix of a breath and a moan.

His tongue made sinuous circles around your clit as his two fingers accelerated slightly. He knew which places he had to touch to make you produce the sweetest sounds, and he wasn't going to deprive himself of hearing them.

He would never tire of seeing in your eyes even the size of your desire, and he would never tire of the idea that it was meant for him. He knew how lucky he was.

Your walls were perfect, taking his thick, long fingers into you so good. He curved them while making smaller and smaller circles centered on your clit, kissing and licking it.

The state you'd been in just a few moments ago while riding Miguel was close to orgasm, and his calculated gestures were going to push you over the edge. Instinctively, your pelvis began to undulate on its own.

Your hands gripped his hair more firmly, your breath quickening as the heat rose to your cheeks and the knot tightened in your belly.

And then it all exploded, Miguel tenderly kissing your skin as you felt like he was kissing a second heart beating in your entire body. He waited a bit before pulling out his two fingers gently, bringing them to his lips, sucking them until all your juices were clean from his fingers.

Then rose to kiss you, murmuring tender words to your ears.

"You're amazing, nena, and I need you to know it."

[sohyxn]

STAY IN VEGAS ( OR IS IT? )⠀───⠀JANG WONYOUNG.

SYPNOSIS : wonyoung and yn entered into an impulsive six months marriage trial, but as times progressed, they realized this drunken marriage was not a mistake after all.

TAGS : wlw, fluff, continuation of what happens in vegas, strangers to lovers, just them falling in love, kinda rush ending.

NOTES : this was fun to write omg

"I'm sorry, but according to the law, you two have to be married for at least six months before you can legally get divorced," the attorney explained, giving them an apologetic look.

"six months?" wonyoung exclaimed, her eyes wide. "but that's ridiculous! we got married drunk, for goodness sake. this was never meant to be a real, lasting marriage."

yn placed a comforting hand on wonyoung's arm. "hey, it's okay. we'll figure this out." she turned to the attorney. "is there any way we can expedite the process? maybe a week or a month?"

the attorney shook his head. "I'm afraid not. the six months waiting period is firmly in place. unless there are extenuating circumstances, you'll have to wait it out."

"this is such a waste of time," wonyoung grumbled as they sat in the stuffy office for their first meeting. exams were coming up and she was already overwhelmed with studying.

yn nodded in agreement, shifting uncomfortably. "I just want this to be over with."

their eyes met for a brief moment, and despite the tense situation, they couldn't help but share a small laugh at the absurdity of it all. the ice slowly started to break.

over the next few weeks, wonyoung and yn tentatively began spending more time together, deciding to make the best of their forced proximity.

they went on casual "dates" - dinners, walks in the park, trips to the movies. at first it was stilted and awkward, but gradually they started to open up to each other.

one night, as exam season hit full swing, wonyoung was holed up in her apartment, surrounded by books and notes, stress levels at an all-time high. yn had been trying to call her, but wonyoung was too consumed with studying to answer.

concerned, yn decided to pay her a visit. when wonyoung opened the door, she looked utterly exhausted.

"yn? what are you doing here?" she asked, bewildered.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," she said softly, stepping inside. she took in the cluttered apartment and wonyoung's frazzled appearance. "you look like you could use a break."

wonyoung sighed heavily. "I'm just so stressed with these exams, I can't think straight."

yn gently guided her to the couch. "then let me take care of you for a bit." she disappeared into the kitchen, and soon the aroma of fresh-baked cookies filled the air.

when she returned, she handed wonyoung a warm, gooey cookie. "eat up. you need to take a breather."

wonyoung took a bite, the delicious treat melting in her mouth. she felt some of the tension leave her body as yn sat beside her, rubbing her back soothingly.

"mmm, these are amazing," wonyoung said, moaning slightly in delight. "you know, having a wife isn't too bad after all."

yn raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "oh, so I'm your wife now, huh? I thought we were supposed to be getting a divorce."

wonyoung rolled her eyes, nudging yn's shoulder. "shut up, you know what I mean." she took another bite of the cookie, savoring the flavor. "but seriously, these are the best cookies I've ever had. where did you learn to bake like this?"

"secret," yn teased, winking at her. "maybe I'll have to teach you someday. make sure you keep that wife of yours happy, you know."

wonyoung couldn't help but laugh, the stress of her exams temporarily forgotten as she basked in yn's comforting presence. "deal."

“I'm here." wonyoung sent the message to yn.

lately it has become a routine for wonyoung to 'pick up' yn at her workplace whenever the latter have free times.

as usual, its a busy night at the bar where yn worked, and she was bustling around, serving cocktails and chatting with the patrons. she was so focused on her work that she didn't even notice wonyoung slip in and take a seat at the end of the bar.

wonyoung watched yn with adoring eyes, taking in the way she moved with such confidence and grace behind the bar. she couldn't help but feel a surge of pride, knowing that this beautiful, talented woman was hers, even if it is only by paper.

as wonyoung was lost in her thoughts, she couldn't help but notice someone at the bar eyeing yn appreciatively.

wonyoung felt a flicker of possessiveness rise up inside her. she reached across the table and took yn's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"you look absolutely stunning tonight, you know that?" wonyoung said, her gaze locked on yn's.

yn flushed surprised by the compliment, a small smile tugging at her lips. "thank you, wony. you're looking pretty dashing yourself."

just then, the person from the bar approached their table, a flirtatious smile on their face.

"excuse me, I couldn't help but notice you from across the room. I was wondering if you might join me for a drink?" they said, eyes fixed on yn.

before yn could respond, wonyoung slid her arm around yn's waist and pulled her close.

"actually, she's with me," wonyoung said firmly, giving the person a pointed look.

the person's eyes widened in surprise, and they quickly backtracked. "oh, I-I'm so sorry, I didn't realize. please, excuse me."

they hurried back to the bar, leaving wonyoung and yn alone. yn turned to wonyoung, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"my, someone's feeling a little possessive tonight," she teased, giving wonyoung's hand a gentle squeeze.

wonyoung felt her cheeks heat up, but she didn't back down. "well, can you blame me? I don't want anyone else trying to flirt with my wife."

yn's eyes widened slightly at wonyoung's words, but she quickly recovered, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "wife, huh?"

wonyoung felt her cheeks flush at the implication, and she averted her gaze shyly. "w...well, technically, you're my wife. I mean, you know, we're...married by law." she cleared her throat awkwardly.

yn chuckled and leaned in closer to wonyoung. "is that so? and here I thought we were just friends" she winked, enjoying the flustered reaction she was getting from wonyoung.

wonyoung cleared her throat "anyway... ready to go home?"

"yeah, let's go wifey." yn teased the already flustered wonyoung.

over the next few weeks, wonyoung and yn found themselves spending more and more time together. what had started as a casual arrangement had evolved into a deep, genuine connection.

just like today, they cuddled on the couch watching a movie, when wonyoung turned to yn.

"you know, I've been thinking..." she began tentatively.

yn brushed a stray lock of hair from wonyoung's face. "what is it?"

"well, our six months are almost up. we're supposed to get a divorce, remember?" wonyoung said, biting her lip.

yn's heart sank at the reminder. "oh, right. I'd almost forgotten about that."

wonyoung sighed heavily. "I don't know, yn. the thought of us getting a divorce...it doesn't sit right with me anymore."

"me neither," yn admitted softly. she gave wonyoung's hand a gentle squeeze. "I've grown so used to having you in my life. I don't want that to end."

wonyoung nodded, her eyes shining with emotion. "same here. you've become such an important part of my life. I don't think I'm ready to say goodbye to that."

they fell silent for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. then, wonyoung spoke up again, a playful glint in her eye.

"so, what do you say we just...not get a divorce?" she suggested, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips.

yn couldn't help but chuckle. "are you proposing we stay married, then?"

wonyoung nodded, snuggling closer to yn. "that's exactly what I'm proposing. what do you think, wife?"

yn wrapped her arms around wonyoung, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "well, in that case, I think I'd be a fool to say no, darling."

wonyoung beamed, her heart swelling with happiness. "good, because I don't plan on letting you go anytime soon."

[coryosbaby]

Time to Pretend .. Will Graham x student! Reader

Content warning . 18+ NSFW

His sweet little moans sound so delicious in her ear that it almost seems right to be touching him like this.

Oh, and how sweet he looks. Her forensics professor leans against his desk, big arms gripping the edge of it as his pants rest at his ankles. His cock is red and achy in her hand as she rubs the tip of him with her palm.

He stays still for the most part, but boy does he make faces. His mouth dropped open, eyes scrunched closed as she whispers foul mouthed things in his ear. He whines when she kisses him firmly on the mouth, feverently pressing his lips against hers like a man starved. She pulls away from him with a small chuckle.

“Concentrate, professor.“

“Please,” he murmurs, breathless. Her thumb rubs over his cockhead and he fucks into her hand with shallow thrusts. “Please, baby— I can’t—“

“You can,” she coos. His glasses fall crooked on his nose, and she kisses him on the cheek before setting them straight. “Come on, professor Graham, don’t you want to be a good boy for me?”

The sound he makes is borderline pornographic. He nods, because yes, he wants to be a good boy for her, he wants it more than his next breath. He bites his lower lip to muffle his sounds— it’s a lunch break, and anyone could walk in.

“Look at you, honey,” she sighs out, hypnotized by the pre cum spilling over her fist. “You’re so wet. Practically dripping down my hand.”

“It’s.. it’s because you’re making me feel so good,” he breathes out. His hand reaches out to wrap around the wrist stroking him, and he doesn’t know if he wants her to stop or keep going because his brain has turned to complete mush. He assumes the latter, because he can feel his orgasm rapidly approaching when she twists her wrist a certain way. “You’re making me feel so good. Fuck— “He tilts his head back, eyes rolling. “ I’m— I’m close. I’m gonna—“

Her hand stops, pulls away from him so suddenly that he lets out a choked sob. Not again.

“No!” He whines, and reaches out to grab her fingers and put them back where they belong. She slaps his hand away.

“Did I say you could do that?” she asks, scolding. “Put your hands on the desk. Don’t fucking touch me, ever.”

He wants to scream. But his obedience doesn’t waiver now, and he digs his fingernails into the wood of the table. She smiles at this, her hands trailing up to his hips and squeezing them.

“You’re so pretty,” she praises, and tilts her head. “It’s too bad you’re such a brat.”

“I’m not.” he replies under his breath, almost annoyed. But not really— he could never be annoyed with her.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s what I thought,” she says, before wrapping her hand around him again. He sighs in relief, his cock so red that it’s almost purple. How long has it been since they begun this? Thirty, maybe forty minutes? He should be concerned about getting caught, but right now he’s too far gone to care.

There she goes again. Bringing Will to the edge, denying him. Over, and over, and over. Until some semblance of mercy is cast upon the poor man when he sees her pull down the front of her skirt. She tugs the waistband of her underwear open so he can see the top of her mound, and she directs the tip of his cock right above it. She jacks him feverently, telling him to squirt all over her aching pussy.

Will is excited, almost relieved of all of his fucking issues when she says this. It’s all going great— until the sound of a doorknob jingling reverberates through the room.

Panic surges through Will. He had locked the door (thank god), but now the person on the other side begins to knock.

He thought she would panic. She doesn’t.

“Better cum now, professor,” she teases, batting her eyelashes, and he bites into his wrist. “Cmon, baby, I’m finally letting you cum. Is a little audience really giving you cold feet?”

“(Y/N), I swear to God—“

“Will?”

He hears a voice from outside, one that seems to be looking for him.

Jack Crawford. He’s getting edged by one of his students, and the person to come knocking on his classroom door is Jack fucking Crawford. His forehead bumps against hers and his mouth falls open.

He can’t help what happens next. Maybe it’s all the pent up sensations, or the way her pussy looks so delectable and she’s begging for him to cum all over it— maybe it’s the fact that he might get caught. But the man’s mouth drops open, drool seeping out of the corner of it, and he finally, finally reaches his peak.

He practically drenches the girl’s panties, glazes the inside with sticky white and fights the urge to yell how thankful he is. She strokes him through his orgasm, a grin on her face at the sight of his spend coating her. The knocking sounds louder, but fuck it feels so good that Will could care less.

She pulls her hand away when he comes down. She smiles, her lips grazing the shell of his ear.

“Good boy,” she whispers, and he shudders.

“Will?” Jack’s voice sounds again, concerned almost. “Are you in there?”

The girl shakes her head— a signal. There’s a smile on her face as she sees Will’s distraught face. He stays silent.

It isn’t long before Jack leaves, going off elsewhere to find him. He hears retreating footsteps, and breathes a sigh of relief. Looking at her, his jaw clenches tight.

“Why did you do that?”

She shrugs. “Why not?”

He wants to be angry, but all he’s thinking about is the load that’s drying in her underwear. She kisses his cheek before she skips to the door, vacant on the other side.

“See you tomorrow, professor.”

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @claireyberryy @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi @kaithoughs @jamespotterismydaddy

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve and Gareth as Cousins, no longer a warm-up and now called Lifelines, part three! I’ll throw it up on A03 when I finish the fourth part. 

Prior parts can be read here: Part One / Part Two 

First things first, the most amazing @ sereinpetrichor managed to track down the OG Twitter thread this runaway train is based off of! 

It was this thread by @gatorthots, the Tumblr version of which can be read, here.  All blame for this idea firmly rests on their brilliant, plot bunny inducing shoulders. 

The other, follow up thread I mentioned was this one by Silas, whose tumblr name I do not know. 

As always and forever, shout out to the most amazing @chalkysgarbagefire​ who helps me edit/plot/pats my head while I’m crying in their inbox bc the words aren’t wording right. 

Warnings: Steve and Robin are canon (S3) drugged. I took a slightly (kinda sorta) more realistic approach. Vomit mention, canon threat of violence/guns (the Russian guards) Mention of pantsing/past bullying, Steve and Robin’s drugged asses not understanding personal space, Dustin’s canon...Im gonna go with assholishness? but like, I think its more than he’s a young kid and doesn't quite have the emotional growth/awareness yet in this kind of insane situation to know how to react to the whole address/torture bit (really who does)/its a defense mechanism--and Gareth sort of has a panic attack. 

Whatever the hell they had been drugged with, Steve and Robin went from 'giggly happy fun time' to 'vomiting into toilet bowls while loudly wishing for death’ awfully fast. 

Gareth was not an expert on drugs. He knew Eddie wasn't either (the guy never dealt anything stronger than your average psychedelic--had some agreement with his Uncle about only selling "the 70s basics") and repeated looks towards him proved Eddie was still trying to figure out what Steve and Robin were on. 

Answers hadn't exactly been forthcoming--Eddie's gently made attempts at ferreting out information had only caused more confusion.

Like why the two of them were so freaked out about a gate, or what had made Robin gasp, and then laugh so hard she cried when Steve had made a particularly rough noise then muttered; "Even that sounds better than Tammy Thompson." 

Either way, Gareth was mostly trying to figure out what the hell they were going to do, because sobering up in a busy, public mall wasn't exactly the best idea. 

"I regret," Robin tried to say, in-between gagging. "I regret--hrk--" 

"Me too." Steve moaned, head resting against the stall wall. Gareth, still caught up in panic, had been permanently regulated to door guard while Eddie alternated between sweet talking, rubbing backs and offering quietly whispered advice. 

"Let's go back in time and ignore the whole silver cat thing." Robin continued, slumping back down onto the floor. 

"Wouldn't have mattered." Steve muttered. "Dustin would have figured it out without us. Kid’s too damn smart." 

"So?" Robin grumbled, quietly thanking Eddie as he once again brushed her hair out of her face. 

"So he would have gone down there anyway, which means I'd be down there anyway." Steve concluded. "We shouldn't have gotten you involved though." 

He shakily pushed himself up, staggering to his feet and looking like bambi on ice while doing it. 

Eddie quickly came round to offer his help, hands spread as Steve groaned out a curse and clutched his head.  

The older took a step forward right as Steve lurched back, unbalanced and shaky. 

 "Oh shit." He said, eyes wide as he crashed backwards into Eddie, the latter catching him with a grunt. 

Despite the entire situation, Gareth found himself stifling a laugh as Eddie wrapped his noodle arms around Steve's chest, trying to hold the other up without falling himself. 

"Come on big boy, why don't we just siiiit back down." Eddie said, slightly breathless as he helped guide Steve back to the floor. "There we go…"

They did so outside the bathroom stall, Eddie sinking into a kneel as Steve sort of flopped down on top of him. 

Blinked a few times, like the drop had rattled what little sense he’d managed to recover in the last few minutes. 

A pleased noise came out of his cousin's throat, and holy shit was Gareth going to have blackmail for life, because rather than vacate Eddie's lap, Steve just turned around in it. 

Reached up with one finger outstretched and proved himself to be very much still under the influence as he touched Eddie's nose.

"Boop!" He said, and then giggled as Eddie dropped onto his ass in surprise. 

Gareth watched Robin as she took the whole thing in, from Steve's snickers to Eddie's shocked expression, eyes growing wide in excitement. 

He failed entirely to cover his own amusement when Eddie abruptly found himself with two sailors invading his personal space, each taking turns to boop his nose. 

“Uh.” He managed to get out, blinking rapidly and at a loss for words. “Ah.” 

Steve caught the metalhead’s awkward, red-faced expression and proceeded to drop his head to Eddie's shoulder, muffling his laughter against the man's vest. 

The helpless look his best friend sent him was one Gareth would remember for a long time. 

“O-kay.” Eddie said, frazzled, as Steve recovered far too quickly, turning to rest his cheek against a slim shoulder as he walked two fingers up Eddie’s battle vest and towards his hair. Likewise, Robin had discovered Eddie’s wallet chain, and had begun fiddling with it. 

One finger curled around a strand of brown hair and Eddie jerked his head, removing the tempting piece away from Steve’s hands. 

“I know you’re used to getting whatever you want, your highness.” He said, his own hand smacking against his waist before Robin figured out the other end of his chain ended in a handcuff, “But you of all people should know the hair is off limits.” 

Completely undeterred, Steve just gave him a loose, easy grin. “It’s so pretty though.” He complained, fluttering his eyelashes in a blatant attempt to try and turn on the ol’ Harrington charm.  “You can touch mine if you want.” 

Yeah, Gareth’s blackmail was getting better by the second. 

He might even get a new piece for his drum kit out of it, if this kept up. 

Free weed too, considering Eddie’s blush was now fire-engine red. 

“Man,” Eddie said in a clear bid to deflect the entire situation (and Steve’s fingers) away from his hair, “the last time someone called me pretty was right before I got pantsed—-is Tommy H hiding in one of the stalls again?” 

Steve picked his head up, confusion crashing down his face. 

“Did he do that?” He asked. 

Then, with growing horror; “Do you think I’d do that?” 

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that your whole little court’s M.O.?” 

Steve sucked in a breath, looking downright hurt. "I wouldn’t do that." He insisted, eyes wheeling from Eddie to Gareth and back, as though hoping Gareth would back him up. 

“I’m not--I’m not friends with Tommy anymore.” Steve continued, voice growing smaller as he spoke. “I’m not friends with anybody anymore, except maybe Dustin.” 

It sounded so defeated; trodden on and subdued that Gareth stepped forward automatically, to do--something. 

Provide the fucking comfort his cousin was oft denied and hug the guy. 

As always, it turned out to be the wrong move. 

"Oh thank god." A kid said, seconds after bulldozing through the main door and nearly bowling Gareth over in the process. "I found them!" He shouted over his shoulder as swept into the room. 

“Speak of the devil.” Steve said flatly, and even drugged, he managed to pull himself back together from distressed to stoic in mere seconds. 

The curly-haired kid--Dustin apparently--stormed right up to the pile of humans splayed on the floor, hands on his hips. "What the hell. We told you two to stay put!" 

Steve rolled his eyes as Robin booed him. 

“Have you forgotten what’s happening? Or how we’re kinda in a Red Dawn situation?” Dustin continued, looking like he’d just escaped from a summer camp. 

The kid even had a walkie talkie clutched in one hand, of all things. 

“We know.” Steve and Robin deadpanned at once, before looking at each other; Steve pointing a finger towards Robin and Robin pointing one back. 

This caused the kids to trade their own long suffering, “can you believe this shit” faces. 

"We need to go, and the only way we’re gonna get out of here unnoticed is if we blend in with the crowd." Dustin said impatiently.  “Now come on Steve, get up already, you've had worse.”

"I really don't think I have." Steve muttered, but moved to push himself to his feet anyway. 

Eddie beat him to it, and he and Gareth both hovered nearby in case Steve was still unsteady. 

Thankfully, the kids' presence seemed to sober up Robin and Steve both. 

Not actually sober, that wasn't how drugs worked, but whatever was left of the fun was sucked right out of the bathroom, replaced by two teenagers who were sort of functional on whatever they'd been drugged with. 

Stress and adrenaline, Gareth knew, could overcome a lot of things. Including Russian "truth serum" apparently. 

“Yeah well you're lucky you got found by these guys and not anyone else. " Dustin continued pointedly, before turning his attention towards Gareth and Eddie both. "Thanks for watching our friends, but we've got them from here." 

Gareth made a sort of unhinged, disbelieving noise. 

 “No, no you do not.” He declared, anxiety clawing at his gut at the mere thought of abandoning Steve to two children. 

"I don't think you heard him." The girl stepped forward, braids swinging about her face as she lifted her chin and nailed him with a cold glare. 

 As if this entire situation couldn’t possibly get weirder, Gareth suddenly realized she had a helmet in her hands and knee pads on.

 "He said we got this. So scram." She flicked her fingers out in a dismissive sort of "shoo" gesture.

"And leave my drugged cousin with his new girlfriend behind!?" Gareth challenged right back, emotions far too raw and frayed to care he was snarling at a little girl. "I don’t think so!”

"Cousin!?" Dustin bit out, sounding almost betrayed for some reason, at the same time Robin who'd been climbing to her feet with Eddie’s help, shouted; "I am not his girlfriend!" 

Steve, clearly unwilling to entertain whatever fight was brewing, clapped his hands together. 

"Yes cousin, Dustin. It's a type of family member." Steve said, after they all flinched and looked to him. He at least looked steadier on his feet this time, though Gareth still lingered nearby in case he took a wrong step. 

"I know what a cousin is, Steve!" Dustin shot back. 

“Then why are you acting like a lunatic?” Steve complained, and Gareth got to watch in real time as Steve pulled on the persona he often wore in high school down around him. “You said it yourself, we don’t have a lot of time. Worse, I don't know if anyone saw Gareth and Munson here with us.” 

He jerked a thumb sideways in Eddie’s direction, not that anyone couldn’t figure out who “Munson” was. 

“They stay with us until we’re out of this mall.” Steve finished, before he started towards the door.

One step he was Gareth’s cousin, drugged and vulnerable because of it. 

The next he stood taller, talked smoother, took charge with an aurora that said he expected everyone to listen to him. 

It was fake as hell, but it worked. 

“I know you’ve got a plan Dustin, so spill it.” He commanded as he walked.  

 Dustin, despite all the squawking, did just that. 

xXx 

Of all the things Gareth had expected to see upon escorting their little ragtag crew out of the bathroom, groups of intimidating, mean looking assholes wasn’t on the list. 

He found himself repeatedly nudging Eddie in the ribs, unable to take his eyes off what was clearly a checkpoint as he staggered to a halt. 

It was one thing to be told people were after Steve and the “Scoop’s Troop” As Robin had jokingly named them. 

It was another entirely to see the security guard directly in front of him look over a woman’s ID before apologizing to her, a sleazy grin matching his oily pony-tail as he waved her on. 

They really were looking for someone. 

Not someone, Gareth realized in dawning horror.

Them. 

Robin apparently, came to the same conclusion seconds later, because she snatched Steve and Dustin’s arms both, hauling them backwards. 

“Argue about Dustin’s address later, we need to find a different way out.” She hissed quietly as she tried to slowly reversed direction, movements still a bit sloppy. 

She might have even gotten away with it, had Sleazy Pony-Tail not turned and made eye contact with Gareth right after she spoke. 

His eyes swept over him, then to the rest of the group, freezing like a cat that had spotted its prey.

“Abort, abort!” Dustin sputtered, wheeling about on his heel. 

Erica, whose name Gareth had learned when she kicked him in the shin after he asked why an actual infant was running around with Steve and Robin, pointed towards the escalators before she beelined over to it, ducking into the center and riding it down like a slide. 

Something Eddied was downright delighted to copy. 

Gareth might have enjoyed it himself, had he not been looking over his shoulder to see not one, not two, but four security guards giving chase--and gaining. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuckikity fuck.” He heard Robin chant as she shot past, Steve planting himself at the top as he made sure everyone got down to the next level before sliding down himself. 

"Do not let them leave!" One of the guards yelled to the others, accent clear as a bell. 

"Holy shit that guy's actually Russian." Gareth found himself saying as he skidded across the floor and bolted after the others, Steve hot on his heels. 

He had kinda expected the Russian thing to be some sort of drug influenced inside joke and not an actual, honest-to-God Soviet. 

Which led to the question of why the fuck adult men in security uniforms had drugged random teenage retail workers.

Food workers.

Whatever the fuck one called a two people who scooped ice-cream in sailor costumes. 

"There's another group up ahead!" Eddie yelped, swerving sideways and nearly taking Erica out while doing it. 

Noise erupted ahead of them in the form of foreign shouting and loud, harshly barked commands to “Freeze!”  

‘Oh hell no.’ Gareth thought wildly, as he caught the form of the giant fricken gun the guard closest to him held. 

“Split up!” Dustin howled, and before anyone could comment about how bad an idea that was, Gareth found himself being yanked sideways. 

Steve swore loudly behind him as Robin, who’d crashed backwards, pulled him in the opposite direction and in a second their group broke in two. Gareth, Eddie and Dustin going one way, Steve, Robin and Erica another. 

"This isn’t happening." Gareth muttered, words made in a sort of pleading denial as he and Eddie turned the corner and immediately vaulted over the counter of an Orange Julius. “I smoked or drank or did something and this is a hallucination that is not. Actually. Happening.” 

Dustin at least, was smart enough to dive around the counter instead of over it, sliding towards them on his knees. 

Eddie quickly yanked him down to the floor in-between himself and Gareth once he was close enough to grab, one hand going over the hat to shove the kids head down. 

Annoying or not, he was at least several years younger than them, and Gareth could practically feel Eddie’s protective instinct kick in as he kept his hand on Dustin’s head. 

Together they tried to silence their breathing as the guards’ shouting continued on behind them. 

What was worse than their noises though, was when they unexpectedly and suddenly, went silent. 

Gareth’s breath felt far too loud as the stillness gained a suppressive weight, pressing down harshly against him and making it harder and harder to inhale. 

‘Panic attack.’ He realized, thoughts a touch detached. ‘You can’t afford to have a panic attack right now.’ 

Not when it had a high chance of getting them all killed. 

Slowly he moved his own free hand, placing it atop of Eddie’s, fingers gripping down in a way that was no doubt painful. 

Eddie glanced over to him and Gareth thanked every single time he’d smoked way too much weed, because his best friend immediately clocked what was wrong. 

Turned his hand over, so that Gareth could hold onto it atop Dustin’s hat. 

It didn’t help with the knowledge that his very much still drugged cousin and his equally drugged not-girlfriend were also hiding somewhere, or that there was significantly more Russians than there where terrified teenagers (and one--whatever age Erica was.)  

Flashlights cut shapes into the wall overheard, trailing along the Orange Julius menu. Quiet voices covered even quieter footsteps and Gareth had the sudden realization the probability of there being more than one guard carrying a huge gun, was very, very high. 

Worse?

This part of the mall wasn’t that big. There were only so many places to hide, and as such, only so many places to look. 

Death comes for everyone eventually, but Gareth hadn’t exactly expected it to show up before he hit twenty.

Not that they could do anything but wait. Pray to God and the universe and any other higher power he could think of to intervene, head pressed hard against the wood behind him as the small noises drew nearer.

What he hadn’t expected was for said prayers to get answered in the form of a of a fucking car being thrown into the Russian’s like bowling balls. 

“Run!” Dustin shouted, and Gareth wasted absolutely no time in doing just that. 

The only goal on his mind was to find Steve, get out, and then have a very long discussion about what the hell this all was, in that exact order. 

[deja-yu]

Am I your favourite? ~ Choi San

Genre: Fluff

Warning: San is drunk but I swear they talk about it in the morning.

San is contently watching Seongwha argue Hongjoong cheated during their last round of Mario Cart, which the latter firmly denies. You watch him gently sway in place and blink slowly, you snort at his actions, clearly the drinks are taking a toll on him. You scoot closer to Yunho on your left to make some more space for San. “Sannie” he turns to you with a questioning look. You just pat your thighs to signal him to lay down. He gives you a goofy grin before scooting around to get comfortable, you watch him finally rest his head on your thighs and smile when he lets out a big sigh. He looks up at you with a loving smile before whispering a thank you.

Yunho bumps your side and gives you a look. “Your favouritism is showing” he accuses, making you laugh. “Oh my yuyu~” You pat your shoulder for him. He grins wrapping your arm in his before resting his head on your shoulder. The two of you are giggling but it’s not long before Yunho gets called away to a match of Mario Kart.

You hear a huff from below and find San pouting. “What’s wrong?” He sits up and the closeness makes your face heat up. He doesn’t bother to scoot away and you can feel his breath mingle with yours. He studies your face before whining, letting his head fall forward causing you flinch in surprise but he doesn’t seem to notice as he buries his face further in your neck. He mumbles something but you can’t tell what it is. Besides it being but a mumble, having his breath fan over your neck while his hands rest on your hips is distracting you too much. Being upset about receiving no answer, San pulls away to be yet again face to face with you. “I asked you a question Y/N..” He whines, face scrunching up. “I… I didn’t hear you. What did you want to ask?” 

“Am I your favourite?” his fingers start fidgeting with the hem of your top and you can barely sit still yourself. Feeling so overwhelmed as all your senses are being flooded by San. His strong cologne being all you could smell, his touch all you could feel, and his presence so close to you making your insides swirl and brain blank. “My… my favourite?” you ask as if the question needs clarification. “Yes, am I? Between me and the other guys? I am your favourite right?” You just nod at him, your beating heart not allowing you to deny his claim. “I knew it” he whispers, and before you can respond he leans in to peck your lips. He then shifts back to his position on your lap. Too stunned to move you just stare blankly to where San’s face was. As you get a grip back on your surroundings you’re met with the other guys' stunned faces. Equally stunned by San’s actions, but soon enough Wooyoung starts yelling at the top of his lungs, shaking Seonghwa who was unfortunately closest to him.

Part 2

[shadowbriar]

George Weasley - What Matters

Pairing : George Weasley x (she/her) Reader Word Count : 0.8k Warning : Takes place on the night after the Seven Potters event. Not proofread I'm too tired. Synopsis : Soothing conversation after what seems to be the greatest nightmare the couple had to live through. Notes : Part of Shadowbriar's 2024 Valentines Project. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

"Have you ever imagined a world where we’re not together?”

George frowns, lifting from the bed to lay on his side, his arm supporting his head. He watches her closely, seeing the glimmer of uncertainty in her eyes. Supposed the nightmare of him arriving at the Burrow with blood soaking his shirt earlier was still etched in her mind. 

The plan was a success, should one argue. Their objective was met. Harry is now safe and sound, sleeping in Ron’s room like a baby. Though some sacrifices needed to be made, loss to mourn and cry for, at least knowing that what they fought for was achieved would be the softer side of the bed they’ll sleep on tonight.

“No, never.” He says firmly, trying to provide some comfort for her “Why would I ever think that?”

She shrugs, “Reasons.”

Gently, George reaches for her hand and places it to his chest. He hopes that it could ease her wary mind a little. He wanted her to feel his heart beat, to feel his heat, to feel him. He knows that it would take more than sweet words and tender embraces tonight to get them through the night, to get them just a blink of sleep no matter how sore and aching their bodies are, but he has no idea how else he could comfort her when he too was still a little shaken from the event that occurred.

“I’m sorry,” She whispers, her voice shaky as she tries her best not to let the tears fall “I should be the one comforting you, but I just—”

“Shh, it’s alright, Darling,” George says as he pulls her close “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

“I could have lost you.”

“But you didn’t,” He reassures, patting her head gently “You’ll never lose me.”

“But I almost did, George. I almost lost you.”

“Love,” George pulls away a little, staring deep into her eyes with that boyish smile “It would take much more than Voldy’s gothic underling to keep us apart, trust me.”

She forces a smile, one that didn’t truly reach her eyes. Her stare was still vacant, like she’s trying to comprehend her surroundings and finding firm stepping after the rug beneath her feet was pulled. There has been no greater horror, no bigger fear and terror than the one she felt a couple hours ago.

“I can’t lose you,” She says to him “I just can’t.”

“I know. I can’t lose you, either.” He says gently, caressing her cheek “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

“What’s left of you, you mean.”

George raised an eyebrow, “Meaning?”

“You lack an ear,” She tries to jest, smiling slightly bigger though her eyes still welled of tears “Can’t decide if it makes you lose a couple points in the appearance department or if it enhances it.”

“The latter, of course. You have one hell of an unkillable boyfriend,” He says proudly, grinning “Reckon muggles write it on their papers? A bloody ear fell from the sky. Imagine the horror!”

Her laughter finally breaks. Though it didn’t last as long as George wished it would, the lingering smile on her lips was enough to tell him that the storm is slowly passing. Gently, he leans in and kisses her. How the night went by was certainly unideal but now that she’s here, laying on his bed, everything feels alright. Like the pain on his ear was reduced into a slight itch and the soreness of his body was caused by nothing but a typical quidditch practice.

The sigh she let go as they parted lifted tons of her burden. The corners of her lips were still curled, satisfied with the solace they could both find in each other though chaos still unravels around them. It was modest and unadorned, but much more than enough to soothe both of their scarred minds.

“I love you,” She says softly “I don’t want to ever imagine a world without you.”

“Then don’t,” George answers “Don’t imagine it, don’t think about it, don’t worry about it because it would never happen. It’s us or nothing, remember? That’s all that matters.”

She chuckles, “That’s a bit extreme now, init? Us or nothing?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have anyone other than you,” He argues, raising an eyebrow “Do you have anyone you’d have other than me?”

“There’s a short list of possible names.” She jokes once again “You’re in my top three at the moment, honestly.”

“I hate you.”

“Okay, top five now from that comment.”

George let out a satisfied laughter, pulling her head close to his chest that she could feel the echo of his chuckle and the steady beating of his heart. Her arms now encircle his waist. There seems to be too much space between them tonight though their bodies were cramped together on such a tiny bed. No close is close enough for the two right now.

“I hope you know I didn’t mean that.” She whispers to his shirt “There could be no one but you.”

“I know,” George says, planting a kiss to the crown of her head “I know, Sweetheart, I know.”

[aviradasa]

Hello! Hope you’re doing great? I saw you wanted some Sally face request…

Can we have some Sally face characters (Sal, Larry, Ash?) x reader make out headcanons ? 🥹 I think I’ll fall down on my knees for some Sal x reader or Larry x reader make out sessions 😭 thank u

AHH, thank you!! Would love to write this! Sorry if it's a bit short, especially towards the end.I was just really excited to post this. It's not my best work, but that just means there's room for more improvement! I hope you enjoy it anyway

Sal,Larry,ash Makeout Hc.

Sal/Larry/ash x reader (seprately)

{All characters are 18+}

{Warnings: some swearing, some sexual content}

Masterlist

Sal:

So, as an adult sal, I feel it is a bit less awkward and more Idgaf about dumb shit

So I feel like if you're close enough with him to not only be seeing his face and dating him, then he's pretty chill when making out. Unless you catch him off guard 😉

Normally, your guy's makeouts start pretty regular

Like you'll just be sitting together in your guys' room at the house watching a movie or listening to him playing guitar while you fuck around on the gearboy

Going with the latter, you'll be sneaking glances of him while he's just jamming out while trying to learn a song.

He just looks so relaxed and pretty even with his scars as his fingers move across the strings. His prosthetic is off, and sitting on the dresser and his fake eye is out and sitting in its cup, his blue hair is down and covers his face a bit casting shadows

Before you know it, you're not just sneaking glances. you're just full-on staring at him

And he knows. He lowkey finds it funny. Because with him, he doesn't try. He's not gonna try and get you flustered. It just happens and he's aware of it

He looks at you still playing, and he smiles at you. Just for a moment before looking back down at his guitar. And at that point, you're done.

You set down the gear boy without a word creeping towards him silently. He sees you but keeps trying to figure out the riff in the song just right

You creep up to his side, careful not to knock the neck of the guitar as you wrap your arms around his neck lazily.

"It sounds really good, baby. I think you almost got it." You compliment resting your chin on his shoulder

"Thanks, I think I've got it down pretty good. I just gotta get better with the timing. I'm holding the notes too long." He says before leaning forward to set the instrument against the dresser.

In a couple seconds, you find yourself weasling your way into his lap.

He holds you gently but firmly in place with one hand on your hip and the other on the back of your head tangled sweetly in your hair.

He's not really grabby. Of course, his hands will roam a bit, but he's more of a hold you in place, so you don't wanna go anywhere, guy.

Anyways

Even with his scarred lips, he's a good kisser. Very attentive. He knows what you're feeling and your intentions just by how you're kissing him, where your hands are,how hard you're gripping at him. He just gets it

Making out with him is full of emotion. Like, have you ever kissed someone, and you're just like I wanna write poetry about the feeling I have right now, but I don't have the words to even describe it

That's how kissing him/making out with him feels. And you can't help but grip onto him.

He can go on like this for ages.its not gonna get boring.

He will just lean back against the wall and prop his legs up so when you pull back, your face is above his.

He says he does that cause he likes pulling away to look into the eyes of the beauty before him.

Ok, he's a bit corny, but we love him

Also, his hands are pretty rough, I think, especially his fingertips. They are really calloused from playing guitar, and he might have some cuts and scrapes from messing around on the 5th floor of the apartments when he's told to go over there cause of Larry.

But anyways lol

Overall, he is amazing. An amazing partner and an amazing Makeout partner.hes just really chill, and it's honestly up to you a lot of the time if it leads to anything.lol

Unless you somehow find a way to make him jealous, and that extremely difficult to pull off 😉

Larry:

Larry is a rougher guy. Don't get me wrong, he's a sweetie, but he's really enthusiastic, and he's got a lot of energy

To be honest, making out is like his favorite pastime when yall are alone.

He just loves the feel of you being all up on him,and he's addicted to the taste of your lips.

Though he's not attentive as Sal, he's still a good kisser. Like I said, he's just rough cause he can't seem to get enough.

You guys will just be chilling in his room after the group leaves, and he'll just becken you over to him with a questioning grin, which you know what that means. If you don't come up to him he's not gonna force you.

Consent king. But honestly that can be said for all of them

There's really nothing emotional about it he's gripping, and he is grabbing. His hands will roam your body. So he likes to make out while laying down.

Couch,bed,floor, as long as he has access to everything. Like not necessarily always in a dirty way, he just likes the feeling of touching you.

Like he just loves it, feeling your body on/next to him is his favorite thing

Also His lips are chapped as hell, but that does not stop you guys.

And he does not just keep his lips on yours. Absolutely not. Making out with him is a dangerous game if you have any of the following

Stric parents (like if you have not moved out yet or if you are going to visit them), a job , a college life.

Cause he be leaving hickies. Like I'm talking big as purple hickeys. And they will be everywhere. It's like, are you dating a god damn vampire? It's not even bites, either it's just hickeys.

From your neck down to your fucking thighs just bruises

Ash once pulled you aside and asked if everything was OK cause she thought that the marks where from him beating on you instead of kissing you.

W ash, by the way, everyone needs a friend like her who will check up on you

But he just is a little rough. You love it, tho. But he will tone it down if you want him to.

Like shit you had a bad day? Come over here, lay down,relax, and he will slow down and pamper you with words and slow kisses.

What a sweetheart, and He's just happy to have you close to him.

Overall, he's more of a physical guy, so of course, the makeouts hold more of a physical value, which is alright! He loves you and that's just his way of showing it

Ash:

Ash is actually amazing at makeouts. She knows you entirely. Better than you know yourself sometimes

With her, you get everything. You want it to be a rougher Makeout.

Bet

Girls got you. She'll be all up on you kissing,grabbing,tugging,loving (always) she'll have you however you want.

She will do it all to satisfy, and you would do the same for her.

You want it soft bet, she's cuddling you while you guys lips move with each other while a movie plays in the background.

Making out with her is so calming to.

You could have had the most stressful days at work, and when you come home, she'll immediately be asking what's up noticing you're off.

It would probably be later she would mostly be ready for the evening in pajamas just chilling,and upon your response, she's giving you a hug and leading you into you guys room to talk.

After unloading your troubles, she'll just fuckin hold you and eventually it just turns into a lazy lil Makeout.

It's not much, but it feels so loving, and all your pain and troubles from the day feel like they are just melting away cause of her lips.

She takes care of herself as well, so her lips are pretty soft.

Along with her skin. Her hands are a bit calloused due to her constantly doing art projects and working on her motorcycle.

But it's kind of a nice contrast.

She does have wondering hands, but unlike Larry, she's not a grabber she's a feeler.

Her hands wonder in a calming yet attractive way, mostly across your arms and back, maybe over your thigh a but.

I guess she's a more sensual Makeout partner. But she's just overall amazing with it.

You always feel safe in her arms, and even better is that she's really good at makeouts without making them sexual.

Like a lot of the time, makeouts seem heavily sexual even when they aren't supposed to be, but with her, it's not sexual unless you both want it to be.

And you're grateful for it cause sometimes you just wanna be able to love on your partner without it being sexual and that's fine. She loves it to

She's just an amazing person and an amazing partner who knows you well and what you want as well as knowing herself and it shows.

[rinneroraito]

L x Reader: You ask if you could give him a hug. Almost 800 words, mundane fluff

~~~°~~~

It's the middle of the night in the headquarters. The rest of the Task Force had already retired to their rooms meanwhile you've taken it upon yourself to not leave your desk until your job was done. You weren't alone, though. L was also there doing pretty much the same thing as you. The last time you checked on him he was hunched over his screens. When you got up to take a short break, you find him on the glass windows overlooking the cityscape.

There was something lonely and haunting about his figure and where he stood, the darkness of the starless night sky and the empty office seemingly enveloping him in it's abyss. The title of "Greatest Detective in the World" isn't an ordinary feat and looking at him like this puts things into incredible perspective. He's just a person, too. Behind the screen and the garbled voice was just another man doing what he could.

You walk closer, standing alongside him staring at the cityscape below, the lights looking like stars that fell from the heavens.

"Have you ever been hugged, Detective?"

He turns to look at you and you meet his gaze. He's still wearing that usual stoic expression. Unreadable. Unsure of how to read him you're now wondering if maybe that wasn't a question that needed to be asked. Even if the reason was for a good cause, maybe it was too personal, especially for him.

"The last time I tried to 'hug' someone, I got kicked down a flight of stairs. Offering that gesture hasn't crossed my mind ever since so to answer your question, no. I have never been hugged. I also think my lifestyle has a lot to do about my lack of experience in that part, I'm sure you've thought about that."

Your eyebrows raise at his answer. Kicked down a flight of stairs? But more importantly, you were stuck thinking about the latter part of what he said. He was right, that possibility was also a thought that you've been speculating on. You turn to face him, pressing a hand to your cheek before you reach out, beckoning him to you.

"Would you like to experience it?"

You could see his eyes widen ever so slightly as he turns to face you, too. Maybe he was confused that it was something you'd offer to him, but it's just a hug, isn't it? And if he refuses then...

"I would, actually."

L shuffled closer to you and your hands slip through his limbs as you bring your arms around his waist, pulling him in.

He's cold.

L's entire frame is cold when you embrace him. He spends most of his time in front of his screens during the investigation, the frigid atmosphere provided by the air conditioning being his natural habitat. His clothes are cool, his jeans colder as you feel them brush against your thighs.

And then you feel his warmth. It's gradual, but the longer you hold him, the warmer he gets.

You can feel his lean muscles through his shirt as your arms circle his waist. He's skinny, making it easy to wrap your arms completely around his body, holding him firm and close.

You can hear his heartbeat as you press your ear to his chest. It's a gentle thrumming, as steady and as level as his demeanor. You can feel the rhythmic rise and fall that he makes as he breathes, and you wonder if he feels your rhythm, too.

L is hesitant, but he wraps his arms around you. Loosely at first, like he's testing the waters. And then you press him closer to you, reassuring him that he can do the same. He reciprocates. His hands press your back firmly, then he moves them to your shoulders, squeezing you to him. You can feel his breath as he rests his face on the crook of your neck.

You hold each other silently for a few moments that feel like an eternity. An eternity you wanted to prolong. Because in this little pocket of time, there was no Kira, there were no mysteries to be solved, no deaths to be brought justice to. In truth, time is not as forgiving as you wished it was. Yet you're here, L is here, and you both exist. Persisting through it all. You're holding him as he holds you. He's holding you as you hold him. And you're hoping to whatever higher being there is that at least, in this little pocket of time that you're hugging him, he feels some sort of solace in it.

"How does this feel, Detective?"

His monotonous voice comes out quiet, almost whispering, breathy against your ear.

"Comfortable. Thank you."

[obiwanwhat]

So I firmly believe that everything Anakin did and said wasn't about him and what he needed to say, it was about what Ahsoka needed to hear and see.

There is so much to unpack within EVERYTHING of that episode but here's my attempt at trying to deconstruct the latter half of the Anakin & Ahsoka scenes:

"Ahsoka, within you will be everything I am"

For 15 years, Ahsoka thought that Anakin had died a Jedi. From the time she was 17 to the time she was 32 - it was a belief she held for her entire adult life! Her training as a Jedi was foundational to who she was (even if she wasn't a Jedi), and being trained by Anakin was the core of her Jedi training. For over a decade, she looked at that inheritance with nothing but pride over who had trained her and where she'd come from. And then she finds out what Anakin became. Obviously it's devastating to see someone who you consider family in the state, and to have them try to kill you! But the thing I'd never considered was how much it would make Ahsoka doubt herself. If Anakin trained Ahsoka - and you can bet she's now going over every memory of Anakin she ever has searching for double meanings, searching for signs of what he would become - what does that make her? What does that say about her training, and about all the lessons that shaped her?

"But my part of that legacy is one of death and war"

On top of that...Ahsoka has been a soldier and then a spy since she was fourteen. She was a literal child soldier! She was trained in nothing but killing and war, and then later had to train herself in killing and spying. Without a war to fight, who is she? Now that peace has (apparently) returned to the galaxy with the end of the Empire, what place does she have? What purpose does she serve? What knowledge of use does she have to pass onto Sabine?

"But you're more than that, because I'm more than that"

This isn't Anakin trying to defend himself, he's pointing out that to Ahsoka he means more than the death he caused, both as Jedi soldier and as Darth Vader. When he trained her, he didn't just teach her how to kill - he taught her how to respect and care about the men under her command, he taught her how to be brave in the face of insurmountable odds, he taught her how to be kind to the innocent. Clone Wars Anakin was just as much a Jedi as he was a solider, and so both trainings are what were passed down to Ahsoka. And his becoming Vader doesn't undo any of that. I don't think Ahsoka had ever figured out how to feel about Anakin's legacy, because how can she respect the man who became a genocidal monster? How can she respect and love and honor the man who tried to kill her? She should - well, not hate him, a Jedi (or even a not-Jedi) doesn't hate - but she should disavow him. But she can't, because he's still the man who stood up for her when the Jedi Council turned their backs on her, who drilled her in the lightsaber techniques that saved her life on Mandalore, who saved her life too many times to count and was her family. And she doesn't know how to reconcile those feelings with what Anakin became, and therefore she doesn't know how to reconcile the parts of herself that come from being trained by Anakin.

"You are more, Anakin. But more powerful and dangerous than anyone realized"

She's sidestepping the point by falling back on her default defense: Anakin fell to the Dark Side, and therefore everything that came out of his teachings - including her - is tainted. She still can't admit to herself that there was more to Anakin than his fall, and that all those parts of Anakin still mean something to her.

"Is that was this is about?" / "If I am everything you are-" / "then you've learned nothing"

She's still missing the point Anakin's trying to show her - that she carries his trainings and influence within her, but she is not Anakin. She is not tainted by Anakin's fall, and her fate will not be the same as his, because she's her own person who makes her own choices, and the good in Anakin's teachings - the good in her that came from them - doesn't just go away because Anakin fell. She's still so scared of Anakin's darkness - and what it says about her own inner darkness - that she can't see her own light.

"Back to the beginning. I gave you a choice - live, or die?"

For the last 10 or so years (however long since she returned from Malchor), Ahsoka's been in a holding pattern. All she knows is war, and she doesn't know what there is to life outside of fighting to live another day. She's terrified of who she is and of facing the ghost of Vader over her past. She's not living anymore, she's just surviving, moving from day to day. Anakin's telling her that's not enough anymore. Not being able to face her past and embrace her training literally killed her - Baylan was able to unbalance her enough to defeat her in a fight by stoking her inner discord. If she wants to return, she has to want to live, really live - she needs to find her direction in life beyond being a solider, and to do that she has to embrace her full legacy and training. If she can't do that, then she'll stay dead, stuck in the world between worlds.

"No-" / "Incorrect" / "You lack conviction" / "Time to die"

She still doesn't know how to see past Vader, so Anakin give her the opportunity to work through it in a way she can understand - by literally fighting her figurative demon.

"I choose to live"

By fighting Vader, by having the chance to kill him and embrace the Dark Side and realizing she didn't take it, realizing that she never even wanted to, Ahsoka finally realizes what Anakin's been trying to show her - she's not Vader, she never will be, because that's not who she is. Anakin's teachings are a part of her that she cannot escape, but there is more to Anakin's teachings than Vader, and there is more to her than what she has been taught. To find out what she is meant to be and move forward she must embrace where she came from. Only then can she return to the world of the living and move forward with her journey.

[madschiavelique]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 (𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

summary : so you were called for back-up on a mission with gwen, hobie, pavitr and miguel. you get him out of a tight situation, he drags you in a dark street, you get back to the team, you get shot in the thigh, and miguel starts sucking on the bullet to get it out of your skin :D (or most simply, how you got wounded and miguel is playing healing vampire)

content warnings : blood, bullet (if there are others please do tell so that i can add them !), biting (literal), miguel licking you, no use of Y/N word count : 5,3k

note : the spider babies feel like a lil found family to me, so i had to make them goofy in this. i thought about miguel’s bites not only being poisonous, but also in another dosage a great pain killer (i have strictly no idea about how realistic all this is but here have fun reading this besties). this stands as the first part of a 3-shot that i am writing for my bday which is in 4 days hehe (crying), also i didn't proof-read this and english is not my first language :D, enjoy

chapters' list : 1 - lovebite 2 - late night training 3 - unexpected mission (nsfw) 4 - shameless (nsfw)

Although this wasn't your first mission, you couldn't help but feel like a frozen steak being thrown into a hot pan. You weren't always flung into the thick of the action, of course, but today you were, because you'd been called in as reinforcements with Pavitr.

Miguel had taken Hobie and Gwen on this mission, hoping to get Gwen more used to the terrain. You had arrived a little after her, and for the moment you had restricted access to the field. But today was clearly an exception. You and Pavitr had been called in as back-up, and you immediately took the portal to the dimension in question.

As soon as you emerged from the portal, your spider-senses alerted you to the need to throw yourselves to the ground to avoid the rush of bullets that had been fired in your direction. Exchanging surprised glances, you began to crawl to the side of the building that seemed to be opposite to where the incessant gunfire was coming from, hoping to avoid being riddled with bullets. Because although Swiss cheese was appetising, it wasn't in your plans to become one.

Pavitr tapped his watch.

"Miguel, we're here, where are-" but he had no need to ask the latter's whereabouts, since right in front of them swayed Hobie and Gwen, who seemed to be fleeing... A bride?

It was a bride armed with some sort of personally optimised cannon that was firmly strapped to her body, and if your instincts were right, it would appear that her ammunition was not as simple as that commonly sold, and you dreaded to know what would come out if she fired. She moved with a sort of jet-pack, following your friends at breakneck speed, her long white veil rippling like a trail left behind an aeroplane. Immediately, the two of you began to follow to join them.

"Hey, Hobie! Gwen! We're here!" you shouted.

Suddenly, the bride's head swivelled in your direction, her big red lips stretching into a smile as her eyes widened like two big marbles. Ouch, maybe shouting your presence in the middle of a fight wasn't the right decision.

You could already hear Miguel's voice echoing in your mind: "You should have taken advantage of the surprise and used it to your advantage instead of letting the whole town know that two Spider-Men had just joined the fight!"

But hey, what's done is done, and you'll certainly remember to be more observant on your next mission.

"Ah, Miguel's little minions have joined the party! Honey?" she shouted as you both reached Gwen and Hobie, "we've got some newcomers, I hope they're on the guest list for the ceremony. It would displease me greatly if we had to eliminate them just for that reason."

"After all, murder and marriage are the same if the two people know each other and it all ends in death," you say, your eyes falling for a moment on the absolutely enormous cannon she seems to have programmed to shoot you.

"Marriage is just another contract to life anyway," replied Hobie, to which you nodded sharply. "Anyway, with her chemtrail theory flying around behind her, I'm worried."

It seemed that the anomaly was not a single anomaly, but rather a couple of anomalies, which was probably why these two had been asked to provide support.

"Where's Miguel?" asked Pavitr, all still running.

"Oh bloke, you're not going to believe your eyes when you see him," sneered Hobie.

"What happened?" you asked.

"I took a few photos of the occasion," said Gwen, "but nothing beats seeing it for real."

A loud bang sounded, and you turned to see what had just happened. The face of the building you were standing on was melting: the bride had fired a bubble of acid that had burst against the wall and was biting all the adverts that were stuck to it.

"Destroying propaganda? Bonkers, I'm starting to reconsider this," Hobie huffed.

"Miguel's further down the avenue, on that street over there," said Gwen. "Go and see him before he comes, it's well worth a look.

When the mystery is too great, you don't dare disobey, so while they were busy evacuating more civilians to reduce the number of casualties from the mission, you set off in the direction you'd been told.

You swung out into the street, and as you rounded the corner, you couldn't help but stifle a laugh. The great Miguel O'Hara, the man at the head of the Spider Society, guardian and master of the inter-dimensional balance of events, was pasted up and looked like an Egyptian drawing in the process of running, or the typical chalk drawing you would draw on the ground at a crime scene, all covered in a gooey fluffy substance.

You swung over to him, and he noticed your arrival. You landed on the edge of the wall he was stuck on, biting your lip to stop yourself from bursting out laughing.

"If you want to say something now is the time to shut up." he said, teeth clenched.

"Gwen was right, it's definitely worth the trip. Comfortable? Need a magazine? A snack perhaps?"

"Hilarious, are you going to mess with me like this for much longer or are you planning to help me out of this situation?"

"My intentions were of a slightly more agreeable nature," you huff, walking towards him on all fours.

The substance surrounding him seemed to be a kind of solid foam that kept swelling slowly. You drew out your claws and began to cut the foam from his arm.

"Lovely couple over there, real synergy between the two of them. Shame almost half of marriages end in divorce."

"You get sentimental about enemies? Keep your sensitivity out of the fight and concentrate."

"Focus on foam? Honestly you know your Marshmallow Man costume lacks realism."

He let his neck tilt back until it touches the wall, murmured between his lips: "todos me vais a matar."

A small smile stretched across your face, the poor guy must have felt like he was babysitting, and although you were older than all the other teammates, hanging out with them brought out your absurd and more childlike side, your inner child in a way.

You managed to dislodge quite a bit of foam, but it was taking too long, it was thick and had the consistency of snow whose surface had crystallised.

"I'm pulling your leg, jefe" you say, the little use of the Spanish name making him react. What, You've got to make a profit from duolingo after all. " Okay, pull in your tummy."

"What?"

You raised your arm in the air, your claws extending a little further. Lately you'd been trying to see how far you could push the limits of your costume, and the increase in your claws was one of them. It was a bit painful, but if it meant Miguel could get out of this situation and get home safe, then you might as well take it. All you could hope for was that you wouldn't fail...

Then, with a sharp, wide stroke, you sliced through the foam. The cut was perfect, and Miguel, who was just as surprised as you were, popped out of his spot as if he'd just stepped out of a mould.

" Well," he turned to you, dusting off the few remnants of foam still clinging to his body, "observations?"

This was an exercise that Miguel inflicted on every recruit during their training or recruitment. It was simple: he selected a small anomaly to keep things simple, and asked the recruit what observations they'd make to neutralise the target. Except that, in this case, the anomaly wasn't so minor. You were racking your brains.

"I didn't see the husband, but I did see the bride. She's got a jet pack that should be neutralisable, it'll slow her down in her movements, but you'd have to aim carefully to do that. Her only power is her weapon, except that as it's attached to her it's going to be complex..."

Then you remembered her attire, and especially the long veil firmly placed on her head.

"Her wedding veil, you should be able to pull it down and hold it still."

Miguel nodded, you didn't know how to take the look he was giving you through the mask, but you hoped he was satisfied with the answer.

"The husband's pretty much the same, except-" but he didn't finish his sentence, suddenly grabbing your arm and pulling you instead into a much darker, narrower adjacent alley. He leaned against a wall, looking down at the street you had just left.

"Here's the husband," he murmured.

The suddenness of the gesture took you by surprise, of course, and you seemed unable to think straight. Not just because you were so close that your bodies were pressed together, but because all your senses, all your nerves, seemed to come together in one and the same place in your body, a place where it felt like sparks were flying: Miguel's hand was placed on your waist.

Through the thin but hard-wearing fabric of your suit, you could feel the heat from his fingers spread across your skin, sending a shiver down your spine and up to your neck and cheeks to warm them. His grip was firm on your flesh, and you tried to calm your breathing, which had been racing as fast as your heart at this closeness.

His second hand still had your arm in its embrace, and the simple thought occurred to you: what if his hand came down your arm to meet yours?

You looked up at Miguel's profile, watching the street you were on, alert. You took a deep breath as you watched him, his scent coming to you through the mask as earthy, pungent. And he turned his head towards you.

The distance separating your two faces was small, terribly small, and you wondered at that moment how the scene would have unfolded if neither of you had masks on. Would he have paid any attention to the way you were looking at him? Would those dark eyes have sparkled? Would you have been able to feel his hot breath on your face?

"Is everything all right? Your heart rate's increased."

The sentence refocused you for a moment as if you'd just plunged into icy water, your reverie no doubt perceptible through the suit. You lowered your eyes, glancing at the placement of his two hands on you, blinking rapidly as you tried to pull yourself together. Quick, an excuse, anything.

"The others," you breathed, using the card of concern for teammates, "I wonder how they're holding up."

"Uh huh..." he murmured, the answer only half satisfying him, his gaze piercing yours through his mask as you felt his hand tighten on your waist, another shiver running through your body. You didn't really understand why he'd maintained this seemingly intimate embrace, but to be honest, you weren't against the idea of this position for a few more moments.

It felt good to be like that, to share someone else's closeness.

He was so big, he seemed to engulf you with his size and thickness, looming over you, and so much strength and threat in one body aroused as much interest in you as it did fear.

Pull yourself together, for God's sake, what's Miguel, your boss? He's got better things to do than that, than get close to you, than get intimate with you...

He seemed to be inspecting you strangely, and the intensity of this gesture made you look down even more, the ground suddenly seeming very interesting to look at. But if he had anything to say on the subject, it could obviously wait until the mission was over.

"The way's clear, let's go," he says, finally letting go of his hold on you, "before these idiots do any more damage than they already have."

And with a thump, he pulled a web and propelled himself into the air. A gasp escaped your lips, the sudden sensation of not being touched leaving you feeling grey. You took a deep breath, trying to refocus your thoughts on the mission and not on the irreplaceable sensation that Miguel's hands had left on your body.

You dashed off in your turn, following him to join the others.

Not far away you could hear Hobie shouting: "They're pissing on us without even making us think it's raining!" Hobie, charming as always.

Needless to say, it was a fairground. Miguel threw a web in the bride's face and found the other three on a roof. Furious, he pointed his finger towards the corner of a building that was on fire, from the bottom of which civilians kept coming out, coughing, some even injured.

"Who did this?" he asked, his throat rumbling in frustration.

"You did," Hobie answered point-blank.

"Bravo," he growled sarcastically, "it's good to admit your mistakes."

"It's paradoxical communication," he informed you, avoiding a projectile that you couldn't identify, no doubt another munition of dubious composition from the bride's weapon, who seemed to be hurtling towards you with intensity.

" I Leave it to you for two minutes and you destroy everything," Miguel murmured as he began to run towards the enemy.

" Submerged by their numbers of two we couldn't do anything," pleaded Pavitr.

"Gobsmacked, maybe she's rebelling against a terribly phallocratic world," Hobie says as he dodges a huge snowball as big as himself launched from the cannon.

"Darling? Maybe it's time for dessert, what do you think?"

Shit, here comes the husband too. He was equipped with a jet-pack just like the groom, but his weapon was much less sophisticated than his wife's, a simple submachine gun, which didn't make it harmless, quite the contrary.

"Great idea! It's time for the icing on the cake," and with these words she seemed to throw portions of sweet and colourful cream towards your group.

"Come on, dance! Dance!" ordered the husband.

"No! I don't wanna dance, I'm from the town in footloose," you blurted out, trying to pull a simple web towards the cannon of the bride's gun.

You didn't succeed, but threw a second one anyway, taking the risk of standing still for a few moments to improve your aim. The web shot out and hit the barrel of the weapon. Yes! but the celebrations were short-lived, as a rush of bullets came crashing towards you, and even in your haste to escape, you were hit in the thigh.

A strangled little grunt vibrated against your teeth and lips, you didn't know exactly what it had struck in your leg, but the pain was sudden and stinging. Still, you followed the others a little, with difficulty. Every simple movement was a painful tug.

The group eventually stopped in an empty courtyard, to deliberate, talk strategy and how to organise themselves. The landing on the ground was a little abrupt, and you staggered back to your feet towards the group.

"Hey, you all right?" Hobie asked you.

"Never been better," you said, giving a thumbs up, your nose wrinkling at the next step.

"Are you sure you're okay? You're walking like a Disney witch," said Patvir, raising an eyebrow.

"Bollocks, your thigh!" pointed Hobie as he came towards you.

You looked down, the bullet had of course pierced the fabric of your suit, stretching the elastic material over your bloody thigh from the hole the bullet had punched in your thigh.

"Calm down," Gwen said in the distance, chatting to Miguel, "let me take care of this, Miguel."

"Like you've taken care of everything else so far, Gwen?" he said, his hands resting on his hips.

"Miguel?" called Pavitr.

"What do you want?" he asked as he turned his head suddenly towards where you guys were.

"Can't you answer 'yes' like everyone else?" gasped Pavitr.

But Miguel was already coming towards you, he must have seen the impact in your thigh.

"Nice icing on the cake, eh?" you said, laughing slightly at the situation. After all, ridicule poisons fear.

But the shots were already ringing out and they were coming towards you.

" Okay," breathed Miguel, "Hobie, Pavitr, Gwen, try to immobilise them. The husband is easy to neutralise, just hit his jet-pack and take away his weapon. For the bride, try to take her towards the river, if you make her fall into the water she will start to sink with all her layers of clothes and the weight of her dress. Pull her by her veil if you have to, but go ahead. The first one to do even a little unintentional damage again will end up with his back broken like a glow stick, got it?"

"I don't take orders," Hobie refused.

"Hobie, you take care of the bridegroom with Gwen," Miguel continued as if he wasn't listening to him any more, moving closer to you. He tossed him his multidimensional cell device, as if he was worth reaching for.

"Why does he only come and ask me things once a day, as if I were a vitamin?" Hobie huffs before launching himself into the air.

"Oh, you know, that's what we love about him, his boundless empathy," remarked Gwen before shooting a web and leaving in her turn.

"Why do I always get the less interesting ones," said Pavitr before leaving as well.

Miguel turned to you, taking off his mask. His brown hair was dishevelled and he didn't even put his hand through it before ordering:

"Sit.

You'd have liked to contradict him, to say that you could definitely wait until you got back to HQ and received treatment there rather than slowing down the mission when you'd literally been called in as backup. And here you were, the backup turned liability in the situation, so contradicting him wasn't really in your plans.

You backed away, leaning against the wall and letting yourself slide with difficulty against the bricks as you tried to put as little weight as possible on your damaged leg. With a muffled whimper, you reached the ground, stretching your bad leg further as you bent the other. You took off your mask in turn, no longer able to hide your expressions of pain. The sensation you'd had at first had been sharp, but now it felt like your thigh was on fire and the wound was licking at your skin like flames.

Miguel came forward and knelt beside you. His gaze was riveted on your thigh, and when his gloved hand came to rest beside the wound, you stiffened your back and couldn't help breathing in through clenched teeth. His brown eyes looked up into yours, watching your expressions through the wild strands of his hair. But it was also simply a look for permission to continue his gestures.

"If it hurts too much, use your mask," he said, his eyes returning to the wound.

The mask? In what way would the mask be- ah, so... You watched your mask, hesitating for a moment. What Miguel meant by that suggestion was biting your mask. Since you were probably going to grit your teeth, you might as well not hurt yourself too much and tear them up by biting into something. You wavered at the thought, preferring not to damage any more of your costume. You'd already dented it with your punctured thigh, but ripping your mask on top of that? No, preferably not.

His thumb felt your skin, and he pressed down on a spot that threw you so hard that your hand immediately grabbed his wrist. You were breathless, almost nauseous from the pain, and you opened your frowning eyes again to meet Miguel's gaze, which had stopped all movement of his hand.

You looked up at him, your eyes and nose stinging with the tears that threatened to spill from the pain. He breathed, his eyes falling on your hand, then straightened towards yours:

"If you don't let me touch it, I'll pin your hands down with my webs, is that clear?"

Biting the inside of your cheek, you let out a shaky breath and removed your hand, which seemed ridiculously small compared to his.

"Well, the bullet's really not deep, so it should be fine."

Honestly, you didn't know whether it was better for you to know what was going to happen, and you were somehow grateful that he wasn't detailing his operation to you, even though he was doing it mainly out of lack of time.

His two hands came to grip your thigh to hold it steady, he gave you one last look, then lowered his head close to your thigh, and you saw a flash of white gleam from his long, sharp fangs before they sank into your skin. A strangled cry drowned in your throat as you felt them ooze something wet, liquid seeping into your skin and blood.

Miguel's bites weren't just poisonous, they could also be incredibly helpful in situations like these, where they acted as both a mild painkiller and a kind of antidote that accelerated the healing process. And although the painkiller aspect wasn't performing well enough for your liking, you were still quite happy not to feel like you were in complete agony.

The sensation of his lips on your flesh, however, previously drowned out by the sensations of all your aching nerves, became much clearer. Their softness grazing your skin with more intimacy than he was aware of.

He hadn't bitten down on the wound, to prevent the bullet from moving any further, and you took a deep breath when he moved away, pulling his fangs out of your skin. His tongue cleaned them, and he glanced at you as he did so, just to make sure you were all right.

Please tell me I haven't become a big walking tomato, you thought. Now apparently the most important phase would begin: extracting the bullet. You bit down hard on your bottom lip, still feeling pain, then nodded to allow him to continue.

He bent down again, coming dangerously close to the wound, to your raw flesh where warm blood was dripping. The bullet wasn't far from the surface, luckily the suit had played a large part in cushioning it.

He breathed in lightly, then put his lips to the wound. A current of electricity ran through your body as all sorts of sensations mixed together in one place. The burn on your thigh had just met the slightly sticky wetness of Miguel's saliva and the warmth of his mouth and lips as he began to draw.

You realised what Miguel was doing, he was sucking the bullet out of your flesh. His tongue flicked lightly around the impact, and his fangs, still a little elongated, lightly traced your skin.

Your breath was erratic, and you tried to stabilise it, but the sensations seemed so extreme that the task was complicated. The thing about spider-senses is that your senses are heightened, so the slightest movement of Miguel's lips, tongue or fangs sent shivers through your body. He drew back to spit out the excess saliva and blood that had mingled before coming back and sucking harder. You could feel the bullet coming out little by little, still biting your lip fiercely until you felt a metallic taste, and were insistently reconsidering the choice of biting into your mask. So you switched to the side of your index finger, biting it as your frown of pain intensified.

Then Miguel pressed his lips a little harder, and your body had to grab hold of something. Then, inadvertently and with many mental 'oh no's attacking your being as soon as the gesture was made, you grabbed Miguel's hair.

His eyes immediately looked up at yours, wide, questioning the gesture, and the sight made you feel as if your heart had fallen into the warmth of your stomach. His brown eyes had a flash of red and peered through his long lashes, their colour blending perfectly with his blood-smeared cheeks.

You were so desperate for a foothold that your body hadn't given a second thought to what it should be gripping. He just froze, for a few seconds that seemed as long as minutes. You calmed your breathing, taking advantage of the respite from his movements to relax a little. Worried, you looked up at him again, dreading his reaction.

But nothing, no 'what the hell are you doing', no 'stop that immediately', no 'that's inappropriate', no reprimand, nothing. Your fingers in his hair relaxed, they were much softer than you'd imagined, but your hand didn't leave its place. You felt both his hands tighten around your thigh, making you swallow hard. He just gave you one last look before flicking his tongue around the wound and continuing his suction.

Your fingers reflexively gripped his hair again and Miguel let out a low rumble from his throat that vibrated up your thigh and into the bullet. The sensation was such that you suddenly turned your head to the side, closing your eyes tightly until you saw stars. The tears that had welled up started falling, determined.

Miguel's hot breath washed over your bare, rosy skin, turning visibly purple with the repeated suctions Miguel left in his path. His normal teeth were biting into your skin around the bullet to create the pressure that would eject it.

You locked your fingers in his hair again, and felt his hands tighten their grip on your thigh as a low hmpf vibrated against your skin again. Then he drew in harder, and pressed his teeth in deeper, and you felt your finger beading with blood as your teeth pierced your skin.

And then, at last, you felt the bullet come out. A deep sigh poured from your lungs as you eased your hand from his hair to wipe away the tears that had rolled down your cheeks. He stepped back, his eyes looking into yours, his cheeks and nose all covered in blood, and between his reddened teeth was the crushed bullet.

You looked at him like this, your cheeks heating up violently. He spat the bullet out to the side, then looked back at your thigh. He breathed heavily, clenching his jaw as he let go of your thigh, bringing one of his hands up to wipe his cheek with the back of it.

"Put some webs on it, that should be enough to last us until we get to HQ."

His eyes scanned yours, tired, reddened, a tear still running down them. He wiped it away with the back of his index finger, letting it fall onto the fabric of his suit. The gesture was gentle, almost like a caress as his finger gently traced your cheek.

"You did great, muñeca", he said, his voice soft, softer than you'd ever heard it.

The nickname gave you a warm, soft feeling in your lower stomach. He straightened up, his mask in hand, the other stretched out towards you, ready to be seized.

No comment on the pulled hair? You were afraid he'd mention it, or were you afraid he wouldn't mention it at all.

"Can you stand up?" he asked.

You looked at your thigh for a moment, then did as he instructed and pulled a few webs over the still open wound. Then, looking up, you grabbed Miguel's hand to help you up. You breathed through your teeth, the pain was still there, but now that the bullet had been dislodged and Miguel's pain-killing venom was coursing through your veins, the ache was lessened.

You were swaying slightly and Miguel's reflex was to place his hand on your waist to steady you. He gave a retentive tt-tt.

"Try to stick to the webs, do as little walking or running as possible," he said before putting his mask back on, which you in turn did. "Ready?"

You bobbed your head, putting your weight on your good leg, "ready.

With a nod, you both took off.

Soon you found Pavitr who had managed to catch the husband who, on closer inspection, had one of his eyes as white as a half-cooked egg. Perhaps this explained his random aiming. In any case, he was huffing and puffing like a rhinoceros.

"It's about time," Pavitr yawned, "your leg?"

You gave him a thumbs up.

" Where are Gwen and Hobie? " Miguel asked.

"Further down the river like you said."

"Well, you can go back to HQ, we'll take care of the rest- can you go on?" he said, turning to you.

"Yep, the only thing that could stop me would be myself."

"Was that the philosophical moment?" asked Pavitr. "That deserves a few lyrical songs, doesn't it?"

"It's pathetic," admitted Miguel as he left.

You followed him, Pavitr entering a portal to return to 928.

"Are you trying to destroy our pseudo-friendship?

"Pseudo-friendship?" he chuckles, "you mean how I removed that bullet with my teeth, and you-"

"Ah, the amnesia's getting to me!" you cut in, continuing along the road faster than him until you reach the river where, hanging from a lamppost on the quayside, the bride was dripping wet and stripped of her weapon. She seemed simply stunned, and Gwen and Hobie were standing in front of her, still tense from their fight.

You approached the two lads, smiling at Gwen who had finally succeeded in her training.

"Good job!" you said, raising your fist to her height, which she banged in a friendly manner, doing the same for Hobie.

"Hobie?" called Miguel in the distance.

"Don't move," said the latter, "it's like with bears, if you don't do anything they'll leave."

"This is the right way," affirmed Gwen.

"Where's the weapon?" asked Miguel, who had finally reached your level.

"It fell into the water," he replied simply.

"What?" asked Miguel.

"Relax, I'm just messing with you. It's behind you," he said, pointing with his chin at the wet weapon on the ground.

"So, how did it go?"

"I wouldn't go into details," Hobie sighed.

"What are you trying to accomplish here?" Asked Miguel.

"I don't want to listen to you; malicious criticism hurts my self-esteem and praise leaves me sceptical."

Miguel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, murmuring "Voy a matarlos."

"I hope one day you'll understand what I've just said," he whispered, climbing up the lamppost to unhook the bride and place her in another multi-dimensional cell.

"Did you hear anything?" you asked ironically.

"Oh no, I didn't hear anything, did you?" questioned Gwen to Hobie.

"I've got an ear infection."

You smiled at this conversation, watching Miguel fiddle with his watch.

"How's your leg, by the way?" asked Hobie.

"I've still got the bullet, I'm going to be ringing airport buzzers for the rest of my life."

"Huh?" exclaimed Gwen.

"Just kidding, everything's fine."

"Why do you have to be like that? In situations like this, 'I'm fine' is the standard response," she huffed.

"I'm on a strict diet of misplaced enthusiasm and gut-wrenching regret." You affirmed.

"Huh huh, diets are bad," Hobie remarked. "It's just another way for capitalism to prove that their system is superior to you."

"Well, come on, let's go home," Miguel called.

His eyes fell on you for a moment, and in the space of that glance the vision of his crimson eyes, his fangs glistening with your blood smeared across his cheeks came back to your mind. You entered the portal, and soon enough, as you got into the lift, the horizon formed as far as the eye could see, with towers sunk like daggers into the belly of the sky, and so high that, from sleep, you could plunge into the clouds.

And now you couldn't think of anything else but Miguel.

part two >> late night training

[cntloup]

had enough

Toxic!Simon, unhinged reader, threatening to commit suicide, guns, mention of killing, implied cheating

Part 1 | Part 2

ik ive used this song before but whatever

“I’ll do it, Simon! I will fucking do it!” you shout while holding his gun to your head, the one he always kept under his pillow just in case. It was supposed to be there for your protection. But how he regrets it now. 

You're a complete wreck right now as you stand before him, uncontrollable flows of tears along with your makeup cascading down your face, bloodshot eyes looking back at him as you threaten to pull the trigger. 

And he has never been this scared in his life. Not even when streams of bullets come flying in his direction almost every day. 

“Put the gun down... please... we can talk about it. I will stay. I promise.” he pleads desperately, struggling to figure out what to do in this situation. 

“What does she have that I don’t have? Huh? What do they have? I don’t even fucking know how many there are anymore!” you continue yelling and sobbing while waving the gun around, stopping him dead in his tracks as he steps closer to take the gun from you. 

He ducks his head as you point the gun in his direction for a moment, “What? You think I'm gonna kill you? Whatever I do, I'll do it to myself! I can’t go on like this anymore!” you cry out, your loud sobs and hiccups fill the room, fill his senses, overwhelming him as it builds up his aggression and frustration more and more. 

“Put. The. Fuckin'. Gun. Down.” he states firmly as he gets closer, slowly reaching for the gun that you now hold by your side as you go on sobbing. 

“Why don’t you love me, Simon?” you ask while slightly tilting your head, this time in a much softer tone, almost as if you have given up the fight, now only desperate for an answer. 

Your words bring a shocked look to his face, not from the question itself, no, your question is completely valid considering his actions, but because he doesn’t know how to answer. 

He finally reaches out and takes the gun from you, your fingers loosening their grip and your sobs slowly dying down a bit, a defeated look replacing it, “Why do you do this to me? All of it? Why the fuck did you make me fall in love with you?” 

He holds his head down, not daring to meet your gaze and look into your expecting eyes as you still await an answer. 

Is it from shame? Or that he doesn’t want to confront the consequences of his actions? You don’t know which one, but you guess the latter is probably true. 

“You d-don't... can you just hold me please?” you ask in utter desperation as you shut your eyes in shame of admitting defeat.

In no time, you feel a pair of strong arms wrap you in a warm embrace. 

And after all that he’s done to you, you still feel safe in his arms, even somehow... loved? Or something resembling that.

And you remember why you always keep crawling back to him as he tightens his arms around you.

And as much as you don't like to admit to yourself, you'd feel content if he would just pretend to love you.

yes im going through some stuff as you can tell :'(

[the-hopeless-haze]

I Do Bad Things With You

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: smut. nsfw mdni

Summary: You don't feel like you're a good agent. Aaron assures you that you are. And then he fucks you. or inn other words, I think I need someone to study my brain because I did cry in my boss' office for very similar reasons to this and I am very much attracted to her but we did not fuck in her office and she has no idea I want her I just have breakdowns at work because 1) it sucks and 2) I am mentally unwell. I just truly don't know if this fic was birthed from the worst compulsory heterosexuality of all time or if I'm truly just an insane bisexual (I think it's the latter) but when I tell you I have not thought about Hotchner in years I MEAN years. I haven't watched Criminal Minds in like five years until today to write this fic. But like. He is FINE. y'all know. you're here. come for my unhinged summary stay for the smut idk

--------

“I can’t do this anymore,” you mutter under your breath, hating how the tears fall anyway, how you can’t stop them. “I’m not doing a good enough job. I need to leave.”

“What are you talking about?” Aaron asks you. “Why do you feel that way?”

“It’s just… it’s just I feel like I can never get a grip. Like I can’t ever get everything done that needs to get done. Like I’m not good enough.”

“You’re good enough. You’re a good agent. You come in and you do your job,” he says gently. “I don’t need anything else from you.”

You were usually so put together, so stoic, even, so sure of yourself. He can’t quite believe you’re in his office like this, past the verge of tears, sitting across from him weeping.

“I’m proud of you.”

“For what?” you ask, lifting your head to look at him.

“For the effort you put in. How you’re a new agent and you still proved yourself to my team. You’re living up to your potential and then some. We appreciate you. I appreciate you.”

“You just have to say that.”

“No. I don’t have to say anything. I’m telling you what I see and what I believe. And I’m not letting you quit.”

“But, sir, I—“

“I won’t accept it,” he says firmly but quietly. “You’re too good of an agent to lose. You know this. You know your grades were stellar and your psychology background is enviable. You know you passed every test with flying colors. The adjustment to being a full-fledged agent in the first year is tough, to say the least. It’s grueling. Getting accustomed and used to death, danger and just the pressure of the job is something that not everyone can handle. But you can. I know you can. If I lost you, I’d lose an asset. You’re an excellent profiler. It’s intuitive for you.”

There it is, though, that behavior analyst part of your brain and you noticed how he said “I” and not “we” and how his eyes softened, how he wasn’t looking at you sternly and stoically but there was more of a tenderness in his dark eyes.

He likes you. He means what he says. You know he does.

But that isn’t enough. You don’t believe what he says. You don’t believe you’re worthy. This job takes up so much of your waking hours but when you’re outside of it you have next to nothing. You’re not close to family here in Virginia. You don’t have a significant other. You’re not home enough to have a dog. And you just feel like you’ve been letting yourself go since you only seem to have time to eat, sleep and work.

You’ve always been an anxious person. You’ve managed to quell the thoughts wracking your brain with years of practice and medications to a point where you can function, to a point where you made it through school and made it into the FBI. Impostor syndrome dies hard, though. You keep trying to swallow down your tears but it’s fucking impossible when you’re like this. You dry them on the sleeves of your blazer, biting your lip nervously.

“Don’t cry. It’s okay,” Aaron says, breaking through your thoughts.

“It’s not okay,” you murmur. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I shouldn’t be breaking down crying.”

“You’re human,” he says gently. “This job is overwhelming.”

“It doesn’t seem to get to you.”

“It does. It still does. I… I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.”

“I just don’t think I can do this, Hotchner. With all due respect, I need to put my two weeks in,” you say, strengthening your weakened resolve.

“No,” he refuses, shaking his head. “What do I have to do to get you to see what I see?”

You sigh, leaning forward and bracing your head in your hands. “I don’t know.”

You feel him before you see him, refusing to lift your head up as the tears started streaming down your face. He kneels in front of you, taking your hands gently from your cheeks, but your eyes are still squeezing shut. “Look at me,” he orders.

“Hotchner, I—“

“It’s Hotch. You know that. Or… you can call me Aaron. Just call me Aaron. Look at me.”

Finally, you blink your eyes open, tears spilling over, and he squeezes both your hands gingerly.

“Good. Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to go home for the night. You’re going to take your mind off of the job. And you’re going to come back tomorrow morning and everyone in here is going to talk about how much you’re missed when you’re gone. Because we all value you. But you need to take the time for yourself. You’re burnt out. You’re not a bad agent. You’re just mean to yourself and you shouldn’t be.”

It’s not lost on you, the way he’s still touching you when you don’t think you’ve seen him so much as brush against anyone else on the team. Is he…?

You squeeze his hands back, forcing yourself to smile.

“There we go,” he smiles back. “See? Do you feel better?”

“A little. Thank you, Hotch.”

“Please. You can call me Aaron in private,” he reiterates. He would have, could have, should have let you go by now. But he hasn’t.

“In private?”

“I don’t let just anyone use my first name. There’d be questions if you started using it especially since you called me SSA Hotchner for months before I got you to just say Hotchner at least. You’re a rule stickler, hm? I think that’s part of your problem.”

“You don’t strike me as the type to think rules are made to be broken,” you counter. Sure. You were a stickler. You were. Deferential to authority - that deserved it. You spoke out, and you would speak out of turn if anything felt wrong or uncomfortable. Rules made things feel safer. Still. You’d call out the unjust. And you think Aaron is the same way.

“Some of them are,” he muses.

“You yelled at me,” you say suddenly. “My third week.”

He furrows his brow, trying to recall the incident you were talking about and then he nods. “You were reckless. You put yourself and Morgan in danger. You walked straight into an ambush. It was a mistake. A rookie mistake. A mistake you learned from. You never did it again.”

“But I—“

“It’s been almost a year since then,” he says, gently. “I don’t hold it against you. I’ve had to pull everyone who works here aside for something. And I’ve been pulled aside myself. No one’s perfect. I… I raised my voice because I was worried about you. Not because I was angry with you.”

“Okay,” you breathe out, nodding. “Okay.”

“I wish you could see what I see,” he says.

“Hm?”

“I see a strong, capable, intelligent young woman who’s an amazing profiler — you can glean someone’s familial background in record time. I see a woman who holds her ground and then some in interrogations.”

“I’m crying in my boss’ office right now,” you titter awkwardly.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re still all of those things. I see a beautiful woman who’s passionate about her career, who wants to do the best she can…”

He trails off. You wonder if he realizes the weight of what he said.

Always walking the line of professionalism. Making any comments regarding your appearance was crossing it, even if it was as benign and modest as “beautiful”. It was still a step too far.

But you, you’re depressed and anxious, and you’ll take whatever you can get.

He’s still kneeling in front of you.

You know it would be stupid, especially when he’s a broken man himself, even if he denies it to everybody. His wife cheated on him. It was hard, with the job, to have a stable relationship with anyone outside of it. You know this. You’re living it.

He’s still touching you and your skin is on fire now.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but he makes no effort to move, no effort to stop staring through your eyes to your soul. Is he profiling you? Trying to see if your breath hitched when he let the compliment slip?

“Don’t be,” you say breathily.

“It was inappropriate,” he says, and he does get up then, wincing at the stiffness in his knees from crouching in front of you for so long. You miss the warmth of his hands already. “You’re dismissed, agent. Go home and take care of yourself.”

Your emotions flip like a switch, it’s just how it’s always been, and you use it to your advantage in a room full of profilers. It’s good to be unpredictable, a wild card. You don’t even mean to. You just are. You can’t help the words that come out of your mouth next. He stood up, so he’s towering over you as you sit in the seat across from his desk, but he’s looking down at you, waiting on your next sentence. And what you say is, “Agent? I thought we were on first-name basis, Aaron?”

It’s the first time you’ve said his first name, and it goes right through him. He wasn’t lying. Not many people do have the privilege to use it. None of his subordinates would be brave enough, maybe not even if he gave them explicit permission like he gave to you. It’s intimate, all these walls up in this bureaucracy that even something as simple as a woman using his first name could drive him up the wall like it would an upstanding Christian man in Regency England. Rules. Rules to be broken.

Aaron whispers your first name, and it’s barely audible, but you hear it in his low, soft baritone. Not the first time, but the only time he’s said it without your last name tacked on the end of it. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Aaron?”

You’re teasing, now, and he wonders if it’s just a reflex, trying to gain back some of the power you lost by coming in here crying, or if you genuinely want something from him besides reassurance and a couple of hours off from work. It was maddening at first, trying to figure you out. He still doesn’t know exactly who you are and he’s resigned himself to the fact that maybe he’d never be able to nail you down.

“Don’t,” Aaron says again, looking at you sternly as you stand up.

“What is it that you don’t want me to do, Aaron?” you ask, and you’re still not eye to eye but you’re closer now, and his eyes never left your face throughout the whole conversation anyway.

He says your name again like it’s a curse under his breath. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Stop it.”

“Use your words, Aaron.”

“Stop teasing me,” he murmurs, looking away from you for the first time, down at the floor. You never expected him to be so… shy.

“I’m teasing you?” you ask, feigning innocence. You didn’t have to be a profiler to see how he was getting tenser as you continue this conversation.

“Yes,” he says, looking back up at you, an edge to his voice you hadn’t heard before. “And I suggest you stop.”

“Or else?” you say before your brain can catch up. You’re playing with fire. You know you are.

But you like him. Tall, dark, handsome, nothing like the men you’ve been with before. Other men were intimidated when he walked into the room. And you being you… you always wanted to break him down into a crying, blubbering mess, and be the only one who got to see him like that. Break the stoic wall and get to see him. Human.

And if he was this reactive to you just saying his name?

Lord help both of you.

“Please,” he murmurs. “Go home for the day.”

“Is that to help me, or you?”

He shakes his head, smiling a little. “Perhaps both of us.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t jump at the chance to get my resignation if I make things so… hard… for you, Aaron,” you say, and you move a little closer, his breath hitching audibly in his throat.

Again. He says your name like it’s the worst curse in the book, hissing it like it physically hurts him, and you know, maybe you are.

“A little selfish, maybe. I’d miss you too much,” he admits. “And I meant what I said. I’d lose an asset. You’re a stellar agent.”

You don’t really know what to say, now, but he continues.

“Profile me,” he whispers. “In this moment. What am I thinking?”

“So you don’t have to say it out loud?”

“Mm.”

“You want me, Aaron,” you say shakily, losing your resolve almost as quickly as you gained it back. “I don’t think you’d have to be a profiler to figure that out.”

“Is it that obvious?” he asks.

“Right now… yes.”

“You need me. You need me to show you how valued you really are,” Aaron says, searching your eyes for confirmation that you want this, too. As always, though, you’re unreadable. “Say it. Let me show you my appreciation.”

God. What in the world? Your brain is fuzzy with lust, and never in a million years would you have thought this is how today would’ve gone. Mondays back in the office are always the worst, piles of paperwork from the cases prior to sift through and file and the anticipation of when you’d be on the road or up in the air next always gnawed at your stomach. You fully expected to give your notice and come home crying. You didn’t foresee the prospect of being utterly fucked by your boss who very much did not want you to resign.

You know why the rules are in place. Dating coworkers was messy anyway, never mind dating someone in this line of work. Still… you thought it made sense in a way. The only person who was really going to understand your crazy schedule was someone who was working the same hours.

So you nod, giving him full permission to do as he pleases.

His lips meet yours, surprisingly soft and gentle, akin to the way his hands squeezed yours before. “I can’t believe I held myself back from doing this for this long,” he mumbles against your mouth, then he pulls you in an embrace, leaving hot open-mouthed kisses on the side of your neck where he can reach. “I need you here. I need you to promise me you’ll stay.”

“I’ll stay, Aaron.”

“I’ve wanted your body since the second you walked into this building. I need you. You ground me. Make me feel better, human. Like maybe I could exist outside of the field and outside of this office.”

“Did you know I was struggling?”

“You hide it well. I knew you were frustrated, but the last case was tough and we all are a little on edge. I’m sorry. I should’ve been there for you to lean on, honey,” Aaron says, moving his head back to face you, eyes meeting yours earnestly. “I want you to always come to me if you need anything. Anything.”

You don’t say anything, just hum contently, pressing your mouth back to his for a kiss that starts off chaste and quickly becomes heated, his hands cupping the curve of your ass.

“Answer me,” he says firmly. “Promise me you’ll always come to me.”

“I promise,” you agree.

“Good girl,” he affirms. “You’re such a good girl. Never have to worry about you doing your job. You always get your reports to me on time, you always make brilliant deductions when we’re going over cases, you always make sure the rest of the team doesn’t need anything… such a good girl.”

You kiss him fiercely, the voice in your head screaming he was your boss and both of your careers are on the line if this goes south long silenced. His large hands on your ass pull you closer to him, and you feel his hardening cock against you as he does. “Aaron,” you choke out breathily.

“Feel me? That’s what you do to me, honey.”

You snake a hand between your bodies and palm him through his dress pants, and you can tell he wasn’t expecting that to be your next move from the way his cheeks flush and he groans heavily. “This is about you,” he manages to say, taking your hand away from his clothed cock. “All about you. Go sit on my desk, honey.”

You do as he says, squeezing your thighs together as he follows you and takes his suit jacket off, revealing his tasteful button-down underneath. “Good girl,” he whispers, spreading your legs with hands, kneading the flesh of your thighs as he does so, letting the fabric of your skirt ride up.

And then he digs his nails under the thin sheer of your tights and rips them. “Aaron!” you hiss in surprise.

“I’ll buy you a new pair,” he responds almost dismissively, easing the torn fabric down the length of your legs, kissing the swell of your calves as he takes your heels off and places them on the floor underneath the desk.

“I’m more worried about how I’m going to walk out of here,” you say, smiling.

“I sent them all out on different tasks and told them to get lunch first. They’ll be gone for a while.”

“Did you plan this?” you ask, raising your eyebrows.

“Not exactly,” he smirks. “But now you can be as loud as you need to be.”

“Aaron,” you say, almost scolding, but whatever you were going to say after that is lost in the recesses of your mind as you feel his mouth on yours again, hot and ready, tongue gliding against yours with ease. He shrugs your blazer off, too, leaving you in just a black tank top and your skirt that was hiked up to your waist.

“I believe regulations are to wear long sleeve button-downs underneath blazers,” he says lowly. You know it’s a lie. If Garcia can dress the way she does there are certainly not strict restrictions on what you can wear, even if you’re a field agent. But you’ll play along.

“I believe regulations are not to have your subordinate spread out on your desk in front of you, sir,” you retort.

Aaron chuckles deeply at that. This is how you usually were, sarcastic and snippy, even with him at times. Funny. “Rules and regulations,” he muses. “I think I’m alright with those two being broken.”

And with that his fingers of his right hand start ghosting your cunt, pressing the thin cotton of your panties, groaning lowly at how wet you are. “You’re soaked, honey,” he says. “Can I feel you? Please.”

“Yes, Aaron, please touch me,” you nod.

He pushes aside your panties, slipping his index finger in slowly, catching your lips with his in the process.

“Want to make you feel so good, so much better,” he murmurs, starting slow and building up pressure before he inserts another finger, stretching you out, making you impossibly wetter, reaching depths of you that you couldn’t reach yourself with your much shorter and thinner fingers. “Lift your hips,” he instructs, and in one swift motion, he slips your panties off, pocketing them in his dress pants. “Good girl.”

“Not fair, Aaron,” you say.

“What’s not fair, honey?”

“You’re still fully dressed,” you point out, reaching for his tie to loosen it. You were absolutely soaked, you could feel it, and you wonder if his desk will stain from your slick. You untuck his shirt from his pants and run your hands over his stomach, scars under the pads of your fingers, God, you want to lick every inch of him.

“Mm. I can help you remedy that,” he agrees, meeting your hands when you were halfway through the buttons on his pristine white shirt, pulling it over his head along with his undershirt. You reach for his belt buckle and he stops you. “Not yet. Let me do something first.”

And before you know it his tongue is on you, swirling incessant circles around your swollen clit, and you can tell he’s not taking his time now. He wants to bring you over the edge and fast, and you wonder how long it will be before the rest of the team do return from their extended lunch breaks. You’ve been eaten out before, sure, but to use a cliched metaphor for the umpteenth time in human history, you finally figured out what women meant when they said their man ate them like it was their last meal on death row. You clamp your legs against his head, and he moans, sending vibrations through your cunt, damn near sending you over the edge as you pant and whimper.

“Am I not making you feel good?” Aaron looks up in worry.

“What? Why would you say that?”

“You’re not screaming. I suppose I should try harder,” he says, furrowing his brow and then he adds his fingers back, fucking deep into you. His tongue focuses on your clit and your thighs are shaking and you gasp, no longer able to hold yourself up seated, leaning back and bracing yourself on your elbows.

“Aaron, I’m so close,” you moan, trying to fight the urge to push him away as the pressure builds. You squeeze your thighs tighter and the sudden force of it drags Aaron’s tongue flat against your clit, and that’s what sends you over the edge, whining his name over and over again.

He doesn’t stop.

“Aaron,” you choke out, trying to back away from him due to the overstimulation. “Aaron. Please.”

“You can be louder than that,” he says, not bothering to lift his head, voice muffled by your wet cunt. “I’m not stopping until you reach a decibel level I’m satisfied with. And I will know if you’re faking.”

You’ve never had anyone go down on you for multiple rounds. You were lucky if you came once with previous partners. Part of the reason you never wanted to make a move with Aaron was that you figured he would ruin you for other men.

And God. Were you right.

You only hope you’re ruining him for other women.

You know you’re next orgasm will be embarrassingly close as he never gave you a chance to come down from the first one. You didn’t expect it to come on like it did though, your right hand carded in his jet black hair, just again, him flattening his tongue against your clit as his fingers continued to scissor you open and you can’t help it, gasping for air, shouting, yelling, keening his name. “Aaron,” you plead. “I can’t give you another one. Please.”

“Shh. Good girl. You can and you will. For me,” he commands authoritatively.

And you can. And you do.

The next time, mercifully, Aaron stands up, and leaves you alone to breathe. He kisses you and you taste yourself on his tongue. He’s achingly hard now, a quite visible tent noticeable in his dress pants, cheeks red from exertion, everything from his nose to his chin wet with your slick.

What a vision.

How were you ever going to get this out of your head?

“Can I be inside you? Please?” he asks.

“Yes,” you affirm.

Aaron lets you unbuckle his pants and lets them pool to the floor, helping you out of your tank top and bra, sucking and biting on your nipples and the flesh of your breasts for a few moments before he steps out of his shoes and boxers, completely bare in front of you.

“God, Aaron,” you breathe. “You’ve really been holding out on me.”

“Yeah?” he asks, and his cheeks flush redder. “I could say the same for you, sweetheart.”

“How long?”

“I told you,” he says lowly, lining his cock with your entrance. “Since the second you walked in this building.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” you ask, but it’s a loaded question if not a stupid one. There’s a myriad of reasons why you don’t tell someone who works under you that you want to fuck them stupid. That you like them. That you love them?

You frown slightly. You don’t think you could handle it if this was the only time you got to be with him like this.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, lifting your chin with his thumb. “You promised you would tell me.”

“Is this… is this a one-time thing, Aaron?” You ask tentatively.

“I don’t want it to be,” he answers quickly. “It’d be a daily occurrence if I had my way.”

With that, he grabs your hips, and looks at you for consent, then slams all the way in when you nod in affirmation. Neither of you can help the moans and groans escaping your mouths at that, you from feeling completely full and him being fully sheathed in you.

“I… I love you,” he says, pressing his sweat-sheened forehead to yours. “You don’t have to say it back. I know how dangerous and inappropriate and difficult this situation is never mind adding emotions to it. And I… I’m not good at them in the first place. I just… I just need you to know that. I want to be with you. All the time.”

“Again, Aaron, why did you never… fuck,” you trail off as he starts moving his hips, setting a slow and languid pace.

“I don’t know. I was afraid,” he chuckles.

“Of me?”

“You’re intimidating. You’re beautiful, smart, and capable. To tell you I wanted you…”

“You’re calling me intimidating?” you ask. “You? Of all people?”

“I’ve seen you interrogate. Baby-faced assassin, hm? You’ve shaken some grown men in their boots.”

“Including you?”

“Including me,” he chuckles, then softens. “Seeing you cry like that today… I… it broke my heart, honey. I never thought I’d see you break. I’d do anything to make you never feel like that again. You need to stay.”

“I already promised you, Aaron,” you say, biting your lip as he somehow angles his cock deeper in you. “I love you.”

Kissing you fiercely, he squeezes your hips, and you can’t wait to see if there’ll be bruises there tomorrow in the shape of his fingertips. “God, you’re fucking squeezing my cock, honey,” he grunts, and you feel yourself clench more at his words. You’ve never heard him swear. Ever. “I’m not going to last long if you keep doing that.”

“I’m surprised you lasted this long, old man,” you tease.

“You’d be surprised how much stamina I do have,” he threatens, rolling his eyes at you. “You’ll see tonight when I have more time with you.”

“How presumptuous.”

He scoffs, doesn’t say anything, but starts running over your clit with his thumb, kissing you deeply, fucking you faster and harder, setting a much more brutal pace.

“You just need me that bad, Aaron?” you ask, hellbent on seeing him break. “You need to fuck me all the time now that you’ve had me?”

“Yes,” he pants. “Need you all the time. Every day. Need to fuck this pretty cunt. Make you know you’re appreciated. Valued. Loved. Never want to hear you talk about yourself like that ever again. Not…I’ll worship you. Kiss the ground you walk on. Fuck you until you can’t stand. Whatever it takes.”

“What about you, Aaron? How do you feel right now?”

“So fucking good,” he groans. “So fucking good. Such a good girl. You keep sucking my cock back in every thrust, you feel that, honey? So wet, so warm, fuck, I’d stay inside you forever.”

“Yeah, Aaron? Hmm? I—“ your teasing backfired on you, and before you can think of anything else to say, you come on his cock, your nails dragging down his back stalling his motions to stutters and he’s asking you, begging you, “Please let me cum inside you,” he begs. “Please, honey.”

You nod breathlessly, unable to speak, and you don’t think he’d be able to make it out of you in time completely if you’d said no because you feel his seed fill you as you’re still riding out the aftershocks of your own orgasm and he’s moaning your name in choked sobs and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever fucking seen or heard.

“I love you,” he whispers, dark eyes looking up at you from where his face now rested in the swell of your breasts. “I love you. And we’re going to make this work come hell or high water.”

“I love you,” you say back once you catch your breath. “Are you still sending me home?”

He laughs. “You look and smell like sex.”

“Do you think you look or smell any different? You did this to me,” you say, messing up his sweat-streaked hair more with your fingers. “I think your boss should send you home, too.”

“Hm. Perhaps I could convince him,” he says, giving you a wide smile.

He helps you get dressed, kissing you wherever he can reach in between and it takes much longer than it would have had you dressed yourself. You’re not complaining. But there’s no fixing your hair or your tattered tights. No fixing Aaron’s disheveled hair, either, or the sweat stains around his armpits from when you teased him for so long.

“Follow me home, honey,” he instructs. “Round two.”

Maybe you should have mental breakdowns at work more often.

[lustlovehart]

Cease The Blaze

A/n: Takes place a little after “Scarlet In Black”.

Summary: [Yandere] Blade isn’t so sure anymore whether or not you are safe anymore, not even from yourself. It brings a question to his mind, should he try to save you? Or should he watch as you crumble by your own hand? He already knows the answer, and it’s definitely not the latter.

Warnings: Reader is wounded, Possessiveness on Blades part, Burning, Implied Imprisonment, Kinda angsty, Blade desperately wants to protect reader but doesn’t know how anymore

Blades eyes stare the deepest holes into your soul, his fingers wrapping the once pristine white bandages around your chest, his fingers grazing against bare skin, leaving a tingly feeling through your nerves.

"You really didn't have to do this Blade, I could've-" His fingers tighten significantly, though you don’t think he was trying to hurt you. “Gh..! I could’ve wrapped myself up…”

“No, you don’t need too. I’m doing it.” You don’t reply to him, only looking down at his hands as they worked, you didn’t dare to look into his eyes, they’d just serve as a further means to shrink down in embarrassment. When he finally finishes bandaging your wounds back up, he sits right next to you on the rock he made you rest on.

It was night where you were rested, the fire that laid in front of you burning a brilliant flame, it’s too bad you should never touch it.

“So, I thought you were in another solar system… Do you have some sort of third sense for me specifically?” Your eyes finally make contact with his own, smiling a little in hopes of lightening the tense mood with a joke.

Majority of the time he just looks at you, but there are a few instances where you can notice a tiny little quirk in his lips. You guess that isn’t one of those times though, with the way he replies in his usual straight face.

“If that’s what you wanna call it.”

“So you’re admitting to just magically knowing when i’m in danger?”

He lets out a firm ‘mm’ sound to the question. You assume he’s only agreeing to stop you from asking anymore, but even then it makes you laugh a tiny bit.

“Don’t know whether or should be creeped out or thankful? Kinda comforting knowing i’ll have you come rescue me whenever I need it.” For a moment you notice Blades eyebrows furrow, the moment once more going back to a stifling aura.

In his own mind, he finally thought about it, he had been too preoccupied with the feeling left in his chest to notice it himself, what happens when he can’t come to your aide? What if someone else caused harm to you and he couldn’t stop it. No, perhaps even worse, what if you cause your own demise?

After he had finally found something in his eternal damnation he enjoyed, is he really willing to let it go that easily?

“Not always. Don’t be so naive with your thinking. I’m not an aeon who will be the back of a chair you can easily lean on. What happens to you when you lay back and there is nothing to keep you from falling?”

“Wha…? What are you talking about…?”

“You fall [Name]. You fall and get hurt.”

You’re not too sure on how to reply to him, so you go back to gazing at the sparks of the blaze. A few minutes pass by, no maybe not even a few, half an hour had went on, neither of you speaking a word.

The inferno dimmed slightly, yet the fire felt even hotter than it did before. Your palms reach out without even thinking, finally feeling the burn before Blade bandaged had firmly grabbed onto your wrist.

“Do not touch that.”

“I wasn’t going to…”

The two of you don’t say anything else, your eyes only making contact with the inferno again. It was no longer as pretty as it once was, in fact, all it did was burn your eyes. Not Blades though, he wasn’t looking at the fire, he was only looking at you. Hesitantly, his hand grabs onto your shoulder pulling you in. His movements were stiff, yet you let him.

“I don’t want you to suffer.”

“What? Like-” you only stop yourself before talking more. ‘Like you?’ It was messed up, but you were starting to get sick of the vagueness in his words.

“Last time I saw you, you were covered in blood, not even a speck of your regular clothes could be seen. You shouldn’t worry about me being the one who’s ‘suffering’.”

“It’s blurred together, everything. The only thing that isn’t fogged by scarlet in my memories is my past.”

“Why don’t you revisit that past then?”

“That it is no longer there for me to revisit.”

Hot. The fire is burning you again. You blink a couple of times looking back at the man, no, the weapon perhaps?

“I have something else in front of me that isn’t tattered in bloodshed, I’m not willing to loose that.” He pulls out a red ribbon from his side, taking care in wrapping it around your wrist, the color reminds you off his eyes, and it smelled faintly of strawberries. When he finishes it up, he had shaped it into a tiny bow on your wrist, it’s kinda cute.

“What did you mean by ‘not willing to loose that?’ By the way? Is it another one of your cryptic sayings?”

“No. I mean it truly this time.”

For once in the moment, he doesn’t look at you, while all you did was look at him, confusion littered around you face.

After than neither of you spoke a word, until you dozed off, the last thing in your vision being the way the fire had went out, as if it had never been there, the only remains of it being the ashes it left in its wake. Blades calloused hands were still on your body, like before, he feared if he let go for even a moment you would be gone too.

Carefully he lifts you up, carrying you through the plain of nature that had surrounded you. In moments like this, he would always return you to the comfort of your bed, never leaving a trace of him behind for you to find.

“So Bladie, are you finally gonna bring them along with us? It has been a thought of yours for awhile has it not?” Her voice was undoubtedly the most recognizable thing about her, that and her blank eyes that always seemed to hold no fear. “The night I was waiting for you two, I expected you to bring them along right then. Why now hmmm?”

“They’re not safe. That won’t work.”

“I thought it would be their choice whether or not that was okay.”

“No. I want them to stay. If it means keeping them away from themself even, i’ll do it.”

His footsteps clank against the steel floor of the Stellaron Hunters ship, Kafka following close behind.

“Is that enough for you Bladie?” Her tone is of the usual, a bit condescending and playful, yet it makes him pause, if even for just a brief moment.

“If it means even a minutes escape from my suffrage.” She smiles at him, closing her eyes as they continue strolling through.

She knows what he said isn’t true. It won’t take long before his greed for you takes over, craving for more of your warmth as he starves for whatever you can give him. Maybe if he had taken you sooner it wouldn’t hurt so bad to watch you reach for home in front of him.

When you wake all you’ll remember is the way the fire had felt, the final feeling of the outside you can ever feel for yourself. In your last moments, you wished you had touched that flame, even if it meant being burnt.

———

Gonna be completely honest, I actually don’t enjoy the way this came out, but i wanted to highlight the softer side Blade has for Reader? While also showing how much he wants to keep them in his life. It definitely could’ve been better, but if it’s that bad, i’ll just rewrite it another time.

[carlsdarling]

okay, now i need a fic about carl's gigantic balls😔😔😔

Jingle balls, jingle balls

Y/N wonders if Carl really has gigantic balls... Bit more of a plot, then sex. Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, oral (male receiving)

As so often, you watched Carl as he helped Olivia to carry groceries into the warehouse. To do this, he repeatedly climbed into the back of the pick-up truck parked outside the warehouse and the fabric of his jeans stretched over his crotch, leaving a visible bulge. You giggled furtively, because ever since a certain day, you'd been a little obsessed with Carl and what was going on under his belt.

That was when Negan had first come to Alexandria with his men to demand supplies, and when two of his men had gone to get medicine from Rick's house, Carl had angrily stood in their way and threatened them with his gun. You had heard the gunshot from the house and seen Rick, Negan and Gabriel rush to Rick's house, so you had followed them, curious and worried at the same time.

Inside the house was Carl, his one eye glinting with rage, his cheeks flushed delightfully as he pointed the gun at Negan's men and forbade them to take the drugs. The muscles on his arm and neck were tense, and he ignored Negan, who approached with amusement and began to admonish Carl. But Carl was not intimidated by Negan, so the latter finally got a little annoyed and said: "So, dude, at what point were we? Oh yes! At your gigantic balls down there!"

The blush had rushed to your face and you had struggled to suppress a giggle despite the dangerous situation, so Gabriel had looked at you in bewilderment and confusion. You had thought Carl was cute ever since he had come to Alexandria, but since that day, you kept trying to imagine him naked and wondered if Negan was right with his comment.

However, you and Carl didn't get close at first because he spent a lot of time with Enid, and eventually he and Enid became a couple, which made you jealous. But around the time of Carl's 19th birthday, things started to fall apart and a few months later they had a big fight and broke up, leaving Carl single again. Faced with this fact, you were all excited, but at first you just couldn't find a way to get closer to Carl.

Until the day you happened to be assigned to guard duty together. It was a few days before Christmas and Alexandria was already festively decorated; it was snowing lightly as you and Carl climbed the stairs to the wall.

You kept glancing stealthily at Carl from the side. He was wearing a parka against the cold, so you couldn't catch a glimpse of his crotch, but you were firmly convinced that Carl was well equipped, and Negan's words kept coming back to your mind.

It didn't take long for Carl to notice your strange behavior. "What's wrong?" he asked with a hint of irritation. "Why do you always stare at me like that?"

You immediately blushed. "What? Like what?" you tried to deny it.

Carl looked at you with raised eyebrows, snowflakes settling on his bandage. "I don't know. But you're always gaping at me like you're trying to figure something out." Your face grew even hotter, and Carl grinned knowingly. "You have the hots for me, haven't you?"

"No," you immediately denied it.

"No? Too bad," Carl said casually. "I mean, I'm single again, and we could have some fun." He pointed to a vacant house near the wall. "There don't seem to be any walkers out today anyway. No one will notice if we disappear for a while." He winked indecently at you. "But it's not like you're interested." He shrugged his shoulders.

You cleared your throat. "Umm, I wouldn't put it like that. It's just..."

"What?" Carl eyed you with amusement.

"Well, Negan made a remark about your balls back then." You giggled, embarrassed. "I've always wondered since then if it was true. Well, that they're gigantic."

Carl laughed out loud. "Okay, so they're not small," he let you know in a teasing tone. "Neither is the rest. But don't you want to find out for yourself?" He stepped closer so that his breath brushed hotly across your cheek.

The arousal swept over you like an electric shock. You could smell Carl's scent very clearly, his long hair tickled your face and his pheromones mesmerized you. You and Carl had never been this close before. His lips almost touched yours. "Yes," you breathed, your heart pounding wildly.

"Come on then," Carl said, taking your hand after looking around and realizing that no one was watching you. He pulled you down the stairs and over to the abandoned house. New residents were due to move in these days, so the heating was turned up and it was comfortably warm.

Apparently Carl had been pretty needy since breaking up with Enid, because he pulled you into a hug as soon as he closed the front door behind you both and kissed you fiercely, his hands sliding under your clothes and immediately fumbling with the clasp of your bra. "Bedroom," he murmured as he pushed you towards the stairs. On the way up, you were already stripping off some of your clothes. You admired Carl's naked torso, the finely chiseled muscles, the fair skin, and the soft line of dark hair that led down from his navel.

You fiddled eagerly with Carl's belt. "I want to see you," you said breathlessly, licking at his neck.

Carl groaned, shoved your hand aside and undid his belt and the buttons of his jeans himself before sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling down his jeans and boxers. His cock was standing straight up, the tip touching his stomach and leaving a wet trail. You grabbed Carl by the shoulders and made him lie on his back, then you took his cock in your hand and began to gently rub up and down and apply pressure. Carl whimpered and squirmed on the bed, his eye closed. You let go of his dick and turned your attention to his balls - indeed, they weren't gigantic, but they were big, one almost filling your entire hand. "Are they always this... full?" you teased him, caressing his balls, swirling your tongue around his red, precum-oozing tip.

Carl whimpered and grinned sheepishly. "Maybe not quite so full," he whispered, his voice hoarse with excitement. "It's just, uum, I've got a bit of blue balls, if you know what I mean, oh please, don't stop." He groaned lustfully and bucked his hips up as you playfully licked his balls.

You leaned over Carl to kiss him and he yanked impatiently at your panties, slipping them over your thighs and shoving his long fingers between your legs. "You're already so wet, baby," he gasped, gripping your hips. Very slowly, he pushed his dick in.

You trembled with pleasure, and he chuckled, while his cock sliding inside you, making naughty slippery noises. You clenched your muscles around him, and he started moaning loudly, arching his back. You leaned forward and touched his big balls at the same time, gently massaging them, and this almost drove Carl over the edge, he was so close to cumming, but he successfully held himself back.

The way his dick was stretching you out was amazing, and you whined loudly, which made Carl grin. "It's not just my balls that are big," he joked.

"Oh my god, Carl," you moaned and the movements of your hips became faster and more erratic as you felt the orgasm approaching. When you cum around his cock, Carl feverishly bucked his hips, he let out a little scream and his cum filled you up to he rim. You had to grip onto his shoulders for support. "Going wild, huh?" you panted. Carl lied back, exhausted, he tried to catch his breath.

You collapsed on top of him, your head resting in the crook of his neck, before you dismounted him to snuggle up to him.

Carl looked at you, his cheeks still flushed, his heart beating hard. "That was... beyond words," he whispered and kissed you. You touched his balls again, and Carl inhaled sharply.

"They're not so full anymore," you said, giggling.

Carl smiled a little bashfully. "You took care of them, didn't you? But you have to admit, they're really big," he hinted with a pout.

There was no denying it. "They are," you giggled. "So is your dick."

Carl suddenly pressed you into the mattress and lay on top of you, gently spreading your legs. You could clearly feel that he was ready for you again. "Since you liked it, can we do it again?" he suggested. "Again and again," you mumbled as Carl penetrated you a second time.

--

Tags: @knochentrocken0808 @xxcarlswifexx @taylormarieee @tessasweet

(Originally the fic was planned for X-mas time, but then my dad passed away, so it got delayed)

[fanfic-inator795]

Spoilers for Puss in Boots: Last Wish (specifically Perrito) below

My bff and I were talking about this last night, but I figured I’d write it all out here: one thing I really do appreciate about Perrito is that while other characters may see him as naive and innocent, the film never treats him as overly naive or foolish.

The best example of this is when he’s explaining his backstory. It would have been SO easy to have him be still searching for his family/litter mates, believing firmly that they still wanted him/were still playing ‘hide and seek’. If they’d done this, then Perrito really would have been an extremely naive character (as well as all the more unnecessarily tragic). It also would have been easy to have this be Perrito’s wish, as well as the lesson that he needed to learn - that he doesn’t need his former (and incredibly crappy) fam, and that he can/should move on from his tragic backstory, letting himself be with his new friends instead.

But the film doesn’t go this route... Because Perrito has already realized and internalized this lesson.

Think about it. For as much as he may seemingly still see the whole ‘swim in the river’ incident as an extra challenge to a game of Hide ‘n Seek, outside of the “Guess I’m still It!” joke, Perrito doesn’t dwell on the fact that he never saw his family again. Just as he never dwells on nearly drowning. He only brings up his past when others ask him about it, otherwise he’s only focus on the present - which is why he’s so satisfied with things to the point of not needing a wish.

When it comes to his backstory, he instead just sees the brighter side of things regarding it (getting a new ‘sweater’ that he was able to grow into) and focuses on moving forward and meeting new friends, instead of going on an endless search for those who left him behind. Even while he’s at Mama Luna’s, he still tries to socialize with the other cats - though he backs off when they hiss at them, still understanding that he isn’t exactly well-liked there.

What’s more, it’s made VERY clear that Perrito’s tendency to trust in people without hesitation is not out of naivete: it is out of choice. He knows that people can be cruel (we see him briefly get scared of Jack Horner and the Bears when he gets kidnapped, even if he ends up making friends with the latter) and he knows that he can’t exactly fight back against that, being such a tiny dog. But he’d still rather give people a chance instead of just hiding away from the world. He never tries to claim that every person has some good in them or anything like that, he simply states “well, you have to trust somebody”.

What really drives this point home - aside from the excellent advice that Perrito gives throughout the film, showing just how thoughtful and wise he is, even when he seems totally clueless in other moments - is his moment in the film’s climax with Jack, where he’s finally able to do the cutesy eyes. The joke is how Jack is ‘dead inside’ and would never fall for such a ploy, and how Perrito is (or rather, would be) dumb for thinking that simply being cute would stop this heartless bastard.

But the twist is that Perrito already knows this. There isn’t a moment where it’s shown that he thinks this act will work. No, Perrito meant it as a distraction the entire time - he wanted to try and help, and he trusted his friends to catch on and take the shot once the distraction worked. And I freaking LOVE THAT! I love that Perrito is so much more than just ‘diet Donkey’ or ‘innocent and naive dog that doesn’t know how the real world works’.

He knows how it works, he just chooses to still see the bright side in things in order to improve others’ lives as well as his own, because there’s a difference between naively trusting people who haven’t proven themselves and just giving people a genuine chance to be your ally/friend. And I’m just so happy that Dreamworks not only made a character like this but just did a fantastic job writing him.