#No fluff whatsoever

[technicallywrite]

Cosmosgate update Ch35 — Nevertheless, she persisted

When a technology evaluation mission turns into a Cyberman incursion and several members of her team appear to have been compromised, including Osgood, Kate must rely on the remains of her team to mount a resistance.

CW: Mild swearing (F word), violence, minor character death (no principals, no gays), small amount of blood and guts, some body horror (sort of), Kate having positive thoughts about Josh Carter.

Oh, and a big ol' cliffhanger.

[mouzeinsoup]

Day 4: Behemoth

heehee bigm fish

meri giggling and kicking her feet fins

[musouie]

loss of virginity, no au, virgin!levi, older!levi, 2.1k wc, mdni

levi's afraid to admit it, that despite his age he’s never been touched like this before, never known the warmth and gentle pressure of another.

when you kiss him, it feels foreign, unnatural, like you’re trying to consume him — draw out every last breath and take it for your lonesome. he likes the feeling, of your tongue, your lips, and other things. but there’s a thought that looms, that tells him he’s doing everything just…wrong.

“touch me,” you breathe, chest heaving against his, legs straddling his hips. he lifts a hand gingerly, in a curious little dance, up the curvature of your arm and he prays he will not screw this up — more so now than ever. but there is a lump in his throat, and all that tumbles from between his lips are the grunts of a man unsure, a man scared, a man trying desperately to be something he is not.

it almost seems like it hurts to have him touching you, in the way that you falter ever so slightly, eyes narrowing as his fingers shy away; his hand retreating quickly as if burned. there are little lines creasing around his mouth and forehead, his ears a bright, pink hue, and you inhale knowingly.

“here,” you take his hand in your own, guiding it to your clothed breasts. so soft, is the first thing he thinks. like the puffy tufts of a dandelion when at the end of its bloom. “like this.”

his palm drifts slowly, almost on its own accord, along the warm, cottony exterior, as if powered by your skin. he’s a quick learner, something he’s always prided himself on, so when his fingers accidentally brush across your nipples and you moan, he does it again. and again, and again.

“good boy.”

oh.

oh.

oh, that was pleasant. the praise that seeps, so warm, so sweetly through his every pore — through everything. it trickles down his spine and pools beneath his waistband, before taking root at the tip of his reddening erection.

he watches with dilated pupils as your hands slip beneath the hem of his pants, to a place no one’s ever gone before. the skin is so pale, so untouched, and his cheeks darken ten shades upon seeing the difference in its size. his eyes are drawn to your lips when you speak to him softly, so gently:

“lay back,” you whisper, pressing the heel of your hand against his chest. the breath in his throat is stagnant, he does not move, only stares up at you, into your face with the beginnings of something strange nestling in the crevices of his eyeballs and the corner of his lips. 

it is with a great force of will that he manages to lie down, to feel that touch, that hand, warm, so warm against his cock, his eyes clenching shut as they roll into the back of his head. the only thing he knows in this moment is that it feels good, better than he could ever imagine.

“you okay?” you ask breathlessly, fingers fumbling with the many buttons lining his trousers. they scatter, tinkling across the wooden floor as he hesitates — stills — the thump of his heart heavy and lurching.

he opens his eyes to see you above him, still straddling him, pupils almost consumed by your blacked-out irises. there is that soft concern there, reflected in the downturn of your lips and furrowed brow.

“yes,” his voice is gruff, thick, caught somewhere in his oesophagus. he cannot clear it away, just shakes his head and lifts a large, slender hand. “i’m fine. don’t worry about it.”

 there is the faint buzz of what he can only think are the few lamps illuminating the room, the creak of the air on the wind, and the hum of the few people still roaming about in the tavern below. they seem very far away, almost insignificant next to the staccato breaths that escape his lips.

he spreads his legs a little further, peering over his chest, as much as he can, and the low light makes him warm, warmer even when he sees his clothes are gone, and yours too, strewn over the only chair that sits by the bed.

there is not much grace in his movements as he leans against the headboard, blinking harshly. he may know the intricacies of death, the mechanics of murder, the many ways to kill, to wound, and maim, but he does not know this – his heart hammering furiously within his chest, the sound pounding loudly in his ears, blood pulsating.

his mouth goes dry, lips parting, words left wanting on the tip of his tongue when you drag your fingers up along the underside of his cock.

he blinks, blinks again, and more forcefully this time when there is that hot, fluttering grasp around his cock. he hasn’t the words, nor the voice, to do anything as he watches, watches with rapt attention as his length slides in and out of your palm, a messy thing all on its own.

but the sensations, the feelings, all of the warmth that seems to surround, to drown, and smother him, bring him back, back, and far away from the tendrils of icy fear that grasp at his ankles, his wrists, his head. he begins to lose himself a little, enjoying the heat, the warmth that travels along his pale flesh. there is this newfound lightness in his eyes when he looks at you, and there is so much he thinks he wants to say, but a sudden breathlessness strikes him.

“tell me what you like,” you whisper, leaning down, your arms on either side of his face. the hair surrounding him, shielding him, his only buffer to reality. “tell me what feels good, levi. i want this to feel good for you.”

“…okay,” he finally manages to murmur, lifting his right arm. his hands – they shake so terribly – they graze your face, your cheek, and though he cannot believe himself he suddenly feels secure in his new-found inexperience, knowing, praying it will be more than enough. “can we...uh.”

levi is aware he must not really be serious, judging by your gaze which tells him otherwise; the twinkle within your eyes telling him he is almost humorous, soft, so soft and warm, to you, right now.

with your help, he shuffles upwards, almost half-heartedly attempting to align himself with your entrance. though, the lull is short-lived as the initial tingling that flares shoots up his spine, arching into a line of rippling fire the moment he sinks into your slick heat. he is a mess, head rearing backwards into the thick pillow, mouth gaping, gasping, inhaling.

and you —  you are not that far off.

“you’re bigger than i expected,” you whisper. “i didn’t think...you were actually this big,” comes your soft, sensuous utterance, punctuated by a groan.

levi blinks the tears in his eyes away. they crystallise on his cheeks, the small, pretty white diamonds that become marred and soiled by your thumb, caressing his wet, red cheeks. he remains unaware that those tiny crystalline beads that dot the corners of his eyes bring a strangled gasp from your throat; the evidence that despite what he wills, wishes upon himself, the truth of his emotions is palpable, plain and written on his face.

“it doesn’t hurt, does it?” his lips move, the creases embedded on his brows only increasing. he peers over at the place of the connection, breath hitching when he sees his cock squished inside you.

“no,” you whisper with a deep shudder. “feels nice, you inside me.”

“o-oh,” levi cannot deny the pinkness that has seeped itself, into every nook, cranny, and crevice of his face. it warms his cheeks, brings the twitch of his hands, fingertips, and turns them from the stone, they have been rendered, into living things once more.

his lips part ever so slightly, a gasp stifling in his lungs when he feels you begin to move; a smooth motion of your hips that sends sparks careening, tumbling to settle themselves on his closed lids. and when you continue, with a repeated, fluid rock — one that builds that incessant burn deep, deep within his stomach — he is unable to withhold a whimper, a moan.

“f-fuck,”  he is only able to form words when there is a force there, more heated than before, one that simmers instead of burns, like flames licking at his inner thighs. “oh, god…”

“is it nice, levi?” your voice floats, a silk that warms his blood, makes it rush south. a coil in his stomach is strung impossibly tight, and the more you shift your hips, he instinctively begins to move with you, in and out of your walls. “d’you like it when i ride your cock?”

“ye…s,” levi breathes shakily, a thin line of sweat threatening to bead on his brow. but is disturbed, diverted, by your plush lips on his neck, on the erratic pulse beneath his stubbled jaw, slathering his skin with lipstick stains.

“me too,” you whisper, and he does not need to look to know you have a wicked smirk on your swollen lips. your nails rake across his chest, creating delicious rivets in their wake, settling somewhere on his shoulders as you clutch on, leverage to push your hips harder onto his, eliciting a soft gasp.

“mpph,” he has no control over the ragged sighs, the whimpers, the groans, that seem to spring, are unleashed with every gentle undulation of your hips. his breath stutters in his chest, and a quiver sets itself upon his throat as he makes a weak attempt at swallowing.

the knot in his stomach tightens with each thrust you make and he begins to feel that soft hint of panic within him, something unfamiliar.  a cold bead of sweat slips from his temple and he wants to touch you, needs to touch you, pull you against him, and feel your skin melt into his.

“levi,” you coo in his ear, an ominous, portentous, humming whisper. his cock twitches. he manages a grunt in reply.

“l-levi ,” his name is repeated, and no sooner are his hands clasping desperately at the small of your back. there is a gasp and he opens his eyes blearily. there you are above him, head swaying slightly, eyebrows drawn together in an air of what could only be...anguish? he blinks.

“if you need to cum, do it inside,” you say breathlessly. a lascivious smile sets on your lips, so sharp that even now, amidst his delirium, makes his cock leak. “you can fill me up, levi.”

“fill you, ah-” the question threatens to slip from his tongue, lost amidst the shuddering breaths he gasps and the wet slap of your ass against his thighs, his abdomen. but he finds it within him, in his rising desperation for the wave to crest and consume him, in that yearning he has for the warm, enticing heat that envelops his cock. “will you become...i d-don’t…”

“it’s okay,” you say, pressing a tender kiss on his forehead, a gesture that reminds him so deeply of his…it wrenches his heart, his gut, for a beat before you press your pelvis a little harder against his. “it’s okay. let me worry about it.”

though his eyes droop from the exertion, the intoxication, the mounting tension, he almost has the decency to be embarrassed when a low-set moan spills from between his teeth and over his reddened bottom lip. he reaches his high, gritting his teeth, as he tries to stop from tumbling over the precipice. there is a single exhale, one long shudder that tells you and him he is spent.

as he floats, anchored down only by his heavy eyelids, and the ever persistent arousal that seems to permeate your skin, seep through, levi can feel you everywhere. that coil inside of him tightens, throbs, aching dully the way it does, with his orgasm so fresh, still within the recesses of his mind.

“hey,” you huff in a tiny effort as his body spasms in sensitivity, and he arches his back, mouth opening into a small round 'o'. “did it feel good, levi?”

“yes,” is his instant, barely restrained cry, catching the words he wants to say by the very tips of his teeth.

“i’m glad,” you sigh, a breathy, airy, wondrous, and terrifying thing that slaps his insecurities, and weaknesses, into the back of his head. you give a wet kiss on his shoulder, and in that moment he thinks, that within the intimacy of your touch, the sizzling heat of your lips is enough; that maybe, just maybe, he has given you pleasure, has eased whatever desire you needed quelled. that maybe he’s willing to learn a lot more from you.

𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐢𝐞 © 2024 𝐀𝐑𝐑. it is prohibited to reproduce, distribute, or transmit my works in any form or by any means! ﾉ masterlist

[onlysatoruu]

no thoughts only papa gojo

[perpetuallyconfused10]

Im the one who asked about requests lol, I just have this Hotch thought and I can't stop thinking about it 🫂😭

Imagine Garcia "screaming" about a video, telling the whole team about it (except Hotch and Reader), and that video is on tiktok. When they spill something about the video, Hotch and Reader ask which video they're referring to, not knowing it's from a tiktok account where the person makes videos on Hotch x Reader (like edits taken from some interview where they look at each other, slightly touches and things like that) and it's a whole profile with a lot of videos like that! So the whole team teases them and they obviously like eachother!!

Feel free to change anything!!

Gone Viral, Gone Wrong

Thank you to this anon for submitting my first request! I might have written it (and especially Hotch) be a little (way) too sappy, but I love your idea so much and I hope I did it some type of justice! WC: 3.3K

GIF by ssa-aaron-hotch-hotchner

There must be something on your face. Toothpaste, maybe, or coffee on your shirt, or a tear in your trousers. Something to explain the numerous pairs of eyes following you as you dash for the elevator, just as you always do. 

This morning’s been one for the books. Between a text from your highschool ex-boyfriend, congratulating you on your ‘newfound fame’ — whatever he means by that, you don’t know — and the incomprehensibly slurred voicemails you woke up to from your sister, you aren’t quite sure what to do with yourself.

You tell yourself you’re probably imagining it. But Anderson doesn’t say a word to you as you both make your way to the BAU, just casts you sidelong glances between the rapid texts he’s sending. You hope to God it’s not you, that he's just having an awful morning, then scold yourself for it. If you’re not off to a good start, at least somebody should be.

It’s the silence in the bullpen that confirms your suspicions. Emily, JJ, and Garcia sit huddled around Emily’s computer, squeezed onto two chairs they’ve pulled together. Morgan leans over them to look at the screen. He’s in the middle of laughing at something Garcia’s said when you walk in. 

You don’t even need Reid’s not-so-subtle hiss of “Guys–” to know you’re not going crazy. The smirks that drop from their faces, the giggles that extinguish themselves as you enter through the double doors, are more than enough. 

Four profilers and a technical analyst, as it turns out, can be rather terrifying when the force of their stares are directed at you. 

A sheepish grin tugs at your lips as you hold up your peace offering: a tray of coffee. “Hi?”

You’ve come to know how the team works. You know exactly how they react when ambushed, how they spring to action like a well-oiled machine.

There’s something a little mechanical to them now, bared in their responses to your arrival. After giving you one of his usual tight-lipped smiles, Reid flips open a random file on his desk and begins to read. JJ grabs the computer mouse, clicks a few times, and turns away from the monitor to greet you. Morgan clocks the drinks in your hands and conjures a grin just a little wider than normal. 

“Morning, sunshine,” he says as he plucks the tray from your hands, thanking you with a squeeze to your forearm. 

Garcia, eyeing the gesture, nearly chokes on the end of the pen she’s chewing. She stands to usher you over to your desk, her chirpy voice a balm attempting to smooth over what has been a very odd start to your working day. 

“What were you guys looking at?” You ask her, eyebrows raised. If anyone’s going to tell you what’s going on, Penelope is, without a doubt, most likely to spill.

You’re disappointed – and even more confused – when she stands her ground. Through her ramble, you just about make out the words “cat” and “spa” before she’s kissing your cheek and speeding away to your lair. 

You sigh as you switch on your own computer. One thing is clear. The team doesn’t like to be ambushed. And, somehow, that is exactly what you have done. 

—

After finishing off one of your consults, you suffer through a morning briefing that ends up being far more complicated than it needs to be. It’s only a paperwork day, by the looks of things. In theory, this is the ‘easiest’ your job gets; if you’re not called out on an emergency, you can bank on a day of case reports and shitty coffee. 

Nothing is ever easy at the BAU, not even now. Everything is out of order. There’s none of the usual idle chatter that precedes a briefing, just a fragile silence. Rossi moves from his normal position to take your place between Reid and JJ. He mutters something about the chair being uncomfortable and shoos you away from your seat. Though you can’t resist the opportunity to call him an old man for his pedantics, you acquiesce and take his spot instead. You find nothing wrong with it. 

Then Hotch walks in to start the briefing, and you find about a hundred reasons to curse David Rossi. He’s wearing the gray suit, again, the one he likes pairing with his red tie. That should be a crime in itself. When he takes the only seat available — his usual seat, the one now next to you — you’re almost sure you hear JJ snort. Emily pats her on the back as she conceals it with a very unconvincing cough.

Hotch frowns in your direction, probably mulling over the change in seating plan, then turns his attention to JJ. “Are you alright?”

The blonde clears her throat. “Fine. Thanks, Hotch,” she says. 

Garcia rests her elbows on the table, her mouth concealed by the palm of her hand. 

Hotch nods, casting another short glance your way. “Good.”

Then he launches into the briefing, and you can almost convince yourself things are perfectly normal, that your face isn’t alight with heat and you’re not avoiding looking at him, that everything is fine. When you’re dismissed, you scurry towards the door fast enough you almost miss it. 

“Garcia?” His voice is quiet, his tone soft with something disapproving hiding beneath it. “My office, please.”

Everything is decidedly not fine. 

—

By noon, you can’t take it anymore. “Emily Prentiss, what the fuck are you doing?”

The question comes out louder and more harshly than you’d intended. In your peripheral vision, you see Reid’s eyes widen at the desk next to yours. Emily, halfway through a sandwich, freezes. 

“I’m sorry?”

The grin fades from her face. 

You huff. “You’ve been looking between me and your computer for the last half-hour. What is it? Is there something on my face?” Morgan laughs from the other side of the bullpen, and you raise your voice a little in desperation. “Seriously. Have I done something wrong?”

JJ must have heard the commotion, because she pokes her head out of her office door. She takes one look at you and sighs. “Probably best to get it over with, Em.”

When Emily hesitates, your eyes narrow. “Get what over with?”

She stands and beckons you over to her desk, firing up her computer screen as you settle into her chair. JJ comes down the stairs to join you. Though they don’t move, you can practically feel Morgan and Reid staring at the three of you from across the room. 

What you see projected on Emily’s screen doesn’t make things any clearer.

“That’s—” you pause, dumbfounded. “Why are you looking at me and Hotch?”

The picture is easy to place. It must have been taken a few days ago, during a small-town case. Hotch had asked you to deliver a profile to the media when JJ was working on something else. It was far from the first time you’d faced the press head-on during your time at the Bureau, but Hotch had stood by your side anyway. 

You’re not sure why she’s chosen this photo, if any, to look at. The wind’s blowing your hair into your face, and you’re midway through changing expressions so it almost looks like you’re in pain. 

“Just watch,” Emily says. She presses the spacebar and the picture bursts into action.

—

“—If you believe you have any information that may relate to this case, we’d appreciate you calling the following number…” you say. You proceed to rattle off the number for the tip line JJ’s set up, but only get halfway through before everything derails. 

“How do we know this isn’t all just bullshit?” 

The voice overpowering yours is weathered, and so is the man who pushes through the crowd of journalists to get close to you and Hotch, whose posture you see straighten in an instant. You watch as the reporters from the city turn to look at the interloper, pens out and waiting, no doubt, for either you or your boss to slip up.

For a long moment, Hotch watches the man, his face twisted in irritation. He merely restates the tip line number and your request for any potential witnesses to come forward.

But the skeptic doesn’t let up. “This guy’s an outsider. Not one of us. Everyone here knows each other, they have done for years—”

“We’re not trying to cause a panic,” you say, your tone even, “We don’t want you all to turn on each other. But the man we’re looking for knows this town. He’s confident finding his way around the forest, even the areas that haven’t been mapped out yet. He knows the shortcuts, which roads are quiet and which are too risky to take. We’re asking you to exercise caution, and to report anything suspicious if you see it.”

“So what? A few pins on a map and you’re convinced it’s one of us?”

Hotch’s jaw tightens. This case has been harder on him than most, and you can sense that he’s on the verge of responding in a way he’ll regret later. You put a hand on his forearm as he raises it to retort, squeezing it gently in the hopes he’ll get the signal you really don’t have the seniority to be sending him: stand down. He takes a deep breath, and you let your hand slide down to meet his wrist, guiding it just a fraction backwards to rest by his side. The contact lasts only a second, maybe two, before you let him be. 

When he finally speaks, his voice is measured, his eyes slow to drag themselves from your face. “We’re not here to defend the science behind criminal profiling. Our priorities remain finding the person responsible for these crimes and the safety of this community until we do. If you have any information at all, please don’t hesitate to contact us. We appreciate your cooperation.”

Even the most amateur journalist would know he’s done answering questions. Hotch gives a brief nod, turns and leads you out of the Georgia heat and back into shelter of the precinct. All the time, his hand hovers over your back, his gaze searching for any potential disruptions. 

Then there’s his voice, deep and almost inaudible. You feel his breath brush your earlobe. “Thank you.”

—

Oh. 

Now you’re looking at it from an outsider’s perspective, you do look a little…cozy with Hotch. Not enough to walk the line of unprofessionalism, but enough for you to notice it. 

Emily folds her arms, leans back in her chair. “What’s that about?”

Avoiding her eyes, you shrug. “What’s what about?”

“The canoodling,” JJ says with a smirk, and you slap her arm. 

You’re a profiler. You should know your little attempt at denial isn’t going to work, but it doesn’t stop you from trying. “Canoodling? Seriously, Jen? I don’t think anyone under the age of eighty has ever said the word ‘canoodling’.”

You hear Penelope’s kitten heels clacking against the floorboards before you see her. “Doesn’t mean you’re not doing it,” she sings. Her arms wrap around your shoulders from behind.

You groan. “Penny, you know I love you, but what are you doing here?”

“I got lonely,” she says, and her expression is so genuine that you can’t even bring yourself to be upset with her. “Just wait…”

Leaning over you to press the escape button, she exits out of full screen mode and points to the corner of the screen. When you read the number she’s showing you, your breakfast threatens to make a reappearance.

“Would you look at that?” Emily laughs. “It’s gone up.”

You blink. Once, twice, three times. And once more, for good measure. “Six-hundred-and-fifty thousand people have seen that?”

It all starts to make sense. The texts, the calls, the stares, the team’s behavior…you don’t know whether to be relieved or horrified. On the bright side, you’ve done nothing wrong, nothing that could get you fired. But more than half a million people have seen you practically mooning over your boss.

Emily makes a noncommittal noise. “Half of them were probably Garcia. And a good twenty-five or so were us, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t,” You resist the urge to slam your head against the desk. You’ll have to settle for burying it in your hands instead. “Six hundred and…fuck. And they all think–?”

“—That you’re in love with our boss? And that he’s in love with you? Yes.”

“Oh, fuck.” “They think that, too,” says JJ, sounding sympathetic. If it weren’t for the frankly dastardly smile on her face, you’d think she was on your side.

Picturing the general population witnessing you make an idiot of yourself is bad enough. How do you even conceptualize that many people? How many stadiums could you fill solely with people who have seen you head over heels for your boss? Even worse is the thought of Anderson, or your parents, or – God forbid – even Strauss having seen it. You’ll be suspended. Fired. Or, even worse, be called into a mediated meeting with Hotch and HR, where they’ll ask him if you’ve been making him feel uncomfortable. 

Emily’s voice pulls you from your shame spiral. “And there’s more, too.”

This world hates you. You’re certain of that as she opens Twitter, putting “FBI agents” into the search bar and bombarding you with hundreds, maybe thousands, of tweets with your image attached. Some are disturbingly sweet. Others poke fun at how obvious you are, and even more disturbingly, seem to think your feelings are reciprocated. That’s not a mental path you can allow yourself to go down. 

“So…” You say after a long ten minutes. “What do we do?”

Footsteps, then Rossi appears at the stop of the stairs. “You go back to work. Your break’s over.”

He’s lucky you’re so fond of him. Had it been anyone else (save maybe one person) to disrupt your shame spiral, you’d have been furious. More than furious. You’re still a little irritated now.

There was nothing wrong with his fucking chair. 

—

Your mission is simple. Avoid. Deny. Deflect. The rest of your afternoon drags along in a blur of paperwork and teasing comments you choose to ignore (mostly courtesy of Morgan — JJ and Emily have decided you’re nearing your breaking point and vow to leave you alone). 

Five o’clock can’t come soon enough. Even when it does, there’s no reprieve. Reid turns out to be the one to betray you as everyone else packs up to leave, their files in his hand. “Sorry,” he whispers. To his credit, he looks like he means it.

“Judas,” you hiss back, but you stand and take the reports from him anyway. 

Morgan raises an eyebrow at you. “Going somewhere special?” 

You flip him off, muttering something under your breath that sounds just a little like “your funeral”. 

The stairs to Hotch’s office feel much longer and much steeper than usual. At every step you reconsider. Reid’s probably still heading for the elevator now. If you catch him, you can guilt him into doing this instead. But your thoughts carry you close enough for Hotch to spot your approach through the blinds. He rises from his desk, opening the door before you can even reach for the handle. 

You can’t even look him in the eyes. “Hi.”

Stepping aside to let you inside, he says your name, and it sounds so warm coming from his mouth. You wonder if he knows about your newfound fame, too. He seems to be focusing his stare directly between your eyebrows. 

“I just came to drop these off.” 

As if your words aren’t explanation enough, you hold up the files for him to see.

“Thank you.” Hotch reaches out to take them, and you feel his fingers brush yours as he does. He stops before the exchange is over. “Are you alright? You seem distracted.”

It won’t be long now before the sun sets. It’s making its final play for glory now, golden light filtering through the window and settling over Hotch’s face. Hints of amber tones surface in his eyes, usually so dark and unreadable, making him appear much softer than usual. Safer.

You sigh. “I think some people got a little more out of that press release in Georgia than we intended them to.”

“Oh. Yes.”

“You know about that?”

You wouldn’t half mind if a wormhole opened up, right there in his office, and transported you to another universe where you don’t even have to think about this moment ever again.

“I do.” He winces. “Garcia’s computer system is the most secure in the FBI, but she doesn’t have an inside voice.”

The dry comment shocks a laugh out of you. “No, she doesn’t. But…it’ll die down, right? No one is actually going to believe that. Us being together would be—”

“Unprofessional,” Hotch supplies after a beat. “Very unprofessional.”

He reaches backwards to put the files you’ve given him on his desk, somehow managing to do so without actually taking a step away from you. If anything, he gets a little closer. 

“Exactly. Strauss would kill us if we even thought about it,” you say, “Not that we would, I’m just…”

Now he looks down at you, straight into your eyes. You swear his pupils are dilated, that he slips for just a half-second and lets his attention drift down to your lips. “There’d be a lot of paperwork.”

You nod. “Too much, really. You’ve got enough already. It’d also be…”

“…Nice.”

Hotch stops breathing, lips downturned in a frown. You’re sure you’ve heard him wrong. But half a minute passes, and he doesn’t retract his statement, though he looks as if he’s close to doing so.

“I’m sorry?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. He’s close enough you catch a hint of his cologne, and the woody scent of it makes your head spin. 

“I can say it again,” he says through a long exhale, searching your face for any sign of discomfort as he takes another step closer. His breath ghosts your neck. “Or we can forget this ever happened.”

Your answer is almost immediate. “Let’s not do that.”

Hotch tilts your chin up so you’re forced to look at him. You lean upwards to meet him halfway in a kiss that is soft and tentative, the sort that promises everything and asks for nothing in return. One of your hands cups his jaw, and both of his find their way home to your waist, rubbing circles into your skin through your shirt. You smile against his lips. He leans forward as if to chase yours when you pull away.  It hits you, now, that this is really happening. The months you've been agonizing over this - whether to make a move or to shut the part of you that cares for him away - have led you here. There's much you've got to think over: what this means for both of your careers, the risk to the team's dynamic, whether it'll even work in the long run, if Hotch wants that too. You know he's thinking the same thing; his face adopts the same mask of concentration it always does when he's considering something. You take a deep breath. It might be hard, but does that stop it from being worth a shot? In the end, you don't think it does.

“I think I’m gonna order takeout tonight,” you say quietly. “There’s a really good Thai place down the street from me.”

Hotch clears his throat. “That sounds nice.”

Shaking your head, you rest both hands on his shoulders, laugh at him. “That was my way of asking you if you wanted to join me.”

“Oh.” 

His brow furrows. For a terrible moment, you think he’s about to say no. And then, “Haley has Jack tonight. I…I’d like that.”

You beam, pull back, and head towards his desk to find a pen and a scrap bit of paper. “Here’s my address.” A quick glance down into the bullpen, which is thankfully empty. “Give it ten minutes, then follow me?”

“Okay,” Hotch says. Even you can tell he’s grinning like an idiot, and you make a note of the rare expression. “Okay. I’ll see you soon?”

Squeezing his hand, you kiss his cheek and walk towards the door. “Soon.”

You feel his eyes on you until you reach the elevator.

If you got this far, thank you for reading! I've watched a lot more Dharma and Greg than CM, lately, so I have a feeling that my version of soft!Hotch is currently just a grownup version of Greg Montmgomery????

[gracieeem]

Really just a memory?

💫

Emperor!Gojo Satoru x FEM!Reader

—Short little angst drabble!! Might turn into a oneshot later on><

WC//TW: 531 words, no warnings!!

Amidst the vast expanse, moonfall shone brightly against the inky skies of black—engulfing all presence of light—but painting supernova reminiscences like littered kisses against the tapestry of dark fields. Alike these references, emulating sets of sapphire and void-like irises stared into the other's eyesight with intent, as though maintaining a glaring peer that sent shivers up your spines. Your presence whose figure stood atop a balcony—expression joyful, features adorned with a bright beam, and eyes all soft—longed for the silverette fae who maintained a distance with you.

Walking back to the four-walls of the bedroom chamber, you briefed yourself for the upcoming embrace, when the warmth of your lover provided a soft caress against the raven tresses that adorned your head. Mumbling an incoherently subconscious thought, Satoru smiled softly upon himself before pressing a sweet kiss against your temple. Eyes sparkling, he peered down to his love's view—opting to capture the sweet expression plastered on your face.

"Will you count the stars for me?" Satoru spoke in a light manner, tone all soft and per word uttered was breathy. Swiftly, he turned the figure of yours to face the open balcony, where the beauty of the moon was showcased for all peering eyes to ravage on. Such pale quantity bloomed yellow almost abruptly, making yourself turn amongst your heel and back to your fae.

"Huh? How is that possible..?" As you uttered these words, Satoru could only shake his head before resting it against the very crevice of your bare shoulder.

"The day these stars are wiped from the face of the sky we so adore— our love goes with it. May we join millennia together even as stardust,"

"Why dwell on unbelievable such?" Muttering soft words, you peered sideways view—hoping to catch a glance of He, who stood beside. In the following events, Satoru could only embrace his sweetheart—a heavy sigh releasing itself from the cavity of his mouth trap.

"Those poetry writings you so love have taken effect on me," Satoru stopped for a small cackle, before continuing his sentencing. "My Callis.. I only wish to enjoy this fragment of my life with you. I despise how the gods have given your life many limitations, and destined so, when I've finally found my happiness."

Sucking in a quiet breath, you began fidgeting with your pointer digits. "Have— uhm..." you spoke, but briefly stopped with a shake to your head.

Providing comfort, the male lead ran his fingers through your tresses. "Have you.. ever regretted the decision of making me yours, knowing I was not so immortal like you?"

"How could I regret the sun of my life?" Satoru smiled to himself before pressing an oh so sweet kiss against your head. "Don't ever doubt yourself; you know that you're all I'll ever want," Just as feelings sparked from the simple wordings, the moon's gleam brightened amongst the cue.

Beneath the luminescence of the moon's peer, your figures were showcased as trapped in a tight embrace—as if serving a way to provide comfort knowing that forever would not be true—and happiness shall not be granted.

He might've been your whole life, but you were only a mere memory in his.

—Vintazia✭

PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME.

Copying, Publishing, Copy Pasting, and Exploiting my work(s) are not allowed, and may not be published on other social media accounts nor on other social media platforms.

This work is made of pure fiction, so coinciding events are not on purpose.

All rights and credits of mentioned Jujutsu Kaisen character(s), music link(s), and used image(s), all belong to their original owners respectively.

Mwamwa!!! <3 <3 <3

[kaevch]

I'm not really sure if you're open for requests, but if you are, I was wondering if you could make a short yet wholesome scenario with Lilia and his s/o on a little museum date?

im not open for requests, but i thought the scenario was cute so here u go!!

FREE HISTORY LESSON !!

summary: going on a lil museum date w bat man ( but the loser one ).

chrtr(s): lilia vanrouge!!

warnings: gn reader!! ( you/your prns! ), cheek kiss >:3.

" And that, is the Venus of Hohle Fels. Made from mammoth ivory. It's supposedly the oldest undisputed example of a human being. " Lilia whispered, loud enough for you to hear as he pointed at a sculpted figurine. You turned to him, amazed, it wasn't a surprise that he knew a lot about history but even knowing about an artifact that was from human history made you quite surprised. Looking at your shocked face, he let out a hearthy laugh, slitted eyes crinkling.

“ Fascinating isn't it? ” he smiled, taking your hand in his as he continued to walk around the museum, your heart fluttering at the feeling of his cold hands intertwining with your warm ones.

He would stop walking once in a while to admire a piece, his hand still engulfing yours as he'd tell you the history of each piece he deemed interesting, eyes always fixated in front of him, smiling, asif reminiscing on the olden times.

And as his eyes never left the piece, so did yours, never leaving him. The slight crinkle of his eyes, the gentle smile that seemed to fit so well on his face, the sound of his quiet laughter ringing like soft chimes inside the isolated museum halls, the way he tilted his head turning to you, fuschia eyes making contact with yours as a teasing smile placed itself on his face and oh. What did he say again?

Breaking out of your daze, your face flushed after realizing he had caught you staring, no, more like ogling at him instead of listening to his little rant about history. “ What, is my face perhaps more interesting than these ancient artifacts? ” he giggled to himself, hand gently squeezing yours as you turn your face away in embarrassment.

He stared at your flustered face for a while, taking in all the details of your face as he softly huffed, “ Honestly, ” he continued leaning in closer to your face, “ You're more interesting than all the artifacts in the museum. ” softly kissing your cheek, he leaned back, chuckling as he saw your face get more flushed while you stare at him with wide eyes.

“ Let's go get something to eat. I'm sure you must be hungry after all that. ” He smiled cheekily at you before turning his back to you, dragging you away.

smooch <3 hehe ur taller bcs he's a loser lollol n i love making fun of him so. also his hair is a bitch wtf 💀

[some-pers0n]

Every once in a while I think about the ship I've been obsessed over for close to two years now and feel like I'm ascending to another plane of reality. Like sometimes you just encounter a ship that hits every single mark and is perfect in every regard and you're left stunned how something like that can even exist

[strugglingfloralclerk]

Gift Giving

Summary: After the summer away, Todoroki does what he does best and presents a dear friend with a gift. Taika does the same. (Please do not copy/steal this idea.)

Sometimes Todoroki Shoto forgot that the Retesuwa beauty didn't grow up in Japan. Sometimes he even forgot that his native tongue wasn't hers. Maybe it was because she seemed to always be so tuned into him, Todoroki somehow assumed Taika knew what he knew.

Which was why he couldn't help but chuckle ever so slightly when it was clear she was confused.  The mattress dipped under Todoroki's weight as he sat on the edge of Taika's bed. Taika sat cross legged on the floor. The items in her suitcase still waited to be placed and hung in her dorm after the summer away.

"Chopsticks?" Taika titled her head at the ornate, decorative sticks with floral charms attached to the top. She smiled stiffly at her friend; unsure what she was meant to do with such pretty utensils...and that was all she could think of.

"These are very pretty, Todoroki. Thank you." Maybe they were supposed to be decorative chopsticks, Taika thought as she wondered what to do with the gift. Would it be bad taste to display them in her pen holder? Was she supposed to eat a meal with them?

Todoroki cleared his throat and gestured at the gift.  "Kanzashi." He picked one pair up and held it up for Taika to examine.

Taika's eyebrows furrowed as her postured straightened as she looked up at the handsome hero in training. Todoroki leaned his face closer to hers, his eyes glued on Taika's lips as she repeated the word.

"Kanzashi?"

Todoroki felt her eyes intently focus on him as he gently tucked back a few loose strands of hair out of Taika's face; his fingers lingered against her brown skin for a split second longer than necessary. Sunlight caught in her cocoa-colored eyes and for a moment, he saw flecks of gold hidden within her eyes. He swallowed down a warm, jittery feeling as he tenderly looped the hair accessory gingerly into locks of curly hair.

If he tried to kiss her..., would she let it happen? Or would that make things awkward right now? Things were a little awkward the last time they almost kissed, and to Todoroki things felt comfortable again. Did he want to risk that right now? Right at the start of their junior year of university?

"Oh, it's a hairpin. Duh! " Taika let out a small, nervous laugh as she pulled away slowly from his touch. Her heart raced like a primed horse about to debut. For a split second, Taika thought maybe the kanzashi meant more, if him being so close meant more. She stopped. No. That couldn't be it.

Being without Todoroki's presence after the summer made her forget how blunt he'd been. So, all he was doing was being blunt, Taika rationalized. It was no different than when he helped her understand other words or customs she didn't know.

She missed that about him; admired him for that even. The teleporter was also thankful that Todoroki never once made her feel small or stupid for not knowing his culture or language.

The kanzashi was beautiful, like him. It was sweet of him to surprise her with such a gift. Like him, however, she had a surprise too.

"I got you something as well." Taika reached into one of the suitcase's many compartments. She breathed out any emotions and thoughts that made her too flustered from Todoroki's gesture. She should be happy enough to simply be back in the presence of one of her favorite people.

Todoroki arched an eyebrow at the teleporter as she handed him a little burlap sack; small amounts of sand fell to the floor, and it faintly smelt like the ocean sea and coconut oil.

"Oh." Surprise was evident in his mismatched eyes as he pulled out a medium sized, white conch shell with red spots and a sand dollar from the little bag. Once, just once, Todoroki mentioned wanting to visit the beaches of Retesuwa and she found a way to bring the beach to him.

Taika studied Todoroki’s face, unsure of the blank yet peaceful expression on his face. “Do you like it?”  She spent the last two weeks of her summer back in Retesuwa near Devil’s Dive, one of the best spots known to locals for its fishing spots and its unforgiving, wild, and angry waves.  Thankfully, Taika Miri was lucky enough to not venture too far deep into the water for Todoroki’s gifts.

Todoroki quietly nodded first before he spoke. “I do. Do they symbolize anything in your culture?” His heterochromatic eyes darted to the conch shell displayed on her desk before he turned his attention back onto her.

"The conch shell is to keep evil spirits away and the sand dollar to keep good fortune in your pocket." Taika explained as if she told Todoroki the weather.

Todoroki looked at the kanzashi in Taika's hair, his heart skipped a few beats as he felt Taika's attention fully on him in return.  "Good fortune only? Do I not need luck?"

The pensive, teasing grin that cracked across Taika's features caused a calming warmth to spread down his shoulders. He missed this.

No, he was lying to himself again. He missed her and the way he felt safe and welcomed in her presence.  He really could have scolded the teleporter for leaving Japan for the summer. He had to deal with the old bastard more as  a result. Everything about that was unlucky if anyone asked Todoroki Shoto.

Taika rolled her brown eyes at him as she stood up and sat right next to the fire and ice user.

"You already have good fortune-leave some luck for the rest of us."

"Well, was it luck or fortune that helped you get a yukata for the festival tonight?" Todoroki inspected the conch shell as if it held a secret only for him.

Taika laughed. "It was Fuyumi and her refusal to let you or me go to the festival in casual clothes."

For a little bit, the world felt full between the two of them as one took the other's hand and gave it a tender and affectionate squeeze.

🍡🍡🍡🍡(Bonus)🍡🍡🍡🍡

"Trust me," Todoroki urged as he offered the festive treat up to Taika. "You'll like this."

Taika reached to take the hanami dango from her friend, only for Todoroki to hold the treat over her head.

"No, I'll hold it for you." Todoroki lowered the treat back down for the purple haired beauty.  His tone of voice was gentle, warm, and welcoming, but mainly teasing.

 Taika rolled her eyes at him. "I won't stain the yukata if I feed myself. You know that right? I'm not Denki."

Todoroki smirked at her. "I know."

Still, she leaned in to take a bite of the dango only for Todoroki to pull it away from her lips again. "Taika, you have to say it. " There was a playful glint in his eyes.

The Retesuwa native let out an exaggerated sigh as she obliged Todoroki’s request all the same.  Her frustration completely fake despite the all too familiar way she rolled her eyes at him.

"Itadakimasu," Taika took a bite of the dango and her eyes widened with delight at the simple yet satisfying taste of the treat. "Oh shit, that is good."

Todoroki let out a laugh at Taika's crude stamp of approval.

[butdaddyilovehimmm]

honestly kudos to angst writers bc i can barely read angst in fic, let alone WRITE it... it's too painful

[ssunkissedsunflowerss]

“Nice and toasty”

no plot, no direction whatsoever. i cannot sleep, i cannot get the hush scene out of my head, i have much love for shuri, there is a sara x shinobu fanart (genshin) that i saw and has been stuck in my head ever since, simply wanted to blow off some steam. ***needless to say, it’s smutty towards the end.***

“I’m coming back. I’m coming back for you.”

“Liar.” You mutter, voice soft and shaky, small tendrils of clouds escaping out of your mouth as warm breath collides with the icy cold air.

Around you, fluttering from the sky with such beauty and elegance are a flurry of fluffy white snow. Some of the tiny ice blossoms softly kisses you on your cherry suffused cheeks while others keep making their descend until they grace the ground with their velveteen presence.

Meanwhile, you walk the white carpet, drenched to the bone like a drowned rat, swaying and wobbly on your feet like a sickly leaf precariously hanging onto its branch. It has been amidst creating snow angels on a thick blanket of snow, giggling like toddlers and savouring the little flavourful bits of your shared moment together, that your fun has been rudely spoiled. After all, your girlfriend has left her nation not to have a date with you but to attend an important conference.

Going out tonight with you has been a risk she is willing to take, and you, having been missing her sorely after being apart for quite a spell, have had no reasons to say no. However, walking back to your apartment snow soaked and alone is definitely not how you have pictured the grand finale of your date. You have been having such great time, stealing sweet kisses and drenching each other in saccharine words. Making the most out of your little time together, you have been squeezing it for all its worth. Not a dot is to leave unspared. How anticlimatic that it has to end the way it is.

As your mind has been plagued with rampant thoughts, it is no surprise that you fail to notice the presence of another until a hand is tightly pressed over your mouth. Startled, you struggle. Nothing but foolish attempts that bear no fruits as an arm slithers across your waist. It maintains a strong, unyielding grip, as you are pulled into a body, and being pulled further still into a dark alleyway. Your struggles, however, do not cease, writhing and kicking your feet with all your might.

“Shhh, it’s me, love.”

The warmth of her breath softly caresses the tip of your ear. Her voice, husky and hushed, is a tranquilliser, dissolving in you ear like warm cocoa. Only then do you calm.

Caged in her arms and sandwiched between her body and the wall is you, and suddenly, you find the cold no longer a bother. You watch a finger finding home on her lips, a silent hint for you to keep quiet. As she peeks her head out from your hiding place to survey the vicinity, all you can feel is your heart throbbing giddily. How she can make but a plain gesture, something as mundane as hushing, ridiculously, arrestingly captivating is beyond you.

“I think I’ve lost them.”

She looks mighty fine simply standing before you. So, finding your fingers wandering towards her waist, too, is beyond your control.

She welcomes you eagerly, unclasping your fingers on her waist only to reposition them behind her back. “Come here.” Her arms then find home across your back, gathering you into her chest and keeping your bodies firmly pressed together.

It feels as if a thick, cosy blanket has been settled over you. Her body heat alone seems to instantly thaw the chill in your very bones as you feel pleasantly warm all over. Your face has found sanctuary in the little nook of her neck where you nuzzles her like an affectionate kitten.

“Hmm, you’re so warm.” When you hum, she counters. “You’re so cold.”

Her hands leave you. They are instead brought over to her mouth where she blows warm air into the little cocoon, rubs them against each other. Once satisfied, she settles them atop your cheeks, gingerly cradling the frozen cherries in the warm palms of her hands.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come back sooner, my love.”

Her forehead descends onto yours, her lips whisper-soft as she kisses the lovely, little arch of your nose.

“But, I know just the thing to make you warmer.” You feel her smile on your lips when she presses a kiss that, to your disappointment, do not linger. “Come. Let’s quickly get ourselves out of here.”

And that is how you find yourself back in your apartment, straddling your girlfriend’s thighs as the mighty panther feasts on the succulent swells of your breasts.

Her eyes are a mesmerising dark, two black holes pulling you in as wicked lips leave nebulae in their wake. Like a starved man, she suckles your tender flesh with frenzied desperation. Stars burst beneath her mouth. Fireworks explode behind your eyelids. Your waist is a home to her hands, and her nape, a home to yours. A harsh suckle coupled with a flick of her twisted tongue has you mewling wantonly, back curving and fitting flawlessly into your lover’s front. Two puzzle pieces coming together.

By the time her warm mouth detaches from your soft mounds, she is as salacious a mess as you are. A thin glistening line of saliva bridging the two of you, your breasts are dewy with drool, as well as her face for there are little rivulets of spit raining tantalisingly down her chin. Your lover looks every bit the portrait of a majestic panther, ravenously devouring you as though you are her little morsel. In fact, you are, and the realisation has liquid lava pooling in your gut.

Greatly galvanised and irrevocably aching, you are but a moth to a flame, diving down for her mouth like a madman. She receives you all too eagerly, careful yet determined digits digging into your ribcage as your fingers venture into her healthy curls. They hold her there, grip white-knuckled tight.

“There. I’ve thawed my sweet little meal and made her nice and toasty. Ready for the taking.”

As she fuels your needs with her sinful remarks, all you can think in your hazy head is that there is no better way to end the night than being undone by your mighty panther’s cleverly wicked mouth. After all, you can confirm from experience that they are capable of unimaginable crafts that will have your eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

[fitpacs]

?

[lyraeeee]

let me cook???

a small sneak peak of my upcoming work🤞🤞

it really has been such a long time since I last wrote anything and I’m just so excited to share this to everyone soon.

might be posting this on tuesday? wednesday? It’ll depend on my mood

I only wrote for the earthrealm gang so far but if other people ask for it then I’ll consider writing one for the other characters too :)

[canonical-transformation]

Sandrone couldn't quite place the voice, but it sounded familiar. A colleague? Perhaps...

Audio analysis of voice signature: error!, unspecified runtime error in pitch and timbre analysis subroutines.

...oh, joy. That was pretty unambiguously Innamorata, Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers. That meddlesome Irminsul shade wasn't half the nuisance Columbina was, but she almost was, and that spoke volumes.

...and one attempted ploy later...

"You nearly woke up from fright," Innamorata said. She sounded more curious than upset, which was one of her endearing qualities. "How did you trigger such a precise limbic response from within a dream?"

"Not telling."

[...]"Oh, should I guess? I suppose maybe you programmed a reflex into your subconscious, with a trigger you can activate even when barely lucid..." Innamorata rubbed her chin. "But that just raises even more questions about how... and why!"

"I think why ought to be clear," said Sandrone.

"Really? I can't think of an actual use case for... wait." Innamorata inhaled sharply. "Sandrone, is this a contingency just for me?"

"Don't let it go to your head. I have countermeasures for all the Harbingers."

"Even Pulcinella?"

"I can take him. That's my countermeasure."

[thru-the-grapevine]

[6:05 PM] “Are you shivering, babe?”

You grit your teeth and sink your hands further into your jeans pockets. “No.”

“You are.” You can hear the smirk in Johnny’s voice without looking to confirm. “Remember how I warned you it was cold out?”

“Stop talking,” you mutter, then clamp your mouth shut to keep your teeth from chattering and giving you away.

“Because I definitely remember warning you. And I remember suggesting you bring a jacket.”

“Shut up,” you protest, hunching your shoulders as another frosty breeze blows in.

To your immense surprise, Johnny does shut up for ten whole seconds.

And then you feel soft, warm fabric drape across your shoulders. You look up at him, whose smirk is still somehow warm and fond.

“Let’s share my coat, then,” he suggests, gesturing to you to put your arm in the empty coat arm. “’Cause you’re so cold.”

“You’re the worst,” you mumble, trying to ignore how nice and warm he is, huddling up to him under the coat.

Johnny’s smile is purely fond now. “I know, babe.”

[sun-lit-roses]

Really Great Hair

This is completely self-indulgent fluff. A triple drabble, because there was too much fluff to be contained in 100 words. Spoilers for the recent SNW/Lower Decks crossover episode. Enjoy!

Title: Really Great Hair

Rating: Teen

Ship: Chris Pike/Number One

Summary: Una can’t resist teasing Chris about his susceptibility to flattery. (In bed. But there’s only kissing!)

“No more toddlers.”

Chris huffed a resigned laugh as Una settled next to him in bed.

“That might have been a little harsh. I’m mostly glad they visited. But more so that everyone’s back in their proper time.”

“It was very informative.”

That was a suspicious tone. He bit back his automatic agreement.

“How so?”

“I got to see a display of your many strengths. What was that list again?”

Groaning, Chris covered his face with a hand. Una shifted, then he felt her swing a leg over his lap and settle astride him. This time he groaned for a different reason.

“Let’s see: there was diplomacy.” A kiss to the back of his hand, then she tugged it away to the vision of her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Patience.” A kiss to his right cheek.

“Forgiveness.” Left cheek.

“Benevolence.” He pursed his lips slightly, but she swooped by and noisily kissed his forehead instead.

“Mostly,” her smile softened, “I appreciated seeing that grin.”

“What grin?”

“The one,” she bent lower, “that says ‘I shouldn’t be proud of flattery, but I can’t help myself.’ It’s a very cute grin.”

“I don’t have a cute grin.”

“You don’t lie well, Christopher.”

“The full name? Ouch.”

To his displeasure, Una sat up.

“Una.”

“Sorry, all I can think about is your flagrant lying.”

Chris sighed.

“Fine. I have one.”

“One what?”

“Grin?”

“Several. Which one?”

“Una.”

“Chris.”

Resigned, he muttered, “A cute grin. Now will you get back down here and kiss me?”

“Since you asked so nicely. Besides,” she told him while he pulled her in again, “I forgot one.”

She captured his lips in a deep kiss. When she pulled back, he tried to marshal his brain cells into some sort of order to process her words.

“Really great hair.”