#and they had to be together that’s what they realized! amen

[kitten4sannie]

ateez and corruption kinks… that’s it I just had to let that out into the void

communion

pairing: priest! yunho x nun! reader (fem)

summary: priest jeong wishes to share another communion with the most beloved member of the monastery.

wc: 1.1k

warnings: for the love of god (lol) if sacrilegious smut isn’t your thing do NOT read this,, however if it IS wellll i got something good for you <3, wine drinking, but like, in an unconventional way lmao, nasty perverted dom! yuyu, subby cock hungry! reader (can we blame her tho?), implied sex slave training, oral (giving/receiving), deepthroating, finger sucking, cum eating, implied toy usage (the toy is um….well…a religious object…)

a/n: oh nonnie idt you realize what you’ve unleashed with that ask ^^ there’s nothing i love more than corruption 🖤 physical, emotional, psychological ughhhh,,, anyways writers block and some shitty real life stuff have been taking turns beating me up the past couple months so i thought this might be a good escape for me :3 i hope you enjoy <33

p.s: i’ll be posting two more fics with a corruption theme very soonnn,, one features perverted bsf wooyoung and the other involves frat boy sannie 🫶🏼

song rec: take me to church - hozier (i mean come on….)

No matter how dark the communal church grew in the late hours of the night, the bright light of the moon still shone through the fragmented mosaic glass, now casting a myriad of gleaming crosses across your face and body as you sat on your knees upon the altar. You raised your hands up to begin worshipping your Lord in the way you were taught by Father Jeong, gingerly opening his robes to unveil the point of your focus.

Yunho lifted up a ceremonial bell and rung it once, his robes pooling around his feet, watching as your thighs squeezed tightly together underneath your heavy garments, your shaky exhale fanning over his exposed, twitching cock, finding the unyielding look of pure lust inside your eyes to be so beautiful he could shed a tear. Over the many, many communions you’ve shared together, it seemed that the bell reminded you of your loyalty to him and to your shared savior, of the pleasure you shared all in the name of God.

He pushed your veil off to expose your hair, before he placed his large hands on either side of your head, his long, slender fingers wrapping securely around it. “And, what do we say now, Sister L/N?” he asked softly, as though he were testing you, dragging his tongue over his top set of teeth, letting out a few heavy breaths.

“O’ Lord, for which I am about to receive, is truly your most precious Body and your life-giving blood, which, I pray, makes me worthy to receive for the remission of all my sins and for everlasting life,” you recited your prayer like many times before, the wetness between your thighs everlasting, watching Father Jeong let go of your head for a second to pick up a chalice of wine from the ceremony table behind him.

Yunho held the gold chalice just above his waist, growing that much harder as the dark liquid began to pour down his long, curved length, spilling off of his sticky tip and dripping into your open mouth. “The Blood of Christ…” He watched you swallow it all down, like the obedient servant you were. Something this sinful simply had to be holy, didn’t it? He swallowed down the abundant saliva that filled his mouth. “Ahh?” he voiced, like he was waiting for you to say something.

“Amen,” you sighed out, licking the remnants of wine and pre-cum from your lips, your trembling fingers clasping around his bare hips.

“Amen.”

Yunho then thrusted forward until he hit the back of your parched throat, eagerly dragging you back and forth along his sizable cock, using you like the faithful cocksleeve you were, the repetitive sounds of squelching, gagging, and muffled moaning sending delightful shivers down his spine, much like the sacred hymns did to him every morning during mass. “Sister L/N, your throat has molded to the shape of my cock, has it not? Bonding with me all these long nights, over and over, it’s like you were made for me, and only me. Tell me, Sister, does taking the Body of Christ down your throat make you feel closer to God?”

You let out a stunted, pleased moan, blinking a few tears out of your dazed, half closed eyes, watching as a blurry version of Father Jeong brought his rosary up to his lips to kiss it. Due to being trained so consistently, you knew to relax your jaw and throat in order to take all of him without fail, your gag reflex nonexistent, simply drooling all over his long, heavy cock instead, much to Yunho’s delight.

“Oh, God, let His will be done….” He hunched over slightly, in order to pound himself into the back of your throat over and over, thick strands of pre-cum and saliva dripping from your chin and landing onto your previously pristine garments, his fingers closing in around your bulging throat to feel himself moving inside it. It was simply too much for the priest to handle. “So…nnngh–sovereign, so pure, this divinity…” Yunho expressed between heavy pants, suddenly pulling out until his twitching cockhead rested against your splayed out tongue. “Sister L/N, you must show me something heavenly so that I may fill you with the Holy Spirit. Be quick, for I am at my limit…”

Licking the beads of pre-cum from his slit, you began to lift up the layers of your tunic until your bare cunt glistened underneath the moonlight that was casted over you like a spotlight, the edges of your skin glowing as though you were a real life angel, one that was sent down from above to tempt Yunho, especially now that he could see you in your most vulnerable state. “Father Jeong, please see what I’ve done for you. I’ve kept myself full…so that I may take you inside properly…”

It was then that Father Jeong fell to his knees before you, looking up at the slick heaven in between your thighs, before leaning in to lap up the abundant wetness from your lips, his hot tongue practically melting against your cunt as he ate you out like a starved man, spreading your open with his ringed thumbs. Maintaining steady eye contact with you, he slowly pulled the hood of your clit back to expose your weak point, wrapping his plush lips around it as he began to suck and lick until he had you trembling above him, your nails digging into the dense wood of the pews. “Cum before me,” he commanded, dragging his tongue along your fluttering slit up to your throbbing clit until you let out a beautifully broken cry.

You spread your trembling thighs open just enough to allow what was filling you up the entire time to slowly come sliding out, both you and the priest letting out a similar gasp once it did. A thick, slick-covered silver cross landed inside Yunho’s open palm. He watched diligently as you lifted it up to his mouth, not even having to say anything as he sucked it clean. Without exchanging words, Yunho stood back and squeezed his throbbing cock, just as you lowered yourself back down onto your knees with a loving smile, watching with pride as he began to shudder, long spurts of his hot cum landing onto your tongue and disappearing down your throat.

“What a thing of beauty….” The priest swallowed hard, letting out a shaky breath. “You never fail to bring me close to our Savior, my dear,” he praised, reaching down to rub the remaining remnants of his seed over your swollen lips and onto your tongue with his thumb, pulling it away from your mouth and licking the last of his saltiness off of his digit himself.

“It’s all for the greater good,” you softly replied, slowly standing up and hiking up your now soiled garments, so that you could bend over the pew, spreading yourself wide, opening the gates of your heaven and giving Yunho access like every blissful night before. “Now, please allow me to bring you even closer.”

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[madschiavelique]

So I thought up a smutty request last night for romanced Gale! Gale makes use of an invisibility spell:

Tav and Gale are on a stealth mission and Gale casts invisibility. During the mission they duck into a narrow alcove to escape the notice of a few guards on patrol.

“Wait. Why are we hiding?” Tav asks, hyper aware of how closely they’re pressed together.

“Instinct I suppose.” Gale says, grateful for the spell that hides his amorous blushing. “Eh-hem. I did just have an idea though.” He continues in low voice.

Tav stares into the darkness, confused. Realization dawns as they feel his excitement growing against their thigh.

“Oh! But… now?!” They whisper.

“Perhaps not now, perhaps at some point back at camp… if you’re amenable to… surprises.”

Now it’s Tav’s turn to blush without being seen.

“Yes.” They breathe, trying to reign in their own excitement and anticipation.

What do you think would happen when they get back to camp😏?

omg i'm sorry i took so long for this but i cooked harder than i thought for it and it's good (i think ?) ; a special thank u to @gracethyomen for proofreading me <333

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ pairing : gale x fem!reader

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ content warning : smut (mdni), use of spells for sex (hold person, blindness, mage hand, enthral), soft dom gale, finger fucking, gale is a teasing fuck, female/afab reader, if i forgot any other do tell pls !

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ words : 5,5k

It was supposed to be simple. Some kind of artefact retrieval without eyes or ears to witness about it. Scrolls and spells were ready, potions were about to be drunk, and your tools to disarm and lockpick anything were all properly arranged in your purse.

Gale was travelling lightly with no staff. Simply a belt with a few scrolls of Dimensional Door and Misty Step attached to it, ready to be used.

You had managed to get up some vines on the side of the manor containing the desired artefact, shushing Gale as he huffed and puffed upon arriving at the top of it.

“We could have just used a scroll to travel such heights,” he whispered.

“Who knows,” you murmured back, “we might need those soon.” You’d continued your way, silent as a shadow while Gale tried his very best not to trip on his robes as he knelt every now and then.

After following the instructions that had been given to you, you arrived at the room where the artefact was - fortunately enough for you - its current owner deemed it insufficiently important enough for it to be displayed at the very centre of the room. But rather it was placed on one of the shelves.. 

You lock-picked the balcony’s door linked to the room with sufficient ease, and once in it Gale made sure to point out to you that the stand on which the artefact was placed was trapped. 

You observed the mechanism and how you were supposed to take care of it, but during your meticulous contemplation, the gaze of your companion lingered on you with an intensity which you felt didn’t communicate any kind of danger.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” you whispered as you started dismembering the trap.

“Just admiring your concentration. As the days pass I understand how an artist never grows tired of his muse’s profile.” he hummed, his voice low.

You almost missed the proper sensitive screw of the trapped base, a hiccup of your heart making your hand tremble as your cheeks warmed.

After disarming it properly and placing the artefact in a bag, you left by the same way you had both entered. You were a bit less worried about being crouched and properly hidden now. You had retrieved the artefact without a problem, and now if you had to escape you could just use some scrolls or potions of Feather Fall to jump from wherever you were.

You simply walked on an outside balcony, listening to any new sounds in the night that could mean the approach of a guard.

“You surprised me before, you know.” you ended up whispering as you walked. 

“I am the one surprised you haven’t had such words spoken to you before, does it seem that unusual to you ?” he questioned.

“It’s not about that, although… whatever it’s just that it came out of nowh-”

But your words were cut as he grabbed your waist and pulled you in an alcove, murmuring the invisibility spell and allowing you both to disappear in the night. You were about to question him but he simply pressed his pointer finger to his lips, shushing you.

The resonating sounds of clicketing armour came to your ears, two guards walking next to one another in the far distance speaking about how boring the reception was at the manor tonight. Your heart was beating so hard you were certain Gale could hear it. You were so close to him, his hand firmly placed on your waist, your eyes unable to decipher where his own were.

He hummed, a shiver running down your spine as he moved his hand from your waist to the small of your back.

However, one thing struck you in the silence: the guards had not continued past you both. It seemed that they had chosen to patrol one section of the many corridors throughout the area… It seems you and Gale had grossly overestimated their dedication to the job.

“Wait,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. “Why are we hiding ?”

“Instinct I suppose.” His voice was low, yet filled with a sort of surprise. As if he had been pulled out of a dream, content with the idea that his furious blush was hidden. “I…” he was searching for his words and you could feel his breath crash on your cheek and ear, hanging on his lips in the waiting of what he was about to say. “I have an idea though.”

You couldn’t read his mind, from all the scrolls and potions you had to pick this one was the spell you wished you had with you. It wasn’t long before you understood. He sighed as the hand on your lower back pulled you slowly towards him, and he hummed. Your chest swelled when you inhaled, your mouth agape as you felt the hardness that was pressing against your thigh, and the realisation dawned on you.

“Oh…” you whispered, feeling the insistence of his gaze on you. “But… now ?”

“Perhaps not now,” he breathed, his forehead pressing against yours, “perhaps at some point back at camp, if you’re amenable to… surprises.”

You felt the way his lips curled in a small smile as he whispered the last word, and you felt your cheeks warming up. You tilted your head slightly, feeling your nose brushing against his as you opened your lips, feeling his own sigh fall onto them.

“Yes,” you murmured, trying to contain your excitement like it was about to overflow.

His chuckle was low, his hand finding yours, his thumb painting circular motions on the back of it.

“Then we better get back.”

You felt his forehead leave yours, and you supposed that he was checking if the guards were still there, whom you had completely forgotten about in your intimate haze. They had disappeared behind the corner, and Gale took no further minute before murmuring : 

“Non fit injura,” the featherfall spell. 

In but a second you were both imbued with a feeling of lightness, and if you thought your heart was about to fly out of your chest just mere minutes ago, you were now positively sure that if you excitement could grow wings you’d fly higher than any dragon.

You both took your impetus before dashing and jumping. You repressed the giggle that bubbled up your chest while falling. You reached the ground in perfect shape, hearing the slightest grunt somewhere on your left side from Gale. 

Sooner than you had expected, the invisibility spell vanished and you saw him. The moon’s light was shining on his earring as his eyes caught yours. There was a gleam of which even the stars could not match, a darkness filling his eyes like two onyx pearls.

“Shall we ?” he smiled, offering you his hand.

You felt like your smile would crack your face, and you took his hand in yours as you made your way to the camp.

You were received by the rest of the group, cheered on by the companions as they pointed to the artefact in question. Your first task at the start of the next day was to give this artefact to an apothecary, but the next day could wait: your thoughts were focused on Gale's words.

Surprises... What specifically did he mean by that?

Dinner came, and your companions asked you about the progress of your mission. Gale was the obvious narrator. He, who had so much love for recounting his anecdotes, began to describe at length the beauty of the building you had been in, slipping in here and there that Astarion would have appreciated the debauched party the hosts were having. Pointing out to Wyll that an acquaintance of the Blade’s father was apparently involved in all these celebrations, all the while occasionally making the group laugh.

"Are you perfectly certain that nobody saw you?" asked Shadowheart.

Gale's eyes rested on you for what seemed like an eternity. He had intentionally omitted to mention your slight pause on the way out. "Definitely safe," he assured.

Bedtime came and everyone went back to their tents. You passed Gale, his eyes roaming up and down your body before returning to your face, and his gaze moved from yours to your lips before he entered his tent.

Your own tent was a little way from the group's, and as leader of said group, they'd let you have a corner to yourself to let you breathe. Most of them were aware that you were trying as hard as you could to maintain a band of adventurers who were all comically different, and that this was no easy task. So they agreed you were entitled to a slightly more secluded corner for your peace and quiet.

But your peace and quiet did not give you rest from your whirling thoughts. As you finished taking off your day gear, a constant stream of questions took over your thoughts. 

Should you wait for Gale to come and see you? Should you go to him? At some point back at camp... What if he hadn't designated today? What if, after all, the adrenalin had worn off and his desires were no longer present? You didn't know what to do.

All your doubts were put aside, however, when one of the sides of your tent was raised and Gale stepped into it. His eyes were just as dark as when you landed outside the manor. You faced him, motionless, your heart fluttering between your ribs as he moved slowly towards you.

It wasn't long before he was as close to you as he had been in the alcove of the manor - a deep sigh echoing in his chest as his breath hit your ear and his beard scratched your cheek.

You tilted your head, looking up at him through your lashes, your eyes going from his eyes to his lips and trying not to look too desperate. He came to cup your face with his hand, and you leaned into his touch. His thumb softly grazed your skin, his second hand placing itself on your hip.

"I never thought waiting would be such a torment, yet this evening has proved to me otherwise." He murmured, his hand on your hip moving again to the small of your back to press you against him.

You brushed your nose against his, feeling his warmth and the weight of his words.

"Then why not end it now ?" you whispered back.

"Because I want to appreciate you," he murmured, his lips barely brushing yours, "delight in the sight of you, ink you in my mind..."

He didn't go on with his sentence, just let his lips touch yours, both your bodies relaxing instantly. Both of your hands came to his shoulder, one of them venturing to cup his face. He was gentle at first, almost hesitant, before revealing his hunger.

The hand that was cupping your cheek travelled to the back of your neck to kiss you harder, bring you closer to him, a surprised moan vibrating from your lips as his fingers combed their way in your hair.

As you leaned your head back from the slight pull he made, his lips lowered on your jaw, kissing your pulse point, your neck was to be his, now. He’d been sorely displeased when finding out you’d allowed Astarion to drink from it. From you. He came back to take your lips, his hands coming to unlace your shirt.

You lowered yours to mirror his intentions, but he gently took both of your wrists in his and brought them up to your head. 

“Hm hm,” he hummed like a softened tutting of a scolding parent, and through the haze you saw a glint of mischief in his eyes.

His fingers continued to take care in removing your shirt, but you couldn’t help the feeling, the need to touch him and be touched by him. 

You had waited enough, and so hadhe. He had no right to tease you so, to caress you with sweet words all evening and not let you have your fingers brush on his own skin.

Your arms lowered again, a hand placed on his shoulder as the other one rested on the back of his neck to bring him into another kiss, hungry, devouring his lips as he hummed and sighed in relief.

But in his chest rumbled a dark sound, vibrating on your lips before he whispered into them : 

“Non movere.” In an instant, lilac glyphs and squares grew on the ground, and soon enough your body wasn’t yours to command anymore. 

Unable to move byyour own will, you stood there, certain that whatever breeze coming over you would not be able to make even a single hair on your head move. Your wrists and ankles were stiffened, it was as if you had been blocked in a mould that you had yet to come out of… the new masterpiece of your creator.

You knew this feeling, knew the shape of it, the metallic smell of magic it left in the air once it was spoken.

You couldn’t do anything other than blink and let your lips part in complete surprise as your eyes fell on the glint of mischief his gaze held: he had just cast the Hold Person spell. On you.

He took a step back, observing you up and down his work, tilting his head to the side in his contemplation.

“Why did you do that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as the thrill of all kinds of possibilities electrified every limb of your body in anticipation.

His eyes set back to yours, and for once looking into Gale’s eyes gave you no response as to what was about to come.

“I mentioned earlier tonight,” he took a step forward you again, his pointer finger hooking under your chin to make sure your eyes wouldn’t leave his, “That I had a few surprises for you. Didn’t I, my little muse?”

His eyes did not leave yours as the back of his hooked finger traced the skin down your neck, brushing your pulse point. His stare darkened atthe feel of your rapid heartbeat.

His touch woke goosebumps in its path, blossoming on your skin as a warm shiver ran down your spine, arching your back as much as you could with the spell holding your body. Your breath hitched with a sharp inhale.

“You plant such ideas in my mind…” his finger traced your collarbone in a measured and agonising unhurriedness, “the driest of lands would flourish back to life by the thought of you.”

His voice had gone low, his words slow. His eyes searched for every reaction your body could provide by the single brush of his fingers on your skin. You tried pushing forward, tried moving to feel more than his fingertips on you, but the spell was holding you tight in place.

He hovered over the curve of your chest, your clothes suddenly feeling like they were becoming unnecessary. He finally reached the laces he had left to tie you in the air, continuing to untie them with the same ease.

“So impatient, what am I to do with you?” he said, his fingers untying the last remaining string.

His hands left it, your eyebrows furrowing as you let out an annoyed sigh. Your body was hot, your clothes now unwanted on your skin. The only thing covering you that could bring you satisfaction was Gale's touch covering your entire body.

He took a step to the side, then another, until he was no longer in your line of vision. But you felt his presence, felt his breath on the back of your neck as both his hands settled on your waist.

“Do you have a single idea…” he murmured, his mouth lowered to your ear as his hands moved up your waist to reach your arms and manipulate them to raise them above your head with incredible ease, “How hard you make it for me to keep my hands off you?”

His hands brushed against yours for a moment, making you shiver as your breath hitched in your chest, pushing it taught like a sail in the wind. His lips brushing against your ear made you want to turn your head to kiss him, to reach him, but the spell was binding you.

His hands went down following the curves of your body until they reached the sides of your shirt. He pinched them with both hands before whispering: “Caecus te.”

Your next blink left you in absolute darkness, your vision having been momentarily robbed by the incantation of the Blinding spell.

All the sensations were completely different, as if amplified. The warmth of Gale's breath on the back of your neck made you shudder and let out a soft moan, his scent of parchment and warm velvet perfumed your air, and his voice echoed in your soul like a white light as you felt his hands brush against your bare skin while removing your shirt. 

“Feeling you in the alcove bewitched me.”

Sparks burst beneath your skin as his fingertips barely grazed your waist, passing like a feather over your ribs before gently pulling your shirt over your head until the night air enveloped your upper body.

The distinct sound of your shirt falling to the floor in a heap of fabric almost made you jump. Gale's breath was no longer at the back of your neck, and the rustle of his clothes somewhere around you was your only indicator that he was still there.

Your breathing quickened, the uncertainty of what he was going to do to you making your heart and body race.

You gasped as the warmth of his hand touched the bare skin on your waist, suddenly inhaling. Its twin came to rest on your hip, the warmth of his palm spreading to your bones.

‘Your body is one I shall worship till my last breath is stolen from me,’ he whispered, his breath landing on your face, and you drank in his words through parted lips.

His fingers ran up your body like ivy over a statue in an abandoned garden, so that it would never be left alone. His fingertips brushed against the flesh of your breasts, covered by your underclothes, his touch tinting your skin with a warm light as it passed over the landscape of your body.

You wanted to press your body against his, to nestle your face in the nape of his neck as you embraced him, wishing you were no longer covered by anything and letting him roam every inch of your body.

His hands went down to the leather lace of your trousers, pulling on a single string to undo the buckle you made every morning. Your trousers had always been too big for you, with the last few weeks of emaciated food in camp and the constant fighting and walking making the loop to be tightened a little more every time. 

So it came as no surprise when the garment fell to the ground with a thump, revealing the remnant of skin that he had yet to see.

A low rumble vibrated in his chest and echoed on your skin, breathing in his air and all you could catch of him in the darkness you inhabited.

“Gods…” his voice had come closer, and the air seemed less cool as your cheeks heated.

His fingers hovered over your hip, running down your thigh as the other hand traced from below your navel to the edge of your underwear.

You heard him swallow, his breath landing on your chest and the beginning of your stomach. His head was down, his concentration complete. Your body was boiling, waiting for his every move.

“But before I can enjoy touching you, I want to look at you.”

And then his fingers left you cold, the sensation of freshness returning as you felt him no longer beside you. The contrast of the absence of contact was sudden, completely disorientating.

“Gale?” you called,

You chased him with your ears, looking for him in everything you could hear, everything you could smell, everything your body could feel. And just when you thought he had vanished into thin air or left, you heard: 

"Veni et iuva me."

You felt nothing on the spot. There was no physical change, nothing was blocked, nothing was new. But you shuddered at the thought of what he had just said: the Mage Hand spell.

"I won't touch you," you heard him say as you could make out the stool in your tent being moved "just yet, at least."

The legs of the stool were put down, and the rustle of clothes suggested that Gale had just taken his seat, ready to enjoy the spectacle of which he was the creator.

The cool, strange touch of his mage hand delicately grasped your chin. The touch felt icy in the moment, and you wondered whether the nature of the spell made it cool, or whether anything else in the moment would have offered a chilling contrast to the warmth of your desire spread across your body.

The finger followed the same path as Gale had just moments before as it passed from your throat to your collarbone, gently making its way to the valley of your breasts. The tip of his index finger grasped the small strip of fabric running around your torso, pulling it slightly upwards.

The fabric slid over, pressing on the roundness of your tits and making them fuller until they were free. The hand stopped pulling on the strap when it was above your bust.

His finger curved into a hook, tracing the roundness of your breast with the back of it, slipping under the little crease of warm skin where your breasts and torso met. Then he spread out his hand, putting his whole palm on it to embrace it.

His thumb went around the halo of your nipple, gradually approaching your hardened peak. The skin of his thumb came to rest on it, a moan passing your lips.

He made circular movements, sometimes returning to follow the contour of your areola before returning to the central point that had become so sensitive. His index finger joined it to squeeze it, causing you to inhale sharply.

"Do you like the way that feels?"

The hand kept pressing, brushing and caressing with a delicacy and skill that were second to none.

"Mhm," you hummed in response, all your thoughts turned to the delicious sensations you were being given.

"Use your words, my love. Your voice is way too pretty for me not to hear it."

His fingers pressed a little harder on your nipple, an additional moan rising in your throat.

"Yes, I like it." you managed to pronounce in the haze.

"Good," he replied, his voice low, "it would pain me to know you're not enjoying this as much as I am."

You imagined him sitting there, facing you, his hand caressing the air and guiding the blue silhouette against your curves. He was the real master of your desire at that moment, and although you loved the sensation he was giving you, you would have preferred it if it had been his own hand touching you.

You felt the warmth of the knot in your belly building, and your slightly half-open thighs couldn't move to stick together and give you any friction to ease the desire burning inside you. Two words echoed through you: 

"Touch me," expelled your voice.

"Isn't it what I am doing dearest?" he replied as his hand left your breast and moved down your rib.

"I want you to be the one touching me."

His digits ran down your bust, following the curve of your belly until they reached your navel.

"All in due time, my little muse."

His fingers went down to the fabric of your underwear, skimming over the elastic before continuing down your thigh. He took hold of it, gripping it firmly before loosening his grasp, his thumb tracing circles on your skin.

His hand ventured to the warm inside of your thigh, and no matter how hard you tried to move your hips forward or press your thighs together, you were getting nowhere, a frustrated sigh rising in your chest.

He caressed the tender skin there, moving up slightly but never reaching the core of your desires.

"Gale," you pleaded with a ragged breath, "I'll let you do anything if you just touch me right now."

You heard him laugh lightly, taking pleasure in the fact that you wanted him so badly.

"Let's not get hasty in promising anything when you're in such a state," he replied. “Besides,” He crooned teasingly. “Whatever I want is already within my reach.”

What other spells could he possibly use? Your thoughts wandered for a few moments over various possibilities as the fingers of the mage's hand made your veins feel like they were made of electricity.

Command to order you to get to your knees or approach him without you having a grasp on your body ? Enlarge to make himself bigger and dominate you better ? Conjure a Myrmidon to join him in seeking your pleasure ?

But all concentration on the subject flew away in a shower of sparks as the fingers of the mage's hand landed on your covered cunt.

A deep whimper of pleasure echoed through the tent as his fingers moved slowly back and forth, caressing you as they moved from your lips to your clit with a cruel slowness. His thumb pressed gently against it, and the heat in your lower belly grew as you sank your teeth into your bottom lip to keep another moan from escaping.

"Don't loweryour voice my dear, no one but me will hear you tonight."

How could he be so sure? How could he say with such certainty that-

A silence spell over the sleeping camp.

Intelligent fucker.

Your teeth loosened the grip they had on your bottom lip, letting your voice rise in the air with every calculated movement the magician made on your pussy.

"I had no idea you were so sensitive," he remarked as he pressed his thumb a little harder, the fabric of your underwear moistening by the second and ruining under his touch.

Eventually, his fingers came to grip the side of the fabric covering you, pulling it aside. The chill of the night air slammed into the damp warmth of your cunt, your cheeks heating at the thought of Gale's gaze on the mess he'd made of you.

He said nothing, but you could feel his stare on you. You imagined the intensity of it, his lust-darkened eyes beneath his furrowed brows, his hand raised to guide Mage's hand. Did he have as much trouble containing himself as you had staying grounded?

The middle and index fingers of the hand came together before resting on your folds, your breath coming in short gasps. He let them press lightly between your lips, letting your wetness coat his fingers.

His thumb went back to your clit, the difference in sensation without any fabric to cover you making you tremble. It wasn't long before one of his fingers was inside you, caressing the heat that was making you ache.

You wanted to move your hips, look for more friction, more movement, but Gale had calculated his move so that you would end up like this: at his mercy, your pleasure controlled by his every move.

His movements were slow, measured, but of unrivalled delight. Your tongue flicked over your lips before moaning as he pushed a second finger in, making hooking movements, as if he were trying to guide your body and your desire towards him and him alone.

Your belly was hot, your lower back burning. Your breath hitched as his fingers found the spot that made you see stars. You felt the knot tighten, like a warm summer cloud spreading across your hips.

You felt close, and you dreamt that your deliverance would end on his fingers. Then you realised that, maybe, all he was waiting for was the magic word.

"Gale," you managed to say between groans, "please."

You heard him rise suddenly, walking towards you as the mage's hand slipped away from you. A whimper of complaint escaped your lips as you felt so close to climax with nothing to reach it anymore.

"Te absolvo" he said, sounding short of breath and eager.

As your eyes took in the dark light of the room again, you saw him from an angle that set your body ablaze.

Gale's face was close to yours, the violet light of the Hold Person spell illuminating his utterly mesmerised features, his pupils dilated almost to pitch black as he breathed heavily through parted lips.

You realised that, although you had been restrained and tormented by his spells, he was the one who was bewitched.

Breathless, regaining your senses, your eyes moved from his eyes to his lips for a moment before returning to his gaze, in which the amethyst sparkle glowed of magic. 

"Please," you repeated in a whisper, "touch me."

Gale tilted his head to one side, his eyes falling on your lips for a moment as he chewed the inside of his cheek, as if he himself were holding back capturing your lips in a kiss, or more...

His hand came to rest on your thigh as his hot breath spread over your skin, the warmth of his palm contrasting with the cold of the mage's hand. He moved slowly up your skin, gripping the elastic of your panties, his eyes never leaving yours. He ran his thumb underneath it, his second hand grasping the other side and gently pulling your underwear down to mid-thigh.

His fingers brushed the inside of your thigh, and your breath hitched as you tilted your gaze down to watch, the use of your body seeming to return to you as the spell gradually lessened its hold. But the Mage hand came to grip your chin, raising your face so that your gaze didn't leave Gale's.

"Don't look away."

He wanted to see every detail of your face, every reaction, the beauty of what his fingers could awaken in you. Yes, he wanted to see this spectacle.

His fingers came to cup your cunt, a sigh of relief escaping from between your lips

"Oculi tui solum volunt," he murmured.

You hadn't heard him say that spell before, but a sudden feeling came over you: you couldn't take your eyes off him.

No matter how hard you tried to look away, you couldn't. Turning your head, looking at another part of his face, nothing seemed to work. Enthralled, that's what you were.

One of his fingers sank into you, its thickness wider than a mage's hand and warmer. He tilted his head back slightly, his eyes thin and dark as he watched your every reaction.

The feeling of your warm walls closing on his fingers was something he was addicted to, knowing he was the orchestrator of your pleasure made him want to let this vision of paradise last forever. His thumb caressed your clit, your body reacting immediately by tightening around his finger as you moaned.

Gale's free hand moved up to your breast, gripping it gently as his thumb pressed lightly against your skin. 

"You wanted me that much, little love?" he asked, the realisation of how wet you were satisfying him beyond measure.

"Yes," you replied, your breath catching as he thrust a second finger in.

His two thumbs made circular movements over your nipple and you clit, his fingers inside you moving perfectly and touching the perfect spot again without effort.

You felt you were near, and so did Gale. The knot was getting tighter and tighter, your lower belly as if lit up by a marble-sized sun. His eyes shone for a moment, a glint of mischief that you now knew all too well.

The mage's hand gently let go of your chin, moving down a little until it was around your neck, and squeezing on each side.

"Come for me," he breathed, his eyes fixed on yours.

The world shattered into a thousand pieces as everything turned to the white warm light. Vibrating waves beat through your body like a second heart, pulsing until your thighs shook and your walls squeezed Gale's fingers spasmodically and the pressure on your neck made you see stars.

Gale whispered something you couldn't hear, and the purple glyphs disappeared as you fell into his arms, still shaking from your orgasm. He lifted his head and kissed your temple, stroking your hair.

"That's it, good," he murmured. Then your breath stilled, nestling your face in the hollow of his neck for a moment before returning to his eyes.

"You have a way with surprises," you said in your haze as he laughed softly.

"I think the most pleasant surprises come with the inspiration you bring me," he admitted as his hand cupped your cheek. "But I do think your thoughts have suggested a few ideas that I simply can't wait to try out."

You frowned for a second, "My thoughts?"

He raised an eyebrow, a sneer stretching his lips as the realisation dawned on you: a mind-reading potion. What you couldn't say in words, your body and mind had been shouting at him all this time.

"How are you feeling?" he asked anyway, for the politeness of the gesture.

"Good," you confirmed as your head fell on his shoulder. "So good."

"Excellent, because you won't get an ounce of sleep tonight."

[pedgito]

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒 ╳ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter One: Decisions

[strangers to friends to lovers, age gap (56/mid 20s), forced proximity, no outbreak]

(Series) Content Warning: a very, very lonely joel miller. copious amounts of lusting, tension, joel is an excellent cook (food, alcohol, ect), hot tubs, impromptu snowball fights, awkward situations, deep talks and tragic backstories (specified within chapter warnings, deeply depraved smut/sexcapades and the inappropriate use of a dining table (also specified within chapter warnings), nicknames of endearment (no use of y/n)

Chapter Summary: The night of your arrival is anything but what you expected, realizing that not only was your cabin double-booked but the unexpected guest is more than willing to leave you stranded to savor his peace. A handful of stubborn talks and a big decision later, you realize that Joel might not be that much of a stranger at all.

Chapter Warnings: (7.2k) no outbreak, grumpy!Joel, fem!reader, weapons of convenience, reader being mesmerized but how handsome Joel is, copious amount of lusting, book talks, age gap, Joel has secrets, reader has a difficult relationship with family, two beds (but that won't last)

You should feel terrible about this. Distraught. Riddled with a crippling sadness over a lie that grew from your own selfishness. But, there’s nothing but tremendous relief as you shove your things into the trunk of your Uber and crawl into the backseat, starting the three hour drive into the deep Piney Woods of Texas. 

You should feel horrible.

But, the silence is nice. You’re especially thankful that your driver wasn’t a people person at all, pointedly avoiding any communication outside of a greeting. It feels business-like, transactional. You couldn’t be bothered with the niceties and cheerfulness that surrounded the holidays. It made you sick to your stomach, chewing on your bottom lip without a thought in your mind as you inch closer. A three hour drive turns into two, falling asleep somewhere along the way, only waking up fifteen minutes away, somewhere along a rocky drive down a scenic, winding road that pulls a beautiful cabin into view. 

It was lit up, decorated like a fucking christmas tree.

You grimaced slightly, but despite that, it was still everything you expected. It wasn’t too large or spacious, you wouldn’t feel so alone out here for the few weeks you were planning to stay and it wasn’t too cramped either. You felt if you uttered the word perfect it would turn into a jinx, so you kept yourself together and dragged yourself out into the cold, frigid air when the car pulled to a stop. The driver helped you with your bags, you remember to leave him with a big, gracious tip that left him more than satisfied, and he was on his way without a word.

You took a big breath, expanding your lungs and breathing in the fresh air. You didn’t feel suffocated here, something you noticed immediately. It wasn’t because of the lack of city pollution. Dragging your bags up the steps are a challenge, but you manage even with the rickety wheel that snags on a chipped piece of brick, unlocking your phone to remember the code that the owner had sent you earlier that morning, fumbling until your fingers came to life and pressed the code into the lock, a satisfying click of relief in the mechanism and you turned the doorknob.

Finally.

-

The heat blasts your face like a furnace, thawing out your limbs as you move quickly, efficiently and with too much urgency to escape the nighttime cold. You don’t notice much at first, among the amenities that came with the cabin, a fresh bottle of wine on the table and a note tucked under, something you would guzzle down sometime later. There was a fire going, low and crackling—seems unsafe, but what the hell did you know? It had to be the owners, assuming they came out earlier in the day in preparation for your arrival.

There’s blankets littered throughout, draped over the back of a couch, dark and covered in an unseemly plaid pattern, another stack of smaller blankets placed on a nearby cushion. Freezing to death seemed to be their immediate concern, obviously. You wandered aimlessly in the dark, scoping out both a light switch and the kitchen, noticing the stock of food, things that wouldn’t perish easily, probably for emergencies, but things are even more interesting as you approach the fridge, bathed in the fluorescent light as you look at the also stocked fridge, not fully, more sparsely, like someone who couldn’t decide on what to eat or maybe only cooked one meal a day. It’s then when a thought dawns on you that feels impossible, a lingering suspicious as your eyebrows pull into a taut line, fanning over the marble slab of counter-space, eyes landing on the window that hung over the kitchen sink behind a wretchedly patterned curtain, spotting the old truck parked outside the back of the cabin.

Your mind filters through a thousand and one reasons on why it would be there, but whatever is there in your mind is quickly snuffed out by the creaks of rickety floorboards and a hall light flickering on in the distance behind you—you reach and ultimately fumble for anything nearby to use as a weapon, landing on the single-most deadly thing in your line of sight that you can grasp quickly. There’s a knife block a few feet away and it’s the only plausible thing your brain can think of in a panic, unsheathing and turning on your heels to the person standing several feet away.

He is large, you can tell as much. Still mostly covered by the shadow of darkness that blanketed the rest of the cabin, you could make out the scruff of some facial hair, his tall stature, and the axe he gripped by the neck.

A fucking axe. 

You were, no doubt, about to be murdered. It was the only thought on your mind, because despite the hard grip on the handle of the knife, you were no match.

But, then he speaks.

“Got about ten seconds to start explain’ what the hell you’re doin’ in this cabin.” As expected, his voice left little room to argue—but you had paid to be here. Fucking paid. You had every right.

Fuck this guy.

You grip the knife a tighter, knuckle-white grip as you raise it in a feeble attempt to seem threatening, “I booked this place for a month, I’ve got the front door code—who the fuck are you?” 

You’re surprised that it works, but the rigidness in the stranger’s shoulder relaxes slightly and the butt of the axe hits the floor as he rests against an adjoining wall.

“Don’t think none of that matters,” He replies with a reverence of annoyance as he flicks on a nearby light and illuminates the living area of the cabin—shit, that’s where it was? Part of you was glad you hadn’t found it, wondering if he had been waiting in the shadows since you stepped inside the cabin, “you need to drive back into town and explain the mix up.”

Drive back? A fucking mix up?

“No.” It’s a steady answer, no quiver in your voice. You lower the knife, but it’s still held tightly at your side. And as the stranger steps into clearer view, you can’t help but memorize his face.

You know, in the case that you might need to describe it to the police if you weren’t already dead by then.

It’s almost unfair how threatening he looks without trying and yet somehow, irreverently handsome. It feels like a silly thought to have, but you weren’t blind. He’s older, much older than yourself. Hardened features, a sharp jawline covered with a thicker beard kept trimmed but still patchy in spots, face worn with worry. He was undoubtedly human and vulnerable, just like you. You can’t see much about his stature beside his height and tanned skin, muddled out by his pajamas, though he seems like he probably does some heavy lifting. 

And meanwhile, your staring is noticed. He remains several feet of distance but his eyebrow quirks upwards slightly, arms crossing over his chest and—oh. He is the last person you would want to spar in a fight, biceps pulling taut and bulging slightly.

“Sure you didn’t book the other cabin down the way?” He sounds like he’s questioning a child, such a ridiculous mistake to make.

Oh, how could you be so stupid? 

There was no mistaking which cabin you booked, because obviously, the other one was already booked out. This one wasn’t.

At least, it wasn’t supposed to be.

“Look,” The knife clatters against the counter and his eyes track it before averting back to you, “I get that you probably think this is some mistake on my part and whatever grumpy attitude you have, I also get it,” You really fucking did, feeling the beginnings of your blood boil with frustration, “I booked this trip two months ago, I triple checked the address, the owners sent me the door code yesterday morning. There is no way I booked the other cabin.”

He doesn’t even flinch, not a muscle. He’s unconvinced, unamused, and rearing on the edge of throwing your bags out himself just to get you out of here.

“Jesus, fuck—” You rip your phone from your coat pocket and flip through your apps until you land on the email full of information, booking address, dates, and all, and slide the phone across the counter, because despite his willingness to kick you out on your ass, the murderous aspect subsided the moment he dropped the axe.

Now, he just seemed like an asshole.

He approaches slowly, eyeing the phone skeptically before making it seem diminutive in his grip, squinting moderately as he brought the phone closer and looked, expression dropping by the millisecond as the realization settled in. And you start to feel triumphant, like you might’ve actually won the argument. There was still one problem at hand.

He was still here. You were still here.

And neither of you were going anywhere.

So, instead of trying to compromise, he doubles down.

“I was here first.”

“You’re fucking kidding me?” In a world of assholes, he was their all triumphant leader, “It’s below freezing, I Uber’d three hours to get out here, and I have no service. I’m not leaving.”

This, ultimately, had to be your worst nightmare. Double-booking? In the middle of the woods with a complete stranger who obviously had some murderous tendencies if his first instinct was to grab a goddamn axe? And no service?

“You didn’t drive here?” It’s the only thing he asks, bypassing everything else.

“You know, I think I just said I didn’t.”

“You had someone drive you three hours out in the woods with no way of transportation anywhere for,” He takes a second glance at your phone, noting the booking dates, “four weeks?”

Admittedly, it was done on a whim. You hadn’t thought out the fine details, but you knew there was a small store a few miles north that was run by a nice old lady that provided to some of the people who did live out in these woods year round. It was the one thing the owners had added as an addition to the obvious plus of the cabin being so secluded. Plus, the cabin was stocked with some food, or at least, it was.

You wanted no contact. But, obviously you weren’t going to get that.

“Kinda part of the whole getting away for the holidays memo,” You reply sarcastically, “I would’ve managed, mind you.”

Maybe. You would’ve figured it out eventually, but that didn’t matter. Things weren’t going as planned now. You interject again, crossing your arms to match his stance briefly before throwing your arm out flippantly as you waved a hand toward the untraversed hallway.

“This place has two bedrooms, doesn’t it?”

A two bed, one bath cabin. You remembered that much.

He clears his throat, “Yeah.” He sounds so foreboding it makes you ache with an anxiety you had tried so hard to escape from.

“And seein’ as you’re here alone,” You didn’t need to make any assumption otherwise, he seemed like the lonely type, “and I’m here alone—I’m staying.”

“For the night.” He corrects, “Then I can drive you into town tomorrow morning and you can get your refund and find a ride home.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, snatching your phone off the counter and stowing it away in your pocket again, finally taking the steps to bypass him and reach for your bags. 

The thing was—you weren’t leaving. If there was anything to be learned about you, it was how undoubtedly stubborn you could be. This cabin was just as rightfully yours as it would be anyone else who paid for the time. It was money you had worked to save up, money you had shoveled out to secure yourself a relaxing holiday and it wasn’t about to be ruined.

His voice startles you as he, somehow, had moved closer without you noticing. He was reaching for your bags too, because despite his grumpiness, he was still that guy—of course.

“Don’t. Touch.” You glance at him with a warning, which he takes, thankfully. He retracts and lingers briefly as he snuffs out the fire before he returns to his own room, you can only assume.

And even if you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, you still barricade your door that night, suitcase stacked on suitcase, bag on bag, and you’re almost sure he can hear it if he’s still awake. You hope he does.

But, when your head hits the pillow, all tucked away in the bed that would become yours for the next month, you immediately fall asleep despite the lingering threat outside your door.

-

It all feels like a horrible dream until your eyes open the next morning and again, you’re here. 

Then there’s a lingering smell of bacon, breakfast cooking in the distance and the house is warm, inviting, welcoming. Damn.

Fine. You were curious. Still annoyed, but not as much after a night of sleep. You could approach this at a different angle, with a better attitude and maybe work something out with the stranger outside of your bedroom.

You stretch your limbs until the protest and steady on your feet, wrapping one of the spare blankets at the end of the bed over your shoulders and around your body as you trudge toward the living area, connected kitchen off to the side as you round the corner of the hallway.

Your eyes settle on his back first, thankful he doesn’t immediately lock eyes with you when you enter—his muscles stretch as he fiddles with something on the stove, shoulder blades pulling inwards as he shakes the pan gripped in his right hand, still dressed in his clothes from the night before and his hair mussed up in the back from sleep and it feels odd to admire him for a moment, but you really can’t help it. 

There was a time when you’d scold yourself, but a lifetime of horrible boyfriends and even worse hook-ups, you knew that you had needs and feelings and you weren’t the type to ignore them or make excuses. Whoever he was, whatever his name may be, he was handsome. It was the first thing you thought about last night, despite the presence of possible murder, and it was the only immediate thing on your mind at the moment.

It had been months. You were giving up a little lee-way to feel bad for yourself.

But, then he’s speaking and it startles you to near death.

“Mornin’.” He greets with a reverence you are not expecting. He sounds relaxed.

The fucker sounds relaxed. Like he hadn’t tried to kick you out on your ass the night before. Your face pulls up in a disgruntled scrunch and you have the gamble to look confused. Because, yeah. This was not the person you met last night—given you were technically an intruder in his mind.

Maybe he wasn’t a complete asshole after all—No. Nope. You barely know him.

“You gonna keep starin’ or eat some breakfast?” He asks a little less polite, but it’s rude enough to elicit a response. Because, yes—you were starving. 

So, stare and eat. 

You take a seat at the barstool tucked under the island and assess the field, a mix of simple breakfast items: pancakes, eggs, bacon, toasts with varying levels of char, and a small bowl of mixed berries.

This feels…a little too much. But, you dig in with a ferocity that stomps out any current concern.

“Look–” He starts after a long bout of silence, having turned off the burner and beginning to assemble his own plate.

“If this is an apology breakfast for being a complete asshole,” You shake your head, cheeks puffed with the fluffiness of a pancake, slathered and drowned in syrup a few berries swimming in the pooled up sugary mess as you forked them and stuffed them in alongside, “apology accepted. Forgiven. Whatever.”

You couldn’t be bothered to care at that moment. You’d stood your ground, you weren’t leaving.

“It’s…not.” He eventually manages to say, interrupted by your schpiel, cutting his way through his eggs before forking a piece into his mouth, chewing slowly, “Look, I didn’t want send you off with an empty stomach, might not be great at this,” He waves a vagrant hand—Oh, so…talking to people, being accommodating, this last could drag on and on and—”but it’s not your fault, I guess.”

“It’s not,” You quickly retorted, the space between your brow scrunched into a permanent scowl at this point, “are you—You’re still trying to kick me out? No….no.”

“I was here—”

“First, yeah. I heard you last night.”

And part of you hears the echoing of your mother, that pestering and insisting tone she carried.

“Try new things, sweetheart. Meet someone. You never know what will happen.”

Of course, that didn’t apply to complete strangers. She meant it in the context of: find a nice boy, date him, marry him, and give her grand-babies. You were never going to be that person. 

You tried. Hard. Dated for a year, then two, and that ended in a mess of tears. You hated thinking about the effort you attempted to put into a relationship that was doomed from the beginning. You both ended up at different colleges and it was all for naught. And through college, you swore off boyfriends, slept around, and it was easier. But, it was less than exciting. 

In fact, it was boring. 

But regardless, the sentiment stuck around. You weren’t trying to trick this man into falling in love with you, but you weren’t going to let him displace you on a holiday vacation.

Screw this guy.

“This cabin has two bedrooms and plenty of space. I booked this place until the end of the month and I’m not giving it up,” You state matter-of fact, “You’re not driving me back into town and you’re not going to boss me around like you have some authority over me. I don’t even know you.”

The man seems speechless for a moment, chewing silently at his breakfast.

That was exactly what he assumed would happen—that he could, basically, command you into leaving. Thankfully, you didn’t do well with authority.

“Actually, how do I know you aren’t some squatter?” You ask suddenly, fork clanking against the plate as it falls, “Why don’t you show some proof that you paid to be here?”

It shouldn’t surprise you when he reaches for his own phone, taking his sweet, sweet time to scroll until he finds the proof and slots the phone your way. It doesn’t surprise you. You only wanted the proof. 

But, you can’t help the way your eyes bug out when you read the dates, matching up almost perfectly with your own, give or take a few days—which is why he arrived before you. He was here until the day after Christmas, just like you.

Your luck, of course.

You slid the phone back toward him and pushed your plate aside, thankfully full up on breakfast, but still frustrated. Things weren’t supposed to go this way. It was supposed to be a month away, a month of seclusion. But, that obstacle was standing opposite of you.

You sigh heavily, shrinking under your blanket and burying your head into cupped hands, digging the heels of your palms in until you see stars, coming up for air only after the plates start to clink against each other from movement.

“Okay,” You take a breath, lifting your head slowly, “I’m guessing you came out here to be alone,” It’s only an assumption, but it seems glaringly obvious, “so did I. So, how about we just do our best to avoid each other?”

“Seems kinda hard,” He argues, “seeing as we’re under one roof.”

“Well, we eat together. Or we don’t at all. I don’t need you cooking meals for me—but outside of that or just some occasional passing by, we don’t have to talk.”

It wasn’t a well-thought-out plan, but…

You’ve had enough roommates to have mastered this skill by now. Just because you were under the same roof as someone didn’t mean you had to get along, though it was ideal. It was a month. You could manage.

Keep your things locked away, doors locked too, always keep your guard up, live the entire vacation with the lingering thought that maybe he might have underlying murderous tendencies—and guessing by the even blanker look on his face as he examines you, your mind really starts to wonder.

“Fine.” He agrees.

Wait.

“You’re serious?”

“Doesn’t seem like you’re givin' me much of a choice.”

You smile triumphantly, a little too eager to gloat.

“Unfair, isn’t it?”

You couldn’t resist. And you brace for a rigid retort, some grumble under his breath. But, it never comes.

Instead, he chuckles. It’s so slight you almost miss it, but his chest shakes with a silent laughter before he’s returning to his neutral state and shaking his head in disbelief.

“Must be used to gettin’ your way.” He’s eyes flick up, hands buried into the dishwater he’s managed to start up under the rumble of conversation—there’s definitely something there, a glint in his eyes.

You feel like you’re imagining things. You definitely were.

“Not at all, actually.” You contradict, tapping a lone finger against the countertop, “So—can I ask your name? Seein’ how we’re going to be around each other for the next…month.” It feels unreal as it rolls off your tongue.

A month with a total stranger. Perfect idea.

“Joel.” He answers simply. You have to take his word for it. But, you don’t sense a lie. You respond with a polite utterance of your own name and that closes the conversation out. 

You watch in silence as Joel cleans, his pointed wandering around the kitchen, a purpose behind his steps as he moves. He’s so…broad. So large.

Much larger than any man you’ve come to know, or seen, really. You blame it on the fact that college boys were just that…boys. They weren’t men. Not like Joel.

He carried it in his voice, his demeanor, the age on his face that worked—and so well, at that. You never had a reason to look at men, older men. The type that would complain about you being half their age, how you reminded them of their own daughter. You would wretch away in disgust and flee a million miles in the other direction. 

But, Joel. He wasn’t like that at all. He hadn’t given you a reason to think otherwise—and here you were, lusting over someone you knew nothing about. Pathetic.

“Starin’ ain’t polite,” He chides, no malice in his tone but it pulls you away from your quickly fleeting, depraved thoughts, “parents never teach you that?”

“I never listened much,” You shrug, but there’s an urge to apologize given the close quarters and conditions you were agreeing to live under for the next few weeks, “and it’s a bad habit, sorry.” It feels a little less than sincere, but Joel takes it with no issue. 

But, there’s a sight you don’t catch as you retreat back to your own room.

Because Joel—his eyes follow you the entire way, wondering just how much of a mess he wrapped himself up in when he agreed.

—

Your eyes dry up with how long you’ve stared at your phone screen, staring at the small letters that spell out No Service and huffing out a small sigh as you rolled over in bed, shifted to find a comfortable spot…nothing.

You shift again, still not good enough.

This was going to be a nightmare if you secluded yourself in the bedroom, cooped up on a bed that, while decent, wasn’t your own.

Maybe booking this trip was a terrible idea.

You shouldn’t have lied to your parents about your reasoning for a spur of the moment trip to the deep woods of Texas—even though you had booked it out weeks in advance. 

And that you were taking the trip with a boy that didn’t exist, which was a bigger lie to add to the already rapidly growing web you’d weaved. 

“You don’t know him,” You’d told her, “I’m not ready to introduce him.”

Because, really—how the fuck were you supposed to introduce someone who didn’t exist?

You sit with a defeated jolt and reach for one of your bags, the only one filled with things that weren’t absolute necessities. Mostly books, a music player, stuff that would, hopefully, keep you busy if you got bored while you were here alone.

Alone was a foreign concept now. 

Somewhere in the fog of thoughts you find a book, covered tattered from years of wear, years and years of rereads that never got old. 

You could make yourself disappear somewhere on the couch in the living room, but not stuffed into a corner in a bedroom when you had an entire house at your expense.

Joel wouldn’t even know you were there.

—

Joel wasn’t even here.

When you step out into the hall, floorboards creaking underneath your weight, the silence otherwise is deafening. You traverse further, his bedroom door shut tight.

Well, maybe he had the same idea you originally did, tucking yourself away into your room. You shrug to yourself and continue the path to the couch, noting that Joel had started another fire. The cabin was well-insulated but it was a nice touch, the soft crackling of the burning wood and kindling, the feel—it was very…appropriate.

You settle into the cushion and finally feel that little slice of comfort you were searching for, feet curled up somewhere beside you with a blanket draped over your lap, book flipped open to the beginning. 

This felt perfect. Or close to it. You tried to ignore the fact that you weren’t alone, not at all. But, it was damn near close. 

And the peace lasts, for an hour, that is. 

Turns out, Joel did leave.

To where? No clue. But, he comes in with snow covered boots and a heavy winter coat, cheeks flushed pink and the ghost of his breath appearing in front of him as he stomps his feet out on the doormat. He closes the door before you can offer a protest his way, removing his winter gear layer by layer…

You force your eyes away, rereading the paragraph you were on a few times before you find your place again and continue through the story, face buried in the book as you raise it slightly, left arm slung over the back of the couch as you lick the index finger on your right hand, flipping the page. 

Ignore him. It was easy.

But somewhere along the way, Joel appears closer.

“Lord of the Flies?” He looks bemused, puzzled, shocked. Like an expression of—Really? You?

You return the look, even stranger as you tilt the book away from him, noticing the way his hand grips his winter gloves in a tight grasp, eyes shooting up to his face.

“Yeah.” It’s a simple answer, nothing to elaborate about.

He could read—fucking fantastic. 

His eyebrows raise in disbelief, but it doesn’t feel antagonizing. “Remember readin’ that when I was young,” He comments, “still holds up?”

“I’d say so,” You respond, offering him the attention he wasn’t inadvertently asking for, “why?”

Joel seems so…lonely. From a glance, at least. He’s got a sadness around his eyes that you never noticed until he had approached you so closely. He was only a few inches away from the back of the couch, just out of reach, and he sways a little on his feet like he favors one leg over the other and he hangs his head ever so slightly.

You weren’t here to question him or even attempt to know him, really—but you can’t help it. 

“Just curious,” He settles on, “can’t remember the last time I sat down and read a book, really. Don’t think I’d have the patience for it now either, but y’know…”

You didn’t.

He looks like he wants to say more, but he settles for silence. And, it doesn’t feel weird this time. He retreats a moment later, footsteps echoing throughout the cabin before the question comes to mind, retching itself out of your mouth before you have the consciousness to stop it.

“Wait, how old are you?” You ask curiously, attempting the math on your fingers, back and forth, eyes squinting in confusion as the book falls over your lap and your turn to catch a final glimpse of him.

“Kid, you’re gonna hurt yourself thinkin’ that hard.” Joel jokes lightly, something you haven’t seen before, but then he answers simply, “Fifty-six.”

Oh. Huh.

You nod slowly in response before turning away, burying your head back into the book in an attempt to avoid whatever look comes your way. The click of a door is a sigh of relief as you stop reading entirely, resting the book against your lap as you take a moment.

The snow was falling heavily, blanketing the ground with inches of fluffy white. It beckons the question of why Joel would even traverse out in this weather—or why he would’ve subjected you to this had he forced you back into town and back in a car to the city. 

He must’ve liked his loneliness too and here you were, wrecking those plans like he had wrecked yours. 

But, maybe this was a good thing. 

Maybe you had saved Joel from his own loneliness, unknowingly.

And maybe he had saved you too. 

—

As the night winds down, separate dinners aside after Joel allowed you free pickings of whatever was in the kitchen that he brought along with him, you find that the bottle of wine still remained unopened, the note addressed to no one in particular. 

Not you or Joel. It was fair game and you’d won. 

By now, the sun is long gone and the only light that came through the windows were the twinkling bright lights that hung outside and the flush, orange glow of the never waning fire, like a constant reminder of Joel’s presence in the house. He refreshed it every few hours and you watched as he did so, hunched over as he knelt, sleeves bunched up around his elbows and sometimes shifting completely onto his knees as he replaced the logs or waded up some extra paper to toss in. 

You eye the bottle curiously—it was nothing special. A store bought Chardonnay that tasted good enough to enjoy, but it wasn’t something to brag about. If it could get you drunk, it was worth a million bucks. 

You rummage around the kitchen until you find an appropriate glass—something wide, deep, and refillable. The tip of the bottle clinks against the glass as you pour, teeth biting as the inside of your cheeks as you decide that…mmm, no, just a little more.

“Bottle ain’t runnin’ from ya.” Joel comments, again to your surprise and it makes you jump, hard. Hard enough that a splash of spirits dampens the front of your shirt and you scowl in the older man’s direction.

“Stop doing that,” You're more than serious, deadly serious. At least, you try to be. 

Unfortunately, you’re not at all as threatening as you think you appear to be. And Joel has a glass dangling from his own fingertips, only a sip left of dark brown liquid and you surmise that he had the same idea. A nightcap before bed.

Or, in your case, half a bottle of Chardonnay. 

Joel deposits the glass into the sink silently, ignoring how you aggressively dab the front of your shirt with a hand towel to soak up some of the alcohol, like it wasn’t his fault. Inadvertently. 

“Are you always that jumpy?” Joel asks after a minute or so, lingering around the edge of the island, tired eyes and even more tired pull of his lips, not quite a smile, not much of a scowl either. 

“Forgive me for being a little on edge,” You retort with a sass that, quite frankly, is unwarranted. But, you’re feeling snarky and the moment calls for it, “I’m rooming with a strange man who greeted me with an axe.”

“If I recall, you pointed a knife at me all the same,” Valid point, pointless argument to make against you, though. “And weren’t you the one who put your foot down about stayin’ here?”

Yes, you did.

There’s too long of a silence because, really, you aren’t sure how to cut the tension—and maybe it was one-sided, but you couldn’t help but still retain some anger, some jealousy that you weren’t here alone.

“Alright, so maybe we can’t ignore each other like you want,” Joel explains, in reality it does seem impossible, but you had been hopeful, “doesn’t mean you have to scamper like a cat when you see me.”

Your bottom lip pulls in between your teeth before you’re pressing the glass to your lips and taking a hearty sip, steadfast in your silence.

Joel face contorts in thought, like he’s trying to think out his next few words careful, rubbing a hand through his scruff, speckled with patches of gray throughout, a particular spot just below his ear that his thumb reaches, just at the hinge of his jaw and he rubs.

And, you’re staring again. 

Joel doesn’t say anything this time if he does clock it.

“I came out here same as you, enjoyin’ my time alone.” Joel explains, feeling the deep timbre of his voice as he speaks, “I don’t have any intention of tryin’ to hurt you, nothin’ like that. Let’s just…be cordial.”

Even if that meant faking it.

Though, there’s a sincerity to Joel when he speaks that strikes, not often found with the people you’ve met in your life. And you know why you’re being so bitter, so abrasive and biting, but that resolves softens slightly,

Maybe it was the Chardonnay. 

When had you finished off the glass? 

“Cordial?” You repeat, echoing the sentiment.

“Yeah,” Joel nods, trying to offer up a different definition, “Friendly, polite.”

It’s clear that even despite his aura of loneliness, he seemed to deal with strangers often. You were a stranger to him. It wasn’t the first thing that struck you, so worried about your own safety that you had snuck into his idea of his own territory, now that territory was being shared. 

“No, I know what cordial means,” You reply flippantly, a little jaded by the gesture that he felt he needed to explain, “—I just, I was gonna offer you a drink then.”

Even though he very obviously already had his fill of what you can only surmise was bourbon, noting a bottle shoved away on a nearby alcohol designated shelf.

“A gesture,” You lay the sweetness on thick and Joel rolls his eyes half-heartedly, seeing right through you, “of—good faith, I guess. We can forget we were ready to murder each other last night and start fresh.”

“Darlin’, m’not much of a wine man.” 

Darlin’. That was new. 

You start to realize that when the sun goes down, his regional accent thickens up, forced out by exhaustion but it’s nice, comforting almost. It reminds you of back home, despite your lack of enthusiasm of being around your family, it gives you the hope that maybe you and Joel aren’t all that different from each other.

“Then, just sit.” You shrug, nodding toward the small table for two squished in the corner of the alcove, right beside a cushioned seat buried in the shape of the hexagonal wall, window view as far as your eyes could reach, distance buried in a thick bush of trees but if you squint hard enough, you can see another cabin off in the distance. The cabin you should’ve booked, but couldn’t. 

Maybe this was your own personal reckoning.

Much to your surprise, Joel does take a seat.

When you’re both finally seated, comfortable, you ask the first question:

“Where are you from?” You ask curiously.

Forward, that’s for sure. Joel could respect it, but still has a reaction to remain taken aback.

“Come on, you can lie and I wouldn’t know any better,” You remind him, “fine, I’m from Austin, born and raised.”

Joel’s chin hits his sternum as he chuckles, looking away briefly off into the distance and you laugh a little in response, confused.

“What? Is that funny or something?” 

“No, no—I’m…I’m also from Austin,” He admits, the likelihood not impossible but it is surely a fucking coincidence, “lived there my whole life.”

Well, maybe you’ve crossed paths before, but Austin was a big city and it seemed unlikely.

Your eyes narrow, attempting to read him. It’s more of a gag at your expense, watching as he looks just as skeptical of you, brown eyes examining your face as intently as he could. You have to ignore the feeling to shrink under his gaze, intense and all-encompassing, it feels suffocating, but not in a way that makes you want to escape. 

It wasn’t like that at all. In fact, it was welcoming. Like a safety blanket. He blinks once, twice, speaks when things grow awkward—

“I’m not…lyin’,” Joel admits, “that isn’t a lie.”

“You’re not supposed to tell me, Joel.”

Joel cracks a half-smile, wrestling with the aching joints in his hands as he squeezes his hands together, hands that have been through things, surely: hard work, years of labor, covered with small scars from burns and scrapes, you can only assume. 

“The whole idea is that…we don’t know each other. We aren’t going to see each other after this,” You tell him, curled up in the chair, wine glass resting on your knee and a fist nudged up under your chin, “you could tell me your deepest, darkest secrets and it wouldn’t matter because I’m not supposed to know if you’re lying or not.”

“So, if I ask you what someone like you is doin’ out here during the holidays instead of where you should be—with family or kids your age, what’ll you tell me?” Joel asks curiously, taking the bait and returning it with a challenge. 

You have no reason to tell the truth. But, you also don’t have a reason to lie.

“My family is suffocating.” You shrug indifferently, “They helicopter my life and I didn’t want to face it this Christmas, so I fed them some story and booked a trip out here for the month.”

His eyes soften and you have to hide your reaction behind a sip of your wine, knowing that any sympathy sent your way was not welcomed. You didn’t want it or need it.

“Am I allowed to ask about the story?” Joel questions.

It’s almost surprising, seeing him suddenly interested in your game.

You giggle quietly to yourself, lips pressed against the wine glass before you pull it away briefly.

“They think I’m out here with a super secret boyfriend that I refuse to introduce to them.”

He can see how cheeky you’re being about the whole thing, seemingly relishing in the enjoyment of torturing your parents. You’ve got your eyes on him too, staring at him again. He’s noticed it one too many times. 

Dangerous. It’s dangerous. Again, he doesn’t stop you.

His breathing is calm, solid—he’s settled in his seat and relaxed, something you haven’t had the chance to witness. Joel is so…normal. It reminds you that in any other circumstance, if you had met him at a store or somewhere in town, that you wouldn’t spare him a second glance. He’s handsome, sickeningly so. But, you would’ve passed him up without a thought. He would’ve done the same. 

For…different reasons, perhaps. 

But, these were special circumstances. 

You note how his hair is probably a little outgrown, curling around his ears and a deep, deep brown. Almost black but not quite. He doesn’t seem like a guy who styles his hair, allows it to lay how it pleases and doesn’t fuss much over his looks. But, the longer you look, the more mesmerizing he becomes. There’s a tan line on his wrist from what you can only assume is a watch, but he isn’t wearing it now—he must work in the sun, noting the way he’s sunkissed on just about every other part of his exposed body, up to the beginnings of scruff that starts below his chin, near his neck. His toned arms that could definitely swing an axe without a problem. You don’t linger on his legs for even a second, knowing that even for you it would be too far. But, he crosses them at the thought, like a cue—or a tease. Was he….

No. 

You continue idly, trying to mask yourself like you were lost in thought, tracing a finger around the lip of the wine glass, “If they knew the truth, they’d shit themselves all the same.”

Joel chuckles softly, a low grumble that is barely audible.

“Spendin’ your Christmas with an old man, half your age. I’m sure that’ll comfort ‘em well.”

He never asked, only assumed. But, basing it off your evident naivety, he couldn’t be far off.

“Eh..give or take a couple years.” You shrug, resting the glass on the table and crossing your arms. “They’ve always treated me like a kid, always questioning my decisions. I just wanted one holiday without it. Without…anything, really.”

Joel looks away, like the thought of that stings him, burrows at him in a different way. You want to ask, but refrain, no matter how strong the urge.

“Sorry ‘bout that, darlin’.”

And there it was again. 

You can’t fight the small smile that works its way onto your face despite yourself.

Joel doesn’t understand, looking at you inquisitively, something he’s become used to around you in the short time he’s been here, “What?”

“Darlin’.” You mock his southern draw playfully, echoing his deep voice despite your differing pitches, “Reminds me of home.”

“Jus’ slips out from time to time,” Joel admits, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” You assure him with a more welcoming smile, “I don’t mind.”

Joel shakes his head in tired amusement, rubbing his fingertips against the worry lines in his forehead before they shift down his face and you can see the exhaustion in his face. He doesn’t look well-rested at all, not even on a vacation meant for that exact reason. You feel guilty now, keeping him up into the late hours of the night for your own entertainment. He looks away again, off toward something that your eyes don’t follow. 

You moved rather silently as you stood, picking up your mess and stowing the bottle away in the fridge returning to bid a goodnight to Joel, who was no longer much of a stranger anymore. But, he’s already asleep—somewhere between the time it took you to clean up and put away the alcohol, he had passed out. 

He’d stayed up for you, noting how soundlessly he slept now. 

You don’t have the heart to wake him up, quickly assess your surroundings and find the thick hand-woven blanket resting over the back of the couch and pick it up, draping it over him carefully. He doesn’t shift an inch, cheek resting against a close fist, the other hand closed just as tight where it rests in his lap, seeming like he was always on guard, even in his sleep. You’ve never been more intrigued by a stranger, even if this was fleeting and foolish, you wanted to understand him. And as much as Joel was trying to fight it, he wanted to understand you too.

Thank you for reading this to the end! If you enjoyed please extend a like or reblog (with a comment if you'd like, i love reading them <3) to support writers, it helps a ton!

[storiesofsvu]

Gorgeous Girl

Aaron Hotchner x reader warnings: teasing, alcohol consumption smut, heavy petting, make outs, nothing too kinky this time lol.

For once, being out of town for work wasn’t because you were chasing down some deranged serial killer in a distant state resulting in far too little sleep, far too much shitty coffee and coming home more exhausted than you left. While this week was technically still work, there was far less of it, a week of conferences, an hour or two of speaking and you could dodge all the rest out at a luxury sky resort in Breckenridge, Colorado. Two agents from the BAU were required to attend and you and Emily had pulled the ‘short’ straws (depending how you looked at it, of course). Some members of the team thought a week like that would be absolute torture, others thought it would just be too boring, or that having to socialize with that many other agents while representing the BAU was a walking nightmare. To you, the only disadvantage was that you weren’t taking the jet, the remainder of the team needed it, you’d be flying commercial.

You and Emily, however, were more than well prepared to have a girl’s week together off in the mountains, escaping into the small town to see what kind of fun you could find. You’d even splurged, using a bit of your own money to get a larger suite, one with a hot tub on the private balcony overlooking the mountains. One that you planned on drinking bottles of wine together in while gossiping and trash talking.

Which is why you were so surprised when you rounded the corner to your gate.

“Hotch?” You froze on the spot, confusion taking over your face at the sight of your Unit Chief standing in front of you. “Where’s Em? God, does Strauss think we need a babysitter or something?”

“No.” He chuckled at your instant annoyance, “Prentiss got specially requested for a case in New York.”

“Who has the power to pull that?”

“Her mother.”

“Ugh.” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. The surprise was wearing off and you suddenly shifted uncomfortably, pulling your blazer tighter around you, feeling Hotch’s eyes on you.

It wasn’t that the man made you feel uncomfortable, no it certainly wasn’t that. It was that he made you feel absolutely flustered. Nights when you laid alone in your empty bed unable to sleep and your hands danced their way down your body, it was him that you were thinking of, pretending they were his fingers touching you, stretching you out. That it wasn’t a silicone toy but his cock filling you so perfectly while he husked dirty words into your ear. As a result, you generally kept your head down around him, did your work and went about your life. He wasn’t totally sure that if it was that you just didn’t like him, if there was some underlying issue you had with men in power, or if it was simply that you were attempting to respect his authority.

“Sorry,” he suddenly spoke, “for ruining whatever plans you and Prentiss had. I know the two of you are close.”

“Mmhmm.” You nodded, staring out the airport window “s’okay.”

“When we get there I’ll see about upgrading, try and get adjoining rooms or something.”

“Already did that.” Your eyes flicked back to him briefly, “got one of the larger two bedroom suites that close off with like, French doors or whatever. We were planning on,” your cheeks flushed suddenly, realizing you were about to admit to your boss that you were going to play hooky, “taking…advantage of as many amenities as we could.”

“Hmm.” He chuckled, watching the way you quickly looked away so you could watch the planes drive around on the tarmac, basically refusing to look at him, “I’m sure that was all Prentiss’ plan.” That earned a huff of a laugh from you but you still didn’t dare look him in the eye, “do you have any idea how many of these things I’ve been to over the years? Guess how many times I’ve ditched out on them.” He smiled softly when your eyes flicked back to him, “places like this always have the best scotch, and the bonus is that it’s free.”

You swore he winked at you, a grin on his face that sent tingles shooting through your body and you were incredibly thankful when they suddenly announced boarding. At the very least, you and Emily had also upgraded to business class, you wouldn’t have to worry about minimal personal space for the flight, there’d be a barrier between you and Hotch. While you were distracted with your phone, he’d managed to disappear and you weren’t entirely sure where to, but you took the opportunity to open your text messages.

‘I cannot believe you.’

‘Oh come on, like I’m happy about this either. A week with my mother?! Who’d they end up sending?’

‘Hotch…’

You didn’t have to imagine Emily’s laughter, you could practically feel it through the phone as the three little dots popped up, disappeared and then popped up again. She, of course, was the only one who knew about your crush on Hotchner, she’d been planning on teasing you about it all week, hoping that maybe you’d find some other brooding FBI agent to get under while out of town.

‘Maybe that’ll work out for you. You can enjoy the view and the hot tub with him, have a nice romantic weekend.’

‘I fucking hate you.’

*

The first two days of the conference were fine, you stayed out of Aaron’s way, went to the presentations you were speaking at and did the required amount of socializing. You found that he was usually gone before you in the mornings, but there was always fresh coffee in the pot waiting for you. He made sure to respect your space as much as he could, if he swung by the suite to change in the afternoon and you were there he wouldn’t linger, and he’d make sure to change in the bathroom.

Day three was a little more on the tedious side, sitting through a lecture you would have rather slept through, one that was meant more for younger agents but they’d asked someone from the BAU to sit in and help with the question period. You ran into Hotch at lunch and he inquired about your plans for the rest of the day now that the mandatory attendance parts were done, asking if maybe you wanted to explore the mountain town, maybe grab some dinner outside of the resort. You laughed awkwardly, praying your cheeks weren’t as hot as they felt and politely declined, he shrugged, teasing that you would be missing out, but to enjoy your night in. You were incredibly glad he wandered off after that, the butterflies in your stomach nearly too much to handle as you got accustomed to the more casual version of your boss.

Dinner was spent with an old friend from the academy, laughing as you caught up over multiple courses and a bottle of wine. You said an early goodnight to them, making your way back to your suite, happy to find it empty and your eyes drifted through the balcony window, lingering on the hot tub. Figuring there was no better time but the present you quickly stripped, changing into your bikini before swiping a bottle of wine from the fridge and a spare wine glass.

*

Aaron also ended up running into a couple of old friends while out in the town, friends who had worked this conference in the past and knew exactly where to go for the best meals and fanciest scotch. Free from the responsibility of running a team he had stated to loosen up on this work vacation, a little rougher around the edges, inhibitions lowered and that all remained when he returned to the hotel room. Toeing out of his shoes he hung up his coat before starting to unbutton his shirt as he moved through the room, wondering what was stashed in the bar that he could indulge into now, potentially coerce you into a drink with him at the very least.

He could hear music echoing from the balcony and his gaze got pulled out there where he caught sight of the steam rising from the hot tub into the cool night air. His eyes lingered on you, nestled in the corner of the tub you were fully settled into the padded seat, arms extended across the backs of it, your head titled back with your eyes closed as you relaxed, hair pulled up to the top of your head to keep it dry. He could see the shimmer of water and sweat on your skin and he instantly wanted to lick up the exposed column of your neck. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as his eyes sunk lower, not missing the curve of your chest just visible above the water, hot pink fabric clinging to your skin. You were at a complete level of peace that he’d never seen before and he couldn’t help but want to see more of it, want to explore how far he could push your boundaries and began to wonder just how professional he had to remain on this retreat.

Though of course, that had technically been his idea from the start.

As soon as Ambassador Prentiss called, Emily was groaning about how much of a waste it was that she was missing the conference. It only took a raised brow from him to get her to admit the plan was to ditch as much as the two of you could, that you’d splurged for the all inclusive package and a very private balcony and jacuzzi. He wasn’t assigned to take her place, and he didn’t jump at the offer to make it not so obvious, but no one else knew about the extra perks so he simply looked like he was taking one for the team.

Figuring it was now or never he retreated to his side of the suite, changing into his trunks before swiping a bottle of scotch and a glass.

You were more relaxed than you had been in ages, warm water bubbling around your body as the wine sunk into your system. The music soothed through you, pulling you further from reality and honestly, it was pretty nice to not be chasing after some psychopath right now, even if you were still kinda surrounded by talks of crime. You were almost considering calling Emily, checking in on how things were going with the team, updating her on how things were going here, no doubt she’d have mountains of questions and teasing about you sharing a suite with Hotch.

And that was exactly how and why you didn’t hear him come out onto the terrace.

“Think you can warm me up?”

His deep voice shook through the night air and you jumped, water splashing around you as your heart nearly burst through your chest while your eyes flew open.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You swore, chest heaving as you finally took him in, trying not to gulp at his bare chest, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Sorry.” He chuckled, ducking his gaze for a moment, watching the way you sunk further under the water to avoid his lingering eyes, “you mind if I join? Or I can come back later.” He lifted the bottle of liquor in his hand, “just thought maybe we could have a drink.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” You shook your head, “that’s fine, come on in.” You shifted further into the corner of the tub, turning your back while Hotch got into the water, wiping your hands on the towel to check your phone, unsurprised to have a couple of messages from Em. Once the water settled, you refilled your wine glass, turning back to face him as you sunk into the seat again.

“This is nice.” He murmured softly, letting out a relaxed sigh before pouring out a drink, “you and Prentiss really have a hack for these conferences.”

“Mmmhmm.” You replied over the brim of your glass, taking a hefty swig.

“You get up to anything fun tonight?”

“Ran into a friend. Had dinner at the steakhouse downstairs.”

Hotch frowned lightly, he didn’t miss the way you’d tensed up a little bit once you’d realized he was there, once he was in such close proximity and under the water with you. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come back later? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“No!” You practically yelped, grimacing at how quick you were to keep him there, “I’m fine. Totally fine, promise. I just… you’re… my boss.” Your gaze was redirected into your wine glass, “never really seen you in anything other than a suit and now…” You blindly gestured in his direction and then to yourself with a little laugh, “and I don’t think a pink bikini is exactly business casual and it’s not exactly my classiest one… thought Em would be the only one seeing it.” You muttered and then let out a little gasp, suddenly glancing up, “not that I brought it so she could see it! We’re not… that’s… no… we’re friends, I don’t swing that way.”

This time Aaron laughed, taking a sip of his drink, “it’s fine. You need to relax, alright?” He raised his drink out to you and you timidly clinked your glass with his. “Enjoy this while you can.” He gestured to the view, the night sky painting the mountains in gorgeous colours, “besides,” he smirked across at you, “I’ve seen you undercover and a few of those outfits leave very little to the imagination.”

You glanced up to him, noticing the flush in his cheeks, the smirk on his lips before he took another swig of his drink. There was a gleam in his eye that you hadn’t seen before that you didn’t exactly recognize and if you’d known any better, you would’ve said he was flirting with you.

“Are… are you drunk?” You suddenly asked, nearly regretting it the moment you’d said it and he laughed again, a sight and sound that made your insides weak.

“I think I legally shouldn’t drive anywhere, but I’m still completely in control of myself.” He nodded toward the half empty bottle on your side of the jacuzzi, “are you alright?”

“I’m so sorry sir.” You blushed, ducking your eyes again, “that was inappropriate. And yeah, I’m totally fine, big lunch, big dinner, high tolerance.”

“Don’t worry about it.” His smile softened, “and you can drop the sir, we don’t need to keep up that professionalism right now.”

“Oh..” You sank deeper under the water, taking another sip of your drink. Part of you wanted to disappear while the other part of you wanted to complain you were overheating, pull yourself up onto the ledge of the tub and flaunt your half naked body. The desire to throw yourself at him was only a few glasses of wine away and you knew it. Instead, the two of you sunk into a semi comfortable silence as you continued to drink, watching the night sky.

“You know, your talk the other day was fantastic.” He spoke softly, his voice floating across the water to you, “better than any other profilers have done on the topic.”

“Thank you.” You mumbled quietly, risking a very quick glance up at him before you were staring at the horizon again. Hotch let another few moments of silence pass before he spoke up again, the corner of his mouth curving up when he asked you,

“Why so shy?”

That caught your attention, your eyes flying up to his as you clutched at your wine glass, “what?” He laughed, shaking his head at you.

“I’m just saying, you’ve been so reserved, aware, quiet on this trip. You almost seem to make yourself smaller whenever I’m around and I’m not sure if it’s because you only think of me as your boss or if I’ve done something to make you at unease.”

“Christ.” You muttered, “I thought we weren’t profiling this week.”

“Have… I done something?” He asked, near worry taking over his face and you were quick to drain your drink before jumping to action.

“No, absolutely not! Hotch, please, you’re like, the most respectful guy I know. You make me feel… well, a lot of things, but uncomfortable is not one of them.” The words slipped from your lips before you could even think about them and you glanced up, your cheeks burning to catch his eyes widening slightly before he grinned, his hand catching yours, grounding you from whatever spiral you were about to drown in.

“So tell me.” He murmured, his voice silky soft as it hit your ears, his thumb brushing over your knuckles and he gently tugged at your hand after your glass found home on the edge of the tub, “come here gorgeous.”

The pet name nearly made you melt the instant it had left his lips and you felt the fluttering between your legs as you willingly moved through the water when he softly pulled you to him once more. Your breath caught in your throat when he guided you to straddle his lap, one of his hands hesitantly resting on your hip under the water while the other continued to play with your fingers gently.

“Well?” He asked, glancing up at you with a devilish look in his eyes and you let out a low breath, “what do I make you feel?”

“Flustered.” You managed out, your heart ready to beat itself out of your chest, feeling his thumb rub against your bare skin under the water, encouraging more responses from you, “unfocused, distracted…”

“Hmm…” he leant in, pressing a tender kiss to the underside of your jaw, “is that all?”

“Christ, Hotch.” You muttered, your eyes nearly fluttering shut as his hand let go of yours, moving so his thumb and forefinger could pinch your chin softly.

“Aaron…” He insisted, his eyes boring into yours as you opened them and you nodded softly, nearly whimpering at the way his thumb shifted to trace your lower lip. “What else?”

“Absolutely and incredibly fucking turned on.”

“Is that so?” He murmured, tilting your head to the side so he could kiss your neck, his lips brushing across your skin as he spoke, “is that last part just right now?”

“All week.” You replied, your pulse racing as he continued to litter your skin with tender kisses “all the goddamn time…”

“You think about me a lot hmm?” He nipped at your neck and you gasped, your body jolting towards him under the water, “what do you think about me doing?” He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, pressing a kiss just below your ear, “hmm?”

“Aaron…” you breathed out, your head tilted back with your eyes shut as his lips continued to dance across your skin. His hand gently pinched at your hip under the water.

“Don’t go shy on me now, tell me.. what do you think about me doing?”

“K- kissing me.” You managed out, unsure whether the heat in your cheeks was from the water, the way you were already putty in his hands or embarrassment of admitting it to his face. A gasp broke free of your lips at the sensation of his hand tracing up and down your spine and you automatically arched toward him, “touching me…” The hand he had under the water toyed with the knot of your bikini on your back, his dry one moving back to your chin, tilting your face back to his.

“I want you to look at me when you say the next one.” His thumb traced your lips, “come on gorgeous girl, I know there’s more you like to think of me doing, what is it?”

“Fucking me…” Somehow you were able to hold his gaze while the words floated out of your mouth, it was likely because your brain was already in a haze, first the wine, then the heat and now utterly intoxicated by Hotch’s touch.

“Bet you think about that one the most, don’t you?” He asked with a grin and you couldn’t help but nod, “when you’re alone at night, touching yourself, pretending it’s me. Picturing me naked, my cock stretching you out until your legs are shaking and you’re seeing stars.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Oh no,” he chuckled darkly, “I’ll have you screaming my name by the end of the night sweetheart, just wait.”

You let out a whimper, it was all you had time to do before Aaron sat forward, capturing your lips in a heated kiss that swallowed down any further noise coming from you. The kiss was full of fire, Aaron quickly dominating it and you were completely happy to let it happen, sinking deeper into his arms as yours looped around his shoulders. His dry hand slid up the back of your neck, fingers sinking into your hair while the other hand ventured further south, groping at the globe of your ass. You let out a small moan into the kiss, giving his tongue access to your mouth and he eagerly dove in. You could taste the scotch on him as your tongue danced with his, the smallest hint of a cigar from earlier and you couldn’t help but groan, your hands starting to play with his hair.

He pulled back ever so softly, nipping at your lip quickly before his mouth trailed across the side of your jaw, he left a feather light kiss behind your ear that caused you to let out an airy breath, your head lolling back and he felt himself twitch, hardening in his trunks. His mouth pressed lazy kisses down your neck before he made home in the crook of your neck, alternating between kissing, sucking and biting.

“Oh Aaron…” You shifted in his lap, lightly grinding against his cock and he let out a low groan onto your skin, his hands clutching you impossibly close to him. He raised his face, eyes dark with arousal as he gazed across at you before his lips found yours again and you were moaning into the kiss, grinding harder down onto his lap, a small gasp leaving your lips when you felt him getting harder underneath you.

Aaron couldn’t get enough of you, he wanted more, he wanted all of you, he wanted his hands and mouth everywhere all at once, he was drunk on your kisses alone and craved every inch of you. The lingering of your perfume was wafting through his senses, the way your lips moved against his made his cock utterly ache as you brushed against it. As much as he wanted to bend you over right then and there he would be completely satisfied just kissing you all night, the internal battle doing its best to figure out what he wanted to act on while your fingertips scratched as his head. You only broke the kiss when you felt like you couldn’t breath anymore, gasping for air, your eyes half shut, forehead resting against his while his hands soothed up and down your sides.

“God…”

“Still not the right name.” He teased, pulling a small laugh from you, one that you opened your eyes at, sitting back every so slightly before pressing a quick kiss to his lips. His hands trailed up your arms, coming to rest at the base of your neck, gently tugging at your bikini strings. “May I?”

“Mmhm.” You nodded with a wicked grin while your own hands splashed behind you to undo that knot and Hotch let the fabric fall from your skin, not even noticing it float away in the water as you sat up. His eyes raking down your body and over your chest, letting out a groan at the slight bounce as you settled, the way the water dripped down your tits, nipples hard in the cool air.

“Gorgeous girl.” He murmured, his hands gently groping your chest, squeezing your tits, thumbs flicking over your nipples and you moaned softly. “Such pretty sounds too.” You giggled softly, feeling the heat creeping back into your cheeks as his full attention was on your half naked body. His hands continued to play with your chest, rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger while yours came up to cup his face, ducking to kiss him again, unable to get enough.

Moaning softly into the kiss, his hands squeezing at your chest, you ground down onto his lap harder, feeling the bulge building between his legs. Your tongue dove into his mouth, doing what you could to keep control of yourself as he increased the pressure on your chest, pinching your nipples. After a few moments he broke the kiss, eager to duck down and suck a nipple in between his lips, teeth scraping against the pert bud. Your hands wrapped around his head, threading into his hair as you held him tighter to you,

“Fuck Aaron…” You groaned and you felt his lips curve up into a grin against your skin.

“That’s it sweetheart.” He murmured, blowing cold air onto your nipple before swapping to the other side, “say my name.”

“God Aaron,” your fingers tightened in his hair, nails scratching at his head, “that feels so good.”

He groaned in response, teeth scraping against your tender skin before he pulled off your chest, burying his face between them to leave a trail of kisses all the way up your neck before kissing you deeply again. When he finally pulled away this time his hands wrapped around your waist, lifting you while he stood,

“Up.” He instructed, “out.”

“Why?” You half laughed, finding your balance on your feet in the water as his arm wrapped around your waist.

“Well I can’t fuck you in the hot tub gorgeous.” He husked against your lips before picking you up in his arms, guiding you to wrap your legs around his waist and he was finally able to get you out of the tub.

Lips pressed against yours, tongue sliding back into your mouth he carried you back into the suite, managing to snag a towel from the back of the chair to toss down onto the bed before he let go of your legs. You let out a whine at the loss of contact, staying up on your toes to not break the kiss and he chuckled into your lips, hands groping at your ass. His hand cradled your face, pulling an inch away from you,

“Lie back gorgeous.” He muttered, stealing another kiss before nudging you back towards the bed, “I want to know how pretty you sound when you come.”

You collapsed down onto the bed and Hotch was quick to gently drop over you, catching himself with his hands as he caged you into the bed, his lips kissing at your skin again. Your arms wound around him, pulling him closer to you as your lips found his, tongue easily sliding into your mouth when he deepened the kiss. You moaned softly against his lips, back arching off the bed as your hips rocked up, eager for more friction. He let out a low groan at the feeling of you brushing against his cock through thin fabric, feeling himself throb inside his shorts. His free hand slid down your body, swiftly untying one knot of your bikini bottoms and then the other, pulling them away from your body while you lifted your hips to help before he was tossing them behind him.

Aaron cupped between your legs, palm rubbing on your clit while his fingers massaged your wetness, pressing against you, teasing you slightly as you whined into the kiss. A finger slid through your folds, spreading your juices around your cunt, dampening his fingers before he brought them up to your clit, rubbing slow circles on it.

“Aaron… please..” You whined, hips rocking up to his touch as you clutched him tighter to you.

He chuckled softly, finger dipping back down before it sunk into your pussy, pumping a few times before he added a second one. “Already so wet for me.” He husked into your ear, crooking his fingers in search of the sensitive spot inside you as he continued to pump his hand between your legs.

“Fuck…” you moaned, your body sinking into the lush bed as sparks began to fly under your skin, pleasure fluttering through you while his lips returned to yours, swallowing down your noises. His fingers twisted and scissored inside you, stretching out your warm walls while they skillfully fucked you. He curled them again and you broke the kiss with a gasp, body shivering against the bed as your eyes scrunched shut. You could feel your pussy pulsing around his fingers and you were sure your juices were dripping down his wrist already at this point. His nose nudged at your chin, giving him access to your neck again, nipping and sucking the sensitive skin while his fingers continued to toy with you. “Please…” you panted, “please fuck me already.”

Aaron’s breath was hot on your neck as he huffed out a laugh, pressing a kiss to your lips before he pulled away, sitting up on his knees between your legs, watching his fingers disappear into you for a few more thrusts before pulling them out of your cunt and sucking them into his mouth. He let out a groan at the taste of your juices, his cock aching at the thought of truly tasting you, wishing that he had more time but you were already whining again and he didn’t want to tease you anymore than he already had. Shifting, he quickly tugged his shorts off and his cock sprung free, hard and throbbing, he wrapped a hand around it, smearing the pre cum as he pumped himself a few times, his eyes falling shut while he let out a heavy sigh before a realization washed over him.

“Fuck.”

“What?” You asked, your eyes flying open, widening slightly at the sight in front of you now that he was completely naked.

“I don’t have any condoms.”

“I’m clean.” Was your immediate response, not wanting to delay things any longer, “and I’ve got an implant.”

“Are you sure?” He asked softly and you nodded eagerly.

“Please Aaron..” you whimpered, “I need you…”

He leant forward, hand guiding his cock, rubbing it through your lower lips, smearing your juices around it as you let out a small gasp before he sunk fully into you and you both let out a satisfied moan.

“God you’re tight.” He muttered, dropping over you again, burying his face into the crook of your neck as your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him impossibly deep inside you. “Fuck…” He stayed still for a moment, feeling you fluttering around him, he knew if he tried to move he risked coming incredibly early, he was already throbbing.

“Fuck you feel so good.” You murmured, arms squeezing at him gently, moaning when he nipped at your skin and that was enough to get him going.

He set a steady pace, plunging into you with a roll of the hips, cock dragging over every inch of your walls, hitting the right spots with each thrust. You clung onto him, your hips rocking up off the bed to meet his with every push, your moans getting louder as he fucked you, pleasure soaring through your body.

“Fuck…” you whined, “harder Aaron, please.”

He pushed himself up, sitting back on his haunches while he grabbed one of your legs, resting it on his shoulder groaning when he slipped even deeper into your pussy. You gasped softly, your hands clutching at the bedspread while his hips came crashing into yours, the noises leaving your lips more frequent, your eyes scrunching shut.

“Christ,” he swore at the way you pulsed around him, squeezing him tight, the coil building deep inside his gut as he watched himself disappear into your cunt. His hands grabbed your hips, lifting them off the bed as he continued to snap his hips into you and you cried out at the new angle, your pussy clenching down around him. “Gon’ need you to come sweetheart.” He grunted, “m’not gonna last.”

“Don’t stop.” You groaned, fire prickling under your skin as your body shivered, “oh fuck!”

Aaron reached down with one hand, pads of his fingers rubbing furiously at your clit and your body shook, hips jolting as he continued to pound into you. You felt the pleasure burst, pussy clenching around his thick cock, juices dribbling across your skin as you cried out.

“Oh god Aaron!” Your hips jumped in his hands, body shaking, thighs clenching around him as your peak hit, a chorus of his name and breathy swears escaping your lips, floating around the room just enough to drive him absolutely wild. “Fuck… yes! Oh fuck Aaron.”

He didn’t let up, thrusting faster, the pressure on your clit harder as he leant forward, driving into you harder as he started to chase his own peak. He grunted, hips nearly faltering as your pussy continued to flutter around him, his arm winding tightly around your waist, holding you to him.

“C’mon gorgeous. You’ve got one more in you. Come again for me.”

You let out a whine, your hands gripping at his body, nails digging into his skin and you swore you practically blacked out when your second orgasm hit, letting out a cry as you tensed in his arms, twitching as you whimpered. Aaron groaned, fucking into you a few more times as his hips faltered and he sunk into your cunt with one last heavy thrust, hissing as he came, spilling into your pussy.

Panting, he gently collapsed over you, arms winding tighter around you in an effort to solidify this moment into his memory, not wanting to forget the way you looked, the way you felt wrapped around his cock, the noises you made when you came, how your lips felt on his skin, the sweetness of your taste. Under him you were slowly catching your breath, a happy hum leaving your lips when he placed a kiss onto your shoulder. One of your hands gently ran up and down his back and you felt him relax deeper into you, letting out a soft moan. Finally he pulled his head up enough to kiss you, lips moving lazily together until he gently rolled off you onto his side, letting out a quiet hiss as his cock slipped out of your warmth. You rolled toward him, happily accepting the arm he swung over waist as he pulled you toward him again, ducking down to nip at the tender spot forming on your neck before kissing you softly.

“Well that’s one way to enjoy a conference.” You murmured, your lips curving up into a grin and he huffed out a laugh, eyes sparkling down at yours.

“Fuck the conference. Let me give you a reason to stay in bed.”

“Is that an order Agent Hotchner?” You asked with raised brow and he smirked.

“A direct one.” He kissed you again, lips brushing yours as he spoke, “no way either of us is leaving this suite ‘til Friday. That’s why room service was invented.”

“I don’t think that’s right, but I’m not going to argue.”

“Oh but you love to prove you’re right.” He teased, smiling as you rolled him onto his back.

“Yeah, but I can think of a few better uses for my mouth right now.”

*

Aaron’s suggestion was exactly the way you spent the next two days, tangled in each other’s limbs, sheets barely covering bodies while you discovered every inch of the other persons skin. By Friday afternoon you knew just exactly how to touch each other so that you would see stars every single time. Aaron was about to suggest staying the weekend for a few more days of bliss when his phone went off and you were both called back to work. The team was already on the jet, meaning you were flying commercia to California to meet them there.

You were immediately roped into a coffee run with Emily, even if it was only to the breakroom and back, she had to get her complaints out about the days with her mother and honestly, wanted to know how things went being trapped in a hotel with Hotch all week. Scooping up your coffee you snagged a granola bar from the shelf, wandering back down the hall to the team as you caught up, you shoved the bar into your pocket so you could pull open the door and your hand hit something metal, your brow furrowing as you stalled in your tracks. In turn, Emily pulled open the door, propping it so Hotch could step through, no doubt on his way to secure his own caffeine, nodding to the both of you as he said a quick thanks.

“Aaron!” You called after him, having now pulled the item out of your pocket, realizing it was his watch and he turned back to you just in time to catch it as you tossed it to him. His head titled in confusion, glancing up at you as he slid it back onto his wrist, “you left it in the bin when we went through security, I forgot I grabbed it.”

“Thanks.” A flash of a smile crept onto his lips before he turned away, making his way down the hall.

“Oh… my god.” Emily quietly gasped, smacking your arm, “you hooked up and you weren’t planning on fucking telling me?!”

“What?” Your eyes shot to her, quickly stepping through the door to make sure Hotch wouldn’t hear you, “no. Em, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Please. When have you ever called him Aaron before? And I did not miss that hickey on his neck.”

Your eyes widened quickly, remembering how you’d made home in the crook of his neck while riding him, his arms wound around you, squeezing you softly as his cock plunged into your cunt. It was the same round he’d lavished your chest, his mouth barely leaving them, under your shirt you had your own set of hickeys and bite marks littered across your body. The memories were enough to bring a tingling down south, desire beginning to flood through you as heat crept into your cheeks. That of course was enough for Emily to confirm that her suspicions were right, trying not to gape as she attempted to form a coherent response. Before she could though, Hotch came back through the door, already hanging up a call from Garcia.

“Prentiss, take JJ and head down to talk to the family, Agent,” he turned to you, “grab your coat we’re going to the crime scene.”

“Yes sir.” You nodded, your cheeks flushing at the use of the title already and a possessive look shot through his eyes lightning fast, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a very brief smirk that Emily caught and did her best to hold back a laugh. He was back across the room in an instant, handing out tasks to the rest of the team and Emily pinched at your arm.

“Well, get ready for round two in the car.” She teased and you turned to her with a smug grin.

“More like round eleven.”

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@alexusonfire @svushots @geekyandgay98 @onmykneesformarvel @emobabeyy @daddy-heather-dunbar @mrs-ssa-hotch @hotchandspencearedilfs @mina2000alex @telepathay @darlingsfandom @ssamorganhotchner @hotchsdoormat @hopedoesntknow @thehauntingofbasingse @plaidbooks @niyizh @ababanana @tommyriddleobsessed @supercriminalbean @hotchs-bitch @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @emlynblack @ivyflowers13 @ratsnestinmyhair @silversprings-mp3 @originalbrunettecharacter @elz-artzzz @ssaaaronhotchnerr @itsrainingreid @speedynana @tgskitten @madamsnape921

[seat-safety-switch]

Have you been told to get your ducks in a row? Waterfowl linearity is actually impossible: the counterfactual was proven back in the 60s by completely sober mathematicians. Because of the native imprecision of our universe, and the variance within animals, each duck is gonna be one or two microns away from perfect alignment even before you take into account the inherent jiggling motion of their constituent atoms. Of course, the media isn't going to tell you this. They just want to sell ads, promising the impossible dream of dorsine parallelism.

When I was a kid, my dad and I used to go to the park on weekends and evenings. Usually, this was when my mom was sick of watching me disassemble every mechanical object within thirty miles and stuff the entrails into any available copse "for later." Together, as you do when the austerity-choked public park system is devoid of nearly every other amenity, we'd look at the duck pond. Because I live in Canada, ducks were sometimes hard to find. In the winter, which is often, the drakes and hens fuck off to a warmer clime in order to enjoy their hedonistic lifestyles without discomfort, leaving behind a frozen pond and occasionally one or two confused geese. I could have left, too, I tell myself, but I'm toughing it out.

Back to ducks, and my father: like any good dad, he would tell me dozens of useless facts about the world that never sank in until it was tragically too late for me to realize they were useful at exactly one point in my life. Again, me not listening is not my fault. I was simply too captivated with studying the industrial plated finish of the Robertson wood screws keeping the observation deck's duck dock in ship shape.

One of the things that my dad taught me about ducks, I did actually remember. That factoid is that, if they attack you – and they will – grab the neck. It's what ducks do to each other when they have a squabble, and it's the easiest way to move them away, to a relatively defensible arm's length, from your delicate parts before they can bite you. When they lose interest in combat, you throw them as far away from you as possible and run like hell in the opposite direction. Once, I got to see his technique in action, after a neighbour's errant coonhound managed to spook a bunch of the tenants of the ol' pond.

I sure wish he had told me he was going to do that first. That's what they called "active parenting" back then, as the glorious new age of child-rearing theory provided all kinds of excuses for abandoning your tender son and his precocious/obsessive interest in machined fasteners to a harem of vicious anatidaes.

[silverskye13]

I vaguely remember something about Helsknight going to confessions? I’m interested as to why and what he confesses to :3

Hi, this has been in my inbox for a hot minute, but it got me thinking, and I kept thinking so. Have a snippet.

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Please read the tags for the TW list!

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The Confession room for the followers of the Saint of Blood and Steel was exactly the same room they trained and dueled in. The only difference was, at a certain time of day, on two specific days of the week, there was a little white sign on the doors that said "Confession Open." There was almost always a line. Only one person was allowed in the confessional at a time. There was no law or order or rule that dictated everyone wait in silence, but there was something particularly embarrassing humbling about standing in a line of armed and armored knights, all waiting patiently for god to slap them on the wrist.

The door opened. A knight exited with her head held high, though Helsknight noticed she clutched her arm a little too close to her body. She walked past the line down the hall, to the little room on the left where the pleasant and somewhat dissonant smell of baked goods warmed the air. The line shuffled forward a step.

The wait was long, and awkward, occasionally broken by stilted small talk, and the lethal sounds of mail and blade, and the scuffing of boots. Helsknight had gotten into the habit of bringing something to read while he waited. It gave him a good excuse not to make prolonged eye-contact with anyone, and he had grown bored of making shapes out of the mosaic tiles ages ago. He could only look at the same repeating pattern so many times before he realized they all looked vaguely like a dog lifting a leg to pee, and thinking about bodily functions while waiting in a long line was a great way to convince himself to leave the line. Then the chances of him getting home in a timely manner after his confession [or really going to confession at all] dropped exponentially.

The door opened. A young knight limped two steps down the hall before a priest, waiting at a nearby bench for expressly this purpose, dashed over and put the knight's arm around his shoulders. The knight muttered a wincing thanks, and together they limped down the hall to that same, sweet-smelling room. As soon as they turned the corner out of the main hall, the knight let out a loud curse, and there was the heavy sound of someone collapsing into a convenient chair. The line shuffled forward a step.

A twitchy squire standing in line in front of Helsknight stared at the door wide-eyed, and then forward to the confessional sign, which they regarded with the same blatant fear as someone confronting their own noose. Helsknight looked down at the little book he was holding, sighed, and decided to show a little mercy. He was at confession, after all.

"The Saint isn't cruel," Helsknight told them softly, and just the sound of his voice startled them nearly out of their boots. "Whatever your penance is, it will never be beyond your means."

The squire flashed him what was probably supposed to be a nervous smile, but which looked a lot more like a grimace. "What if I've fucked up really badly?"

Someone in the line coughed inconspicuously. Someone else cleared their throat. Helsknight fixed the young squire with a measuring gaze, and came to the conclusion this nervy kid had probably never "fucked up really badly" a day in their life. Though he supposed he'd been wrong before.

"You could start your penance early," Helsknight said, reigning in his sarcasm as much as physically possible, "by maybe not swearing in church."

The inconspicuous cougher down the line let out a much more conspicuous snort. The squire clapped their hands over their mouth and stared up at him in horror. Helsknight sighed and pinched the space between his eyes.

"Swearing isn't against our tenets."

The hallway murmured into a soft chorus of "Amens" and "Praise the gods" and one particularly ambitious "thank fuck." A few of the knights signed various salutes and benedictions to the Saint. The squire visibly relaxed.

"It's respectful not to," Helsknight continued after the murmured din died down. "Show the Saint your contrition by respecting Their home. Is your sword sharp?"

The squire seemed a bit taken aback by this sudden change in conversation topic. They unsheathed their sword a bit, showing a dull iron blade. "Uhm... it could stand to be sharper."

"You bring your kit with you?"

The squire sighed and rolled their eyes, more from disappointment at a new chore than any real defiance. They unsheathed their sword, dropped a large messenger bag off their shoulder, and started rifling through their things. The air was soon filled with the sound of whetstone on blade. Someone behind Helsknight tapped him on the shoulder. She pointed to the squire, then to Helsknight, and offered an approving thumbs-up. Good job on distracting the scared kid. Helsknight shrugged and held out his book, flashing the title in her direction. Everyone needs a distraction in this stupid line. She rolled her eyes, tell me about it, and moved her cloak to the side, showing off a little satchel with what looked to be art supplies. Helsknight smirked.

The door opened. A knight came striding out, running a stressed hand through his hair. He started to walk past the little door at the end of the hall, but a priest came dashing out to stop him before he could make it too far. They whispered amongst each other for a moment, heads bowed close together to keep their conversation private. The priest looped a consoling arm around the knight's shoulder, and together they walked slowly into the little room. The line shuffled forward a step.

No one ever stayed inside the confessional for long. Fifteen minutes, twenty. Once or twice someone dipped closer to a half hour. Then the door would open, and the line would shuffle. Helsknight had made it through about a chapter and a half of his book [an epic poem about the deeds of one of the Saint's paladins. He brought it to keep himself in a "contrite mood", whatever the hels that was] when finally it was the squire's turn to step inside. They bundled up their gear, offered Helsknight their bravest grimace-that-was-probably-a-smile, and walked inside.

The knight behind him asked politely, "Is that your squire?"

"No."

"Ah. Just being nice then?"

Helsknight offered an indifferent shrug. "It's everyone's first confession once."

She turned this somewhat nonsensical statement over for a moment, shrugged her agreement, and went back to sketching.

Time passed. The squire exited the doors with a relieved look on their face, though they clutched their right hand beneath their arm as though afraid to look at it. Helsknight sighed, closed his book, and stepped inside. The door closed behind him with a heavy click.

The room wasn't so much dark as it was simply not as bright as the hallway outside. Beside the door was a small table, and Helsknight turned and made use of it, setting down his book, then unbuttoning his tabard. He knew whoever was taking his confession today would be nearby, ready to help him doff any armor, but he wore mail today specifically so he could slip it on and off, without having to worry about all the buckles and clips that came with chest plates and grieves. When he'd relieved himself of everything he wore or carried, besides his leggings and his unsheathed sword, he walked towards the center of the fighting ring.

A knight in full plate stood in the ring's center, a great sword planted tip-down into the dirt between their feet. The sword was simple steel, as was the armor. No enchantment or ornamentation decorated the surface. There was no plume on the closed helm. They were the image of the Saint, an unremarkable warrior, all silent strength.

Helsknight knelt at their feet, laying his sword gently between them. He sighed out a long breath.

"I come to the Saint to be shriven," Helsknight said as deferentially as he could, in the face of an often repeated task. "By Their steel, and by my blood."

The confessor nodded. "Speak your confession, brother."

Helsknight winced, and barely stifled a groan. "It's always you, isn't it, Blade?"

The confessor let out a heavy sigh. "Come on man, this is supposed to be anonymous."

"Not my fault you talk like that."

"Heh? Talk like what?"

"Exactly."

The two fell into awkward silence, Helsknight probably much more awkward than Blade. He took a bracing breath.

"I... Come to confess the sin of Wrath."

There was a long pause.

"Again."

"This is normally where I ask what you did, and why," Blade said witheringly, "but it was plastered all over the broadsheets this morning."

Helsknight pinched the space between his eyes.

"If it makes you feel any better, I gotta agree with the West Side Tabloid. He had it coming." Blade said, leaning a little too nonchalantly on his greatsword. "You don't just call someone a coward like that. It's violence theater. If you bring real honor into it, you're begging for trouble."

"I... Agree."

"So, you lashed out in anger and got blood all over the nice Colosseum sand." Blade continued. "You lost your temper, but you were defending your honor. And I wouldn't even call it all that cruel. It's not like you tortured him or anything."

"Am I being pardoned?"

"Depends," Blade said, in a casual tone that suddenly didn't seem wholly his own. "Where else have you vented your Wrath, brother?"

Helsknight licked his teeth, as though he expected them to taste like blood. "I... attacked a thief today. He stole from me, and I was in my right to defend that."

"But you harmed him past self defense," Blade prompted, when the silence stretched long.

"If he hadn't escaped me, I would have." Helsknight paused, and added. "I had wanted to."

"Wanting isn't the same as doing," Blade offered charitably.

"I would not have stopped myself."

"Has Wrath consumed your life in any other ways, brother?"

"My hermit."

Blade nodded solemnly.

"We fought recently. I won. It was unprovoked. I was having a bad morning, and I needed -- I wanted to take it out on him. So I did."

"Have you asked forgiveness from the people you've harmed, in your sin of Wrath, brother?"

"No."

"Have you attempted any restitution?"

"No."

Very suddenly, the greatsword in Blade's hand was sheathed in red. It was light, bright and scouring, and it filled the air with the taste of blood. Even knowing it would happen, Helsknight flinched at the sight of it. His hair stood on end, and the air seemed charged, like the breath before a lightning strike. The Saint, alive and present, glimpsed for a moment through Blade. The confessor-turned-paladin tilted his head back slightly, and Helsknight knew if his face weren't covered in the helm, his eyes would be red, brimming with bloody tears.

In a voice that was Blade's, and something past him, empowered by faith, brutal and scouring, the Saint said, "Stand, and pick up your sword."

Helsknight did as he was bidden. His heart fluttered a little too fast in his chest, and while his hands did not shake, they felt near to it, unsteady. Helsknight was one of the best fighters to have ever crossed the Saint of Blood and Steel's threshold. If he were simply fighting Blade, there was a decent chance he'd win, though Blade had been his match many times before.

He was not only fighting Blade, though.

"As a knight of the Saint's order," Blade and the glimpse of the Saint beneath said, "you swore to uphold Their tenets, even in the face of great adversity. By raising your sword, not in Their wrath, but your own, you break that tenet."

Blade let out a breath, like someone barely keeping their head above water. Helsknight wondered if that was what being a paladin in the service of a Saint felt like: held under water, drowning under divine will.

"Yet Their order teaches that even the Saint is fallible, and once, Their will was driven, not by divine purpose, but by reckless bloodshed. As They were once challenged, now They challenge you. Do you accept?"

Helsknight didn't have to accept. This part had been emphasized a lot when he joined and took his first confession. Anyone was allowed to deny the Saint's trial and simply accept their penance. The penance wouldn't change. There was no incentive for, or against, besides maybe his own personal need to prove he really was in the wrong. Maybe it was pride made him accept every time. Maybe it was spite. Or, maybe, it was simply the need to punish himself for the lack of control he felt.

Solemnly, Helsknight nodded.

"Then Pick Up Your Sword, and Smite Me."

That was all the warning Helsknight was given. Blade, or the Saint, or the Saint's Will, or all three together, lunged.

It did not take long. By the third swing, Helsknight's blade was sent crashing from his hand, though he met the Saint's blade with all the strength and mastery he could muster. Losing to the Saint was an indescribable thing. It wasn't like losing a match in the Colosseum, or like losing a duel against Blade when they sparred. It was like an ant scratching at the heels of a giant, a kitten swatted aside by the massive claws of a dragon. If he swung his sword at a wall, at least there was the smallest chance the stone would chip. There was no chance in this. There was only the token effort of the attempt, one clash, then two, then three, and then his sword was gone from his hand. Blade slammed a palm into his chest, and Helsknight was on his back, gasping for breath, having crumpled so quickly he hardly had time to register he was watching the ceiling.

"By the divine right of contest, brother, Their will is done," Blade, The Saint, both and neither, said. Helsknight laid on his back and waited, catching his breath. "Hold out your sword hand."

A jolt of fear lanced through Helsknight then. He hated, he feared, hand wounds. It was an odd folly of his that he'd never been able to shake. Blade knew it. The Saint probably knew it. It felt unfair to punish him with it, or cruel.

Helsknight closed his eyes, and he stared down the scared little squire in his head.

[The Saint isn't cruel. Whatever your penance is, it won't be beyond your means.]

And then, for good measure, as he offered his right hand forward, [you deserve this.]

The cut was quick and clean. The blade was supernaturally sharp. The wound took time to hurt. Still, Helsknight's head spun. His breath came too quickly in his chest. Blade had to repeat himself twice when he asked for Helsknight's other hand. Then his vision tilted more, stars blooming in burst around his peripherals, edged in black.

When he found himself again, Blade had carried him to the table and rested him there, and stood bandaging his hands. His own hands were shaking, every shudder sending a jolt through Helsknight's arm. Helsknight turned this observation over distantly, curious in the way of the desperate, clinging to small details to better make sense of the world. Blade didn't normally shake when they did these sessions. Maybe he, too, had objected to wounding Helsknight's hands.

"Sorry... About that," Blade stammered hoarsely. "It's... You haven't made restitution. And it's a problem you keep having."

Helsknight didn't trust himself to speak, so he nodded.

"It's not bad," Blade said, trying to reassure both of them. "No muscles or tendons or anything. It was just a lot of blood."

"Yes," Helsknight said airily, still a little too unrecovered to explain the blood hadn't been the problem. Not really. Not that it needed explaining.

"Go see the priests down the hall," Blade informed him needlessly. "You need stitches, especially near the veins on your wrists. They need to heal naturally. Over time, as penance for your Wrath. You may lessen your time through acts of service to the church, if you so choose."

Helsknight nodded.

"Do you need help walking?"

Helsknight blinked slowly, his sluggish, shocked mind slowly crawling to life.

"Helsknight," Blade said, putting a still-gauntleted hand against his face. The cold metal felt good against his feverish skin. "Are you hearing me?"

"I hear you," Helsknight said, ashamed of how weak and small his voice sounded. "I need help with my mail.'

"Maybe we should make sure you can walk first?"

"Every other knight walks into this room and back out again fine," Helsknight said, his pride slowly crawling to life in his chest. "I just... I just need some help."

Blade, as much as a man obscured by a full suit of armor could, looked relieved. He nodded, and after a few moments of coddling, they managed to get Helsknight on his feet and dressed again. He squared his shoulders and walked with purposeness down the hall, his vision only swimming a little. The spiteful little animal in him wanted to keep walking until he was home, and he almost did. But a priest ducked her head out the door of the room at the end of the hall, and fixed him up in a concerned stare, and Helsknight, tired in body and soul, followed her inside.

The little room held tables and chairs, and a counter brimming with freshly made breads and rolls. Sweet things, prepared in advance of confession for those who might've lost too much blood, or for those who needed something soft and warm to take the edge off their penance. Helsknight allowed himself to be guided to a seat. The priest who had pulled him in checked over the hasty bandages, let out a disapproving tsk! and began organizing some supplies. She was joined by two other priests who began quietly discussing the best way to go about his stitches. Someone put a slice of some freshly baked something-or-other in front of him, and Helsknight ate it with the mechanical necessity of someone who recognizes a chore that needs doing.

Months later, Helsknight and Tanguish sat at a fountain outside the First Church of Hels, their breakfasts in their laps. Helsknight ran a thumb self-consciously along the odd, thin, centipede-like scar that danced from the center of his palm down his forearm. Tanguish must have noticed, because he asked, "How did you get that one?"

Helsknight turned his wrist so Tanguish could get a better look. "Lost my temper at something."

Tanguish ran a gentle finger across the misshapen skin, his touch cool and soothing. "It looks like it hurt."

Helsknight shrugged. "Not as bad as you'd think. It hurt more when they took the stitches out. S'why it looks like that."

Tanguish yanked his hand away like the scar had come alive and bitten him. "Why didn't you just drink a health potion?"

Helsknight chose his words carefully. "I needed to remember it."

Tanguish grimaced and allowed, "You... are very scary when you lose your temper." He reached out a hand to run his fingers tentatively along the scar again, as though he could somehow heal the long-passed harm. "You've gotten a lot better though."

Helsknight shrugged.

They returned to their prospective breakfasts, Helsknight eating with much less enthusiasm than his companion. He wished Tanguish didn't have such a preference for baked goods and sweet foods. They reminded him too much of that long hallway, and that door at the end of it -- and how long it'd been since he last stood there and waited to meet his Saint. Helsknight resolved to visit again when he got the chance. Just as soon as he ordered his list of sins. He remembered when he fought the Demon, sighed, and quietly put Wrath in its place at the top of the list.

[ofstardustanddreaming]

to experience

headcanon summary: gale dating a reader inexperienced in relationships as a whole, and pretty much being the reader's first in anything related to relationships.

content warnings: smallest mention of sex in this writing, in relation to if it was something you did want. it's only one paragraph, and it's the last paragraph, so it's easily skippable if it's not something you're interested in. but that does mean this is an 18+ post especially, please and thank you. MDNI

fandom: baldur's gate 3

character: gale dekiros x reader

gender neutral reader

anon request

you had never really had the time for a relationship before, despite really wanting to be in one. it was also unfortunate that you put yourself out there, but never quite seemed to be able to find someone compatible with you, where trying to initiate conversations with others at bars left you with a sour taste because you knew deep down you'd never get along with them. you consider yourself never having a first date even, since there were so many where no one showed up. it also meant that you never really were able to experience a lot of the things that come with a relationship, such as a first kiss, or a first time with someone. not a lot of the romantic amenities of a relationship that you wanted.

now that you were in the predicament with the tadpole in your head, you really felt that you were unable to pursue a more romantic relationship, having to focus getting this out of your head. but it didn't stop you from cultivating close friendships with a lot of the people in your group, happy with the friendships you've gotten over the recent journeying weeks, bonding over the shared tadpole and other shared interests. although, you couldn't ignore the nerves you had around gale and it wasn't hard to put together you were harboring feelings for the wizard. he always listened intently to what you had to say, engaging with you in ways that made your heart flutter. it wasn't hard to notice that he also had feelings for you (although it seemed you were the only ones who didn't notice the affections of the other.)

it wasn't hard for other members to realize it as well, finding secret moments gale wasn't listening to make fun of you for your crush. others also made fun of gale for his crush on you (i.e. astarion and karlach teasing of the both of you). it made you feel drunk on love for the first time in a long while and it made you happy that you could potentially find love, based on how sweet gale is around you. a lot of the party members worked to push you two together, trying to get the both of you to realize you had feelings for each other, and soon after feelings were confessed, you were dating.

"you know, you're the first for a lot of the things in a relationship." you soon tell him after you started dating, the want to tell him was strong. you looked down at your shoes though, to nervous to look at what he had to say to your confession. "so it's understandable if you don't want to be with someone who's so unexperienced in anything relationship wise, and we can call it off here." even though that's not what your heart wanted, your brain convinced you he wouldn't want to be with someone who didn't know what to do, and it made you feel a little embarrassed.

he puts his hand underneath your chin, maneuvering your head to look at him, where his face held such a sweet stare towards you, it made your heart shrivel in anticipation to what he had to say. "if you think that would deter me from a relationship with you, i'd like you to think again. it just means that i'm lucky enough to get the chance to show you how well you deserve to be treated, and show you how perfect your firsts can be. or at least what my version of perfect for your firsts to be, if you would so choose me for them."

your heart melted and you nearly cry out of relief and happiness at a chance to pursue a relationship with someone who didn't even care you were more inexperienced. he pulls you into his embrace, while others at camp who were trying to spy at you cheered you guys on. but the hug was one you vowed to never forget, reveling in his warmth and the feeling of a sweet touch.

from then on, gale made it his mission to make sure you got the best relationship treatment. he showed you all of the best firsts, or at least the best he could with what he had on hand. the first date you guys had was a sunset picnic, away from camp, and he tried to make it as romantic as possible. he found candles that he lit all around the cloth he had set down, a cloth in your favorite color, for the both of you to sit on. there were various cheeses, meats, and some of your other favorite snacks. he led the conversation, having questions all about you, wanting to get to know more, and gladly answering any questions you had.

at the end of the date though, was what made you giddy anytime you thought of what happened. as you both stood up to get ready to go back to camp, he stopped you from picking anything up to pack. he brought you in for your first kiss, and it was a kiss so tender, it made your heart skip a beat. he held eye contact with you, hands drifting from your face, as he traced all the way down to your waist, pulling you in from there, the pace he brought you in to him agonizingly slow, allowing you to pull away if you had wanted. but you also leaned into the kiss, putting your hands to his face to angle him better towards you, and you both finally brought your lips to each other. the kiss sweet and slow, tasting of the sweet drinks you had, and the lighting was perfect with the lightning bugs and moonlight surrounding you in the darkness. you both pulled away, hands still in the same position, but now your foreheads were leaning on the other's, breathing in each other as you each tried to catch that breath from the long kiss. he brings up a hand and lightly drags his thumb across your bottom lip, eyeing you hungrily like he wanted to do it again, but instead asks, "how was that for a first kiss?" you could only muster a small laugh before you reply with "everything i imagined, and more."

he would also love engaging in other activities of your first, such as your first time being referred to as a partner to a stranger. someone was curious about your status in town, and that's what you overheard gale call you, and it made you smile to hear that for the first time, and gale thought it was sweet you found happiness in that. or the first time you officially said "i love you" to each other would be something neither of you forgot, where a battle had you both worried the other might have died, and you both said it to each other, feeling almost idiotic for not having said it earlier on. you'll neither forget either, the first conversation of being truly vulnerable to each other, revealing insecurities and worries, even talking about past traumas that made you who you were. talking about every good memory you both had as well that shaped who you were. it definitely brought you two closer together, and made you both stronger partners.

if sex was something you were interested in, and something you both talked about, gale would be the sweetest lover. he'd be very tender with the first time, making sure the mood was set right and prioritizing your comfort. he'd make some sweet jokes to lighten the mood and would make sure to do it in a place that ensured the best privacy for the two of you. i feel like he would enjoy using magic to help make you comfortable if the situation called for it.

[themidnightcrimson]

religion ࿏ wm

summary: in which the new reverend at your hometown church wants to give you a lesson on sexual immorality.

words: 5.6K

warnings: pastor!wanda, fem!reader, oral (r giving), fingering (r receiving), slight non-con/dubcon, manipulation, dumbification, degradation, religion, lots of bible verses, rip my religious trauma, spank me with a bible, fuck me with the crucifix, yes lord in wanda's name we pray amen

this post is for 18+ only. minors dni.

masterlist.

A few women in the church had put together a potluck after one Sunday sermon, or a “covered dish supper” as the elders liked to call them. You remembered loving those potlucks as much as you loved church itself when you were a child. As the years went by and your worldview got bigger and your mind opened up to the broader possibilities that this was not what life should be like, you scarcely ever went to church.

Upon moving away for college, the idea of church was a laughable thing to you. You could hardly even remember what the rituals were anymore, or the verses, or the hymns. It wasn’t necessarily a hatred or aversion, but rather a bitter distaste in your mouth when reminded of how indoctrinated you and your whole community were into the church. You just weren’t religious anymore, and you preferred living life that way, though it took years of untying the knots of theological principals and “truths” from your mind.

When you were back in your hometown for a visit, your mother nearly fell over at the sight of the little rainbow bracelet on your wrist. After a very heated conversation where you threw in her face the fact that you had been with multiple women in college, she seemed to give up and leave the conversation alone—until the next morning she asked you to come to church with her.

“Really? You think going to church is going to reverse the way that I was born? You expect me to just pray the gay away?!” you yelled at her, but she was calm. She said that was not her intentions, but rather they were to simply have you come see everyone you grew up around. She said that there was a new pastor there who was younger and could relate better to youth without that kind of feigned wise judgment that the other pastor, a wobbly old man, used.

You fought tooth and nail against your mom in a thirty-minute argument until finally you were just too tired to fight against her anymore. You felt how you did in high school—getting lectured by your mom for skipping church only a single Sunday, being placed under her godly ray of obstinance that so easily drained you until you just couldn’t fight anymore. She forced you to wear one of your church dresses from high school and practically shoved you into the car that Sunday morning. You were just looking forward to the potluck afterward.

As your mom pulled the car into the church’s parking lot, you realized that they had done renovations on the sanctuary since you had been gone. It was bigger now, with huge mosaic windows facing the front and a new pure white cross on top of the spire, making the triangular building look even taller and more pointed than it already was.

“This new pastor a millionaire or something?” you mumbled as you unbuckled your seatbelt.

“No, she’s just so brilliant and amazing that she’s attracted dozens of new parishioners since she came,” she explained. “You’ll see. She really has a way of connecting with young people, especially young women. I couldn’t tell you how many girls your age have joined in the past year!”

Crinkling your eyebrows, you stepped out of the car and took a breath of fresh air. Even in the parking lot, you could pick up that familiar smell of wood and old books. “The pastor is a woman?” you asked, remembering only male pastors. Although your denomination was open towards female pastors, the general misogyny of your small-town Southern community had always favored men, of course.

“Uh huh,” your mother said as she stepped out of the car and fixed her hair in the wind, walking over to you and gently grabbing your arm suddenly. “Y/n, I should probably let you know… I did call Reverend Maximoff last night and told her a little about your…situation.”

Your eyes widened as you stared at her incredulously. “What?!” Had your mother really gone and called the local pastor to tell her that her daughter was gay?

“Look, it’s important for a pastor to know their parishioners’ personal lives in order to truly connect with them. I’m not saying I asked her to… pray the gay away or whatever you said, but I just let her know that you were having some…sexually immoral feelings. She’s helped many young women here with the same problem.”

“Excuse me?!” you exclaimed, jerking your arm away from your hand. An old couple walking by glanced over at you, and you blushed and looked away, speaking quieter. “Why the hell would you tell some woman I don’t even know that I’m having sex with women?!”

“She’s not some woman, she’s an ordained minister of God!” your mother exclaimed. “She’s not going to drag you up in front of the church and hang you, for God’s sake! She was just concerned that you’re not living your life under the guidance of God and would be happy to give you a steering hand, that’s all! She didn’t even say anything about the gay part—just the promiscuity!”

Curse words formed on your lips, but you pursed them together, pushing past your mother and towards the church so you could get this thing over with. “Promiscuity my ass,” you muttered as you burst open the church doors, hit with that familiar old smell. It looked different now that it had been renovated, the ceiling and windows much taller and the carpet redone, but it was the same wooden pews you remembered as a child and the same large altar with a grand piano and steps for the choir.

You looked around at all the familiar townspeople sitting in the pews as the choir, dressed in their robes and holding their hymnals, made their way to the chancel in formation. You realized that your mother was right when she said that the church had grown—all of the pews were jammed full of people, except for a little spot near the front where there was enough room for two people to squeeze in. Feeling aggravated and brash, you stormed to the front and shimmied past the row of people to sit down in the empty spot, your mother scrambling down beside you.

“Please don’t be angry in the house of God,” she began.

You ignored her, looking around and seeing that there were groups of young women your age looking excitedly towards the altar, waiting for the pastor to come out. You assumed maybe the pastor had started a women’s group and was just mentoring the young women.

Reaching forward, you took the hymnal book sitting in the slot behind the pew in front of you, opening up its yellowed pages and flipping through. You could still remember some of the songs, but before you could read one, there was a hushing whisper among the congregation.

Glancing upwards, you saw Reverend Maximoff emanating from behind the altar, glancing out among the ground with a smile as she stepped to the front. You were shocked to see her—she was older than you, but not by too much. She had a youthful smile to her face and twinkling green eyes, her blonde hair cut right to the shoulders of the maroon robe and dark green stole she wore.

“Good morning, everyone,” she announced, her voice loud and confident. The church crowd silenced and gave their full attention to her. “Today we will start by worshiping the Lord our God with our choir’s beautiful voices, as well as your own.” Her Southern accent was feminine and airy with a cheerful tune to it, as if she was already singing by simply speaking. “Please turn to page 304 in your hymnals and stand to worship the Lord with us.”

The sound of people standing and pages turning filled your ears, and you found yourself flipping to the page and standing up along with everyone else, realizing that your muscle memory was still there. It felt odd being in that place again, viewing the solemnity and respect of religion in a community sense.

The choir started, and then the rest of the church joined in, singing the hymn in unison. You didn’t sing at first, until your mother’s elbow stabbed your ribcage, so you quietly mumbled the words.

Glancing up, you watched Reverend Maximoff singing at her stand, face turned towards the choir and grinning at them as the words formed on her lips. You had to admit that for a pastor, she was beautiful and charming. Her smile was nearly mesmerizing as her head slowly turned towards the congregation in appreciation for their singing, eyes casting over the pews of people until they flickered near you. Realizing that you were staring, you quickly glanced down at the book before she could make eye contact with you. Feeling suddenly nervous, you mindlessly stared at the book until you figured she would be looking somewhere else, looking back up only to find that she was looking right at you.

All you could hear were the choral praises of God as the Reverend’s eyes bore into yours. The smile on her face faded a little, her focus zoning in on you through the crowd. You remembered what your mother had told her about you, the thought bringing a sickly blush of shame to your cheeks. Why was she staring at you? Was she judging you? Thinking about what a dirty sinner you were? You couldn’t take it, but you couldn’t look away either.

Finally, the song ended, and she broke eye contact.

“Thank you so much. You may please be seated.”

The crowd sat down and put their hymnals away as the choir did the same, and once everyone was finally still and quiet, the Reverend opened her Bible and started flipping through pages to find notes for her sermon.

“Today, people, we will be talking about the one thing we think about almost all of the time—our bodies.” Your teeth ached as you braced yourself for whatever religious bullshit was about to be shoved down your throat. “Our bodies—whether it be our health, our appearance, the work we can do with them, what we eat, what we drink—our bodies remain a constant thought in our mind.”

She stepped out from behind the stand, walking to the front steps of the altar and peering out at the crowd with her luring eyes like a bird.

“God tells us in His Word that our bodies are a temple for the Holy Spirit. You see, we do not own our flesh and blood. Our body is a sacrament to Him in everything we do with it. Our divine purpose on this Earth is to use our bodies the Lord has given us as a vessel for the Spirit, to spread His Holy Word. If our bodies are unholy, or if we use them to transgress against His Word, we are violating His purpose for them.”

As much as you wanted to dissociate and just block out whatever she was saying, a strange curiosity overcame you that kept your eyes trained on her as she stepped down the altar steps to get even closer to the crowd, holding the Bible in her hands.

“There are many ways that we sin with our bodies every day. When your mouth curses, when your hands do not pray to Him, when your feet lead you to unholy places. One of the most extreme ways that we go against the Holy Spirit within us is when we commit the very sin that seems to have a grasp on the youth today—sexual immorality.”

There it was. You bit the inside of your cheek and took a deep breath, trying to control the anger within you.

“I want y’all to turn to one of my favorite passages in the Word,” she said, turning to walk towards the other side of the pew as she waited for people to turn to the verse. “1 Corinthians 6:13.”

You wouldn’t dare to pick up a Bible. You crossed your arms and ignored your mother’s urging glances as the Reverend started to read.

“You say, food for the stomach and the stomach for the food, and God will destroy them both. The body, however, is not meant for sexual immorality but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body,” she called out, her voice echoing off the walls of the large room. You watched her, her back turned from you, as she paced the other side of the room before turning, walking towards your side of the pew with her eyes trained on the book. “By his power God raised the Lord from the dead, and he will raise us also. Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ himself? Shall I then take the members of Christ and unite them with a prostitute? Never!”

You rolled your eyes and rubbed your forehead, wishing you could escape this cultish experience. Still, you watched her, the way her lips formed the words, the way her face looked pointed down to the book, eyelashes dancing across her cheeks as she read the words.

“But whoever is united with the Lord is one with him in spirit.” She turned down the center aisle, and as she got closer to your pew, you started to shift uncomfortably in your seat. Suddenly, her eyes lifted from the pages and pierced you sideways. You felt frozen under her stare as she discreetly eyed you, not even having to look at the page to recite, “Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins a person commits are outside the body, but whoever sins sexually, sins against their own body.”

Her voice was lower now, serious and clear. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from hers as she slowly floated past you, her robe wafting around her ankles. You noticed the way her svelte hands held the Bible, a single digit lifting to flick the page. You could’ve sworn you saw a smirk on her lips as she finally looked away from you and kept preaching, walking down the aisle.

Finally, you could breathe. Surprise filled you as you realized that you had started sweating—were you really so demonic that you were sweating in the pews of a church? But why did she look right at you as she read that particular verse? Was she targeting you because of what your mother had said?

You could barely listen to the rest of the sermon as she talked about sexual immorality and fleeing from it by turning your mind and body towards the Lord.

At the potluck, you couldn’t help but find your eyes drifting to wherever Reverend Maximoff was in the room. Potlucks were always held in a building connected to the sanctuary where they had special events and meetings. She drifted around the room chatting with different members of the congregation, her eyes somehow always finding yours right as you were looking at her. You would blush and quickly look away, redirecting your focus on what the old lady was talking to you and your mom about.

You didn’t realize that she was waiting for you to be alone. Finally, you left your mom and the lady to go to the table filled with homemade desserts, browsing around for something chocolate.

A hand on your lower back made you gasp and turn. You were shocked to see Reverend Maximoff standing close beside you, still dressed in her robes. “Y/n,” she greeted you with a pearly smile, her earrings dangling from her ears. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Your mom has talked about you so much since I’ve been here.”

“Oh,” you said with a polite smile. “Has she?”

“Yes,” she smoothly answered, stepping even closer to you. “I’m very glad you came today. I must tell you that the Lord has speaking to my heart about you quite a lot.”

“Oh yea?” you said disinterestedly, more focused on the way her eyes kept darting down your body, trying to pinpoint why she was ogling you.

She tilted her head and closed her smile, looking thoughtful for a brief moment before saying, “You know, I was hoping you would have a session with me here sometime, before you go back to college. I would love to talk more with you and get to know you. You were at this church long before I was, and I would love to give you some heavenly advice on whatever is pressing at your heart.”

Your eyebrows rose. “Nothing’s pressing at my heart but my ribcage.”

She giggled, and it surprised you. “No, there’s always something for pretty young women like you.” You flushed a little at her choice of words. “God has a plan for you, y/n, but I get the feeling you may need some guidance to get you there.”

“You get these feelings a lot?” you droned, picking up a brownie from the table and taking a bite, keeping eye contact with her. You weren’t going to let this pastor try to get her godly claws in you.

Her eyes flickered to your mouth as you took a bite of the brownie, her irises darkening. “Come see me after the Wednesday night sermon. Maybe…” She reached forward and took the half-eaten brownie from your hand, her fingers grazing yours. “I can teach you to use your mouth to praise the Lord.”

She put the half of the brownie into her mouth and chewed it with a smirk. Frozen and confused, you stared at her as she put her thumb in her mouth to suck off the crumbs, winking and floating away from you. Your entire body went hot as her words folded over in your mind, as well as the sight of her eating the brownie you had just had between your teeth.

Normally, you would’ve declined any invitation to have personal sessions with a Reverend, but the brief interaction you had with Reverend Maximoff had you offput and curious. Your mother almost cried in relief when you told her that you would be going to the Wednesday night sermon as well as staying behind to speak with the Reverend.

Wednesday’s sermon went the same as Sunday’s. There were less people there that night, naturally, and although Wednesday night sermons were usually shorter than Sunday’s, it seemed like Reverend Maximoff was antsy to be finished with it. She spoke faster with less focus, ending the sermon after only an hour. Your mother excitedly hurried away with the rest of the congregation, and you anxiously stayed in the pew as the Reverend talked with some lingering people until finally she ushered them all out, closing and locking the church doors behind the last person.

You turned your head and watched her as she sighed, holding onto the doors for a moment before turning around to look at you, clasping her hands at her front.

“Y/n,” she began lowly, turning her face down slightly as her eyes trained on you, her feet slowly leading her up the aisle towards you. “I was so glad when I saw you here tonight.”

“Well,” you began, fiddling with your thumbs. “I didn’t have anything else to do tonight.”

It was only partially true. You could have caught up with your old friends or went out to dinner or even just stayed home and watched TV, but something lured you into that church that night, and you felt it had something to do with the way she predatorily eyed you as she neared you.

She said nothing as she came closer, sucking her cheeks as you could see words forming in her brain. “Keep watch over yourselves and all the flock of which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers. Be shepherds of the church of God, which he bought with his own blood.” A smirk drew itself on her lips. “Acts 20:28.”

You just raised your eyebrows and nodded impressively. “You have the Bible memorized. Good for you.”

Ignoring your sly comment, she spoke, “It means that, as the Reverend of this church, it is my duty to be a shepherd.”

“That is what the verse says.”

Her eyes narrowed at you, her lips parted at distaste of your attitude. “What did I tell you about your mouth?” she snapped, her voice edged and cutting as it echoed loudly off the walls of the church, reminding you how alone you were with her. You stiffened in the pew.

She neared you, resting a hand on the edge of the pew as she stood before you. “As a shepherd, I must keep watch of my flock. I must be aware of them all the time—their lives, feelings, behaviors, their walk with God.” She paused, her tongue settling over her lower lip as she tilted her head. “Tell me, what path do you walk?”

You blinked, lips opening and closing as you tried to understand what she was asking.

“Do you walk the ways of the wicked? The ways of Satan himself?” Without breaking eye contact, she lowered and sat on the pew beside you. “Does your body sin against the Spirit?”

Looking down, you shook your head and laughed. “I know my mom told you. Believe me when I say I have no inclination to your religion, and I never will. I don’t need to be scrutinized or judged.”

“Your mother was only acting as a shepherd by leading you to me, and I thank her for that,” she remarked, her eyes glancing down at your dress where the ends stopped at your mid-thigh, leaving your legs bare. “I fear you are not treating your body as the temple of God it is. You have tainted it with your sexual proclivities, haven’t you, y/n?”

Your face started to burn at her outright words. “Excuse me?”

“Tell me, how do you prefer to use your body? Like a whore? Like a destitute slut?”

Ears burning at the sound of her husky voice, your face burned even hotter. The shock of her words left you speechless and utterly confused as to how a Reverend would speak to someone that way.

“You can tell me, y/n. Only God is watching us.” She reached forward suddenly, placing her hand on your thigh and sliding it upwards. The touch startled you and made you jump to your feet.

She looked up at you with a twisted smirk as you started to tremble with nervousness. “What kind of a Reverend are you?”

“One who will do anything to guide her people to God,” she lilted, standing up and reaching for you again. You backed away, bumping into the wooden back of the pew and circling around it to get away from her. You jumped up the steps of the altar.

“What are you doing?!”

“So Christ himself gave the apostles,” she began in her pastor voice she used during the sermon, circling the pew to saunter towards you again, stalking like a predator, “the prophets, the evangelists, the pastors and teachers, to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up.” She took a slow step up the altar, grinning devilishly. “Ephesians 4:11-12.” She lowered her chin. “I can help you restore your body’s temple. I can sanctify you, make you whole again in the eyes of the Lord.”

Your heartbeat fluttered at the way she was seductively eyeing you, sauntering up the steps, the sultry and sensual tone in her voice. You let her come near you and place a hand on your waist that made you shiver all over.

Whispering, she said, “As God’s apostle, I offer you a direct line to worship Him and beg for forgiveness.” Her other hand softly cupped your chin, feeling the blushing skin here. Her thumb grazed over your lower lip, her dilated eyes drinking up your mouth like thick wine, and she recited, “May my prayer be set before you like incense; may the lifting up of my hands be like the evening sacrifice.”

The verse burned in your ears—it was one you had memorized for Sunday school so many years ago and somehow still subconsciously remembered. You whispered, “Psalms 141:2.”

Her grin widened. “Good girl.” She licked her lips, thumb still grazing your own. “From the fruit of their mouth a person’s stomach is filled; with the harvest of their lips they are satisfied. The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit. Proverbs 18:20-21.”

It became hard to breathe when two of her fingers slipped through your lips and sunk slowly over your tongue.

“What goes into someone’s mouth does not defile them, but what comes out of their mouth, that is what defiles them. Matthew 15:11,” she recited, her own lips parting in a sigh as she slid her fingers further into your mouth.

A soft noise escaped your throat as you let her feel your mouth, your legs becoming weak. Her grip on your waist tightened when you flicked your tongue between her fingers and closed your lips, sucking dutifully on them. She jutted her lower teeth in desire, stepping so close to you that there was no room to breathe. Your skin felt hot all over, and you became suddenly aware of the cross hanging at the front of the altar, as if it were burning into your back.

The Reverend licked the back of her teeth, eyes trained on her fingers disappearing into your mouth as she whispered, “Shall you use your tongue to praise the Lord our God?”

A dirty sucking sound escaped your mouth as you sucked her fingers, and you were so under her trance, her beautiful green eyes, the way she was so enamored with your mouth, that you eagerly nodded around her fingers.

A half smile curled on her open lips as she slid her fingers out of your mouth, placing a hand on your shoulder and harshly pushing you down. Your knees hit the velvet red steps of the altar as Reverend Maximoff, standing on the step below you, placed one leg on the upper step and started to lift up her robe. You kneeled, watching in all of God’s glory, with the church’s mosaic windows behind her, as the Reverend lifted up her maroon robes and bunched them with one hand at her hips, exposing her bare pussy. With one foot on the step below your knees, and the other foot beside your knees, she tilted open her thigh and placed a hand on the back of your head.

You shivered at the feeling of her fingers in your hair as she pushed your head towards her, bucking her hips. You were filled with pulsing desire as you placed your hands gently on her hips and let her draw your mouth towards her, opening your lips and finding her slick folds. Your tongue ran over her slit, and you moaned at her taste, at how she was so wet that her juices already covered your lips.

Reverend Maximoff sighed, leaning her head back as you found her clit and started to lap at it. “Oh, God!” she exclaimed, pushing her hips towards your face as you suckled on her clit.

You could hardly keep up with her as she pushed your head and bucked her hips at the same time, forcing her clit onto your tongue. Your mouth involuntarily closed when one particular thrust of your head was too rough, to which she snapped, “Open your mouth! Proverbs 31:26—She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.” Her sentence ended with a piercing moan as you opened your mouth wider for her and let her fuck it as she pleased.

Whining from the force, you furiously tried to pleasure her—as much as you could with the way she was practically pleasuring herself with your mouth like it was a toy. You melted at the sounds of her moans and gasps that echoed in the church, at the way that you were kneeling on the altar with your head between her legs, at the way her hand was tangled in your hair. Her clit tangibly throbbed on your tongue as her hips thrusted harder, her moans rising in pitch.

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” she screamed as she came, grinding her clit against your tongue and grabbing your hair so hard that your scalp ached. You struggled to breathe, eyes tearing up from the pressure on your face, listening to her catch her breath and loosen her grip on your hair. Finally, she moved away from you, dropping her robe back down her ankles. You were panting, lips puffy and red and covered in her wetness, eyes glistening as you stared up at her, drunk with lust. She grinned, biting her lip. “You serve the Lord well. Come.”

She offered out her hands, and you took them, letting her help you to her feet and guide you to the front pew. She sat down, keeping hold of your hands, and pulled you down so you straddled her lap. She sighed, her eyes looking everywhere at you except your face.

Her fingers crawled to the straps of your dress, slowly tugging them down your bare shoulders. She recited, “How beautiful you are and how pleasing, my love, with your delights.” Her voice was quiet in the silent room, burning at your ears as you tried to stay focused with the taste of her still on your lips. Her eyes sunk down your chest as she started to pull the dress down your breasts. “I said, I will climb the palm tree; I will take hold of its fruit.”

She tugged the fabric of your dress over your breasts, exposing them as they bounced over the fabric. Taking a sharp breath, she drew one hand to your tit and squeezed the soft flesh there, earning a gasp from you.

“May your breasts be like clusters of grapes on the vine, the fragrance of your breath like apples, and your mouth like the best wine.” Her eyes, which were trained on your exposed chest in front of her, flickered up to your face, catching the gloss of her cum on her lips. She raised her other hand and spread her fingers over your lips, smearing the wetness across your mouth. “May the wine go straight to my beloved, flowing gently over lips and teeth.”

You started to throb at her touches, at her words, at her inebriated eyes. Her hand that groped your breast fell down to your thighs, urging the end of your dress upwards as it slid up your skin.

“Song of Songs 7:6-9,” she whispered with finality as she danced her fingers up your inner thigh, and you watched her hand disappear under your skirt. “Is your body a temple of God, y/n?” she asked you as she parted your panties with her fingers.

You nodded desperately, so turned on by what she had done to your mouth, so dumbed down by the verses and the touches and the taste of her. She bit her lip and moaned as her fingers touched your slick cunt, grazing over your clit before two of them sunk into your hole.

Head falling back, you grabbed at the shoulders of her robe and whined as she plunged her fingers inside you, your wetness already making a dirty squelching noise as she pumped inside of you.

“I’m not so sure it is,” she husked as she wrapped an arm around your hip to steady your bucking motions. “You’ve been a dirty girl, y/n. You’ve used your body to sin against His Word. My hand of God can only do so much—you need to beg for his forgiveness.” An evil smirk lined her lips.

You could barely hear what she was saying as she fucked her fingers into you, your hips moving up and down in desperate search for more of her. She thumbed at your clit as she waited for you to answer, leaning forward to press wet kisses on your nipples that bounced with your motions.

“Please, God,” you began shakily, “Forgive me.”

“That’s not good enough,” she tutted, suddenly pushing a third finger inside you. Your mouth fell open at the stretch and the burst of sensations that exploded when she curled her fingers inside you. “Beg Him. Beg Him to forgive you for being a dirty whore.”

“Ah!” you exclaimed when she bit your nipple, jamming her fingers into you harshly. “P-Please, God,” you began breathlessly, squeezing the Reverend’s shoulders as pressure built inside you. “Please forgive me.”

“Forgive you for?” she urged, biting your other nipple and sucking on it.

You tried to remember exactly what she had said as your orgasm threatened to impend upon you. “F-For, for being a dirty whore!” The sound of your own voice saying those words pushed you over the edge, your inner walls clenching around the Reverend’s fingers. Your hips rocked hard against her hand as she watched in pure desire and delight, grinning when you finally came down from your climax.

“Very good, my child,” she soothed as you panted, her fingers still inside you. You trembled on her lap, seeing that your wetness had dripped onto her hand and down her maroon robe. “The Lord our God is a merciful one. He forgives you.” She played with the end of your dress, moving her fingers inside you and seeing just what a mess she had made of you. She looked up at your beat red face and teary eyes, her eyes alight with an idea. “Have you ever been baptized?”

[tiniedemon]

— ♡

poly creek headcanons

craig tucker & tweek tweak

— ♡

sfw

— at first they were happy with each other and only each other

— they didn’t really feel any blank spaces in their relationship

— then they befriended you

— you were like a ray of sunshine for them

— it was like they found the missing puzzle piece they didn’t realize wasn’t there

— it took a while, but craig finally came to tweak about it

— he was really upset for liking you the way he did

— tweek was just as upset with himself

— “tweek, honey, i’m so sorry. i think i’m falling for y/n.” “i think i might be too. it’s t-too much pressure! i can’t take it! it’s stressing me out.”

— now that they were on the same page, they needed to bring it to you

— said conversation went something like this:

“y/n, we need to talk to you about something,” craig finally said as he seated himself next to you. his arm was rested on the arm of the couch, his legs relaxed and parted to the sides. tweek was fidgeting on your other side, head down and legs pressed together, knee bouncing. you were calm, a kind smile on your face as you rested your hand on tweek’s knee for comfort.

“yeah, of course. what’s up guys?” you inquired, your other hand rubbing craig’s shoulder. based on the slight twitch of his eye and the twist of his lips, you could tell the nonchalant man was stressed.

“h-how do you feel about us?” tweek rushed out, stumbling over his words. his face was red, eyes and nose twitching, lips restless against one another.

“if i’m being completely honest, i have quite the crush on the both of you. i’m willing to push it down and ignore it if you’d both be more comfortable with that,” you responded, withdrawing your hands to your lap. it felt a little weird to be caressing them after you’d just confessed your feelings. tweek apparently had other thoughts, as he gripped one of your hands in both of his and brought it to his lap to fidget with. his vocal tics calmed down with the action, and you smiled at him.

“we recently realized that we do too. we’ve talked about it and we want to invite you into our relationship, if you’d like,” craig drawled, the slightest hint of a smile on his straight face. you nodded slowly, mulling it over, before offering a bright smile to both of them separately.

“i’d love to, actually.”

— the relationship dynamics were surprisingly easy to figure out

— the three of you were already pretty much a throuple, just without the label and all the physical affection

— craig is a little more standoffish with physical affection, and tweek’s love language is physical touch

— craig’s is more acts of service, but he doesn’t like making a big deal out of the little things

— craig loves cooking breakfast for you and tweek

— tweek loves getting to sleep in and cuddle with you

— craig will leave you both cute notes and reminders on the mirrors and windows

— but would rather convince tweek someone broke in and left them than own up to doing it himself

— naturally you have to comfort tweek because he’s flipping out about a break in

— the three of you don’t enjoy public dates or outings

— craig has sensory overloads after a few minutes and tweek’s anxiety is too bad

— usually your dates consist of watching a movie that the boys fall asleep in the middle of

— so you clean up the snack mess and tuck them in for a nice nap

— usually you end up driving and the boys rotate between passenger and backseat

— but tweek always gets aux because his music taste is the only one all three of you can agree on

— tweek is anxious, craig is stoic, and you’re compassionate

— perfect throuple amen

nsfw

— even before you entered that step of the relationship with the two of them it was obvious craig had a size kink

— he had an obsession with comparing his hand sizes to yours

— also comments on how much smaller than him you are

— tweek is a soft dom

— he loves nurturing you

— craig is a harder dom

— he loves ruining you

— so while tweek is taking care of you and being gentle craig is turning you into a mess

— they love tagteaming you

— craig loves watching the bulge in your stomach every time tweek thrusts into

you

— but he’s also got his hand between your legs playing with you the entire time

— i imagine tweek is a slut for anal

— he’s dying to try double penetration on you

— craig is so down but something about anal throws him off so he’d always take the front door

— but that’s fine because the back door is good for tweek

— only if you’re comfortable with it of course

— craig is in love with three way kisses

— he also loves it when the two of you go down on tweek together

— he loves turning both of you into whining, whimpering messes

— tweek couldn’t find the clit at first

— but craig showed him and it was like he just knew what to do with it immediately

— craig and tweek are an evil duo when it comes to you

[sunnylands-world]

So I’d like to request a Draco mafia fanfic. Where someone disrespects the reader and it angers him.

FINE LINE

Pairing: Mafia draco x fem reader

Summary: Draco is a far man he hears bullshit all day but they cross a fine line when it comes to you...

Word count: 729

Warning: language, offense things are said about females [not by Draco], mentions of blood, use of a gun

Universe: mafia

A/n: okay I was supposed to post this at three in the morning but I fell asleep before I could 😭 anyway hope you like it I loved this idea and I had so much fun with writing it so thank you anon and please SHOW SUPPORT IF YOU READ THIS

Draco was never interested in the conversation that took place during these meetings. He just needed the deal, but occasionally he'd run into these talkative bitches who wanted to drink whiskey and complain about their wife's, hints why he called them talkative bitches. They complain all the time. He couldn't care less. Why were they bitching when they had enough money to stop worldwide hunger? They didn't do shit.

They've just been drinking and buying. He thought it was funny they had so many complaints. They were more women than their wives and they [their wives] did more than them. They cooked, cleaned and had babies. The least they could do was let them spend money on the things that make them happy.

"Yeah, like how do rich and wealthy men attract poor sluts," said one of them. Draco couldn't give a shit about his name he wanted to say it was Oliver but the topic made him snicker as he listened in.

"Okay, I mean, I earn all the money just for them to spend."

Probably 'cause you sit on your ass like a lazy bitch that nobody wants to be around, so she's out there screwing one of the drivers.

"All I'm saying is I make the money, I should be decided who spends it and it damn sure shouldn't be going to fucking diapers and sippy cups."

"Amen to that!"

You should have used a condom, selfish motherfuckers.

"Poor Draco over their quiet as a sleeping baby, your wife got you tied down?" Draco took a look at the bald man, but failed to reply which caused laughter to fill the room.

What the fuck is so funny?

"Don't worry man I get it, I had one just like that whore wife of yours working the pole for money. Had no talents before you right?"

Draco glared, his blue eyes turning dark as he let out a dry laugh.

"What the fuck did you say?" The room fell silent as the question left his lips. All eyes were on him for his mistake.

Draco thought he was a straightforward man. He had two rules, one of which was to make the deal so that everybody would be happy and no one would die, and two, not to disrespect the queen.

When Draco met you, you were a stripper, but you had to pay college tuition and your job at the café didn't cover everything. Of course, when you got together, he paid it all for you. You were studying now peacefully and he was satisfied with you kicking your feet up and working hard for your degree, but sometimes people made the mistake of disrespecting you the way this fat fucker did and he did not take well to people talking about you at all.

Now the guy wasn't stupid. He knew once the room went quiet, he made a mistake. Draco's hand was placed on his weapon and an inhuman glance was on his face. Everything was intended to be simple. Come to the casino, make the exchange and leave, but he couldn't let that pass, because you weren't a whore at a club. You were the queen to the biggest Mafia leader.

"Come on, man, you're not seriously upset about some bitch." he laughs, swallowing his fear.

Bitch?

"Look, I'm sure she would understand that it's all a joke. I didn't mean any harm, it's just the truth after all."

Sure, you might but Draco didn't find it amusing and you weren't here right now. Draco stood to his feet from the leather couch, aiming the gun at the prick resting into the chair, his eyes wide in fear as he realized what's to come. The gun fires. The loud noise with the muzzle flash sending a fire colored hue through the room as one bullet is shot through his head and the other in his nuts.

The blood splattered on his face like paint flickered on a canvas, Draco's jaw clenched as he pulled the trigger. He took the gun placing it on a red napkin before he wiped it clean putting it back.

"Get rid of this pig and get my fucking money." he says, walking from the private room and heading home to you.

If you didn't get it from what just happened, you don't mess with the queen. That's a warning.

@alexxavicry, @sarahthehuffpuff, @supercoffeeblogs, @thatwattpadobsessed, @amyclare04, @kyracanwrite, @animeloverfreak310, @imafangirl22, @phildunphyisadilf, @jac1ndaa

[armoricaroyalty]

Freddy and Emily's engagement interview

212 comments

👼🏻 PrettyInPink: The very definition of poise and class! Emily is such a breath of fresh air. 👍 363 🪦 DressedInDark: parasites 👍 301 👑 Agnes Crumblebottom: May the Saints bless Her Majesty Queen Elise. Of the Armoricans and Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Rosalind. I pray every Day for our royal family! Amen! 👍 154 👼🏻 PrettyInPink: @ 🪦 DressedInDark Why are you watching videos about the royal family if you don't like them! 👍 267 🪦 DressedInDark: @ 👼🏻 PrettyInPink lmao can't handle criticism of your emotional support parasites 👍 103 👪 Mom of Three: I was always Team Freddy everyone else in my year was a Jacques girl 👍 78 👼🏻 PrettyInPink: @ 🪦 DressedInDark Parasites by definition harm their host, but the Armorican royal family contribute more annually to the economy than they receive each year from the Royal Grant. 👍 11 🪦 DressedInDark: parasite parasite parasite parasite 👍 7

Previous | Chapter Start | Beginning | Next

author's note: about six months ago, I solicited audience questions for their engagement interview and I am only just now using them RIP. The interview is below the cut xoxoxo

Q. The first question is for Prince Frederick, from @whitmoretroyals. How did you propose?

FREDERICK. I went into it without a plan, if you can believe that. [laughs] I had just spoken to my father, and I had the ring burning a hole in my pocket. Maybe I should have planned the whole thing out better, but I just found her and knelt down and…

EMILY. He came right out with it.

F. I did.

E. He did! He just said “I love you, I can’t live without you. Marry me?” No romantic speeches for me! [laughs] But that’s just not his style.

Q. How did you realize she was the one?

F. I don’t think there was a single moment. We were quite serious about one another from the beginning. Just from the very start, it was clear that this relationship was different—that she was different—from anything I’d ever experienced.

Q. Different how?

F. Different in every way! [ laughs ] More thoughtful, more sophisticated…most relationships I’ve had, it started out just fooling around, just having fun, and then months in, it was like, “who are we, what are we doing?” So right away, it was different with Emily because we both knew that we wanted something more than that.

E. We were quite committed from the outset. I think that frightened him a little. Early on, I remember him saying, “if this isn’t what you really want, you don’t have to go through with this,” and I was surprised like, “why wouldn’t I want this? I care about you.”

F. I was worried about the press. It can be a lot to handle, no offense.  [ laughs ] But she’s brilliant, an absolute natural. That’s really been the best part of all of this, seeing the whole world fall in love with her just like I did.

Q. Lady Emily, as you prepare to join the royal family, how do you envision using your position to make a positive impact or support causes close to your heart?

E. Being a member of the royal family is, of course, a tremendous responsibility. I think we’re all aware of how much work, how much real work, the royal family does for the people of Armorica. I’m very eager to join the family and to be part of all that, and to contribute in whatever small way I can.

F. She already does a lot, for the royal family and for me. She’s really supported my work with the arts. The work we did in Uspana, the museum exhibit, wouldn’t have been possible without her, for example. That’s why it felt like the right moment to announce our engagement and to celebrate it at the opening, because it had really become such a shared thing, such a reflection of who we are, as a couple.

Q. You’re quite fortunate to work so closely together, but of course, work isn’t everything. @crownsofesha asked, what you do together for fun?

F. Right now? We plan weddings. [ laughs ]

E. [ laughs ] It’s taking up a lot of our time, that’s for sure.

F. We’re both very excited for it, of course. We’re really looking forward to having everyone come together to celebrate with us, and we want to make sure that it’s something very special.

E. It’s important for both of us to incorporate a lot of our families’ traditions, but of course our families have very different traditions! And with it being a royal wedding, we have to make things very proper. So we’ve been working closely with Her Majesty and with my own parents to make sure that we have a chance to incorporate all of these different elements and little things that are so important to both of us and to our families.

F. It’s going to be really amazing. I can’t wait until September.

Q. Do you have any plans to start a family together? This one is from @thewoodslegacy

E. Well…

F. We’re still working on the wedding. [ laughs ] One thing at a time!

E. Of course we’d like to, someday.

F. Someday. Yeah. Obviously, we’d both like to be parents. And it’s kind of required, for a royal. [ laughs ] I know my parents are really eager for more grandchildren. [ to Emily ] What about it? Should we give Hugo a cousin?

E. Frederick!

F. She’s going to be an incredible mother, of course. She is incredible at everything she does.

E. [ softer ] Frederick...

Q. @rebouks asks: Where do you see yourselves in five years? Ten?

F. Well, I want to be a father. That’s been established. [ laughs ]

E. It’s a little hard to answer. My life is going to change so much that I think it's quite hard, in some ways, to think ahead. He's been amazing at getting me up to speed, and it's helpful to have a...

F. A shared background?

E. Right, we have sort of a...a shared pool of references. When you have a lot in common, that makes things easier. [ laughs ] But in five years, I want to be established and confident in my role, whatever that ends up being. [ softer ] I'd like to have a child.

F. I think for me, my goal is to just keep expanding the work we do. There are a lot of causes I’m passionate about, and I think that I can do a lot to kind of bring more attention to them. I want to raise awareness, and I want to do more in service to the Crown.

E. Of course. Like I said earlier, service is a big part of it for me, as well. [ pause ] I think we do that very well together.

F. We do. I guess that’s my real answer. In 10 years, I see myself with her.

[thezombieprostitute]

Dream Come True - Part 8

Summary: The “Garbage Men” are the guys in the mob who get the dirt on others and clean up after the higher ups. They have many different ways of gathering intel by running legitimate businesses. One such business is Jefferson/Jensen’s cyber cafe where you regularly go to work. You’ve actually become good friends with Jefferson’s daughter and Jensen’s niece. You even volunteered as their after-school tutor. One day, there’s a robbery attempt where you get hurt protecting the girls. This is how you are introduced to Curtis Everett, the guy in charge of the “Garbage Men”.

A/N: Reader is plus sized, femme. No other descriptors used.

Word Count: ~2000

Warnings: Insecure reader, Violence referenced but not written. Please let me know if I missed any!

Part 7 -- Part 9

Series Masterlist

Curtis tried to ignore his phone. Rogers was trying to get hold of him again, but he wanted the line clear for Jake. Unfortunately Rogers kept calling so Curtis had to answer if only to tell him to stop tying up the line. 

“What,” he snapped at the phone. “I’m waiting for Jensen. What’s so damn important?”

“We have her location,” Steve intoned. “I’ll give it to you if you calm the hell down.”

“What the hell is wrong with you, Rogers? We got someone kidnapped! How is she not a priority?”

“Because if we’re not careful a lot more people will be hurt and killed. And I know you know that. The last thing we need is Berserker. Now get yourself together, Everett. Put away the axe and I’ll tell you where you can get her. Full stealth operation.”

When Curtis doesn’t answer Steve asks, “do you really want her to see you like this?”

That got Curtis’s attention. He’d been the cause of your tears once. If you saw the monster he could be…he couldn’t live with himself if you ever flinched away from him. If you looked at him with fear. “Fuck,” he muttered. He took several breaths and let out a primal, rage-filled scream he’d been holding onto before going back to the phone, “I’m keeping the axe but promise to only use it as a last resort. Now tell me where she is.”

Steve was quiet for a few seconds before telling him.

You’re startled awake by someone gently shaking you. You let out a scared gasp before you realize it’s Curtis. As soon as your brain registers it’s him you’re overcome with a sense of relief, “Curtis!” 

You move to hug him but he stops you, “we’ve gotta get moving. Stick with me and do exactly as I tell you.” You nod your understanding. Instead of taking you to the elevator he leads you to a side door and uses a small device to open the electronic lock. It’s a stairwell that you figure is reserved for staff or emergencies. 

Curtis leads you down a few flights, thankfully never letting go of your hand, before leading you out to one of the hotel floors. He’s frequently looking around before taking any turns, keeping himself between you and any other people on the floor. He takes you to a staff elevator and uses the device again. He moves to keep you behind him while he watches for signs of unwanted company. When the staff elevator doors open he moves you inside before following you and pressing the floor for the basement.

“Curtis,” you whisper, hugging his arm tight, “he said if I ran he’d hunt me down.”

“He won’t get to you,” Curtis vows. 

“I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

Curtis looks at you, surprised at your concern, “I won’t.” You search his eyes and nod when you see his sincerity. You trust Curtis and nod your acceptance.

The elevator doors open and Pine is leaning against the wall, holding an axe at his side. You move to hide behind Curtis without letting go of him, but neither man gives you any indication that there are problems. 

Curtis hands him the small device he’d used to unlock the staff areas, “thank you, again.”

“Yes, well,” Pine mutters, as he hands Curtis the axe, “when one gets told Berserker is heading towards their hotel, one tends to be inclined to amenability.” His tone is sharp and his look at Curtis even sharper, making him look down in shame. “Thank you for agreeing to my terms and not turning my hotel into a literal and figurative bloody mess. Please let Mr. Levinson know that we are now even.” 

You’re lost on what’s going on other than that Pine is helping so you whisper, “thank you.” He turns to you and gives a slight bow before gesturing to the way out for you and Curtis.

When you’re finally out on the road he seems to relax, if only a little, “do me a favor and text Hal that you’re with me.” You nod and do as he asks.

The drive is quiet. Curtis is focused on keeping an eye out for a possible tail and you’re lost in your thoughts, berating yourself for everything that happened. A few tears slip out and catch his attention, “are you hurt?”

His voice gets you out of your head but you don’t register his words. You’re beyond drained. All you can say is, “I’m so sorry. You were right, I shouldn’t have gone. I shouldn’t have been so stupid to think I’d be okay. I’m so, so, sorry you had to come rescue me. I’m sorry you had to put in danger because I was dumb enough to think-”

“Enough,” Curtis gently interrupts. “I was only partially correct. You going to Ransom’s gave us some intel that’s already saved lives.” He takes a calming breath, “so I may have been right about you being in danger but it wasn’t done needlessly.”

You take solace in his words before asking, “is it okay if I ask about the axe? Or the Berserker that Pine was talking about?” Curtis’s hands grip the steering wheel tightly and you clamber to apologize. 

He gently interrupts you, “do you remember me telling you not to work for Wilford & Gilliam?” You nod and he continues, “I told you that they’re horrible people who fund even worse people. I know because I used to work for them. My little brother, Edgar, got mixed up with their circles. Accidentally crossed the wrong people. When I protected him, I caught their attention by…I…I killed several of their people.” 

You can see his face contort in pain at the memories. You try to reach out to comfort him but he shakes off your hand before continuing his story.

“It wasn’t for the money or other…benefits. It was Edgar. As long as I followed orders, he’d get to live. I ended up getting sent into some of the worst areas. But the longer I survived the stronger my reputation became. I became known as Berserker because I would tear through people and not notice any hurt until well after. I couldn’t aim with a gun to save my life but I could wreak havoc with an axe.”

“But it was never enough for those monsters at the top. They kept pushing and pushing me. I fought so damn hard but, as you recently re-educated me, the human body can only take so much. I failed a mission and barely got out with my life. They killed Edgar in front of me and left me for dead.”

Curtis’s tears break your heart. It’s a sight you never thought you’d see and you wished you could comfort him in any way.

He wipes his eyes quickly before continuing, “I was rescued by Rogers. He offered me a place with their family. I’d witnessed them doing good for the people in their territory and wanted that for myself. I had no fire left in me but that worked in my favor. They didn’t want the Berserker. They still don’t. I’ve worked, ever since, to try to do good for people. To keep myself from losing it ever again.”

By now he’s wisely pulled the truck over, letting himself crumble a little. He doesn’t push you away when you go to hold his hand. Your own tears mirror Curtis’s.

You try to say something but he stops your thoughts when he says, “then you came along. You spin my world on its head and I don’t hate it. You make me take care of my team and things are going a lot better for them. You upset everything but make it all better, somehow. And all I want to do is keep you safe from my world. Safe from me.”

“Curtis, I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that and I’m so very sorry for my part in bringing it all back to you.”

As the silence filled the truck Curtis noticed the giant bruise on your arm. He gently held your arm and asked, “did he do this to you?” You nod and he brings himself to attention, getting the truck back on the road. “Gotta get back to work so that he never touches you again.”

“You’re taking me with you, right?”

“Absolutely. You’re not leaving my sight until I know you’re safe.”

“Thank you, Curtis. Thank you, so much.” You let yourself relax enough to fall asleep for the rest of the drive. 

When you arrive at the base-of-operations Curtis gently wakes you and helps you out of the truck. Inside feels like barely controlled chaos as different people are running different intel, follow ups, phone calls, and more. The only person who’s staying still is Jake. 

“Why is Jake wearing a pirate hat,” you ask Curtis.

Curtis huffs, “it’s his Focusing Hat. A compromise to get him to stop stripping down to his boxers to take care of a heavy task. He’s currently trying to hack the hacker who’s watching Ransom, and probably more people.”

“Curtis!” You both turn to see Mace marching towards you. “I’m still pissed at you for ditching us.”

“Understandable,” Curtis affirms.

“You’re going to be able to focus and help us?”

“Yes.”

“Apology accepted, Boss. Now get your ass to work,” Mace hands him some papers and updates him on everything that they’ve found so far. 

Curtis doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time. You’d think with the abnormal amount of attention you've gotten today you’d want to withdraw but you find comfort in his touch. And he seems to find comfort in having you around. When he gets stuck on a problem he rubs your hand with his like a worry-stone. 

Everyone jumps when Jake suddenly shouts, “YO-HO-HO AND A BOTTLE OF RUM, BITCH!” He’s thrown his fists in the air in celebration. “I finally got the fucker! All his systems are MINE! I’ve got trackers on Lloyd AND all of his friends!” He takes a second to look over things before yelling “Boss! They’re at Ransom’s place!

“Get the info sent to the appropriate parties,” Curtis barks. “Mace, call the Higher Ups and supplement Jake’s info with the stuff you and I got. Once that’s done, we’re going into standby mode.”

As everyone else bustles around you ask, “what’s standby mode?”

“We’re the intel gatherers and the cleaners,” he explains. “We only get called into fights when it’s desperate. Standby mode means we get ready to either fight or clean up, depending on how things go.”

“Does that mean I can get some sleep?”

“We don’t exactly have a bed or anything in here. Might need to fix that.”

“Don’t need a bed,” you groggily shake your head. You lead him over to a couple of the comfier chairs and set him down in one before moving the other directly next to his. You sit in the other and snuggle his arm as you let yourself drift off to sleep. 

You don’t see his face soften as his heart melts. It finally hits him, he’s in love with you. Has been in love with you for a while now. You drove him crazy in so many ways and he never wanted it to stop. If you’d have him, he’d treat you like the angel you are. If you didn’t want him…he couldn’t think of that right now. Didn’t want to think of you turning him down. Not now while you’re silently telling him that you trust him. That you feel safe enough to sleep around him. That you want him around. 

A couple hours later Hal came running, calling for him, but stopped when Curtis gave him a glare and gestured to you. He whispered to Curtis, “the place got shot up. Rumlow is dead. Ransom is in the hospital. But Lloyd escaped.”

Curtis whispered back, “are we tracking him?”

Hal shook his head, “we can’t. He crushed his phone, removed all devices. We’re looking into security footage for a license plate we can use to follow him but it’s not looking good.”

Part 7 -- Part 9

Tagging @alicedopey because I promised I would. 

@alexakeyloveloki

@bigtreefest

@dontbescaredtosingalong

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@icefrozendeadlyqueen

@lokislady82

@texmexdarling 

@veltana

@winter-soldier-101

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

[whorekneecentral]

“let me give you a reason to stay in bed” + first time together with charles

i just know this man is a cocky bastard and would giggle about you calling into work so he could fuck you amen

you know I have to give you what you want bestie, posting early just for you <3 // prompt: “let me give you a reason to stay in bed.”

Warm mornings in Monaco were a blessing. It was more often than not that you don’t want to leave your bed for work but today, even with the sunshine and warmth, you couldn't bring yourself to leave. 

Your boyfriend sprawled out on the bed, his face buried in the pink bedsheets, the freckles along his back just being begging to be traced but alas, the real world called you away from your lover. 

Quietly getting out of bed, you walk around to the left side, smoothing over his unruly hair and pressing a soft kiss to his temple. 

“Come back to bed,” your boyfriend reaches out for you, eyes still shut as he swung his arm around, feeling for you. You let him pull you back into bed, his arm wrapping over your middle, the sleepy Monégasque cuddling into your side. 

His head rested on your chest, your fingers lazily passing through his hair. He looked happy, peaceful; it’s a look you didn’t see often on him during the season.

It was nice to know he was still there under all that pain they caused him. 

“Sweetheart,” you tried to slip away from him but his grip only tightened around you. “I have to get to work.” 

“Call in sick.” He mumbles. You sigh, smiling at the man on top of you, “I can’t, I really need to go before I'm late.” 

Charles looks up at you, finally opening his blue eyes. “Do you really have to go?” He pouts like a child, hoping it would convince you to stay home and in bed with him all day. That was always the plan; the first night he’s spend in your place would continue into the next day. 

“Unfortunately so,” you give him a tight lipped smile, Charles laying on the guilt heavy. 

He lets go of you, only letting you step off the bed before getting off as well, blocking you with his body to stop you from getting any further. “Charles, c’mon.” 

Charles smiles at you sweetly, backing you up towards the bed until you’re resting on the edge of it. “Let me give you a reason to stay in bed,” he gives you a nudge, having you get on the bed. 

Propped up on your elbows, you look down at your boyfriend who was now on his knees in front of you. His wandering hands sliding up your thighs to your shorts. “What are you doing?” You asked but Charles ignored you, pulling your panties down, tossing them somewhere behind him. 

He kisses up your leg, leaving wet marks behind until he gets up to your inner thighs. Charles looks up from between your legs, his eyes meeting yours when his tongue reaches your cunt. 

He’s slow at first, careful with his movements. Charles’s tongue comes out to lap over your cunt until your thighs squeeze around his head. “Charles, please.” You begged and your boyfriend looked up at you. 

He asks you, “please what?” 

“Do something,” you squirm when you feel his thumb on your clit. 

Charles smiles, “I thought you had to leave for work.” 

“Shut up,” you huffed, falling back into the mattress when Charles pushes two fingers into you and you drop back into the table, back arched at the feeling. 

He knew you like the back of his hand, curling and pumping his fingers at the right angle and speed, making your legs shake. 

“Charles fuck me, please, mhm-” The words tumble out and he pulls his fingers away, getting up off the floor. You propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him, confused as to why he stopped.

You hadn't even realized what you said.

His hand reaches up, the two fingers rubbing across your lips and you open your mouth, letting him stick them in. Your lips wrapped around them, tongue lapping over them like they were his cock.

The thought alone made his cock twitch.

Charles pulls his fingers away and you pout, making him smile. He leans down to give you a kiss, “go get ready for work.” He pats your side, getting back on the bed. 

“I hate you,” you grumbled, getting off the bed. Charles once more, blowing you a kiss on your way out the room and you flip him off with a smile. 

[orobaxis]

i see you with him slow dancing

summary: when jakesully arrives to your clan, you start to think your feelings for neytiri are more than they appear

neytiri x f!reader, maybe slight jake x f!reader and jake sully x f!reader x neytiri

~2k words; italics are flashbacks

(lesbian longing stare)

next part (1.5)

-

she looks so happy. you are quiet as you observe her, your best friend and almost sister, neytiri. you have known each other since you were children, playing in the hometree and begging older na’vi to take you both to see the ikrans. she was so shy back then, her smiles were so reserved. the same smile can be seen on her face at this moment, a little more confident, and her eyes shine like the stars in the skies. 

has she ever smiled like that to you?

the new na’vi, jakesully whispers something in her ear and neytiri’s smile widens into a grin and she laughs. you want to go closer, to see that grin and experience her laugh and make sure it consumes you, but you also want to leave and run away, in case you ever get tempted. 

at first, you thought you were angry because jakesully was taking her time away from you. she would usually finish her hunt and unceremoniously drop it in front of you with a proud smile on her face, laughing when you would gasp at the size of the hunt. when you grew a little older, you realized that you did not want to become a warrior and wanted to train with the tsahik and sylwanin. neytiri was sad about this at first. “but…but we promised to get our ikrans together!” she told you. eventually, she let it go, perhaps after seeing you enjoy your training and after hearing her mother and sister say that if you were mo’at’s daughter, you would have become tsahik. 

neytiri playfully slaps jakesully’s chest, still laughing. he’s laughing too, his hand catching her hand on his chest. you take a deep breath and turn away. 

has neytiri ever looked at you the way she is looking at jakesully? you try to remember, but it’s hard. you are happy to sift through so many memories, thank eywa for all these memories, of you two giggling when you were children, and some raucous laughter that made your stomach hurt. the only times you shed happy tears were with her, laughing until you couldn't breathe, gasping for air only to laugh again, even louder the next time. of course, you’d made neytiri laugh—it’s what best friends do. but the look she’s giving him seems so…different. almost private and reserved only for him. you almost feel bad for watching them. 

-

you remember being more amenable to jakesully learning the ways of the omatikaya than neytiri. she was so annoyed back then that she was tasked of being his mentor. “why can’t you do it?” she complained at you, “you are clearly a better teacher. more patient!”

you had laughed at her. “and what will i teach him? how to read eywa’s will and care to the ails of our people? train him to be our tsahik?” you snickered at the sour look on her face at the thought. 

“bah!” she hissed, “i would rather be listening to you boring talk about your herbs and eywa’s will than train this skxwang!”

“neytiri!” you placed your hands on your heart in mock offense, “my boring talk?!”

your friend rolled her eyes and smiled at you, but immediately hissed in faux annoyance when you threw some dried herbs and peels of fruit at her. “y/n!”

-

jakesully was learning quickly. that was what neytiri told you last, many eclipses ago, you could barely remember. he had been taking too much of her time that she barely had the time to stop by your usual spot in the hometree and listen to you dawdle about your day. she usually got home and rested. no fresh hunt, no stories, no jokes, no neytiri. at first, you were annoyed, thinking, “aht, that jakesully is stealing my best friend! and i am all alone now!”

and you would have told neytiri this, it was at the tip of your tongue, but,

-

“neytiri, about jakesully—“ you closed your mouth as you watched her divert her look away, almost looking flushed under the bright glow of the night. she wore a shy smile on her face. “yes, jake,” the way she said his name was so…affectionate…you feel your body freezing, tongue tied, “he is a good warrior. strong heart. handsome.”

the envy you felt for jakesully at that statement became more malicious, bad, and something eywa would not be happy about. you did not like to carry these heavy feelings in your heart, you do not want these spiteful thoughts.

-

“something is weighing your heart, y/n. eywa has sensed it, as have i.”

the tsahik, mo’at, was a kind and devoted teacher to you. even with the loss of sylwanin, she never turned down your questions and desire to learn more from her. “your connection to eywa is profound, dear child. i could not ask her for anyone better to take sylwanin’s place,” she had told you. 

so it was not hard for you to bare your emotions to her, to eywa, in hopes that your mind and heart would be purged of sinister thoughts of jakesully. 

“i do not understand my feelings, tsahik,” you told her, “i have always felt my heart is full when i am with this person, yet a darkness comes into my soul when they are taken away from me. not unwillingly. my heart now grows louder whenever they are near. i feel…” you slowed down, trying to keep your breathing steady as you felt your throat tighten and tears starting to form, “…envious when they are taken away from me. resentful that they do not look at me that way they look at another.”

mo’at was silent for a moment, eyeing you without judgment, trying to understand your thoughts. then, you felt her hands on your shoulders. firm hands that had supported your clan, your passion for healing and eywa, and your feelings. “dear y/n, those feelings are jealousy, and it is time to come to terms with it. that the feelings you have for the na’vi exceeds familial bonds.” you briefly wondered if mo’at knew that you were talking about her daughter, but she never mentioned anything. “eywa says that your affections may be deeper than you believe. a mate,” she told you with a smile, squeezing your shoulders, “if they should return your affections.”

with that, you burst into tears, falling against the tsahik’s chest. “oh great mother eywa, i dont know what to do!” because you were certain that you were not the object of her affections.

-

you couldn’t even learn to hate jakesully even if you tried.

you did not have the animosity that most omatikayans had when he first appeared, and the feeling only improved when he would come talk to you. you had asked him the first time, “why you come, jakesully?” confused at his presence as he watched you prepare the meat from the hunt. he did not seem to mind your broken english.

“i want to learn about you y/n,” he grinned, the look of him was charming and mischievous. you thought that that smile surely would have annoyed neytiri, who had little patience for someone who did not take training seriously. “neytiri talks about you a lot. you’re training under mo’at. you’re her best friend. she also says you prepare the meats best.”

you couldn’t help the smile that settled on your face at his flattery. “thank you jakesully. next time, you bring me meat and i make sure to cook it nicely for you.”

“promise?” the line on top of his left eye (“eyebrows,” he had called it, wiggling them both) rose at that. the smirk was wider. “it’s a date then.”

you did not know what a ‘dyeyt’ was, but soon after that, every kill that jakesully made was given to you for preparation.

on other days, he would follow you around while you forage materials and fruits, insisting on carrying them all. other times he would ask you to practice na’vi with him.

it was hard to hate jakesully.

-

“y/n, have you thought about getting a mate?”

the movements of your fingers in neytiri’s hair stopped, which made her turn her head and tilt up to look at you. “well?”

you wanted to say it. it was neytiri, your best friend, the one who knew everything about you, who understood you better than you understood yourself. the one who was by your side through thick and thin. the one who saved your life countless times, including when the skypeople attacked the school two years ago. the one you prayed to eywa to and received an answer for. the one you love. 

“of course i want to take a mate, neytiri,” you would tell her, as you run your fingers through her hair before tucking some of it behind her ear. “i choose you, neytiri te tskaha mo'at'ite, i see you. oel ngati kameie.” three little words that you have been dying to tell her.

i just hoped you saw me too.

“no,” you told her. “i am waiting for a sign from eywa.”

she turned her back from you, but you did not miss her smile. you resumed braiding the beads into her braids, throat tight as you try to ignore the beating of your heart and the sadness in your soul.

“i think i just received a sign from the great mother,” she whispered, almost so quiet that you didn’t hear her, but you did.

you gulped, trying to ignore the feeling of your heart breaking. 

i wish that was me.

-

you feel dizzy as you walk up the hometree, the feeling in your extremities gone as you try to ignore the shaking. you were going to do something drastic, the only thing you can think of that would ease the pain. you realize that the only thing you can do is ease it, because you can never get rid of it. getting rid of your feelings for neytiri is impossible because it would mean that you would forget all the memories, not just the bad ones. and you want as many of those good memories with you as you venture into this new journey of your life.

mo’at looks up when you approach her. “my child—“ she starts, but you quickly greet her, ready to get it over with.

“oel ngati kameie, tsahik,” you press your fingers to your fingers and extending your hand to her. “i received a sign from eywa.”

the grim look on mo’at’s face showed that she does not believe you, and it changes to a look of defeat as she nods, allowing you to continue.

-

you almost do not want to interrupt them.

the pace you set is fast, to make sure that you do not break momentum and decide not to say what you needed to say. your breathing is also quick, increasing even more when you see them in the moonlight, jake’s hands around neytiri’s waist. they look so beautiful, you think to yourself, i apologize for interrupting this moment.

jake is the first to notice you. “y/n!” his ‘aye-braaws’ shoot up in surprise. neytiri turns to you with a grin, and they separate as she gives you a hug.

i wish it was me, neytiri. i wish it was me holding you under the moonlight. i wish you would come into my pod every night to say good night like you always did.

“i have some news,” you blurt out. it is better to say it all than delay the inevitable. in this way, the burden in your heart will be lessened (but never free. not of her).

the two of them look at you intently.

“eywa has sent me a sign,” you clear your throat, feeling tears sting your eyes and your voice shaking. recently, this is what happens when you think about them for too long. it is almost like your heart is trying so hard to make sure you don’t break right in front of them. but every single time, it the crack gets bigger. “i am to mate with tsu’tey.” you give them both a shaky smile, hurriedly turning your back to breathe a sigh. it is over. at the same time, tsu’tey finds you amongst the crowd and calls your name. without delay, you walk away from neytiri and jake.

you do not see the looks they exchanged. the frown on jake’s face. the wobble of neytiri’s mouth as she brings her hand to cover it. you do not know, you do not hear. their hearts are breaking too.

“we lost her,” neytiri bemoans, “jake…”

we lost her.”

-

for those waiting for ominis fics, you did not see this 🫣

(still working on it! i want it to be LONG!)

i love you jake but i dont see a lot of fics about neytiri this is blatant homophobia 😩

[amloveabledeathmo]

(Some background for this idea, Sherlock is Demisexual and after spending enough time with John he realizes he loves John and wants a relationship but we all know he can't start it after telling John he was married to his work and not interested in people. John is bi but after the immediate rebuff at the beginning of their acquaintance he doesn't want to push himself on Sherlock. He also only dates women because the only man he wants is Sherlock, in fact the only person but it's easier to not compare women to Sherlock.)

Sherlock gets a case where people have not only had their personal information (and money) stolen but also their private relationships exposed. He comes to find out that they have all stayed at a fancy hotel. Said hotel is well known for it's discretion and is also a popular destination for fancy business events.

Instead of deciding to go as friends, work colleagues, siblings, cousins, hotel staff, or as people who don't even know each other, Sherlock decides that him and John absolutely have no other option but to go as a couple. John of course agrees, after all Sherlock is the genius and he would like to know what dating Sherlock would entail, even if they are going undercover as not themselves and the dating is totally fake.

They tell Mrs. Hudson since she is their emergency contact. No one else knows about the case.

Once they arrive they are given just a standard two queen room (I'm american and in every hotel I've stayed at that is the default room, no I've never been to a fancy hotel). Safely in the room they stand looking at the beds for awhile before Sherlock says they should probably share a bed as they are supposed to be a couple on their first vacation together and of course you wouldn't want anyone who saw their room to gossip. John readily agrees and they place their suitcases on the unused bed. When they go to sleep they are laying stiffly on opposite sides of the bed but by morning they are closer together and John's arm is over Sherlock's stomach and Sherlock's leg is over John's hip. Of course these brilliant and totally not in love guys just ignore it.

After breakfast they decide to explore the hotel and it's amenities. At the spa they book a couples massage for the next day and continue to the gardens and tennis court and indoor pool. Besides the spa the rest of the stuff is included in their stay. They talk to staff and other guests and before bed discuss their findings.

Afternoon of the next day they arrive to the spa to wait for their turn. Much to everyone's surprise, Mycroft and Greg emerge from the massage room. There are a few beats of shocked silence before Mycroft tells Sherlock he's happy that him and John have finally worked things out and poor mummy and daddy won't be getting any grandkids. John bursts out why not? We can always adopt or go with a surrogate, I think Sherlock would make a great father.

Sherlock turns to stare at John lovingly and Mycroft and Greg kinda cough uncomfortably before Greg says they aren't yet at the stage in their relationship to discuss kids. After some awkward congratulations going both ways about the relationships John and Sherlock go in for their appointment.

Of course they are both convinced that the other is such a good actor so as to have been able to dupe Mycroft into thinking they could actually be together. Both ignore all the obvious signs that they other likes them. In only two more days Sherlock discovers the front desk clerk who has been passing the personal information to reporters about the high level secret couples and the spa worker who has been stealing the credit card or bank numbers from clients.

After they get home, while John is typing up the case, Sherlock quietly asks if he really does think he'd make a good father. John points out all the reasons he thinks he would be and Sherlock goes quiet. John asks if that's something he wants and Sherlock explains that he never thought he'd find someone who he wanted kids with before he met John.

John whips his head around to look at Sherlock who looks shocked he said that out loud. John asks if he really meant that he wanted kids with John. Sherlock apologizes and says he knows John's straight and not interested in him. John cuts him off saying he's bi and has been interested since the moment they met.

Christmas is interesting that year at Sherlock's parents who are absolutely delighted that not one but both of their boys had a significant other to bring.

[themousebehindthecurtain]

hello!!! now that the mice are in the picture i feel like i can start actually start pulling my weight with the "marketing" side of things so.......here is an art blog where i can breakdown some of the process stuff that goes into making the comic.

first! before anything! go read my comic! it's about a witch who tries to break a curse on some people who got turned into mice but it turns out they want to stay mice!! my sister and i work sososo hard on it and also it's silly! read it here @notinvitedtothemouseparty or on the neocities our younger sister made (mouse-party.neocities.org)

now that we've got some basics out of the way, when annie (sister) and I first started throwing this idea around we realized we wanted the mice to look like a completely different art style than the rest of the comics. the easiest way to do this would, obviously, be to get a non-annie artist to draw them.

i am a non-trained artist, outside of like. elementary school art lessons. but during the first COVID lockdown, i had started a silly little challenge to draw a mouse (completely unrelated to this project) a day every night before bed and sent it into the group chat we share with our sister. going back over these drawings, it was really cool to see how i progressed drawing the same thing consistently and we started to discuss whether or not *i* should be the one to draw the mice. which um!!! made me a little nervous ngl! annie is very talented! and i didn't really know how to draw hands!!

but when we put some of my mice on her backgrounds it felt kind of undeniably charming. the contrast between the watercolors and the paper doll-like mice worked really well together and i think ultimately ends up serving a good thematic statement. this comic is fundamentally about Growth And Creativity In The Face Of Weird Horrors And Situations Also™ and what better way to show that than conducting a story-wide psychological experiment to see if i end up going from being a scribbler to an all-around okay illustrator! could get better at art, could get worse! the goal here is fun and also to finish a project amen forever and ever!

the division of labor was set: i would draw the mice, annie would draw literally everything else