#literally just earlier i almost got a paper cut and i was like

[koi0boi]

what formative media irrevocably changed your speech patterns (mine's trollhunters. yeah the dreamworks cartoon. yeah I'm rewatching it just to feel something)

fucking. dsmp. I can not stop saying pogchamp it is a PROBLEM

[whatever-imagines]

“Princess”

Fem! Butch! Wolverine x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of y/n; some mention of Origins, Scott and reader are low key besties; repressed EVERYONE; drinking; lemme know what I missed; the fan art and everything has got me.

Did you know Logan can be a girls name? That’s why it’s unchanged.

Rated: T

——————

“Watch it, bub.” Was the first thing she ever said to you; growled out and annoyed, wearing clothes that weren’t hers, barefoot stomping through the halls of the mansion to follow Professor Xavier to the infirmary.

You were just in the way. The stranger was already irritated by the looks of things and you were too dumbstruck on how handsome you thought she looked to get out of the way in enough time. The proximity, the raspiness of her voice, it made your breath hitched and you stared unblinkingly at her retreating form and you knew; you were fucked.

You were told by a calm Scott that her name was Logan. He had put a comforting hand on your shoulder, mistaking your sudden infatuation for fear or discomfort. Scott tells you they found her after a fight with another mutant the team had been hunting down and found her, rapidly healing and unconscious next to the corpse of the dangerous mutant they were looking for. So they brought her to the mansion, to study her and ask questions.

You hear about the fights Logan has with Scott all the time, and how she always flirts with Jean and Ororo, you see her wander the halls in the school portion of the mansion, and you always give her a wide berth. Half because, in a sense, she does intimidate you; she has a powerful mutation and fierce attitude, she could easily destroy you in any kind of fight. And the other reason you avoid her is-

“Jesus, watch it, squirt!”

“I’m so sorry!” You breath out, leaning down to gather the papers that went flying after you literally ran into Logan. They were mission reports that Scott’s been demanding to see, and in your haste to bring them to the team leader, you ran into the school’s resident loner.

You steadfastly refuse to make eye contact, focusing solely on picking up the papers that were spilled. You could feel the intense brown eyes of the other woman bearing down at you, but still you refuse to look up as you sputter apologies. you felt like you could cry from how embarrassed you were but you kept a stiff upper lip.

This is why you avoid her. For this exact reason.

You don’t have an impressive mutation, a very mild healing one that only extends to saving cuts and scraps; and you spent most of that time with your mutation healing yourself because you were so clumsy. What an embarrassment to your kind, you often think. Compared to Logan, you have no real use to the team; you don’t even go out to fight, you just help organize the paperwork and manage the little things so everyone can focus on keeping others safe and bettering themselves. You’re not nearly as impressive as the woman before you.

Once most of the papers are collected, a pair of brown cowboy boots enter your field of vision, and the clearing of a throat makes you slowly raise your gaze up to Logan, the fearsome Wolverine.

At this angle, she looked gorgeous, and curious.

“I’ve seen you around.” She drawls lazily, whatever bite she had earlier gone. “You’re Scott’s secretary.”

You wince in slight annoyance. “I’m the team’s assistant. I just-“ you gesture to the papers around you. “I handle the boring stuff. Help out when I’m needed.” Grabbing the last paper you awkwardly stand up. “Heal scraped knees and alike.”

Her large hand shoots out and grabs your shoulder to steady your wobbling self. Her hand was burning hot, and you could almost feel the callouses from years of fighting and doing god knows what through the cardigan you wore. You swore you felt your stomach literally flip at the contact.

She gave you a weird look, like she couldn’t believe you were this helpless. You quickly schooled your flustered expression and made some excuse up, how Scott would be more annoying if you put off giving him these papers any longer, and you scuttle down the hall, regretfully leaving the warm hand of Logan behind.

Scott also gave you a questioning look when you slammed the door to his room shut after all but running to where he was.

“… you okay, pal?” He asked, half bemused but you could tell by his tone he was ready to be serious if needed.

You sigh, and throw the paper files at him. He caught them easily. “I’m fine I’m just-“ you sigh again. “I’m just a mess.”

—-

The third time Logan speaks to you, it’s when you’re sneaking back into the mansion after a lukewarm date. It’s not like it was a secret, but still the only people you told were the Professor, so you could get permission to leave, and Ororo, who helped you get ready while you panicked.

You quietly meander into the kitchen, just to grab a soda in the dark, when the light suddenly gets flicked on.

“You look nice.” A raspy drawl says, surprising you so bad you slam the fridge door shut.

Your head snaps to the source of the sound, and there you see Logan, face half obscured in shadows.

“Oh!” You gasp. “Thank you…” you tamper off, half ready to explain yourself but deciding it better to keep your trap shut.

The Wolverine’s head cocks sideways before speaking again. “Any particular reason for the get up?” It felt more like a question in an interrogation.

You swallow thickly, suddenly feeling very self conscious. “I had a date.”

Finally pushing herself from the wall, Logan makes her way to where you stand. “Oh?” she inquires. there’s something in her eyes that make your stomach swoop but you couldn’t put a name to it. It almost looks like jealousy, but that wouldn’t make any sense in this situation. She just must be angry you got to leave the mansion and she’s still on probation. “Have fun with him?”

Him.

The insulation leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“She was quite boring actually.” You gently correct, pulling the tab off your soda can to open it. “An accountant or something. Kept telling me all the formulas she knew.” You mumble, bringing the drink to your lips and ignoring the way Logan’s eye bore into you.

“… don’t like the studious type?” She asks, tone playful but in the edge of something.

You’re sure to stew on your answer for a second, for whatever reason it feels like you should reply carefully. “I like reliable but not dull, if that makes sense.”

She digest your words, her eyes still staring, and you still ignoring the stare.

“You don’t look at me a lot.” Her sentence was quick and only added tension to the air. “Everyone stares-“ a hand grasps your shoulder and forces you to face her; her brown eyes leering at you, dry lips pressed into a thin line, the width of her nose scrunching slightly in irritation- “… except you.”

There’s a beat of silence. You can hear the fridge thrum with electricity, your heart thrum with anxiety.

“… it’s rude to stare.” Is all you can offer.

Logan snorts, amused or angry you don’t know, but her hot hand lets go of your shoulder and she heavily steps away.

“Smart-ass.” She chuckles, and disappears back into the shadow, the should have the keys she wears on her belt jingling away with her departure.

You breathe out slowly to calm your nerves, and sip your soda.

—-

It’s a party; a celebration of surviving another year at the school. Your anniversary. Scott makes it a big deal for you every year, as it’s his anniversary too, you and a handful of others.

“Xavier’s First Class Alumni” the banner proudly proclaims. You smile wistfully at it, happy to be where you are now but pushing the memory of how you got here out of your mind.

The cages, endless rows of cages. Scientists and doctors constantly doing rounds and taking samples like you were a computer giving off results instead of a person made of flesh and blood. There was a fight outside, something tremulous, but you had passed out from blood loss easily in the first few minutes of the commotion. You awoke to Scott cradling you as carrying you onto some extraordinary aircraft where a bald man awaited with a patient smile.

Scott was blinded by an impressive mask for safety then, not even he could tell you what had happened. Only a few who went on the ship stay with the professor, at the school. Many went back home to their families; but you stayed. And nobody could really recall how exactly they were all freed from Three Mile Island.

You’re leaning against a wall in the basement as the streamers hand low in the pulsing light of the party, deep bass music playing loudly enough to drown out most thought but not wake the children upstairs. You look to your left to see Scott and Jean laughing merrily with Kurt and Ororo and you smile.

The scent of musk fills your senses. You’re warm, incredibly warm, and the pressure of another weight against your right side. You quickly look to see Wolverine staring down at you, a beer bottle in her hand resting against her leg and the other arm propping herself over you against the wall.

“Enjoying the party?” She rasps, the bottle coming to her lips for a swig.

You watch carefully as the amber liquid passes into her mouth and she swallows, and you lick your bottom lip without realizing it.

She watches it though.

“It’s a fun thing for everyone.” You settle on saying.

She scoffs. “So you were one of the originals? Chuck’s first students?”

You shrug. “It was infinitely better than where I was.” Her bushy eyebrow quirked up in interest but you soldier on. “I’m very grateful to Professor Xavier for all he’s done to keep us safe.”

She rolls her eyes, a touch of a wild smile teases the corner of her mouth; Logan seems to be in an arguing mood and couldn’t get to Scott, so she settled on you.

“Safe, sure. Cooped up and all.” She bemoans.

And for the first time since you’ve encountered Logan, you’re… irritated with her. You pout and cross your arms, not unlike a child.

“Xavier’s done endless things to make everything better for us here.” You argue.

Your sudden passion seems to intrigue Logan. She straightens up more, once again reminding you of how small you exactly are compared to her. “How so, princess?” She growls out.

The tone was sardonic but you filed the nick name away to fantasize about later.

“Well, no one’s gabbed a needle into me without my consent since I got here 15 years ago, so that’s one thing.” You spit out, annoyed.

Logan’s face contorts ever so slightly, suddenly closed off but still watching you raptly.

“I haven’t had to hear direct death threats from everyone around me; I get to see future generations of mutats learn and grow-“ you gasp to continue your rant. “and be raised in a safe enviro-“

“Sorry.”

The singular word was delivered almost bashfully, if Logan could do anything bashful. She still staring down at you, hand in her pocket, next to her keys. The beer bottle taps her thigh absently.

No one was watching you, everyone wrapped up in their own bubbles and conversations. You vaguely hear the limbo song start playing.

You uncross your arms and tuck your chin down. “I’m sorry.” You usher out quickly.

“Don’t-“

“I got heated and I’m sorry.” You reiterate, a little more purpose behind your words.

Logan keeps staring at you, waiting. And your mouth just keeps moving.

“Everyone sees this day as a great day because the Professor found us, but to me it’s always gonna mark the day the experiments stopped. It means that something awful happened to me and it ended but it still happened and…” you trail off, one arm crossing your body to curl into yourself.

“… I know something about being experimented on.” Logan gravely states. “I’m sorry for pissing you off.” She amends.

You look up at her again, and nod. “Thanks.” You timidly respond.

She nods back.

Scott calls to you and you turn to look at him. He gestures for you to come over, and when you look back at Logan to say goodbye, she was already gone.

—-

Logan was gone for about a week after that. When she came back, everyone acted like she never left at all.

You still give her room; she’s complained before about the others “suffocating” her. But now she enters your space.

She sits as close to you as she can turn team meeting while you take the notes. She’s always in the halls you frequently use as short cuts. She always has to talk to Xavier right after you and you constantly bump into her as you leave his office.

And she always says the same thing.

“Hey, princess.”

It almost makes you crumble sometimes. But you straighten yourself out mentally and greet her back politely, and quickly rush away in fear you might make a fool of yourself again.

It eventually comes to head at some point. You mention to Ororo that you might try dating again. Maybe sign up for an online dating service if you could find a queer friendly one on the deep web. Sometime later that same day you get cornered by Wolverine.

She had just came back from a bike ride; hair wild and leather jacket over jean jacket over a men’s blue button down shirt over wife beater. Jeans still wet from the snow outside along the bottom, boot a darker color than normal.

“Lemme buy you a drink.” She says, so seriously and quickly you almost misunderstood her.

The proximity of her throws you off, you’re in some corridor not far from the garage. “I’m sorry?”

“Let. Me. Buy. You. A. Drink.” She reiterates, enunciating each word clearly enough you could identify the trace amount of her northern accent. Her arm glides up and once again she leans over you, her shadow casted on your form.

“… why?”

Her other hand comes up to your face and, with a gentleness you would not associate with the Wolverine, carefully holds your cheek in her palm, thumb on your bottom lip.

“I like your face. Lemme buy you a drink.” She asks again.

Your stomach swoops again, your ears burns with affection and you’re biting your cheek so hard as not to squeak in victory you taste copper in your mouth.

“Okay.”

She sags minutely, as if in relief.

“Thanks, princess.”

[marnikula]

Can u do early seasons spencer x reader who has a lot of problems and they let people walk all over them and they dont set boundaries and they struggle with their emotions. Reader likes spencer a lot but doesn't seek him out bc they feel like he deserves better! And u can decide what happens but make it happy ending :)

Oh my word, I literally spent like 2 hours writing this because I wrote something and then my internet cut out when I posted and now it's lost, so I had to rewrite it. Hope you enjoy!

Cw: gn reader, people dumping work on reader, Spencer being cute

Enjoy!

You were a doormat. You knew it, your friends knew it, everyone knew it. You tried to set boundaries, to say no, but it never seemed to stick. Saying no made you feel guilty, it made you feel like a bad person even though you knew you weren't.

Being a doormat, people tended to walk all over you, requesting ridiculous things of you. That is how it came to be that you were sitting alone in the bullpen, the clock ticking away, showing you that it was around midnight and you still had a whole stack of papers to go through. You felt yourself about to fall asleep, and truly, you were too tired to fight it off when a ding signaled the arrival of someone.

Without even turning to look who it was you knew it was Spencer Reid. You recognized his footsteps, and even if you didn't, the smell he brought with him would have alerted you. It was the smell of coffee mixed sweet undertones, almost as if he had spent his whole day in a café. It was intoxicating. "What are you still doing here?" "Working, I have a lot of stuff to finish before tomorrow" "you mean today" looking back at the clock you could see he was right, it was now officially the next day.

"Do you need some help?" without even waiting for you to decline Spencer took half of the pile you were working on. He moved fast, knowing you well enough to know that you hated asking for help, especially from him, he just could never figure out why.

"Spencer, you really don't need to, I've got this" reaching your hands to take the files back only to be swatted away by the doctor was something you did not expect. "I'm not saying you don't have it, I'm just going to help you so you can go home earlier"

Sighing you admitted defeat and went to go make coffee for the two of you. With Spencer's help you managed to make it through the massive stack of papers on your desk in less that an hour, something you would never have been able to do on your own.

"You, doctor Spencer Reid, are amazing, what can I do to thank you?" it was a slight tease on your part. You didn't expect him to ask you anything return, it wasn't like him, he was too nice . That was one of the things you loved about him, and one of the reasons you willed the crush growing in your heart to shrivel up and die. He deserved so much better than you. Someone with a mind as amazing as his own, someone with kindness rivaling his and someone who knew how to say no. You were none of those. At least not in your own eyes.

"You could go on a date with me" Spencer surprised himself with those words, he really hadn't meant to say them out loud, but he really liked you, and in a moment of confidence inspired by sleep deprevation, he decided to take a chance.

"Really? You mean it?" the both of you were blushing hard at this point, him thinking about how he could have possibly screwed this up and you thinking about how this could possibly get any better.

"I-I mean, only if you want to, you really don't have to feel pressured, I know I said I would take it as paiment, but honestly spending time with you was enough of a payme-" grabbing his face in your hands you turned him to look at you, shutting off his ramblings with the movement and shutting off his brain with your words

"I would love to"

[iwtvdramacd18]

...... wolfkiller directors cut ? >.<

Wolfkiller was made firstly bc I fucking love Claudia as a character, and also when rereading TVL I started thinking about the role of "Wolfkiller" and how it functions in Lestat's story as something that sort of rockets him to this more than human figure: both literally through how the 8 wolf killing feat is ultimately what seals his fate wrt Magnus and also metaphorically within the text. Like much of it IS just Anne Rice having character favoritism and bad writing making Lestat the VC's Most Special Boy ever... but then I got to thinking about what it means to have proximity to the role of Wolfkiller, and how in text it entwines with his vampirism and how his vampirism is something that's both very werewolfish in how he describes how it manifests in himself and how he spreads it, but most applicable to Claudia here something that's also passed down through the blood. And I couldn't get the idea of Claudia as a sort of "heir" to this Wolfkiller title; but Lestat is the wolf. He sees his bloodlust and sharpness and hunger in her but he doesn't really fully comprehend that while Claudia might share these traits she's someone still wholly her own (and that's one of the great tragedies of iwtv-- the fact that Claudia is her own person but is unable to fully live as independent Claudia nolastname, that even in death she is being tied to Louis and described in ways that she explicitly did not want to be used for herself).

There's also a very literal reference to TVL in Wolfkiller:

In her vampiric infancy Claudia developed a love/hate relationship with the bayou. She hated how the mud sucked at her good shoes (and Louis echoed this sentiment, you messin up these good shoes for what, Claudia? ) but she was endlessly, almost overwhelmingly fascinated with its life. A cacophony of countless animal hearts beating in different rhythms. All sorts of strange creatures she could scoop from the ground and turn over in her hands. One night she snuck off to count the toes of every frog she could find, then wrote the findings in her diary.

This is inspired by a passage in TVL about Lestat describing his earlier engagements with his enhanced senses as a vampire (page 106 in this edition I'm looking at right now):

To me, their voices became a mixture of sounds like stew bubbling in a pot. All I could think was that the rat had very tiny feet, and that I had not yet examined a rat nor any small warm-blooded creature. I went and caught the rat, rather too easily I think, and looked at its feet. I wanted to see what kind of little toenails it had, and what was the flesh like between its little toes, and I forgot the men entirely.

But Claudia's interest in animal sciences is something that I originally had planned to explore more in another wip that's been shelved for the moment, a sort of second boat scene between her and Louis where she asks Louis more about his childhood and how he learned he was "Louis" and not the daughter he was originally raised as. There's really only one hint about Claudia being non-binary in Wolfkiller and I wish I added more but I hit fatigue pretty bad towards the end and couldn't figure out a way to really fit in more the way I wanted to.

She could see the faint impression as if she’d looked too long at the picture and now was haunted by its afterimage – her as a grown woman, a human, hunched over her desk scribbling on paper. There was too much wrong with it. He’d forgotten she was a vampire, and not a woman. He’d factored too many of his mother’s features into the equation.

I was really worried about writing Louis and Claudia's moments together at first but in the end I really enjoyed them, and I'm hoping to write more fics in season 2 with them interacting. Here's an exchange that didn't make the final cut:

Last thing I can think of rn is the ending, which was a very last minute addition compared to the process of the rest of the story. And I can't even really remember what reminded me of it in the first place? But the ending is actually inspired by the end of the Killing Joke.

One of my headcanons is that Claudia is also very capable of the Lestat fuck ass laugh that everyone hates, and I liked the unease but also sort of Looney Tunes type violent humor in Claudia hitting her "deer" and then the two of them laughing horribly about it.

THANKS SO MUCH FOR ASKING!! <3

[eggcompany]

So Smart, Those Boys Part 3

“Um… is John around? Does he work here? John Watson?” Sherlock asked the woman behind the counter once he had looked around the entire store. She looked incredibly bored and incredibly already over it. She looks like she’s younger than him though. High schooler probably. 

“He’s out back. He said someone would come by. Just walk through that employee’s only door.” She said like it exhausted her. Sherlock smiled and quickly walked out the door and looked around. Sure enough there was John Watson bundled up in his flannel button down, sweater, and heavy black coat. He still had on his jeans and work boots from earlier. He was sitting by a few silver metal bins on some stacked up crates. 

“John.” Sherlock said and smiled. He walked over and sat down next to the blonde. John smiled and looked him up and down. His eyebrows scrunched up for a moment but he kept smiling. 

He had noticed Sherlock changed clothes. Sherlock didn’t really wear pants. He didn’t like the way they made him feel. Constricted and suffocating and all wrapped up. It was overwhelming at times. He had dawned a pair of thick black straight leg trousers instead of his skirt and he had thrown on his long coat. 

“That’s a nice coat, Sherl. Makes you look even taller.” John said and laughed, side-eyeing the other boy who blushed and smiled.

Oh my god… a nickname. A nickname that isn’t either an insult or a slur. Sherlock thought as his heart hammered against his chest. Sherlock reached into the side of the coat and pulled out two foil wrapped parcels. 

“I got you just a plain pastrami on rye. I… I don’t know what you eat yet.” Sherlock explained and handed John the thicker one of the two. He had ordered himself a plain ham sandwich on white bread. He never got anything else. He doesn’t like trying new things. 

“Oh~ I like pastrami. It’s nice all the time but a nice hot sandwich is good. Thank you, it was really sweet of you to bring to me.” John said before digging into the steaming sandwich. Sherlock bit into his own and looked around. Tag, left handed, teenager, wanna be gangster, american, piss, literal piss.  

“Where do you live?” Sherlock asked between his bites. While John had been focused on the heavenly sandwich he was eating, Sherlock had been thinking. John chewed and covered his mouth with his hand. 

“On my friend’s Greg’s couch. I just gotta get more hours and I can afford rent somewhere.” John explained. His hours at the store had been cut three times in the last four months. He couldn’t afford rent in the place he had been staying so Greg had been letting him sleep on his couch. 

Sherlock nodded. John Watson a couch hopper? No, no, no. He can split my rent and sleep with me in my bed in my as- in the upstairs bedroom. At least maybe. If he wants to. I could clean up some… I mean it’s not like my lad at home but my papers and and

“Do you wanna sleep over at my flat?” Sherlock asked quickly. He bit into his sandwich again and seemed to become incredibly interested in a rock by his foot. John however almost spit out his food. 

Is this for sex or for friendship? Sex? Friends? I thought Sherlock didn’t have friends? Why would he ask? Wait… either way I get a bed. And maybe get laid by the cutest guy… Better than hearing Greg jack off again.

“Yeah. Yeah that would be good. Good. I get off at eight. What’s your address? Baker Street wasn’t it?” John asked. Sherlock’s eyes widened and he smiled down at the pebble he’d been toeing at. 

First part done. He’ll come. And then maybe he’ll cum. Jesus couldn’t I’ve thought of something better than that? Sherlock mental scolded himself. He’d noticed himself acting more… well his age. Eighteen and sexually frustrated, attracted. Having a crush. He’d never allowed himself to feel such a way before. But John… John is something else. 

“221b Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson lives down stairs but she won’t bother you much. I’ve… I’ve got an extra bed. … If you want to sleep there.” Sherlock said and finished his sandwich. John smiled and ate in silence till he was done. 

“Sherlock, where else would I sleep other than the spare bed?” John said, fishing. He was fishing for something and he knew he’d hooked Sherlock by the way the brunette bit his lip. 

“It’s a small bed. I’ve got a much bigger one in my room. Though if you sleep there…” Sherlock said and looked over at John. He looked John up and down. John in turn looked at Sherlock and down at his watch. His break was over but a few minutes wouldn’t hurt. 

“If I sleep there, what?” John asked and stood up, moving to stand in front of the other boy. Sherlock looked up at John and it almost, almost made John pause. The way his lashes looked so delicate from this angle, the way the street light made all the sharp lines of his face razor like. It all made him look so… deadly. Like the glint of a knife blade. 

“I might end up with tousled hair?” John said in a low quiet voice and pulled one of Sherlock’s curls and watched it spring back. 

I sure fucking hope he isn’t actually a murderer. I’m gonna get my ass killed in a bloody alleyway. John thought to himself but kept his well practiced confidence up front. 

Sherlock stared right back at him but didn’t make a move to stand or shove the other away. Instead he stared into John’s eyes like he was reading his soul. Like he knew exactly what John was thinking. 

I’m glad he can’t see how hard I am right now. Jesus bloody on a crisp, he’s hot. Oh shove me down and make me choke… Sherlock thought as John stood commandingly over him. He felt so small and weak compared to the solid body in front of him. Like a bunny in the presence of a bear. He breathed slowly and watched John’s eyes. The beautiful blue made him throb in his trousers. 

“That I might end up needing a shower?” John said in that low voice again and bent down so his face was only inches away from the brunette’s. John stared back at those diamond droplet eyes. Crystals. Gleaming and stunning.Now that he was looking at them up close though… He could see something. Something crazed, barely contained. Something uncontrollable, not like a storm, but rather like a hunger for something unattainable. A million... somethings firing all at once. 

Sherlock stared right back. It took so much self restraint to not fidget. To not adjust himself so that his prick wasn’t lying directly on the seam of his briefs. So much was going through his mind that he didn’t notice John standing back up. 

“Well, Sherlock Holmes, I think I’ll see you tonight. I think I’ll need to see if what they say about you is true or not. I’ve already taken a long break so I have to get back to work. I’ll get a cab to your place. Bye Sherlock.” John said and straightened his jacket and dusted off his bum. Sherlock swallowed and was about to speak when John leaned down and kissed his forehead. 

Do. Not. Start. Crying. Sherlock told himself and waved absently at John as he walked back through the door. Sherlock was dazed. Innuendo? Invitation? Kiss? Kiss?? Kiss? John Hamish Watson kissed my forehead. 

Sherlock thought as he walked through the ally to the road and down the sidewalk. He didn’t even know where he was just walking. Second nature, his feet talking him home while his mind wandered. 

He’s coming to my flat. It worked? It worked. John is comi ng to my house and expecting sex. Sex. Sex with John Watson… I need to prepare. Lube. Condom. I need to clean out. I need to change the sheets. I need to put towels by the bed. Will he put his in me? Will he want mine in him? I don’t like it when people touch mine. Will he let me touch him? Will he want to touch me? Will he be gentle…

His mind kept thinking more and more as he opened his door and went to his bedroom and stripped. He got in the bath and started his ritual preparation. 

In the convenience store John was doing a happy dance and drinking a Gatorade. He had a smile plastered on his face. The anxiety of not knowing how it was going to go was being drowned out by the fact that he was going to go sleep with Sherlock Holmes. He was going to kiss and touch and rub and fuck Sherlock Holmes. Tonight. In a few hours. It was going to be a night to remember…

Hopefully in a good way.

<- Last Chapter Next Chapter ->

[zaukiel]

i dont apologize for spamming today bc as i clean out my folders i can find shit to post that i havent put into my art blog yet

INCLUDING THE VIKSTUCK i did for 4 13 a few yrs back when we were still doing our FF8 dungeons and dragons campaign

LONG POST INCOMING

>WAKE UP Rise and shine, you got shit to do today.

>TURN OFF ALARM There ya go, champ. Welcome to the waking world!

>ENTER NAME Your name is VIKTOR RACHMAN. You are currently in TRABIA GARDEN training to be a SEED. Today is your day off, and you get to spend it mostly how you would like.

>GET OUT OF BED. You rise out of bed. You made sure to sleep earlier last night as tonight you plan on going out to be a rowdy bitch. You still have some chores to get done before you can start your day. But first! What would you like to do?

>EXAMINE VINYL ALBUM ON WALL That is your STRAY CARBUNCLES album, you still arent sure why they went for the pixellated look for the album art, its illegible, but it was the first vinyl you ever bought because you love that rockabilly sound.

>OPEN BLINDS AND PEEP OUT THE WINDOW It’s very bright outside, you’re not quite used to it, but at least now your room is lit up. There appears to be some people out and about right now in one of the concourses, you sometimes wish you had a south dorm for a better view.

>WOSH HIM You look down at yourself and realize you probably could do for a shower or something. Time to get BIG CLEAN.

Victory! You are now clean and the first of the things on your list of tasks is done, good job Viktor. You did your basic duty of not smelling bad and the world thanks you for this.

>ADMIRE SELF IN MIRROR

You pull your hair back out of your face so it looks more like your usual cut, you give yourself a wink and a finger gun. Looking damn fine, Viktor, as usual.

>EAT SOMETHING

It’s occurred to you that you probably need to eat. But you have a few things you need to do still before you can leave your room. A shirt at the least is one of those requirements. You should probably consult your LIST of THINGS YOU NEED TO DO TODAY.

>CONSULT LIST

Right, the LIST. You should probably figure out what you did with it.

You return back into your room and have a look around, you’ve thrown your clothing you’d had on before minus your jeans onto the floor and bed because you’re too lazy to deal with them right now.

Priority 1: List, where the fuck did you put it?

>LOOK DOWN, JACKASS.

Oh, right. The paper. The one that’s been there literally this entire fucking time. On your floor. Because you don’t know how to put things away.

>PICK UP LIST AND LOOK AT IT.

There ya go simple shit to do you can manage that.

HEY don’t give ME that look, you and I both know I struggle to draw you when you dont have a shirt on, just put one on.

Now you’re just being facetious.

this isnt how shirts work and you know it but im going to allow it for progression’s sake. good job you have a shirt on despite the laws of physics. now what?

>STYLE YOUR HAIR!

Do something flirty and fun! I think we both agree that’s a good place to start, right buddy?

>MONTAGE

>HAIR FIX COMPLETE!

Looking good~ as always! Well now that that’s done you’re almost done your list!

>CHECK LIST AGAIN.

listen you can hang around shirtless later, for now we have work to do.

and thats as far as it went bc i got tired

i should do another one sometime for the new age vik :3

[stevemc37]

Enchanting - Prologue | MC Steve x Reader

To the tune of cheering, bursting fireworks, and the clinking of glasses, I wish that I could tell you that I was starting the new year off right. But that wouldn't quite be the truth, would it? With all of the sniffles of a new cold coming on, a healing two inch long cut on the back of my hand from my own pet cat, and hot chocolate resting in my favorite mug, I couldn't help but shudder from the coughing that I was trying to suppress. The tickling at the back of my throat was becoming more bothersome with each passing moment, and for some reason neither water nor hot cocoa were doing the trick.

Swiping a tissue from the box in the bathroom, I used the gentle cloth to wipe away what I thought was the phlegm at the corners of my mouth, glaring at the colorfully patterned cardboard I had grabbed my tissue from. I wished that I could just yell at the bright, happy colors to just shut up. It wasn't fair that I was having a bad day, and this box of tissues wasn't. It wasn't fair that the cat just had to scratch my hand, and then acted fine around the guests tonight because god forbid someone in my life loved and appreciated me (I love you mom, but sometimes I just wish the cat did too). And it wasn't fair that I was the one in the family to catch a cold when I literally don't talk to anyone at school.

Okay, that was a bit of a lie, I thought to myself, crumpling up the tissue before tossing it into the trash can, I have Alex. My best friend of almost two years now. We'd become unlikely friends in the middle of our freshman year of high school -- not because we didn't like each other or anything, but because our interests were so different. But I digress.

As I turned towards the door, my shoulders shook once again with a coughing fit, and I brought my hand up to my mouth to stifle the sound. Damn it. I could feel something small and soft crawling up the back of my throat.

Ew, what the heck?!

Whatever it was had finally travelled up to my mouth. I sputtered and spat, pulling out that wet, slippery, whatever the fuck that was from off the far end of my tongue between two fingers, holding it out in front of my body with mild disgust etched onto my face.

A single, bright pink petal innocently dangled between my index finger and thumb.

My stomach began to swim as my mouth filled with saliva. I put a hand to my stomach, scared that I was about to throw up as a single word filled my mind.

Hanahaki.

No. 

I slowly shook my head, letting go of the petal and watching it unceremoniously drop to the ground from the weight of my own spit as it stuck to the bathroom tiles. It was strange when I initially realized that I had the disease. I didn't shake, didn't cry, didn't even say a word. All I could feel was my heart sinking farther into my guts as I blankly stared at the nasty little petal lying on the ground. At that point, I hadn't really been surprised at the realization. My mind was temporarily soothed that I had finally labeled the reason why my breathing had begun to worsen over the weeks and it always felt like I had something caught in my throat that I just couldn't get rid of. 

I reminded myself that this disease had the potential to be deadly.

My skull began to throb with an oncoming headache.

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

That's when a flash of red caught the corner of my eye, bringing my attention to the crumpled up paper resting at the top of the waste bin. Small splotches of crimson dotted the white of a discarded tissue, my tissue, that I had wiped my face with earlier. 

My eyes snapped to my hands to find thin ruby smears across my palms from when I had coughed earlier. How had I been so blind to have not noticed it sooner?

Damn it.

. +*

The MC Steve/Reader Hanahaki disease fanfic you've been looking for. Maybe I'll even finish it...

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

After several posts about Lance as a father, and also after a funny comment from @bored-farmer about The First Slash clan as a babysitters for Lance and the Farmer's child, I decided to write a small... fic? If you can call it.

In this story, I left the child and the Farmer neutral (like son or daughter, and Farmer pronounce what you want), so that it fits the other OCs in any way they want to come up with!

Also, the SVE Wiki doesn't have a similar pronunciation description for Guild members, so I made the classic Edmund, Drake and Gale - he/him, and for Brianna - she/her (simple because it's hard to translate others pronunciations in my language, but feel free to give in your own HC pronunciations that you want!)

Story under the cut! And feel free for feedbacks 😃 (and sorry for mistakes, English is still hard)

Warnings: language

________________________________________

Ah, Fable Reef...

Lonely, small, but still such a beautiful and lively island in the middle of a vast ocean, far from the mainland. Few people know that the headquarters of the famous Guild called The First Slash Clan is located here. For them, this is a very convenient post for protecting the ocean from any impending threat. And they chose a very good place - what a beautiful views from this island, truly admire! A breathtaking sunset, exotic palm trees with growing coconuts, crystal clear water with a huge school of fish around, colorful corals, local fauna in the form of small crabs, crustaceans, mollusks...

"Where is... Where is that brat!? Where? Fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking hell!"

"Language!"

Hmm, yes. These voices are, one might say, another representative of the "fauna" on this island. Namely - the brave members of the Guild mentioned earlier.

"Cursing and shouting won't help the cause, Brianna, - Edmund tried to remain calm and hide his worries in front of his friend and colleague, although in the current situation, it became much more difficult to do this every minute. - Moreover, the child can be nearby and hear all your scolding"

"Believe me, this little asshole still don’t understand shit no matter what am I saying", - Brianna snapped back at Edmund at his moralizing. She did not want to be rude to him, but her nerves began to slowly surrender.

To be honest, the situation was laughably absurd. Losing four-year-old child of Lance and his partner on a small island...

And how did it all start? And it started on Wednesday, everything bad always happened on Wednesday, Brianna thought. It seemed to be an ordinary day, nothing remarkable, nothing foreshadowed trouble. But then she, Drake, Edmund and Gale got an order from Jolyne to watch the Lance's baby for one day. Second-in-command and his spouse had to go to a very important meeting with Magnus and Camilla for almost the whole day, while Jolyne herself went to a meeting of the Guilds on the issue of a torpedo trout. The child was left in the care of four adventurers with Gale at the head, and it seem that it would not be so difficult to take care of the kid. If they only knew how this event will turned out...

For half a day everything was alright: the kid was not particularly capricious, was full, clean, sitting on a pillow in the main hall and drew something with crayons on paper, while the adults were in the same hall doing their usual things. And then bam - and the child disappeared after the magic cotton. Parents, of course, warned that the baby may have small manifestations of magic. The key word is "small".

At the age of four, to already manage, albeit not consciously, chaotically teleport - a talented little one, truly a child of Lance and Farmer. The distance of the teleporters was short, literally two meters from the old point. But before the adults had time to pick up the child, the fidget with a small cotton disappeared from the hall of the headquarters completely. Adults had no choice but to start searching for the "missing little magician".

Brianna couldn't understand why Lance can't just hire a nanny in their hometown. Why should they be the babysitters? Ah yeah, because it's a magical child, with the "gift". It is unlikely that the nanny would be able to keep track of the baby, who would cast mini fireballs or levitate throughout the house. But at least in this case it was possible to push the blame on the nanny, or the same parents. It's not good to think like that, but she's just so tired.

While she and Edmund were standing on the sandy shore and exchanging not too pleasant words, a worried Drake ran up to them:

"I've already searched everywhere, - he said, out of breath, - the main hall, our rooms, the rest room, the armory, the closet with elixirs, combed the entire coast - I can't find the little one!"

Poor Drake, it would seem, he is ready to burst into tears on the spot from the hopelessness of the situation and from the realization that he let his dear friend and idol down.

"Hush Drake, do not lose heart. The kid should be nearby, maybe they just accidentally became invisible. This happened to me as a child when I spilled a potion on myself" - Edmund, hearing the sad tone of the pink-haired Adventurer, began to calm him down.

"You were already a daredevil then, weren't you, Edmund?" - Brianna, of course, will not miss the opportunity to tease het friend, especially since this will somehow help dilute the directed situation. To her caustic comment in his address, Edmund decided to tactfully keep silent.

"Shall we recheck the main hall and rooms then? I feel that the child is somewhere nearby, but I cannot find it", - Drake suggested.

"Uugh.. - Brianna sighed wearily and rubbed her temples in hopes of easing her headache. - Ok, let's do it. But we also need Gale to help us too. Where the hell did he go?!"

"I saw him in the armory, he then teleported somewhere. Maybe he's looking for the shore again? Or..."

"Greetings, my dear friends" - A familiar voice came from behind.

The three adventurers gasped in surprise and abruptly turned their heads towards the source of the sound. Lance was already approaching them, a smile on his face, clearly pleased to see his friends. Behind him was his partner, beloved Farmer, who smiled as broadly and sincerely at their friends from the other Guild. Apparently, poor trio forgot that the parents always teleport silently to the island.

"We apologize for the delay. The meeting dragged on, mostly due to Camilla, who couldn't keep her ass still and interrupt and tease everyone" - The Farmer looked apologetically at the trio of people in blue raincoats.

Lance laughed softly at his soulmate's comment and said, "Careful, my love, or Camilla might hear you"

Then the gallant adventurer looked again at his three colleagues:

"I hope our little one hasn't given you much trouble?"

"I missed my baby so much! - The Farmer said impatiently. - So, where is our precious little treasure?"

Brianna looked at Lance and Farmer like she was seeing them for the first time. Edmund tried to find words that would not cause a sharp panic and the inclusion of the "a la crush-break" action. Drake, on the other hand, was standing, looking at Lance, and small, shiny water droplets appeared on the corners of his eyes. Another second - and the young adventurer is about to cry.

Edmund decided to break the silence: "Lance, the baby is now, uhm, is..."

"Here"

All five turned towards the entrance to the Guild building. Calm Gale approached them, with a chirping and joyful missing child in his arms.

"I decided to show the kid my small collection of shells before leaving. The kid was very interested in them"

In confirmation of his words, the child waved his arms cheerfully, holding a beautiful small rainbow shell in left palm.

"I'm glad that you also had a good time, - Lance picked up the baby in his arms. - "Apologize again for such a sudden request."

"It's okay Lance. You two and the kid are always welcome. I think Jolyne would say the same"

Briana, Edmund and Drake were still silent until at the end of the conversation they said a short goodbye to Lance, Farmers and their child. Now their attention has been completely switched to Gale.

"Gale, what the fuck was that?" - Brianna, even after the shock, did not miss the opportunity to express her emotions rather vulgarly towards her colleague.

"Well, the shell version was much more plausible than the version that the child teleported into another dimension."

"Another dimension?!" - Edmund said too emotionally.

Brianna just sighed and headed towards the entrance to the Guild: "...I need drink, something strong. Edmund, where the hell is your whiskey bottle? I know for sure to have a supply"

"But we're on duty... What would Jolyne say", - Drake tried to protest weakly.

Gale put a hand on Drake's shoulder and smiled warmly.

“I think Jolyne would have had a drink in that situation too.

[uss-vermont]

Trektober Prompts 1 and 2

Day 1, Uniform Swap

“Respectfully captain, this idea might not have been the best one you've ever had”  Casey tugged at the high white collar of their alternative uniform, a circa 2285 red jacket.  

“Agree to disagree number one, I happen to think exploring the different eras of starfleet uniforms is a fun way to appreciate starfleet’s history”  Saissano, in the same era uniform as her XO, was rather enjoying it.  She had always liked studying this era, those old scientists, they liked to call it.

The turbolift slid to a halt as the pair reached the bridge, revealing the command crew in a wonderfully diverse range of starfleet uniforms.   At the Ops station, Chee was in a classic red tunic.  To his right, Darwin had taken inspiration from the special operations ships and was in a dark blue with gold trim jumpsuit.  

“Captain on the bridge”  Neela at the tactical station had gone with a 2364 era skant.  It may have been a little unprofessional, but Sai did let ehr eyes linger on her wifes’ thigh a little longer.  

“It’s just that, what if something happens?”  Casey continued, relieving the ensign (in a 2371 era jumpsuit).

“Like what?” Saissano took her seat, taking a sip of her drink.  

“Well, what if someone didn’t get the memo?”  

As if on cue, Commander Sarah Vas’Trixia, ship's science officer, arrived on the bridge.  “Captain, I wanted to discuss some proposals for…” she trailed off, looking over the bridge.  “Oh no, it happened again.  Everyone’s stuck in different times!”  

Day 2, Time Travel.

Fire was the last thing Dimitri remembered.  His small capsule, in some cases almost as thin as a few layers of paper, all that protected him from the harsh vacuum of space.  Enveloped in flames, almost blue in their harshness. 

Terror.  

A natural reaction, he supposed, at being placed on the tip of thousands of liters of high explosive liquid and fired into space.  

Still, despite all those, there was an almost calmness that enveloped the young cosmonaut.  He did it.  He was in space.  

"Moscow, this is Vostok.  Do you copy?"

Nothing.  Unsurprising, really.  The flames must have disabled his radio.   

Something was off, though.   He should be able to see the earth.  Or the moon.  Or the sun.  Something.   But nothing was visible.

That wasn't good.  

…

6 hours.   That was how much air he had.  More then enough for a couple orbits and descent.  But now, stranded who knows where, Dimitri was thinking it was more of a curse than a blessing.   He was starting to feel faint, the CO2 was rising.  Soon he would be unconscious.  

Not the worst way to die, he supposed.  It would be peaceful, mostly.   Not like he had any family back home.

Hmm.  That was odd.  He must be hallucinating now.   Outside the small window, he saw a flying saucer.   

…

"Near as I can tell captain, he's in perfect shape, apart from some minor injuries". Kohl-To checked the readings again on his PADD.  "He's still sedated"

"So, Sarah". Saissano turned to her science officer.   "Any idea how a 1950s cosmonaut ended up here?  Alive?". She amended.  The senior staff was in the ships main conference room, figuring out what to do with their visitor.

"We have a few actually". Sarah, and her omnipresent assistant Kharra got up.  While Kharra keyed in a few commands the Andorian spoke.  "As you know, wormholes aren't always temporally stable.  You go in one side, and come out earlier than you left, or much later, as the case may be.  Stable wormholes, like the Bajoran one are extremely rare, but it's not unheard of for micro wormholes to generate and dissipate in minutes."

Kharra cut in, "Our best guess is that our friend in sickbay fell into a micro wormhole during his flight.  Based on the clothing he was wearing, and the amount of oxygen in the capsule, we think that the time dilation was about an hour per century."

"So we don't have to worry about the temporal prime directive?" Casey, the ships XO asked

Sarah shook her head.  "Not at all.   This is more akin to finding an old sleeper ship". 

Saissano sighed, releasing stress she didn't know she was holding.  "I guess we should see about waking him up."

"Captain , if I may?" Dr Cala, the councilor, spoke up.   "From everything we can tell, he is from the 1950s of earth.  It might be good to have someone human be the first face he sees.  It might help ease him into what's happened more smoothly"

Saissano nodded "Agreed…Casey could you .." she started to say.

"Actually captain, I would suggest Agent Olena Ivanovna" Casey interjected, referring to the ships SCIS agent.  "she's from the same region as our guest, and can speak to him without the UT.  It might help"

Dr. Cala nodded. "A good point commander"  "Okay, change of plans, we'll go with Olena" Saissano tapped her combadge  "Agent Ivanovna, could you please meet me in sickbay?"

…

"Hey, You're finally awake."  Olena spoke slowly and calmly.  This was certainly not something she had seen herself doing when she joined the SCIS.  

"Easy, don't try to sit up yet, you're still shaking off the sedatives."

"Where…where am I?" The confused cosmonaut asked, looking around.   

"It's okay, you're safe.  Your in the sickbay" Olena was being deliberately vauge.  As had been explained to her, she needed to slowly ease him into the truth.  "Can you tell me your name?" She asked

"Dimitri."  He weakly responded.  "Dimitri Arkhipov.  Major Dimitri Arkhipov" he amended.  "Is this a Soviet ship?"  He asked.   

Olena shook her head. "Not exactly, no"

"American?" He asked, tensing up

"Not American, no"  She responded, a wry grin on her face.  

"Major, what is the last thing you remember? Before you woke up, I mean." She began the process of trying to ease him into what was happening.

"I was…I was in space"  He smiled.   "I made it.  Then, there was fire, but blue.   And then I…". He trailed off.  "I didn't see earth.  Or the moon."

His heart rate started to increase, the monitors beeping faster.  

"Where am I?" He demanded again.  

Desperately, Olena looked to the side of the room, where Captain M'Zahl and Doctors Kohl-To and Cala were standing.  They nodded, giving permission

"This is going to be a lot to take in major".  Olena began. " It's been some time since you launched" 

"How much time"  He asked.  "Months, years?"

Time to rip the bandage off.  "On the earth calendar, today is July 7, 2385"

"Bullshit!". Was Dimitri's immediate response.  He moved to sit up.  "You expect me to believe that!  This is clearly some sort of western…" he trailed off, taking in the whole of sickbay.  

By the door was a tall bird…person?   Next to a man sized cat, both in uniforms of some kind.   He looked I the other side, another patient the endt bed ovr, this one human, at least.   

"What…I…where am I?" He asked again, eyes wide.   

Saissano gave a friendly smile.  "You're on the Federation starship Vermont, Major, welcome to the 24th century".

[lyxzeun]

— genshin boys as my favorite fanfic tropes ♡

enemies to lovers + one bed: you’re going on a business trip with all of your coworkers. you had to pick a piece of paper with one of your coworkers name on it, and unfortunately, you got your work rival. well, atleast there’s two beds so the two of you won’t have to fight— oh.. “what happened to two beds promised?…” you said, trying your best on keeping your calm. “it doesn’t matter if you don’t come close to me when we sleep.” he smiles teasingly at you as you sighed deeply, rubbing your temples. he then threw his own bag on the floor and got a pillow. he soon layed down on the bed and made himself comfortable as he watched a show on the television. you aggressively threw a few pillows and layed out a blanket, “what are you doing?” he raises an eyebrow as you layed down on the floor, looking down at you. “trying to sleep? keep the volume down atleast while i’m sleeping.” an exasperated sigh comes out from your mouth. you layed on your side and did your best to fall asleep. in the middle of the night, your sleep was cut by the touch of two strong arms carrying you from the floor. you weren’t asleep, but still, he thought you were. he layed you down on his side of the bed and placed the pillows that you threw on the floor earlier on the bed. he carried you again to place you on the left side of the bed. soon, after he tucked you in, he then layed on the side of his bed and faced you, caressing your face gently before he drifts off to sleep with you.

— (MODERN AU) DOTTORE, pantalone, kaeya, TARTAGLIA .

mutual pining: in all honesty, liking your childhood friend isn’t that bad, but boy, oh boy.. the two of you literally pined over each other the first day you two met! your mutual friends were definitely unhappy about your situation with him, they even made a bet on who’d confess first! but it’s taking an eternity for atleast one of you two to confess. almost everyone could tell that the two of you liked each other from the ways that the two of you looked at each other, laughed together, cried together, and even the way the two of you would walk together. can’t atleast one of you just confess already? everyone’s waiting for that moment when you two get together.

— DILUC, TARTAGLIA, kazuha, heizou, ayato .

royalty au: your mother worked for the palace and is the queen’s personal servant, she had you and has brought you with her her whole life as the servant of the queen, and you frequently played with the crown prince. now that the two of you have grown up, you now carried on the legacy of being the prince’s loyal and trustworthy servant. during your times of privacy with him, he tells you all sorts of things that happened in the palace, especially secret rooms in the palace or maybe even some hidden doorways in the garden. maybe he could use one of those rooms for a confession to you. he definitely invites you to balls and parties as such. you always say that it’s not necessary for you to come with him on every occasion, but he always says that “every royal must have their loyal servant by their side anytime.” (he just wants you with him). about the secret rooms and doorways in the garden, he’s also gonna use atleast one of those rooms to gift you on your birthday. the room is designed to your own likes. if you like reading books, he’ll give you a whole library. if you like cooking, he’ll get you your own kitchen in the palace.

— AYATO, ZHONGLI, ALBEDO, xiao, al haitham

— vale speaks ! .. i go insane when these tropes are with my favorite characters .. like really. i go red

[jackrrabbit]

Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

��Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

[shangchiswife]

What is Norman met you at the Parker’s thanks giving dinner??? You brought his fav food - his focus is totally torn

i'm really sorry if this wasn't what you wanted! i've been having an off day today but i hope you enjoy this!

summary: norman is upset because you come late to thanksgiving and he doesn't know who you are. then you charm him with your personality and all is well.

norman osborn x gn!reader

warnings: just a small sexual innuendo at the end

word count: 1086

....

Norman Osborn was starting to get really impatient for his Thanksgiving dinner.

He had specifically come to his son and the Parker’s shared apartment specifically so that he could eat immediately.

Everyone sat at the table with happy expressions on their faces while Norman had a disgruntled one instead.

Trying to take his mind off of his growling stomach, he turned to Harry’s friend Mary Jane asking her about her profession.

She talked animatedly about how she was working at a diner but was hoping to become an actress.

As she spoke, Norman started to get more and more agitated.

Running a hand through his auburn hair he stared at Aunt May who was chuckling at something her nephew said.

“Oh Peter!” she said, playfully slapping him on the shoulder.

Their patience made him upset.

“Are we going to eat soon? Because if not then I actually have something after this and I should get going,” Norman’s voice was laced with annoyance which made his son quirk an eyebrow at his behavior.

Peter and Mary Jane exchanged a confused look with one another while Aunt May smiled.

“We’re waiting for Y/N but in the meantime, I’ll start sawing the turkey,” the old woman said as she scooted out of her seat and started towards the kitchen.

Y/N.

Norman didn’t even know who this person was. Or why he had to wait for them. No, it should be the other way around he was Norman Osborn, people were supposed to be waiting on him.

Suddenly the front door burst open and there you were.

You were bundled up in a large coat and a knit beanie covered your head. You carried a large tupperware full of some food that Norman couldn’t see.

“Hi, guys sorry I’m late. The mac and cheese was causing me a lot of trouble for no reason,” you said, your voice was wavery due to the cold.

“Y/N!” Mary Jane grinned as she walked over to you and embraced you.

“You’re so warm,” you mumbled into her neck as she giggled.

Norman regarded you with curiosity as his son, Aunt May, and Peter both walked up to you and gave you hugs.

You were extremely friendly.

“Here you are, Aunt May. My famous mac and cheese,” you handed her the tupperware as she took it and immediately started pouring out the cheesy pasta out onto a plate.

Maybe you coming was worth it after all Norman thought as he stared at the cheesy goodness with hunger.

You walked over to Harry’s father with a large smile on your face.

You had been anxiously waiting to meet Norman since you were a huge fan of his work and had written multiple papers about him and his work.

“Hi, Mr. Osborn it’s really nice to meet you, sorry for being late. Harry told me how prompt and early you always are,” you offered him a hand which he shook after a moment.

Norman’s initial anger at your tardiness subsided because of your sweet disposition.

Two seconds earlier you had been so confident and loud with everyone else and now you were shy.

“It’s quite alright my dear it’s quite a mess out there because of the snow,” Norman smiled as you relaxed.

“Tell me about it. I literally almost ran someone over,” you rolled your eyes as Norman let out a genuine laugh.

Aunt May breezed by the table and placed the now cut turkey and the rest of the steaming meals onto the table.

Norman licked his lips at the sight of the food.

“Looks like someone’s hungry,” you smirked as everyone laughed.

“Well yes I mean we were all waiting on you so,” Norman replied back with an amused look plastered on his face making your jaw drop.

“He got you there, Y/N,” Peter let out a loud laugh at your dispense.

“Ouch that hurt,” you mocked as you placed a hand over your heart.

Norman shook his head lightly as he took some of your mac and cheese and put it on his plate.

“Do a little taste test,” you urged him as you spooned some mashed potatoes into your mouth.

Giving you a wary glance, the older man stabbed his fork at the pasta and ate it.

The mac and cheese immediately melted in his mouth as he wanted to take another bite desperately but wanted to tease you.

“So what do you think?” you asked cocking your head to the side.

“It’s awful,” Norman said as the rest of the table looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“Are sure we’re eating the same mac and cheese because the one I’m eating is delicious,” Harry gave his father a certain glance as if he were crazy.

“I’m kidding, Harry, it’s very good Y/N,” Norman offered you a polite smile before digging into the nicely cut turkey.

“I know,” you boasted, a smirk playing at your lips as you spooned stuffing in your mouth.

“Then why did you ask?” he questioned.

“Because I needed an ego booster,”

“Y/N I think your ego is already so high it doesn’t need to boosted anymore,” Mary Jane teased as you shrugged your shoulders.

“Probably true but I can get what I can get,”

“That’s a little sad, Y/N,” Aunt May quipped with a little chuckle making your jaw drop.

“Not you too,” you groaned as you covered your face with your hands and pretended to cry.

“So dramatic,” Harry rolled his eyes.

“And for good reason!” you replied.

“Aren’t you glad you had a bit of patience and waited for Y/N here, dad?” Harry asked his father, his dark eyebrows raised.

You were interested to hear his answer and gave him an innocent look.

“I guess,” Norman shrugged his shoulders as you offered him a wounded look in turn.

“I’m kidding I’m very happy that I got to meet you,” he said as you reached over the table to give him a hug.

“Aw I knew you’d warm up to me, old man,” you patted him on the back as his eyes widened and he leaned in close to your ear, his warm breath fanning it.

Chills went down your spine.

“You call me old man again and I’ll show you how old I can be in bed,” he growled.

“Oh shit,” you mumbled, a bubbly feeling rising in your system as you went back to your seat.

Now you really wanted to call him an old man.

[scuttling]

Long Time Coming

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 6,664 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad Bod Hotch, Oblivious Hotch, Flirting, Reader has a few one night stands, Semi-public sex, Unprotected sex, Blow jobs/Face fucking, Hairpulling, Fingering, Praise and degradation, Dirty talk, Accidental reveal of feelings, TW blood/cut Summary: You have been in lust (and love) with Aaron for a while, but his new look sends you off the deep end, and it's enough to make you do some pretty crazy things. *Inspired by @ssamorganhotchner and these three pics. Link to A03 or read below! You are fresh off yet another unsuccessful first date when Aaron wears the new suit. You, Emily, JJ, and Penelope are standing by the coffee maker, complaining about the pitfalls of online dating and how people are never they way they seem when you actually meet in person; you have the carafe in your hand, filling your mug, and when he walks in, face in a case file, his pants so tight you can make out his hips and thighs as clearly as if he were naked… You kind of lose your shit. And your grip.

The carafe shatters when it hits the tile floor, spraying shards of glass and hot coffee everywhere; Emily gasps, Penelope jumps back to avoid the splatter, JJ runs for a broom, and you just stand there, staring at Aaron—at his tight slacks, at his belt, at his shirt, tucked neatly inside, then at his dangling tie, and finally, his worried face.

“Are you alright?” he asks, because you have literally not moved a muscle since he arrived; your boots are covered in coffee—you are thankful you dressed casually today and aren’t wearing heels, or you’d be in a lot of pain—and your heart is racing, but otherwise you feel frozen, unable to move or look away.

You’ve wanted Aaron for a long time, and everyone knows it but him. It’s part of the reason you’re smothering yourself with online hookups and blind dates and one night stands: because he is off limits, and you’re desperately horny for him, and you need to have him fucked out of your mind one way or another.

The new suit further complicates things.

“Fine,” you say after a few more seconds, and JJ comes back with the broom and dustpan, so you bend down to help her clean up your mess. It wasn’t your brightest idea, because you are now at eye level with the tight crotch of his pants, and all you can think of is working the zipper open, pulling him carefully past the fly, sucking him off until those big hands slip into your hair and tug roughly when he comes.

God. You’re going to have to go on another bad date. Or ten.

“New suit?” Penelope asks conversationally, as if you aren’t having a sexual crisis about it three feet away. “Looks good, boss.” Aaron runs his hand down his body self-consciously, but all you see are thick fingers and stomach and hnnngg…

JJ pinches the back of your arm hard, makes a face that screams get it together!!, and you take a deep breath.

“I took some of my old ones in for alterations and the salesman convinced me they were severely outdated. Do you like this style better?”

For some reason, it feels like he’s looking right at you, and you nod, dreamy-eyed, sweep your tongue over your lips.

“Better,” you rasp, and Emily and Penelope agree, probably to take the emphasis off of your slack mouth and dopey one-word answers. You try to help JJ clean up, picking up the larger pieces of glass and dropping them into the dustpan despite her protests—because you are very unfocused, shouldn’t be messing with sharp objects—and when you cut your finger on a piece, she just sighs. Such a mom.

You wince, and Aaron frowns, comes toward you, putting you not only at dick height, but a manageable dick distance, if you were so inclined; really, it’s more if he were so inclined, because you are actually fully prepared to swallow his load right here in front of your friends—all he’d have to do would be snap his fingers and point to his crotch, and the FBI would be suing you for mental distress and using the money to pay for therapy for Emily, Penelope, and JJ.

“Let’s get this cleaned up,” he says, snapping you out of your very elaborate fantasy (typically your fantasies don’t involve court costs, but this is Aaron, so anything is possible.) He wraps his hand around your injured finger and pulls you up to standing with the other, and you just follow along as he leads you over to the sink, turns on the tap to let the water run over your cut. The way you’re looking up at him like he’s the best thing you’ve ever seen has to be painfully obvious, but he just reaches over for the first aid kit, takes out a bandage, and wraps it carefully around the tip of your finger. You sigh.

It may have started out as lust, but you’re pretty sure you’re also in love.

You have got to find a way to get him to notice you as more than just an agent, a teammate, a friend, and so: Operation ‘Get Hotch Out Of His Tight Pants’ begins. You fill the girls in on your master plan, and they fill in Derek and Spencer just so there are more people to laugh at you when you crash and burn, probably. But you’ve got a plan, will be pulling out all the stops, so you might not fail horribly after all. Hopefully.

God, you absolutely cannot fail. You can’t go out with another software engineer with the personality of a peanut or another investment banker who thinks buying you an appetizer means you owe him a blow job in the front seat of his Tesla. You will go fucking insane.

Today’s plan is T for tits, because yours are pretty awesome and almost no one who is attracted to women can resist them. You wear your usual white button down top, but you leave the top two buttons undone, and you add a red, lacy bra for a little additional temptation.

“Here are those consults you asked for,” you say after knocking lightly on the doorframe; Aaron waves you inside. You set them down on his desk, then glance over the open folder in front of him, make a curious noise. “What are you working on up here?”

You walk around his desk, so you’re standing next to him, and lean forward to look over the case file with one hand on the back of his chair and the other pressed against the desk. If he would look over, he would see right down your top, your breasts high and smushed together thanks to the lacy push up… but he looks straight down at the file, taps his pen against it.

“Murders in Detroit. I don’t think we’ll go—they look like mob hits to me, so I’m going to refer the case to Organized Crime.” You hum, turn the file toward you and lean in a little closer, letting your hair spill over your shoulder, the neck of your blouse fall open. Boobs and perfume are usually a one-two punch that is capable of bringing any man to his knees, and while he does turn to look at you, it feels entirely too respectful for your liking. You sigh softly, give up for today, and turn the file back.

“Well you know best, boss. Any time I don’t have to go to Detroit is alright by me.” You flash him a smile, and he reciprocates, and you head back downstairs for a cup of coffee and maybe a stale shame pastry.

The team looks up at you when you approach, and you shake your head.

“No luck,” you mutter, and Derek laughs, crosses his arms over his chest.

“Maybe you’re not very good at flirting. What did you do?” You roll your eyes—your flirting is not the problem, it’s Aaron’s morals and manners or whatever—and walk over to Spencer’s desk, demonstrate with him what you did to Aaron; you put your hand on the back of his chair, toss your hair over your shoulder, lean in, and Spencer swallows hard, licks his lips, and looks abruptly down at his hands. That reaction, you would have gladly taken.

Derek clears his throat, and so does Emily. Hmm.

“I’m good at flirting,” you say, straightening up; Spencer is blushing, and it’s super cute, so you pat him lightly on the head. “Maybe he’s an ass man. I’ll wear a skirt tomorrow and we’ll see if that gets the job done.”

“Good idea,” Derek says, and when you walk past him, he gives you a once over that makes you feel pretty damn good. “In the meantime, why don’t you come and demonstrate on me?”

There’s no denying he is one of the finest men you’ve ever seen in your life, and earlier on in your career you might have taken him up on it—it would have to be better than Marty McTesla, that’s a given—but you know he’s mostly teasing, even if there is a thin layer of actual desire beneath it all. You just fluff your hair and take your seat and mentally flip through your closet to try to come up with an outfit Aaron can’t refuse. You decide on a pencil skirt, because that’s got to be every boss's fantasy, right? You have one you never wear to the office because it’s a little sexy, tight on your hips and ass, with a zipper up the back that you can open a little and use to your advantage. When you walk into the bullpen that morning, JJ whistles, and you grin, do a little twirl.

“Thank you, thank you. This has to work, right?” You turn to face Emily, then turn away from Emily, butt right in her face. “Emily? This will work, right?”

“That’s... definitely going to work,” she murmurs, tapping the cap of her pen against her teeth, and you have to admit you have a good feeling about this one. For as great as breasts are, your ass is your best asset, and if the open top and red bra didn’t work, this has to be your ticket to some sweet, dirty loving, it just has to.

You all head up for the morning meeting, filing into the briefing room, and you give Aaron a soft greeting and a smile just like every day, and then offer to help him pass out whatever stack of papers he’s holding in his hands—fire drills and emergency protocol, or something boring like that. He accepts the help, and you take the fliers, but instead of walking around and handing them to each member of the team like he would, you bend over the table, reach across, and drop the pages in front of everyone.

JJ is the furthest away, and you practically have to climb onto the table to reach her; you grin and wink when she takes the papers out of your hand, and she shakes her head like you’re too much, but when you stand back up to hand Aaron the extras, he doesn’t seem the slightest bit interested.

He thanks you for your help, and you take your seat and listen to him go on about emergency exits and fire extinguishers and seriously start to contemplate moving to Europe to start a new life, or something else equally dramatic.

Because you don’t give up easily, you orchestrate one more attempt to get him to show some interest in you. You know he usually goes downstairs to the cafeteria for lunch, and that the elevator is a jam-packed nightmare because the main stairwell is currently under construction (which is probably why you needed to go over safety protocol, now that you think about it; shutting down the stairwell seems very unsafe.) You usually pack your lunch, but you can go buy an overpriced salad for the sake of your sex drive, so you wait for the elevator when he does, making small talk about your mornings until it dings and arrives on your floor.

He tries to let you in first, gentleman that he is, but that won’t work with your plan, so you insist, earning eye rolls from the other passengers on the elevator. You give Amy from Forensic Accounting a dirty look and then step in after him, lean back against him because there’s really no fucking room to even take a breath.

He’s taller than you, but with heels on your ass still fits pretty nicely against his thighs; a little too nicely, you think, as you get wet just from standing near him in the elevator, the heat of his body through your skirt. You really are a mess.

There are two more floors to go before the cafeteria, and no one gets off, but more people manage to cram into the elevator, which means you press more tightly against him to make room. Someone bumps into you roughly, which makes you unsteady on your feet; Aaron puts his hands low on your hips to keep you from wobbling, and your eyes literally roll back in your head, but he just leans in to mutter, “sorry” into your ear. You say nothing, because you’d probably moan if you opened your mouth, but you shake your head so he knows it’s not a problem.

When everyone gets off downstairs, you hurry to the restroom and don’t look back, turn on the faucet and splash some cold water against your overheated neck and chest. So much for that plan. All you managed to do was work yourself up into a fury.

While you’re in line to pay for your overpriced salad, you open up your dating app and secure yourself drinks with a hot lawyer for tonight. Seduction is clearly not working with Aaron, he’s clearly not interested, and you have to find a way to move on before you have a spontaneous workplace orgasm and get fired from the job you love—all of his tight new suits have been dark so far, but if he shows up in gray, you’re not going to have the will to survive anymore. You have to plan for the worst.

The lawyer is nice enough, but he’s too short, too thin; it’s hard to imagine Aaron’s body weight on top of you when he’s fucking you, but you’re nothing if not resourceful, so you move your hands to his head of thick, dark hair and focus on that—that, and his hot breath against your throat when he comes a little too soon and mutters “sorry” into your ear.

“It’s okay,” you pant, reaching between you to rub your clit. You close your eyes, tip your head back, clench around him; you imagine it’s Aaron inside you instead, and bury your face in his shoulder when you come.

He’s willing to stay, but you explain why it’s better if he leaves, and then you fall back into bed, fumble for your vibrator, and get off again so you’re not too distracted by reality to really enjoy your fantasy.

It’s a little twisted, but it is what it is. You’re standing in the breakroom a few days later, swiping through the dating app and bullshitting with Derek and Penelope, when this guy pops up on your screen. He’s not your usual type, younger and blonder than you prefer these days, a pilot, but something about his profile makes you pause; when it hits you, you blow out a breath and look up at your friends.

“So you guys know Operation ‘Get Hotch Out Of His Tight Pants’ is officially dead in the water,” you begin, and they nod, “and now I’m focusing my energy on trying to get over him. I went on a date with a guy that kind of looked like him, and that didn’t really help, but what if…” You turn your screen to face them; Derek nods like it might be crazy enough to work, but Penelope grimaces.

“No, I don’t think that’s going to work. It might actually be crossing a line,” she says with a frown, and you look to Derek for his input.

“It’s more of a coincidence than anything, right? It’s not like he’s unattractive and this is the only reason you’re going out with him. He’s a good looking guy,” he admits, and you’re really grateful he’s willing to help you rationalize this probably terrible idea into a potentially decent idea.

You send the pilot a message, and he wants to meet up; he suggests a bar near the both of you, and you know it’s risky, but you tell him you happen to make a great gin and tonic and that you have everything you need at home, if he’d like to meet you there instead.

He does, and you don’t even make him that drink, just take off his clothes, get him into your bed.

“That’s right, babe—wanna hear you lose it for me. Say my name, gorgeous,” he groans, fingers digging into your hips as he fucks you from behind, and you close your eyes, fist your hands in the sheets, and give him what he wants.

“Oh, fuck, Aaron. Fuck me harder.” His thrusts are already rough and punishing, but this is the best you’ve felt in a really long time, so you’re eager, desperate for more. “Yeah, Aaron, just like that.”

“Tell me my big cock feels so good in your pussy.” He slaps your ass, and you moan involuntarily, press back against him, panting.

“Your big cock feels so good, Aaron, so good in my pussy. Fuck me, Aaron, destroy me.” He grunts, tenses, and moves his hands to your shoulders, slamming your body tight against his as he comes. “Yes, don’t stop, Aaron, don’t stop,” you plead, hips working together, and when he smacks your ass again you come gasping his name, collapsing against the bed with a breathless sigh.

You feel a lot dirtier than you expected you would, even though it was kind of awesome, and ultimately Penelope was right; it was fun while it lasted, but it didn’t do a damn thing to help you forget about the only Aaron you actually want in your bed. Monday morning, Aaron comes into the office wearing a tight navy suit with a striped white shirt and a navy tie, and you follow him with your eyes from the glass double doors all the way up to his office, mouth open a little. Your eyes get heavy and your breathing picks up, which is the dumbest biological reaction to a man’s ass you’ve ever had—but god, it’s a perfect ass—and JJ has to actually lightly slap your cheek to get you to snap the fuck out of it.

“Are you horny right now?” she asks, a little grossed out. “I can’t handle you.”

“I know you guys all call him a tightass, but I mean, if the pants fit… and god, do they fit.” You pick up a case file and fan yourself with it. “He’s so fucking hot. What am I supposed to do? Getting railed by fake Aaron didn’t do shit; I think I might actually have to transfer.”

“You’re not transferring. You just have to get over it.”

“Are you kidding? She’s like a cat in heat when he’s around,” Derek says with a smirk. “I think I’m getting horny just because she’s horny.”

“Okay, so why can’t I have that effect on him?” you ask with your arms open. “Do you think it’s the pheromones? Maybe they’re incompatible. Smell me—does it turn you on?” you ask Spencer, presenting your neck, and he looks like a deer in the headlights, then leans in to sniff you.

“Uh… you smell nice?” he says with a shrug and a half smile. “I think it’s just your perfume, though.”

“Put your face near her boobs,” Derek says, and Spencer starts to lean in again. “I think the pheromones are stronger there.” He pauses about halfway to your chest.

“Actually, they’re stronger near the genitals, but I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

“What’s going on down there?” You freeze and then turn to look up at Aaron’s office, where he leans against the doorframe; Spencer stands up comically fast, and you take a step back, clearing your throat. Aaron’s scowling—it’s really sexy and it’s making your heart beat in your stupid, traitor pussy—and then he sighs visibly. “We have a case, come on.”

The case is only a half hour away, so you drive, which is horrible, because you are with Aaron and Derek, and Derek lets you sit in the front just to watch you squirm.

It gets bad before you even pull out of the parking garage, because Aaron puts his hand on the back of your headrest to look behind him and reverse the SUV, and you look over at his body—his stomach, his lap, his thighs—and then quickly face forward when he puts the car into drive. You’re flushed, breathing heavily, and when he looks you over quizzically, asks if you’re alright, you just clear your throat and nod.

“Allergies,” Derek supplies from the back, and you mentally thank him for the save, but you kind of also want to smack him for putting you in this position in the first place.

You’re practically turned on the entire ride, even as you go over the details of the case, because his legs are spread and your eyes keep moving to his crotch; at one point, you think you notice his already unfairly tight pants getting a little tighter, but it’s just a trick of light.

By the time you arrive at the precinct, you are more than ready for fresh air, to put some distance between yourself and Aaron. You’re out of the car almost as soon as he turns off the engine, which probably looks weird as hell, but for your sanity you can’t give it too much thought.

The head detective and a junior detective give you a run down on the case while the other half of your team meets with officers at the crime scene. The head detective, a tall, handsome man in his forties, is looking at you like you’re a juicy steak and he hasn’t eaten in months; Derek notices, turns to you with a raised eyebrow and mouths ‘pheromones,’ Aaron is clearly unhappy about the detective’s lack of professionalism, and you couldn’t really care less about the attention. You just want to do your job and go home and touch yourself to thoughts of your boss… as one does.

The local police already have a board made up, so the three of you travel to speak with some witnesses, head back to the precinct, work the tip lines. Aaron seems to be looking at you more than usual, and when you get up to stretch your legs, he’s right behind you, following you out into the hall.

“Are you sure you're alright today?” he asks with a serious expression, hands on his hips. Your mouth waters. “You’ve been acting a little strange.”

“Stranger than normal?” You try to smile, to lighten the mood, but as oblivious as he’s been about everything else, he’s always been able to tell when you try to hide your emotions with humor.

“The last couple weeks? Yes.” He moves a little closer, and you try your best not to let it affect you—or at least not to let it show when it does. “You know by now that you can come to me anytime, for anything.” He doesn’t present it as a question, but it’s clear on his face that he’s looking for an answer.

“I know. I’m going through something… stupid,” you say with a shrug. “Something I should be able to handle, but it’s harder than I imagined.” He frowns, flicks his eyes over your face.

“Let me help you.”

“You can’t; trust me, you can’t,” you say, pleading with your voice, begging him to drop it. “I’ll get through it.” You shut your eyes briefly, exhale, and he reaches down to take one of your hands in his.

“Are you in trouble?” This is the most intimately he’s ever touched you, and it’s not just your body that sings; you know you’re in love with him, have been for a while, but focusing on the horny feelings is easier. It makes it feel like you have less to lose.

“No, it’s nothing like that. I just need some time. Thank you.” You squeeze his hand, and then Derek pokes his head into the hall behind him.

“We got a tip about the unsub barricading a house downtown; the detective is mobilizing SWAT,” he says; when he glances down at your hands, you pull yours softly out of Aaron’s grasp.

“What do you want us to do, boss?” you ask, effectively ending your conversation, and he tells you to get suited up with comms and Kevlar so the three of you can head to the new scene. Aaron is, unsurprisingly, a complete badass, storming the house along with SWAT, you at his side; it’s his way of reminding you that he trusts you, that it can and should go both ways—he is so perfectly predictable, reassuring with gestures over words even in a situation like this one. It does nothing to help you stop wanting him.

He’s a little rough with the unsub (and that doesn’t help either,) looks ruffled and kind of pissed when you climb in the SUV to head back to the precinct. Spencer, JJ, and Emily meet you there, and you take the opportunity to vent about how indescribably good Aaron has looked all day—Spencer bows out of the conversation early, but JJ and Emily are kind enough to listen to your insane, horny ramblings.

“He’s just so hot—he always has been, but the new suits? They’re so tight, and his shirts show off his tummy, and his pants show off his thighs… You guys will never understand the things I want to do to him.”

“Okay, he’s handsome enough, but you’re nasty about it—I can’t handle you,” JJ says, not for the first time. You groan in response.

“How can you say that? Have you fucking seen him? I’m not supposed to think nasty thoughts when he walks around looking like that?”

You feel yourself getting a little out of hand, and Emily and JJ look like they’re trying to shut you up, but you can’t stop yourself. It’s like the floodgates have opened.

“He’s never going to know what I want to do to him… what I want him to do to me. I tried so hard, and he didn’t even look at me. All I wanted to do was get on my knees for him and grab his ass so he could fuck my throat as hard as fucking possible—is that so much to ask for?” You pause, but neither of them say anything, just look scandalized. “I guess I’m going to have to name my vibrator Hotch now, since that’s clearly the closest I’ll ever get to him giving me an orgasm.”

“Do you really mean that?”

You jump a fucking foot, spin around, almost knocking Emily and JJ over in the process; Aaron is in front of you, his brow furrowed, arms crossed over his vest (he hasn’t taken that thing off yet? You threw yours on the table like the minute you got back), and your mouth opens and your eyes close at the same time.

Oh fucking fuck.

“We’re gonna… go,” Emily says awkwardly, and you open your eyes abruptly when Aaron speaks again.

“No, we’re going to go; come with me,” he tells you, and he turns and heads down the hall; you look back at Emily and JJ, swallow hard, and follow him, your heart beating fast.

He steps into a small room with a copy machine, table, shelves of paper and envelopes and other supplies, and closes the door behind you, engages the lock. You are torn between being very worried he’s going to fire you and super turned on, because this is definitely a fantasy you’ve had before.

“Aaron,” you begin, running a hand through your hair. “I’m sorry. I think it was the adrenaline; it makes me run my mouth and I can’t stop it, you know that.” He’s facing away from you, his hands on his hips again, and you can see the way his body moves when he sighs.

“Did you mean it, though?” When he turns to look at you, he doesn’t look angry, he looks… nervous. “Do you want me?” His reaction is unexpected—not great, but not necessarily bad—and you bite your lip, nod.

“Yeah. So fucking bad. And I’m sorry—” That’s as far into your apology as you get before his mouth is on yours, his hands on your face, lips pressing against you for a rough, eager kiss. Your hands move to his waist, pulling him closer by the vest, and he lifts you up onto the table, tugs down the v-neck of your t-shirt, mouths at your throat.

“You think I didn’t look at you?” he says when he pulls away for a breath, tipping your chin down so you’ll look into his eyes. “You think I didn’t see that lacy red bra, your perfect ass bent over in the tight skirt? You think I didn’t feel it pressed against me in the elevator, that I didn’t want to push that skirt up and sink inside you and take you there in front of everyone?”

You moan, chest heaving, twist your fingers in his hair and pull him in for another kiss, dripping and trembling at his admission.

“I would have let you,” you murmur against his lips, and there’s no doubt in your mind that you would have, if that’s what he’d wanted. “I would let you do anything: not just let you, but I’d want it, beg for it. I meant what I said—I’d get on my knees for you, anytime, anywhere, do whatever you want me to do. I want to be yours.”

He catches your mouth in another rough kiss, then puts his hands on your waist, guides you off the table, and flips open his belt, the fly of his pants.

“Oh god. What are you doing?” you ask, and he slides down his zipper, pulls you with him until his back hits the door.

“I’m giving you what you asked for,” he rasps, staring into your eyes, his gaze smoldering. It’s so fucking hot your pussy clenches.

You lick your lips, drop to your knees on the tile floor so hard it hurts, tug his pants open and pull out his thick, hard, veiny cock.

Your dreams and fantasies did not do it justice.

“Fuck. Thank you,” you mumble, looking up at him, and he wraps his hands in your hair, pulls tightly. You moan just from that and the heft of him in your hand. “Thank you.”

“Shh.” He scrapes his fingers over your scalp, hums as you start stroking him, licking the head. “Don’t thank me—I should be thanking you, beautiful, perfect girl. In what world do I get this?” There are lots of things you want to say to that, but you’ve waited long enough, will have to say them later.

You lick your lips, collect lots of saliva, and take him into your mouth, get your hands on his ass and dig your nails in. Aaron groans, tightens his fingers in your hair, and when you look up at him it feels like a fever dream, like it’s not real but a delicious figment of your imagination.

For a minute or two, you stroke him with a tight, wet mouth, and it’s got you aching between your legs, but he’s supposed to be fucking your throat, technically, if he’s giving you what you asked for. You pull off, tell him that, and he tugs your head back roughly, guides you back onto his cock and starts thrusting into your mouth, earning vibrating moans around it.

“God, you’re so perfect. How long have you been thinking about this? How long have you touched yourself to the thought of me fucking your pretty face?” He picks up the pace, pushes deeper when he sees you can handle it, and you squeeze his ass, feel your eyelids flutter as he uses your mouth, pulls your hair. “Are you a whore for me?” he grinds out, and the moan that rips from your throat is inhuman, embarrassing, and absolutely accurate. “Yes you are, baby, yes you are. My pretty whore, on your knees, mouth stretched wide and filled with cock.”

You’ve never been so turned on from a blow job, but this is Aaron, hot and dirty and forceful, everything you imagined and more. You squeeze him tighter, encourage rougher treatment, and he presses his hands against the back for your head, slams his dick in so deep it aches; you don’t gag, but it’s a near thing, and when he pulls you off you gasp for breath and whimper at the loss at the same time.

“Enough of that, baby. You were perfect, so good for me, almost choking on my cock, but I bet your pussy is wet and aching. Do you want me inside it?”

“Holy—yes, fuck, please. Please,” you breathe, and he helps you to your feet and then pushes you against the door, gets your pants down. His rough treatment has you whining, gripping the hair on the back of his head, and you kick off your boots and socks so you can step out of your pants completely. “Keep all this on,” you tell him, pants and shirt and tie and Kevlar vest and all, and he nods, kisses you deeply, presses two fingers inside you.

“Fuck,” he groans when you receive him easily, soft and wet and open, and he uses his free hand to sweep down your top, slipping the buttons loose so he can get a better view of your tits and black lace bra that’s holding them. “So beautiful, and finally mine,” he mutters against your throat, and you whine, let your head fall back against the door, and give in to the pleasure of his thick fingers moving inside you.

“Finally mine,” you murmur, tugging his hair, slamming down against his hand, and when you come it’s like a miracle; you cry out, clamp down, and wrap your free hand around his bicep and squeeze until you’re lightheaded, dazed, desperate for another.

You kiss, deep and passionate and filthy, and Aaron slides his fingers into your mouth, pumps them a few times, then kisses you again.

“Good girl. Are you ready for my cock now?” You pant, gasp, and nod your head, and he pushes your shirt off your shoulders, lifts your legs so you’ll wrap them around his waist, and pushes inside you. You both moan, kiss, moan again, and then you wrap your arms around his broad back, hook your fingers in his vest, and hold on while he pounds your body roughly against the door.

“Oh, Aaron, fuck. Yeah. Want you to slam your body against mine; want to feel it, want to feel all of you.” He looks into your eyes, breathing hard, fucks up into you, hands on your ass, his hips and torso pinning you in place.

“Sweet, pretty, slutty girl,” he pants, spreading you open and shoving himself inside your pussy. “You tried tempting me, and oh, did it work. I might not have shown it…” He ducks in to kiss the base of your throat and you cling tighter, rock against his hips. “But it worked. You dressed like a whore just for me, just so I’d notice you; do you I know went home and stroked my cock and came with your name on my lips?”

“Holy shit. That’s so hot.” You move a hand to his hair again, can’t not thread your fingers there now that it’s allowed. “Could have fucked me like this then. Could have come in my pussy, not your hand.”

“We’ll make up for lost time,” he promises, and he thrusts up with his whole body, so you can feel it pressed against yours—shoulders, chest, stomach, all the very best parts of him. “I’m not too much for you? Can you take it?”

“Perfect for me,” you gasp, holding tightly to his vest at his shoulder and his shirt at his hip, bouncing into his thrusts. “So perfect, want you. I can take it. I can take it, Aaron.” Your mouths meet for a messy, hot kiss, lots of tongue, and you groan. “Give it to me, give it all to me.”

He bends his knees a little more, fucks you so rough and hard your mouth falls open and all you can do is whimper, clutch him, gracelessly kiss back when he presses his lips to yours.

He comes first, holds tightly to your hip and pumps inside you, fills you and then some, so it drips out while he’s still inside. It feels sinful, even after everything, and with a few rough drags of his palm over your lace covered nipple, you tighten and grip him and gasp out his name.

You both slow, and then he turns you, leans back against the door for a little relief after holding you up for so long. He nuzzles into your hair, and you bury your face in his neck, and you kiss soft and sweet until you’re feeling stable enough to hop out of his arms and put your clothes back on. He rights his as well, and when you’re both put together he wraps you up in a hug, kisses you, holds you with soft hands on your cheeks.

“I really have waited so long for this.” He brushes his lips over yours, and you sigh. “You never indicated… I was trying to be professional. Then out of nowhere you were leaning over my desk and bending over the table, and I was a little blown away.” You nod, can see that, pull him down for a kiss.

“It’s the goddamn suits,” you say with a half smile, and he gives you a curious look. “Your new, better fitting suits? They fit you so fucking well it’s almost illegal; I’m thinking of pursuing charges against your tailor for reckless endangerment on behalf of my libido, and the coffee carafe, and my poor, worn out vibrator.” He chuckles, hugs you closer, squeezes you so tightly against his body you almost pass out from all the good things you feel.

“Maybe we can strike a deal,” he murmurs, pushing your hair back behind your ear, and you bite your lip, nod.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll think of something you can do to make it worth my while.” After a little more hugging and kissing, the two of you figure it’s time to emerge from the supply closet; you don’t see your team anywhere, which surprises you, but when you get to your phone and pull up your texts, it all makes sense.

Derek: Congrats on the sex. The four of us headed home because no one wants to ride with the two of you and your pheromones.

Emily: Yay, you did it!! Drinks on me next time we go out!

JJ: You guys are loud; don’t make a habit of that.

Penelope: I hear congrats are in order! And by hear, I don’t mean hear. There’s NOT an audio clip or anything, so don’t worry about that!!

Spencer: Emily took an audio clip. Is it normal for girls to enjoy being called a whore? You don’t have to answer that.

You take a very deep breath, give him the gist of the messages—you’re on your own, they heard at least part of it, there is some potentially damning evidence that needs to be destroyed—and you leave the precinct to head home in a better mood than you’ve been in in a very long time.

Aaron takes you out for a late dinner, and he spends the night at your place, falls asleep warm and solid and very naked in the middle of your bed.

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner

[loliwrites]

listen i just read a bunch of your masterlist when i should be going to bed because i work in the morning but i love these two idiots. my mind has gotten the best of me and i can’t help but think of when addi just wants alex to wreck her. she’s so stubborn that she doesn’t outwardly mention she’s needy instead prolongs it until she’s trembling with watery eyes. but when he’s inside? he’s almost nervous she’s gonna hurt her voice from how loud she’s being. every sense is at a max for her, she’s pretty subby too, and alex is obsessed. k bye goodnight

LOL while I am a huge supporter of everyone getting a good night's sleep, I highkey love this 🥹 It proves we're all so alike. That was literally me when I first made this account and I spent the most of 4 solid days going through @lihikainanea, @hausofobsession, and @grandpa-sweaters' blogs as a quiet lurker. So I very much thank you, sweet friend. (I got carried away and this is very long 😬)

I also really love this. This needy, subby, malleable lady who definitely isn't those things in her everyday life. Shit, she can't be. There isn't time to be those things. I have a friend who told me she cries for at least a half hour everyday and my gut reaction was, "how do you have time for anything else?" And I do think there's a side of Addi that doesn't allow herself to really be in her feelings. There honest-to-goodness isn't the time. That's not to say she doesn't cry or break down. She does, but certainly not at work. Not where her emotions may be used as fodder against her.

And what if something like this happened earlier on in their relationship. Like in the time frame that they've just really started having sex. They've not really dived into the depths of play that's going to color their relationship. They're still in the early exploration. As such, Addi's still very much in the exploration of the depths of her own sexuality. To the extent that she very much isn't at the point where she can (in actuality, she isn't at the point where she will) ask for something that might be anything more than what she perceives as run-of-the-mill sex. Maybe particularly because of the fear of any sort of rejection that may come from her suggestion. I've also mentioned before that once they start to explore their dom/sub relationship, she's a very reluctant sub. So at this point, where they haven't even started to talk about that, you could imagine this feeling of neediness is cause for some alarm bells within her. She hates that she could so desperately be in need of someone's verbal, physical, sexual, etc. affection. Hates it so much that she actively tries to not be in want or need of it.

Meanwhile, Good Dude Al is just over here with heart eyes because it's been months of quietly dating, and now they're actually boning, and on top of an actual boner, he's got a real heart boner for her.

Anywho -- maybe Addi spent the better half of her day at the office with an ache between her legs and the inability to commit anything worthwhile to paper. If she wasn't careful, she'd miss her deadline. She spent the other half of the day chastising herself for being so desperate for a man. While one might've been able to describe her as boy crazy in adolescence, she'd never been one to spend all day thinking about them. Surely not to the point of being unable to work. Yet... there she was... having a mental image on loop of Alex just railing her. So understandably, she packed up, texted Alex that she's going to come over, and forty-five minutes later of aggressive driving and yelling at the traffic, she arrived at the house he's renting in Laurel Canyon.

A kiss hello did nothing for her raging hormones, and still trying to prove to herself that she wasn't not as needy as she felt, she cut the kiss awfully short and continued on into the kitchen where she could smell he's got something roasting.

"It's not done quite yet, kid." Alex followed her into the kitchen and glanced down at his watch. "Maybe an hour more?"

And her heart dropped. An hour? How was she supposed to play this off for an hour? What could they possibly fill their time with? At the moment she realized what could fill an hour, Alex wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back into him. His lips followed to her neck for a few soft kisses, which then turned into his own needy advances in the form of nibbles to her skin. She tilted her head to the side, silently cursing herself and simultaneously trying to think about anything that wouldn't cause the aching between her legs to grow more substantial.

But then Alex's hands drifted south. He murmured something, but with his lips pressed to tightly to her neck, she couldn't quite make it out.

"Sex?" She questioned. It was already in the air. Bringing it up in such a nonchalant way wasn't something novel that he hadn't already thought of. His response wasn't verbal, but instead he dipped one hand lower and cupped her. "If you want to," she muttered and set her hands over his wrists.

His hands stilled and the nibbles being administered to her neck turned into languid pecks. "Do you want to?"

She shrugged her shoulders noncommittally and so Alex lifted his head and returned to his normal height. Addi almost whined when he moved his hand away from between her legs and re-positioned them both safely on her waist. Glancing up, Alex was already looking down at her; a small smile on his face.

"We can do something else. Maybe take a couple beers to the back deck?"

Addi scrunched her nose implying that might be a less than desirable plan for their secret relationship. "You've got neighbors,"

"Yeah, Jack," he grinned and tapped her ass. "Go on, I'll grab a couple bottles,"

She listened obediently. Upon sitting on the wicker couch on the desk, she gazed out across their little canyon-side. Across the way, distant but still close enough to yell and communicate (and very much see), was Jack's back patio. She knew it was the main reason why Alex rented the house in the first place. He loved Jack; one of his favorite American friends. Another errant thought of Alex, and Addi bowed her head and silently cursed herself. Pull yourself together.

The back door slid open and Addi raised her head to disarm any suspicion Alex might've had. She smiled and took the one of the bottles from his hand, and scooted over to make more room for him. It was far more than he'd need, and upon taking a seat and realizing that, he hooked his arm around Addi's waist and pulled her into his side.

He moved his arm around her shoulders and took a quick swig, "what's going on?"

She shook her head and looked up at him, "nothing."

"Sure?"

She nodded insistently, feeling she'd succeeded in her white lie once Alex nodded back. Something was going on. She wanted to feel his weight on top of her. She wanted him to pound her into the next century. But oblivious to her silent desires, Alex bent down and kissed her gently. She inhaled on the kiss, but he pulled away too quickly for her to get the full effect of his natural scent, so even when he parted, she leaned forward to keep their lips together. All it took was another heavy throb between her legs to get her to back up.

Alex exhaled, too, the makings of a moan coming out of it and he leaned back in once more for another kiss. This one a little longer with a lot more tongue. When he let that one rest, Addi all but whined. She leaned into his body -- one hand pressed to his stomach, and the other still clutching her beer, yet smushed against his chest. Almost annoyed that he hadn't quite put the pieces together yet, she let out the whine she'd previously suppressed.

His eyes went knowing, and he reached forward to set his beer on the table. When he returned against the couch, Addi nestled in tighter to his body. "You do want sex," he grinned to himself and eased the bottle out of her hand. He set that next to his. It wasn't lost on him that once her hands were completely free, she set one over his crotch with the lightest of pressure. "Why didn't you say so?"

She let out a hum and shrugged. As soon as her eyes drifted downward, Alex nudged her chin back up and cupped her cheek, gliding his thumb back and forth over her pouted lips. "I want to give you want you want, but I want you to be a good girl and ask for it,"

Another pained whine, and just when her lips had opened by the slightest amount, Alex slipped his thumb into her mouth. She immediately quieted down and closed her lips around it.

"Don't you want to be a good girl for me?" He waited until she finished nodding emphatically. "Ask for what you want," he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "I'll give it to you,"

She frowned when he pulled his thumb out of her mouth. "Alexander," she groaned. But his resolve was strong. "Please. I've been thinking about it all day,"

"About what?" He pushed his hand through her hair softly catching her once again pained expression. "C'mon, you got it. Tell me,"

"You fucking me," she whispered.

He smiled victoriously and leaned in for a small kiss. A consolation prize for now. "How?"

"Alex," her eyes started to grow foggy with tears, unsure if it was from her desire or frustration.

"C'mon, you're a writer. You were thinking about it all day. How was I fucking you?" Still being met with silence, Alex lifted her into his lap, and with her legs straddling him, angled her core against his waist. "Was I on top of you?"

She nodded, a blush rising in her cheeks.

"With your legs over my shoulders?"

This time she shook her head, and the change of pace there sparked his curiosity. She even volunteered this information without being prodded. "From behind,"

"Oh," he hummed and smiled. He trailed his fingertips down from the hollow of her neck, between her breasts, and down her stomach.

"I was on my knees with my chest on the bed and you were holding my arms behind me,"

Just the mental image of her with her ass in the air for him was enough to get his blood flowing south.

"And you kept getting so deep and filling me up," her breath caught in her throat and she lowered her head to rest it on his shoulder. She swiped the back of her hand over her eyes. "Please fuck me, Alexander,"

The sentence wasn't even completely done before Alex was tightening his hold around her, and got up from the wicker couch to carry her inside. As promised, he was going to give her everything she wanted, as long as she asked for it.

He set her back on the bed and stripped her clothes off in quick fashion. Once he'd taken off his own shirt, he leaned in for one quick kiss before his first command. "Turn over for me,"

An instant moan fell from her lips, coming to the realization that he was going to stay true to his end of the bargain and give it to her how she'd been imagining it all day. She flipped over onto her stomach and curled her knees up under her.

Alex's eyes went straight to the curve of her ass, then shifted between her legs where her entrance was on display, waiting for him. He rid himself of his pants and palmed his cock from outside his boxer briefs. "You're such a good girl for me," he said as he knelt onto the bed behind her. Her body shifted towards him upon feeling his presence. "Good girls get what they ask for, don't they?

"Yes," she moaned and spread her knees a little further.

He smiled to himself. Under any other circumstances, this was not the woman he'd expect to be so pliable in his hands. She was stubborn, and self-reliant, and steadfastly unwavering. And yet, here she was, waiting for him to take her as he pleased; whimpering like a mad fool.

He set his hand over her lower back, using it to keep himself steady as he bent over and kissed his way up the back of one of her thighs. He could feel her pressing back against his mouth, trying to urge him closer to the place she'd been fantasizing him being the entire day. While he enjoyed reducing her to a shaking, whining mess, he figured she'd been good and brave enough with vocalizing exactly what she wanted from him. That was a big step for her; they both knew that.

Alex continued to kiss his way up the back of her thigh until his lips reached her center. Her body stiffened at the first touch; something that made Alex smile a little harder. He licked a broad stripe from her clit, back up to her entrance. A coo escaped Addi's lungs and Alex hummed back to acknowledge it. He squeezed her ass for a bit more pressure and contact on her skin as he pulled his mouth off of her just enough to lick his thumb.

Just as she started to whine for that good feeling back, he set his thumb at her tight entrance and eased it into her slowly. Her legs shifted on the bed again, trying to get into a comfortable position to accommodate his digit. And she didn't stop until he'd gotten it as far as his last knuckle.

"Please, Alex, I need you."

Hearing her beg for him, regardless of how casual it was, was always going to be enough to rev him up. Obliging to a smallest amount, he eased his thumb out of her, trailed it down her slit until he made contact with her clit. With small and careful circles to her most sensitive part, he returned his mouth to its previous placement and rimmed her to hopefully get her muscles to relax for him. But she whimpered again. As much as she loved and appreciated what he was doing, she only wanted him inside her.

"Alex, if you don't--"

He smacked his hand down on her ass and gave it a firm squeeze to interrupt her. "I know, kid. I'm going,"

"Hurry," she sniffled and closed her hands into fists around the sheets.

Alex sat up on his knees and leaned over her body as a quick detour to kiss the back of her head on his way to reaching into the nightstand to pull out a condom. He worked swiftly, regretting every minute more she had to wait for him. Once he'd rolled the latex down over his shaft, he tossed the foil packet to the side and positioned himself back over her body. One hand gripping into her shoulder to keep her in place for him, and the other dragging the head of his cock along her slit until with the slightest of force, he began pushing into her.

Her hands flexed and released the sheets almost immediately to use them as leverage to inch forward from him. But his fingers tightened over her shoulder and pressed her back against him gently. As he stretched her wider and sunk deeper, he felt her body relax.

"Atta girl," he praised and continued forward until he bottomed out.

"So big," she whimpered and tried to spread her knees even wider still, but Alex nudged them back together.

He reached for her arms and folded them behind her back. With a solid grip on her forearms, rendering her arms useless. "And look how well you take me," he circled his hips, drilling in as deep as he could possibly go.

Addi yelped and the sound was like the shot from a starter pistol that spurred Alex on. He pulled back, nearly completely out of her, then slammed his hips forward into her again. Another shriek meant another hard thrust in and Addi figured with a couple more of those she'd be seeing stars. She dug her fingernails into her arms, leaving crescent-shaped markings up and down her forearms. Alex's grunts filled the space between them with more erotic electricity than they'd had between them before.

"Oh my god," Alex growled, "you feel so good." He snapped his hips forward with emphasis, earning another shriek from Addi.

Just when she was beginning to think she was getting the beat of what Alex's next move would be, and thus finally used to this feeling of outrageous pleasure, he reached around her hips with his free hand and pressed the pads of his middle fingers against her clit. Her body shivered on contact, which only made Alex chuckle like a hunter toying with its prey. She thanked god that her head and chest were already pressed tightly to the mattress, because had they not been, the feeling of his fingers working in rhythm with his length would made her collapse.

"Alex," her breath came out shakier than she imagined it would, and between that and the fluttering of her muscles that she knew Alex could feel, his thrusts became more punctuated and forceful.

"I feel it. Come on. Come for me and I'll give you a second one for being a good girl,"

Just the promise of getting to feel like this again... to feel his weight on her... to feel him pouring every ounce of his energy into her... that was what she'd been daydreaming about all day. So it wasn't lost on either of them when that got her to the edge, and one more thrust from Alex that buried him balls deep catapulted her to her climax. She whimpered and trembled as she came; being prolonged and drawn out as Alex didn't stop rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs. Though, Alex did still his hips completely inside her, fighting with her body to stay nestled deep. She won, however, probably because he wasn't strong enough to stop teasing her clit. With her muscles spasming and squeezing his length, she did ultimately 'win' and inadvertently push him out.

"So fuckin' sexy," Alex panted, mostly to himself. With her body now only jolting sporadically, and the hint of a sniffle to get her bearings, he released her arms and spun her around slowly. Once she was on her back and looking up at him, he grinned and nestled his hips in between her legs. "Was that everything you imagined it'd be?"

Her face flushed and she hooked her arms around Alex's shoulders, burying her face into the crook of his neck. He smiled to himself and nestled his head against hers while he reached between their bodies and lined himself back up with her entrance. He eased himself in, pulling his head back when Addi set hers back down on the pillow. Her eyebrows furrowed while he pressed back deep insider her, but now she noticed that his thrusts were much more slow and deliberate.

"Good?" He pulled his hand away from his waist and set his hands on either side of her head.

She nodded reassuringly, "good." It was followed by a fleeting wince as he pressed against her cervix.

"You're gonna make me come,"

She smiled breathlessly as his pace quickened by just a touch, helped along by her orgasm, which had mostly served to make her wetter. "I should hope so," she smiled a little wider, the blush rising once again in her cheeks. A faint moan passed her lips as Alex's waist rubbed against her with each thrust. "Give it to me good,"

It was like a challenge had been set that there was no way Alex would fail. He knew he'd meet it. And she knew he'd give it everything until he did. The easiness of their pace far differed from the one that had gotten her to orgasm number one. While she loved that energy, she wasn't sure which she preferred more. Both were intimate and vulnerable, but like this... on her back, looking into each other's eyes, making each minuscule motion known and felt... might've been her favorite.

She felt Alex throbbing inside her and she lifted her head just enough to plant her lips on his neck, sucking at his skin softly. She even secured her legs around him and kept him deep, albeit rendering him to shorter nudges. It was then, after she kissed and licked the side of his neck just below his ear, that he moaned and bowed his head against her shoulder. She gave his neck a love bite and hummed against his skin.

She even tried to lift her hips up to meet his, but he grabbed onto her waist and held her down. The muscles in his chest and stomach strained. His breath became more labored. The feeling of fullness inside her even seemed to grow more substantial. Curling her fingers in the ends of his hair at the base of his neck, she sucked on his earlobe. "Give it to me,"

It was like he'd been waiting for permission, and the moment she gave him the okay, he gave her one long, hard thrust. Then a second. That one forced him to lift a hand to the headboard to keep her from shifting up into it. Then a third thrust just as hard that resulted in him pausing and letting out some sort of animalistic growl that originated from deep within his gut. She moaned with him, lifting her hips to keep him deep as he rode out his own orgasm.

When he was able to catch his bearings enough to lift his head, he looked down at her with a boyish smile just before he kissed her. he pulled out of her and rolled off the bed, disappearing into the bathroom to properly dispose of the condom. But when he came back into the bedroom and saw her in the midst of situating herself beneath the sheets, he clicked his tongue at her.

"I told you two orgasms," he crawled back onto the bed and pulled the blankets out of her reach.

"You gave me one amazing one, it's fine."

He reached forward and grabbed onto her ankle, pulling her back to him, "I'm a man of my word."

Addi's jaw went slack. She knew better than to make a liar out of him on this particular subject. To be perfectly honest, she thought she'd have a hell of a time getting to the mental and physical space of having a second orgasm. But no sooner than Alex spread her legs apart, slid two fingers into her, and latched his mouth around her clit, she was already getting there.

She didn't specifically check the time, but she's fairly certain it took him a total of three minutes.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 63: Hair

After the war, after his eighth year at Hogwarts, after training to be an Auror, after quitting that soul-sucking job, and after accepting the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts, Harry started to let his hair grow out. It wasn’t intentional at first, not really, he was just unbelievably busy teaching. But after a few months, his hair, which had always had a mind of its own, had grown long enough that the wavy-curls brushed his jaw.

He'd looked at himself in the mirror one morning and heard his Aunt Petunia's voice in his head, scolding him and telling him that only girls had long hair. He told that voice in his head to fuck right off and kept growing his hair out.

Not that it mattered what anyone else thought, but nearly everyone had said that his hair suited him. The exception, as it so often seemed to be, was Draco Malfoy. It wasn't as that the Potion's Professor had said outright that he didn't like Harry's hair, but his eyes were always slightly narrowed as though his hair was doing something offensive just by existing. Harry couldn’t understand it.

It all came to a head one afternoon, Harry was in the staff room grading papers and generally minding his own business, when Malfoy marched in and plopped down a pile of his own parchments on the table to mark, “Do you mind if I work here, too?” he asked.

"Not at all," Harry said, gesturing to the place Malfoy had already decided to occupy. He looked down and marked his place on the paper he was struggling through before looking up at Draco and pushing his hair out of his face.

Draco rolled his eyes and gave his head a little shake.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Nothing,” he replied, very clearly looking at Harry’s wild curls.

He sighed, “Out with it.” It had been a very long day, in Harry’s defense, and he just couldn't take another minute more.

“It’s nothing,” Draco insisted, even as his eyes flicked over to where Harry’s fingers were toying with the ends of a strand of hair.

“What have you got against my hair, Malfoy?”

(Read more below the cut)

“Oh, it’s back to Malfoy is it?” he asked, voice light and teasing. “I haven’t got anything against your hair,” he repeated.

“Come on," Harry urged, "You think because your hair is cut short and is always a perfect quiff that it’s better than mine?” Harry asked, and he knew it was childish but he couldn’t stand Draco thinking mean things about his hair for one more instant. “Do you think I look like a girl?”

“What?” Draco asked, sounding startled. “Of course I don’t think you look like a girl. What are you even saying? My father always had long hair, if you remember,” Harry flushed, knowing that was indeed the case. “And while my hair does, as you said, always look perfect,” he added with a smirk, “Your hair is very nice as well. Very healthy, the curls suit you.”

Harry felt his neck grow warm at the compliment, “Then why are you always glaring at it?”

“Because you’re always fussing with it. When you’re anxious or grading papers, it seems like it’s in your way and there are a million things you could do with it so it wouldn’t hassle you so.”

“Like what, cut it?”

“No, don’t be an idiot,” Draco said, rolling his eyes.

“Then what?” Harry muttered, petulantly pushing his hair out of his face once more.

“Like a plait, or a bun, a twist, a half bun even. There are also a myriad of products that could help you.”

Harry chewed on his lip, shoving his curls back behind his ear and thinking about what the other man was suggesting.

“For Merlin’s sake,” Draco muttered. "Here," he snapped, standing up and moving around the table near Harry.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked.

Draco's fingers slipped into his hair, "Trust me."

I do. Harry thought as Draco's fingers started weaving through his hair. It felt surprisingly nice, actually, and Harry found his eyes drifting shut.

"There," Draco said and Harry opened his eyes to see that he'd conjured a mirror and was holding it up for Harry to look into. He'd braided part of his hair back, clasping the hair that was always in his face and pulling it back into a barrette while the rest remained down around his shoulders.

"Thanks," Harry said.

"No problem," Draco replied carelessly as he sat back down to grade papers.

Harry went back to marking his own and they graded in silence for quite a while until Harry spoke up, "This is actually pretty nice."

"Hmm?" Draco hummed, scratching out something a student had written and writing a note in the margins.

"Having my hair back," Harry replied.

Draco looked up at him, giving him a little smile, "You have perfect hair for braids and buns, lots of volume."

"This would be good for teaching," Harry mused, "Especially on days like tomorrow when I have my older students practicing dueling."

"I could stop by in the morning before breakfast," Draco offered, "put it in a braid or something?"

"I wouldn't want to impose-"

"It's no imposition," Draco interrupted. "Honestly, I'll be glad not to watch you fiddling with it all day."

-----

And so began their tradition of Draco stopping by Harry's rooms before breakfast. Harry made coffee for both of them and they enjoyed the quiet together while Draco did something with Harry's hair.

How he would do Harry's hair each morning was always a mystery but every day when he showed him the finished result, something warm and pleased unfurled in Harry's chest.

After about a month of this Draco asked him one morning, "What's your hair care routine like?"

Harry shrugged, eye's closed as Draco's fingers worked through his curls, "shower, shampoo, conditioner," he replied. "Every other day usually."

"That's it?" he asked.

"What else is there?" Harry replied, too relaxed by the way Draco's fingers were moving through his hair to get worked up by his indignant tone.

"Potter, do you know what I did while you were training to be an Auror and all that nonsense?”

“Err? Your potions proficiencies?” Harry ventured.

“Well, yes, obviously,” he said as he tucked some hair up into what Harry suspected was becoming an elaborate bun at the base of his neck. “But I also developed potions for a beauty company. Especially potions for healthy hair.” Harry felt a hair pin sliding into place, “when Minerva offered me this position I almost didn’t take it. I had several offers from businesses who wanted to fund my research and allow me to build a brand for them.”

"Really?" Harry asked. "I didn't know that."

"Yes," he replied, "And you are literally killing me. We're going to start doing weekly conditioning masks for your curls. Spa night," he demanded. "Every Saturday."

"Alright," Harry agreed.

"I'll bring the hair care and skin care supplements."

Harry hummed, "Alright. What should I bring?"

"Dinner."

-----------

So they did. Spa nights on Saturdays and Draco every morning to do something different with his hair, and he loved every moment of it.

Harry had never been a morning person but for the first time in his life he found himself looking forward to being awake and out of bed each morning. He was happy and his hair seemed to be, too.

It seemed impossible, but Harry's hair had grown and grown and grown in the past five months since Draco had started all of this. His wavy curls reached halfway down his back by this point and Draco never seemed to tire of coming up with new ways to do his hair.

One warm Sunday afternoon in May, Harry invited Draco for a picnic and Draco had given him a pleased smile and said yes.

They found a quiet spot on a hill and ate lunch while they chatted and laughed as they watched students goofing around and generally just having fun.

"Merlin," Draco laughed as a group of second years rolled down the hill, sending up puffs of dandelions in the wind, "Were we ever that young."

"Honestly?" Harry asked, glancing over and tossing the curls that Draco had left loose over his shoulder, "I don't think so."

Draco frowned at him, "Even before you knew about Voldemort?" he asked.

Harry laughed and looked at the kids who were skipping rocks over the lake, "Especially then."

Draco moved to kneel behind him, taking down the part of Harry's hair that he'd put up earlier that morning, "Tell me about it?" he asked softly.

He hummed, "Not much to tell, really," he replied.

Draco's fingers started at the hair just above his right temple, "Tell me anyway?"

"Well this," he sighed as Draco started braiding, "Would never have been allowed. Long hair was for girls."

"Pfft," Draco huffed.

Harry smiled, "they," he swallowed, the words still somehow causing him bitter grief, "they didn't want me."

"What?"

"Just," he shrugged, "They had their own child and I was just a burden dumped on them. I wasn't allowed to be a child, I was there to do chores and not get in the way. Everything about me was wrong from my skin color, to my hair, to my eyesight, to my accidental magic."

"That's horrible."

"Yeah," he agreed, "But it was a long time ago. And I turned out alright."

"You did," Draco affirmed and Harry saw him pluck a flower from the grass beside them.

"Were you allowed to be a kid?" Harry asked.

"Sort of." Harry saw flowers zip past him and into Draco's outstretched hand. "There were things that were befitting of Malfoys and things that weren't. Anything that was appropriate for an heir of a noble pureblood house was fair game."

"Draco?"

"Mmhmm?" he hummed.

"It's been nice defying my childhood with you."

When Draco spoke he could hear the smile in his voice, "Likewise, Harry." He tied off the elaborate seven-strand braid he'd been working on and put it over Harry's shoulder to show him to flowers he'd woven in.

"Beautiful," Harry murmured, brushing his fingers over the array of flowers.

"Yes, you are," he replied.

Harry's gaze snapped up to find Draco watching him closely. "There's another way that I'd very much like to defy my upbringing with you," he ventured, clinging to every shred of Griffyndor bravery he'd ever possessed.

"Oh?" Draco asked with a little smile.

He nodded and reached out to cup Draco's cheek in his palm, "Can I kiss you?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Draco replied, leaning in and pressing his lips to Harry's as he buried his fingers in Harry's hair.

And if several groups of students caught sight of the two of them kissing on the hill, well, no one was surprised.

-----------

ahhhh! Sorry friends. This one got a bit out of control. I was just feeling a lot of feelings about Harry having long hair.

Side note, if anyone feels inspired draw Draco doing Harry's lovely flower braid (and I'm not saying it has to be @pato-roldnart but I'm obsessed with your art) I'd love that more than anything.

AHHHHH pato-roldnart did the thing! Look at this GORGEOUS art. I'm in love, please go look at it!

Anyway! I hope you guys enjoy it even though it's long! <3 Thanks for the prompt anon!

Day 62: Clothes | Day 64: Shower

[enhypia]

JY ; almost lovers

almost lovers answers questions with the choice of drinking instead of answering

pairings: sim jaeyun x gn!reader

genre: fluff, angst if you squint

words: roughly 1.4k

masterlist ⸺ series masterlist

~guides and warnings~

italics - reader speaking

bold - jake speaking

[enclosed] - interviewer speaking

italicized bold - both reader and jake speaking

[enclosed bold or italics] - question (depends on who's speaking)

heavily inspired by: rec.create lie detector games, cut truth or drink

warning: contains and mentions of !!! drinking and swearing

i don't promote underage drinking, save your livers

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

hello~ my name is jake!

and i'm (y/n)

and we're almost lovers

[you guys were invited here today as almost lovers for a fun little drinking game, you guys aware of that right?]

yes we were

[okay, for this game, questions will be asked and if you refuse to answer, you drink, it's that simple. should we start?]

yup!

i'll be drinking regardless if i answer or not btw

why?

it's free alcohol

[how long have you guys known each other?]

since middle school ??

yup, so like 6 or 7 years ?

[wouldn't you be childhood friends then?]

oh no, jake and i weren't friends

*jake laughs and (y/n) grins

we really weren't, we were just somehow always put in the same classes

classmates, that's literally just what we were

ah i got it, we just knew of each other's existence

yup that

*both laugh

[how did you guys became almost lovers then?]

oh it's the classic project partners thing

we became seatmates, and like for that whole school year almost every teacher assigned seatmates as partners

it's like they all collectively agreed to it

yeah so we just eventually got close and ,,,

chaos ?

chaos.

*both giggle because jake's giggle is contagious

[why didn't you guys get together?]

we were both cowards and dumb with feelings

and jake had to move back to australia

and i had to move back to australia

[so if jake didn't move, you guys could've been together?]

,,,, i honestly do not know

yeah same

jake was the popular dream guy, i wasn't even dating him back then but so many rumors spread

i'm sorry about that really

don't worry, it wasn't your fault

*you pat him on the head making him smile widely

[how about we start the q&a between you guys?]

yeah, let's go~

*both nod and played rock paper and scissors to determine who gets to ask first, jake wins

okay! first question

*jake picks up a card and laughs in disbelief

why?

[do you still find me attractive?]

*(y/n) bursts out laughing

i don't know if i should be offended that you're laughing or what

no, because it's ridiculous!

whY?

jake i literally compliment and hype you up whenever we meet

*jake blushes

so yes i still do find you attractive because you ARE attractive.

*(y/n) smiles teasingly

*jake rolls his eyes

*(y/n) picks up a card

oh wow

[did you see ever yourself loving me?]

*jake takes a shot

you know that just makes you sus

it's not like you don't know the answer?!!

that's the point! i do know so you could've just answered instead of drinking

shut up *jake grumbles

*you take a shot to make him feel better

the answer is yes btw, i did see myself loving them

*(y/n) almost chokes

*jake laughs

it's different hearing it out loud

*jake g i g g l e s

just read the next question

[do you think it's my fault that we didn't become a couple?]

pffft-

i mean

yeah yeah, but for me i'm blaming australia

sure buddy.

*jake :O

but no i don't think it was your fault, like we said a while ago, even if you didn't move, we were still dumb with feelings and we probably would've prioritized our future than a relationship. it wasn't the right time i guess??

*jake nods in agreement

[sorry, was it ever clarified between you guys that you had feelings for each other?]

oh yeah! we knew about it

yeah bUT AFTER I CAME BACK FROM AUSTRALIA ???

*(y/n) laughs

we met up when he came back and i just went "oh did you know i liked you back then?" and then jake just -

*(y/n) can't finish the sentence because (y/n) remembers the scene perfectly and is laughing hard

*jake groans

thAT! he groaned like that and basically slammed his head on the table.

yeah and you gaped like a fish after i told you i liked you back then too!

*jake :P

*(y/n) :O

i did not

yes you did! you went *jake imitates a gaping fish

yah! *(y/n) hits jake's arm lightly

*both laugh

*(y/n) reads the card and takes a shot after

why are you drinking? i'm the one answering

i know, i just needed that shot to prepare myself

[do you still have feelings for me?]

*jake turns red and reaches for a shot

moving on-

i'm answering

*(y/n) error404 please restart

*both cannot look each other in the eye

i don't know honestly? i still am kind of dumb with feelings but the reason why i say i don't know is because i'm trying to make sure that what i'm feeling for (y/n) is real?? like i actually do like them and not with the feeling ??

*(y/n) nods understanding what he meant

because wouldn't that be unfair to (y/n) ? saying you have feelings for them when you aren't really sure? i don't want that, i don't want to hurt (y/n) in any way or form

*(y/n) downs a shot and covers their face in embarrassment

why~ ?

*(y/n) narrows their eyes at jake and just hands him the card to read

*jake laughs

okay let's go,

[do you still think about what could've been?]

goddammit

*(y/n) takes a shot

*jake is basically just laughing at everything at this point, but that's okay he's cute when he laughs

yes, i do. i think what plagued me the most were 'what if?' questions. when i see my friends getting into relationships or hearing them talk about someone they've been seeing. i would often ask like "what if we just had confessed earlier?" "what if you never moved?" "what if we actually got together?" things like that

but i think my hardest 'what if' was "what if we just tried?"

*please put jake in rice he is not working

*he raises his glass to do a cheers

here's to painful confusion !

and dumb feelings~

*both take a shot

[question for both: do you regret that you guys didn't get together?]

honestly, no? i feel like if we did, we would be two completely different people right now?

yeah, i like who i am and who you are right now, so i don't think i regret it either.

and we were shit at romantic feelings

we aren't kidding, we really were

i feel bad for everyone who had to witness that phase in our lives

rip

*both laugh

[freestyle! ask any question you want]

hmm,,

don't think too much

no <3

*(y/n) rolls their eyes

okay, okay, i have one

this better be good sim.

[you said a while ago that it wasn't the right time for us before. how about now? do you think we're finally at the right time?]

.........

*(y/n) is speechless

*(y/n) downs a shot

jake don't ask me out on television

*jake bursts out laughing

i don't know jake, you tell me, you're the one confused with feelings.

... .. ... .

*(y/n) realizes what they said

*jake literally 👁👄👁

,,,, what?

*(y/n) clears their throat

huh?

nu uh, what did you just say ??

i haven't said anything yet?? are you okay?

*(y/n) looks at the crew around them that were covering their mouths preventing laughs and squeals

you definitely said something that meant you have feelings for me!

i did not! you need to get your ears checked

*(y/n) is blushing and is avoiding jake's intense look

[that's one way to end, huh?]

oh yay! we're done, good job everybody!

*(y/n) is hurrying to escape like a pokemon

*jake is still dumbfounded, poor guy

[is he okay?]

don't worry about him, he's rebooting

*jake glares adorably at (y/n)

we are talking after this

sorry i have plans, i need to water my dog

*(y/n) teases jake making him facepalm

[i think i smell another feature, but maybe as couples next time?]

*both blushes at the statement

that's all up to jake, director :D

*jake :O

honey, close your mouth, you'll catch flies

*jake wakes up at the term of endearment and his blush deepens

yah~ !

*(y/n) grins widely and waves to the camera

bye~

»————-　♡　————-«

bonus: youtube comments (peep last one)

masterlist ⸺ series masterlist

a/n: AAAA ENHA CB !! the enhypen dimension opens owo <3 anyways, i made jake's lighter since i couldn't make it angsty, he's too precious, i must protect him. also, my jake timestamp (oh worm?) received a lot of love, thank you !!! i hope you like this one as well~ sunoo's will be uploaded next !! please look forward to it <33