#you don't suck your quick drawing is cool

[cordeliawhohung]

Again same anon, no need to like post this one BUT the whole cig shotgun thing, i also think that he wouldn’t want her to inhale the smoke. He’d make her exhale it after holding it for a second or two—let her get the taste. “Can’t have you doin shit tha’s bad for ya, you already overwork yourself.” And perhaps he’d hold her jaw while he holds it to her lips.

Okay bye now I will spare you my devious thoughts

you sent this ages ago sorry but i was going through my inbox (sorry there's a lot) and i am just-

"Can I try?"

Simon nearly jumps out of skin at the soft whisper of your question. His neck snaps over his shoulder, taking in your tired form standing in the doorway, hands rubbing at your eyes. The cool summer breeze pulls at your nightshirt; it does nothing to hide the swaying parts of you that dance beneath the fabric as your bare feet trot against the cool cement of the balcony. Dark shadows dance across your face as you blink, waiting for your answer.

"Hmm?" he asks.

"Your cigarette," you clarify.

With the way his brows draw together, you would have thought the item had magically formed between his lips and he hadn't realized it until you pointed it out. Embers glow and flicker as he takes it into his fingers, making sure to hold it away from you as you lean against the railing next to him.

"You wanna try?" he asks.

You shrug. "Never have before."

Mulling your proposition over, he bites the insides of his cheeks as he studies you. He always enjoys when you're like this. Half awake and still trying to fight off thick prostration. Your eyes always seem to glimmer more. They dance in the moonlight as you stare at him, tongue wetting the inside of your lips. He swallows as he takes in the sight of them, so soft and sweet. Figures maybe he wouldn't mind putting something between them.

"Alright," he relents. Surprised, your eyes widen as you tilt your head, not having expected him to give in so quickly. He raises the cigarette, plumes of smoke traveling in its wake, yet he refuses to hand it over. "But don't inhale this shit, yeah? Holdin' it in your mouth'll do plenty. You're already workin' yourself half to death, don't need to speed that up."

Nodding your head in agreement, he finally pushes the cigarette toward you, but he still won't hand it off. Instead, he situates it so the filter faces you, and gently brings it to your lips, spoon feeding you the nicotine high himself. Warm fingers hold your chin steady, trying to keep the ash from falling on you. Eager lips wrap around the filter, and his eyes become inky as he soaks up the sight. Your lips hollow, dragging the smoke into your mouth, and you hum as the flavor washes over your tongue.

He recoils the moment you start coughing, puffs of smoke expelling from your mouth too fast to keep shape. His titter is slightly jeering as he shakes his head, shoving the stick back into his own mouth as you attempt to catch your breath.

"What'd I tell ya?" he chuckles.

"How do you keep doing that when it burns so bad?" you wheeze.

"Lot'sa practice, sweetheart."

As it usually does this late into the night, Simon's mind begins to wander. He thinks about that delicate sheen on your lips, how prettily they parted for him, and he feels that heavy libidinous ache swell deep in his stomach. There's a feeble attempt to hide his growing desire, and he smothers it with a quick drag just as your coughing begins to dwindle.

"C'mere," he prompts, head motioning for you to come closer.

Sucking in a breath of fresh air, you comply happily, pads of your feet slapping against the ground. Simon pushes himself away from the railing, standing tall as he brings his free hand up to your face. He relishes the softness of your skin underneath the thick callous of his thumb as he presses on your bottom lip.

"Open."

Lips parting, you watch in awe as he takes a long drag, eyes never leaving you for a second. He leans forward, mouth full of smoke as his lips hover above yours and then blows. Gently, it seeps between your teeth and fills your mouth, coating your skin in a haphazard mess. Your warmth pours into him as he holds your jaw steady, and it's then that he realizes he can't hold back.

Sparks flying, his discarded cigarette flies through the air as he flicks it away, lips crashing against yours just as it collides with the ground. Between the nicotine high and the taste of you, it can't be helped when his tongue breaks free from his mouth and into yours. You hum, the vibrations cutting straight into his chest as you wrap your arms around him. That hum quickly turns into a giggle as you prematurely end the kiss.

He huffs as his nose knocks against yours, silently begging for more. Withholding it from him, your hips begin to sway.

"Gonna come back to bed?" you ask.

Before he replies, he steals a quick kiss as his hands wander down to your hips. He pulls you closer, body colliding against him and his growing want.

"I'd never say no to that."

[incorrectbatfam]

batfam members being the smartest and dumbest person in the room at the same time

Damian: Here's the plan: we wait for your mother to put the pie on the windowsill to cool. Then, I'll spoof a call to her work phone in order to draw her away. That's when you come in and take it. Are we clear?

Jon: *walks up to Lois*

Jon: Mom, can Damian and I have a piece of pie?

Lois: Of course, here you go.

———————

Cullen: I tripped over my shoelaces again.

Harper: I can make self-tying shoelaces that can only come apart when you use a password-protected app.

Cullen: ...I was just thinking of wearing velcro.

———————

Duke: Check out my project! Not to brag, but I think I know who's winning the science fair.

Izzy: What is it?

Duke: It's a chamber that excites nanoparticles to generate short-term high-intensity thermal energy that can alter organic matter to make them suitable for human consumption. What do you think?

Izzy: Funny, I have one at home. Only I call it a microwave.

———————

Dinah and Babs: *talking*

Dinah: One sec, I'm getting a call.

Dinah: *answers her phone*

Dinah, immediately hanging up: Never mind.

Barbara: Was your number leaked? I have a list of possible suspects and plans for dealing with each one.

Dinah: Relax, it was just spam.

———————

Bernard, with a mic: Welcome back to MasterChef: Young Justice. We're down to our finalists, Red Robin and Spoiler. Let's see what they brought us today.

Tim: I made a nutrient-dense mass-conserving meal replacement with all essential components compressed in a gelatinous cube for a quick, on-the-go meal during our off-world missions. I'm serving it with a protein shake served in a vacuum-sealed pouch made completely out of recycled materials.

Steph: I made authentic Belgian waffles using techniques dating back to the 1958 Brussels World Fair. I'm serving it with a warm Swiss chocolate ganache, Japanese white strawberries, and homemade ube powdered sugar. For a drink, we have a cappuccino made with fair-trade Colombian dark roast beans and milk sourced from local farmers.

Kon, Bart, and Cassie: *taste and discuss*

Kon: You're both eliminated.

Tim and Steph: What?!

Cassie: Red Robin, the point of this competition is to showcase taste and culinary artistry, not just your engineering skills.

Bart: And Spoiler, you were supposed to make soup.

———————

Cass: *sneaks out her room*

Cass: *rolls down the hall*

Cass: *jumps over the couch*

Cass: *crawls through the vents*

Cass: *climbs down the rafters*

Cass: *slides down a gas pipe into the Batcave*

Cass: *lands in front of the door*

———————

Dick: I'll infiltrate the Iceberg Lounge with my state-of-the-art wearable camouflage that uses reverse psychology to throw all suspicions off of me by catching people's attention in a completely different way.

Jason: Pfft, lame. You should check out my latest tech. It's a potassium nitrate–based mixture that can be activated with a built-in timer to both create a diversion and incapacitate more of the Penguin's cronies at once.

Dick: That's stupid. We need to be subtle.

Jason: No, what we need is efficiency.

Dick: Roy, what do you think?

Roy, looking up from his phone: I think one of you wants to dress in drag and the other made a bomb.

———————

Bruce: I need the kids to steer clear of Crime Alley tonight so I can deal with a situation but I don't want to bench them because then they'll be mad at me. Any ideas?

Alfred: Give them paperwork.

Selina: Send them on a wild goose chase.

Kate: Get them to bench themselves.

Renee: Wow.

Renee: You all suck.

[prettiestlovergirl]

BACKSTAGE

tw: MDNI; semi-public sex; fem!reader; slight breeding kink; degradation; hair pulling; unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it); drummer! luke

a/n: i have had the idea of backstage sex with musician! luke for sososo long and i haven't seen enough of other people do it soooo... enjoy, my lovelies! 𓆩♡𓆪

everything happened so, so fast.

one minute, you were standing in the wings, admiring your boyfriend. you watched as he banged the drums over and over again, his back muscles flexing hard and dripping with enough sweat to make you drool.

the next, he was offstage, wrapping his hand tightly around your wrist and dragging you into the nearest empty room. you'd barely had a second to greet him before your back was pressed against the wall and his lips were on yours.

"well, hello to you too" you murmur against him, a slight giggle escaping that quickly turned breathy as he pressed himself against you. his hands are hot and calloused as they make their way under your shirt to hold your waist. his fingers dig harshly into the skin.

"no time, mami, need you so bad" luke mumbles against your lips, the kiss was hungry, and you couldn't help but moan as his tongue explored every inch of your mouth like he'd done hundreds of times.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, along his warm body to get even closer as you tugged at the curls on the nape of his neck. "we can't, anybody could walk in here..." you whine against his lips, his thumbs brushing up and down your skin.

he pulled away from your lips, pressing wet, hot kisses along your jaw. "c'mon mami, i'll be so, so quick." he stated, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck after each word, causing your mind to get a bit hazy, he knew just how to get you every. single. time.

you whined a bit, but of course you couldn't say no! not when he was so desperate for you, not when his lips found their way to your pulse point and made your pussy practically start throbbing.

"f-fine, yes, please, fuck me" you nodded, biting your lip to hold in a moan as he dug his teeth into your skin a bit more. "that's m' good girl." he smirked, continuing to suck and slide his tongue over your skin as he brought his hands down to unbutton your jeans.

he quickly slid the fabric down your legs, pulling your panties down along with them before spinning you around, pressing your face against the cool wall as you stood up on your toes and spread your legs.

"gods, mami... look so fucking pretty like this, all spread out f'me." he groaned, wrapping his fist around his cock, giving it a few tugs and coating it in some of the pre leaking from his tip.

you bit your lip, starting to feel impatient as he teasingly rubbed his tip along your folds. he didn't have enough time to properly prepare you before people started looking for him, so he continued to use his cock to spread your wetness all around. "mm, luke..." you whine, wiggling your ass a bit before he finally pushed into you.

"fuck, fuck, fuck, how are you still so tight..." he groaned, bringing his head down to your shoulder. he pressed his lips against your smooth skin before sinking his teeth in, moaning against you as he pushed all the way to the hilt.

"oh, fuck!" you whimpered, your hands pressed flat against the wall for some extra support as you clenched around him. "shh, gotta be quiet mami, don't want anyone interrupting before i get a chance to make you cum, yeah?" he cooed, to which you simply nodded, unable to speak without moaning too loud.

he started out at a nice pace, thrusting deep inside of you while his hands reattached themselves to your hips. he thrusted into you over and over again, trying to still be somewhat gentle because you were just so. fucking. tight.

"such a good fucking girl, letting me use her tight little pussy like this in a random closet." he groaned, making you whimper out more as you bit your lip hard enough to draw blood. you wanted to be quiet, to be a good girl for him, but it was so hard!! he was fucking you soso good.

"fuck, more, please!" you moaned, your mouth hung open as you let out soft pants and gasps while he fucked into you. you needed to feel him harder, deeper. you wanted to stay in this moment forever, feeling his lips on your shoulder, his cock hitting just where you need him over and over.

if this were a normal occasion, he would have punished you for being so demanding, but you had been such a good girl for him, and he needed you soso badly.

as he started thrusting in even harsher and faster, your moans got louder and louder, you just couldn't help it! he was just fucking you so good, you needed it so bad.

he grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing your back to arch as he made you look at him while he fucked roughly into you. "i said you have to be quiet, mami. if you think i won't just leave you in here like this, you're wrong." he stated, looking right down into your watery eyes.

"'m sorry!" you whimper, keeping your eyes on his as you did your best to keep in your noises. "it's just so good, 'm sorry, i'll be so so good, please don't stop" you begged, honestly wanting to cry at just the idea of him stopping.

"look at you, gonna cry over my cock? such a fucking slut." he cooed, finally releasing your hair from his grip as he continued to thrust into you. you did your best to keep quiet, the occasional soft gasp or squeal of pleasure escaping you.

luke smirked as he looked down at where you were connected, even in the dark closet he could see the creamy white ring you created around his cock, always just so fucking soaked for him.

you felt the knot in your core get tighter and tighter as he continued to fuck into you, bringing one hand down to start rubbing your swollen, puffy clit to help soothe the ache and bring you closer to your climax.

"fuck, fuck, luke, 'm so close, so fucking close, please make me cum!" you moaned, eyes squeezed shut as he started thrusting even harder and faster into you, feeling the way your pussy walls clenched around his cock.

"i've got you mami, cum for me, be a good girl and cum all over my cock, yeah?" he groaned, bringing his hand forward to replace yours on your clit, rubbing it faster and faster until you finally came all around his cock.

he continued to thrust into you, now chasing his own high as he pressed his palm harshly against your puffy clit, applying pressure to soothe you while he fucked into you harsher and faster.

it wasn't long before luke gave one final, harsh thrust into you and released ropes and ropes of his thick white cum, painting your insides white.

"fuck, i love you so much..." he groaned, staying buried inside of you and pressing his forehead to your shoulder again.

"love you too."

ᵈⁱᵛⁱᵈᵉʳ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᵇʸ @ᵐᵘʳᵘᶠᶠⁱⁿ

[emeryleewho]

I've noticed that people take writing advice way too literally and then get really mad about it, so here's a quick guide of what the typical "bad' writing advice is actually trying to tell you.

[Note: you don't have to take literally any piece of advice. It's just there for your consideration. If you hate it, leave it and do things the way you want. But the reason all of this advice is regurgitated so often is because it has helped a lot of people, so it's okay if it's not for you, but it may still be life changing for someone else.]

Write Every Day

"Write every day" is NOT supposed to be a prescriptivist, unbreakable rule that dictates anyone who doesn't write literally every day isn't a real writer. It's supposed to be a shorthand way of saying "establish a writing routine. Get used to writing at certain times or in certain places or in certain patterns, both so that you can trick yourself into writing even when you don't feel like it by recreating certain conditions, but also because if you only write "when you're in the mood", you may never get around to finishing a project and you likely won't be able to meet publishing deadlines if you decide to pursue publication."

The point of this advice is basically just to get used to seeing writing as part of your daily routine, something that you do regularly. But if you decide you can't write on Tuesdays or weekdays or any day when you have certain other activities, that's literally fine. Just try to make it a habit if you can.

2. Show Don't Tell

"Show don't tell" DOES NOT AND HAS NEVER meant "never state anything plainly and explicitly in the text". Again, "show don't tell" is a shorthand, and its intended message is "things tend to feel a lot more satisfying when your reader is able to come to that conclusion on their own rather than having the information given to them and being told they just have to accept it." It's about giving your reader the pieces to put the puzzle of your book together on their own rather than handing them a finished puzzle and saying "there. take it."

So if you have a character who's very short-tempered, it's typically more satisfying that you "show" them losing their cool a few times so that the reader can draw the conclusion on their own that this character is short-tempered rather than just saying "He was short-tempered". Oftentimes, readers don't want to take what you tell them at face value, so if you just state these sorts of details, readers will push back against that information. People are significantly more likely to believe literally any information they are able to draw conclusions on without being told what to believe, so that's where this advice comes in.

3. In Medias Res

This one is so often misunderstood. "In medias res" or "start in the middle", DOES NOT MEAN to literally start halfway through your plot. It also DOES NOT MEAN that you should start in the middle of an action packed scene. It just means that when you start your story, it should feel like the world and the characters already existed before we started following them. It shouldn't feel like everything was on pause and the world and characters only started acting the moment the story begins.

This is why starting with a character waking up or something similar can feel jarring and slow. We want to feel instantly compelled by your character, and the most efficient way to do that is [typically] to have them already doing something, but that something can be anything from taking a shower to commuting to school to chopping off a dragon head. We just want to feel like the story is already moving by the time we enter.

4. Shitty First Drafts

The idea that you should let your first draft suck and not revise it as you go is a tip presented to combat the struggle a lot of people have with not being able to finish a draft. If you find you've been working on the same first draft for five years and barely gotten anywhere, you might want to try this advice. The point is to just focus on getting to the ending because finishing a draft can give you renewed energy to work on the book and also makes it easier to get feedback from readers and friends.

That said, if your story is flowing fine even as you go back and make edits, then don't worry about this. This is advice specifically designed to target a problem. Likewise, this doesn't mean that you can't clean up typoes when you see them or even make minor edits if you want to. It just means not to let yourself get completely bogged down by making changes that you never move forward.

A "shitty first draft" also doesn't mean that your story has to be completely illegible. It just means that you shouldn't let perfectionism stop you yet. I see a lot of people say "well, I can't keep going until this first part makes sense", and that's totally reasonable! Again, the point of this advice is just to get you out of that rut that keeps you from making progress, but if you spend a couple weeks editing and then move on or you find the book is still making forward strides while you edit, then you're fine. You don't need this.

5. Adverbs

The idea that you "shouldn't use adverbs" DOES NOT MEAN that any time you use an adverb, you're ruining your story. It just means that you shouldn't *rely* on adverbs to carry your story, namely in places where stronger verbs or nouns would do a lot more heavy lifting.

For instance, you can write "she spoke quietly", but generally speaking, that "quietly" there is a lot weaker than just subbing out this clause for "she whispered". You probably have the word "spoke" all over your draft, so subbing out one instance of it here for a stronger verb in place of the same verb + an adverb makes for stronger prose. This doesn't mean that you'll never want to use the phrase "spoke quietly" over the word "whispered". For instance, if I write, "When she finally spoke, she spoke quietly, like that was all the volume her weakened lungs could muster." In this case, I'm using "spoke quietly" specifically *because* it echoes the previous spoke earlier in the sentence, and it evokes a certain level of emotion to have that repetition there. I also used it because she's not actually "whispering", but trying to speak at full volume only to come off sounding quiet.

So when people tell you to cut adverbs, they're saying this because people often use adverbs as a crutch to avoid having to seek out stronger verbs. If you're using your adverbs intentionally, having considered stronger verbs but ultimately deciding that this adverb is what does the job properly, then there's nothing wrong with using them. This is just a trick to help you spot one common weakness in prose that a lot of authors don't even realize they have.

6. Write What You Know

This is potentially the single worst-underestood piece of writing advice. "Write what you know" DOES NOT MEAN to write only what you know or that you have to put all of your life's knowledge on the page. It just means that drawing from your own experiences and already there knowledge will help you craft a better story.

So, for instance, being an eye doctor doesn't mean you have to write a story about an eye doctor. It doesn't even mean you need to write a story that directly deals with any eye knowledge. It just means that there are likely things you've experience as an eye doctor that can help inspire or inform your story. Maybe you remember a patient who always wore the same yellow shoes, and so you include a character who does exactly that. Maybe you spent a lot of hours dealing with insurance so you decide to write about insurance agents. Maybe your practice was located next to a grocery store so you decide to write a zombie apocalypse story that takes place in a location inspired by that shopping center.

The point is that, as people, our lived experiences allow us to relate to other people and craft more believable worlds. So don't limit yourself to your lived or experience or feel obligated to only write the things you've done, but when you find yourself wondering what to write about next or how to give a character more depth or how to describe this random location, pull things from your life and let what you already know bring a certain level of unique you-ness to your writing.

And the MOST important advice I can give you is to stop looking at writing advice as some holy, unbreakable rules passed down by the gods that you cannot ever deviate from. And if a piece of advice sounds totally bonkers, do some research on it. There's a good chance that whoever's passing it to you has no idea what they're talking about. But even if every other writer swears by a certain piece of advice, you absolutely do not need to take it. Try it on if you want, and throw it away if you don't, but stop making yourselves miserable by letting random internet people dictate your life. Most people giving advice on the internet aren't where you want to be anyway, so don't expect them to be able to guide you somewhere they've never been.

Everything's made up, and nothing matters. Write what you want.

[is-the-sky-blue]

OVERWHELMED: GOJO SATORU & GETO SUGURU

Fluff, satosugu x reader, reader is called mom, papa satoru, dad suguru

You were overwhelmed.

The warm steam from the pot below you wafted up to your face, the obnoxious low rumble of the range hood sucking up the air as to not let your smoke alarm go off, yet again. The curry bubbled and you stirred the mixture of carrots and potatoes, leisurely. "Mom," it was a troubled call, you turned, facing the long haired child perched in a chair at the table behind you, her brown eyes glassy as she stared at the textbook in front of her.

You were quick to lower the heat, tapping the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot before settling it down on the handles, placing the glass lid atop the stainless steel before shuffling over to her, fluffy socks adorned with a strawberry pattern, given to you as a little surprise from an ordinary grocery run, protecting your feet from the cool tile. "Tsumiki honey, what's wrong," you coo, taking a seat in the chair next to her, the girl's lips pouted in frustration as she pinched her brows.

"I dunno how to do this," she points, pencil led prodding at the textbook pages scrawled in graphite, loitered with jokes and absurd comments that your dear girl would never do, knowing that this, probably twelfth generation textbook's drawings, were presents from students past. It was a math question, simple algebra that she was only introduced to yesterday in class, and your ever keen student was quick to do her homework on Saturday as to not stress out tomorrow, as her Papa promised to take them all out on a fun day trip.

"Let me take a look," you murmur gently, offering a smile to try and quell her irritation as you stared at the notebook pages, neat handwriting full of numbers interrupted as she tried to answer question 6c, smudges of pencil rubbed away by eraser staining the paper and you reevaluate the problem, carefully repeating it onto the sheet. "This one is quite tough," you nod, hoping to show that her struggle was valid, "but basically you have to-" you start, ready to walk her through the steps to find an answer when yet another call drew your attention away.

"Mom!" this time it was a wail.

"Just a second baby," you pat the girl's hair, "I'll be right back," you promise, getting up from the cushioned seat to step towards the living room, crying children hidden behind the couch, as the open concept layout usually allowed you to see all your kids at once.

You spot the two twins, eyes glassy as Mimiko held a doll tight in her grasp, body shifted away from her sister as Nanako crossed her pudgy arms over her chest, tearful glare directed towards the former.

"What's wrong," you murmur, sore muscles slightly protesting as you pulled into a crouch assessing the situation. Your usually two well behaved girls who generally got along with one another were fighting for the nth time today. They were having a rough time, both irritated, grumpy and getting on each other's nerves consistently on this somber Saturday

"Mimiko won't share," Nanako cries, rubbing harshly at her puffy cheeks as salt rivers stain her face, falling in large droplets. You are quick to tenderly grasp her hands, careful touches wiping away the dew. You turn to face Mimiko, knuckles turning pale with the death drip she had on the pink haired doll.

"You two have loads of dolls though," you try to reason, plucking up a different toy, presenting it to the red faced girl.

"But I want that one," she sobs, hiccupping and you tried not to sigh too loud.

"Mimiko," you call, the child pursing her lips as she turned her body away in defiance.

"I want a turn," she huffs when you don't retract your scolding gaze, "Nanako's been playin all day wif her," she shakes the pink haired toy, glittery strands catching light and you don't know what to do. Nanako was crying because Mimiko had stolen the toy, and you knew the girl had been politely asking all day just to be denied.

It wasn't right that she took it, you know that, but it also wasn't right that Nanako hasn't been sharing. You didn't want to just take the doll away completely, even if a nagging voice said that a mere threat wouldn't hurt, but the high percentage that it'd leave both girls' crying already gave you a headache.

They were just tired. Bad dreams plaguing them last night, preventing them from sleep, they needed a nap but wouldn't settle down for one, not even after being cradled and read to. No matter how many picture books you pulled out, or if you just tucked them into their beds, neither agreed to your plan and now it was too late, settling for a nap now would only result in the inability to rest when it was actually bed time.

You bit your lip, their lack of sleep also resulting in your lack of sleep, achy limbs tired as you shut your heavy fatigue ridden eye lids as bawling tears continued to drip, "Nana-" you were about to start only to be interrupted yet again.

"Mom," it was raspy this time and you heed the call, facing a sleepy Megumi, his face florid as sweat beaded on his forehead, duvet you wrapped him in trailing along the hardwood floors as he pulled it onto his shoulders. His spiky hair was slightly matted, eyes a little red, nose running. 

"Megumi" you coo, your sick boy padding to walk into your arms, falling into your embrace eagerly as he nuzzled into your neck, his cold nose making you slightly cringe as he burned up in your grasp, fever overheating his tiny figure.

"m'sorry," he begins and you don't want to question what happened as you wrapped the blanket tighter around his little form, "I missed the bucket," he confessed, his fingers timidly grabbing at your sleeve, toying with the fabric and you knew what he meant, the little stomach bug beating up his organs had made you gift him a plastic container for all his vomit. "I didn't mean too," his voice wavers, you could feel your shirt begin to grow damp but all you could do was hold him tighter.

"It's okay," you try to keep the irritation ebbing away at you from your tone.

"Mom."

"Mom."

"Mom."

"Mom."

They all needed you, tears falling down fast as different anxieties permeated your house, home full of grief as they each battled with different problems. Tsumiki struggling with her homework, Mimiko and Nanako bickering yet again over something trivial but huge in their little world, while Megumi tried to fight off a sickness but was currently losing, and you trying to grapple every thing, your sanity quickly slipping as their sadness poured into you, the tired little smiles you kept up slowly fading away as you could feel your own anxieties claw up your throat.

All your children were crying, frustrated wails, and you were barely keeping it together, clutching your son tightly as you tried not to fall into a pit of tears yourself.

You were overwhelmed.

Overloaded with tasks and duties, you had to help Tsumiki finish her school work, settle this doll dilemma, clean up the little mess Megumi made and still finish up dinner. Your list was all consuming, trying to drown you as your house shook, trembled.

Your family was having a rough day.

Everyone was troubled and you-

You couldn't do it all.

You barely registered it, chaos consuming your leaden muscles as you did your best to organize your frantic thoughts, but when a gentle hand is placed on your shoulder the tension in your chest, weighing down on you eased. "Let us handle it from here love," a sweet murmur, his dark hair was messy, result of a tough day at work but he was quick to roll up his sleeves, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, soothing your berating mind and you could only nod, brain refusing to process an argument as he turned to the two twins.

"C'mere Megumi," your white haired counterpart now next to you, reaching out for the duvet coddled boy who merely nuzzled further into your grasp at the call and you can't help but keep him close, quicksand sinking limbs finding their way to cuddle him even further.

"It's okay Toru," your voice is laced with a slow molasses, tired dribbles as you mumble, blinking your stinging eyes, retreating tears falling back from your waterline, "can you just," and you bite your tongue, feeling a strange quiver form in your throat as an inexplicable lump formed, but he's cupping your face, squishing the fat of your cheek with his easy going toothy grin, pink lips parting to let an ever loving smile shine affectionately at your drained visage.

"Can do!" and he's popping to his feet, knowing your sentence without your words, upbeat aura exterminating the lingering gloom that held heavy in a foggy cloud from the ceiling. His call of Tsumiki's name is kind before he's taking the seat next to her, getting to work and slowly your growing checklist of tasks melted, shredding into tiny little strips as they rips apart the paper, taking a chunk to handle by themselves.

Your knees audibly crack as you stand, his warm cheek in the cove of your neck as he put up no fight to slump in your hold. "Let's get you a bath, yeah Gumi," you hum, body gently rocking as you pad down the hallway and towards the bathroom, light flickering on with a warm glow to paint the white tiles.

"M'sorry," he's murmuring again as you set him down, guilt ridden eyes swathed with remorse as you slowly began to fill the tub, squirting out some of the soap from a half-empty bottle of bubble bath, watching as white foam slowly floated to the surface, "I-I'll do better," he sniffles.

"You don't need to be sorry baby," you brush the strands of hair sticking to his forehead away, heat emanating from the slick sweat of his skin, dampening your fingertips as you gingerly peel the blanket off his body, pang of pity hitting your heart as he shuddered, "you didn't do it on purpose," you hum, "and all you need to do for me is drink lots of water, get tons of rest and get back to your strong and healthy self, okay my Gumi bear," you smile, watching the boy cringe at your little nickname.

"Don't call me that," he whines, voice nasally as you help him take off his clothes before settling him inside the water filled tub.

"Why not," you tease, turning off the tap but he could only puff out his chest, no reason coming to mind as he submerged his body into the water, steam slowly relieving his congested pathways.

"I- It's embarrassing," he tries and you coo with a sly little smile. 

"Are you embarrassed of me," you purse your lips in faux pain.

"That's not what I said," he rasps out, crossing his arms over his chest as he slumps his back against the porcelain, defeated.

"Mhm I see how it is," you sigh dramatically, snickering at his pout before you lean to boop his nose. "Will you be okay on your own," you ask the boy, observing as he picked up a cloud of soap and squashed it between his palms.

"Mhm," he nodded and you grin, giving him an affectionate rustle of the hair before grabbing the slightly soiled clothing, lingering smell of vomit and sweat clinging to the fabric of his pajamas as you stepped outside the bathroom, leaving the door open just a smidge as you padded towards Megumi's bedroom, the door wide open, readying yourself to untuck his bedsheets only to find his mattress already bare.

"It's in the wash," he murmured against the shell of your ear and you lean into his warmth, resting your head on Suguru's lowered shoulder, "do you need me to take that too," and his hands are quick to take the clothing from your grasp.

You simply shut your eyes for a moment, listening to his breathing, "thank you," you hum out when you blink open, whirling around on your toes to face him.

"It's no problem baby," and he's pressing yet another calming kiss to your forehead, easing the worries that had begun to clamber up your chest, "you should go take a break, I can finish giving Megumi a bath," he murmurs against your skin but you shake your head as he pulls away.

"No, I can do it," you affirmed, the worried look in his gaze doing little to force your hand, "I want to do it," you reiterated and his shoulder's slumped as he acquiesced, letting you have your way yet again.

"If you say so," he's sighing, "but let me know if you need anything, alright, you've already done a lot today, don't push yourself pretty," and he's kissing your cheek this time, flashing you an understanding smile but you are quick to peck at grinning lips, withdrawing much too early for his liking.

"I won't," you reassure, patting his arm, urging him to go and he chuckles, retreating back to the laundry room as you go to grab another set of pajamas for Megumi to wear.

Your heart felt a little lighter, the happy sounds of an understanding Tsumuki echoing down the hallway before she was sharing a high-five with Satoru, a resounding, elating smack reverberating as you take a small peek down the hall, her once pinched brows no longer furrowed with stress as your white haired partner thoroughly explained the topic in a way she could understand, patiently answering all her questions and kindly nudging her along the right path whenever she made a mistake. The sight had you smiling, there were no tears, no yelling, the image much unlike your childhood, her ability to even ask for help showing you that you must be doing something right, after all you didn't want her to face the same struggle you had when it came for asking your parents for any kind of assistance.

Turning back to the bathroom you nudge the door ajar with your hip, spotting your little spiky haired boy with a rubber duck in his hand, pushing it along the water and he's quick to stare at you, meeting your gaze as you plop the fresh clothing onto the counter. "Mom," he calls and the word no longer burdened you with such despair as it had moments ago, of course you loved your title, the very words being attached to you giving you an indescribably joy as your little found family discovered comfort in you as a mother figure, but you couldn't deny that a few moments ago the very call of that label had you broiling with stress.

"Yes love," you hum, quick to pull the stool over, sitting near the edge as Megumi glanced up at you, bubbles staining his fingertips.

"Will Papa still take me on the trip tomorrow," he sniffles, dry eyes blinking up at you with worry.

"Of course he will Gumi," you reach a hand out, petting his hair before cupping his warm face between your palms.

"W-What happens if I don't feel good tomorrow too," he whimpers, eyes going glassy as his lips pull into a pout and you could feel a little tremor shake your heart, small fracture nicking away at it as you pressed a tender kiss to his scalp.

"Then we'll reschedule it baby, okay," you murmur, staring into his heartbroken gaze, "it'll be alright."

"But I don't wanna ruin it," he mumbles so quietly, guilt ebbing away.

"Honey you won't ruin anything," you assure, "no one is leaving you behind, and no one will be sad if we can't go tomorrow, besides it wouldn't be fun if you weren't there." 

"Promise."

"I promise my love," and you interlock your pinky with his, rubbing away a stray tear that managed to fall, "now how about we get you dressed and back to bed," you offer, a gentle smile accompanying your words and he grins, nodding.

You were quick, drying the boy before pulling the dog themed shirt on his head, helping his arms through the fabric before tugging it down. "Cozy," you muse, fingers lightly tying the drawstrings of his fuzzy pants.

"Mhm," he hums, fast to find solace in your embrace as you carefully adjust him to settle on your hip, standing up. You survey the bathroom, empty tub still slightly foamy along the edges, drain covered in bubbles that you didn't focus on, preoccupied with dressing the sickly boy, the blanket he had dragged around, abandoned on the floor, crumpled in a corner, the floor slightly imprinted with wet footsteps.

You purse your lips, rubbing small circles onto his back as his face burrowed into the crook of your neck, dark hair tickling the skin but you pay no mind, occupied with your disinterest on cleaning the space, you had left a slight mess.

Shutting your eyes you sighed, maybe you could just pretend it wasn't there for a moment, you tried to offer yourself, turning to head towards Megumi's bedroom only to spot that his bed was still bare and you were soon painfully aware that both pairs of bedsheets you had used for his bed were now soiled and in the wash, the first set vomited upon in the morning when he had felt the brunt of his ailment clawing at his stomach.

You could feel irritation clamber up your limbs, leaving an unsettling itch in your bones as you push your weight onto your toes before rocking back onto your heels, uncertainty bubbling beneath your skin as your frazzled brain wracked for a solution. "He can sleep in our room for a little while," and the bubbles faded into nothing, heat of the element reduced to zero in an instant as your unsettled waters no longer even simmered.

His hand is on Megumi's forehead, checking the little boy's temperature while the other lay relaxed on your hip, leaving an assuring squeeze, "do you want me to take you Megs," Satoru offers, knowing full well he'd be denied, and rejected he was, the boy merely clinging to you tighter with a pout.

"It's fine Toru," you hum, his hands slightly fixing your hair before pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck.

"Alrighty then," he snickers, and you barely have to turn your head to know he and Megumi were sticking their tongues out at each other, "I'll go clean up the washroom then," and he shifts his focus to you.

"No that's alright, you should go rela-"

"I should be saying that to you pretty," he quirks a grin, cutting you off, "now go on," and he's shooing you away, hands on your shoulders before lightly ushering you out, "let me work," he tsks, opening the door, letting you walk into your shared bedroom before quickly scampering off with a cartoony whistled song.

You can't fight off your smile before shuffling towards the messily made bed, the rumple of sheets a painful reminder of your inability to focus this morning, waking up to sobs, the idea of making the bed no longer at the forefront of your brain, and it still wasn't. You collapse onto the mattress, lightly tackling Megumi beneath your body.

"Get off me," he giggles, squirming, fists pushing at your shoulders.

"What, you don't want my love," you gasp dramatically, peppering kisses over his face until he's shoving you away, hoarse voice laughing as he wriggles, crawling towards the head of the bed but you grab his ankle, "don't make me fight you," you tease, pulling him back, his happy little shriek of, 'let me go,' making you grin before you lift him into your arms, wrapping around him tight before squeezing him, planting one last firm peck to his cheek, his happy face lessening all your lingering unease before pulling the both of you beneath the covers.

"You're silly mom," he's snickering.

"Oh really," you laugh, resting his head upon the pillow, laying on your side as he puts his hand onto your face, pudgy fingers squeezing at your cheek, contorting your facial expressions, "I think you're pretty silly," you muse, reaching out to smush his face, his lips puckering as you forced him to look like a fish.

"Nuh uh," he huffs pulling away from your grasp before using both his hands to try and force your face the same way, and he's giggling.

"Nuh uh," you mock, "what do you mean nuh uh," you tease lightly tickling at his sides.

"Nuh uh," he shrieks again, squirming before burrowing into your embrace, putting an end to your attack as he cuddled close and you couldn't help but reciprocate. "Mom," he's calling again.

"Yes," you coo, running your fingers through his hair.

"Can we go see a T-rex." 

"Hmm," you raise a brow, "where'd that come from," you ask, slightly perturbed by his out of the blue question.

"Yuji told me at school that his papa took him to see T-rex bones."

"Oh, is that so," you coo, rhythmically patting his back, "we can go to the museum and see dinosaurs together when you're all better."

"With Tsumiki and Mimiko and Nanako."

"Of course, we'll take Tsumiki, Mimiko, Nanako, Dad and Papa," you grin, "so make sure to get lots of sleep and drink lots of water, okay."

"Okay," he's murmuring and despite his prior burst of energy his eyes were closing.

"Goodnight," your kiss his scalp, gently rocking his body and even though he drifted off you continued to lay there, weary limbs finally relaxing.

"Wake up love," you don't even remember falling asleep.

You blink your eyes open, "You need to eat." 

"Hmm," you groan as you stirred, staring at both their figures and you suddenly realize your arm's no longer hold the weight of a child, "where'd Megumi go."

"Asleep in his own room," Suguru coos, helping you sit up, thumb running over the apple of your cheek.

"What time is it," you ask eyes trying to adjust to the bright light of the digital clock on the bedside table. 

"9:30ish," Satoru grins, taking a seat next to you, "the kids are already in bed."

"Why didn't you wake me up," you yawn, leaning your weight onto Satoru, "I could've helped."

"You've already done so much today," Suguru sighs and you hum into his touch, "wanted to let you rest."

"M'sorry," you murmur, suddenly feeling ashamed.

"Why are you apologizing love, we are the ones who should say sorry," and Suguru is settling down onto your other side.

"We left you home alone to take care of all of them, it must've been tiring," Satoru is holding your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles.

"You had to go to work, it's fine."

"Regardless," Suguru tacks on, "but you did a good job today," he praises and you find yourself melting, lip wobbling.

"No I didn't," and a surge of sadness washes over you, your emotions taking over, "y-you came home and everyone was crying, I was going to cry too, and, and I didn't know what to do."

"That's okay my love," and Suguru is pulling you into his arms, "you did your best."

"But still."

"Baby it's hard looking after four kids by yourself, you did amazing, it was just a rough day," and Satoru is kissing your forehead, "we should've come home earlier but even without us you did great."

"I should've been able to handle it."

"You did handle it."

"I got overwhelmed."

"And that's okay," Suguru assures once more, "it's a lot of work and it's normal to feel that way, that's why we're here, okay baby, it's not your job to look after all of them on your own, we're a team, you can depend on us," he continues, soothing your anxieties, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. 

"My pretty girl had a long day," Satoru coos, lightly pinching your cheek, cracking a coy smile, "let's go eat yeah, I'll warm dinner up again," he grins, reaching for you, carefully picking you up. 

"I can walk," you protest, your arms snaking around his neck as he slid his arms beneath your bottom.

"And I can carry you," he sing songs, padding towards the door while Suguru quietly shushes him.

You were overwhelmed but Satoru and Suguru were quick to help you out.

[savannahsdeath]

haiiiiii, this is my first time requesting 😖😖😖😖😖 what ab boxer ellie and boxer reader fucking ts out of each other 😖😖😖😖😖

BOXER!ELLIE WILLIAMS X BOXER!READER

mdni please<3

warnings: 18+!! just.. smut

writers note: im so proud you trusted me with your first request??!!?!! omg also idk im no boxer so.. but i tried !! also this is some short drabble or whatever buut im posting it anyway because.. yes

you always admired ellie at the gym, what usually made your workout session worthless. you were a boxer, just like her. you knew every punch or kick you saw her do, it wasn't anything new nor special. yet, the way she did them brought your attention. her movements were fluid, quick, and precise. there was no hesitation or wasted energy. everything was a perfectly timed, deliberate attack. the way she moved was like liquid, weaving through the air with ease. she was art in motion, each strike a beautifully crafted, deadly dance.

and then, she saw you looking at her. her determinated expression got replaced by the playful smirk that made you lose your mind.

"hey!" she chuckled. "anything interesting?"

her green shirt was clinging to her body, exposing every curve and muscle. it was difficult not to keep staring at her.

you tried to compose yourself, to play it cool and not let her get to you. "just watching you, and thinking about all the ways i could beat you." you gave her a cheeky grin, and raised your eyebrow to let her know you're not one to be messed with.

she laughed and approached you. "care to show me on a practice session later?" she asked playfully.

"of course!" you smiled back at her, your heart racing as her body draws nearer to yours with each step. still, you played along, pretending to be confident and totally-not-impressed. "who knows, maybe i can show you a thing or two that you haven't seen before." you added with a smirk on your own face.

as she got close, you could feel the heat from her body and see how her shirt clings to her curves like second skin. your face flushed with blood and you had to look away, unable to keep a steady gaze as she drew your eyes back to her with that inviting smirk.

that's how you ended up between her legs, showing her 'a thing or two she haven't seen before'. your tongue dipped inside her cunt, collecting everything in your mouth. then, you moved to lick her folds sleek, carefully moving up and down, stopping at her clit to suck on it. she was trying her best to stay quiet and keep her 'unbothered' facade, but you thought it's useless after she failed once. oh, how oblivious she was to the fact that you could feel how her hips moved closer to your face.

"are we- fuck, do we practice the same boxing?" she mumbled, trying to sit up and look at you but ending up squirming even more.

the air, disturbed by the vibration of your laugh, hit her inner thighs. she squeezed them around your head, but your hands quickly parted them back to their previous position.

"i don't know about you, but that's what i practiced." you replaced your tongue with your fingers, rubbing her clit while you pulled away and sat up, letting her see you. "is that something... new for you?"

she whined and moaned out a; 'fuck you', before regaining her composure and adding a more confident; "i can do just as much."

not long after that, your places swapped. you admired how full of energy she was, even though she struggled to speak not long ago.

"what happened to the 'no fucking before an important fight'?" you taunted - your breathless state wasn't enough to stop you from teasing her.

after that, she pushed two of her fingers into your puffy cunt. you gasped as your ability to speak went missing, your cheeks shining with not even bright red as an uncontrollable groan in form of her name escaped your mouth.

"i was just about to ask you 'what happened to you stuttering and blushing everytime you talk to me?'" she made a dramatic pause, letting her fingers pump in and out of you, closely watching your reaction to every move so she would figure out where your sensitive spot was. it took her about two times, or more but really fast ones, your sense of time got ruined and you weren't sure. "but there you are."

[gemini-sensei]

i’ve been thinking of this for a bit-

shy, goth, larusso!reader who’s sam’s younger sister. she’s meek and barely speaks, always having her headphones in and trying to avoid drawing attention to herself. it’s summer break and one day sam throws a pool party, inviting all her friends and anybody else who wanted to come. sam ofc wants reader to join and get out of her shell, even surprising her with a pretty new bikini. it’s thin, black and lacy that barely covers the swell of her fat tits and ass. it sits on her hips perfectly, squishing her large pudgy hips and stomach. reader thinks she’ll die of embarrassment, but sam assures her it’s ok, and that yasmine will probably we wearing something more revealing.

so reader joins everyone outside, failing to ignore the hundreds of eyes on her. the worst offenders are robby, hawk, and demetri who stare like starving wolves seeing a small bunny. they all have a small crush on reader, seeing her on occasion out with sam. they think she’s so cute, all wanting a chance to talk to her without scaring her away. robby, hawk and demetri unfortunately couldn’t stay long and stare, as they had to go and take care of their cocks straining in their swim trunks.

sorry if this was too long!!! i just wanted to get all of my ideas out.

Robby, Hawk, and Demetri stare at her for a few minutes while Reader talks to Sam about going to get changed. Too many people are looking at her and making her uncomfortable, she's made a mistake and needs to go change. But Sam stops her and assures her that everyone is just looking st how great she looks. She walks Reader over to the poolside where Yasmine and Moon are sunning.

The guys are still staring and unable to take their eyes off of her. She sits and her thighs squish together and Hawk wants to slot his cock between them. Her boobs are barely being held in her bikini top and Demetri wants to grope them in his big hands. Robby wants to bend her over the pool chair and fuck her cunt and be a little rough with her. All these thoughts lead them inside to find their own separate place to take care of themselves because they can't walk around the pool with tents in their trunks.

Or they help each other out 👀 crammed into the tiny guest bathroom, fisting each other's cocks. Or Robby and Hawk have Demetri on his knees helping them out with his hand and mouth. It could go many ways if they're doing each other a quick favor, especially if they know they all like her.

Reader could even slip back into the house to get a cool drink or a bag of ice to refill the cooler. She hears something strange coming from the bathroom and goes to make sure whoever is in there is okay. She knocks gently, "H-hey... everything okay in there?"

Demetri's mouth is full of Hawk's cock while hisnhand is wrapped around Robby, who has to put a hand over his own mouth because he's noisy. Hawk calls out, trying to pretend he's alone in there. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. Just a cramp."

Quick thinking is alright. Hawk's pretty good at it. However, his mind is foggy and he was needy. Reader, his crush, being at the door is not helping. It's not helping any of them.

"Oh... well, uh, do you need anything," she asks. She talks so soft, so pretty, so sweet. Her voice just makes them all swoon and want to pull her in there to have a little fun with, but they hold back. "I-I don't know what helps with cramps... do you? ... Or would you rather me leave?"

Hawk wants nothing more than for her to stay, Demetri and Robby similarly want the same, but he answers with, "ai'll be out soon."

"Oh, okay..." she says and walks away.

Robby drops his hand. "What I'd give to have her."

Hawk shoves him. "Like your get so lucky. Shes's mine."

Demetri pulls away and pants. "I'd prefer you two not fight while I suck you off. Besides, you two are too rough for her. I'm the only one who's gonna be gentle with her."

They look down at him and glare.

Robby scoffs. "You wanna be gentle, worry aboutbit later." He then leads Demetri's mouth onto his cock and fucks his throat.

Demetri moans and let's him, trying his best to jack Hawk off at the same time. He's at their mercy at that moment but all he can think about it Reader, so he closes his eyes and thinks of that pretty bikini she is wearing outside at the pool.

They're all thinking of that bikini, the way it hugs her body and barely keeps anything in. Her ass and tits on display with the pretty lacy suit, her belly just so attractive and they all wanna hold it and her sides and squeeze her chub. They're watering at the mouth, hands itching to grab her.

Unfortunately for them, they only have each other to grab and hold on to. Maybe someday, one or all of them could have a little fun with the cute goth LaRusso.

[lunarmango]

Flickering Lights

Demon Alastor x Human reader fic? ON IT. I'm so siked to make this a series and I hope who reads this enjoys this as much as I do. I wanna get into writing. (I don't write, I draw) and I was thinking of making a longer fic, the details were so hard to piece together. I really enjoy the concept of demon Al with human reader. So here we go!

Word Count: 2k

TW: None for now? Pretty mild stuff haha.

Chapter One: Moving in

New Orleans, Louisiana

1946

Where wandering spirits were said to roam, walk and explore more frequently, being an area where people would find it easier to communicate with them, or so you were told. You were convinced it's utter nonsense to be completely honest. The whole notion of spirits was so far fetched you just couldn't bring yourself to even fathom them. Though not opposed to being proved wrong.

It's been years, saving for a house. Your apartment was small, cheap and far too crowded with furniture and items you just can't let go of. From a suffocating apartment to a house. You were practically buzzing from excitement. Like, literally almost shaking.

A new chapter in your life.

When you walked in, you suck air through your teeth in anticipation, the cool air hitting your teeth invigorating you, fingers fumbling with the old metallic keys that jingled in response, finally able to slot the correct one in the door and push open the dark wood hastily, the hinges swinging and the door practically flying.

You winced at the loud thud when it slammed on the white painted brick wall. Taking a few deep breaths, you decided it was best if you didn't wreck your new house on the first day. You think you would actually cry if you did, and you were not willing to test that theory. Checking the wall where the door hit with a small grimace of anticipation, you close the door behind you, relieved to see the wall is fine, your face relaxing again as you take yet another deep breath through your nose.

House tour!

Kicking off your shoes at the entrance, you begin wandering from room to room, you take in the spacious kitchen and living room. Though it lacked a certain homey touch. But you were aware why. There was no furniture after all. You had a vision for the house. Just had to wait 3 days before you could make it happen and the furniture would arrive. You had big plans, that did not pair well with your lack of patience. You already had multiple shitty sketches of how you roughly wanted each room to look. The furniture is all you need, it'll arrive soon enough. Hopefully.

You're going to need to find a way to pass the time.

First things first, you still haven't explored the upstairs! Running your hand gingerly along the wooden railing as you hop upstairs, the hard floor creaking occasionally under your feet every few steps, you take a sharp left and step into the master bedroom. It was massive. You feel a grin etch at your face as you peek your head inside. You're definitely getting a king sized bed. With a nod you left the room, confident you were going to be a pro napper at least a month within getting your new bed.

You open the door to the bathroom. Spacious enough, room for a decent sized tub and shower. Although you never really saw the point in baths if you wanted to get clean. You step out and look into the spare bedroom. Maybe a potential study? That or the attic. You always were sure that the environment can heavily affect the quality of ones work.

Was such a big house going to make you feel small? Possibly alone? You scoffed to yourself. Who cares when you have such a house?! Expensive too. Ho ho you were going to have fun "subtly" showing off this house to your friends.

With a quick, dismissive peek to the spare room you turn on your heels, going up the stairs to the attic with cautious steps, the worn wooden panels making such loud noises in retaliation to your steps that you were afraid that they would give in. Your hand gently opens the rattly metallic doorknob and open the door, squinting only to see a small switch on the side of the door. You flick it on and hear the buzz of a weak warm light turning on above you, fully illuminating the room the best the small warm light can.

First thoughts? Dusty. Very Dusty. Every box, book and the long desk and chair at the end of the room practically black and gray from the abundance of dust. A sigh escaping your lips, realising just how long you were going to be cleaning for, a task you were not mentally prepared for yet. Making your way to the desk, you approached a large wooden desk, most of the surface blocked by a large panel with knobs, switches, dials and little doodads that slide up and down. The sliding doodads having small, mini light bulbs at the top of each. You look at the corners and edges of the panel, looking for an on switch or something.

Nothing.

It was probably unplugged?

Nevertheless, as foreign as the panel seemed to you, a surge of determination drives through you to figure it out. It seemed expensive. Whoever used this probably cared deeply for it, the text of the brand faded, showing the love and use the panel had been provided with. If it was so well used, you had to figure out just why it was loved so much.

To begin, you had to figure out just what it is. Turning it on seemed like the obvious option.

Crouching under the table to look to where the cables lead, you notice a microphone on the floor. Wrapping your hand just above the flat base of the microphone, feeling the coolness of the metal and the sandy texture of the dust between your skin and the metal, you try to lift it. You were suprised to find your hand faltering slightly at the sheer weight of the microphone, dropping forward onto your knees to provide a better position to pick it up in, using both hands to stand up and set it in front of the panel with more ease. It wasn't that heavy. But you didn't want to drop it. Wasn't this supposed to have headphones...?

Once more, you go down on all fours, looking under the desk, when no sign of somewhere to turn on the panel or headphones appears, you circle round to the back of the desk, finding a wire and an unplugged plug. With a small huff that caused far too much dust to fly in the air, triggering a cough from you. Slotting the plug in the panel above you hums to life and flickers on once more. A small hushed yes emerges from you as you slowly stand up, brushing the dust from your knees, then your hands.

You walk back in front of the desk, flipping some random switches for the hell of it, satisfying metallic clicks and clanks as a result of your tampering. Then proceeding to tap the microphone, you blow on it to rid it of the pesky dust, stepping back to let the dust fall.

You took a moment to appreciate just how expensive this radio setup must have been, so big and complicated it made your mind whirl just trying to decipher what each control did. You brush away some more of the dust from the panel, running your finger between the buttons, trying to look for labels, or some sort of guidance, only to find them worn out, white writing so etched and scratched at on the metallic reddish-brown surface that it was unreadable. A soft smile tugging at your lips in realisation of just how loved this equipment really was.

You’ve seen the basics of what a radio setup should look like, without having to remember the separate into bitty details of the control. Panels, a microphone. Where were the headphones? You look below the desk, bending at an uncomfortable angle to the shelves situated under the left of the desk.

Nothing.

Not like you could broadcast anything even if you wanted to. Why do they use the headphones? To listen to the sound of their own voice? How proud and snobby must one be to love their voice that much? An audible scoff from you. You know you wouldn’t be able to put up with anyone of the sort.

Using both hands, stabilising the microphone properly, you pick it up, with a smart smirk, looking at the empty wall you begin speaking to your imaginary viewers, mocking the accent radio people had to use to the best of your ability. “Hello my dear viewers! Welcome back to my boring ass show, talking about shit that probably serves as background noise” A snicker escapes your lips as your smirks stretches wider in amusement, gently putting the microphone back down.

Eager to make your made up show more believable, you move away from the desk, eyes scanning the worn wooden panels of the floor. Remembering you looking earlier you let out a hefty sigh. Were you really going to spend hard earned money for a few minutes of make-believe mucking about like a child?

Oh definitely.

Lost in thought, still staring at the floor, chuckling in thought a distinct noise snaps you out of the haze of your mind.

Click

You look over your shoulder to the direction of the noise, the desk, trying to place the exact location.

Another click

It was from the panel? You turn back to the panel, looking down on the panel as the clicks increase in frequency, switches being flicked, dials turned. A particular pattern caught your eye being the fact that during the abundance of alterations to the controls of the panel, no knob or slide was altered twice, almost if it was altering itself the clicking now a steady rhythm. What a ridiculous idea, as clueless as you were about the technology you were almost certain it wasn’t that advanced.

The clicks slowly come to a stop, one last slider slowly going upwards to a certain line before it stops completely.

“Eager to hear my voice?” You mutter under your breath, a dial slowly turning, one of your eyebrows quirking up in response. Spirits and ghosts don’t exist.

There’s always a what if.

What if they do exist?

What if you’re the first to fully realise this?

What if you’re living a ghost story?

After all, things moving on their own in the dusty attic of an old house was never a good sign.

Yeah no who were you kidding.

But just to make sure.

You bend at the waist, your lips as inch away from the crosshatched metal of the top of the microphone.

“Can you hear me?” You say in a teasing low purr, holding back a laugh in your lungs, helping to alleviate the tension you’re beginning to feel rising up in you, pressing in on the sides of your head. Jokes always help. Well. Not always. However you can’t exactly help it either.

A flicker of the small light bulbs, emitting a warm light above the sliding controls. You couldn’t help but still be sceptical. Your voice now has a newfound edge, the whole situation making you uncomfortable.

“You- can?”

Another flicker from the same small light bulbs.

A nervous laugh rumbling from your chest.

You had to figure this out, because you wouldn’t put going insane past you. Maybe a break from the attic would be good. Probably buy some headphones. As unsettling as the panel is, having the set incomplete irks you unnecessarily, and it was an enigma you couldn’t help but feel determined to figure out.

[fanaticsnail]

OK but picking rocks with Penguin and then he teaches you how to cast them and you make jewelry for each other. You guys are the couple ever

I love the way you think.

This is a follow up to this fic, following this ask.

Jewellery making nights with Penguin was meant to be fun. An exercise as a couple, strengthening your bond, and spending pure quality time with one another.

But you just can't seem to get it right.

The gold is too runny, falling over the sides of the divots and spilling onto the table where you were working. The action prompted you to hastily reach forward and attempt to scoop up the molton metal with your gloved hands, some skimming past the drawstring of the wrist tie and searing your flesh.

"Ah-!" you choke your soft yelp, recoiling and cradling your wrist in your hand: inadvertently rubbing the metal further into your flesh as you attempt to wipe it off.

Penguin is immediately by your side, spilling sweet nothings in your ear as he rushes you to the medical office. Turning on the tap, he removes your glove and places your wrist beneath the running water. He braces you against his chest from behind while you sniffle and hide your face in the crook of his neck.

"It's okay. It's okay, baby. You did so good, honest," he coos into your ear, peppering your neck with a flurry of soft kisses. Once the swelling calms down, and the metal becomes solid, you both sheepishly approach your captain and tell him what happened.

With a gruff growl, a quick utter of "scan, room, shambles," the metal falls away from your skin without any inhibitions. Giving you a prescription for cream, and a forbodence of never attempting to do this again without Eustass Kid to guide you properly, he dismisses the two of you without further word.

After this, he would instead demonstrate to you how to do gem wrapping with strings and wires. While he would give you a shard of blue sea glass to practice with, he would quietly and secretly work on a piece more personal and with a story to go with it.

Once you present him with the sea glass coil, hanging from a length of string long enough to wear around his neck, you smile that smile that holds him captive.

"It matches your eyes," you whisper lovingly up at your fiance, offering to place it on his neck. He attempts to choke back his deeper emotions and how much he's moved by your gift, removing his hat and allowing you to tie it at the nape of his neck. Once you fiddle enough with the knot to hold it in place, you press your lips just below the tie. He physically stiffens, his breath catching, and goose flesh rising each follicle up to attention.

Turning back to face you, he welcomes you into his embrace with a heated kiss. Lips colliding, moving like a slow and sensual dance, he wants to express his gratitude for such thoughtfulness from you.

"So good," he whispers in a muffled gasp, "Did such a good job. Proud of you." He parts his lips, pressing a deeper kiss against your lips while tugging your hips flush with his own. Wrapping your hands around his waist, he draws his hands up to the nape of your neck.

You barely process him placing his own craft around your neck, too lost in his kiss to pay attention to his hands. Once he clasps it closed, he cups your cheeks and holds you steady while pulling away his lips from yours.

His blue eyes fall half-lidded, gazing at your love-bruised lips before gazing up into your eyes.

"Don't be mad at me," he sucked his lips into his mouth to stifle his smile, "But I made you one too." He nods down at your neck, prompting you to furrow your brows before looking down at the object.

In the centre of Penguin's woven piece, the seared gold that cooled against your skin lay flush amongst the various ropes and ties. Sucking your own lip into your mouth, you pout down at the piece before turning your mock-anger back onto your fiance.

"Hey! I said don't be angry! Oi-!" Penguin laughed, removing himself from your arms and beginning to flee from being on the receiving end of your playful wrath.

"Pen!!" you whine after him, chasing him until he's cornered in his quarters.

Giggling and laughing all the way, he allows you to pin him and invoke your punishment on him for using your embarassment to craft something beautiful. He would happy receive your wrath, so long as you do it with a smile on your lips while his meet your own.

[hobiespick]

Heya! I was wondering if you got any headcanons for Sam Winchester x werewolf! Reader, except, reader can actually turn whenever she (or gn if you want) wants, and the only real thing a full moon does is force her to be in her werewolf form (aka force her to keep the wolf teeth and claws out for no reason)

The thing that should not be

Pairings : Sam Winchester x reader

a/n : FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, HI, HELLO, IM SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG I SUCK SO BAD, IM SO SORRY. My requests aren't open (yet) but its not even your fault I should have 100% specified that, but this is my first ever ask and ur also one of my favourite moots and I didn't want to dissapoint so here are some fuckinf cute Sam x Werewolf!Reader. I felt the carnal need to write a metric fuckton of context before getting into the actual headcanons (which are very long I have no idea if they can be considered as hcs) so the reader gets beaten up by earth-shattering plot purposes :3. Sammy juicy headcanons start when you see the '🧿' emoji if you don't wanna read the context (melodramatic sigh). And yes the title of the fic is based on the metallica song :). as always, enjoy my shitty thoughts <3

Warnings: angst with comfort (no don't clap it's fine, omg ur makin me blush); guess who joined the cool kids club and uses "____." instead of "Y/n"; literally a flash of gore, shitty dad(s), fake death, mentions of suicide, Sam looks at you and goes DO YOU WANT M-; Dean being himself; reader is also a hunter and has been raised like that (fml); Dean makes a twillight refrence; reader is frankenstein coded in the most nuanced way, Mary Shelley please don't haunt me; Dean is very happy to have a bestfriend/sister :)

word count: 8,102

- Okay, so for starters, the fact that you aren't actually a monster (you don't get the urge to kill or wreak havoc) is actually a supernatural miracle.

Your parents haven't talked to you since you called them the night you were hunting a werewolf and told them, horror-struck between sniffles and voice cracks, that it bit you, and you’re going to turn, and you’re horrified, and you’re going to drive home to put a pistol in your father's hand and hopefully stop you from turning in the thing you shouldn't be.

Your father replied, after successfully not saying a word besides "Hey, kid-" before getting cut off by you and your hiccups. He sank his teeth into the inside of his cheek, enough to draw blood.

"You are not to come home; your mother won't bear to see you like this."

Your father objected before telling you you can finish the job by yourself; you always have.

He abruptly ended the phonecall like you weren't his daughter, more like an annoying salesman. You don't know what he'll say to your mother after that call; that was the hospital, and you tragically died? "Died a hero.." Your father would say when he described another hunter's tragic passing at the dinner table—paranormal tragic passing. So paranormal that your mother had knocked on wood and prayed it wouldn't get you or your family.

So you don't call, It's really me, dad. I'm fine, I figured it out by myself. How could you? after him suggesting it's better to kill yourself than take a shot at finding a solution together? You would rather have him believe you're dead. Or at least cry with you; it's okay, honey. come home; it'll be okay, spend the last days at home, please-

The last word you get from him is a text message you are too quick to open on your flip-phone to see the next day. When you rub at your eyebags after tracking down a witch, the witch. It was the second day when everything about you felt off; you were squemish, anxious, and haven't left your motel room all day. if you get this—the message read, "if you get this?!" if you get this, if you get this, if you get this—your brain repeats it over and over, taking the words apart and tattooing itself that phrase, because it held much more meaning to it than your father probably didn't intend; he would hear it if he read it before sending, you thought, that little 'if' haunting and tormenting like a damn demon. if you haven't already killed yourself; if you haven't already turned into something that took my daughter, my pride and joy, away from me; if you haven't already died–

- speaking to you like he's directly referring to the disease in your veins. Your brain moves on and reads the next ridiculous waste of your attention. I wanted you to know I told your mother that it was the hospital I was talking to yesterday, calling that you’re dead, house fire, so no remains to pick up—Damn, you know him or what? Even your fake death is stripped away from it's respect—"no remains to pick up"—like a toppled statue, a monument of what was once a hero (in dad's old-fashioned monster-hunting world), shattered and insignificant, no longer breathing or living, if you ever even had. Or a tree struck by lighting, again, "no remains to pick up" no meaningful remains or genuinely nothing, just a memory of another young hunter who died 'tragically'. You could imagine your tombstone with an even dumber epitaph to match it and an empty or nonexistent grave lying six feet underneath for closure. Your eyes move on, there will be a funeral with no grave, of course, I just wanted you to know that your mother and everyone else is devastated, we miss you, sugar. I love you, kid. Your father had overestimated your suicidal tendencies, and the way he didn't try to save his daughter in order to not go against the rules and possibilities of hunting only showed you how much he loves you.

So you track down the witch. You barely make it to her doorstep when she opens it with a too reassuring smile, saying your name and that she expected you, even going as far as offering you tea after opening the door and letting you in, to which you declined. You're not an idiot. But you do sit down, forced, when she, Willow Thorne, won't have you, a guest, standing up, a whole damn hunter being forced to sit down and accept being treated kindly like you deserve. When you walked in, the entire image of a satanic worshipper who sold her soul to demons and hexed everybody—that you betted all your life savings fitted the description of Willow shattered and laughed in your face.

Her home was filled with plants hanging and resting in every corner she could place; various crystals were sitting in cute porcelain plates like candy, candles of different colors on a bookshelf filled with books like The Language of Flowers, Astronomy for Beginners, and Sigils. Even more crystals, bigger and taller ones on a purple tablecloth. The house is adorned in shades of dark purple, violet, green, and warm colors. This home was a whimsigothic musem that would send your thirteen-year-old self into a shrieking, excited mess. Your parents never let you own crystals or a tarot deck; they were too afraid you'd turn darkside one way or another. well, mommy, daddy, if you could see me right now with lycanthrope blood pumping through my veins.

Willow Thorne is a wiccan type of witch; she does not receive her power from demons; she receives her magic from nature and probably practices her witchcraft the way she sees fit. This doesn't help build back the distrust you were trained to have in her. You flinch when you feel a tail curling around your bouncing leg; you glance down, and your eyes are met with a black cat's green ones—this must be her familiar—the little words on his purple collar reading 'Creek'. She gives you another flash of her warm smile and starts talking about her cat. This can't be real. Your every instinct screams that you should take her down or that she will take you down. Your options shrink the longer you stay. You keep a hand anxiously fiddling with your belt, thinking about the gun in your waistband. She's deceiving you with honeyed words and unassuming appearance; who the fuck knows, maybe the cat is manipulating you too. Throwing up would be the calmest reaction you could have right now, because the thoughts in your head started going at each other's throats and doubting in this situation could get you killed. Thoughts like, fuck her, her cozy house with purple witchy twitchy girl interior, and her affectionate black cat she mentioned she rescued when nobody would because of superstitions—you curse in your head, you're not actually upset at her although you do not let your guard down, you're upset at yourself for being so easily coaxed into trusting her, it's all too easy, and it is intimidating you.

You're pretty sure you're gonna rip your vocal cords out of frustration and an overall feeling of overwhelmingness; everything seems to piss you off today, even more than usual. How are you good?! All bright and beaming with nothing but positivity. You're not supposed to be good! I have believed all my life you aren't!..are you like me too? A thing that should not be? Before breaking down and crying about your situation, and if you did, she would make you that tea and rub your back with her hand that radiated ease and made you slump your shoulders with relief.

Before you get other fun thoughts like Am I on the wrong side of the war? You start discussing bussiness since you forgot that's what your here for. Even if your eyes water like a little kid after being scolded for something they didn't do, your voice is nowhere near close to sounding like one. You demand a cure, bargaining for a deal to stop the lycanthropy metamorphosis you feel taking over little by little and make you human again. If she can't, you have a gun with silver bullets in your trunk and your will written out, but by now it probably has no significance.

Much to your disappointment, she—Willow—insisted you called her, tells you she cannot take away your curse, but she can soothe it a little, keep it in a cage locked deep into your subconscious. In exchange, she could ask for fucking anything in the world, but she wants loyalty.

"Define, loyalty." You ask through gritted teeth, yeah, that will stop the tears, definitely, great intimidation skills, _____ .

"I'm talking about respect, mutual aid, when it all comes down for me, when I get threatened by a hunter, I want you to be there. I need you to have my back." She admitted, studying your eyes trying to reslove the conflict in them, anything that could give her hope. You couldn't explain this to anyone, ever, Yeah I almost turned into a werewolf once but my witch friend did a ritual on me, so i'm all good now.

Willow is now sitting on an ottoman facing her couch, where you're sitting. Her hands fidget with her bracelets until she clasps them together, and she is leaning towards you. Her gentle tone is imbued with gentle authority that commands her mutual respect without making her overbearing. Keeping steady eye contact, she is discussing serious matters with a serious tone like she should. You can't lie, it catches you off-guard, it herds you in the corner and softly shakes your shoulders, forcing you to listen.

You'd be every synonym in the dictionary for the word 'idiot' if you hadn't accepted this deal. You shake hands, and the warm smile she wears causes a domino effect, making you do the same, even if you had been crying.

It's a funky ritual. She makes you lay on the couch while she lights all sorts of candles; she closes the curtains even though it's already dark so light cannot come in. The only light present is the salt lamp in the far corner and the numeruous lighted candles. She even has to kick Creek out of the room, much to the cat's protests outside the door. They slowly come to a stop as he finds something that's more interesting than whatever ritual his owner is cooking up with a guest—that he feels drawn to for whatever reason. You feel nervous, and she feels nervous too, because you are. Willow reassures you and tells you that after it ends you will pass out for a while, but that's fine because she says you can spend the night if she isn't pushing it.

The celling becomes your newest fascination, and you study every small bump and gray spot in order to distract your mind from... well, thinking. Not for the ritual, but for reassurance, she lies and says you have to hold her hand. Her warm hand against yours seems to punch out of your lungs every doubt whether this will work or not and the sadness your father produced with an unfatherly amount of bluntness and cold parenting that was the verbal equivalent of stabbing your spine and twisting the knife, but you can't pull out the knife, well, you can try, but it will hurt even worse and it will infect spreading yellow or purple marks around it–. She—her hand—has the ability to make you breathe again without feeling like you have leg irons around your neck dragging it down and hands squashing your lungs to bits. She speaks incantations in what you know is latin and instructs you to close your eyes. You swear you hear a candle stop burning in the process—something you can't physically hear, but you had. You can make out a few words (your ears keep ringing and something is happening because you hear her voice; it's distorted and weird, but she told you, strictly, not to open your eyes, so you don't). Words like: lupus-wolf, tollere-take away? You're not sure on that one; that's what three straight days of crying might do to one, mutare- which means change. Okay, that was a nice distraction now what el–

You feel the imprint of a huge dog-like paw pressing into your Adam's apple and cutting off your breath. She obviously takes notice by the way you're writhing and choking and swatting away at nothing—something you're trying to fight even with closed eyes, but there is nothing there. Your palm doesn't make contact with anything. Quickly, Willow chants something you're too busy choking to catch. The pressure on your throat dissolves, and you can breathe again. She calms her own breath and squeezes your hand. When she doesn't feel you squeeze back, she remembers that you're supposed to pass out after the spell. Willow drapes a blanket on you and goes off to order something to eat. When she opens the living room door, Creek doesn't hesitate to run in and settle on your chest. The cat purrs as he patiently waits for you to wake up.

You wake up fifteen minutes later with the smell of food flooding your nostrils, stronger than it has ever been before. It's almost like it's sitting right under your nose. You open your eyes, and the smell has a color, and you can clearly see how it snakes its way in from the kitchen into the half-open door. Your nails feel heavier than usual. This is hopefully a fever dream. But the food isn't here, nor is Willow; you can hear her humming a song in the kitchen, Voodoo Chile by Jimi Hendrix.

The weight of the shadow on your chest brings you back to earth, and you run your hands through his black fur with closed eyes as your head falls back onto the couch. The feeling of fur on your fingertips feeding to your serotonin levels rising. Creek seems to know what it's like to be disowned by your own father and forced to have a fake death in order to 'die' in a way that won't make your mother think you were cursed, or worse, that the whole family is now. Creek notices you're awake and gets off you, but not before making biscuits.

"Thanks, Creek." You mumble before pushing yourself up in a sitting position with a groan.

You can feel the rich, velvety, dark green rug beneath your socks; you would have appreciated it properly if you could actually see the details woven into it. Your eyes keep focusing and unfocusing like they're getting adjusted, and the room doesn't seem so dark anymore. God, how long did you pass out? As you tried to gather your thoughts (if the spell was easy on you enough to actually leave some), memories of the ritual came flooding back—the chanting in latin, the flickering candle(s), the punching smell of herbs, the murder attempt from a wolf spirit/ghost?! who the hell knows anymore? Now you were wide awake, and everything felt different. If it weren't for the fucking ritual that was just performed on you, you would've blamed the faint ringing in your years, shitty eyesight, and banging headache on a terrible hangover or a cold so bad it would make your throat ache for the tea your mom would make you when your immune system failed you. She promised she would teach me how to make it. Your grief echoed to you.

You rub at your temples at thats when you notice why did your nails feel heavier than usual. You had fucking claws, well, not animal claws, but they are honorably elongated and sharper than they had ever been. As you looked up from your lap, your eyes fell on a mirror.

A tall mirror leaning on its back legs, with black edges and details on the rim, you would again appreciate if you had the ability to see a single thing in the distance.

Your eyes widened, mortified, seeing yourself. It looked like one of your parents's worst nightmares. Something out of a dream your mom would have—a nightmare so nasty and vivid she would be forced by her paranoia to get up and check that you're still in bed sleeping soundly.

Your eyes were no longer the familiar color you have seen in the mirror or in old photos of your family members you've grown to love. The shade wasn't even close to yours; crazy how one small change made such a big difference in your appearance. Your pupils were slitted vertically, shrinking only to dilate a little once again, getting adjusted. You slowly got up on foal legs and fell on your knees in front of the mirror. Even if you didn't think it was night because you weren't seeing darkness, the light of the moon shone down on the mirror and floor thanks to the now open curtains. That's when your vision stopped unfocusing and finally cleared.

You were now looking at yourself. It felt incredibly alien and familiar at the same time; you looked at yourself every day, whether it was the mirror in your bathroom at home, a crappy motel one that faced the bed (which you cover up with a scoff each time), or a reflection in the car of your vanity mirror checking yourself before going in a precinct, pretending to be a reporter (the things middle-aged pigs would confess to a doe-eyed girl from the press..).

You gently pulled the corner of your upper lip only to reveal your enlarged and sharpened front canines. Your hand fell and instead went to cover your mouth in order to muffle your sobs. You must have done a horrible job because the second you slapped the hand over your mouth, you heard Willlow gasp as if she felt it too.

She drops the food she was unpacking and runs in, taking a moment to calm her heaving chest in the doorway; her hands were holding it like an earthquake had shaked her up; even her round glasses had slipped and rested on the tip of her nose.

"_______, you woke up!" she exclaims cheerfully. "I was just—how do you fee-?"

She kept stuttering and cutting herself off. Willow didn't need to say anything else; she saw the tears welling up in your eyes and felt the same shock you did from the kitchen.

🧿🧿🧿- later on, you have to bump into the Winchesters one way or another

- and it's exactly on a full moon when this time the ball isn't in your court and you don't get to decide whether you turn or not.

- your claws are sharp, your eyes have changed their original color completely with your pupils vertically slit, and your teeth (conveniently) remain the same; only a few of your front canines are enlarged and sharpened.

- as for senses, it's downright spectacular.

- you can hear deer stepping on tree branches, foxes running, and owls hooting when you're driving by the forest

- you smell how many people are in a room

- you have night vision (yes, your eyes to the flashy thingamajiggy when someone blinds you with their flashlight).

- as a hunter, you already know that your claws and fangs can rip out a human heart.

- ironically, as this whole situation is, you hunt alone on the principle that you don't long for companionship as some lycanthropes do.

- you've turned into a literal killing machine with no instinct to kill, so hunting with others is off the table since at the first sign of a threat (they think you are one, but you really aren't), a hunter exterminates.

- you meet the Winchesters on a ghoul hunt

- you have taken the case before them, but when you couldn't get anywhere with identifying whatever evil being was tormenting the locals with their mere presence, you thought about ditching it since it doesn't look like your type of thing and took the consideration that maybe humans were fucking around this time.

- so when you heard the FBI are in town investigating the case (detective Page and Plant), you placed that town in your rear view mirror; they got it covered..right?

- but something didn't feel right- it wasn't the shame of leaving a case with your tail between your legs (pun intended) with the weak motive, 'Maybe humans are really fucking around this time.'

- something wasn't right, so even if you were tired, you abruptly stopped the car and went over your research spread out on the flat of your closed trunk

- the slits of your eyes dance over the words on your laptop, your papers, and an old lore book you fought tooth and nail for. When you realized it's a ghoul you're dealing with, you turned the car around and went over every speed limit like hellhounds were scratching at your tires. It was your job to not let anybody else get hurt or someone else's grave be violated

- as the light of the moon shined down on you and your wild eyes looked back at you from the rear view mirror, you knew you couldn't have anyone see you, you had to be invisible

- *time skip* (as much as it pains me 'cause i am a sucker for details :))- you swoop in time to save the Winchesters

- and if they weren't tied up, they would've started fighting you too, because why was there a whole ass werewolf fist fighting a ghoul?? John trained them like Spartan warriors, but nothing prepared them for something like this.

- so they sit there like:??????

- they watch you take out a fucking ghoul all by yourself

- the head of the ghoul's person they're impersonating rolls onto the floor. You have to remind yourself it's not a real person; it's an evil spirit who kills to feed

- by the time you wipe the blood off your face, smearing it a bit in the process, and cut the ties holding the hunters loose, Sam is unnable to look away from your slit eyes adorned by a strange color that strangely suits you

- literally hearts in his fawn brown eyes like you still don't have blood on your face and you aren't trying to catch your breath; also, you took a nasty punch to your cheek, and he's pretty sure it's gonna leave a bruise, but he totally doesn't care, why? why do you ask?

- by the way Sam is scrunitizing you, and oh yeah, Sam is scrunitizing you, you're sure you're gonna have to ditch since you've been in this situation before and you know how it always ends

- there was no 'explaining yourself' to hunters when they saw you under the full moon or when they saw you change because you had to.

Before you can even open your mouth they have their methaphorical pitchforks sharpened and torches lit up, prepared to slaughter you, and if you're honest, you can't even blame them for it because you would've done the same.

- Dean rubs his wrist with his right hand; the imprint of the rope is still fresh on his skin like a tattoo. Sam focuses on not choking when you catch him staring.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean thinks out loud. You take a big lungs-exploding sigh and give a shot at introducing yourself since they seem more civilized than most hunters are

- Sam geeks out about you

He doesn't question you because he is suspicious (he has the right to be but surprisingly isn't). He has to feed his noisy, information-hungry brain or he will spontaneously combust

- "Are your senses even more enhanced during the full moon, or are they the same?"

- "Can you smell when somebody is afraid? Like the hormones from their pores?"

- "Is it annoying to always have super hearing? Like has it ever caused you to be..I don't know.. Anxious? It did?" He mourns over you, trying to imagine himself in your situation but possibly can't.

- "I'm really sorry you had to go through a whole..change all by yourself, but it just shows how strong you are, some don't even make it 'til the end."

- After you were done explaining to Sam (to which he gladly sat himself down and listened) how sometimes you genuinely consider you're inevitably going to become what you hunt and how in the beginning you and your senses have butted heads, how you had no idea how to go through it without having panic attacks because the click of a doorknob was sensitive to your hearing like a veteran was scared of fireworks, how you accidentally ripped a motel door off its hinges, a result of you being slightly irritated, still getting acoustumed to your abilities. Dean would go.

"..Do dog whistles work on y–" Before getting an elbow in the ribs by a glaring Sam.

- more shit Dean would ask you for the sake of his own little curiosity

- "Is 'bitch' even more offensive now?"

- "Who do you think would win in a fight? You or Jacob Black?"

- "What do I smell like? Y'know, since you can pick up on scents and alldat."

- Dean calls you Cujo

- It's the one nickname you can get behind, asking him what he thought about the book, and he's like, "Oh, I watched the movie, but i know a little. Sammy used to rattle on and on about his books when he was younger."

- if you think about it, an alais doesn't sound so bad in theory or practice while hunting.

- it's secretive, the boys don't need to divulge your real name, and it's actually high-key kickass (I literally watched Cujo just so I know what I'm talking about, a.k.a. the second reason why it took a millenium and a half for me to post these; the first reason is that i suck)

- Dean is thrilled to get to call you that- he gets this fucking smirk, like a dad about to drop the worst joke ever made on everyone, you and Sam brace yourselves for what's coming with matching eyerolls-

"Let's fuck em' up, Cujo."

- "Cujo, dude, you're just itching to raise a little hell right now, aren't you?"

- "Uh- a bacon cheeseburger, soda, yo, Cujo whaddya want? My treat >:]."

- "Cujo, put on that song you were listening to; I had it in my head the entire hunt." (I didn't mention the genre or artist bc I like to imagine Dean listening to everyone's fav category; ex. I imagine Dean screaming bikini kill lyrics whenever i'm sad)

- if you thought the 'canine/wolf' teasing stopped here, you're so painfully wrong

- Dean made you a mixtape, because that's his love language apparently, with only songs that are about werewolves

- I feel like it took him a longer time to find a suitable title than the songs themselves

- he has all of the possible picks on a piece of paper that stays in the pocket of his fifty pound leather jacket.

- the titles are: Songs to transform into; The howlin' hits; Songs that will make you wag your tail—that one is crossed out because he knows you will make him eat the tape if he does settle on it; Love at first bite; and finally the one he settled for is Songs you can sink your teeth into. Dean smiled at his work, it didn't feel like a prank anymore it was more like a gift and he didn't feel any ugly emotion or insecurity try to pull him back into not getting attached to you.

The final touch was a note saying

"Hey, Cujo, thought you might want these howlin' hits whenever you need to tune the world out.

P.S. : Sam told me to add one of the songs, it's that punk stuff you like - Dean"

- The songs he prudently picked out are these : Of Wolf and Man by Metallica; Bark at the Moon by Ozzy Osbourne; I Was A Teenage Werewolf by The Cramps; Wolf Moon by Type O Negative; Witch Wolf by STYX; Run with the Wolf by Rainbow; Lycanthropy by G.B.H and others.

- you accidentally made a kid cry once- a ball was literally flying towards you and you caught it just in time, thanks to your reflexes

- instinctively, you turned around in time and caught the ball as your claws grew and sank into the inanimate object

- it's all "Nice relfexes, _____" praise from Dean and proud and shy smiles from Sam until the owner of the ball starts sobbing in front of you

- it's a kid, a boy with red hair, no older than six years of age

- but we all know Dean's charm is basically made for this

- so he handles both the kid and his mom (flirting with a milf all day, poor Dean)

- you keep apologizing to the kid and the mom, but Dean just waves you off; you don't understand his generosity until Sam tells you that you accidentally secured Dean's hookup for tonight.

- Since Dean is not coming, not until early morning, nor is he there to call you and Sam 'dorks', you and his younger brother take advantage of it.

- you guys have a movie night with the most random movies ever

- it is chaotic

- from rom-coms you switch to a world war II documentary, then you watch re-runs of House MD on tv.

- Dean stumbles in at like five something a.m. and takes a picture of you and Sam snuggling under a blanket while the tv light casts shadows of orange and cold colors on your defenseless expressions.

- but can somebody actually blame you? Or Sam, for that matter?

- honorably want to mention your body heat is also enhanced

- You and Sam were sitting with your sides pressed into each other

- you were radiating pure furnace body heat, how could he not be sleepy??

- but that's not the only reason Sam knocks out so heavily

- it's you he's sitting down with (relaxing for once in his life) watching a ridiculous episode of House with thirteen ads rolling every ten minutes accompanied by lazy talking as if you're not debating books only you and morally grey forty-year-olds read (where that Kansas drawl of his is much more audible and pretty), after a marathon of fatally random movies

- younger Sam who had trouble going to sleep/getting some shut-eye because Dean and John are out late on a hunt.

- Sam especially couldn't fall asleep because Dean wasn't there

- it was a different story when Dean was at the age where he couldn't hunt but he could use a pistol and take care of his little brother

- both of them in a relatively warm motel room, alone (since John fucked off to god-knows-where, to hunt a monster they are never to breathe in the direction of as a conversation subject.)

- little Sammy (age where he believed nothing could beat his older brother) could peacefully fall asleep knowing Dean stays up and watches over him like a hawke, reading comic books by the tv light

- where little Dean keeps chanting in his head what Sammy is supposed to do after eating his dinner.

- Watch tv or look at the comic with me (Sammy can't read yet), brush his teeth, then tuck him in bed.

- now pre-teen Sam can hardly sleep

- he is plagued/tormented by flashing images his overthinking big brain mades of a thousand situations where his family got hurt, if not even killed

- Sam's grip on the shotgun is shaking; it shakes even harder when John's bark booms over his shoulder, right into his ear.

- "Sammy, dammit, what are you going to do when a demon breaks through the door and me and your brother aren't there to protect you?!"

- but Sam isn't twelve anymore

- he's a responsible adult

- snuggled beside you and denying any eepy allegations you decide to accuse him of

- so, the heat you contribute, the soft speaking on the tv, the darkness of the room, you being there is enough to lull Sam to sleep

- studies show you feel sleepy around the people you trust ;)

- the position you two fell asleep in cannot be described in any other word than childish

- somehow you would catch two kids, sleeping over at one of the other's houses, knocked out, and snoring in the same bed after watching a horror movie

- on one of the two queens the motel room contributes (the one closest to the tv) you and Sam have made this fluffy nest full of pillows, a huge blanket, plus a random quilt Bobby pulled out of thin air and gave it to you when he heard you complaining about the petal-thin blankets motels have during cold ass weather.

- When you both lied down on the bed with your legs greedily streched out, backs pressed against the headboard, and your head is resting on the wall while Sam, magically, was still able to hold his up after the very long day all of you endured. You predicted one of you wouldn't survive being in each other's presence and make it out not asleep, and god, you hoped it was you.

- Sam's breathing slows down after a while of comfortable silence, and you’re sure he's dying until you spare one quick glance and see him, downright snoozing with his lips parted without a care in the world, ghosts and eerie phenomenons weren't bothering or needing him now.

- during all of the movies and documentary and fuckin lazy intellectual commentary nobody else would have the patience to discuss with you or Sam, he somehow migrated on the bed/nest with his side flush against yours, like a magnet to another; it was inevitable not to stick together, literally.

- your shoulder was now pressed into his forearm, your head no longer resting uncomfortably, and his temple is resting on the top of your head.

- but (unfortunately) you weren't hugging or anything- like a mirror or a copycat, Sam has his arms crossed, just like you, so maybe that's why you didn't wake up full on cuddling, that does sound good though your brain mourns

- When you do wake up, the only slight change you notice is that you're sleeping on your side..so is Sam. You're facing Sam's neck and chin, and up close and personal, you can actually count the too-sexy amount of moles he modestly posesses. His arm serves the role of a pillow underneath his head, and the other is resting with his palm down facing the mattress.

- with Sam taking up the entire attention of your senses, it takes an emmbarassing while for you to hear the shower running, Dean; did he see you both like this? Was he going to mention it? Your gut fills with a small dose of embarrassement, preparing you for what's yet to come, and it protests at that.

- much displeasure from your senses to your brain and your heart that wanted to breathe Sam in more as he (hopefully) breathes you out, you turn on your other side, unconsciously careful not to disturb Clifford over here, and you try to determine what time it is from your surroundings alone.

- the light blue sneaking its way through the dark closed curtains and the slight chill in the air points all arrows to seven or eight in the morning, you could go back to sleep.

- Dean wasn't just feeling gracious; he didn't and wasn't even planning on sparing you or Sam

- that day, when he separately gets the both of you alone, he has the exact same conversation with different but not so different people.

-"You should've seen the two of you this morning when I came in, two kittens snoring together, it was fuckin' adorable." Dean teased–

—Monday, 13:34 p.m. — as he tossed his clothes into one of the laundromat's washing machines, making Sam paralyze in his seat as his fingers started fidgeting with the edges of his hoodie.

"You did?.." He inquires, not knowing what exactly Dean saw just this morning. Sam only woke up a little after you went back to sleep. He swore his cheek must have burned a hole through the pillow with how hard he was blushing. You were so close. There was a good distance between the edge of the bed and you. So your back was flush against his chest. If you're wondering where his arm went, it was around your waist. Sam—your own personal seatbelt. He probably thinks it's his fault too. Dean never ceased to describe Sam as a 'cuddlebug'.

"Uh-huh" Dean hums a confirmation, acting casual, scarily casual. Sam feels the teasing in Dean's tone; it's there, but Dean is not fully teasing yet, like he wants Sam to confess something first after boiling in his embarrassement for long enough.

—Monday, 20:02 p.m. — as he pulled the Impala into the driveway of a fast-food place you were so invested in you even forgot the name of; you froze and looked at him, searching for any emotion that might give him away, but Dean was a brick wall, a slight very Dean siginificant parted lips smirk paired with squinted eyes over the wheel, carefully driving into the driveway. Even the car seemed to betray you in your moment of weakness because you swear the volume is lower than it was a few seconds ago. Ozzy Osbourne's laugh can still be heard from the speakers, even if it's barely audible over your racing thoughts or your hearing trying its hardest to pick up on Dean's thoughts. The rythym of the drums seems to sync up with your heartbeat, or the other way around, you're not sure. Over every little sound, there still seems to be a little silence to fit in. You swallow a lump in your throat.

"..We had a movie night, we just fell asleep like that, that's all." You mumble, and Dean starts to feel a little bad for letting you be a victim to his spotlight-teasing and giving you no shade to reprieve to or show his undying approval.

Somehow, you still worry if Dean believes you have ruined the dynamic, and now he's cornering you to tell you to stop it or something (overthinking anxiety worms are eating away at your critical thinking skills). You just worry about what he thinks of this. You still worry about the Dean who doesn't correct random people on cases who mistake you and Sam for a couple; the Dean who just has to leave some arsenal or luggage in the front, just so you are forced to share the backseat with Sam; the Dean who always has to group you and Sam in a category when he teases you both (Geeks, nerds, smartasses, etc.). Cupid works hard, but Dean Winchester works harder.

"Hey-, Cuj- Doll." Dean sputters, switching glances between you and the wheel.

This didn't go as he planned it would, and now he is facing the consequences. The way you shrink in your seat and the way you avoid catching his eye makes Dean feel like a douchebag. If he didn't know any better he would thinks he is, but then you would actually be able to read him like a book and tell him otherwise. You hear the desperation in his voice; your candle of hope comes back to life and lights up. Your head turns to look at him with pleading eyes. Please don't be angry, please don't kick me to the curb, let me stay in the backseat a little more. Dean lets out a shaky exhale that turns into a laugh; he runs a hand down his face. You've watched him do that every time he got jumpscared by the monthly spirit with unfinished business. It was something you imagined Dean picked up from John, the picture in your head so clear (at least from the pictures you saw)— a tired dad in an old squeaky motel chair with a whiskey glass in his hand doing the same motion Dean was doing right now. Dean would mimic his father's gestures to try to look more like him; he didn't have his brunette curly hair, his dark brown eyes, Sam did.

Dean never had his voice either; he only perfected his bark to match his dad's. Sam hated the way his reflection resembled his father, Dean was either jealous of him for it or couldn't wrap his head around as to why his brother hated being their dad, probably the latter. Dad, at least in Dean's eyes, was a hero, a figure to be admired and emulated. But Sam? He didn't even have to try. Sam and John were so alike that they clashed constantly like two stubborn stags locking antlers in a duel.

"..Dean?" You call him out; you had no idea what was going on in his head; it would be pretty damn nice if you could know. Dean shots his head up at the mention of his name.

"Yeah?—sorry, I just, you and Sam are just so—" He sighs. "it's about time you two crazy kids broke that touch barrier." He guffaws, slowly pulling up to the ordering kiosk.

A new song starts playing on Dean's "hot summa' nights driving" mixtape, Emmit Remmus by The Red Hot Chili Peppers, he added it when Sam said that's one of his favorites.

- do I need to talk about how much of an immense help you have been on hunts?

- you don't need to help out on every hunt despite Sam's disappointment and Dean's kid-like joy to have their friend help them out who is a professional/werewolf/hunter/geek, who kind of gets his references?? But you are geniunely so good it's funny to have the boys call you up and be like "..so we need help". They're happy you'll show up but there is still that lick of shame that taunts the Winchesters whenever they are forced to call for aid.

- this one time, you wanted to hug them after not seeing them for two weeks, and when you went to attack Sam, you heard his bones crack.

- your strength still surprises you and knocks other people off their feet

- it was so loud (atleast for you), you were sure you broke something

- Sam did nothing but give you his (killer) dimply smile and reassure you didn't do anything (even if he slightly grunted); while Dean whined like a kid saying (lying) he doesn't want a hug (you coaxed him into it eventually)

- Sam feels like he's not allowed to call you by your nickname, like he fears it's Dean's thing and not his

- so when he finally puts on his big boy pants, he's like, "Uhh–Cujo- 🧍‍♂️so get this.."

- all red and shy, trying to act casual, as if he doesn't wonder about the reaction you might have if he calls you other nicknames, like honey, sweetheart, even baby, or if he had the excuse to hold your hand, how would you hold it? Fingers interlocked or palms flat?

- Sam would also love to just marvel at your slit eyes; if he could he would take a picture and put it in his wallet; don't get me wrong if he had one where you were normal, he would cherish it just as much.

- Sam thinks your nickname is actually really cool (probably because it's a Stephen King reference, nerd), and you take that as a compliment. Sam is hard to entertain or please by his brother's antics.

- But he prefers saying your name

- there's something so intimate about the syllables rolling off his tongue so easily

- "_____, Are you okay? What is it? The soundproof earmuffs? I'll go get them." When everything, and I mean when every sound is just too much.

- Sam got them for you; he couldn't handle seeing you wince one more time whenever a car with a bad engine would pass by the motel (during a stressful hunt); its tires squealing under the concrete, making a faint sound for the boys, but for you so much louder.

- you know how pathethic it is to be affected by such small things when you're blessed with such powers? How can you call yourself a hunter when decibels, frequencies, and fucking tire squeals make you their bitch? You wish you could train yourself in a way that would make you less sensitive to certain sounds. It just adds to the reasons why hunters have the excuse or classify you as "the frail one" not only because you're a girl. When you used to hunt with your dad and sometimes mom, the amount of dog-shit comments from other hunters who had sons, were nothing but mysogynistic, curlish, and ruthless. "Are you sure the riffle isn't too heavy?", "Does she even know how to kill this thing?", "She's going to drag us down, do you want us to die?"— the type of comments that would make your dad shoot daggers into them, defend you "She's a goddamn ______, what do you think?", and whisper into your ear "Show em' what you're made of." and you would (stubbornly) listen to his advice to the damn letter after you almost mouthed them off.

Your dad believed in "Actions are sometimes louder than words." and all that adult crap, you were not as zen.

Your mom actually encouraged the sarcasm you have replied with in the past. The funniest memory your mother can recall is a story she tells at every gathering and every chance she gets to everyone, she praised you like crazy. When another hunter's son had the nerve to fuck with a twelve-year-old you. "Aren't you afraid of breaking a nail out there?" The boy sneered, puffing out his chest like a peacock. You stared at him with pure disbelief. "The only way I'm breaking a nail tonight is by kicking your ass, you cocky brainless jerk." You spat back, your mother and father were there and so was the boy's father; the gravity of the situation was on your shoulders, and their stares felt even heavier in comparison; intimidating him was 100% on the table. You felt like everyone had the same exact thought occuring them, an unspoken demand passed everyone there, even you: Do something. And you did. Your mother's jaw went slack; she doubled over, gripping whatever surface was near her and she started to chortle, with her shoulders shaking like never before. Your father was holding in a chuckle while massaging the bridge of his nose.

- Sam has to disagree with you whenever you complain about how your senses make you look or about the way you underestimate yourself. "What?! You can't be serious. _____, It doesn't mean you're weak. In fact, it makes you even more interesting. Everyone has an Achilles heel; yours is stronger because you're an amazing hunter who figured a way out. It makes you even stronger, I have no idea how you deal with this crap! Dean and I would've gone insane if we were in your shoes for more than a day."

- he is also forcing back his infamous (spectacular) bitchface

- he doesn't 'hold back' actually

- he geniunely cannot glare at you, not when you're like this. He can make a few exceptions, like when you join in Dean's teasing/joking (the silly rambunctious energy Dean carries around had, unfortunately, contiminated you or awakened yours)

- or when you start teasing Sam yourself, he shoots you a glare that classifies as nothing but hot (in your book at least), the kind of Sam glare that makes you flush knowing he doesn't mean it at all.

- Dean making you those fake ass I.D's like "Joan Jett", "Stevie Nicks", "Kathleen Hanna" and when you asked him to make more subtle ones he was like, bet. "Kelly Hammer", "Diana Bowie", "Laura Ulrich".

a/n: I wanted to apologize again for taking so long and for the unnecessary amount of context that literally nobody asked for. Uhh yeah and feedback would be very much appreciated<3, sava out *mic drop*

[coldfanbou]

The Gift Of Cucking

Here we are with the piece that I was writing. A little bit of rough sex here.

Length 2K

Minju X Mreader

You sat on your bed with your wife sitting on your lap. Sullyoon kisses you softly as she presses her hand onto your chest. "I don't know why you're so into this." 

"Because it's hot." She replies. What she liked was being cucked. Sullyoon had asked you to have sex with other women a few times. You only agreed this time because it was her birthday gift. 

"For you, yeah." You say dismissively.

"Aren't you happy you get to have sex with beautiful women and not get in trouble?" Sullyoon replies teasingly, tracing your lips with her finger. 

"I'd rather it be with you."

"I know, sweetie, but-" she says kindly before a knock at the door takes her attention away from you. Sullyoon quickly makes her way to a small closet in your room. Small slats on the upper half allow her to watch without being seen. You take a long drink from the whiskey bottle on the nightstand before opening the door. Standing there is a young woman, "Minju?" She nods her head, and you allow her inside. The young woman dressed to show off her long legs, incredibly short shorts with heels that climbed her calf with the least amount of fabric possible. A short top with a flower design and an oddly shaped cardigan. The drink starts affecting you as you stare at her lovely legs. 

Minju notices and sits down on your bed, lightly pressing them together. "Do you like them?"

You gulp and nod, "They're great." A small giggle escapes her, and stares into your eyes. 

"So honest. You can touch them if you want." You take a seat beside Minju and place your hand on her thigh. Her cool and smooth skin feels nice. Minju leans up and kisses your cheek before whispering, "I love when men can appreciate these thick thighs of mine. It gets me all hot and bothered. I don't think I'll be able to control myself much longer." It was an obvious tease, but it still made your cock twitch hearing those words. You instinctively squeeze her thigh, drawing an exaggerated moan from her. Minju's hand runs over your developing bulge, "You're already getting so big. You've got a monster hiding in here, don't you? I'll make sure to treat it right."

"Would you like a drink before we begin?" You ask, staring at Minju's legs.

"I'd love one." You go to pour her a drink, and while you're doing that, Minju works herself out of heels and loosens her clothing, removing the cardigan altogether. Turning back around, you see her loosened clothes and can't help but smile. As you hand her the drink, she knocks it back quickly and hands you the glass. "Let's get started," Minju says, dragging you onto the bed. She straddles you and helps remove your clothes before slowly removing hers. Minju knows she's teasing you as she lifts her halter top over her head. While her bust isn't the largest, it is more than enough. Her breasts are perky, and you reach for them almost immediately, drawing a laugh from Minju. "I guess you like every part of me." The next thing to go is her shorts. Minju gets off you for a second to do so. She faces away from you and bends over, wiggling her ass as she drops her last remaining piece of clothes. She climbs back over you, her breasts swaying as she places your cock between her legs, rubbing it with her wet cunt. Minju kisses both cheeks, leaving a light pink marking before pressing her lips against yours.

"Would you mind eating me? You'll get to feel my thighs again, and I'll even suck your cock."

"I wouldn't mind at all." You respond, and Minju switches her position. Her soft thighs press against the sides of your head. You rise and take a quick lick at her slit, making her shudder.

"Oh, so eager. I'll take care of you too." Minju takes your cock in her hand and slowly strokes it. Every moment done with precision, Minju presses her lips against the tip before swallowing it. She moves her hair behind her ear while her tongue swirls around the tip like it’s ice cream. You moan into her cunt as you begin to eat her out with vigor. Your tongue explores her insides while your hands grope and massage her thighs and ass. With a sly smile on Minju's face, she glances at the closet Sullyoon is in, not knowing that was her hiding place. 

Sullyoon is naked in the closet, fingering herself slowly so as not to make a sound. She's greatly pleased seeing the action. Minju's mouth works wonders as she starts to bob her head. You can feel her lips being stretched as she tries to take in more. Her tongue licks at the sides of your cock while her hand starts massaging your balls. You feel a tightness as you get close to cumming. Wanting not to be the only one cumming, you lap at Minju's pussy, pushing far past her lips. You also start playing with her clit, rubbing it with your fingers. A high-pitched moan from Minju tells you that she loves it. She crosses her legs behind your head, her calves acting as a pillow for you. Her body shakes as she nears her orgasm; Minju's precise and slow blowjob breaks down to quick and sloppy. Her drool flows down your shaft onto your balls as you warn her you're about to cum. "Me, too. Let me taste you." She mumbles as she continues to work your shaft. You buck your hips as you cum, ramming your cock into the back of her mouth. Minju wasn't expecting it but is able to keep you in her mouth as you unload a wave a cum. She tries her best to drink it all, her cheeks puff up from the large amount you gave her, but she manages it. Simultaneously, you were tasting Minju's nectar as she pressed your head against her cunt. She was grinding on your face as you lapped all her juices. Once your orgasms come to an end, you both lay there, catching your breath. 

Minju moves down your body until your cock presses against her cunt. Still catching her breath, she looks back at you, "Are you ready to fuck me?" You sit up and position yourself behind Minju. Cock in hand, you rub the head against her lips. Minju whimpers, "Come on, do it. Fuck me." At her request, you impale Minju with your cock, skewering her in it. "Oh fuck!" Minju's upper body collapses onto the bed. You pull back and slam yourself back into Minju. Her tiny pussy is stretched by your cock. The tightness feels like heaven to you; at the same time, though, you feel an anger surge through you. The fact that Sullyoon would rather watch than be with you makes you angry. You pull out and thrust back into Minju, "oh fuck, you're so big." She moans while gripping the bed frame. She tries to lift her head, but you press it back down as you aggressively thrust into her. 

"You like that, don't you, you dirty whore!" You yell at Minju.

"Yes! Yes! I love your cock!" She responds as you fuck you. "I'm your whore, your dirty little whore." She repeats almost desperately. Minju's walls are tightening around your cock as you degrade her. You let go of her head and pull her arms back, keeping her body from lurching forward. You drive your cock deep into Minju as you begin thrusting at a faster pace. Your bodies slam against each other; the sound bounces off the walls in conjunction with your moans. You pull Minju's upper body up, one of your hands wrapping around her neck while the other kneads her breast. 

"You're a good-for-nothing cocksleeve, aren't you, huh!?" 

"Yes! I'm a good-for-nothing cocksleeve, made to take your cock!" Minju yells back as your grip on her neck tightens. You feel her pussy grow tight around your cock as you insult her again. "Fuck, I'm cumming!" She screams. Her body shakes as she cums. You release her body, letting it fall back onto the bed. You continue to skewer Minju with your cock, thrusting into the overstimulated woman. "Wait, I'm sensitive!" She cries out. 

"Shut it!" You strike her ass, watching it jiggle from the hard hit. Minju yelps in response. Minju's limp body is a toy for you to use as you continue fucking her. Her moans weaken until you feel her pussy clamp down on your cock. She moans loudly as cums again. 

"Please…let me rest." She moans weakly.

"Not yet; I haven't cum yet. I think I need something tighter." You pull out of Minju and press the head of your cock against her asshole.

This made Minju stir, "No, not there." You press against her asshole, pushing the head in. "Wait!" You grab onto Minju's hips and pull her onto your cock. "Oh god!" She yells as she feels you split her in two. You give her no time to adjust, thrusting into her guts despite the resistance. The anal walls squeeze down on you with incredible pressure. You groan loudly, feeling every part of your cock be handled like that. The more you thrust, the easier it is, as your cock, coated in her nectar, makes her as slick. Her groans of pain soon become moans of pleasure as she adjusts to your size. 

"You're my whore, and I'm taking everything out on you." You say as you begin to come to your senses 

"I'm your whore, I'm your whore…" she repeats until she goes unconscious. You feel your orgasm coming, a tightness in your balls that goes away as you fill Minju's ass with your semen. You're buried inside her ass when you cum. When you pull out, you see your cum leaking out of her gaping asshole; her ass is bright red from the earlier smack. Despite being passed out, Minju's ass hangs in the air.

Some time goes by before Minju wakes up. She presses her hand to her ass before recoiling in pain. "Ah, that hurts. I won't be able to walk or sit for weeks. Did you have to be so rough?" She falls onto her side and looks at you.

You debate on how to answer, "I lost my cool." You say.

"Yeah, I know." Minju tries to sit up but can't. Instead, she moves to lay her head on your lap. Her hand lifts your cock, "I… kind of want this again, though. I want you to destroy me." She glances at your cock before looking at you. "I am your whore after all…and it's a whores job to take cock." Minju smiles and winks at you. "Could you help me get dressed? I don't think I'll be able to. I can get home, though; I have a friend coming." 

"Yeah, I can help you." After you've helped dress her, Minju leaves the house just as her friend arrives. Making your way back into your room, you see Sullyoon walking out of the closet covered in sweat. 

"That was so hot. I came so many times watching you destroy her. When you fucked her ass so suddenly, I nearly screamed." She says, lifting her hand for you to see her fingers sticky with her nectar.

"Yeah…," you say dejectedly, remembering that Sullyoon would always prefer watching overdoing it. 

"I'm going to shower; then I'll tell you what I was doing in there." Sullyoon gives you a quick kiss before heading off. 

You sit on the bed, waiting until your phone goes off. It was a message from Minju that read, "I can't wait until our next time. How would you feel about getting dinner first? I'd love to get to know the man that took my anal virginity before our next session." A smile grows on you as you respond.

[mlmxreader]

Ready | Logan Howlett x trans!m!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Hi!! I was wondering if you could write a Logan X male reader fic :) and if it's not your thing that's fine but if you could make the reader a trans guy that would be double cool.

Bottom reader with a desperate need for praise :) Thank you so much!! ❞

: ̗̀➛ You and Logan decide that you're both ready to have sex.

trigger warnings: ̗̀➛ swearing, Daddy Kink, anal fingering, anal sex, lubricant, choking kink, praise kink, dom/sub, smoking, mentions of alcohol consumption

↳ WOMEN & MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

↳ brief author's note: no explicit mention of reader's genitalia is made.

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

You and Logan spoke about it early on, wanting to take sex at a slower rate; you wanted to be ready for it, which he understood, and in all honesty was also glad to hear.

It had been a while since he had had actual feelings for anybody, and when sex was also thrown into the equation, he wanted to slow it down and put on the breaks. It wasn't like Logan minded that you were trans - you were a man, and that was all that mattered.

But what he didn't want to do was put you into a situation where you were uncomfortable or unsure about what was happening.

Still, sat together on your soft with your knee against his, he couldn't help but steal quick glances at you; it was just a date, but the sweat dripping down your neck was hard for him to ignore as he swallowed thickly and sucked in a harsh breath.

"Logan?" You hummed, putting your hand on his arm. "Everything alright?"

Logan shrugged as he shook his head. "Fine."

You frowned, doing the worst thing possible and moving to sit on his lap; you forced him to draw his attention to you as you planted your hands on either side of his head.

Sweaty palms clinging to the old brown leather and making it squeak. By instinct alone, he put his hands on the sides of your thighs. Your gaze went to his lips.

"You don't seem fine..."

He was breaking as he clenched his jaw, breath picking up pace as he grunted out softly. "I'm fine. Honest."

He couldn't resist, moving one hand up to cup your jaw as he leaned in to steal a kiss; you kissed back, adjusting yourself on his lap as you moaned softly.

You wanted him, you just weren't sure how to say it properly; even when he gently moved you to lie down on the sofa, looming over you as he kissed you harshly, you weren't sure how to say it.

"Baby?"

You hummed. "Yeah?"

"Somethin' you wanna tell me?" He asked lowly.

You nodded, working up the ability to say the words you wanted to. "I... Logan, I think I'm ready."

He nodded slowly, getting off of you so he could help you remove your shirt; he wriggled around a little, mouth hovering over your nipple as his hot breath brushed against the sensitive skin.

"Can I touch you here?" He asked.

You let out a breathless agreement, moaning softly when he took your nipple into his mouth and flicked his tongue against it; he moved onto the next shortly after, using his hand to keep it stimulated as you writhed and moaned beneath him.

He moved down, hooking his fingers at the edge of your waistband. "Can you flip over for me?"

You did as he said, pulling your knees up slightly. "Don't stop, Logan..."

"I won't," he promised softly. He pulled your trousers down, exposing your ass as he licked his lips and let out a shaky breath. "Can I touch?"

You agreed eagerly, gasping out and pushing back against him when he slipped two fingers into your tight ass; pumping them in and out slowly as he used his other hand to palm at his hard cock through the thin fabric of his shorts.

"Daddy-"

He paused for a split second. "Can you call me that again?"

You let out a low growl as you pushed back against nothing, needing friction and his touch more than anything. "Please, Daddy."

"Good boy," Logan grinned, rewarding you with a soft slap against your ass before he pushed his fingers back in. He moved them in a scissor motion for a moment, trying to open you up as much as he could. "Lube?"

You let out a frustrated grunt, feeling so fucking empty. "Top drawer by the mirror."

He was gone within an instant, leaving you wishing that you had grabbed it earlier and laid it out; you waited, taking the opportunity to get your breath as you waited.

Anticipation weighing heavily on your shoulders until you felt the sofa behind you dip down.

"You ready?" He asked lowly.

You looked back at him for a moment, and smiled. "I'm ready."

He didn't say anything, pushing his shorts down and lubing up his cock before doing the same to your ass; he started to massage it into you, drawing little moans from the back of your throat as you pushed back against him and tried to get fucking anything you possibly could. Wishing he would hurry up.

"You're doing so fucking well," Logan praised, getting himself lined up. "Think you're ready to take me?"

"More than ready," you agreed.

He pressed his tip against your ass, waiting for you to tell him to keep going before he pushed in to the hilt; he stilled, giving you time to decide to keep going as well as adjusting to his size. He was so fucking big, and you were so fucking tight. He waited.

"Fuck," you let out at last. "Fuck me."

"You sure?" He grumbled.

You let out a seethe. "Please."

He waited for you to push back against him and roll your hips before he leaned over you, his mouth just behind your ear as he bucked his hips into you, slowly at first.

"You're taking my cock so well," he praised quietly, more grunting than anything else. "Doing so fucking well already."

You squirmed, trying to get as much of him as you could, pressing your back against him as you gripped his wrist and brought it to your throat; you asked, and Logan was happy to wrap his hand around your throat.

He didn't squeeze down. Just let it rest there as your sweat mixed with his.

He picked up his pace a bit, going a little bit harder and faster and grinning when you told him to keep going; you wanted to hear him praise you again, desperate for it as you grunted and growled beneath him.

"That's it," he coaxed. "You're so fucking good for me."

You begged him to go harder and faster, jerking forward with each thrust he delivered; your tongue fell from your mouth, drool leaking down onto the brown leather beneath you as you tried your best to keep up with him.

Logan praised you with every other thrust, knowing that he was only coaxing you further and further into getting what you wanted; he couldn't deny it, he was fucking enjoying himself.

The sound of skin slapping against skin was impossible to ignore, so fucking loud as it bounced off of the walls; mixing with the harsh grunting and growling and moaning.

Logan pinned you down, fucking into you so hard that you could only moan out the word "Yes" as loud as your voice would allow; he kept fucking you, even when his cum was dribbling and drizzling out with his thrusts.

He gritted his teeth when you told him you were close, doubling down his efforts as you let out a choked moan. Words began to fail.

You were so fucking close, your ass clenching around his cock as you spasmed and jerked beneath him; erratic movements of your hips as your toes curled.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you called out his name. Your legs began to shake, getting weak as you begged Logan not to let you go.

He kept hold of you, kept thrusting into you until you were ready for him to get off; he was slow, praising you gently as he helped you to lie down on your chest.

"You okay?"

You grinned as you licked your lips. "I need a cigarette."

Logan laughed softly as he nodded. "On it... you want a beer?"

You nodded back, laughing quietly. "You know me too well."

"Ain't it my job?"

༺═────────────────────────���─────═༻

whilst I have your attention for the moment, I'd like to direct it to Hani's family; they are still in Gaza, and Hani is organising donations to get them evacuated somewhere safe so that they can survive the genocide. if you have even just £1 to donate, please, please consider doing so. this family is in desperate need of aid.

[nocturnowlette]

Did you teach yourself hypnotism? How would one learn?

I did teach myself, but to claim I started from nothing would be inaccurate.

I had been a subject for around 8 years before I started trying to be a hypnotist, I have a lot of experience writing (and specifically writing and altering tone and text towards a target audience), I had a lifelong fascination with perception and human behavior due to being autistic (this is my special interest), and similarly had an interest in communication which has ironically given me a better understanding of communication than most neurotypical people.

I essentially had every relevant skill before I even began.

That being said, I most certainly took the scenic route for learning hypnosis.

This is the most okay learning resource I have personally found for hypnosis. DO NOT read Mind Play, that book sucks and teaches a deeply limited system. Do not use almost any hypnosis book, because they all just give you training wheels then give no further tools to advance yourself.

This resource gives a somewhat more wholesale depiction of things, but you need to keep in mind that even for the things this guide states in an absolutist manner, there are zero absolutes in hypnosis. It's a vague conceptual goop that is always changing forms for each new person by the second, hour, day, month, and year.

We draw imaginary lines to make it more traversible and understandible, but they are exactly that. Imaginary. Only drawing inside those lines cuts out a lot of potency and possibility.

You learn the guiding structures, but then you need to get good enough to shed that limiting skin. Try new things, experiment, question every single claim you've heard about hypnosis, and build an intuitive learning over time.

And for the love of god, do not use breathing exercises, key elman inductions, or PMR inductions. I will slap you.

Don't be quick to trust scientific claims about hypnosis, as many were made in like the 1970s by some random person called Kim Blorbo (not actually) and everyone just assumed it was correct. I'm not saying to not trust science, but it draws many imaginary lines due to some of the flaws with the scientific process in an inherently vague and line-less place. It's a pseudoscience for a reason.

Don't trust anyone who calls themselves a hypnotherapist.

Don't trust anyone who talks about NLP (Neuro-linguistic Programming).

Don't trust anyone who seems to really like hypnospirals (spirals themselves look cool though).

Don't trust anyone who exclusively talks about hypnosis in kink terminology.

Don't trust anyone who never stops talking about how hot it is.

Don't work with subjects that don't have preferences or tastes and only want their self-destructive needs met.

Don't use scripts or named inductions past the first few times you do hypnosis, if you use them at all.

Keep your ears perked and be observant.

Be willing to go out of your comfort zone and introspect.

Be willing and happy to fail, and to learn from those failures, and you will learn quickly.

[q1ngqve]

hello! I like your fics, can u do Mikhail smut? 🥹 that npc man is making me feel things a gurl shouldn’t. Any for, is fine, be it from the LC’s Tomorrow’s Journey or the old form ♥️🥺

🪷🫧💭 — sorry if it’s ooc… i tried (also requests are closed!)

CW; sex. no other warnings 😜ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི

"do we really have to?"

you shoot him a glare as you adjust your necklace, the jewelry shiny and cool against your skin. "yes, because you reserved it." a tiny yelp escapes you at the sudden warmth on your nape, making your hair stand on end as you elbow him in the ribs.

he chuckles at your reaction to him appearing behind you without warning before parting your hair to one side and plants soft kisses on your skin.

"do you have to wear this specific dress then?" his arms snake around your waist, "you know it's my favorite." mikhail takes a step back as you remove his arms, spinning around to face him and draping your arms on his shoulders.

the corners of your lips curve into a soft smile as you lean closer, pecking a kiss onto his lips, staining them light red with your lip-gloss.

"I guess you'll have to wait till we come back," you shrug, "I don't wanna waste all the effort on doing my makeup."

his smile matches your own as his hands roam to the small of your back and nape, pulling you closer. "a quick one?" your eyes narrow at the feeling of his bulge against your stomach. "please?"

"fine."

"you're so good to me, my love."

his lips come fervently, sucking all the air from your lungs, desperate to taste and feel you. he walks you backward, hands and mouth never leaving you until you hit the wall with a thud. you push at his shoulders, trying to get him to release you so you can get some air.

soft gasps fill the air as he pulls away, his hands continuing with their ministrations. while you try to catch your breath, he already has your dress bunched up and you held up against the wall with your legs wrapped around his waist.

"mikhail— need you..."

his kiss comes again, harsher this time, as he undoes his belt, muttering an "mhmm" into your mouth. a soft hit lands on his shoulders at your disapproval when the sound of lingerie tearing fills the air. "we'll get you a new one."

your arms wrap tighter around him, gripping on for dear life, knowing how hard he goes when he's in a rush. whimpers of his name spill from your puffy lips as he nibbles on them, thrusting into you at the same time. the stretch has your back arching and legs tensing, and you hear him chuckle.

"love, you gotta relax—" mikhail hisses as his free hand slides between you two and draws circles on your clit. "you're so fucking tight."

deep grunts sound from the man before you as he finally bottoms out. he manages to pull another yelp from you as he pulls back and thrusts back in almost immediately, not giving you the time to adjust.

"wait— slow down!"

his chest reverberates as he laughs. "slow down? you told me to be quick, did you not?"

your head falls on his shoulder as you hang limp in his arms, body tensing at each rub of his tip on your gummy walls. you find yourself coming undone too quickly in this position, especially with him coaxing you on with each drive of his hips.

mikhail plants another kiss on your lips as you start shuddering and clenching against him, body tensing up at the knot building in your lower stomach. goosebumps litter your skin as he kisses down your neck, the warmth of his pants and groans urging your impending orgasm.

under the influence of his soft "cum for me"s in your ear, you cum with loud whines of his name, nails digging into his suit for support. he doesn't stop his movements, guiding you down from your orgasm as he reaches his own.

warm spurts fill your insides as he holds you up, hugging you close as you both ride out the high. when he senses you've relaxed, he sets you down and cups your face, kissing your blood-flushed lips gentler this time.

you lean against him as he smooths down your dress, a bright smile on his face as he holds out his hand.

"shall we go then, my love?"

[streamstar]

POST STREAM.

"And a special thank you to all of those who donated tonight! What a thrilling stream, it came to an end too soon… Yes, yes I got a little over eager there…!" He poked at himself with the joking tone of the user. Drawing in a deep breath, the wind softly whistling between the cracks of his sweaty skin and metal, the blinding light of the monitor glazing over his intense stare, sizing up the last of the chat rolling in, chest heaving in and out with adrenaline, the screams of the unfortunate rattling through his head persistently, the malodor of iron burning into his senses… Index finger scrolling through the details of the soon-over stream, the voting board frozen in his focus.

[82% — Kill] [18% — Let live]

The man couldn't help but click his tongue to the roof of his mouth, looking over his shoulder and the mangled corpse behind him, the blood running darker with time, thick and sticky as it rolled down the tattered skin, filling the grooves of the artistic burns engraving their chest like a river to a moat, and the stringy flesh of a blown out skull, fluids oozing down their neck like a wreath. A shiver chases his nerves down his spine as his eyes thin, swallowing down the animalistic feeling in his throat before turning back to the camera with a showman's gleam in his stare. "Once again, thank you all for attending another stream, until next time… Yours truly, Fox." With his hands out, the man presented a short bow of gratitude, reaching forward to slide his mouse over to end the stream. After a moment of silence, while he wrapped things up he pulled a small black stool out from under the setup turning on its swivel to face the recently deceased victim. Reaching a hand around back to remove the mask, exhaling a heavy sigh at the cooling sensation grazing his skin, small droplets of sweat rolling down his cheeks — the silence between the two was deafening, not that the victim could talk back, though.

Rising to his feet, the sound of stiff dress shoes clacked against the hard floor as a hand tangled itself in the strands of hair that rested upon the back of the neck, cranking their head to face his own. "You did good, for the most part, you know. But you were naïve… Gullible." A clawed finger slipped itself into the gaping gun wound, and the pulpous sounds of scrambled brain matter earned a muted rumble to bubble in his throat "But they don't want your compliance, this audience is… Particular with their tastes, and you just got too comfortable." Pulling his hand from their skull, the head falling downward with a heavyweight, he rubbed the slicked-up fingers together with his thumb, pulling them apart as he watched the fluid string the digits together. Raising his hand to his face, he pulled in the scent of their decaying essence, still fresh — Sucking the fingers clean, he wiped the saliva on his bloodied pant leg before seating himself once more, a heavy hand pressing the red button on the desk, two tall men soon to arrive.

Sitting at the desk, he watched them move swiftly, unshackling them from the wall, the body quick to fall limp against the floor with a heavy thud, a few new abrasions kissing their skin before one arm was taken by each man, feet dragging along the floor into the lit hallway, quick to leave his field of vision. There he was, alone in the room once again. His ears lowered close to his head at the mess, but in retrospect, this was not half as bad, he had worse before for sure. "Should we take care of this?" A worker asked from the doorway, snapping Fox from his train of thought "… Just give me a minute." He nodded in their direction, his head may have been looking, but his eyes remained locked on the red that painted the floor and walls.

From time to time, he would wonder what came of those he sold off. Not that it was his business beyond purchase, but did any of them end up keeping them as a companion? As a beating bag? Would he ever end up keeping one for himself? He found himself running solo, a peace he had come to love. Maybe one day there will be a time where one captivates him. The thought seems redundant.

Just two days prior, this person had been begging to come home with him, pleaded and whined and cried shamelessly on the stage, their wanton pleas with an eagerness to please — no, that wasn't it… It was a grasping for survival that laced their voice. What a pitiful act, it was endearing in its own way, and they had begun to grow on him a little, a small reflection of his past as their eyes followed him with terror, obeying every word and order thrown their way like a trapped, cornered animal. It was a reflection into his own past, nearly. But he was strong, that's why he survived, that's why he's here now, sitting upon his throne. Rising once more, straightening his back, pushing his hair back with clawed fingertips before he stepped into the light, the scent of a burning body becoming obvious to him, it was a stench you can't forget, a life turning to nothing but embers and ash.

'What a shame.' The man thought. 'You could have been a star.'

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

when they're on cases and he can't sleep cowboy! reader just stares at the ceiling. normally he would bake or play with buddy or something at home but on trips he just stares and tries to sleep. jj has rolled over and looked across the room to find him awake one too many times.

- 🦦

Description: cowboy reader can't sleep :(

Warnings: can't sleep (idk if it's insomnia tho), very tired reader, I think that's all

A/N: so the coffee dialogue has been sat in my notes without a fic idea for ages and I thought it might fit nicely here so I went for it lol

Taglist: @xweirdo101x @xdark-acadamiax @ara-a-bird @heidss @chubbyboyinflannel @pendragon-writes @migwayne @bigolgay @technikerin23 @supercriminalbean @honestlycasualarcade @caffeine-mess @1s3v3n1 @oddmiles @kevyeen @stealing-kneecaps @criminalskies @woodandwaxwings @wizardmon3 @aphroditeslovr @ducks118 @azeal-peal @13thdoctor-run @introvertpan84

Sleep was not coming to you. Like at all. It had been an hour and a half and all you had done was count the number of lights on the ceiling and judge their decor. There were only twelve small lights, but when you had finished counting you played small games - matching different lights to others, trying to make shapes in your head with the lights. Honestly you felt like you were going a bit insane.

You wiggled slightly as you sighed. This was worse than torture. You were tired, your eyes were tired and yet, no sleep would come to you. This was the second night. You would groan loudly, if it weren't for JJ sleeping soundly on the bed next to you.

The team had been given three rooms, one of which was being shared by Morgan, Reid, and Prentiss, the other by Rossi and Hotch, and finally, a room for you and JJ. You had tried to tell them that this layout made absolutely zero sense, but they weren't having it. And so, you and JJ departed from the rest of the group slightly flustered with Morgan whistling loudly.

And here you were. You were tempted to just stop trying to sleep and get back to work but you don't think your brain would function right now. You kind of wanted to bake something. Maybe the kitchen was open. Until you remembered it was half two in the morning. You missed Buddy.

You missed any form of communication with another human being.

Damn, you're spiralling already? Think of something, quick! Er, lizards are cool. You nod to yourself. It's true, lizards are cool.

"Are you okay?" A voice draws you out of your lizard thoughts.

"Huh?" It took you a minute to register, "Oh yeah can't sleep,'

"That sucks," JJ said, sitting up slightly, "Is there anything that helps?"

"Playin' with Buddy and bakin'," You said, shrugging. You gave a small yawn, "You go back to sleep, we need to be up in about..." You looked at the time, "Three hours."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," You shrugged, "Sleep well." She falls asleep instantly and you find yourself mesmerised by her. Eyelashes flushed against her cheek, you drew yourself out of your thoughts for a moment, turning away from her and to the ceiling.

You sighed, the ceiling no longer seemed interesting. You began to run the case over in your head. It felt like you were missing something. Something crucial, but what?

There was something about it. He wasn't sloppy - he wasn't leaving any DNA or physical evidence. He wasn't thinking irrationally. It just appeared irrational. Like his crimes weren't fully developed. Like he wasn't fully developed. Because he was a teenager! You mentally slapped yourself for not seeing it sooner as you bolted up. You had to talk to Hotch!

You grabbed one of the room keys on the table and practically ran out of the door. It was the only thing that made sense!

When you reached the door, you knocked - fairly loudly, but by accident. Within a minute Hotch opened the door (wearing a pajama t-shirt and checkered pajama pants).

"S'rry sir," You apologised before quickly getting into your train of thought, "The unsub's not sloppy, seems like it but its not. He's organised, he's not irrational but his crimes aren't developed. What if its 'cause he's still developin'?"

"You think he's a teenager?" You nodded, "That would make a lot of things make sense." He paused for a moment, taking in your appearance, "Have you slept at all?"

"Does blinkin' count?"

"No,"

"Then no."

"Get some sleep," Hotch said with a sigh, "I'll see you at six." You nodded, turning away and hearing Aaron lock the door behind you.

You were absolutely exhausted the next morning, two nights of pretty much no sleep (you had managed a whole hour both nights). You were going to need a lot of coffee and maybe a nap this afternoon.

You had only been at work for three hours when Hotch approached you. You were at the coffee machine.

"Ah sh't…" You mumble, dragging a hand over you face as the coffee machine bleeps angrily at you. Seeing Hotch, you turned to him for a moment before turning back to the coffee machine. "Hotch? Think I broke the c'ffee."

"Y/n?" You look up at him as you forced your eyes to stay open - despite them trying to flutter shut. "You need to get some sleep."

"'M not even tired." Hotch raised and eyebrow and you sighed, "Fine. But only thirty minutes..."

You walked the few steps to the couch in the break room, letting yourself practically collapse into it. You're immediately rewarded with sleep.

Two hours later (although it only felt like five minutes), Morgan gently shook you awake.

"Mmm, go 'way, 'm trynna sleep." You mumbled, turning over in hopes Morgan would just walk away.

There's a small smile, voice slightly higher in pitch, "There's been another body." JJ says.

You force your eyes open for a moment before trying to wipe the sleep from them. "There in five…" You grumbled, ignoring Morgan's rather loud huff.

You stood up, rubbing your eyes once more as you did. "Someone's not a morning person." Morgan teased lightly.

"'M too tired to argue with you, Morgan," You mumbled as you tried your best to stifle a yawn.

Luckily, within the next four hours, you had caught the unsub. "Can I have the couch on the jet please?" You yawned as Morgan cuffed him. "I think I might actually be able to get some sleep."