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gojoed · 7 months

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"oh my god satoru you look so cute here!"

"wait wait wait, don't look at those!"

you were currently holding a picture of satoru in your hands. it's nothing you haven't done before, going to the corner store and flipping through recently printed pictures of you and your friends after waiting a week for them to develop.

but this time you weren't holding snapshots of suguru having permanent marker on his face while sleeping or ridiculous photos of satoru and shoko grabbing onto each others hair, fighting over who gets to get the last snack from their stash. this time you held a photo of satoru, except younger. exponentially younger. as in, you just got your hands on a photo of satoru the moment he was born. literally.

like every other newborn he had that faint pink shade on his soft skin, button nose, and little hands that had the chubbiest of fingers. you swore you fell in love all over again with him.

the grown up version of the baby however did not feel the same. he didn't think a visit to his family's prestigious estate would lead to you seeing the one photo he would rather die than having any one of his friends see. he'd rather have you take a photo of him falling flat on his face on a pile of garbage actually.

how you came across that photo of him, he has no idea. you both were currently residing in his old bedroom, laid down on the old tatami mats that still smelled new. all he remembers is you getting up to look for something within the old cabinets of his room before you exclaimed about your recent discovery.

"oh there's more, lemme see."

"nononononono, no! you've already seen enough!"

satoru tried desperately to snatch the small box of photos that was now on the floor. seriously who put this here?? — maybe his mother heard of how he was bringing you along for the weekend and planted a little surprise for you to find. he was unsuccessful, again, as you seemed to be faster than the strongest now since the box was now sitting on your lap — the stack of photos now in your hands as you flipped through them one by one.

"you used to wear such cute things too! look at that, it's a little onesie with a duck pattern!"

satoru was now internally screaming, his ears blowing out steam now from embarrassment. they must be, since he could feel his face rise in temperature faster than ever, he might even be a new shade of scarlet now. he's resorted now to lying face first on the floor, burying his face in his arms trying to shield himself from your commentary.

he didn't budge when you poked him with your fingers, trying to show him photos of his even younger self. satoru won't deny it, he was cute as a baby. the cutest even (his ego was whispering that) — but to have you witness him in all his newborn glory? that was too much for him. now his image was shattered (the one he created in his head), you won't look at him the same anymore. you'll only think the words cute and adorable, and so on after this. no more comments on how hot he was, how undeniably attractive his smile was.

satoru gojo, was indefinitely, ruined.

that was at least his way of thinking. you were internally dying on the inside.

to think that at such a young age, satoru still held the most striking pair of eyes you've ever seen. even as a baby you could see that he held the heavens and even the depths of hell in them. you can see why many people whispered how his birth had changed everything in the jujutsu world.

but even so, you couldn't bring yourself to care about those old rumors. right now, you were focusing on just how cute he used to look, back when he was just a couple of pounds and was drowning in innocence that any baby had.

"hey satoru?"

"..mm?", well at least you got a reaction.

"who took these photos anyway?"

you had to wait a few seconds until you heard him shuffle, moving on all fours before sitting up and placing himself right next to you. the embarrassment had died down, just a bit. there was still evident pink on his neck, ears, and cheeks.

"it was mostly just my mom and the maids. they were the ones who always dressed me up too."

that made you smile, the image of a fussy satoru not wanting to put baby gloves on with a matching outfit — it was too good not to imagine. a few moments passed before satoru carefully snatched a handful of photos from you. you were about to protest when he began telling you the story behind each of them, or well, the ones he could remember.

maybe you seeing him like that wasn't so bad after all.

p.s., now he's totally gonna send some of these to the group chat. bet he was a cuter looking baby than suguru and shoko anyway.

#(don't look at me i was just hoping for someone to write about baby him)#i wanna hold him #also ahem this might catch the attention of just ONE person. but i have a nanami idea brewing in my brain stew.#gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #satoru <33

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odinsblog · 2 months

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“I first started noticing the journalists dying on Instagram. I'm a journalist, I'm Arab, and I've reported on war. A big part of my community is other Arab journalists who do the same thing.

And when someone dies, news travels fast. Recently, I pulled up the list that the Committee to Protect Journalists has been keeping and looked at it for the first time. There are 95 journalists and media workers on it as of today.

Almost everyone on it is Palestinian. Scrolling through, I started to get angry. These were the people carrying the burden of documenting this whole war.

Israel is not allowing foreign journalists into Gaza, except on rare occasions with military escorts. These people's names are being buried in a giant list that keeps growing. What I want to do is lift some of them off the list for a moment and give you a glimpse of who they were and the work they made.

I'll start with Sadi Mansour. Sadi was the director of Al-Quds News Network, and he posted a 22-second video on November 18. That was a report from the war, but it also gave me a picture into his marriage.

Sadi's wearing his press vest and looks exhausted. He's explaining that cell service and the Internet keep getting cut off, and it's often impossible to text or call anyone, including his wife. So they've resorted to using handwritten letters to communicate while he's out reporting, sending them back and forth with neighbors or colleagues.

He ends the video with a picture of one of these letters from his wife. In it, she writes,

‘Me and the kids stayed up waiting for you until the morning, and you didn't come home. We were really sad.

I kept telling the kids, Look, he's coming. But you didn't show up. May God forgive you.

Come home tomorrow and eat with us. Do you want me to make you kebab or maybe kapse? Bring your friends with you, it's okay.

And give Azeez the battery to charge. What do you think about me sending you handwritten letters with messenger pigeons from now on? Ha ha ha.

I'm just kidding. I want to curse at you, but we're living in a war. Too bad.

Okay, I love you. Bye.’

A few hours after he shared that letter, Sadie and his co-worker Hassouna Saleem were at Sadie's home, when they were killed by an Israeli air strike that hit his house.

His wife and kids, who weren't there, survived.

Gaza is tiny, and the journalist community is really close. Reading the list, you can see all the connections between people. Like with Brahim Lafi.

Brahim was a photojournalist, one of the first journalists to die. He was killed while reporting on October 7. He was just 21, still new to journalism.

On his Instagram, you can see that in his posts just a few years ago, he was still practicing his photography, taking pictures of coffee cups and flowers. Then he started doing beautiful portraits and action shots. You can really feel him starting to become a journalist.

Clicking around on Instagram, I found a tribute post about Brahim from his co-worker Rushdie Sarraj. In this photo, Brahim staring intently at the back of a camera, his face lit up by the light from the viewfinder. He looks so young.

The caption reads, My assistant is gone. Brahim is gone. Rushdie himself was a beloved journalist and filmmaker.

And I know that because he's also on the list. He was killed just two weeks after Brahim. I read the tribute post to him too.

I saw this over and over again. Journalists posting tributes, who were then killed themselves soon after. And a tribute goes up for them.

And then the pattern continues.

Thank you.

Something else I saw over and over on the list, journalists later in the war who had become aware that they could be making their last reports. They'd say it at the beginning of their videos. And those were the hardest to watch, especially when it was true.

One video like that was posted by Ayat Hadduro. Ayat was a freelance journalist and video blogger. Her videos before the war covered a wide range from what I can tell, interviews about women in politics.

She even appeared in a commercial for ketchup-flavored chips. She clearly liked being in front of the camera. Once the war started, Ayat's pivoted to covering bombings and food shortages.

On November 20, she posted a video report from her home. You can hear the airstrikes hitting very close to where she is. It's scary.

‘This is likely my last video. Today, the occupation forces dropped phosphorus bombs on Beit Lahya area and frightening sound bombs. They dropped letters from the sky, ordering everyone to evacuate.

Everyone ran into the streets in the craziest way. No one knows where to go.

But everyone else has evacuated. They don't know where they're going. The situation is so scary.

What's happening is so tough, and may God have mercy on us.’

She was killed later that day.

Targeting journalists, in case you didn't know, is a war crime. So far, the Committee to Protect Journalists has found that three of the journalists on the list were explicitly targeted by the IDF, the Israeli military. Investigations by the Washington Post and Reuters, Human Rights Watch and the United Nations have also raised serious questions in these three cases.

And the Committee to Protect Journalists is investigating 10 other killings. When we reached out to the IDF for comments, they said, quote, the IDF has never, and will never, deliberately target journalists. That's the answer they always give in these situations.

Meanwhile, dozens of seasoned reporters have fled Gaza. Journalists who worked for Al Jazeera, the BBC, the New York Times, the Washington Post, Reuters, Agence France-Presse. So many media offices were demolished in Israeli airstrikes that the Committee to Protect Journalists stopped counting.

It's not just individual lives that have been destroyed. It's an entire infrastructure.

Thank you.

The name on the list that was hardest for me to look at was Issam Abdullah, because I'd crossed paths with him once. Issam was a Lebanese journalist, a video journalist for Reuters for many, many years. He had just won an award for coverage of Ukraine.

I'm Lebanese and still report there sometimes, and I'd worked with Issam a couple of summers ago. He helped me film a sort of random story in Beirut. I was interviewing this entrepreneur who had started a sperm freezing company after an accident where he spilled a tray of hot coffee on his private area, burning himself.

I know, ridiculous. It was a really silly shoot. Right after we said cut and started to rap, Issam started this whole bit about being in his late 30s, reconsidering his own sperm quality and everything he now realized he was doing to hurt it, and no one could stop laughing.

It was a really good day that felt good to remember and to remember him that way. Issam was killed by the IDF on October 13. His death was one of the three that the Committee to Protect Journalists has identified as a targeted killing.

He was fired upon by an Israeli tank while standing in an empty field on the Lebanon-Israel border with a small group of other journalists. Everyone was wearing press vests with cameras out. They were covering the Hezbollah part of this war.

A few other journalists were injured in the attack, which was captured on video. The IDF says they were responding to firing from Hezbollah, not targeting the journalists. But multiple investigations, including by Reuters, the United Nations, Amnesty International and the AFP, found no evidence of any firing from the location of the journalists before the IDF shot at them.

The journalists in the group and video footage confirmed that there was no military activity near them. I had only met Issam once, barely knew him, but it affected me so much when he died. I know that he understood the risks of his job, but somehow it still felt so random and unfair that he would be struck down like that, following the rules, wearing his press vest and helmet, and a pack of reporters on a sunny day in an open field.

I find myself thinking about him all the time. His last Instagram post was commemorating another journalist, this iconic reporter Shereen Abou Aql who had been killed by the IDF. When I first saw that post in October, I thought how ironic because a week later, Isam also was killed by the IDF.

But then, after spending time reading the list, I realized how common this had become. I still haven't finished going through the list and looking up the people on it. I keep finding things that stick with me, like the funny way this one radio host would cut off a caller who was rambling on for too long.

A tweet from reporter Al-Abdallah that quoted Sylvia Plath. It read, What ceremony of wars can patch the havoc? I'm going to keep going down the list, even though this story is over now.

Just for myself. My own way of bearing witness. Which is, in the end, all that these journalists were trying to do.”

—DANA BALLOUT, The 95. Dana sifts through a very long list—the list of journalists killed in the Israel-Hamas war, and comes back with five small fragments of the lives of the people on it. Dana is a Lebanese-American, Emmy-nominated documentary producer.

#politics #dana ballout #the 95 #palestine #israel #war crimes #gaza #committee to protect journalists #🇵🇸#brahim lafi #shereen abou aql #issam abdullah #ayat hadduro #rushdie sarraj #hassouna saleem #sadi mansour

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 2 months

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It's a Match! || 141 x reader

[ Chapter 4 ] || [ Chapter 6 ]

Pairing: 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.3K~ tags: a little bit of angst in this one, mentions of infidelity, also, Price is divorced. Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?

Chapter 5: GET LAID?

[The scolding Price gives is fully inspired by Captain Holt from B99]

“YOU. DID. WHAT?!” Price’s voice was so loud it bounced off the walls and Soap could swear the door was rattling.

The environment inside of Price’s tiny little office was beyond tense. Gaz sat across from Price on the arm chair, with his hands clasped over his lap. Soap stood beside him, hands on the back of the other chair, constantly shuffling and readjusting. And Ghost was all the way in the back of the room, arms crossed and one foot scuffing up the wall he was leaning against.

They looked like a group of kids at the headmaster’s office, getting the reaming of a century and waiting for their parents to come get them, only to get reamed out some more by them. Except they’re grown adults and Price is, in a way, both the headmaster and their father.

Granted, they probably should’ve waited until tomorrow morning when they’re not all a bit buzzed from one too many beers… It seemed tonight was just one of those nights where they have little to no restraint… and are incapable to be reasoned with.

“If it’s any consolation, I told them you wouldn’t be too keen on 'em buttin' in your life.” Ghost spoke up while dipping his head to the side in a lazy shrug.

This earned him a sharp look from Price, who swivelled on his executive chair, turning a bit to properly face Ghost. The man looked seconds away from blowing up, eyes widened and wild.

“And yet you still HELPED 'EM?!” The Captain scolded him, to which Simon replied with a full shrug.

“They made a compelling case. You’ve been insufferable, boss.” He remarked, causing Price to sputter a bit.

“I didn’t wanna say anything, but it’s true, Captain. You need to get laid.” Soap jumped in.

His hackles raised and he stood up, slamming his hands on the desk, causing a rattling in the white mug he used as a pen holder. Gaz couldn’t help but wonder if the Captain didn’t hurt his palms.

“GET LAID?!” Price shouted in a tone almost akin to panic. “MY LOVE LIFE IS NONE OF YOUR CONCERN!” Price scolded them all, rausing a hand and pointing his finger at no one in particular.

“AND I WOULDN’T BE SO INSUFFERABLE IF YOU LOT DID YOUR JOBS. BUT NO, I’M HAVING TO FIX YOUR MESSES AND DEAL WITH ALL THIS BULLSHIT!” He shouted as he ran his hand over a pile of documents on the edge of his desk, sending them all flying to the floor.

None of the lads shook in the face of the Captain’s shouts. They were all used to it, having heard enough of them from other C.O.s in their careers and, especially, more than enough from John in the last year.

Price huffed through his nose and hung his head for a moment. Then, he tossed himself back in his chair, leaning it back and grumbling under his breath.

He sat with his legs parted, left arm over the desk top, the right one hanging limply over his lap. He grumbled under his breath, his mustache scrunching a bit as he raised his right hand to rub his eyes.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell…” Price grumbled and swiveled his chair back toward the desk, inadvertently toward Soap and Gaz as well, setting his elbows on either side of the black desk mat.

He held his head up with both hands, his blue eyes sliding downward to the phone they had set in front of him when explaining what they did, which now sat between his elbows.

In it was the Tinder profile they had created, the gimmicky, silly little shite that includes grainy photos of him and a bio written in the 3rd person. What impressed him was the fact that somehow, despite only having been active for an hour, according to them, the account had already seen about 35 likes and a handful of DMs from people.

Most of them were curious about the bio, some of them asking a variation of ‘Does John know you made this account?’, etc.

However, it bothered him that they did this behind his back, never once stopping to ask if he needed or wanted their help (AND HE DIDN’T). “You need to delete this.” He ended up saying after a moment of silence.

He grabbed the phone and set it on the edge of his desk to be taken by either Gaz or Soap, with a bit more aggression than he meant to. “Deactivate it, whatever.” He added.

“But, sir-” Soap tried to say, being shushed by Price raising a hand to signal him to quiet down.

“No buts.” He said directly as he raised his head and glared right at Soap. “And you need to tell that person that you already promised a date to that I’m not interested and APOLOGIZE for leading them on.” He ordered.

“Boss… C’mon.” Ghost called for him from his corner, causing John’s head to slowly turn to face him, eyebrows scrunched when he noticed the gaze Simon was sending him.

Cursed be Simon Riley, the only tosser in the entire SAS other than MacMillan, who can read John like the open book that he prides himself in not being.

But of course Simon knows why he’s so reluctant. He was there 5 years ago… when Price called him from his car in a side road somewhere, so drunk that his words were more so obscene slurs than words themselves, spewing mentions of loss and betrayal and a visceral need to cave a man’s face in, of emptying magazine after magazine on his wife’s lover’s body.

Simon went to get him, took the man home to his own shitty little flat, let him sleep off the inebriation in his bed, looked after him just in case he’d choke on his own drunken vomit, and the next afternoon, when Price was more himself, he drove Price to his marital home and helped him pack his bags.

Price stayed at his apartment for almost 6 months before getting his own place. Not that Ghost minded. Returning to the barracks was embarrassing for the Captain… And getting his own place required time and patience, which Price was lacking.

Eventually, Price signed the divorce papers, the matter was settled, and Price went on leave. Ghost took his as well and helped him settle into a flat, helped him assemble furniture, brought him meals.

Then started Price’s fuckboy era. Which is how Gaz and Soap heard of his proclivity to hook up with people. Gender didn’t matter, so much as getting momentary satisfaction and some of the shadows out of his bones.

Then, Graves and Shepherd happened… And Price cut it cold turkey. He was pent up. Point blank. Went from getting regular satisfaction to getting nothing and burying himself in his work. Blaming himself for not noticing the signs earlier.

Sometimes Ghost wondered if the man was going through a mid-life crisis.

“You could use it, boss.” Ghost added as he looked Price right in the eyes. “What’s one night, huh? Just going for a drink with them?”

“Simon-” Price tried arguing.

“Please, sir. We promise you’ll like ‘em.” Gaz pleaded.

“Yeah, sir, we all talked with ‘em and they’re a right laugh.” Soap added.

Taking a deep breath, John leaned back on his chair again and threw his hands in the air again.

“Alright.” He conceded. “BUT!” He interrupted them before they got too giddy. “None of this… Tinder shite.” He gestured vaguely to the phone at the edge of the desk.

“You set up a meet-up this Friday at a pub nearby. No more after that.” He ordered.

“On it!” Gaz said as he snatched the phone from the desk to dm you.

taglist: @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @zombie-freak , @wittleespur , @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago

#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #text story #cod x reader #call of duty x reader

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hotchscvm · 10 months

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leaked nudes

pt. 2

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader

summary: while looking at crime scene pictures on your phone, aaron swipes too far left and discovers some … sexy photos.

word count: 1.4k (short one)

warnings: nudes, masturbation, aaron jizzing in his pants like a teen, pervy aaron

This particular case had the whole team restless. Other than one lead that turned out to be useless as the suspect had an airtight alibi, there was nothing else that pointed where the unsub was. Thankfully, it seemed like his time in between kills was increasing, though that did very little to ease the team.

The precinct was almost empty, save for the few officers working the night shift and the team spread out around the conference room. Rossi was nursing a coffee, wishing it was whiskey. Emily sprawled out on the floor, the case file resting on her stomach. JJ sat sleeping in her chair, a blanket laid over her. Spencer was going over the details of the case while Derek stared at his file, unmoving.

You were positive he had fallen asleep with his eyes open.

Aaron sat next to you, a cup of coffee in his hand while he reviewed the case. You had given up trying to focus, taking a break as you played Tetris on your phone. Every few minutes, Aaron would glance at you before smiling and focusing back on his file.

After losing another game, you placed your phone on the table, leaning back in exhaustion. Looking around you, you were certain everyone except Rossi, Spencer, and Aaron were clocked out for the night. Derek was about ten minutes away from smacking his head on the table when his head slips from his hands.

Aaron flips through his file, brows furrowing. He looks around the messy table, searching for something in particular as you watched him with curiosity. “Where are the crime scene pictures from this morning’s victim?”

“Sheriff said their printer broke so they couldn’t print them out. I took a few pictures on my phone if you want to see them.” You motioned to your phone, yawning. Looking over at JJ, you resisted the urge to snatch the blanket from her.

He picks up your phone, swiping. “What’s your password?”

“Twelve thirty-four.”

Aaron paused, his lips twitching as he turned to look at you. “One, two, three, four?”

“It’s not like I have anything to hide,” you grumbled, ignoring his soft chuckle.

He put in the passcode, bringing him to the unclosed game of Tetris you were previously playing. Aaron couldn’t help but be amused at the high score before closing out and opening your photos. In your recents were the crime scene pictures he was looking for.

Aaron had swiped through the photos, trying to find a deviation from the killer’s MO but it looked the same as his previous victims. Maybe you had taken too many pictures of the body because he kept swiping left, looking at all the angles you had taken. The crime scene pictures had to end eventually but he was too sleep deprived to realize he’d eventually come across one of your other photos.

So he wasn’t prepared when he swiped to the left and instead of being met with another photo of the victim, it was one of you in skimpy clothing. Thankfully, he hadn’t been drinking his coffee as he saw it since he still managed to choke on his own saliva. Aaron’s eyes widened at the risque picture, sitting up, suddenly alert.

During him looking at the crime scene pictures, you had gotten up and walked to the vending machines. From where he sat, he could see you kick the machine in hopes of free food. The only one to witness his change of behavior was Rossi as Spencer was too engrossed in his reading, who had raised an eyebrow at his reaction.

In the photo, you were in a lacy black bra with a matching thong, bent over your bed. You had taken the picture facing the mirror, your back arched and ass up–on your knees and your clothing barely covering your essentials. Aaron swore he could see your nipples through the laced bra.

Curious, and driven by his hardening cock, Aaron swiped more. His breath hitched at the site of you topless, with just a pair of boxers on. A pair of his boxers. He remembered you shamelessly asking him for some shorts out of his go bag as you had forgotten to repack your sleep clothes and he had given you his boxers, blushing all the while.

As he stared at your breasts, he grew hard. He knew he should stop and close out, respecting your privacy and all, but he couldn’t. He physically couldn’t bring himself to look away let alone put the phone down.

He swiped again, this time you covered your bare breasts with one hand. You lay on your bed, naked yet what Aaron desperately wanted to see was covered by a discarded shirt that laid between your legs. The sun hit your body right, sunbeams illuminating your hair and despite the sensual position, he couldn’t help but think of how beautiful you are.

Looking up, he saw you were still bullying the vending machine and he couldn’t help but sigh in relief. He didn’t want you to see him being … perverted was the only word that came to him that described the situation perfectly.

Aaron couldn’t meet Rossi’s eyes as he took a sip of his coffee, careful to swallow it right. He pushed the chair into the table, concealing his rock-hard cock. His polyester suit pants rubbed against his cock, and he hissed quietly at the friction, wanting to head to the bathroom with your phone in hand to fix his situation.

He remained seated, pulling up your phone again in the hopes that he looked like he was going through the crime scene pictures, the reason you granted him permission to look through your phone.

He’s thinking about stopping, his finger shaking, urging him to swipe one more time while a small part of him screams to stop. Aaron swipes anyways.

His exhale is ragged as he sees your pussy for the first time. The video plays on mute and he almost combusts right then and there as you slowly finger yourself. You’re in a hotel room, your shirt bunched around your tits, a hand playing with a nipple. Aaron watches your index finger enter your dripping cunt, the wetness visible on camera. He has to bite his fist as you slowly slid it in and out, biting your lip at the feeling.

As you take your finger out, he watches your hand pinched your nipples, eyes narrowing at the shirt you had on. As you inserted a second finger into your sopping pussy, Aaron realized it was his shirt. A small, barely audible groan escaped his lips at the revelation. Video you had arched your back, mouth opening as you fucked yourself with two fingers. He could barely keep it together at the thought of you wearing his shirt as you fingered yourself.

He can’t take his eyes off your show, unknowingly palming himself with his free hand. Aaron watches in awe as you pump your fingers faster, unable to decide whether to watch the ecstasy on your face or your pussy swallowing your fingers in greed. The video is a minute from ending and he’s mesmerized at the screen.

So mesmerized he hadn’t noticed you come back into the room with a bunch of snacks in your arms. He jumped slightly as you dropped the snacks onto the table, quickly closing out your photos and placing your phone on the table.

You smiled at him, noticing the redness in his cheeks and ears. “I come back from battle with a feast.”

He nods, subtly fixing his pants under the table. Aaron doesn’t dare speak a word, knowing well enough that his mouth was dry.

Picking up a bag of goldfish, you threw it at Spencer’s face, breaking him out of his own world before getting a bag of Chex Mix and handing it out to your boss. “Here, Hotch.”

Your hand touches his as you give him the snack. From the video, a small touch and you saying his name, he cums in his pants. His hands wrap tightly around the bag, Chex Mix flying to the floor as the bag pops. His climax hits him hard, spurts of his cum wetting his pants and euphoria washing through him in powerful waves.

When he comes down from his high, he sees the whole team wake up, staring at the snack littering the floor and table. You glanced at him, confused, grimacing at the mess.

Aaron cleared his throat, slowly putting the bag on the table. “I don’t like Chex Mix.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds #literally wrote this instead of sleeping

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afterglowsainz · 16 days

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fresh out the slammer | max verstappen

summary: after you broke up with your boyfriend, you join your friends for a night out in monaco and decide it's a good idea to invite max

warnings: fluff, mentions of breakups, drinking

word count: 1.8k

a/n: giggling and kicking my feet at the thought of a situationship with max

the tortured athletes department series

it’s been one month since you and your ex-boyfriend of one year broke up. you couldn’t say you were heartbroken because you really weren’t, like most men do at some points in their lives, he was disappointing you long before you broke up with him, so in a way, you mourn your relationship while you were still in it. now you just felt a bit lonelier than before, but you had definitely moved on.

on a saturday night, you had a few friends over to your monaco apartment for dinner and a very well deserved gossip session. you told them all about your breakup with your most recent boyfriend and how you were feeling almost too good.

“guys, what if we go out?” one of your best friends suggests. “a friend of mine is having a party at this club downtown and is supposed to be this very exclusive thing.” you thought about it for a few seconds after agreeing. it has been a while since you went out with your friends, especially in monaco where everything can happen. you got ready in less than ten minutes since you already were put together and joined your friends in the car on your way to the club.

during the quick ride you check your instagram and saw that your friend max posted a story. you and max have had this weird relationship for years, were you’re both really close friends who’ve also liked each other forever, but none of you had actually made a move on each other (except for that one time, but you’ve never talked about it). you clicked on his profile picture and the story popped up, a picture of him and his friends playing fifa on his couch. you smiled and liked the photo, putting your phone away.

once you got to the club your friend led you all to the entrance and when she gave her name to the bouncer they let you all in. the place was completely packed, but she took you all to a place on the top that was a bit less full and looked more like that exclusive event your friend was talking about. soon enough, alcohol was running through your system and your body was moving along with the blasting music at the club when a thought almost made you stop on your tracks. you looked for your best friend all over the place and ran over to her when you saw her near the bar.

“hey.” you call out loudly over the music.

“hey.” she smiled at you. “having fun?” she asks and you nod.

“can i tell you this idea i just had?” she takes a sip from her drink and nods. “would it be a good idea if i invited max?” her eyes widen with surprise and gives you a knowing smile.

“max like max verstappen?” she asks. “like your max?” you nod again, this time more euphorically.

“yes, my max.” you took a sip of your drink and cleared your throat. “he’s in monaco, so why not? the worst that can happen is he says no.” you shrug, like the idea of him not wanting to see you didn’t kill you a bit inside.

“go for it!” she exclaims. “absolutely, yes, invite him over.”

you smiled and headed over to the balcony, relieved to feel the cold air of the monaco night hit your skin, cooling you down. you took out your phone and hover over max’s contact for a moment, wondering if you should text or call first. you decided to call since that would be much more immediate. you listen to the phone ringing for a few moments and when you thought it would send you to voicemail, you heard max’s familiar voice.

“hello.” he answers.

“heyyy.” you greet him with a smile that he couldn’t see.

“y/n.” he calls your name with happiness. “how are you?”

“i’m good, how are you?” you ask. “what are you up to?”

“oh, i’m good, yeah.” he says. “just hanging out with some friends. you?”

“i’m in monaco.” you say looking at the stars. “actually, i’m at this club, i was wondering if you wanted to come? you can bring your friends, my friends are here too.”

you waited for him to answer so long you thought the line had dropped.

“what club are you in?” you gave him the name and heard some loud voices in the background. “okay, we’ll be there in twenty.”

you smiled at the sky and bit your lip.

“okay.” you answered and finished the call.

when you got back inside you met your friends again and let them know that max was coming with his friends. twenty minutes later, you were still dancing in the middle of the place when someone tapped your shoulder with tenderness. when you turned around you saw those blue eyes that you loved staring back at you.

“hello, you.” you smiled at him and he returned it.

“long time no see.” he said, giving you a small kiss on the cheek. you felt yourself flustered and were grateful that the place was mostly dark with a few colored lights.

“you should’ve told me when you got here, i would’ve gone outside to get you.” you frowned, ignoring the blush on your face.

“i wanted it to be a surprise.” he defends himself.

“it can’t be a surprise if i invited you.” you fought back and he placed his arm around your shoulders.

“you know what i mean.” he clicked his tongue, teasing you.

you spent the next hour dancing, drinking and talking with max. it was like the world around you had disappeared and it was only the two of you left in that club. when you took a quick break from dancing he got close to you and whispered in your ear.

“do you want to go outside?” he asks. you felt yourself blush again but nodded.

he was about to guide you to the balcony but you redirected him to the exit of the club. you stopped briefly to let your friend know that you were leaving with max for a moment so she wouldn’t worry and she just winked at you. you took his hand so you wouldn’t lose him while walking through all the people at the club and once you were outside you dropped his hand, even though you didn’t really wanted to, but the last thing you wanted was to make it uncomfortable for him.

“you wanna take a walk?” he asks while taking his jacket and putting it around your shoulders.

you nod and smile at him, grateful for his jacket. you both start walking along the streets, talking about nothing in particular until he makes the question you knew he wanted to ask all night.

“how’s it going with your boyfriend?” he doesn’t look at you while asking, no matter how much you wanted him to do so.

“we broke up.” you answer dryly.

“oh.” he finally looks at your face for any hint of sadness, but there is none. you’re not sad about it.

“how’s it going with your girlfriend?” you ask now, remembering the gorgeous redhead he was dating a few months ago.

it was on one of those few occasions both of you were in monaco at the same time. you were leaving from café de paris with your best friend and you crossed him at the entrance, next to him was one of the most beautiful girls you’ve ever seen, holding his hand. you remembered she introduced herself as his girlfriend and your heart skipped a beat at the word, even though you had no right to feel anything like that since you had a boyfriend yourself. you said your goodbyes and he did too and that was the last time you saw him.

“what was her name again?” you asked. “i can’t remember.”

“we broke up.” max ignored your last question, answering the first one you asked instead.

“oh.” you frowned, sad for him for whatever reason. maybe it was the alcohol in you bringing out all the emotions. “what happened?”

“it just didn’t work out.” he answers simply, giving you a reassuring smile.

“when did you break up?” you knew you were a bit out of line meddling into his relationship. especially when he didn’t ask you these types of questions about your own breakup, but you couldn’t help it.

“a few months ago.” he said, completely unfazed by your curiosity. “actually, it was the day you met her.”

“at the café de paris?” you questioned with surprise and he nodded. “why would you break up with your girlfriend there? it’s such a lovely place.”

he wanted to laugh at your remark, but bit his lip instead.

“i saw you.” he whispered and you felt like all the air was leaving your lungs.

“you broke up with your girlfriend because you saw me?” you ask incredulously and he nods again. “why would you do that?”

“why do you think, y/n?”

he holds your eyes for a few seconds until you turn your head and continue walking. you didn’t answer him and he didn’t say anything else, his words hanging in the air while you got wrapped into a comfortable silence. you were trying to process his train of thought while also processing yours. could his words have such an impact on you? did he feel about you the same way you’ve always felt about him? would he want to try something with you? with each question you asked in your head, you felt yourself leaning more and more into max until the back of your hands brushed each other while walking. he felt so familiar in so many ways.

before you could realize it, you were both outside of your apartment building. did you really walk this much?

“well.” he said, breaking the silence. “i guess this is where i leave you.” he pointed with his chin at the building.

you looked at him for a few seconds, your mind racing ten thousand miles per hour.

“you could stay.” you whisper.

max looked at you, a sparkle in his eyes you knew too well.

“you’re drunk.” he murmured, just like you had. you shook your head and got closer to him, touching the collar of his shirt gently.

“just as much as you.” you were so close you could see every speck of color in his eyes. “i think the walk here sober me up, anyway.” you joke, taking your eyes off of him, fearing that looking at him a second longer would make you do something unexpected.

“are you sure about this?” he took your face between his hands, forcing you to look at him. the beautiful blue of his eyes was now much darker and you fell a little bit more in love just by looking at them.

“of course i’m sure.” your voice low, only for him to hear. “i’ve always been.”

his eyes went from your eyes to your lips, and then back into your eyes.

“come inside.” you ask.

he smiles at you like he just won a championship, taking your hand and pulling you into the building.

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen angst #f1 x reader #f1 #formula one #formula one x reader #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fanfic #taylor swift #the tortured poets department #mv33 #mv1 #the tortured athletes department #fresh out the slammer #max vertsappen gif

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highseas-swede · 8 months

Text

Becoming Real

Recently Good Omens Prime Twitter account posted a BTS photo of Aziraphale and Furfur and it started the gears in my head turning, trying to parse it. It's only just now that it finally coalesced into a proper thought.

I kept thinking Aziraphale reminded me of something, especially when compared to the other angels. Look at him next to pre-Jim Gabriel, Uriel, Michael... heck, even Furfur, who he's standing next to right now.

Furfur is a demon, but his outfit is impeccable, it's sleek and stylish. The angel's suits in heaven are all pressed and flawless and New.

But not Aziraphale. He's dressed in old human clothes, his waistcoat is worn and tattered and long-loved. Aziraphale is, as Michael put it, like an old sofa. Worn and comfortable. He could choose to look basically however he wants, but instead he chooses to clothe himself in actual human clothes, to eat human food, to enjoy human entertainment - books, music, plays, etc. He does this despite the fact that it actively makes the other angels dislike him and find him unpalatable.

And that's what stuck out to me. Because unlike those other angels and demons, Aziraphale doesn't feel distant from humanity. He might be odd or eccentric to humans, but they don't question his humanity. He doesn't stand out to them in the way that the other angels do when they show up.

It occurred to me that this is because unlike the other angels... Aziraphale is Real.

Have you ever read The Velveteen Rabbit? There's a scene in it where they talk about what it means to be Real:

This made me think of Aziraphale. About how the other angels are these pristine things, kept aloof from the world, and then there's Aziraphale, who is worn and shabby, who's lived on earth for millennia among the humans. He's loved and learned and experienced what being human is like and because of that he's Real in a way that the other angels aren't. Humans have personhood, a sense of agency, a sense of self. Angels and demons have only the divine plan, as Beelzebub and Gabriel noted, that's all they live for "if you can call it living".

But what strikes me the most is how potentially devastating Aziraphale's Realness will be to Heaven. They only succeed at keeping angels in line because they're undistracted from the Great Plan. We see how Gabriel - as Jim - takes to cocoa after trying it. We see how quickly Muriel becomes fascinated with books.

Now consider that this is the angel they're putting in charge of Heaven. This worn, shabby, old sofa of an angel who has an endless well of love, for Crowley, for the world and the humans in it. He doesn't seem dangerous in the slightest. He seems Fragile.

But he is dangerous. So very dangerous.

But it's not because he's a guardian, not because he's a warrior, not because he's the Angel of the Eastern Gate who leads a battalion and was issued a flaming sword. He gave all of that away and it's worth noting that this is the first actual choice we see him make in the show, the thing that sets him apart in Crowley's eyes, and it wasn't even Crowley's doing! Aziraphale made a choice to give the mortals his sword out of compassion and it is a sense of compassion we don't see from the other angels.

His deviations all stem from that initial act. It takes him from being this two-dimensional cardboard entity existing only as part of the Divine Plan and set him on the path to actual Personhood.

It doesn't happen right away, of course, because as the Skin Horse says:

"It doesn't happen all at once. You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But those things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

And doesn't that sum up Aziraphale? He's shabby and worn and he's beautiful to the people who understand and appreciate that being Real means being imperfect, and that every imperfection is still beautiful.

No wonder the angels mock his corporation, his flaws, all the things he enjoys that make him less than what they think he should be. We see evidence over and over that Aziraphale is essentially "ugly" to them. But that's because they don't understand.

Aziraphale's Realness, his personhood, what Crowley has helped nurture from the Wall of Eden all the way to that last desperate kiss, is what really matters. Good Omens has always been about People being fundamentally People. It's the underlying current that ties everything together, for good or for ill. People have agency. People have self-actualization. People have the ability to make their own choices, for good or for evil.

And now Aziraphale has that too.

That's the very real danger he presents to heaven.

Because we've already seen that any angel, given sufficient time and interaction with humans could be like Aziraphale. All it takes is one small opening, one bite from the apple. Whether deliberately or not, Crowley tempted Aziraphale into every step, the way he tempted Eve in the garden. He gave Aziraphale the knowledge of Right and Wrong, presented him with the option, the way he did with humanity. Were they even really human before Crowley? Did he give them free will? His actions cast them out of paradise, but did it ultimately set them free? Has he struggled for millennia to do the same for the angel he's loved so well and for so long?

Does Crowley know how horribly, wonderfully well he succeeded?

Bringing Aziraphale back to Heaven, putting him in charge, was the absolute worst thing the Metatron could have done for keeping the status quo and it's not because of Aziraphale's fighting prowess. It's because of the small Human acts of kindness and pettiness that Aziraphale is capable of. That's not going to go away when he's in Heaven. It's going to spread. He's going to infect Heaven with Humanity. It's going to be so slow and gradual that they won't see it coming until it's far too late.

It's not going to be the way that Aziraphale intends to change Heaven and yet, it will surely ultimately be what really makes a difference.

I wonder too, if maybe that's some subconscious part of it. After seeing Gabriel change, seeing Muriel change, I wonder if there's not some part of Aziraphale that realizes that Heaven is a miserable place that makes miserable people. He'll extend compassion to them that they don't deserve and don't know they're missing and he'll surely go on with whatever his own Plan - with a capital P, of course - is and he won't even realize what he's actually done.

And then, like the ending of S1, like the ending of S2, the ultimate deciding factor will not be who is the best warrior, who is the strongest. It will be about the Human element.

Metatron thought he could control Aziraphale, bring him in line by bringing him back to Heaven. He wants to take away the human element of Aziraphale and shove him back into that Obedient Little Angel shaped mold and he doesn't realize it's not possible anymore. Aziraphale's grown. He'll never fit, he'll never be that again. There is no going back anymore.

As the Skin Horse says: "Once you are Real, you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."

And Real things, things with depth and purpose and will, are impossible to ever truly control.

#Good Omens #Aziraphale #good omens meta #good omens s2 #crowley #crowley x arizaphale #Analysis #the velveteen rabbit #what it means to be Real

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moviecritc · 16 days

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ohhh i may have an idea for your polyamorous thing, what about the reader trying to soft launch her relationship with carlando but people keep thinking they’re just a group of very close friends or they think that she is only dating one of them and the other is just their friend so she gets tired of people not taking the hint and just ends up hard launching? maybe at a grand prix weekend?

captions ⋆ carlando smau

pairing: carlando x reader

summary: carlos, lando and you had been dating and soft launching each other for almost two years, and carlos just got bored of people thinking you're just friends.

warnings: some suggestive comments

a/n: not the biggest fan of lando EXCEPT when carlos is around so i loved doing this so much. also, it's my first smau, pls tell me what you guys think about it <3

masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd

yourusername just posted

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yourusername spent a few days watching this two drive in circles very fast (+ kiki)

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user1 NEW CARLANDO PHOTO JUST POSTED

user2 thank u y/n for feeding us with all this carlando content

landonorris dry ass caption

yourusername at least i post you you dumbass user1 never beating couple allegations user3 carlos must be so tired of third wheeling them

user4 THAT IS THE CUTEST DOG I'VE EVER SEEN

francisca.cgomes i'll never forgive you for naming your dog almost like me

yourusername it's my love language ok landonorris you could've named it lando or smth yourusername i'll change her name to nowins 💋 landonorris wait wat

carlossainz55 👑

landonorris ok i'll correct myself THIS is dry carlossainz55 you muppet yourusername at least he comments good things ?? user5 their friendship is top tier

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user1 here before y/n

user2 NOT LANDO SOFT LAUNCHING CARLOS

user3 i'm dying

user4 i don't wanna start something but that aren't lando's arms in the third picture

user5 it scares me that you can recognize lando's arms... user6 girl go touch some grass

yourusername and i'm the one getting called dry

landonorris i didn't want you to feel bad bout you're boring caption 💛

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yourusername you guys could've win at least

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landonorris isn't a podium not enough for you?

yourusername no landonorris yeah idc what you think yourusername THEN WHY U ASK i'm changing to red bull they'll give me more emotional stability maxverstappen1 please stay there i don't want to have lando in the garage looking for you

user1 cute cute cute friendship

user2 call me crazy but...

user3 but WHAT GIRL? user2 lando soft launching carlos and posting the picture of y/n with another boy (definitely carlos), and them posting each other anytime they can user4 girl they're just friends user5 yeah they've been knowing each other for a long time, they're just very close

carlossainz55 our biggest supporter 💛💛

yourusername always 💛 user2 OUR biggest supporter? them using the same heart lando used in a previous post? user6 paranoid

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carlossainz55 💛💛💛

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user1 WAIT OMFG

user2 CARLOS HARD LAUNCHING LANDO AND Y/N I TOLD U GUYS

user3 they're all dating?

user4 isn't that obvious

yourusername cute dog

carlossainz55 Hermosa we talked about calling Lando our dog landonorris she meant kiki you muppet yourusername no i actually meant you baby

user4 y/n won the game with this two

user5 now i know how true jealousy feels like

yourusername my pretty boyss 💛

carlossainz55 🥰🥰

landonorris dream rides 🤩

yourusername lan- carlossainz55 I'm going to ban Lando from this app user3 LANDO LMAOOOO

user6 CARLOS AND KIKI ARE THE CUTEST AHGDJKJHFSA

charlesleclerc so happy for you guys

user7 charles approves

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yourusername your dream girl's dream boys

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carlossainz55 First

landonorris he's so obsessed carlossainz55 Yeah

landonorris now THAT is a good caption

francisca.cgomes ok cutiess

danielricciardo Y/N blink twice if you need help

landonorris shut the fuck up she's totally fine with us yourusername save me pls

user2 does she even have a job?

landonorris serving cunt? carlossainz55 Being the most beautiful woman in the world? yourusername i'm a publicist but yeah mostly what they said user3 you're so iconic for this

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