#my only thing is self consciousness an how I organize tags

[mairen-marionette]

made a little doodle in my classes today. Lowkey want to share, maybe.

#I made a very rough drawing of a guy #it's not very good but it's mine and I made it #I just think he's neat #I like the he #my only thing is self consciousness an how I organize tags

[puppy-steve]

march fic rec

a monthly fic rec series to help me work through my tbr

this month i kind of shifted all of my attention on gathering all of my tbr fics and getting them more organized, so i kind of slacked on reading. but yall get a little treat, bc this one is mostly smut 👀

▸ february fic rec

▸ more fic recs

tags: ancient rome au, omegaverse, ritual sex, alpha eddie, omega steve, orgy, bitching, induced heat, breeding kink

Ecstatic Rituals - E, series, WIP

StarsHideYourFires

A set of AUs with one thing in common: ritual sex.

tags: transmasc steve, established relationship, frotting, first time bottoming

just the tip - E, 4.4k, complete

twelvexclara

The words spill from his mouth before he even realizes he’s saying them. “You can rub against it,” he blurts out. He sucks in a breath, arms tightening around Eddie as the man stiffens against him. “I mean—you can rub against me, not it,” Steve stutters nervously, averting eye contact. Staring at the dumb fucking movie that’s still playing. Steve Harrington has never let anyone fuck him. That all changes during a movie night with Eddie Munson.

tags: domestic fluff, 90s steddie, backyard wedding, steddielovemonth

Everything and More - G, complete

@steviewashere

Eddie drags his hand up to Steve’s scalp, dully scratching the way he knows he likes. “Okay, I’ll indulge,” he mutters. “If we could have a wedding, what would you want it to look like?” The smile to his bare shoulder is enough to know that it was a good question.

tags: pining, first kiss, getting together

love is stored in a can of hairspray - T, 3.1k, complete

@steveseddie | mseg_21

In that moment, he wasn’t thinking about the money or how it might look to Steve that he knew what hair products he uses or that he drove to another town to get them. He was only thinking about Steve’s defeated look every time someone stared at his hair or commented on it, how he self-consciously tried to fix it at work every time a customer came in, how when they hung out at his house he would hide his hair under the hood of a sweater. But now, parked in front of Steve’s house an hour before their movie night, Eddie does think about what he did- and he seriously considers leaving the bag on Steve’s doorstep and fleeing. It’s too much. It’s too ‘I have a big crush on you and I want you to be happy so bad that I drove to another town and raided the Hair and Beauty section at a store just so you can stop walking around looking like a kicked puppy’. for the prompt “love is going out of your way to do something you know will make them happy”

tags: modern au, college au, frat steve, friends with benefits, gay steve, southern eddie, autistic steve, light angst

sweet little thing - E, 6/6, complete

@ghosttotheparty

“Steve,” Eddie repeats softly. Steve’s eyes look into his, shining like he’s already there, like he’s already floating. “If you want something, you gotta ask for it.” Steve’s eyes flutter, and he looks like he wants to let out a whine, glancing across Eddie’s face again like he’s forgotten where they are. “Fuck me,” he says weakly, and the words crawl under Eddie’s skin like they belong there. “Please. Will you please fuck me?” // or; Steve and Eddie start hooking up and it makes them both happier than it should.

tags: modern au, wrong number trope, falling in love

Found God In A Tomato - M, 5.7k, complete

@beetlesandstarss

“You’re gonna think I’m insane," he says, instantly piquing Eddie's interest.  “Try me.”  Biting his lip, Steve reaches over and takes Eddie’s hand. He slips one of Eddie’s rings off, the plainest one, and holds it between two fingers. For a second, Eddie thinks Steve’s just gonna— put it on. Or hold his hand. Both options are appealing. But then, clearing his throat, his face changes from smug to earnest.  “Eddie,” he says, a little louder than necessary. “Will you marry me?”  Eddie’s jaw drops.

tags: eddie pov, character study, platonic stobin, missing scene

unexpected shelter (December 20, 1985, 4:52 p.m.) - T, 3.3k, complete

@loveinhawkins

It’s the last day of school before Christmas, and the first thing Eddie hears when he enters Family Video is Steve Harrington saying, “Fuck this,” which seems kinda unreasonable; he’s not even done anything yet.

tags: sick eddie, fluff, hurt/comfort

Lovesick - T, 3.1k, complete

@lady-lostmind

Eddie rolls over with a groan. He feels awful. He can’t breath out of his nose, there’s so much pressure in his head he feels like it might explode and his throat feels like he swallowed a cup of razors. He lets out a truly pathetic whimper, the sound catching in his throat as it turns into a cough. He stretches his arm out, feeling around for Steve and is met with cold, empty sheets. He whines again and finally pries his eyes open. “Stevie?”

tags: dom bottom eddie, sub top steve, praise kink, breeding kink, mommy kink, friends with benefits

(Just Hold me Baby) And I'm in Ecstasy - E, 2.7k, complete

odderstuff

Eddie looks Steve up and down thoughtfully. He's flushed, cheeks turned a pretty shade of pinkish red. His eyes are a little glossy, sparklier than usual and a thin sheen of sweat is forming across his hairline. His breathing has changed, just a bit; a little shallower, a little quicker, a little hitched. He's none too subtly shifted, so that the blanket is fully covering his lap. It's a lightbulb moment for Eddie, and he grins wide when he realizes. "Oh my God. This is like a thing for you, isn't it?" _ Or: discovering one of Steve's kinks leads Eddie to some discoveries of his own.

tags: established relationship, praise kink, pet names, steve in panties, top eddie, bottom steve

a new kind of pretty - E, 3.5k, complete

streaksofviolet

“They still had the tags on. And I couldn’t stop thinking about how fucking sexy you’d look in them, baby.” He punctuates the end of his sentence with a kiss to Steve’s cheek. “Oh,” Steve practically gasps, the sound punched out of him involuntarily. “Oh.” And there’s that confusing arousal again. Or: Steve and Eddie try something new.

tags: enemies to lovers, gay steve, forced proximity, resolved sexual tension, tent sex

Is That A Tent In Your Pants, Or Are You Just Happy To See Me? - E, 10.9k, complete

@beetlesandstarss

Eddie eyeballs him. “You want me to get naked?” “You'll get pneumonia,” Steve says, leaning towards desperate. Fuck, Robin will actually kill him if Eddie dies out here. “I’m fine.” “This is not fine, Eddie,” Steve insists. “You’ll see my dick,” Eddie hisses. “I’m not gonna look at your stupid dick, man.” “My stupid dick? Why is it stupid?” (Or, Steve and Eddie are coerced into going camping together.)

tags: hanahaki disease, established relationship, misunderstandings, hurt/comfort

Daisies - T, 2.8k, complete

@withacapitalp | towardthesun

He hacked out a few more harsh sounding noises, before he spat into his open palm, taking a relieved breath as whatever was lodged in his throat came out. Eddie would’ve been relieved too, confused, but okay now that Steve was safe. And then he saw what was in Steve’s hand. A daisy. Steve had just coughed up a fucking daisy. And, judging by the completely blasé expression he had on his face as he looked down at it, this wasn’t the first time. ====== When Steve wakes up choking on flowers, Eddie thinks that it might be the end. It turns out to be just the beginning.

tags: cockwarming, dom eddie, sub steve, dry humping, babygirl steve

I've Got a Tongue Like a Razor, a Sweet Switchblade Knife - E, 2.7k, complete

BuwnyBeely

Steve Harrington likes long sessions, and likes to be /used/. He'll take anything he can get. or "No, no please. Don't stop Eds, need more. Need to be full."

tags: blood kink, dry humping, bratting, praise kink, spit kink, eddie gets into a fist fight (and wins)

Bloody Knuckles - M, 4.5k, complete

sage_is_soup

A phone call from Dustin leaves Steve racing to Hawkins High. Eddie Munson is in a fist fight. He'd intended to be there as support, but when things get bloody? Steve finds his thoughts leading him astray.

tags: sexual tension, voice kink, dry humping, stripping, teasing, top eddie, bottom steve, virgin eddie munson

Strip... Flash Cards? Yeah... - E, 4.8k, complete

L0udmouth

Eddie's bad at studying, Steve's a horny idiot, and horny studying antics ensue.

tags: drug use, voyeurism, belly bulge, chrissy cunningham is a size queen

chronically sweet - E, 3.2k, complete

babyknives

Chrissy had thought she’d known what love was. Had grown up watching her parents exchange pleasantries across the dinner table, in the entryway when her father would leave for work. A chaste kiss on the cheek, a gentle hand at the small of her mother’s back. Quiet respect, dignity, poise. Love was something shown only in small glimpses, tiny moments. Never in public. Between a couple and the good Lord. Until she met the boys.

tags: guns n' roses au, exhibitionism, top eddie, bottom steve, rockstar eddie

rocket queen - E, 5.8k, complete

@strangersatellites

Steve breaks up with his shitbag drummer not-boyfriend and fucks his frontman in the studio with the mics on.

tags: basketball player steve, rockstar eddie, modern au, bottom steve, top eddie, pet names, praise kink

Off the Court On the Stage - E, 7.2k, complete

@stevesjockstrap

Basketball player Steve walks into the wrong room but it works out in the end.

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

Idiot - G, complete

@stevebabey

His eyes glance across to Eddie’s van, parked beside his own car, outside the trailer home in Forest Hills. Then he looks back at the trailer. He can ask. He can just go inside and ask Eddie for the lift— and explain that the reason he can’t take his own perfectly fine car is because he’s so goddamn thick between the ears that he’s locked his keys inside, like some kind of moron. The voice in his head sounds suspiciously like his father.

tags: canon compliant, pre-relationship, s4 missing scene, survivor's guilt

Eternal zero - T, 3.6k, complete

@loveinhawkins

“Woah, man, take it easy—” “M’fine,” Eddie mutters. He scoffs harshly, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s shaking. “This is kinda normal for me now.” His head’s still half bowed, hair falling across his face like he doesn’t want to be seen. It doesn’t stop Steve from noticing the evidence of tears on his face; he thinks they’re simply from the exertion of throwing up, but he can’t be sure. “Just—just give yourself a minute,” Steve says. “We’ve got time.”

#cj talks #fic rec #steddie fic rec #march fic rec #steddie #steve x eddie

[south-sea]

Second Chance AU Shadow (Headcanons Masterlist)

I was encouraged by a certain someone to share all the Shadow headcanons I omitted from a more recent post, but it quickly got away from me and turned into a sort of masterlist with all the links being added in for context.

So in the interest of eventually having a working catalogue of "view these specifics posts for more organized information on Second Chance AU instead of sifting through various rambles", here it is!

Initial context for what this AU even is is here.

(edit: this is definitely out of date by the time you're seeing it, see pinned for an overall tag)

He figures things out about himself/interacts with new or developing interests in phases. Which is probably pretty standard, but so far he’s gone through a particular trend of weather —> photography/scrapbooking —> food —> adventuring/getting into Situations [you are here]. No telling what’s up next, but he never really abandons discovered interests either. He still keeps up with photography/scrapbooking, still appreciates new weather patterns/cloud formations and whatnot, and is basically never not thinking about Good Food. I would love for him to some day focus on music and maybe pick up an instrument or something; he could learn piano from Metal’s caretaker, even.

Discovering preferred foods is also a slow but unique process in that he doesn’t notice, really, until someone else points out he has a clear preference for something. From his perspective, he still doesn’t really have favorites because why would he, but anyone else would be able to tell there are certain things he gravitates toward (and that applies to everything, not just food). So far, other than expensive chocolates, that’s mostly tomatoes, whether raw or roasted; cherry tomatoes especially. They’re somewhat of a comfort food at this point. A few other honorable mentions: avocado, sautéed spinach mixed in with things, and grilled veggies in general. Weird little kid who goes out of his way to ask for vegetables, really. He also especially likes the crunch of carrots, but celery and lettuce on their own practically insult him for how comparatively tasteless they are.

Don’t ask him what his favorite color is either. He has no idea. He likes the green Emerald the most, but also the light blue one (he’ll never admit it, if just because he doesn't consciously realize it, but it’s because that one specifically reminds him of Metal). From his perspective, that’s about as much as he’s able to place; wires get crossed and he answers according to his Chaos Emerald color preference, not ‘colors in general’. From my perspective, I see it as him being partial to blue and green because that’s what he’d most commonly see from the ARK, looking down at earth. Objectively, blue probably wins by sentimentality alone, given so many of the people he’s close with are/were inherently associated with blue.

He starts a lot of sentences with “I think”, as a sort of parallel to Metal regularly starting statements with “but”. Those who don’t know him might wrongly assume that this, paired with the fact he rarely speaks above something comparable to a whisper, means he’s not very assertive/sure of himself. Not the case, he’s just naturally very quiet. To hear him use his whole chest to speak is unusual, and to hear him shout is downright shocking.

He rests his hand on his forehead to self-soothe, as leaning it against Maria was something he would regularly do when cuddling with her back then. As a direct consequence of this, he does not allow people to touch his head without warning, but pushing his forehead into someone's chest/shoulder is often something he does automatically if someone hugs him, so it's an "on my terms only" kind of thing.

This is very much canon. She/her feels like he’d be stepping on toes (that’s for Maria, not him), they/them doesn’t quite feel right, and neo pronouns are not for him. So, using he/him really is just for the sake of convenience. It’s not quite right, but being referred to that way doesn’t bother him either, so there’s really nothing else for it. That’s just how it is.

The more exploring and such he does, the less sensitive his paw pads get. That eventually leads to wearing half-gloves instead.

He currently lives in a place that looks an awful lot like space. The house is shared with Metal, and has two stories. Upstairs is where his study/bedroom technically are, but he rarely goes up there to do anything but write. A majority of his time is spent downstairs, either cooking or napping. Who needs a proper bed when he has a comically oversized blanket to make a nest out of? (This blanket is eventually torn beyond reasonable repair. While it's replaced with another of similar size, the original is eventually tailored into a jacket.)

Re: this, it directly lends to what I was getting at in this post. There will come a day where he’s so much more “Maria” than himself that he practically drops everything and has to find a more earth-looking [second] home. He will keep and take care of this place even after the “Maria day” passes. I expect this location to be mostly rural—he wants to appreciate nature, its sounds, weather, and things like sunrise/sunsets unhindered, but not so much that he’s fully isolated. Maybe on the outskirts of a smaller town, but still within walking distance of it so he can check in and people-watch or window shop, things like that.

Relatedly, his relationship with his own age is complicated at best. He's neither adult nor child. (There is no argument to be made about how mentally mature he is otherwise. No matter how you spin it, he is still a minor. Arguments about that are not tolerated here.)

The rest of the points are arguably less general and more “Shadow regularly gets himself into trouble: the series” and delves into things like his regeneration ability/biology in relation to the Black Arms/etc, so I’m stuffing ‘em under the cut. Nothing particularly gory or anything like that, just a general courtesy in case people don’t want to read about that rougher/more scientific aspect of his character.

Shortly after his revival, he (safely) gave himself over to trusted scientists. For a few months, he underwent a gauntlet of tests/scans/etc in hopes they would help him find a cure for the illness Maria suffered. Some of these scans were painful despite what he thought was a high pain tolerance, which came as a surprise to him. This is relevant for most of the upcoming points.

Most controversial take: he finds guns boring. Primarily in the sense of what’s being used against him as a weapon, though. Bullets will not stop him. If you want him to stop moving, you’re going to have to lop something clean off, then flip a coin. Heads he stops, tails he’s too hyped up on adrenaline/chaos energy and will still wreck the antagonist’s shit.

Needless to say, his relationship with pain/injury is a bit weird, to the point of being distressingly casual about it. He can recover from just about any damage within reason; so far, he can and has regenerated an entire arm before (with help from an Emerald). Pain and dangerous situations that might inflict damage do not scare him.

His tolerance for pain is another matter entirely, though. In some twisted kind of way, once he realized he does in fact have a limit/pain threshold (e.g., the scans, and a particular other few events, even before the arm loss), he almost started getting more reckless to challenge and raise that threshold. His pain tolerance is already pretty high, so the fact there still exists situations in which damage exceeds that tolerance is almost like a thrill/challenge. He won’t go out of his way to or purposely hurt himself, but if the dangerous situation he’s half-intentionally placed himself in causes an accident or something, then so be it. The more experience he gains, the less likely he's going to be stunlocked by pain when stakes are high.

If he’s left to his own devices for too long, he gets restless. Being restless leads to getting himself into Situations (e.g., the above points, and also kind of like this.) Basically his impulse control just plummets. That’s where races or spars with Metal might eventually come in later. He can only stand being serene and mild-mannered for so long. There is still Black Arms blood in him; it's where he gets his otherwise well-hidden temper/competitiveness/etc. Playing rough with Metal, who has a similar “so what if I lose an arm, it can be repaired” outlook, is a good way to safely manage and expend that energy when it starts to drive him a bit stir-crazy.

Speaking of blood, his is not green. The chaos energy overrides the Black Arms’ blood color, so instead his glows bright gold in the first few seconds it’s exposed to air, and then gradually dulls down into a near-black.

In the event he’s injured, the spots being healed/regenerated come back a bit paler, not unlike a scar (the fur, too, is a bit finer). Eventually his fur evens back out to the usual black, but is a bit longer around the edges of where the injury was for a little while after/to the point he might have to manually trim it. Also tends to keep souvenirs of sorts when he gets into Situations. (General sketch page mulling over all of this. I'm still not 100% sure about the 'his fur eventually goes back to its normal color' thing; he may just Stay Like That with the paler patches/missing quills/etc like regular scars, but until I decide for sure, I'm just operating under the assumption this is not the case.)

He's essentially a highly efficient energy burner. Food/water just gets converted into pure chaos energy. Nothing is wasted; frankly his anatomy doesn't even allow for it.

In the same vein, he can go a few days without food/water, but it'll take a lot to replenish his energy stores. It's typical for him to go into an almost coma-like sleep for a few days to recover from critical injuries (not unlike in Sonic Battle). Outside of that, if he doesn't replenish his chaos energy quickly enough, he stays lethargic/fatigued for about a week.

He is biologically incapable of contracting illnesses (the Metal Virus would still, hypothetically, be an exception), and cannot be poisoned. Whether it's inhaled/ingested, he'd just cough or spit it back out without it taking effect. Similarly, he doesn't experience typical nausea outside of extreme fatigue/pain, so it's one of the few things he knows of due to his time with Maria, but can't really empathize with.

When tired, he's more Creature than not. There's a lot more little squeaks/chirps/huffs and whatnot that you'd expect from a typical hedgehog. This is especially true when he's already asleep/recovering. If he's cradled or hugged for an extended period of time, he will start to purr in a way more comparable to a bear cub than cat. It's so faint it's more felt than heard, and can otherwise only be heard by the person actively holding him.

#second chance au #second chance highlight #shadow the hedgehog #& co #sea talks #occasionally you'll see me still drawing him with the paler patches #it's not a continuity error or anything #don't worry about it #other than that there may be a few miscellaneous things missing #but i suppose little tidbits like that are just a bonus for following me #[for legal reasons this is a joke] #tumblr immediately freaks any time i try to reformat these big posts so i am once again apologizing i couldn't make it less of a text brick #i just want to add line breaks between the bullet points...!! and then it refuses to save! #every time!!

[fenharel-apologist94]

WIP Whenever

I was tagged by @idolsgf for WIP Wednesday and while I did miss Wednesday, I have a degree in philosophy and I'm not afraid to use it to say time isn't real :3 Anyway, tysm for the tag! I'll add an actual writing piece at the end, but some of what I've been up to involved stuff that doesn't produce a "work", per se, but it's all part of the process!

I think most of everyone who I would tag has been tagged by someone else, so I'll leave this as an open tag to anyone who wants to do it for today :)

What's Icy been doing???

Organizing

With suspicion of Google Docs growing, I figured it was time for me to consider an alternative. I'd been thinking of it anyway and so this was a lil nudge for me to make the switch to Scrivener! After the initial mass export, I've been spending some time getting oriented to Scrivener and organizing all my documents and notes. I am absolutely enamored with Scrivener so far!!

Planning

While writing NADAF, I learned a lot - and as a result, one of the things I want to get better at is plotting/planning my fics. NADAF helped me really fall in love with writing as a hobby, not just in the actual putting-words-together writing but in the thought process behind it as well. What will these characters struggle with? How will their histories and personalities affect the story? What do I want to tell my readers, and how? So I've been having some fun thinking through those things for Tea Leaves and Sweet Dreams, as well as NADAF's future sequel, Yet Another Dragon Age Fanfic.

Writing

The last part of NADAF is underway!! I'm trying to get what I can written but its slow-going. I also may have gotten derailed by Tea Leaves and Sweet Dream again cause ya girl's got shit to process and this is how we do it. What can I say, I needed a bit a fluff (and a bit of angst) in my life. So below the cut is a sneak peak of Chapter 6: Honey Chamomile (pt. 2)!

TLSD fic summary:

There are four things Kieran knows about Solas: (1) He’s Professor Flemeth’s infamously irritable and reclusive TA, and tears his essays to shreds (2) He’s Kieran’s new labmate in one of the most difficult academic programs in Ferelden, under the supervision of one of the most mysterious professors alive (3) Solas hates point (2) (4) Solas hates tea When Solas makes his distain for Kieran clear, Kieran decides to fight fire with tea. Will Solas survive this tea war? Will Kieran find the one tea Solas can tolerate? Is there more brewing beneath the surface that neither of them want to confront? (The answer is yes.)

He’s probably going to stay in the room, Kieran repeated firmly to himself. He glared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. You need to get a grip.

Unfortunately, the rim of the sink seemed to be the only thing he could get a grip on. His heart hadn’t slowed from the moment he left Solas sitting on his bed, and Kieran couldn’t shake the sense that this was going to be a long night.

He caught sight of the bedraggled state of his ponytail and grimaced self-consciously. Creators, he was a mess. He was halfway through fixing it when he caught himself. Who was he trying to impress? Solas?

As if, he snorted to himself, dropping his hands. He was in his pajamas, for crying out loud. There was very little appeal to be found in his gray t-shirt and navy, ‘Denerim U’-emblazoned pajama bottoms. That is, if he were trying to impress anyone. Which he wasn’t.

He quickly redid his ponytail into something a little neater before he could think too hard about it. It couldn’t hurt.

Once Kieran felt reasonably adequate in his appearance, he took one last, steadying breath before venturing towards the kitchen. As he drew closer, the sound of laughter greeted him alongside the tempting scent of warm pizza. Was that... Solas laughing? Kieran squinted. There was no way such a carefree sound was coming from someone so chronically solemn. Skeptical, he rounded the corner into the kitchen.

#thanks for bearing with me #i know its not super interesting but thats how the cookie crumbles sometimes :) #wip whenever #icy does a ramble #not another dragon age fanfic #nadaf #tea leaves and sweet dreams #tlsd fanfic #kieran lavellan #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction

[todoscript]

how he would ask you out

request: pls some headcanons of how the boys (shinsou/tamaki/shouto) would ask the girl they like out 🥺

characters: shinsou hitoshi, amajiki tamaki, todoroki shouto

genre: fluff

word count: 3.3k+ total, 900-1200 per character

tags: pining, confessions, fem!reader

author’s notes: sorry if this sounds rushed?? i can’t write 

copyright 2021 todoscript, all rights reserved. i do not allow my creations to be published or translated anywhere else.

SHINSOU HITOSHI

two years after his enrollment into the hero course, shinsou had finally came to terms with the feelings he’s been holding for you for quite some time now.

what began as just friendly encounters and kind gestures felt like something more to him. after all, you were one of the key people that led him to transition smoothly into the class, with your helpful demeanor and coming to his aid whenever he was stressed and troubled by the new environment.

you went out of your way to organize study sessions and small arrangements to mingle and get to know the other students better.

you reiterated to him that if he ever had any questions about anything, he could always come to you.

initially, shinsou thought he was being a burden—that he was just heavy baggage that tied you down.

however, you assured he was anything but, and stated that you were more than happy to help him, even going to say you enjoyed spending time and getting to learn more about him.

at your response, shinsou was appalled at how genuine you were.

appalled… but also very grateful.

eventually, there came a point when he realized there was no mistaking the affection he felt for you—not when he subconsciously noted every one of your habits and intricacies, able to tell whatever emotions were running through you at a simple glance, or when he would stop to admire the way you decided to style your hair differently or changed your look, thinking you seemed even more charming that day by the confidence you exude.

no, at that point, he’s sure it was painfully obvious. so obvious, in fact, that kaminari and mina had chosen to skip today’s group study session in favor of letting the two of you have your “alone time”. whatever that could mean.

shinsou had grimaced over their excuse of “being too busy that day” when you had told him the reasoning they gave you over text, despite knowing their next exam was only a couple days away. recalling just how nosy and enthusiastic they could get when involved in these kinds of affairs, he had an inkling of what exactly those two were planning. you, on the other hand, seemed completely oblivious to their schemes.

however, what did latch onto your mind was the thought of spending the day with only shinsou, in his very room, sitting across from each other with your textbooks open in front of you. though you should be more attentive to your studies, you couldn’t help the palpitations beating loudly in your chest and your wandering eyes that snuck glances at him after every question you answered.

unbeknownst to you, shinsou mirrored your actions all the same, reciprocating the flustered behavior, albeit a bit more subtly.

keep calm, hitoshi. why are you getting all worked up? he would say to himself, putting on his usual facade.

although he came off as relatively calm and collected on the outside, it’s difficult to keep his emotions in check when actions never lie.

that was especially true as he reached his hand out for the eraser you two were sharing between each other. with his eyes continuing to gander down at his notes, he hadn’t noticed that you were lunging for the same thing—not until your fingers had suddenly touched and you both pulled away at a speed equivalent to making contact with fire.

his stare unfaltering, shinsou was surprised to discern the embarrassed look on your face that immediately fixed itself as you rummaged through your pencil pouch. a second later, you pulled out another eraser, one that was notably smaller than the one you were sharing.

“um.. i’ll just use this,” you offered, and shinsou rubbed the back of his neck, the whole situation more awkward than it needed to be considering you never had any trouble sharing your supplies with each other before.

through some examination of your demeanor, shinsou had made a… bold enough claim, thinking that maybe—just maybe—you held the same kind of affections for him as he did for you.

it’s like he recalled earlier—actions never lie—and shinsou didn’t let the quiver of your lips or the intense concentration at your work to avoid meeting his gaze go past his head. that’s what spurred him to finally act on his desires.

without warning, he leaned forward on his seat to lay his hand over yours that caught your attention. you met his eyes, astonished to say the least, but more so concerned by how your eyes widened before you were about to open your mouth to ask him what was wrong.

the violet-haired male beats you to your words, voice resonating firmly, “y/n.”

you blinked. “y-yeah..?”

“i know this might be a bit late coming from me, but,” you could feel his hand tighten atop yours, “after exams, do you want to catch a movie together? just the two of us?”

shinsou fought the urge to look away, bashful at how he made his declaration for your time. the warmth surging under his skin was alleviated at the smile that slowly curled on your lips as you rotate your wrist, your palm touching his. the expression washing over your features told him you’ve been waiting for him to ask you this for a while now.

“i’d love to.”

AMAJIKI TAMAKI

ever a shy and introverted individual, tamaki has never had the heart to ask you out despite years of harboring a crush on you.

every time the thought had crossed his mind, he’d reason poorly with himself that you wouldn’t be interested in him in that way.

it didn’t help that his low self-esteem only deepened that thought that had now rooted itself in his brain.

at such a prestigious school like u.a., you were bound to find someone far more compelling than him—someone with guts, confidence, and great social skills. not a guy like him who conjures the image of potatoes at every anxiety-inducing encounter he comes across.

he was relieved enough to settle himself comfortably as just your friend—a title that allowed him to stay close and keep within your circle, all the while subjecting him to simply admiring you from afar.

but his eyes that held a hidden longing for more weren’t overlooked by a fellow student of his. or to be precise, the ever curious and free-spirited, hadou nejire.

always aware of his surroundings, it was hard not to notice that peculiar stare she’d aim at him during moments where he might’ve just finished speaking to you, or when you’d pass by and his head would naturally drift in your direction.

it was like she was picking apart every detail laid on him and it made tamaki absolutely restless.

tamaki’s suspicions and anxiety were later raised during one instance at the lunch table. he was at his usual seat next to his other big three companions, mirio and the aforementioned nejire, who was eyeing him with a gleam in her eye.

even with his self-consciousness, tamaki did his best not to pay any mind to the undesired attention and munched on his plate of takoyaki—the octopus nestled in the batter sure to come in handy later in training that day.

to his dismay, you passed by their table with your tray of food in hand, and nejire did not waste any time calling you over in that cheery tone of hers.

she invited you to sit down with them. you gave her invitation some thought before ultimately placing yourself in the free spot next to mirio, with nejire and tamaki already seated across from you.

the girl was all smiles and hums while tamaki was in a state of distress, both at his friend’s odd behavior, which was starting to spell trouble, to having you pulled into all of this. mirio was just being mirio, welcoming as always.

you greeted everyone at the table, making eye contact with mirio and nejire, but tamaki evaded your line of sight. he simply waved his reply without breaking away from his balls of takoyaki.

luckily for him, you didn’t give his lack of words much thought and started digging into your own lunch. it was then that nejire found it appropriate to start up a conversation.

“y’know, y/n, i’ve been meaning to ask you this, from one girl to another,” she mused, finger waving around playfully, “are you interested in anyone here?”

upon hearing her question, tamaki almost choked on his bonito flakes, his cheeks puffed and eyes blown. meanwhile, your chewing slowed as you gave your answer some thought.

“uh… well–”

“i’d say fujita from class d is quite the looker! think you’d be interested in them?”

after swallowing the food in his mouth, tamaki began to subconsciously listen in on the conversation. he paid close attention to your responses with bated breath, a small part of him anticipating your answer highly.

“fujita’s nice and all, but i don’t think we’d really get along as a couple.”

tamaki mentally sighed, relief evident all over his face. it was then that mirio had started fitting the pieces together after watching his close friend’s brow wrinkle throughout the entire exchange before finally relaxing at your words. crossing his eyes with nejire’s only confirmed his suspicions as the girl sent him a wink.

as a friend, mirio wasn’t about to let nejire’s operations fall flat. getting up from his seat, he motioned tamaki to come with him.

“i heard they have extra yakisoba bread right now! we should go check it out!” he said as a guise to give the other two time to themselves, free from tamaki’s prying ears.

unaware that mirio had caught on so quickly, tamaki didn’t object to tagging along with him. mostly because he thought of this as an opportunity to get some fresh air and calm his racing heart, finally feeling the effects of the blood rushing to his face.

with tamaki supposedly out of earshot, nejire was free to go about her questions however she wanted.

“okay then, if not fujita, then who? there has to be someone, right?” the girl scooted further in her seat out of pure curiosity. “tell me, is it perhaps someone in our class?”

it was your turn to be stricken by her boldness. you tried picking at your food, stuffing it into your mouth to avoid answering, but nejire’s tenacity outmatched you.

finishing your lunch, you opened your mouth to speak, “actually, the person i’m interested in is pretty close to you…”

nejire feigned ignorance, innocently placing a finger under her chin. “who? mirio?”

“ah no, it’s tamaki, alright?!” you ended up blurting, voice hushed but frantic.

bingo. hearing exactly what she wanted, nejire returned to her original position, a triumphant grin plastered on her lips. replaying what you said out loud in your head, you buried your warm face in your hands.

unbeknownst to you, tamaki had ended up hearing the whole exchange around the corner coming back to their table as mirio lightly snickered at his revelation of an expression.

the blond patted his shoulder. “go on then, you know what to do.” he threw tamaki an encouraging thumbs-up.

the boy gulped in response before inhaling a deep breath of air to prepare himself for what would arguably be the most important yet stress-inducing moment of his life so far.

noticing you getting up to discard your tray, tamaki—through a final push from mirio—went to make his move.

hearing him suddenly call out to you, you were caught off-guard. after admitting to your crush on tamaki to nejire, you felt your cheeks get hot just seeing his face right afterward.

“oh hey, did you get your hands on those yakisoba breads?” you scraped up a way to start the conversation.

“right... that… mirio managed to get the last one in the cafeteria,” he answered. then he brought his hand to rub his elbow, fidgeting in his spot as he found it difficult to look you in the eyes again.

“tamaki? something wrong? are you upset that he got the last yakisoba bread?”

he shook his head. “no, i… it’s just… i’ve been meaning to ask you this for a long time now, but never had the courage to say it to you because i didn’t think you ever liked me that way. but…” he finally mustered the determination to face you head-on. “would you go out with me, y/n?”

at first, you were speechless—absent of words as you relayed his request in your mind over and over again. then, your eyes softened, lips easing into a smile as you reached out for his hand.

“i thought you’d never ask.”

TODOROKI SHOUTO

it’s no surprise to many that when it came to asking someone out, todoroki didn’t exactly know the first thing to do.

mostly because he’s never asked anyone out to begin with.

you were the first person he’s ever felt these kinds of emotions for, and to be frank, he wasn’t sure what to make of everything that had been going through him when that root of infatuation had started to bloom inside him.

rather than sulk or contemplate on his thoughts for too long, he surmised it was best to simply come clean and ask for advice.

but when he confessed to what had been on his mind lately, he wasn’t expecting such a vigorous response from his friends.

“i’ve been thinking about asking y/n out.”

there was a layer of uncomfortable silence amongst the group before all hell eventually broke loose.

midoriya, uraraka, and iida immediately sprung from their seats in the common room, yelling “what?!” in unison. tsuyu and her frog-like mannerisms were more idle, but still surprised nonetheless.

todoroki was unfazed by their reactions, actually expecting it to go that way considering he’s never brought up any topics of that nature before. at the very least, he’s thankful he decided to say this when it was just the five of them. compared to what the whole class’s reaction would have been like, this was incredibly tame.

todoroki was used to always listening to what others had to say and never being the subject of the conversation when it came to dating.

but now things were different. he was openly admitting to them that he was regarding someone romantically. that he possibly sought a relationship with this someone—wanting to be committed to them and become the very best person he could be right next to them. to the four, this was coming completely out of left field.

after everyone simmered down and let the news sink in, the dual-haired boy resumed his thought,

“but i’m not sure how to do it.”

though the entirety of the group never had any experiences when it came to dating, they knew enough from media and pop culture to get an idea on how to help him. more than todoroki could imagine on his own anyway.

“i know! how about we go with the romantic and suave approach!” uraraka suggested. the rest asked her to elaborate.

“it’s simple! it starts by you leaving a note on her desk right before class, saying to meet you on the rooftop of the school! before the designated time, you should wait there for her with a bouquet of flowers, and then when she arrives, confess your feelings and ask her out!”

midoriya rubbed a finger against his cheek, skeptical. “i don’t think that sounds as simple as you’re making it out to be.”

tsuyu chimed in beside him. “those kinds of ideas usually only work well in books, ochako.”

pursing her lips, uraraka gave her plan a once-over, and realized it did seem a bit more involved and out of character than what todoroki was used to.

despite sharing a few more ideas with one another, they couldn’t narrow it down to any perfect one.

that was when iida clapped his hand, bringing everyone’s attention to him.

“alright, i think we’re starting to blow this whole ‘operation’ way out of proportion,” he said.

“if you’re honest about the way you feel about her and show it sincerely, i’m sure she’ll consider your feelings. you don’t have to do anything extravagant when it comes to asking someone out.”

listening throughout every word, todoroki nodded. meanwhile the other three were astonished that their class representative could be so whimsical when it came to romance, which in turn, iida was conflicted by. however, at the very least he was glad they could help out a friend. and so, todoroki went about his day with their discussion in mind.

he found that in many occurrences, whenever he crossed by you and thought of it as a chance to ask you out, there would always be someone to come in and take your time away. leaving him to stand there awkwardly before dismissing the fated question for later.

eventually, the sky dimmed and evening arrived, and by then, the whole class was already back at their dormitory and about to have dinner.

through some rather convenient circumstances, you two were actually assigned on kitchen duty that night.

“it’s been getting pretty cold lately so i was thinking we should cook up a hot pot for everyone.” you gave your idea to him as you pulled out some ingredients from the fridge, waiting for his reply, but it came a few seconds later than you were expecting.

“right. sounds like a good idea,” todoroki answered a tad late. upon realizing it was only going to be the two of you making dinner tonight, his mind was occupied by what he and his friends spoke about earlier.

that was when he started overthinking the situation and absentmindedly half-assed his work.

“todoroki, the cut on the tofu is slightly uneven.” you reviewed his cutting board. looking down, he saw the inconsistent slices of tofu limp in front of him. if bakugou were the executive chef for the evening, he would’ve had to hear an earful from him.

“sorry…” he apologized quietly, reaching out for another cube of tofu to cut.

“is everything okay? i know you’re still learning how to cook, but i’ve seen you show some significant improvement on your knife skills recently.” you voiced your concern for him.

the white and red-haired boy stared at the white bean curd while hearing your worried tone and couldn’t find it within himself to continue the task. it was now or never he thought. he laid the knife flat on the cutting board.

“actually, i wanted to ask you something.” he turned toward you. “do you… want to go out with me?”

nothing but the sound of the fire running on the stove could be heard in the kitchen. todoroki didn’t move his eyes away from you, watching you nearly drop the plate of siu choy and shiitake mushrooms out of shock as your mouth was hanging open.

when you caught onto your bearings, you let out a small laugh. “oh… i… wasn’t expecting that,” you admitted honestly, placing the ingredients on the counter safely.

the boy furrowed his brows. “is that a no?”

“n-no! i mean that isn’t my answer! i–” you fumbled with your words, cheeks warming up now that his confession had finally sunk in. in the meantime, todoroki found your reaction quite amusing. the corner of his lip quirked into a grin.

“what i mean to say is that yes, i’d love to go out with you.” you accepted the offer wholeheartedly. todoroki would be lying if his heart wasn’t throbbing from anticipation. he’s glad he’s able to rest and put that aside.

“now let’s continue making this hot pot together!” you cheered, smiling widely and he found comfort in your words before resuming slicing the tofu.

#bnha x reader #bnha imagine #bnha headcanons #shinsou x reader #shinso x reader #tamaki x reader #todoroki x reader #mha x reader #bnha scenarios #mha headcanons #shinsou hitoshi x reader #tamaki amajiki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #bnha x y/n

[scuttling]

Long Time Coming

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

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

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

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

The new suit further complicates things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me help you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you really mean that?”

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

Oh fucking fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your dreams and fantasies did not do it justice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #prompt

[lilyrachelcassidy]

Birthday Cake

A/N: Suprise folks!!! *me laughing maniacally* The whole scenery for this fic somehow appeared in my head and I just COULDN’T let it slip away, so... My biggest inspo for that was @drawlfoy!! Remember her posting the fic where Draco and Reader work at McDonald’s and are total suckers in their job (arguing with the customers; preparing wrong orders; etc.)? Dee unfortunately, deleted this precious, but it’s stuck to my head ever since (lol lol, it’s the moment where Dee wants to get rid of something, but I kindly remind everyone it existed). Therefore I present to you the next Draco x Reader fic related to our fav fast-food rest. This time, however, they’re not working at the same workplace but... I'm going to stop here cuz I don't want to spoiler :P

**The second thing that triggered me to write this fic is the YouTube video I recently saw with a lady who orders the 'specials' appearing to be out of the menu list of McDonald’s, through the Drive-Through. She asked for a birthday cake, was laughed at a few times, but eventually got what she wanted. Applause for the attitude!!

About the fic (context, my bitches): ofc it’s the modern AU, non-magical world. Draco’s the worst boyfriend ever but always manages to turn things into their righteous place. 

Summary: The birthday is upcoming, and Draco is in a rush to think up an idea for a perfect gift. His ingenuity fails, however, and leaves Y/N very unsatisfied with a disaster that has been forged. 

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: my brain playing a total psycho, language, alcohol, sexual undertones/allusions to sex, Pansy being too much of her self... deal...

Tags: @drawlfoy @eltanin-malfoy

Such an unrestrained desire to strangle somebody you hadn't felt in a long time.

Really.

Today was your birthday, which you had been widely announcing for almost a whole month to people you might have accidentally forgotten about it. Having your boyfriend, Draco, on your mind in particular.

You doubted he would have the guts to omit your big day, though as repeatedly as he had done for a few years back. But something between foresight and the second sense of prevention told you to keep reminding him every day of the upcoming event, with a heap of birthday-themed emojis and uppercases in the messages.

Everything was planned out in your head: him picking you up from your house with the sharp-red cabriolet that he used only for special occasions; him driving the two of you to the fanciest restaurant he could find in town; him bestowing you with a nice-looking, golden necklace or a different piece of jewelry you had been suggestively pointing out in the store's exhibition; him booking up a hotel room for you two to celebrate.

Either way, that was much beyond your expectations, as it turned out. And now you were sitting in the front yard of your house, waiting for him to show up.

'If he was going to at all.' This thought invaded your mind for the last hour, try as might to subdue it. An hour you had been sitting tight, hoping it was only a delay caused by a traffic jam or other irrational explanation he could come up with. But you were deceiving yourself, you eventually presumed -- you had been checking up your phone every one minute, only to see if any message notification popped up on the screen, other than birthday wishes from friends who actually cared for you.

2.02pm: Nothing.

2.03pm: Susan 'Happy birthday bitch!'

2.04pm: Instagram notif. (Someone liked your photo, which you had posted before leaving your room, posing in front of the mirror in the best cocktail dress you could find in the wardrobe.)

2.05pm: Nothing yet again.

2.06pm: Still... Peace and quiet.

"Fuck it...Enough," you muttered under your breath, an annoying disillusionment falling like a heavy mile stone on your chest. Tears suddenly started sprinkling in your eyes at the regret, and you were very reluctant to admit that your friends were right -- Draco Malfoy was an egoistic, negligent, self-absorbed pri--

"Hi." You heard the raspy, panting voice says. "Sorry for the delay."

You blinked slowly, stupidly. You raised your head to assure yourself it was him. That his expression actually corresponded to his words and showed some kind of remorse for standing you up. But no... There he was: standing in front of you, plainly confident and unashamed, with his cocky smirk provoking you to slap him.

Oh, how much you craved to slap him right now. "Where to the fuck have you been?"

"I've tried to pick this up," he explained, simultaneously lifting up the paper bag he'd been carrying in his hand. The big, exclaiming letters 'McDonald's' with the brand's logo were printed on its exterior, and it was fully stuffed with something inside.

Not quite comprehending, you furrowed. You attempted to hide the venom in your voice, but somehow it found its way to leak out. "Couldn't you do that in advance?"

"Nope..." It was his turn to furrow, looking almost shocked with the question. And thanks to all those years of your relationship, you knew it was his piss-poor estimation of time taking over. "It was a last-minute surprise."

"Sounds like it," you commented irritably. "What's that?"

"Your birthday present, sunshine," he drawled happily, ignoring your remark. He sounded positively delighted and satisfied with himself at surprising you with that because he saw a slight crease of shock painting on your forehead. "Here you go."

You took his deposit out of his grasp, still quite unsure. What if his gift would only make a situation worse? Can it get any worse with Draco's total lack of tact? Yes. But it was only one way to find out.

Without even stealing a second glance at him, you ripped off all of the packaging that had been folded around, protecting the contents. You tried to do it carefully and without any impact of emotions revealing the way you felt inside, but your hands were shaking with rage, and you couldn't quite contain yourself. You had been highly aware you shouldn't have expected much from him, but still...

You wondered if the universe was playing against you.

There was a moment of tense silence as you struggled to deal with all the wrappings. Rather unfortunately, you wished you hadn't put so much effort in opening your so-called 'gift' because as you finally did, it only angered you more, seeing as the disappointment laughs at your face. And yes, as a matter of fact, the universe was against you today...

"Are you kidding me?" you asked in disbelief, fury reappearing in your eyes. "A birthday cake?! From McDonald's?" Ugly, little cake with the creepiest smiley face of a clown. It wasn't even fresh, you realized, when you smelled it and felt a musty reek of a freezer, it probably had been kept in. A confusing sense of sadness in your chest couldn't reach any higher at this point.

"Don't you like it?" he asked, detecting the wrath in your eyes. At that, you felt the dumbest urge to laugh and never stop. "I thought it'd be something original."

"Oh, I love it," you said sarcastically, a faint voice of hope telling you it was only a very bad joke was still lingering in your head. But it wasn't a joke.

"It's not just--" He struggled to form a coherent sentence. "I've been asking Blaise and Theo about any ideas. I told them, what you had said to me -- 'you didn't want anything fancy.' So we decided it's... something."

"Of course I didn't tell you I want anything, you dolt!" Your voice raised up almost two octaves, and the pulse sped up so fast it entailed a headache along. A neighbor from the opposite garden who was watering the flowers looked at you, startled, and eyes widened your exasperated tone. You didn’t care. "It's how it works: you don't tell other people you expect them to buy something!"

"But I'm your boyfriend. You shouldn't -- er-- feel uncomfortable to tell..."

"Exactly! As my boyfriend, you should have known!"

"Well... I didn't. If that's what's bothering you, we can...we can..."

"Stop." Listening to him and his pathetic excuses was the last thing you were going to do now. "What – why would you even – " You sputtered out, unable to process or express exactly what you were feeling. There was definitely anger and indignation. Curiosity, for another, as to why Draco would even fall for such foolish and ill-considered idea, and -- to the top of it -- hope it would make a good fit. And possibly, the last and most satisfying part, was the wicked impulse to throw the cake directly into his arrogant face, letting him taste his own medicine he had been serving you for years on each failed birthday.

"You know, for once, you could pay more effort and try doing something nice for me," you told him firmly, deflating to calm down your buzzing nerves.

"I've been tr--"

"Do you realize how much it costs me to pretend to be happy when you forget about me? Last year, I organized a big-ass party for your birthday, inviting over all of your friends and buying the best booze I could find to celebrate it properly," you said harshly and pretentiously, as you intended. "The best part is, you didn't even thank me." You stared at him, wringing your hands and expecting to perceive any trope of shame in his eyes. For the first time, you actually did.  

"Listen, about that--" he calmly attempted to cut off your monologue.

"No, you listen..." Did you really want what was upcoming next? Maybe it was about time. "Today, I decided I'm standing up for myself. So, for the last time, get out from my porch."

He bristled, the thunderstruck air hanging around him. "Because of the stupid cake?"

"What?! No! It's just... I feel like you don't give a damn about me anymore." Gulp formed in your throat, and the tears finally left your eyes at the consciousness of what was happening. "I think we both deserve some time."

Your eyes moved to his, and you almost wished you hadn't looked. He was watching you, with pursed lips and a pure mixture of every emotion: anger, sadness, resentment, pretension, dejection. The faintest of his flustered blushes appeared on his cheeks, and you suddenly wished you could hug him. "So you are putting us..." His finger pointed at him and you as if expecting clarification. "...on a break? Is that what it is?"

You were truly torn, to be honest. Becoming single on your birthday was the last wish you had for this day, but you felt a strong sense of adequacy and pride for building up the boundaries of tolerance. Besides, seeing as it was heading nowhere, it was only a matter of time that your relationship came to an end.  

Although, it hurt. A lot. "Yes."

You darted your eyes from him, not wanting to study his reaction in case it caused you to meltdown and jump to his embrace, apologizing endlessly for your words. You loved him. But you didn't regret what you had just said.

Something like a dry chuckle of disbelief escaped out of his mouth. "Is that what you really want?"

'No,' your thoughts prompted you instantly before you could even contemplate. 'I want you to say so many things you're never willing to say. But you don't know.'

So instead, you lied: "Yes."

All expressed, you spun around without peeking back and rushed into your room, already knowing there was no more sense in strives to make this day any better; all of it would bring only bad associations. It would be depressing, even more than it already was.

God, was it how the break-up pained? Because if so, you wanted to be deceased. The world spun suddenly, and you sank to your knees, shaking madly and doing your best to find your way back to your bed, located a few mere meters from you. Part of you felt numb, but your head was wide awake and alarming you that something in terms of a disaster had just happened. Because it did. The clutching in your chest was unbearable, and tears were dashing out of your eyes like a living waterfall, which made you bury your face in your hands. Never have you ever wanted to be so drunk before.

And so many questions rung up in your head at once.

Did you make a good decision? What if you are going to miss him, yet knowing you could never call? What about college -- are things about to get awkward?

No answers.

But you knew someone who would be able to reply to them.

With the blurred by tears vision, you struggled but managed to find your phone in the purse, and then clumsily scrolled through and tapped in your list of contacts before holding the phone to your ear.

Please answer, you begged. Please, please…

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" Pansy's voice roared from the other side of a line, as always, enthusiastic.

"Pansy." You tried to sound less brokenly than you were, feeling marginally worse at the reminder of your birthday. "Is Daphne around?"

"Ouch, you're a really nasty bitch sometimes, you know. I'm not goin' to point out today, but since you didn't let me end my wishes, I'll note that for the future reference." You were sure she was grinning at the teasing, seeing as much as she liked that. Normally, you wouldn't mind, but... "How--"

"Pansy, please..." you sobbed out, almost desperate to have someone to consult and share emotions with. Daphne -- contrary to Pansy, who could be very judgy sometimes -- was someone you had especially on mind now. "I need to talk to her."

You heard her sigh; the kind of sigh she used to either prove her resignation or concern. But, as much as it surprised you, she suppressed her curiosity and, without a second word, obediently handed the phone over to Daphne. At least, that's what you assumed because you heard a pause and subdued mutters in the background.

"Y/N?" the milder tone spoke up, and you felt suddenly very strange as if submerged in water of relief; relief to hear the familiar voice. That released you from keeping a distant attitude, and yet again, a sadness washed over you, triggering a loud wail to come out of your mouth. "Y/N, is everything alright?"

"No..." you sniveled, unable to collect yourself together. "I-I... We br-brok-e up."

"You and Draco?" Daphne asked, astonishment evident.

You nodded but then remembered she couldn't see you nor read your expression. So instead, you forced your vocal cords to work again. "Mhm..."

"What happened?"

Restoring the story in your brain again, you told her everything, still tearfully but much more coherently this time. You avoided the details, briefly skipping from one utterance to another, as your conversations had gone, and you were very much thankful she didn't press for more information about the prospect of the situation. If it hadn't been her sporadic gasps or loud inhales of breath, you would have almost presumed she wasn't listening. However, she was, and as soon turned out, Pansy was as well.

"That's bananas!" Pansy shouted somewhere from the back as you had ended, and despite your gloom, you giggled quietly at her comment.

"Shush," Daphne tried to silence her, covering up the fact she had put you on the speaker. You didn't mind because you knew Pansy, who would definitely expect Daphne to cite the whole conversation if needed. But knowing Daphne as well, you could bet she flushed more than she would want to at that point. "So it all started because of the cake?"

"And the delay," you added. "But it's not just about that, obviously. It feels like... he completely stopped caring. And I don't want to be stuck in a relationship where everything is about sex and having fun only. Draco wasn't looking for a commitment, which..."

"Sucks,"ended this time Pansy unhesitatingly, who wasn't now screaming from the other part of a room but openly participating in the discussion.

"Yeah," you agreed.

"As for me, I think he might love you more than you know, Y/N." It was Daphne talking again, and she sounded positively convinced about her view as for someone who had hardly exchanged any word with Draco for the past few years. As if reading your thoughts, she continued. "I've observed you a lot. I know he might seem unemotional, but it's you who discovered him. That must require a lot of trust, you know."

You contemplated, and some of the memories and images from your first encounter run across your brain, try as might to suppress it: spotting each other at the party; binging some whisky shots together; flirty teasing; the very masculine scent of cologne; and then... more spicy recollections -- eager lips pressing against each other; against each others' necks; against other parts of the body; stripping off the clothes in the passionate haste...

Receiving a long moment of silence, Daphne took a second chance and asked. "And what's with you? Do you want to end it?"

It felt like standing before the oracle of truth. Therefore, you couldn't deny it in front of yourself. "No."

"So what're you still doing there?" commented Pansy impatiently, and you could imagine her rolling the eyes. "Get out and find him!"

She was right. You will.

XOXOXOXO

"I thought I'd find you here..."

No. Actually, you didn't. 

You had tracked Draco's phone with your own one with some help of an app that, as the two of you had established still in the relationship, would be a good idea in case of an emergency. That in itself proved to be more than helpful, believing that your argument may be pinned as something in terms of an emergency, right?

So having access to his location, you had found out he was in the park where he had taken you on the first date, shortly after dinner, to watch the sunset that, as he had described, 'was a typical cliche from every romantic movie.'

But you had fallen for that. So much.

You hadn't been aware the place had actually some meaning for him until now, and that... God, that he had even remembered it. Time showed, however, that it indeed did, to which your heart reacted with a happy jolting. But also with a nasty sting of nostalgia following shortly after.

Yet, that only had encouraged you to make up your mind and go looking for him, which hadn't been such a difficult task per se. He was sitting on the bench, in the shade of a tree, and hiding his a little too delicate skin from the sun rays. As soon as he had heard your voice, his gray eyes flew up to see you standing a few meters away.

"What are you doing here?" was the immediate question that tumbled out of his mouth. He arched his eyebrow, and to your surprise, he didn't even look angry or sad with you. Nothing near the edge; actually, almost something like the amusement was painting on his face.

"Aren't you mad with me?" you asked intrigued, completely forgetting about his question.

He frowned. "Why would I be?" His tone was so mild that you weren't sure if he was referring to the double meaning; but then he smirked playfully and said, "Besides, I knew you were coming."

"Wha-- How?" you asked, eyes dilating a fraction, in shock.

He smirked, pointing at his phone in an explanatory manner. After a moment, you finally figured out what he meant: the app must have registered he had been tracked and that your phone was trying to find his. At this notice, you reacted with a wave of flush, suddenly regretting your previous lie. His smile only widened at your expression. "Wanna sit? It's plenty of room here."

"Mhm..." You nodded, pleased to accept his offer, and walked over to the bench, doing your best to hide the evident embarrassment on your face. You felt strange he had taken you with such ease, seeing as merely two or three hours ago, you had burst at him like a cram-full volcano of unspoken emotions.

Draco shifted a package from his side, making more space for you to sit, and it took you a moment to realize it was a McDonald's cake from earlier. Everything started from that -- a stupid, little piece of cake which stood up between...

You shook the thought away, taking a seat next to him, close enough to smell his sandalwood cologne. "You didn't answer my question," Draco reminded you. "What's so important to make you track my phone?"

"I'm sorry, okay?" You rounded your face to him, flustrated, leaning at the backrest of a bench. "That's why I came. I wanted to apologize."

"Oh... Couldn't you call?"

You sighed. "I figured you wouldn't want to talk to me after...you know... our quarrel," you said half-despondent, half-desperate, watching your feet as if it were the most interesting thing to peer at now. "I didn't mean what I said earlier."

"I know," he said. Out of nowhere, he was gently grasping your palms which forced you to look up directly into his intense gaze. His eyes were swirling like molten silver at you. "But I should be apologizing, love. I made a mistake, okay?" His hands traveled all across to your tense shoulders, squeezing them lightly. "I know I should be more... affectionate with you. And this was...dumb. A dumb mistake. With that cake. But I'll try to be better if you give it another shot."

He looked so serious that you instantly believed him. You wanted to actually, with all force of longing, which grew up too rapidly in you when he wasn't around. Draco was a fool, you could easily say. But he was your fool, which was a thing you couldn't be more proud of.

Peeking slowly in the other direction, you asked, out of the topic, "You remembered the place?"

"Of course," he puffed jokingly, smiling. "Our first date. Officially our place from then on."

"Right..." You smiled back.

Honestly, the mere fact that he had called this spot 'yours' warmed up your heart, and you felt yourself grinning at his never-before-discovered emotionality. To assure yourself you weren't the only one caring, it was all you needed to hear.

The whole moment was intense, and now, you realized, is when you should have hugged him. Kissed him. Said something back at his sincere endearment.

But instead, spotting plastic cutlery next to your 'gift', you asked, "So what's the taste of the birthday cake?"  

And you knew he had caught the subtext of your playful inquiry. And you knew that soon you would work things out again. But, as for now...

"I thought you would never ask."

XOXOXOXO

A/N: Looooooool. Such a drama-comedy, right? And I could easily say It feels like 50% Draco-x-Reader / 50% Draco-x-BirthdayCake... But whatever (2am is working like a drunken bud, folks). Happy beginning of August :)

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco x oc #draco x you #draco malfoy #harry potter #draco malfoy x hermione granger #draco malfoy x y/n #Draco Malfoy x OC #draco malfoy x you #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #draco malfoy imagine #hp fandom #hp #hp fanfic #modern au #draco malfoy one shot #pottermore #draco malfoy fanfiction #mcdonald's #who would have suspected i'm psycho #huh? #lol #lmao

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Chapter 3

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

A week passes, and her interaction with Agent Mulder fades into the recesses of her memory. She files it away under “times a cute guy hit on me,” alongside overly friendly waiters and optimistic students.

She and Ethan’s anniversary is coming up next week and she’s been grappling with the best gift to get him; something practical or indulgent? He is a prolifically thoughtful gift-giver and she feels pressure on each special occasion to select the perfect thing to give him, though the pressure comes only from herself. She’s contemplating this as she finishes up an autopsy, replacing the organs in the chest cavity and suturing up the Y-incision.

“Dana,” the pathologist about to come on shift calls out to her, “someone is asking for you.”

“I’ll just be about ten minutes, Trudy. Who is it?” she returns, gently settling the young woman’s liver back into her body.

Trudy shrugs. “Tall guy in a suit, cute, dark hair.”

She feels a flutter in her belly and then immediately chastises herself.

“Tell him I’ll be right there, please.”

She apologizes internally to the decedent as she rushes through the final steps, not taking quite as much care as she typically does.

After scrubbing her hands and fixing her hair, she steps into the hallway to find Agent Mulder sitting on a bench. His back is against the wall, his long legs crossed casually as he studies the art hung opposite him. He looks so composed and confident it unnerves her.

“Agent Mulder, what can I do for you?” she asks, forcing confidence she does not feel into her own voice.

The smile that lights up his face when he turns to look at her makes her flush, and she can feel the heat in her cheeks. Being unable to hide her emotional response behind her fair complexion has always been something she resents.

“Scully, good to see you. I wanted to follow up on the Dugan case, you said you were interested in understanding the motivation behind your autopsy findings,” he says as he stands and walks towards her, his tall frame looming above her such that she has to look up at his face. He stands close enough that she can smell his aftershave and see the stubble coming in on his cheeks.

“Oh, yes, I was curious about that,” she replies, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. Why does this man make her so nervous?

“If you’d like, you can meet with the lead behavioral analyst on the case. They can tell you how they drew parallels between the wound pattern you observed and the perpetrator profile,” he offers, a slight tilt to his head as his green eyes jump around her face as though he’s trying to commit it to memory.

“That would be great, thank you. You really didn’t have to do that,” she replies self-consciously, feeling as though she asked for something she shouldn’t have, even though she’d never requested this.

“Do you have time today?” he asks, lifting his wrist to glance at his watch. She knows it’s just past 4 pm.

“Um, yes, actually, I’m done with classes for the day and that was my last autopsy. I was just going to do paperwork for a bit, but I can defer it until tomorrow.”

A small smirk flashes on his mouth, but quickly disappears.

“Alright, why don’t you meet them at that cafe you mentioned in, say, thirty minutes?” he asks.

“Okay, that should work,” she replies, “what’s their name, so I can find them?” She should have just about enough time to change and get there by 4:30.

His eyebrows lift as though he just realized he forgot something, and he pauses before continuing.

“Uh, Fox. His name is Fox. I’ll describe you to him, he’ll find you.”

“Fox?” she asks dubiously, “is that a real name?”

He purses his lips. “Sadly, yes.”

“Alright, well, thank you, Agent Mulder. It was, um...it was good to see you again.” She extends her hand with her chin held high, trying to portray an air of professionalism and not one of a girl with a crush, which is how he makes her feel.

He takes her hand and smiles at her warmly, a little something coy behind his eyes.

“Likewise. I hope to see you again very soon,” he says confidently, and she feels her belly tumble yet again.

——————————————————————————

He stands in the hallway until Scully disappears into the staff locker room, then books it over to Cafe Adamo to get a quiet table in the corner. He’s not sure exactly what he’s after here; she has a boyfriend after all. He just hasn’t been able to get her out of his head all week. When the lead analyst on the Dugan case had a family emergency and needed to take leave, he jumped at the opportunity to take over the case, getting a little thrill from reading over her report and incorporating it into his profile. It felt as though they were creating something together.

He watches the clock, a pit in his belly as he wonders how she’ll react to learning that he tricked her into having coffee with him. He barely knows her, but gets the sense that she doesn’t take shit from anyone. That is, in fact, what draws him to her. Well, that and those plush pink lips. He hasn’t been this affected by anyone since he and Valerie split.

When the door swings open and she steps through in fitted jeans and a black T-shirt, he feels a wave of nausea. She’s even more beautiful in street clothes than she was in scrubs, her tiny waist curving up into a modest bustline. She scans the room and when her eyes fall on him, she quirks her head to the side and her eyebrows knit in confusion. His heart starts to pound and he stays glued to his seat, watching her traverse the room until she reaches him and gives him an expectant look.

He holds out his hand. “Fox Mulder,” he says with a guilty smile, and she lifts her chin before tucking it to her chest, taking his hand with a pensive expression.

“I see,” she says, her tone skeptical. It’s clear that she is unsure of his intentions.

“I am the lead behavioral analyst on this case, for the record. I am now, anyway,” he offers, and watches her doubt deepen. What the hell did he think was going to happen, catfishing an unavailable woman into a date? “Will you sit?” he asks hopefully, and she does, though he can tell by her posture that she is one wrong move away from fleeing the scene.

Someone comes by and takes their coffee order, and he sets his profile on the table, getting right to the reason he asked her here lest she think he’s completely full of shit.

“You noted that the victim was stabbed repeatedly in the exact same location, giving the appearance of one wound,” he explains, “we’ve seen something similar with the other victims, and at this time my theory is that the perp lost someone close to them in this manner, perhaps a family member or parent. I believe they’re re-creating the injury that killed their loved one, though because these crimes are so rage-fueled they feel compelled to injure the victim more extensively than just the one wound. The repeated stabbing in the same location provides an outlet for that rage while preserving the one-wound injury that is the cause of death.”

She reads over his profile with interest, nodding along as he speaks. “That’s very interesting,” she says, lifting her head to look at him, and he feels a swell of pride at her praise. “You had to trick me into getting coffee with you to tell me that?” she adds flatly, and now it’s him who is blushing.

She smiles victoriously at having made him uncomfortable, a bright, dazzling, toothy smile, and he’s overwhelmed by how attracted he is to her. He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again and just shrugs.

Their coffee is delivered and he watches intently as she licks at the foam on her cappuccino. Her blue irises dart up to meet his and he startles at having been caught, picking up his own cup and taking a big gulp that burns the roof of his mouth.

“Your name sounds very familiar,” she begins, “why do I feel like I’ve heard it before?”

“Uh, I had a bit of a reputation at one time,” he says with a regretful tone. “Are you familiar with the X files?”

Her eyebrows lift in surprise. “Spooky Mulder,” she says with realization, “that’s where I’ve heard your name.”

He grimaces. “Not my favorite nickname, but yes, guilty as charged.”

“But you’re in the BSU now? Not on the X files anymore? I’m surprised I’ve never seen you around Quantico,” she remarks, and he can see her relaxing a bit.

“No, the X files division was shut down a couple years ago. I was in the BSU before I reopened the X files, and transferred back after I was reassigned. I’m part of a small BSU team that works out of the Hoover building, so I’m not down here all that often these days.”

“Why was the X files division shut down?” she asks before licking more foam from the rim of her mug, and he shifts in his seat.

“Well, how much time do you have?” he asks with a shy smile, “it’s a long story.”

She returns his smile. “Not that much time. So you’re into aliens and all that paranormal stuff?”

“Well, let me ask you this, Scully,” he says, leaning in, “do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?”

She gives him an incredulous look, but answers. “Logically, I’d have to say no.” He nods and sits back, but she continues. “Given the distances needed to travel from the far reaches of space, the energy requirements would exceed a spacecraft’s capabilities…”

“Conventional wisdom,” he interrupts, “I just happen to disagree with it.”

“On what basis?” she asks, curious but not derisive, which is what he’s used to getting in response to his theories.

“If you’d seen what I’ve seen, Scully, you’d understand why I believe in such extreme possibilities.”

She tilts her head expectantly. “Do tell, Agent Mulder. Or should I call you Fox?” she asks with a haughty tone, though a playful one, and he blushes again.

“Please, it’s just Mulder. I even make my parents call me Mulder. I’m sure you can understand why with a first name like Fox.” She makes a face that says she can’t argue with that, and he continues. “I’ve seen things, Scully, things that defy all logic and can’t be explained by the laws of science. Repeat abductees, men who can stretch their bodies and travel through the slats of a heater vent, prehistoric monsters dwelling in the woods.” She’s giving him a doubtful expression, one eyebrow cocked suspiciously. He laughs a little. “I know I sound crazy, but it’s just crazy enough to be true. When convention and science offer us no answers, might we not finally turn to the fantastic as a plausibility?”

She screws up her mouth, politely suppressing the “you are certifiably nuts” expression that wants to present on her face. He’s used to it, and takes no offense.

“What I find fantastic, Mulder, is any notion that there are answers beyond the realm of science. The answers are there, you just have to know where to look,” she says in a tone that is both playful and sincere.

He smiles at her, sure he looks like a total dope. This conversation is more intellectually stimulating than any he’s had in months.

“You should come see the X files sometime, Scully. Tell me how you make scientific sense of what you see.”

“You have them?” she asks with wide eyes.

He shrugs guiltily. “I may have acquired a few on my way out.”

Her head dips lower in disbelief. “Is that allowed?”

“No, definitely not,” he answers with a chuckle. If only she knew the extent of his flaunting of bureau policy during his time on the X files.

She smiles at him in a way that he can only interpret as openly flirtatious, an acknowledgement that she finds his insubordinate behavior a little bit enticing. As suddenly as the smile appears, it vanishes and she checks her watch.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” she says as she stands.

“Right, you’ve got somebody waiting for you,” he says with a regretful tone.

She looks at him guiltily, then thanks him for the coffee and leaves. He sits there for a long while, staring at the door she exited through.

“Shit,” he says aloud to no one.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files #alternate universe #fanfiction

[rennybu]

hey man, so i've been wanting to start taking art commissions, but i have no clue where to start or how to advertise for myself or anything like that. do u got any tips u can lend 2 a newbie?

HMM!!! A COMPLEX ASK i will do my best to keep my answer concise! my first disclaimer is that my PayPal account is a business account, and I don't know how a personal account is different or if it lacks any of the features! my second disclaimer is that this stuff is hard and i'm constantly adjusting my own methods around organization and pricing! READ ON

For starting out, it's good if you have a fairly active following (amount of followers doesn't really matter, as long as a handful of folks are willing to engage with your posts and share them) - you can bring up your interest in taking on commissions, and see what the immediate interest is in your circle, and plan from there.

I got a lot of my following from DA fanart, and that helped when I first started. Most of my commissions starting out were portraits of Dragon Age OCs!! So it can be helpful for the advertising/awareness side of things if you have a small niche to fill!

For your first time taking commissions I would recommend sticking to what is most comfortable for you to draw. A limited selection (for example, only portraits with some colour or line options) is less overwhelming for someone to look at and choose from, and it helps to manage your own expectations of the workload. Put an emphasis on fun style stuff or techniques you enjoy using!!

Offer what you know you can reasonably do and feel proud of! And don't be shy charging more for things like backgrounds or things outside of your comfort zone, if a request for one comes up.

PLEASE go wild with all the relevant tags when you post your information! Commissions, commission info, character commissions, character art, art commissions, fantasy, portrait, fullbody, GO NUTS! its helpful to cover everything in the post if you're worried about your reach!

as well, you can link your commission information in the captions of your other art posts. It makes it a bit more accessible and obvious that you're open for commission work! AND DONT BE SHY TO SELF-REBLOG!! and if you have multiple social media accounts, share you information on all the ones you're active on.

it also helps to spend some time making your information and examples look neat. I Am Not A Graphic Designer so this part takes me hours/days because I'm picky, but I try to keep in mind things like legibility and eye strain and lay out my information in as accessible a way as possible. Also its fun to play with fonts

I still struggle with undercharging on my work, so I think a good way to consider your pricing is to think of what you would be willing to pay someone else for a similar amount of work. Nothing should be single digits. On your invoices, allow the option for customers to tip you. If you're just starting out and your prices are low out of self consciousness or uncertainty, someone who's excited to work with you or who enjoys your style may surprise you with a very generous tip!!! Tips in the past have helped me reevaluate my rates!! If you're a commissioner who regularly tips I'm kissing you on the forehead so so sweetly

PayPal does take a % and fee on every invoice BUT for archiving and organization its great. I would recommend looking up PayPal invoice tutorials for digital artists, and writing up a simple Terms of Service you can post with your commission info and attach to your invoices. (The TOS basically serves to say what people can or can't do with the art they buy from you, whether or not you do refunds, what the turnaround time is per commission, etc. the Professional Stuff)

um. umm other than that. Try out spreadsheets or other types of organization to keep track of contact information, $ amount, type of commission, etc!!! it's nice to be able to look back at what you've done in a more data-oriented way than just the images alone!

#asks #GOD SPEED YOU ANON

[xo-phile]

Tides (M!Mer x Fem!Reader) p2

╔═════ ∘◦ ☟ ◦∘ ══════╗

Excerpt: “Why are you telling me this now, Willow?” you asked, chewing on your straw.

“I can’t keep my nose out of other people’s business.”

You glared at your friend and she snickered under breath, elegantly swirling her drink with a perfectly manicured hand.

“I just want you to be happy. And I don’t want to see you missing out on a good thing.”

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: thalassaphobia, situational anxiety, some spice

Author’s Note: To the readers who left such sweet messages, liked, followed, reblogged, and to the person who sent me my first ko-fi ever... YOU LIVE IN MY HEAD RENT FREE ಥωಥ. Life has been crazy with job interviews and school starting soon, so I appreciate your patience! If you would like to be tagged so you get notified for the next update please let me know!

Part 1 ✦ Part 3 🍋

╚═════ ∘◦ ☝︎ ◦∘ ══════╝

༻✦༺　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Ancient skeletons of long dead trees haunted the sands of Driftwood Beach. Petrified branches bent in all directions, reaching toward the sky, celebrating that even in death, their bodies served as an organic playground and haven for the living. Children and adults alike climbed along the writhing branches of trees fallen centuries before. Even in death, the haunted were kept loving company by the living.

You stood at the edge of the water, relishing in the way your toes pressed further into the sand as the cool water rushed past your ankles. The sun was low, coloring the skies a soft sorbet pink and orange. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as Teddy victimized the seagulls making their way inland for the night.Your eyes drifted toward the open water of Lake Obsidian, its deep blue darkening as they day neared its end. From your point of view on the beach, the water was calm. Inside, you felt a tumult in your stomach, churning at what Dresden could possibly have planned when he asked to meet you.

Suddenly, Teddy was yapping at the water and in the distance you saw a familiar, finned form waving in the distance.

"You gonna stand there all day? We're gonna lose sunlight!"

You shuffled your feet in the sand.

"I was thinking we could start small! Here seems like really good progress already!"

Even from yards away you could see the exasperation on Dresden's face. You turned to see Teddy run head-long into the crashing waves, doggy-paddling toward Dresden, big brown head bobbing happily in the water.

"You're really gonna let your beast show you up like that?" the merman chided.

Show off, you thought ruefully. You stripped yourself of your jean shorts and jacket, down to bikini bottoms and rash guard. Despite the buzz of anxiety in your stomach, you picked up your paddle board and made your way out into waves. With every step you took the water rose higher and higher, until you stopped in your tracks. Waist deep in the water, your body refused to take a step further, muscles locking up in place.

"You're doing great! Keep coming towards me!" You looked up to see Dresden’s lopsided grin cheering you on.

"Dresden, I can't do this," you blurted clutching desperately at your floating paddle board, "I want to go back."

The water around you ebbed and flowed, swaying you with a force you weren’t familiar with and there was a gentle push at your back that you resisted. If it weren't for the death-grip on your board, your hands would have no doubt been shaking. Even when you were a kid, there was not enough candy or promises of gifts in the world that would have cajoled you into swimming in deep water. This was the farthest you had ever been and the newfound sensations were overwhelming.

"Wait wait wait! Just wait for me! I'll come to you, don't move!" He dove below the surface of the water, his flukes flashing before disappearing completely. Moments later, his head resurfaced in front of you.

"How're you feeling?" Dresden asked, eyeing the no-doubt panicky expression on your face.

"Like I'm about to crawl out of my skin."

He let out a little chuff at which you glared at.

"You're making jokes. That's good," he laughed. You held his gaze, trying to ignore the vast expanse of water around you. But also out of sheer resentment.

"I feel like if I say anything else, we won't be friends anymore," you ground out through gritted teeth. A stray current, made another push at your back and you clenched even tighter to your board for what little semblance of stability it could find.

"Okay, well I swear on our friendship that I won't make you go out any farther today. Climb on your board."

Your brows furrowed in confusion, but you still clambered on, lying on your stomach like a surfer would. With your body out of the water, the overwhelming apprehension subsided. The board still rocked as it floated in the gentle water and your body tensed nervously. Dresden was beside you now, a large hand on the nose of the paddle board keeping you from floating away.

“Good, now take a deep breath and close your eyes," he said. You looked at him, aghast.

"I'm not gonna let anything happen to you," he promised.

"Dres, I don't know about this," you faltered. He considered your expression for a moment and instead of acquiescing, his bigger hand took yours and wrapped around it tight.

"The worst that will happen, is that you feel a little stupid.”

You looked at him once more with doubt but promptly shut your eyes, laying your forehead down on your arms. The board's unstable rocking made your stomach turn and the occasional wash of water sent shivers up your spine.

"Okay, now tell me everything you're feeling right now," came Dresden's calm voice. You gripped his hand tighter, the only source of stability you could feel.

"Scared. I'm really scared. I don’t like that everything’s moving.”

"Okay, that's okay. Tell me why."

“I-I feel like, I’m gonna get washed away. Or that I’m gonna get pulled under.” At your words, Dresden’s hand tightened in yours and you let out a breath that you didn’t realize you were holding. Self-consciousness washed over you at your admission. Dresden was right, you did feel stupid. You felt stupid for your irrational fear, for coming out onto the water. You should have stayed on land where things didn’t move beneath your body and the world wouldn’t threaten to swallow you up.

How lame.

“You know it’s okay to be scared right? There’s nothing wrong with how you’re feeling right now.” Dresden’s voice was much closer now, his breath ghosting your ear and calming your unwelcome thoughts. Now all you could hear was the crash of the waves on the shores behind you and your heart thumping in your throat.

“Okay, now take a deep breath in. Three-two-one.” You inhaled through your nose, the rush of cold air of the dusk filling your lungs.

“Deep breath out. Four-three-two-one.” You pushed out a controlled breath, your diaphragm straining. Your heart was not not so loud but there was still a pit in your stomach.

"Now I want you to name three things you can smell."

You hesitated at his words for a moment but focused on finding any scents you can trace. With your head buried arm, you smelled the faint coconut scent of your sunscreen. In the air, a soft sharpness of pine wafted through the breeze. Finally a scent of clean, crisp water filled your senses.

"Sunscreen, Pine Trees, and Water."

"Okay, now what can you hear."

Blood was rushing through your head and your heart was still loud, but you pushed past the sounds of your anxiety to listen to the sounds of Driftwood Beach. Beneath you, water lapped against your board, causing a soft hollow knock against plexiglass to echo under you. Above, you birds called out to each other as they soared overhead, crying into the open sky.

"Water under my board and birds."

Despite the darkness behind your lids, the world around you came into clear perception through your senses. You lifted your head and opened your eyes to find Dresden watching you intensely, mossy green of his eyes darkening faintly.

The moment between you twisted like a knot tightening with every quiet second that passed.

“You’re not gonna ask me what I see?” you murmured softly. Dresden’s hazel eyes went and wide blinked, snapping out of his reverie. He let go of your hand, and for a moment, you mourned its warmth.

“No-no, I think that works,” he stuttered, a faint blush warming his sharp features. “How are you feeling?”

The sky above you both was now fiery orange set behind the darkening green of sequoias. The water around you moved with calm purpose, still but teeming with a quiet life. A faint sense of calm overtook you and you allowed your body to feel the gentle rocking of the water with the board between you.

“Better. A lot better.“

A comfortable silence settled and you sat up on your board, admiring the white moon in the sorbet sky. The idea of leaving your board still terrified you but your gorgeous surroundings were a welcome distraction and made a mental note to come back with your camera and a sketchpad.

From the shore, you heard aggravated squawks and a sudden burst of flapping wings. You and Dresden turned to see a sopping wet Teddy, galloping across the sand chasing a flock of irate seagulls.

"I better get back. If I don't feed Teddy soon, one of those seagulls might turn into dinner."

"Right, we wouldn't want that…” the merman averted his eyes, nervous to look you in the eye. “This was probably a lot for today, so I was thinking we could meet up again in a couple days? Whatever works-"

"No let's meet again tomorrow," you blurted, "This really helped a lot." Your face reddened. Your mouth had spoken before your mind had a chance to process what you were volunteering to do. Still, Dresden’s face lit up in a big grin.

"Okay, great. I'll see you tomorrow."

The two of you said your goodbyes and you made your way back to the shore. You could feel Dresden's eyes on you as you paddled towards land. It wasn't until you were standing on the solid shore did you see him wave from a distance and then disappear under the water.

You replayed the last half hour in your head. You had always known Dresden to joke and laugh at the expense of other people and you weren’t used to the care that he took with you and the warmth of his large hand in yours.

As you walked to your car, with Teddy in tow, you wondered how you never noticed that the soft curves of his boyish face turned into angles and edges.

༻✦༺　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Despite every ounce of fear screaming at you, you spent each sunset with Dresden, wading out into the water, pushing yourself farther and farther from the shore. And like the tides, your fear ebbed and flowed. On bad days, you would be paralyzed, muscles stiffened as you lay on your paddle board. Dresden would always hold your hand, his grip firm and solid with a silent pledge to keep you safe. His voice, coaching you through the worst of your panic, would be uncharacteristically gentle.

On the better days, you two would work through the breathing exercises and then spend time reminiscing on childhood memories or talk about your respective work. You would sit on your board, mindfully allowing yourself to drift on the water, and talk about your growing frustration with your paintings and the inescapable deadline of the gallery opening. Dresden would then tell you about how his work mapping the underwater caves of Lake Obsidian was going with the local university, complaining about one particularly grumpy selkie lead researcher and the various ineptitudes of the doctoral students.

"Wait, wait so even the mer don't know how deep the lake is?"

"Nope, at some point it gets too dark to even see. Makes it dangerous. You lose your sense of direction." The thought of endless darkness and thousands of pounds of pressure on your head gave you a full-body shiver. Dresden laughed.

"Still it's not a bad gig. Helps with relations with the land folk and sometimes, you find cool stuff you can keep for yourself."

You thought about the fossilized ammonite that sat on the mantelpiece in your living room. The opalised fossil shimmered in the light when the sun beamed through your curtains, and you would stop to admire it when the stress of emails and showing dates overwhelmed you.

You tried not to think too much about how Dresden saved something that special just to give it to you.

༻✦༺　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

It was an early Sunday morning, a misty fog was just dispersing as the yellow morning sun warmed the chill in the air. You were wandering through the stalls of Talon Point's farmers market, admiring the vast variety of produce. Some you recognized: bright red and orange tomatoes, plump as a baby's cheek, broccoli and sprouts green and freshly picked, but there were also other varieties you didn't recognize, bright purple and magenta spices that sat in a pile as tall as you were and some sort of blue fruit perfectly cubed and shiny.

Even with your giant grocery tote filled to the brim with your usual fare, you still liked to wander through aisles, admiring the strange sights and shiny crafts of the local artisans. With a sudden pull, Teddy tugged you by his leash towards the specialty bakery that made treats for humans and non-humans alike. Warm smells of fresh croissants and chocolate eclairs wafted through the air and he made a dead stop just outside the door plopping his giant behind in an obedient sit, knowing better than to barge into a doorway without your express permission. You had to chuckle lightly at his polite adamance.

"Alright, but only one today. You're starting to look a little fluffy and I don't mean the fur," he seemed to harumph in protest but stood his ground. Inside the bakery, you saw a vast array of baked goods: doughnuts, croissants, tiny cakes, and even dainty cake pops. Behind the glass counter was an orc with an immense frame, balancing two gigantic trays of honey buns in both big arms.

"I'll be with you in a moment, miss," he gruffed, sidling his way through what looked like tiny walkways.

"That's okay, take your time. Just browsing." The orc let out a soft grunt in response and made his way to the back kitchen. As you made your way down the aisles, you started to realize the variety of baked goods was immense: green pandan waffles, taro puff pastries, and Mexican conchas in a variety of colors lined the trays in the glass case. Finally, you came upon some pastries in the shape of fish with ogling eyes.

"Any questions, miss?" You looked up to see that the orc had returned and was waiting patiently behind the register for you to make a decision.

"What are in these fish pastries?" you asked, shyly. He made his way over to you to check the display.

"Ah, those are taiyaki. Normally made with red bean paste inside, but this batch has Nutella." You smiled to yourself, wondering if Dresden had ever tried chocolate before.

Can merfolk even eat chocolate? you wondered, absently, already coming up with ways to make fun of him for having the hazelnut paste stuck on his teeth.

"Can I get two of those and one dog treat, please?"

You watched the gigantic orc as he packaged your pastries, large chords of muscle sliding under smooth green skin, delicately placing your order in a crisp paper bag.

Behind you, you heard a familiar voice call your name and you turned to see Willow dressed in a baby blue sundress and gigantic sunhat.

"Fancy seeing you out and about, stranger," she smiled and pulled you into a hug. Before you two could even make conversation the orc behind the counter cleared his throat and you turned sheepishly to pay for your order. Willow smiled up at the orc coquettishly, and requested an order of a dozen cheese croissants, and then proceeded to brazenly leer at his admittedly toned behind when he bent over to pick out a cardboard box.

"Thanks, Gil," she winked as you two exited the shop. The aforementioned orc rolled his eyes at Willow and gave another huff before making his way to help out another customer. Your ears warmed and you hid your face as you exited the store.

"Excuse me, I seem to recall that you have a whole-ass husband," you chided, teasing her as you made your way through the main street, passing shop displays filled with antiques and other handcrafted arts.

"I'll have you know Romero and I have a mutually agreeable 'look don't touch policy'. Like window shopping!"

You rolled your eyes but smiled at her antics. “Is that what we’re calling it now?” You chuckled softly when her lips formed a pout at your chiding.

“Maybe you ought to consider shopping around, yourself.”

“I really don’t think I need more clothes.”

“Okay, now you’re being obtuse on purpose,” Willow huffed exasperatedly and you couldn’t stop the smug smile from tugging at your lips.

“Will, I already have the exhibition breathing down my neck. I don’t really have time to entertain any gentlemen suitors,” you sighed, stretching the tell-tale tingle of anxiety out of your neck.

“Who said anything about dating though? A fun little romp does the body and mind wonders. It’s a wonder how you stay sane when you never leave the house.”

“I leave the house! I walk Teddy all the time and me and Dresden-”

You clapped your hand over your mouth before the last of your words could tumble out. But it was too late. Willow didn’t miss your words and she honed in on you like a hawk.

“You and Dresden? You two have been hanging out? How?” Willow probed, a wickedly gleeful expression on her face.

“Oh my god, Willow it’s nothing like that. He’s been…” you sighed, trying to find your words, “We’ve been doing exposure therapy out on the water. He’s been helping me after the accident.”

Willow studied your face thoughtfully and smiled like she knew something you didn’t. You grabbed her by the elbow to look her in the face.

“Willow, what?”

“Nothing! I just didn’t think he had it in him to make a move.”

You sputtered, ears warming again with embarrassment.

“He’s not trying to make a move!” you cried indignantly. Willow smiled at you like a child who still believed in Santa.

“He looks at you like you put the freaking sun in the sky. Like, he’s literally had a crush on you since we were children.”

She smiled wickedly at your stunned silence. Despite her deceptively air-headed appearance, you knew Willow to be highly perceptive. And blunt. Willow pulled you by your wrist to the nearest cafe and sat you down in a chair of a patio table. A young tiefling waiter rushed out with menus and a water bowl for Teddy and Willow ordered two iced coffees while she waited for your brain to reboot.

“I feel like I would have noticed,” you quavered, still processing this revelation.

“You’ve been hung up on Micah for years. We didn’t think it would matter.”

The young tiefling came out with your orders, setting the sweltering cups on the table before, making his way back into the cafe. You and Willow took several silent sips.

“Why are you telling me this now, Willow?” you asked, chewing on your straw.

“I can’t keep my nose out of other people’s business.”

You glared at your friend and she snickered under breath, elegantly swirling her drink with a perfectly manicured hand.

“I just want you to be happy. And I don’t want to see you missing out on a good thing.”

You looked her in her icy blue eyes, earnestness shining through.

༻✦༺　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

All through the ferry ride back, all you could think about were Willow’s words. How could you have possibly missed something so huge? Your relationship had always seemed so simple and easy…

Or so you thought. Your mind wandered to all the sunsets you two spent together out on the water and the soft looks of concern he gave you on your worst days, when you couldn’t handle the anxiety.

You thought about the day of the accident, when he pulled you out of the water and held you shivering and wet, murmuring reassurances that you were safe. And then you thought about how angry he got at Micah, his oldest friend.

“Why else would he have gone ballistic like that?”

Willow’s words echoed in the back of your mind as you unlocked your door and made your way into the kitchen to put away your groceries. As you put away the produce you’d found the white paper pastry bag holding the Nutella taiyaki you had bought for Dresden and you eyed the crumpled paper bag cautiously.

Dresden would probably laugh when he saw the funny looking pastry. Maybe his dimples would show and the coppery fins that framed his face would twitch as he tried it.

Your thoughts halted to a stop. Why were you daydreaming about your friend? Instead of letting your thoughts whir along, you decided to do what you did when you couldn’t feel at home in your own head: you painted.

You padded to the art studio and rifled through your things for an empty canvas and acrylic paints. Instead of your usual set-up with an easel and a stool, you set the 18x24 on the ground and squirted paint onto a plastic palette. You started with a soft sand color, not unlike the sands of Driftwood Beach at sunset, and let your arm guide itself across the blank canvas. Lately, you rarely ever let yourself waste paint and a canvas without a plan, but right now you didn’t feel like thinking anything through.

You added purple shadows, painting in subtle planes of an angular face, detailing in soft cheekbones and an elegant jawline. Blues showed soft shadows cast by dark curly brown hair and a proud nose, while reds added depth and dimension to a clever face. For a playful arch of dark brows, you added grayish black to brown and touched up the curve of a playful smirk with pink an white.

When you started work on the eyes, your mind wandered to strong hands gripping tightly at your hips and back, keeping you from getting swept away. You remembered how warm hazels watched you, dark with concern and then intense with yearning.

A pleasant shiver ran down your spine at the memory. His inner irises were a rusty brown that glittered when he laughed and outer irises flashed a brilliant coppery green when serious.

You painted his facial fins to match with eyes, a uniquely striking coloring.

By the time you finished the piece hours had passed and the sun was lowering in the sky and you cursed to yourself before changing quickly and rushing out the door.

༻✦༺　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

You made your way out into the lake, this time paddling out on your knees, carefully balancing the bag of pastries on the tail of your board. It had been a few weeks and you weren’t scared to navigate your way farther and farther from shore anymore. Still, fear overtook you whenever you tried to swim out so you settled for adventuring through the water safely on your board. As you waited for Dresden, you straddled your board, letting your feet kick gently in the water, an accomplishment won once Dresden convinced you that plesiosaurs didn’t survive past the Cretaceous Period and wouldn’t try to take a bite out of your calf.

You watched as idly as the soft clouds rolled through the pink sky, noticing how the breeze shook the tips of gigantic redwoods. The final days of summer were flying by and soon Autumn would be upon Lake Obsidian. As you mused quietly about another year passed in this bustling little town, you saw a flash of a shimmering tale and a hand ghost up your ankle and calf. A surprised yip escaped your mouth as you flinched. Dresden popped up on the other side of your board shaking water out of drenched curls.

“Jesus Christ, Dresden, give me a heart attack why don’t you?”

“Sorry, couldn’t resist. You didn’t faint. I’d take that as a win.”

The merman smiled up at you with a big lopsided grin and you couldn’t help but notice the soft divot of dimples in his cheek. You looked away before you could get flustered, remembering your earlier conversation with Willow.

“I was in town earlier today and I saw something you might like.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the way the merman lit up and your ears warmed at his adorable expression. You reached behind you to grab the white pastry bag and reached in to hand your friend the little fish pastry, “It has chocolate in it though. I wasn’t sure if mer can even eat hazelnut spread.”

He hung onto your board while he observed the fish-shaped confection, turning it every which way before taking an eager bite.

“It’s wonderful,” he moaned, mouth full. You giggled as you ate yours, enjoying the crisp outside and gooey inside. You two munched in comfortable silence and you folded up the white paper bag and tucked it into the shoulder strap of your bikini under your rash guard to throw away when you got home.

“You humans are creative, I’ll give you that. Bring me more of those. I’ll consider it compensation for my services,” licking the remnants of chocolate off his lips.

“Excuse me?! This was your idea!” you cried, indignantly.

“And yet, you reap the benefits and get to enjoy the pleasure of my company,” he smiled up at you cheekily. Like you predicted, chocolate had dripped down onto his chin and you let out a soft snort.

“Pleasurable company with questionable table manners. Dres, you have something here,” you pointed on your own face where his face was dirtied and Dreden swiped on the wrong side of his own. You let out a little giggle at his confused expression.

“No, other side,” you tried again, laughing even harder when he wiped his arm across his jaw and made an even bigger mess. Dresden pouted but smiled nonetheless at your laughter.

“Why don’t you come down from there and help me,” he teased, splashing some water up at you making you shriek indignantly.

“Catch me then!” Before you realized what you were doing, you swung a leg over your board and pushed yourself off, awkwardly hopping into Dresden’s surprised arms with a big splash. Your hands found purchase on his broad shoulders as you got used to the chill of the water, and you enjoyed the way his arms instinctually wrapped around your waist and under your ass to keep you from sinking in the still waters. Your legs wrapped around his waist, steadying you in the gentle current.

“Good catch,” you joked teasingly, although you felt your heart rabbit in your chest a mile a minute. Still, you couldn’t help but grin at the dazed expression on Dresden’s handsome face, eyes wide in confusion and mouth agape. You reached up to his face with a wet hand and wiped at the chocolate staining his chin until it was clean.

“Thanks,” he murmured softly. You looked up to see his hazel gaze locked on yours, waiting in anticipation for your next move. Your fingers moved on their own, tracing the sinewy muscles under the smooth, tanned skin of his shoulders and you found them making their way up to a strong neck where they traced the delicate slits of flattened gills. At your soft touch, the merman let out a low moan that sent molten heat straight between your legs. His arms tightened around you, pulling you flush against a hard torso in an iron brace. You gasped softly, a whimper threatening to escape your throat.

Dresden dropped his head onto your shoulder and let out a deep shuddering breath. With strong, wide hands gripping your hips, he gently hoisted you back on your paddle board and pushed you to arms distance.

Embarrassment and self-consciousness crashed down around you, shocking you out of your haze.

Was Willow wrong? Did you make a mistake? He doesn’t actually want you like that.

“Oh god, Dresden, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have…” you tried, but the merman was already shaking his head, a warm flush flooding his face.

“We should take a break for a couple days,” he ground out firmly. Your heart dropped to your stomach at his words.

“O-okay… Dresden, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It’s okay. I’ll see you around,” he blurted, before diving under the water and swiftly swimming away.

You didn’t remember paddling back to shore or making your way back to your car. All you felt was the sting of rejection and the burn of tears as they filled your eyes.

༻✦༺　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

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#exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster boy #monster lover #my writing

[moonlit-han]

the perfect cup of coffee ↠ lee minho

genre: fluff, office au word count: 2k warnings: none, unless you really don’t like coffee? request: no (for junhuisflower​, who wrote the initial idea for this fic) a/n: i am reposting this fic because the first time i posted it, on June 13, 2020, it didn’t show up in the general tags. so, i hope you all enjoy it this second time around!

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

In his impeccably neat and well-fitting suit, Lee Minho walked into the office where he held the position of Manager in Chief. This was not his official title, but one that he had chosen for himself; after all, he did manage just about everything and everyone, when it came down to it.

In reality, Minho was the Assistant to the Administrative Director of the company and was, in theory, meant to delegate the more menial tasks to others. However, this never occurred because Minho did not trust others to do work he knew he could do better. Over that which was not in his job description and, therefore, the responsibility of others, Minho still attempted to exert control. Thus, he was the Manager in Chief. Everything in Minho’s world had to perfect, or as perfect as Minho could contrive.

As he arrived at the office and reached for the company suite’s door, automatically passing something that was not there from one hand to the other, Minho stopped. He’d forgotten his coffee. How had he forgotten his coffee? This was practically unheard of, since he made his coffee at home and brought it to work with him. He did not fully trust coffee made by others.

Coffee was one of the many things that Minho insisted on being perfect. While he cared that his clothes were appropriately smart for the workplace and he prided himself on his small but wonderfully efficient car, he could manage for a time without them being in perfect condition. But, he absolutely had to have perfect coffee. In terms of non-essential costs, Minho spent the most on his cats (plenty of little treats, baubles, and warm places to sleep) and his coffee (fair trade, organic coffee made with care and attention). He was forever trying new ways of brewing coffee, and considered himself a bit of a connoisseur. Oftentimes, he’d even add some cardamom to the coffee as it brewed for a little extra spice and sweetness. Having such wonderfully delicious coffee was the high point of Minho’s day, a way he coped with the monotony of work.

So, when he arrived at the office and had no coffee, Minho was incensed. Sighing and grumbling to himself, he pushed through the door and made his way to his desk. He had back-to-back-to-back meetings and was responsible for leading one of them; so, he needed the caffeine to get through his day. His schedule was so busy that he couldn’t go back out to buy coffee, and couldn’t go back home to make himself a proper cup. Damn. It was against his every rule for coffee consumption to drink that which had not been made by him and to his particular specifications. Well, there was nothing to do now but go into the office’s lounge and drink the fluid that might just pass for coffee.

Minho’s coworkers looked up as they saw him move toward the lounge. Was he really going to drink coffee here? they whispered among themselves. They remained quiet as he passed, not wanting to disturb him in case his lack of coffee unleashed a hitherto unseen wrath (or wraith, even).

As he pushed open the door of the lounge, Minho made a noise of disgust as he took in the smell: a ground-in kind of odor from years of low quality coffee that had seeped into the wood and cushions of the lounge’s chairs and sofa. But today, there was a sweetness floating over the sourness of the smell of old, bad coffee. Perhaps someone had simply brought coffee from the outside world into the room and the dregs still lingered in a cup in the recycling.

Resigning himself to drinking the coffee—Maybe if he gulped down the horrid stuff, he could just get it over with?—Minho took down one of the mugs kept in the cabinet above the coffee maker. As he poured the dark liquid into the cup, a richly sweet and nutty smell met his nose.

Wait, what?

This was the communal coffee pot in the employee lounge of his office. Good coffee pouring out of that pot shouldn’t be possible. Surely his senses were fooling him and the taste would be just as weak and grimy as it had been the one other time he’d made the mistake of trying it.

Gingerly, he stirred a little cream into the mug. Squeezing his eyes shut as if to ward off the assuredly inherent shitty-ness of the coffee, Minho hesitantly raised the mug to his lips and sipped.

His eyes flew open in surprise. This was some of the best coffee he’d ever tasted. Minho took another sip, savoring the taste of the brew. He was stunned, absolutely stunned. He had to find out who had made this wonderful coffee. It was imperative to his proper functioning, since this coffee would now be a regular feature of his daydreams.

During each of his meetings that day, Minho took a minute at the end to ask if anyone knew who’d made the coffee that day. No one knew. With each shake of someone’s head and each “No” he heard, Minho became increasingly more frustrated. How could no one know who’d made the coffee?

The next day, he asked around the office again, but still, no one knew. On the third day, Minho decided to stop asking his coworkers for fear of seeming obsessed, despite the fact that he really was obsessed with the question of who had made that coffee.

Several weeks passed with Minho occasionally checking, with the utmost secrecy, the contents of the office’s communal coffee pot. It was uniformly horrible. But after a full month of furtive coffee sampling, Minho’s work paid off.

It was a Friday morning and he’d ambled into the break room to just spend some time away from the (non-existent) noise of the office. He was surprised to find someone already there … making coffee.

“Hello, Mr. Lee,” she said brightly. “How are you this morning?”

Minho stared at the young woman as she continued making the coffee. So, this is our new hire, he thought, noting the grace with which she moved.

“Mr. Lee?” she prompted.

Minho shook himself. “I’m sorry,” he searched his memory for her name, “Ms. L/N, isn’t it? I’m well, thank you. I hope you’re having a stress-free morning.” Minho leaned against the wall by the counter where Y/N methodically measured tablespoon after tablespoon of rich, dark coffee into the coffee maker. He noticed that it had been cleaned, too. “Do you make coffee here often, Ms. L/N?”

Damn it, that sounded like the worst pick-up line ever, Minho chided himself.

Y/N laughed softly. “Not really, since I’ve only been here a month, Mr. Lee. Would you like a cup when I’m done making this?”

“Oh, yes. Thanks,” Minho said, still in a bit of a daze. Huh, did she make that delicious coffee, then?

“Is it alright if I add some cardamom? I think it gives the coffee a deep, interesting flavor,” Y/N said before she closed the lid of the appliance.

Minho thought he’d died and gone to heaven in that moment; all he could do was nod. Y/N produced a small container of cardamom—she said she’d ground it that morning—and added a bit to the ground coffee. Minho watched as Y/N finished preparing the coffee, thinking to himself. Then, they sat in surprisingly easy silence as the smell of brewing coffee began to suffuse the room, filling Minho’s world. Leaning back in a chair, Y/N had a blissful look on her face at the aroma.

The coffee maker made a gurgling noise as it shut off, and Y/N rose to her feet. She withdrew two mugs from the cabinet, then went to her bag and produced a thermos and a jar of honey. Minho looked on as Y/N poured out the coffee, then measured out honey into one mug.

“Would you like some?” she asked, proffering the honey.

“Definitely,” Minho said, excitedly. “I rarely meet anyone else who puts honey in their coffee.” He smiled, dropping his earlier formal manner.

“Really? It’s the best. You know,” Y/N continued, spooning honey into his mug, “I’ve never met anyone else—other than a Turkish friend, at least—who puts cardamom in their coffee.”

“I had it when I was traveling and fell in love,” Minho said, then cleared his throat self-consciously. How was he talking with her this easily? “And, Ms. L/N, you’re welcome to call me Minho. You are, after all, the Assistant to the Artistic Director here, so our positions are equal.”

“Oh! Well, in that case, my name is Y/N.” She grinned and opened the metal canister, which Minho saw was full of cream. “Do you want to put yours in? I know people are particular about cream in drinks.”

Taking the thermos, Minho thanked Y/N and noticed that his heartbeat was pounding a little louder than he expected. Then again, perhaps not so unexpectedly as he was about to drink what he knew would be delicious coffee. He poured in just enough cream to turn the coffee the color of dark amber, then brought the mug to his lips.

“Enjoy!” Y/N said, smiling brightly as she took back her thermos and stowed it and the other containers in her bag.

Minho took a sip, and almost dropped the mug in surprise. It was just like the coffee he had tasted several weeks ago, and, really, even better. He savored the coffee, taking sip after sip as Y/N looked on.

“Is it good?” Y/N asked hesitantly, not drinking from her own mug yet.

“It’s delicious, Y/N, it really is,” Minho sighed, feeling as if he were drinking ambrosia. “Did you happen to make coffee for the office a few weeks ago?”

Surprise overtook pride on Y/N’s face as she chirped, “Yeah, I did!  Did you have some then?”

“I’ve been trying to find who’d made that coffee ever since,” Minho said, smiling at how odd that must sound. “I just really like coffee, and yours was incredible.”

Y/N blushed furiously and tried to hide her face by taking a sip from her own mug. “Thanks, Minho” she murmured. “I’m glad you liked it!”

Minho couldn’t help but smile softly at how cute Y/N looked when he complimented her coffee. Her dimples even came out when she smiled.

How is she that pretty? Minho groaned to himself. Shit. Well, what do I have to lose?

“Y/N,” Minho said tentatively, and Y/N looked up, her cheeks still pink. “So, there’s this coffee shop I love to go to and they have all sorts of unusual blends—it’s really quite lovely. Forgive me for being so forward, but may I take you there? I’m sure you’d enjoy it!” He rubbed the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. “But only if you’d like, and it doesn’t have to be anything more than two coworkers getting coffee together. I don’t mean to sound like I’m asking you out or anything,” Minho rambled, then stopped, knowing he’d probably said too much already.

“I’d love to!” Y/N said, her eyes sparkling. “Maybe we will be two friends getting coffee … or maybe something else?”

Minho’s eyes went wide in amazement as he made a little noise that could be taken as a question or a plea for clarification.

Y/N shrugged as she picked up her bag and went over to the door. “You’ll have to wait and see,” she said and winked, leaving Minho to stand in the office lounge, staring at the door.

Still unable to process his luck—was that it?—Minho took another sip of coffee. It was just as delicious as Y/N was sweet. This was going to be quite interesting indeed.

#ultkpop #0325net #inkidz #lee minho #skz minho #lee know #lee minho fanfic #lee minho fluff #lee minho angst #lee minho imagines #lee minho scenarios #stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fluff #stray kids angst #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids drabbles #skz fluff #skz imagines #skz angst #skz scenarios #skz fanfic #lee minho drabbles #skz drabbles #.moonlight #moonlit-han

[sunwoocloud]

sunflower

↳ pairing: jacob x reader ↳ genre: fluff ↳ word count: 1538

A series of small coincidences attracted you to Jacob Bae just like sunflowers are drawn to the sun.

It had started on a bright sunday morning, birds chirping and fresh air coming through the balcony’s open doors, the gentle breeze swaying the lace curtains that did nothing to filter the sunlight. There were still a few boxes to be unloaded and piles of things to be organized in your new apartment, but independence felt good nonetheless. You had woken up earlier than usual to try and tidy up what you now called home, eyes still heavy with sleep while you did it.

You were so focused on your task that you almost missed the soft, soothing voice that came from your next door neighbor’s porch. Even though you were busy and had a long day of unpacking ahead, curiosity got the best of you — there was no hesitation in the way you lifted yourself off the cold floor and made your way to the balcony. You stopped right before you stepped outside, listening attentively to the calming melody being sung by the nameless neighbour. When you finally decided to look, being as quiet as possible to go unnoticed, you found yourself immediately smiling.

You couldn’t see his face, but you could see your neighbour’s brown messy hair while he watered his plants and sung them calming melodies. He’d gently lift their leaves before carefully watering them, so concentrated at the task that he didn’t even notice you were looking at him. He remained like that for a few minutes, blissfully unaware of your stare to the point where you almost felt bad for witnessing such a pure and loving moment. When he finished nurturing his plants, you quickly went back to the living room - out of his sight, but still unable to forget his pretty voice and caring nature.

Thanks to the stranger, the next day you found yourself searching for flower shops in your new neighbourhood, taking a sudden interest for plants. You had already pictured your own apartment filled with them, plants of different sizes and shapes adorning the small space with splashes of green. You had even pictured yourself singing for them, just like your neighbor did – although your terrible singing skills couldn’t compare to his soothing voice when serenading his flowers with sweet melodies.

You left your apartment on a mission, the afternoon sky blue and cloudless as you made your way to the closest flower shop. You arrived after a 10-minute walk, the discreet storefront adorned with a few flower vases. Since you knew nothing about plants — except for the fact that you were terrible taking care of them —, you made your way to the counter on the back of the tiny store right after walking in. By the time you had reached it, the only employee on sight had a full smile on display, both arms braced on the white desk decorated with rose bouquets of multiple colors.

“Hello, welcome to our shop!” the boy had greeted you sweetly, eyes crinkling. “What can I help you with?”

“Hi!” you paused to look at the tag attached to his apron, the name Jacob written in cursive letters. “I wanted to get some plants for my apartment, but I’m terrible at taking care of living things.”

He had laughed at your attempt to be funny, making you feel a little better.

“Don’t worry, I can help you find something that is easy to take care of,” his voice sounded as gentle as he looked, so you immediately felt like you could trust him — and not just for plant recommendations.

Jacob circled the counter in order to help, and you suddenly felt a little nervous of the sudden approximation. Having him so close to you made you realize he smelled like flowers and looked like sunny days. You almost forgot the initial reason you’d came to this shop, but he had gently signalized for you to follow him until you had reached a wooden shelf storage full of pots of plants.

“Are your plants going to stay indoors?” he asked, stopping right next to you. “If they are, succulents and cacti are always safe options. Lavender and peace lilies as well, you don’t need a green thumb to grow any of them,” he added, a small smile adorning his rosy lips.

“Some of them are, but I also have a porch. It’s not spacious but I can definitely squeeze some pots in there,” you said thoughtfully, your curious fingers gently touching some leaves to feel their texture.

“Wave petunias and marigolds just love to soak up some sun. Ferns and begonias prefer shade,” he pointed at them while explaining it so you could see the ones he was talking about.

Jacob spoke about flowers and plants with so much passion that you just wanted to keep listening to him for hours and hours — which apparently you did, because the sun had already set when you had finally picked which plants you wanted to take with you. You had obviously bought way more than what you’d originally expected, so much that you wouldn’t even be able to carry all of them at once to your apartment. Jacob looked at you with an apologetic smile when he realized that.

“I’m so sorry, I honestly didn’t even notice we’d been here for hours,” he bunched his eyebrows, looking remorseful. “And don’t worry about taking the plants, I’ll deliver them for you for free. You know... Since I kept you here for so long.”

“Oh please, as if I was being held captive,” you had waved the air dismissively. “I actually really enjoyed listening to you talk about it, otherwise I wouldn’t have stayed.”

The sentence had sounded different when you said it out loud, cheeks already burning with embarrassment right after the words had left your mouth. Jacob’s thousand watt smile when you said it made your self-consciousness worth it, though. He had walked you back to the counter so you could pay for your new green friends, and even made sure to give you a decent discount despite your attempts to convince him it wasn’t necessary.

He had guaranteed you the plants would be delivered the next day first thing in the morning before giving you your receipt — but when your hand had reached for it, he didn’t let go of the piece of paper. You had looked at him, confused for a second, and he stared back at you with a blush on his cheeks.

“You know what... Maybe I could give you a ride and take them now?” Jacob had said softly, biting his pouty lip in expectation.

You still remembered how the butterflies in your stomach had felt so real.

You had obviously agreed immediately, so he closed the store a little earlier than usual and the both of you loaded his car with the half dozen plants you had picked. You wished you lived a little farther away from the flower shop so you could spend more time with Jacob, but also thought about how grateful you were for your new neighbor — otherwise you wouldn’t have found your new interest in plants or cute boys that knew everything about flowers.

On the way to your apartment, the car was filled with some calm music and the melodious sound of Jacob’s voice as he talked to you some more about his job at the store. You had guided him through the streets until you reached the front of your building, but when you pointed at the entrance he smiled like you had just told him the happiest thing in the world.

“You’re not gonna believe this, but,” he had started, a smile so big that made you mirror his expression without even realizing. “We’re actually neighbors. I live here as well.”

“Oh.”

Only then you recognized his soft brown hair, soothing voice and particular interest in plants, everything connecting in a very fortunate and unexpected coincidence. You had laughed wholeheartedly, something like the most authentic happiness blossoming in your chest — just like the flowers he loved so much.

“Well... You’re not gonna believe this, but,” you had begun, drunk in contentment. “I actually only went to the flower shop because I have just moved here and accidentally witnessed my next door neighbor singing to his plants. I thought it was the most wholesome thing I’ve ever seen in my life, so I suddenly felt like I needed some plants as well. Turns out it was you.”

His surprised expression had caused more butterflies to fly around your belly, like the most beautiful garden had started to grow inside of you. Oh how you had wished he could also sing you some beautiful melodies while cultivating you, mellifluous voice pouring out of his velvety lips.

He had said, in the softest voice, that he felt like that wasn’t just a coincidence, but more like serendipity and fate intertwined. And while you admired him, lips upturned into a small smile and crescent shaped eyes, you had a feeling that Jacob indeed looked and felt like sunny days — so much warmth emanating from him that you had now bloomed into a little sunflower, drawn to his luminescence.

#the boyz #bae joonyoung #joonyoung #jacob #the boyz jacob #jacob bae imagines #jacob bae imagine #the boyz fanfic #jacob bae fluff #jacob bae fanfic #the boyz imagine #the boyz imagines #the boyz scenarios #the boyz scenario #jacob bae scenario #jacob bae scenarios #the boyz fluff #this is the epitome of tooth rotting fluff #i went to sleep right after i finished writing this so i had the softest dream with cobie

[chews-erotically]

Waxing Gibbous 

Pairing: Ezra + femNurse! Reader

Rating: Hard M / 18+ ONLY

       * Warnings: ANGST/ mentions of depression/ perceived death/ claustrophobia/ graphic descriptions of injury/ gore/ live burial/ nightmares/ guilt/ fear/ paralysis/ pain/ despair

      * Summary: You can only keep it down so long.

      * Word Count: ~900

*Part ONE* *Part TWO* *Part THREE* *Part FOUR* *Part FIVE* *Part SIX*        *Part SEVEN*  *Part EIGHT*  *Part NINE*  *Part TEN*  *Part ELEVEN*

    This chapter contains some content that some may find triggering- please see the warnings above. I deal with my feelings through writing as a way to acknowledge and process what I’m feeling. It is therapeutic for me. That said, PLEASE do not read this chapter if you feel down and find that reading about the topics above may make you feel worse. I promise the story still makes sense if you sit this one out.

    I wrote this because I needed to be selfish and work through some dark thoughts. It is absolutely and completely self-indulgent and I hesitated to even post it. I recognize that these are dark times for so many of us, please know that I love and cherish every single one of you and I will ALWAYS welcome discourse with anyone who needs encouragement, commiseration, or a sympathetic ear.

PART TWELVE

     You had your first nightmare the night following the incident at the bar. You were unsure if the actual confrontation had triggered you, or if it was simply the proverbial last straw among the amalgam of stress and circumstance, but you’d awoken screaming and slicked with sweat.

    In your dream you were dead. Your limbs were frozen and stiff. Your eyes did not open. Though you had expired, you were still able to hear what was said around you as if underwater. You were still within your own body, muffled and broken. The voices around you spoke of how you died. You had fallen from a great height, you could feel the sickly pull of gravity winding its fist into your guts as you hurtled toward the ground. You felt everything, the snap of your limbs shattering like glass. Shards of bone lanced your organs, your sight sparked and pulsed as your retinas detached before your vision turned red and then black. Your throat choked with blood. You were panicking. You could not move, you could not scream. Your pain was transcendental in it’s exquisite clarity.

    You willed yourself to lose consciousness. You prayed for your end as the agony of countless fathoms of searing stilettos cut into you and pulled their pound of flesh gleefully from your broken body.

    This is what was due for you. This is what you deserved for killing, for hurting.

    You gasped in your misery in place of your breath. You leaned into the pain, wanted it. You would suffer. You were unsure if there were tears sliding down your face. You felt wet all around. Tears or blood, leaking out of you in equal measure.

    You felt your world tilting and sliding. Movement. Every sensation re-breaking you, reminding you to pay attention. You were not going anywhere, you would bear witness to your slow and torturous end, you would learn that this was your world, at the mercy of countless faceless masters filled with infinite patience.

    You were placed in a box. That box was sealed. You heard the muffled pounding of nails into splintering wood. There was no way to save you.

    Clods of earth rained upon the box. You lie impassive, frozen. Resigned and terrified.

    Thwump.

    Every action you had taken part in, every injury and injustice and I’ll-gotten reward outweighed any halfhearted effort of goodwill you’d extended during your short and brutal life.

    Pathetic.

    Thwump.

    Worthless.

    Thwump.

    You were dead, and you had not ascended to some alternate universe, some abstract heavenly reward. In a box, in a broken body you felt every agonal sensation, your eyes unseeing and unblinking. Your brain screaming, pleading from some distant, flawed and human place to release you. You felt the cold, robotic legs of countless pale and sightless insects. They were crawling into your pants. Into your hair. Your mouth. Scrabbling against your grey gums and your powdery tongue.

    You felt the first searching pinches of mandibles against your cool and tender flesh.

 ****

     You were screaming, your voice raw. Keening. You couldn’t see. Your limbs thrashed against bindings that held you, horizontal and utterly helpless as your hoarse voice dissolved into rasping sobs. Your brain was slow to register your actions as your desperation and terror made you feel as if your heart was going to crack through your sternum with the force of its hammering. 

    But it shouldn’t be beating.

    You were dead and in a box in the ground, paralyzed and in agony and covered in gnawing insects.

    Strong arms grasped you, holding you still. You struggled against the hold violently. You kicked out against something, anything.

    The arms wrapped around you tightly. Mouth against your neck, speaking lowly.

    “I’m right here. Wake up, love. I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

    The voice, disembodied in the darkness, continued to reassure and sooth patiently as your hitching breaths and sobs gradually abated.

    Ezra had you, and he stroked your back, your hair, your forehead, your arms as he murmured.

    “It seems that your mind has finally caught up with our sordid histories and nefarious goings-on, my sweet love. My own terrified cries have been known to propel me from restless slumber in the oppressive darkness of night.”

    You slumped against him, wrung out, exhausted. You slowly came to realize that you had not been able to move your limbs fully because they had tangled in the sheets as you’d thrashed. You had screamed so long and loud that your voice croaked when you could finally speak.

    “I have never dreamt like that Ezra. I was dead, but I was trapped in my body. I was dead, but I could feel everything. They put me in a box and buried me. It felt real.”

    “The horrors we’ve faced, the things we’ve done, will manifest in any number of nefarious ways, Dove. It is but a product of our shared experience.”

    You stood up on shaking legs and began to turn on every light in the room. You came back to the bed and cocooned yourself in as many blankets as you could find. Ezra drew you to him, leaning your back against his chest as you sat on the mattress between his legs. He notched his chin onto your shoulder and sighed. He stayed silent, waiting for you to speak or not speak.

    You did not speak.

Tags: @ifimayhaveaword @rzrcst @absurdthirst@cinewhore @hopelikethesun@yespolkadotkitty @lose-eels @lackofhonor @din-damn-djarin @mrpascals@theocatkov@thefineandnobleartofavoidance@hellojustheretolookatmeemees@cyaredindjarin @im-like-reallythirsty @mstgsmy@goldafterglow @sistahsarah-sallysaidso @givemethatgold@shaqbutt @sirianisrock@artemiseamoon@thatreclusewriter, @scribbledghost@f0rever15elf@opheliaelysia @qveenbvtch@hdlynnslibrary@ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa@spacegayofficial@ezraslittlebirdie @ezrasarm@ezraslittleblondestreak@tintinwrites@kindablackenedsuperhero @darthadeline@alexisinorbit@knittingqueen13 @lueurnotes@xakilicious@keeper0fthestars @huliabitch @di-kut@zombieaurora@corrupt-fvcker @cryptkeepersoul@teaofpeach

#chews-erotically #chews-erotically writes #ezra prospect #ezra x female reader #ezra x you #ezra fic

[angelswithcigarettes]

[If you know me - you don’t.]

“Becoming one”

Summary: Spencer sleeps with both Hotch and Morgan, both of them are aware that he does with the other too.

This is the first time they have a threesome.

Warnings: Sexual Content

Relevant Tags: Light Sub/Dom

Word Count: 3077

Ao3:

[This is the first time I have ever written something like this - my insecurity is kicking in ]

First Chapter:

Giving up control this is what this is about,at least that is what the profiler inside of him thinks. Giving yourself in someone else's hands, not thinking,just doing what you are told.

The first person who ever makes Spencer feel like he isn't in control but not spiraling was Hotch. Hotch who had taken him in his motel bad, gently thrusting into him, while Spencer whines underneath him.

He had never felt something similar, the handjob he got ones from a women five years ago was something totally different than what Hotch was doing. Hitting the spot that makes a shutter spread throughout his body, mumbering sweet words into his ear. His arms next to his head, protecting him from everything bad in the world.

They didn't stop after that, whenever Hotch gets frustrated with Haley,whenever something goes wrong on the job he will come to him, pressing him into the mattress of his wide bed, his bedroom dark, it had always been at night.

The first time with Morgan was different, Morgan had been ruthless at first but the times after that had been gentle. Oh he hadn't known someone could be this gentle and loving with him. Spencer could cry at the warm feeling inside of him that spreads by Morgan's actions. By Morgan's words. It isn't all about sexuality with Morgan as it is with Hotch.

He had told Morgan from the start. The second time he recognised what was about to happen he had stopped him and Morgan could see the fear in his eyes, and stopped immediately, sitting down on the bed and pulling Spencer's legs on top of his now laying next to his waist as he carefully runs his hands up and down while Spencer stumbles over his words. "I am sleeping with Hotch."

"Excuse me?" Morgan had stopped moving his hands.

"I said I have been sleeping with Hotch over the last months."

"But you aren't-"

"No! No- No I wouldn't do that he just- he just likes to- likes to- you know- be a little bit harsher sometimes." Morgan had a hard time not to chuckle at Spencer's innocent way of telling him how Hotch fucks him senseless.

"And you okay with that?"

"Very!"

"And you are okay with sleeping with me too?"

"Yes. Hotch wouldn't mind."

"Alright, then I don't see any reason why we shouldn't do this."

Hotch had been a little bit more unpleasant about it. "How long?"

"Only three times over the last two weeks."

"And you are only telling me now?"

"I am sorry- I- I- I didn't think you would mind." Uncertain if he fucked up, Spencer had looked down on lap playing with his hands until Hotch lifted his face by his chin and then had started kissing his neck. He would never kiss him on the mouth. Spencer assumes it is because of Haley. He hopes he never has to look her into the eyes. But he could feel the possessive touch the sex had after he had told him,how he marked him up, leaving hickeys like a horney teenage boy at his collarbone and bite marks on his tight.

The two man never spoke to each other about it. It had been four months of both of them sleeping with Spencer but never bought it up in a conversation but their actions tell each other the unspoken fight they have over who has the upper hand when it comes to Spencer.

It was a wonder no one on the team had noticed yet.

Morgan would tease Hotch by subtitle touching Spencer whenever he can, it doesn't draw anyones attention,they are close friends and the touches are innocent. Sometimes firmer like moving Spencer to the side with both hands on his hips or putting an arm around him while they look at a file.

Hotch doesn't have the luxury, if he would suddenly start touching Spencer,it would cause suspicion and was also unprofessional.

What both of them see is how Spencer melts in their attention. How he leans into the touch and how he crumbles under Hotch's firm hand.

The first time they talk about Spencer is when he doesn't show up for work, eventhough they both excuse it with their relationship just being sex, their both have a close relationship to him, and care deeply for him.

"Have you seen Spence he was supposed to be here? Has he called in sick?"

"No,he hasn't called. I will check in on him,close the door." Morgan steps into Hotch's office closing the door behind him. They always had the tendency to edge on. To easily break out into a fight but that doesn't stop either one of them from trusting the other when it comes to the job. When it comes to working as a team. And in the end, no matter how much teasing there is,Spencer is, in both of their eyes,the one that is suppose to be the one being happy. "Mailbox. I will try again later it's still early maybe he over slept."

"Alright, tell me if he calls?"

"Of course." Morgan was just about to leave when Hotch asks him to stay back.

"We don't have to talk about it-"

"We do. We should have a long time ago."

"You want to do that here?" Sceptical Morgan looks around the room.

"If you are comfortable with that."

"I am." Morgan sits down in the chair in front of Hotch's desk.

"I think we should be more open to each other about this. I think we should talk about thinks."

"Not above his head. With him."

"Of course." As if they summoned him the door opens and Spencer freezes in his place.

"I am sorry sir I didn't knock. Just wanted to let you know, that I am sorry for being late."

"Apology accepted why don't you come in and close the door behind you?"

"Sir?"

"That's an order." Morgan watches Spencer submit to the request and then sits down in the chair next to Morgan's. "We were just talking about you."

"Why? Did I do something wrong?" Wounded Spencer looks at Hotch and then at Morgan his eyes alerted at the possibility of them ending things.

"No,god no." Morgan suppresses the urge to physically comfort him. Since they started this, whenever Spencer even looks the slightest bit upset he wants to hold him, to kiss him,to protect him.

"We- or at least I thought that it would be nice to have things more communicated between the three of us." Hotch explains leaning forward on his desk and folding his hands.

"What is there to communicate?"

"Nothing you don't want." Morgan gives in to his urges and gently strokes the hair out of Spencer's face. "But I think Hotch means trying thinks with the three of us? And in generally me and Hotch talking more instead of just ignoring the fact that both of us sleep with you."

"The three of us?"

"Only if you want." Hotch assures him. "Nothing will happen that you don't want you know that."

Second chapter:

The first thing that gets changed is the fact that he and Morgan don't have a safeword. Hotch nearly rips Morgan's head off when he finds out but Morgan and Spencer just didn't to stuff before were he thought that was required but they decided on a safeword and the colour system just like Hotch and him use it.

And Morgan takes it seriously, when he learns that it makes Spencer feel a lot safer. "You good?"

"Yes?"

"Colour?"

"Green." Green means he is okay and that they can continue. Yellow means to slow down and maybe move on to something different and red means stop. He starts moving inside of him, making him moan ones.

"Don't be quiet."

The second thing that gets changed is that the other knows when Spencer is with one of them.

But the third thing, and that makes Spencer the most nervous is trying things with all three of them.

While Hotch would just ring at the door and then quickly move things into the bedroom, Morgan normally takes his time with him first, making sure he isn't interrupting Spencer with anything, spending time with him that isn't just sex and they had talked about it and Spencer after a lot of nudging from both of them gave in and shyly said how he wanted it to go down and that he would be more comfortable spending time together first and Hotch, against Spencer's believes doesn't mind at all.

They go to a football game. It wasn't anything that both of them had expected but Spencer had asked for something that completely rules out the possibility that they start things early and it pained both of them to see how self consciousness Spencer was about voicing his needs.

Hotch is having the most guilt when he leaves Spencer's apartment late at night, Spencer bruised up in his bed, fast asleep.

Morgan's guilt hits the most over the day when he sees Spencer failing miserably at tasks, doing things like a child would do them, he sometimes thinks he takes his innocence away.

Spencer is sitting in Morgan's lap, being erger about understanding the game while Hotch isn't sure if it isn't just a facade to cover up his anxious mind about what will happen later. Morgan has one arm wrapped around him, holding him in place.

"Spencer breathe." Hotch reminds him in his ramble and Spencer looks at him and for a moment he can see the how frighten he us and he knows Morgan had seen it too.

They don't try it that evening the moment when they come home instead when they arrive at the apartment they sit down at the table in the kitchen and Spencer tells them how he is afraid because Morgan and Hotch are as different as people in bed can be.

"Why does that scare you?"

"I don't want one of you to- to feel left out."

"That is what scares you this much?" Hotch asks his face softening even more.

"I don't want to have to chose."

"You won't have to."

"You promise?"

"Yeah." Hesitant Hotch puts his hand above Spencer's. "Is there something else?"

"No."

"Are absolutely sure?" Morgan questions, he has the feeling Spencer isn't telling them everything that is on his mind and Hotch had too but Spencer assures them he will be fine.

Third chapter:

Spencer and Morgan are the first ones to be naked. Morgan sitting against the headboard and Spencer between his legs while Hotch still strips in front of them, Morgan's hand moving up and down Spencer's inner thigh calming him down while he slowly gets hard and then he giggles ones, at Hotch stumbling over something on the floor and Morgan didn't think he would ever see the day his boss makes himself look redicules just so Spencer relaxes.

He moves onto the bed, pressing a kiss to Spencer's lips, shocking the younger Agent and then starting to move down his neck while Morgan's hands with ever stroke up and down moves closer to his crotch until the first time a finger touches his length and he whimpers ones in Hotch's mouth who moves his knees up nudging Spencer's cock ones and then moving it back again but pressing him more into Morgan's chest and Spencer can feel Morgan's erection against his back and a little moan escapes Morgan's lips as he feels the man pressing against it. And for a moment it was just that, Hotch kissing him, while he tries to find out what makes Morgan feel good in the moment and then he remembers how he can't also help Hotch and he starts spiraling again. The thing that this should help him with acts up and he moves his hands up to Hotch's chest to push him off, gaining space but the man doesn't react and his heart is pounding, skipping a beat and then luckily Morgan catches Spencer's distress. "Hotch stop." He does, moving back from Spencer and Morgan pulls his leg away from him closing them so Spencer isn't feeling his erection anymore and Spencer sobs ones. Trying to catch a breath and Hotch leans forward pulling him into a hug.

"It's okay, you are okay."

"I don't want it anymore."

"That's okay,you are okay,no one is mad at you." He pulls Spencer in his lap, and Morgan takes a blanket wrapping it around Spencer before he leans down against Hotch's chest, calming down slowly while Morgan gets dressed. "You did nothing wrong, it's okay." Hotch presses a kiss to Spencer's forehead. "Its okay."

Since Hotch is the one he clinches too,he is the one staying the night,making sure Spencer is okay and he can see the relive on Morgan's face when Spencer walks into the bullpen next morning.

Fourth chapter:

It takes two months for them to try again. "Breath baby boy." Morgan tells him pulling him closer to his chest, this time Morgan is still wearing sweatpants, as he hold him. "It's alright, we will stop anytime and we will tell you what to do." Erger and afraid at the same time he nods, biting down on his lip and Morgan presses a kiss to his cheek and Hotch moves in again, kissing him on the mouth but quickly going down on him, placing kisses all over his tight while Morgan kisses his neck and cheek, until Spencer squirmes between his leg and both man stop. "Colour?"

"Green." He presses Morgan's hand ones and then brings out:"Feels good. It feels nice." And Morgan can see the bulb in Spencer's underwear that was the only thing keeping him from being completely naked. "Please keep going?" He more asks then tells Hotch and the man laughs ones, kissing him again and then moves down again.

"Can I?" Passionate but agitated Hotch looks up to Spencer, his hand at the waistband of his underwear.

"Yes." Ones the underwear was gone Morgan moves his hand down, stocking the length and Hotch moves from the bed getting rid of his clothes and then moves back into his positions starting to kiss his inner tights again till his mouth meets Spencer's hard penis and he first only takes the head in his mouth. Playing with his tongue while Spencer grabs Morgan's hand harder turning his head and buring it in his neck,panting when Hotch stops asking for his colour. "Green."

"You promise?"

"Yes- yes keep going." Hotch does eventhough normally he is the one commenting him around. And Spencer feels Morgan's free hand guiding down his ass cheeks until one finger strokes his hole and he flinches, his knee jerking up almost hitting Hotch in the face.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay. You are doing good." Morgan promises him, not taking his hand away but leaning down to the mean clinching to his arm, having his face pressed against Morgan's shoulder. "Breath in and out what is wrong?"

"I don't know." Gently Hotch opens his legs again, pressing his knees down into the mattress and starts again while Morgan gets him used to his hand before he puts one finger in and Hotch is still going down on him and he doesn't know if he can hold much longer. "I am gonna cum."

"That's okay."

"No."

"It is, cum for us." Morgan tells him moving his finger up and down knowing that this is still all Hotch's work.

"Aaron-" Spencer's hand moves up to Hotch's hair. "I am gonna- Please-" Morgan uses the moment and adds a second finger and when he comes, with a loud moan and Hotch moves back he flips him over, still panting from the orgasm and Morgan moves his fingers up and down his hole while Hotch starts jerking himself off, both of the other man painfully hard but wanting to make sure Spencer gets the most pleasure out of this. "Colour?"

"Yellow." Morgan slows down a little bit giving Spencer time to get used to the two fingers and then eventually moves them. Opening them causing Spencer to moan and then he moves in a third and finding Spencer's sweet spot making him jerk but Morgan presses him down again.

"You think you can take Hotch already?" Hotch makes a mental note to remind Morgan to not call him that in bed.

"Please." Morgan leans down pressing a kiss to Spencer's cheek and hits the spot a few more times before pulling out and moving away from him, getting out of his clothes while both men make Spencer wait, who is moving against the sheets wanting to please the erection that is forming again but Hotch stops him and when Morgan was back on the bed, he pulls Spencer up by his hip. "Please Aaron. Please- Please ." To Spencer's surprise the moment Hotch's top meets his hole Morgan grabs his cock, stocking up and down and Hotch pushes in carefully,making Spencer whimper.

"It's okay, breath." He let's him catch his breath and Morgan slowly starts moving his hand up and down again while Hotch gives him more time. "You okay?"

"To much." Morgan stops and moves between Spencer and the headboard starting to kiss him while Hotch starts to move and then guides Spencer head down to his own penis and Spencer gets adjusted and starts sucking him off, moaning around his length whenever Hotch hits his postage and eventually gags when he hits harder and they slow down for a moment making sure he is okay and then Hotch continues and Morgan comes first and Spencer swallows most of it looking up to him with cum dripping down from his chin shortly before he cums himself and then places his head on Morgan's tight while Hotch continues thrusting into him till he comes inside of him.

"Come here." Morgan pulls Spencer up kissing him on the mouth, pulling him closer into his lap and Hotch stands up, walking into the bathroom were he let's a bath running to place Spencer in who tiredly lets Morgan wash him while Hotch holds his head.

"Don't fall asleep." With foam on his hands he wipes hair out of his face, making him look up to him with big and slightly red glassy eyes and gets why Morgan finds so much comfort in taking care of him.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #derek morgan #ao3 author #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner x spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #moreid #heid #smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic

[yourneighborhooddisaster]

kings of unconventional (part two)  LOGAN

This is really really late, I’m so sorry.

Warnings: swearing, therapy and crying mention?, death mention, suicide mention (not in depth at all), car crash mention, leukemia mention.

Tagging: @emiisanxious @genderfluidmoma @my-life-is-an-artistic-mess @penguins-penguins @jinxedrose101 I really hope I didn’t miss anyone, I’ll be happy to add you to the taglist! Although I do feel like directly messaging me would probably help me keep track of it better, you can also reblog or tag me. I love reblogs, comments, and constructive criticism! Fic under the cut. I’ll be getting an AO3 account soon!

LOGAN cleaned his glasses for the third time. Sure enough, the screen still read that a donation had been made to the campaign by Remy Starr, in the name of Starr’s Packaging. A five hundred thousand dollar donation. He cleared his throat without realizing. He didn’t actually need to talk to text Emile, but it was a nervous habit of his. Logan took a screenshot and sent it to Emile, who left him on seen. Oh right, someone had booked an appointment with him. A new client, which was huge for Emile considering his eccentric personality.

Logan shook his head to clear his thoughts. He needed to focus. He was already a day late replying, mainly because he couldn’t seem to word his gratitude quite correctly. But how was he supposed to answer this?

We thank you very much for your donation, Remy Starr. It is highly appreciated, especially considering how it has exceeded our goal so greatly. Please pass this message along to your company and have a wonderful week. -Logan Redding

Despite the fact that a little blurb had taken him ten minutes to write, he felt proud of himself for even being able to send anything. He couldn’t comprehend being able to randomly donate even a fifth of that sum. Just as he was about to put his phone away, it buzzed and he checked it to see Remy had replied.

relax gurl! the company just wanted to help out. thank my buddy virgil, he’s been following you for a while and he suggested it.

My buddy Virgil.

VIRGIL. 

Logan didn’t need to roll up his sleeve and check his arm to see the name in neat black print. In fact, he self consciously tugged it down further. His names had been burned into his brain ever since he was a child and his mother had broken the bad news. Yes, he should have been prepared for something like this to happen soon. Was he? Not in the slightest. Logan had always wondered who he would have a life with first. He assumed it might be in the order of the names. Janus, Patton, Virgil, and Roman. Guess not. His mother’s names had been like that. Dylan, then Marcus, then Timothy.

They were all dead now.

His mother had known her first soulmate when she was sixteen. But Dylan had crashed his car only a year after. Marcus was Logan’s father. He was only four when Marcus died of leukemia. But Timothy was perhaps the most tragic because he was the one Logan really considered his father. Suicide.

His mother had soon followed.

Logan couldn’t blame her really. She had suffered so much heartbreak. Part of why he was glad all his names appeared to be boys. Aside from the fact that he was gay, he wasn’t certain if this was hereditary or caused by other factors. If it could be passed on, it would die out with him. Turning off his phone, he wiped his eyes, which were certainly not watering. Emile would be available soon, meaning Logan could stop by his office and talk to him. His roommate had forgotten his lunch again anyways.

The drive wasn’t long; but it was just long enough that he needed to be distracted from his thoughts. He flipped on the radio. An old pop song he couldn’t remember the name of faded out, but it was soon replaced by a soft indie song. Logan had to admit he didn’t know much indie music, as he tended to listen to either rap or classical, but the music was pretty, and one line in particular stuck with him. I’m sure my soulmates won’t mind if we watch the sunset together. Soulmates, plural. The song ended much too soon.

“That was Tricking Fate, by Janus Diesel, an up and coming-” Logan flipped off the radio in shock. JANUS. Two soulmates in one day. Logan knew of course that it was possible they weren’t his, but were Janus and Virgil really common enough names? His heart was hurting and it was a damn good thing that he was just about to park because his emotions were making him dizzy now. At least he remembered to grab Emile’s bag of food.

“Oh, hello Logan! Dr. Picani is with his new client right now, but they’ll be done in about five more minutes. Just dropping something off or staying?”

“Staying, thank you Mary.” The brunette secretary smiled and Logan sat in the waiting room. Mary had been an absolute godsend to Emile, being much, much, much more organized than him and Logan combined. His mind was running so slowly five minutes passed in what seemed like only moments.

“Alright. Same time next week right, Patton?” Logan froze. A curly haired young man wiped his eyes, smiling brightly at Emile, who hovered just inside the door.

“Yeah. Yeah that felt… really good.” Patton waved goodbye and passed Logan, keeping his head down.

“Hey you.” Patton stopped, looking back over to Logan, who did not go red. “Um, I know I don’t know you, but you’re really cute.” Patton beamed, his cheeks flushing pink. Oh no. Logan was in deep fucking trouble. 

“Logan? Is that you?” Patton’s eyes widened, and Logan practically ran into Emile’s office. His heart was sinking. 

That was definitely his first soulmate.

#kings of unconventional #ts sanders sides #thomas sanders #sanders side fic #sanders sides fics #patton sanders #logan sanders #remy sanders #virgil sanders #ts patton #ts logan #ts remy #ts virgil #emile sanders #ts emile #eventual dlamp #dlamp #ts dlamp #polyamory #gay

[sagemoderocklee]

2020 has been a weird fucking year, to put it mildly. There have been a lot of ups and downs, and with New Year’s Eve and the start of 2021 upon us, focusing on the ~positive~ seemed like a better way to end the year, and hopefully start 2021 feeling inspired and proud for overcoming this horrendous year.

For many people, it was difficult--even impossible--to get anything done this year (myself included), and that’s okay! But if you were able to make progress on writing projects, even if it was just one or even if it was just part of one, you should celebrate that! I wish I’d thought of this sooner and organized it better, but regardless I wanted to celebrate my own accomplishments with regards to my writing, and encourage others to do the same! I was going to tag people, but I’m not sure with it being 2 hours til midnight for me if that would feel like putting too much pressure on others, so if you want to do this too please do!

This wrap up is honestly just a self-indulgent look back on the works I’ve made and what I learned/gained from each, maybe what I don’t like about them, some totaling on what I did, and some resolutions for the next year. It’s silly, but I think it’s kinda fun and if you missed any of the things I have posted this year, you’ll find them here!

2020 Fic Wrap Up:

Kado: Parts II+III (COMPLETED)

Kado was started in September of 2019 for the @puregaalee​ summer event. This was a last minute thing that I started the day the prompt was due and managed to write the first part in about 6 hours while sitting in a cafe--remember that? Sitting in cafes? Man, I miss that. I hadn’t anticipated working on Kado, but I decided that I was going to finish it this year, and I’m honestly amazed that I did. This fic is sweet and fun, and surprisingly popular, though it isn’t my favorite of my works. However, it is a light, fluffy little romcom modern AU, and I learned a lot with it because despite my struggles with modern AUs and their horrible lack of political intrigue, this fic forced me to work within set parameters. I was only writing a 3 part story, and each part could only be 9 scenes long. For those unfamiliar, kado is another term for Ikebana, and in Ikebana there are specific elements to follow. Certain styles will only use three branches, some will use nine. So my goal was for the structural elements of the fic to mimic Ikebana. In doing this, I was able to do something I don’t usually do, which is keep this story more concise.

I’m still not sure how I personally feel about the ending, but I think endings are always a struggle, especially with something like this.

Gate of Dreaming (COMPLETED) 

This is a fic that I started last year, then left to sit untouched with only 2k words. Getting back into it was a bit difficult because I was writing something very different from my usual: stream of consciousness. This fic was very experimental for me not only because of the stream of consciousness, but also because of the changing tenses. This was another exercise--unexpected though it was--in brevity. With this particular story, it couldn’t be dragged on and on, because--despite the 100 year time span--the events take place within the Infinite Tsukuyomi. This was also the first time I’d worked from Lee’s PoV in quite some time, so that was fun because I do enjoy writing him, but usually write from Gaara’s PoV. This is definitely one of my favorites from this year, and since it had been sitting on the back burner for so long, I’m so excited that I could finally get it done.

Another one where the ending really wasn’t easy to achieve, but I did end up liking it more than I expected, and I think the best thing is that it’s open-ended which leaves room for others to guess at what the future holds.

It Eats Your Heart (WIP)

This was an unexpected fic for me in every way imaginable. Starting another fic? Making another modern AU? Tackling the horror genre? None of those were things I’d planned to do this year, but lo and behold, that’s just what I did. I really enjoy a good bit of horror, but it is NOT an easy genre to work within, and this fic has definitely been a push for me. But with it being such a push, the payoff is far more. Stepping out of my comfort zone is something I like doing, but I think this is the biggest step outside of that and I am so incredibly proud of how that first chapter turned out because of it. I was really able to surprise myself with this fic, and I am hoping to update the next chapter early on in the year.

Absolution (WIP)

This fic is probably the second oldest idea/longest unpublished fic I currently have up. Formerly a much longer title, the idea for this fic came to me in May of 2017 when a friend, @brianadoesotherjunk / @brianadoesart, posted a piece of GaaLee fanart that sparked inspiration. The fic took off, morphed into something much bigger than the one scene depicted by the art, and now 3 years later, the first part is up. Initially, this was meant to be a long shot, but after sitting with this for so long, I realized that I needed to split it up into 9 parts, which allowed me to use this for GaaLee bingo and finally publish it. Much of the first part was already written before this year, but I’d been quite stuck on it until now. This is actually probably one of my favorite GaaLee concepts to date. I remember back in the day, there weren’t a lot of different takes on getting Lee to Suna so he and Gaara could fall in love, so (at the risk of sounding cocky) I think that Lee as a nanny is rather inspired. I think with this fic, I pushed myself the hardest to get past the hurdle of writer’s block and accepted that publishing is probably the best way to motivate myself to keep going. The feedback for this fic has been really motivating, so I think I’m probably right about that.

I do think there are some parts in the middle or towards the end that could maybe use some tightening up, but I’m just happy to finally have this fic out in the world.

The Art of Love: Chapter 11 (WIP)

TAoL is such a ridiculous labor of love. The chapters for this fic are novellas in and of themselves, so each time I update it takes a lot of work to get them out. This fic is one of those like magnum opus type fics. I have put so much into it, and I’m honestly amazed that it’s only been up for 3 years because I’m approaching the halfway mark on it, and I don’t think I expected to be there by now. Despite being able to churn out 30k chapters, I have a hard time focusing on one thing and I often struggle with mental health related writer’s block, so big works are always sort of sporadic in their updates. 

This particular update of TAoL was definitely one of my favorites though. Initially, I didn’t plan to go the sort of dark fantasy rout that I did with Shikamaru, but I actually really love what I’ve done with him, though I worry others won’t be as into it or that the execution isn’t quite there. One thing I would like to work on with future chapters of TAoL, however, is maybe pairing things down a bit--though I’m not sure that’ll always be possible. The next chapter is a Naruto PoV chapter, though, so I expect that one to be a MUCH shorter chapter than the last three and should be able to get it out sometime next year.

Before I could publish this chapter, however, I did go through and make some big changes, which is something I often struggle with because of such long breaks in between working on certain projects. I will say, though, that TAoL continues to push me to greater heights as a writer, and I look forward to actually finishing this fic someday.

Thirteen Strokes: 1 + 2 (WIP)

Another unexpected fic this year, however, this one was actually an idea for about a year, unlike IEYH. This fic has really given me a lot of perspective on my own writing and world building, and has inspired me to sit down and really start committing the things I’ve developed to paper to create a cohesive view of Suna, Wind, and the shinobi world. This fic is meant to be a Romance. Like just full on Romance. I write a lot of tragedy and focus on a lot of darker themes in my writing, so while I don’t think of this as stepping outside of my comfort zone, it is very different from my usual, and a really nice change of pace. I think, in all honesty, it is one of my best works, and I do hope I can continue to deliver on the remaining 11 parts of this story.

if this were the last i felt you breathing (COMPLETED)

Ugh. This fic has been my enemy for 2 long years. I signed up for a Secret Santa exchange, and of course, I regretted doing it when I found that I was not motivated and, after the month of October where I was churning out fic after fic for GaaLee Bingo, that I was massively burned out. I wasn’t able to think past writer’s block, and so I ended up settling on dusting off an old, unfinished piece for my giftee, and I hope they can forgive me for not coming up with something brand new for them.

This fic was a struggle. Working so closely with the canon--following the Rescue Kazekage Arc as closely as I did for this fic--made this a much bigger challenge and this fic sat and sat and sat for two years, untouched and incomplete. I’m still not sure how I feel about it. I know it’s not my best work, but I am glad that this fic isn’t hanging over my head and that I was able to deliver something to my secret santa giftee.

My goal with this fic was to rewrite this particular arc from Lee’s PoV to give more depth to the arc and shift the emotional core of it away from Naruto. Naruto as a character has a lot of flaws that never get addressed, and one of the things that is consistently frustrating for me is the way the emotional core of the series rests on him in unrealistic and often superficial ways. Naruto hasn’t spoken to Gaara in three years, but I’m supposed to believe he’s this affected by Gaara’s kidnapping? Temari and Kankuro are right there! Lee is right there! I wanted to see that, so that’s what I set out to do, and ultimately I don’t think I fully succeeded, but I tried. I guess not everything can be a resounding success

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This year I managed to do a lot more than I realized. New works, updates, and COMPLETED pieces?! I never would have thought, but staying home gave me more free time, and when I was too broke to work on costumes, writing fanfiction was something free I could do.

Total new works: 5 Total updates: 9 Total completed works: 3 Total words this year: 143,587

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I have a lot of goals for the coming year, and I know I won’t make all of them, but that won’t stop me from trying.

2021 Writing Resolutions:

Reach 1million words (+238,073 words)

Finish IEYH

Finish Pearl-Filled Lungs

Update TAoL (Chapter 12 and 13)

Update Absolution

Update 13S

Update Find Me (Chapter 6)

Start the Ballad of the Dragon and the Phoenix

Start editing Alliance

Return to working on Honor Bound

Return to working on We Need Not Be Yellow Tulips

#naruto fanfiction #gaalee #naruto #shippuden #gaara #rock lee #fanfiction 2020 wrap up #fanfic year in review