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diejager · 5 months

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Technical Issues Cw: smut, sex work, OnlyFans, porn, fuck machine, squirting, prostitution handjob, tell me if I missed any.

Part3

It started with a reluctant alliance between SpecGru and KorTac, two powerful PMCs that were tricked by the same employer, played and played again, unable to work alone to take them down. So both heads of the PMCs decided to work together to take down this problematic employer, which meant that they’d have to come and go between bases, sharing the same space and the same area. They were unenthusiastic about it, still holding a grudge against the other.

There was a technical issue in giving access to KoTac members sent over to the British base the right clearances for the compiled data, to-know intel and the statistics. That’s how König found himself in the database, looking up the different clearance codes to give him access to the information he needed before 1900, he only had half an hour to find the code if he didn’t want to miss the event.

Unfortunately, all he stumbled into was a page, a familiar name popping up on this person’s browser history. It was Soap’s. Sergeant John “Soap” MacTavish, the snipe and demolition specialist that König knew from both experience and intel. It was a strange find, Soap had used a public browser to watch his nightly activities and had forgotten to wipe it clean —did he even wipe his history? Something ugly flared in König’s chest, an explosive warmth of possession and envy. How could’ve he not seen him on the chat when König spent so much time on it himself?

With dilated pupils and a one-track mind, he completed his search and rushed to his room, pushing past everyone he met in the hall with his broad shoulders and even bigger ego, nostrils flaring and seeing red. He knew this kind of reaction was nonsensical, near illogical on his par, seeing the type of content he consumed, but he couldn’t help it, he was the second highest payer.

Slamming and locking the door behind him, he ripped his mask off, throwing it haphazardly on the floor and ripped his clothes off, his skin hot to the touch in his cold room. It was 1857 —perfect. Settling himself on his temporary desk in nothing but his briefs, he felt his cock struggle against the fabric, head poking out on the side of his boxers. He was quick to open up the right tab, clicking in the sweet temptation of the profile picture.

A screen popped out, a familiar bed in a familiar setting with familiar objects surrounding the plush sheets, and in the middle, sat the little cherub of his dreams. Seraphim, the little slut that he was happy to spend his legacy on, to watch and indulge in the sinful act jerking off to a woman he might never meet or know outside of this screen. He pushed his waistband down his thighs and his cock swung out, hanging low between his legs, veins pulsing with the rush of blood from his head to his cock and uncut head drooling on his chair.

👑 gifted you 100$

“Hello, sir,” you smiled so sweetly at him, glossy lips pulled into an innocent image, “Thank you for the gift.”

He always gave you a gift at the start of each live he watched to get a greeting from you and would gift you much more with ever minute he spent watching you bend over your bed, ass up and face down, getting fucked by the fuck machine he gifted you. You had two cameras set up, one that let them view your tight cunt stretched around the silicone copy of his cock - thick and veiny - and one giving them a clear view of your tearful eyes and cock drunk expression.

König kept his eyes glued to your cunt, ploughed so roughly bu his girth that slick gushed around it, lips swollen and wet, and the little plug your pushed into your flared rim, the flat handle spreading your ass for them to see. He jerked himself, calloused fingers gripping the head of his cock and spreading pre down his shaft, the foreskin spread around his girth. He shuddered, his cock throbbing in his hand, reacting to the image of your ravaged and gasping figure taking the dildo so well, mewling and wailing like the angelic whore you were.

He wanted you to come, he wanted to see you squirt around the toy, slick rolling down your thighs in waves of pleasure, your voice breaking as you mewl and wail. He moved thoughtlessly, hand moving to type out his command, sending you more money, it was an addiction at this rate, his need to sustain you and your living. If you let him, he’d be your sugar daddy, paying for everything you’d need and you’d have the real deal, his hot and heavy cock rather than a silicone.

“Please let me come, sir!” Your begging had always been delicious and who was he to deny you of your pleasure when you brought him to his ground shaking climax.

He came with a loud groan, a deep rumbling in his chest, still pumping his cock as the head twisted, spraying his opaque cum over the table, white and viscous. His eyes rolled at the back of his mind, lids feeling heavy and body wracked with tremors, legs jerking as his hand slowed down, steadily riding out his mind-numbing release.

“Them too?” Horangi peered at the four Brits, an unamused gleam in his hidden eyes.

König nodded, his hood twisting with every motion, fingers moving gracefully over his rifle, dismantling and cleaning it after their recon mission. A groan caught his attention, his eyes moving from the beauty of his weapon to the cold blues that stared back at him.

“It does not matter,” Nikto’s voice had always been violent, a rough and jagged husk that exhumed power, “We found her first.”

It was a statement to himself, a strong and unyielding one that stemmed from Nikto’s dark and broken person, but they agreed.

Part 5

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greenglowsgold · 11 months

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The List.

Based on the Cass Apocalyptic Series.

The first part of this has been rumbling around in my brain ever since that Super Sad Scene a month ago, but yesterday’s update gave me the other side of the coin, so to speak, and finally pulled it all together.

@somerandomdudelmao thanks for the fuel, friend

-----

Donatello’s days have become a series of checklists, as of late.

No, that’s not exactly true. His days have always been about lists: what he’s done, what he can delegate to someone else, what still needs doing. But these days he’s been doing less and listing more, piling tasks from the first category onto the second as fast as he can manage, hoping he has enough time to empty the queue.

The full catalog is written out in a series of files, reorganized for accessibility to the layperson and meticulously up-to-date as of yesterday. He meant to run through it again this morning, ensure all the relevant instruction manuals were attached to each item and double check his protocols, but he wasn’t… he couldn’t…

He’s going to die tonight.

It irritates him, his own miscalculation of the timing more than the stark presence of his oncoming demise. The latter has been inevitable for quite some time, long enough that he’s gotten used to the idea. But he thought he had another week or two, and he doesn’t like being proven wrong. He wonders if his brothers know.

Probably not. They know it’s bad now, obviously, because they’ve piled him with pillows and blankets and surrounded him on all sides, and Leo has finally gone quiet. But they trust him, they’ve always trusted him, even when they shouldn’t, so if he swears he’ll last a few more days, they’ll believe him. He thinks. He’s pretty sure. If they knew it was tonight, he doubts they would choose to sleep through it. Donnie thinks about waking them up, but only for a moment. He’d like to say it’s a noble act, to leave them in peace a little bit longer, but the truth is he’s just too fucking tired to move.

There’s something settled bone-deep in his chest, a heaviness that sits on him like a stone, a peine forte et dure pressing him down and down, stopping his voice and his breath and his heart. He wonders if this is what dying usually feels like, or if it’s unique to the Kraang. Raph would know.

He cranes his neck to the right, to catch Raph’s face out of the corner of his eye. Raph’s working eye is half-open, staring down at the floor. Donnie could ask him. (He won’t. Let him fall asleep.) The movement of his head is so slight it doesn’t even catch Raph’s attention. He’s too tired for anything more. He’s so goddamn tired.

His lists are out of reach at the moment, with his physical interfaces back in the lab and his ninpo locked behind a wall of oh-god-it-sounds-too-exhausting-to-even-try, but he memorized them all long ago.

Raphael: Maintenance (delegated to Casey, who has it well in hand). Plans (tucked away in a dedicated folder, long term, but someday they’ll have the materials, and Raph will have a proper body again, someday). Honey (yes, he passed that along last week).

Raph has access to the tracking programs, so he can keep an eye on everyone himself, even when Donnie can’t pull up locations or vitals for him anymore. He has his own space in the base once more, somewhere to close a door when he needs to (he insists he doesn’t, but Donnie isn’t a fool). He has more excuses to spend time with Casey, who’s taking over his upkeep. Donnie hopes it fills in some gaps for both of them.

He runs through the list, double checks each item. It’s his last chance to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything important.

He looks down, finds Mikey.

There’s a stockpile of the anti-aging serum in his safe, the formula in his database, plans for the permanent solution clearly labeled. As long as they have his lab, his systems, Mikey will be as young as his years. He’s walked him through the greenhouse, even if most of it is controlled by the computer system. Mikey misses the world being green; it’ll do him good to spend more time around the plants. He has his tea, his candles. He has Draxum, who by now should have received a — mildly — threatening message warning him not to pull any disappearing acts anytime soon. He has their ancestors, just a short call away.

Donnie’s sure Mikey will call on him soon. He doesn’t plan to stray far.

Up a bit. To the left. Leo.

The arm — Leo knows how to take care of it, as does Casey.

The passwords — reset, something even Leo will be able to remember without resorting to blackmail.

The schedule — reshuffled for the next few days, he’ll have a hard enough time sleeping as it is.

The photos — everything they have, even the embarrassing ones. He even managed a couple of prints, and one precious shot from their pre-apocalypse days, something for Leo to tuck into a pouch and carry with him, when they’re not around.

Raph, Mikey, Leo. He doesn’t think he’s missed anything. Donnie lets his head fall back, too exhausted to hold it up any longer.

Is it enough?

His mind stretches further out. He’s unraveling.

What about April? Her prescription is up to date, they just checked a month ago. She has the latest in his combat tech, which has kept her safe in the field this long, so he has no reason to think it will falter now. He’s leaving her a few extra pieces, since he won’t be able to use them anymore. Leo will find the time for a movie night once in a while, he’s certain, even if his taste in Jupiter Jim movies is horrendous. They still have coffee; he’d die before he let that particular supply run out. He will, actually.

Casey. Fuck, Donnie’s gonna miss his birthday. But he did plan for this, his protocols will kick in. The mask is finished, everything is in place. He’s reconfigured his workstations, fit them for a tiny human instead of a seven-foot turtle. Casey has a better head for mechanics than any of his brothers ever did. Kid likes to be useful, so Donnie’s left him as much use as he can. He’s taught him everything Casey can learn and left instructions for more, when he’s a little older and wiser. His family will take care of him, they’ll make sure he gets there.

The base. It has to hold, to give them somewhere safe. The infrastructure is sound, and they have people to manage repair work. Supplies are decent, the most critical items in stock, everything that can be made renewable is. Their allies — Leo handles interpersonal issues and leadership, but Donnie’s checked the list with a pragmatist’s eye, left notes and rankings for priority. Security is the largest concern, but he’s spent nearly half his time with his assistants since his self-diagnosis (he could have spent it with his family), running them through the programs and adjustments, trying to bring them up to somewhere in the realm of his own expertise (a fool’s errand, but still). They’ve been rigorously instructed, they understand that the little things like sleep are secondary concerns. It has to hold.

Is it enough? For them to be okay?

He’s done everything he can. He can’t do any more. So it has to be enough.

Donnie blinks, and for a moment isn’t certain his eyes will open again at the end of it. But they do. At least one more time, they obey him.

Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Home. He rolls back through the list. It’s his last chance. He can’t miss anything.

Mikey’s hand tightens unconsciously around his wrist, fingers meeting easily on either side. Donnie feels only the echo of the pressure.

Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Home.

Something bright sparks at the edges of his vision before it fades. The last gasps of a dying brain, he supposes. Synapses firing one last time before they’re snuffed out.

Raph.

Mikey.

Leo.

April.

Casey.

Home.

Light.

There’s light.

It hurts.

He thought dying would stop the pain, but it’s risen to a fever pitch instead. His brother’s arms are gone, but the disease wraps around him in their place, consumes him. It rages like a wildfire, burning through his center until pieces start to flake away like ash.

Oh, this is what it does, what it was built for. The Kraang could have killed him in a lot of different ways. He’d wondered why they chose this one.

He hasn’t planned for it. This is something he didn’t even know to fear.

It’s bright and it hurts but it’s quiet as he crumbles, folds in on himself like a black hole in the utter silence of outer space. It’s quiet enough that the voice that breaks through does so clear as a bell.

His head turns to follow the sound, instinct. He’s lost half his field of vision, but what’s left is enough. He looks, and finds Casey.

Casey looks at him, at him, not the body. Donnie opens his mouth to ask a question — What are you doing here? How? Why? — but something else sloughs out instead. Not blood. He doesn’t have that anymore.

Casey calls his name once more and starts running.

Donnie’s questions fold back into his mind. His mouth clicks shut, he swallows back the putrid rot and pushes himself up. His arms are shattered but they’ll have to hold him. They have to. Because Casey is here and he needs something, which means Donnie missed something, which means he isn’t done.

His spirit disagrees with him, doesn’t see the logic. His arms don’t hold.

Casey reaches to catch him as he falls, and the touch ruptures him instead. He scatters. Into the air and the ground and Casey. For a moment, he’s just pieces, fumbling around and latching onto anything that welcomes them, and Casey does that. They flow into him. They’re him. They’re…

He’s…

Casey, he’s…

Donatello pulls himself back together. Most of himself, anyway. The infection hasn’t followed him but the damage persists. He’s run through with cracks and crevices, shaking bits away into infinity with every movement. But there’s more of him here than not.

Unexpectedly, Donnie is not gone. He’s still dead, but that’s fine, he planned for that one.

Casey has him now. He wraps himself around Donnie in layers, helps hold him together with a kind of sheer will that makes up for any lack of mystic knowledge in spades. Casey asks him to stay, and Donnie takes up the task like Sisyphus sizing up the hill. This time, this time I’ll do it right.

Even better, Casey has taken him to another time, one where all of Donnie’s long-term plans are now completely-fucking-reasonable plans. Casey’s going to fix it, so Donnie can fix everything else. Whatever else needs it. He hasn’t really asked. And he knows he’s missed something, but he doesn’t think too hard about what, not yet.

First thing’s first: he needs a body.

It’s so simple to accomplish that it seems like the universe is mocking him. Just a quick 1-2-3, ticking off the list. It feels almost stupid, like running back through the early levels of a video game after unlocking all the ultimate weapons and burning through enemies and obstacles, laughing, shit, did I used to think this was hard?

In no time at all, his own face has formed in front of him.

In no time at all, he’s gasping.

It’s only been a few hours since he last breathed air, but he’s missed it.

Another thing he’s missed? Functional musculature. Casey slams into him and Donnie is startled to find that it doesn’t knock him over. His arms and legs look like actual limbs again, not fragile little sticks disguising themselves as such. He stands, dragging Casey along without a second thought. The weight barely registers. It’s amazing.

The power trip is heady, but it only lasts a few minutes before reality kicks it in the ass and pulls him back down to earth.

We lost, Casey says.

They’re dead, Casey says.

It wasn’t enough, Casey does not say, but Donnie hears it just as clearly.

All those plans, the preparations, the precautions and protocols, they only borrowed a year or two before they fell apart. He sees the timeline spiral out before him, tighter and tighter until it collapses in on itself, rendered all the more insignificant from his own point of perception. He was alive yesterday. His family is dead today.

Everything he did, it wasn’t enough. Of course it wasn’t. He was stupid to think otherwise.

(Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Casey’s still here. It was enough for him, at least.)

It cuts at him a little, to have been so wrong. But he’s strong again, now. He can take the wound. More importantly, he has another chance to get it right.

Donnie breathes. His chest expands smoothly, easily. The air doesn’t rattle in his lungs. He’s alive, he’s a genius, he can fix anything.

He pulls up a list.

#rottmnt #cass apocalyptic series #Rise of the TMNT #fic I write #*looks at the word count* haha. anyway. i'm normal.#Donnie's expressions when he looks at his family one last time are so fuckin good they're so clear #I looked at him and I was like 'oh cool I can literally read his mind'#which may or may not be true (you tell me) but holy shit was it effective #(please @god let the formatting of this post hold)

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radiance1 · 7 months

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Based off of the second reblogg made by this wonderful person @percyisawesome

Taking that idea.

So, the Nasty Burger explosion took place, killing everyone Danny loved an shi, then he defeats Dark Danny but Clockwork doesn't reset time so his friends and family still dead dead.

Then he gets captured by the GIW, experimented on and all of that shebang. Then, the GIW makes the decision to try and split him apart, which they succeed in doing because obviously the Fenton boy might be possessed by phantom instead of phantom pretending to be the boy.

So it works, but since ghosts are beings of pure emotions, Danny is just zapped of every human emotion. Nothing but a shell that runs on pure, undeniable logic. Which puts off the GIW, and causes them to hate Phantom even more, because it's obvious that Phantom did something to this poor, poor child who was forced into this very obviously without his input.

Then they just, drop Danny off in Amity Park. All alone, in a far too big and dangerous house with a dead family that he'll never see again. So, what does Danny do? He learns, going through each and every blueprint and file left behind by his parents before his death, even the unfinished blueprints he delves into, completes, even makes his own.

He learns everything dealing with weaponry against ghosts, then starts to learn how to hack into things, almost of par with Tucker but ever a step below him, he learns about plants and their poisons, from non-lethal to extremely deadly.

He learns, and he learns.

Distantly, in the back of his mind that he's tried to push out, is the overwhelming agony being projected to him through the bridge between him and phantom.

The separation of them may have stripped him of his emotions, but not his ability to make ambitions, nor stripped him of motivation.

When the GIW facility fell, it was the easiest thing in his life. They weren't expecting anyone to even know of their location, nor how to hack through their servers and mess with the security system or the power running through the facility. Their unpreparedness was Danny's gain.

The most logical and easiest outcome for the GIW to not be a threat anymore, would be death. So put to death they were, some parts of the facility were contaminated with toxic gas, other parts their own security system against them, or he exterminated them himself when they managed to encounter him.

He had a multitude of weaponry at his disposal hidden away on his body in the form of small trinkets. Ranging from knives, swords, guns, poison, explosives, gauntlets disguised as gloves, etc, etc. All of which, he used to raid the GIW facility and worked exactly to his calculations, letting him calmly walk through the halls and dispatching the stray few that managed to go his way.

He did not care for other ghosts, they were unnecessary in his calculations, whether they managed to escape or not in the oppurtunity he set was up to them. He only came here for one being, his other half.

Phantom.

When he found the cell keeping him contained and opened the door, he would imagine that if he were still capable of feeling, he would be experiencing a large of rage at what he saw. Instead, he cut off the chains keeping his other half fixed to the wall, tore off multiple strips of cloth to wrap around the various wounds on his body- most notable being a vivisection scar, and picked him up to carry outside, and away from the facility.

He already had everything he could've gotten from the database of this facility, but he would most definitely be coming back. The amount of high tech laying around would be a shame if rusted from disuse, especially when it would be impossible to acquire through his own means.

He might even move everything from the Fenton house over here, if only for shorter access to far better equipment.

A few days later, and he does just that. Cleaning up the entire facility- with added help from Phantom- and establishing it as his new base of operations. It's incredibly isolated, well hidden, and has multiple more defenses than just his parent's ghost defenses, defenses that he could use to make this place into a neigh-impenetrable fortress.

Phantom was relatively 'fine' with the move, after being persuaded by Danny. Though he has a high aversion to certain areas, which is understandable, with what he went through.

At the behest of Phantom, the lab coat he frequently wears is fitted more to be a cloak, and to complete the look, a highly advanced gas mask. Phantom said it was 'cool', and, well Phantom was the only one able to put dents in his logic to get his way when he really, really wanted to. Said lab coat was fitted with a high number of smaller- but extensively powerful- ghost shields, while his gas mask acted as a voice changer, an actual gas mask, and a literal laser (That to activate, it's mouth would 'open' and fire).

After Phantom recovered, he still had the ambition to be a hero, even though the threat of ghosts was at an all-time low. Danny would support him, of course, in anyway he wanted, but Danny would not join him.

His goal was to dissolve the Anti-ecto acts, so if that meant he had to drown his hands in the blood of others to achieve it, then so be it. Unfortunately, Phantom wouldn't allow him to harm the innocent, which he would account as collateral damage if it were to happen, so he would have to use different methods than the hostile takeover he used to claim ownership of their new base.

Besides, the Justice league, and the world of heroes, would be a major problem for said hostile takeover. A very true point, told to him by Phantom.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #dcxdp

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academypediaen · 1 year

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What are Open Access Journals and How Can they Help Technology Watch Specialists ?

Introduction As the amount of scientific knowledge published online continues to grow, it can be difficult to know where to look for reliable information . Open access journals are a great way to gain access to credible, up-to-date research in your field of study . [...] https://is.gd/q5YjN9

#business #communication #data #education #ict #information #intelligence #technology - Created by David Donisa from Academypedia.info

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copperbadge · 5 months

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Migrating Off Evernote

Evernote, a web-based notes app, recently introduced super-restrictive controls on free accounts, after laying off a number of staff and introducing AI features, all of which is causing a lot of people to migrate off the platform. I haven't extensively researched alternative sites, so I can't offer a full resource there (readers, feel free to drop your alternative sites in notes or reblogs), but because I have access to OneNote both in my professional and personal life, I decided to migrate my Evernote there.

I use them for very different things -- Evernote I use exclusively as a personal fanfic archive, because it stores fics I want to save privately both as full-text files and as links. OneNote I have traditionally used for professional purposes, mainly for taking meeting notes and storing information I need (excel formulas, how-tos for things I don't do often in our database, etc). But while Evernote had some nicer features it was essentially a OneNote clone, and OneNote has a webclipper, so I've created an account with OneNote specifically to store my old Evernote archive and any incoming fanfic I want to archive in future.

Microsoft discontinued the tool that it offered for migrating Evernote to OneNote directly, but research turned up a reliable and so-far trustworthy independent tool that I wanted to share. You export all your Evernote notebooks as ENEX files, then download the tool and unzip it, open the exe file, and import the ENEX one by one on a computer where you already have the desktop version of OneNote installed. I had no problem with the process, although some folks with older systems might.

I suspect I might need to do some cleanup post-import but some of that is down to how Evernote fucked around with tags a while ago, and so far looking through my notes it appears to have imported formatting, links, art, and other various aspects of each clipped note without a problem. I also suspect that Evernote will not eternally allow free users to export their notebooks so if nothing else I'd back up your notebooks to ENEX or HTML files sooner rather than later.

I know the number of people who were using Free Evernote and have access to OneNote is probably pretty small, but if I found it useful I thought others might too.

#evernote #enshittification #happens to everyone sooner or later it appears

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botanicalsword · 2 months

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House ruler in 5H • where to find love

5th House

Theme: Love, Children, Your Talents, Adventure, Speculation, Entertainment, Gambling, Sports, Creative Activities.

Related occupations: Actor, artist, athlete, etc

Chart ruler in 5H

In romantic relationships, they are proactive pursuers, expressing their feelings with enthusiasm and sincerity. They are unafraid to showcase their emotions, bravely pursuing their love interest.

2H ruler in 5H

Relationships can be costly, but with harmonious 5H aspects, they can be profitable, transforming love's cost into an opportunity. However, if there’s challenging aspects in 5H, they could incur substantial losses, possibly leading to distress and a feeling of helplessness.

3H ruler in 5H

In love, they often choose friends, neighbors, classmates, or childhood friends due to shared experiences, memories, and understanding. Developing these relationships can foster trust, understanding, and friendship, aiding romantic growth.

4H ruler in 5H

Most of their relationships are formed through introductions by family, friends, or fellow townspeople with common backgrounds. They rarely interact with people whose environments and experiences differ significantly from theirs. Their relationships are usually not with people from other locations.

5H ruler in 5H

Their love life is thriving, fostering strong relationships and potential romantic encounters, with support from family and friends.

6H ruler in 5H

Romantic relationships often develop in office environments, where deep connections can form. While this may add complexity, it can also lead to their satisfaction and happiness at work.

7H ruler in 5H

They may potentially marry their beloved, not through matchmaking, but by experiencing love's joys and trials to find their soulmate.

8H ruler in 5H

In a romantic relationship, sexual activity often occurs frequently. If complications arise in the 5H / 8H, there's a risk of deception involving both emotions and property. This could lead to substantial material losses and becoming overly entangled in their feelings of love.

9H ruler in 5H

It's easy to have long-distance relationships, online relationships, or even interracial ones.

10H ruler in 5H

There is a possibility of dating a boss. They may experience an office romance, a special circumstance where they meet and fall in love at work, causing sweetness and contradictions.

11H ruler in 5H

Their community ties could open up exciting romantic possibilities, potentially leading to a complex love triangle, adding intrigue and anticipation to their relationships.

12H ruler in 5H

Their emotional lives, filled with unexpected twists, include complex love triangles, potential infidelity, and possible love affairs, adding uncertainty to their love path.

❥❥❥

>> Back to Masterlist ✧ Explicit Content

Quick Access to : ❥ Astro / Asteroid Indicators ❥ Synastry / Composite Chart Observations ❥ House Stellium Observations ❥ Astro basic info / Brief reads ❥ Asteroid database ❥ Personal studies ✧ spiritual journal

Exclusive access : Patreon

/ instagram : @le.sinex / @botanicalsword

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tim-shii · 1 year

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a/n: little dan heng piece hehe uhm reader calls dan heng a nerd but in an affectionate way lols enjoy :]

“how do you know that?”

“what? it’s common knowledge.”

“you just told me the mass, the temperature and the population of all the planets. how is that common knowledge?” you look at him like he grew two heads and dan heng is confused at that. question marks imagery floating on the top of his as he tilts it.

“they’re all inputted in the database. everyone has access to that, anyone could’ve known that.” he responds. face all blanked with a hint of proudness on it because he knew damn well he was the one who organized the database.

“if i asked caelus what the temperature of jarilo-vi was, he’d answer me with 9.9 trillion degrees fahrenheit.”

“he’s new to the world.”

“everyone knows it’s an ice planet!”

“frosted planet.”

dan heng looks at you with fondness. does he understand why you’re getting worked up over this? no. but will he be calming you down because you’re really getting worked up over it? also no. dan heng then decided that maybe entertaining your thoughts will be worthwhile. he grabs your hand and interlaces your fingers together, smiling to himself after successfully getting your attention.

“okay. do you wanna know a fact?”

“a fact? what a nerd.” you grin at him. dan heng playfully rolls his eyes at you in return.

“due to the binding agents of egg and blood being similar, it’s hypothetically possible to substitute eggs with blood in cooking in a ratio of 1 egg is to 65 grams of blood.” he states it like it’s a normal fun fact about rainbows and butterflies and that scares you.

you stare at each other for a moment. no words exchanged, just silence enveloping you two. after a while, you open your mouth to speak. “did.. did i do something wrong to you?”

now dan heng just looks more puzzled than earlier. “no? you said i can tell you a fact.” he looks at you with furrowed brows when you let out a sigh of relief.

“where did you know that from?”

“a doctor. he was a scientist i encountered on a mission.”

“oh thank god.”

“what was that?”

“nothing! hey, let’s go visit march.”

likes and reblogs are appreciated! masterlist

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail danheng #honkai x reader #dan heng #dan heng x reader #dan heng x you #star rail #star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr x you

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somehow-a-human · 25 days

Text

Oh look it's another crack theory!

Crowley is the current supreme archangel.

DO NOT ASK NEIL ABOUT FAN THEORY

Okay so hear me out, and look, I SAID CRACK! I have fun crack theories pop in my head every once in a while and I'm gonna write em down. It's not cannon with any of my other ideas or metas it's just *a thing*.

So! If you want to follow me down a wormhole of extrapolation, do so below!

"There is always a supreme archangel!"

Michael said it not me! Blame her! But look, that line is a choice, and it feels there for a reason. Maybe there IS always a supreme archangel. Maybe it's not a job you're hired for, maybe it's something that's inherited like royalty, and transfers automatically.

The 25 lazarii miracle.

Okay yes, I think it's just love and angel/demon working together is more powerful than apart, shades of grey, all that. BUT nobody else thinks that. Heaven and hell do not think that. They do not think Az and Crowley should have been able to do that miracle by any means. So I'd assume they're scratching their heads, and Aziraphale does tell the Archangels initially that he performs the miracle alone, which I assume would have then been relayed to the Metatron.

"A miracle of enormous power happened last night, the kind of miracle only the mightiest of archangels could perform" ... "How do you know I didn't do it?"

Let's say I'm right, look I'm humoring my own theory aren't I? Does Crowley know? Would he be aware of what happened? Would he feel it? If he did I could definitely see him keeping that card close to the chest, but still being a snarky ass to Shax.

Crowley opens the file in heaven.

So he's at least a Throne or Dominion or above, probably even higher up than that. He says they never change their passwords, and if that's true what else don't they change? What else have they forgotten? Bureaucratic nightmares like heaven often overlook so many things, who's to say a certain high up angel wasn't taken off all the books fully after they became a demon?

Why does the Metatron actually want Aziraphale back in Heaven?

I mean? Sure he and Crowley averted Apocalypse Part 1 last time I guess that's why, but couldn't there have been an easier way than a faux job promotion? I'm thinking: Gabriel is gone, the position of Supreme Archangel is automatically inherited, none of the Archangels in heaven are it, Aziraphale is suddenly accidentally performing a 25 lazarii miracle all by his lonesome? What if the Metatron thinks it's Aziraphale who has been chosen for the role of Supreme Archangel. But there's one thing he's over looked...

A clerical error.

What if it's not Aziraphale but it's Crowley. Crowley was formerly a high ranking angel before the fall. He's still able to access files in heaven, maybe they've forgotten to completely erase him from all the books and databases, and he was next in line, or maybe God just has a funny sense of humor. Angels and demons alike seem to just automatically listen to Crowley this season and do what he asks, Shax calls him "Arch-traitor" he seems like he might just know a bit too much more than he should, and the scene during the trial where Gabriel says, " However I am the only first order Archangel in the room or ya know the universe." Then the camera cuts directly to a close-up shot of Crowley? It's a bit too foreboding in my opinion to be nothing.

Final Thoughts.

This comic is posted on Whickber street between Aziraphale's Bookshop and the Record Shop. Neil had asked that it revolve around the horrible crime of stealing halos. When I see this comic, I can't help but think that the original halo owner is very James Bond, a character our favorite snake like demon loves to portray. I wonder if Anthony J "just a J really" Crowley chose J for a reason more than just a J (maybe........... Jophiel?), and I wonder if he really was fully deserving of his fate during the fall or if there's a bit more to the story.

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whimsyfinny · 3 months

Text

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: SMUT, the forbidden quickie

Chapter Word Count: 3548

—-MDNI—-

A/N: ahhhhhhhh I finally wrote some spice! Sorry it took a while. This is a little tame I guess but we can work up to the extra lewd stuff

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Please read the below first:

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

I’m Not Your F*cking Maid

Chapter 6

The following day rolled around quickly and before we knew it there was only an hour remaining until the auction house charity event. The disturbing events of yesterday were pushed to the back of my mind, the boys respecting my wishes on not wanting to talk about it. Sam told us over breakfast that he’d managed to access the auction house database and add our names to the guest list for the party, making it easy for us to attend without getting caught out as uninvited visitors. Now back in my room, I was rummaging through my duffel and pulling out my evening attire: a long black dress made of soft satin that had a slit up to the hip on one side. The neckline was a deep v-plunge and the dress was entirely backless.

“I guess no bra for me tonight then,” I mumbled to myself, also pulling out a clean pair of black lace panties and a pair of closed toe, VERY high black satin heels that had a neat little buckle on the ankle strap. I was already showered and my makeup was already done so I dropped my towel and slipped into the dress, pulling the thin straps over my shoulders. I followed by pulling on my panties, stretching the lace over my hips so it wasn’t visible through the slit in the dress. If you didn’t know any better, it would look like I wasn’t wearing anything at all. I sat on the edge of the bed and put on the heels, securing them in place before standing up and doing a few practice laps of the room - wearing shoes this high was not a common occurrence for me. I finished up by dusting my skin with the same perfume I wore yesterday, breathing in the pleasant smell before tucking the bottle along with my rouge lipstick into my little black clutch. I fussed over myself in the mirror for a few minutes when I heard a knock at the door. Pacing over I flung it open to greet the Winchester boys, and when I did I couldn’t help but do a double take over the oldest brother. I hated to admit it but he looked good. REALLY good. He was dressed head to toe in black: a slim fitted suit, shirt and tie, all of which seemed to flick something on in my brain. His suit jacket hung open and beneath it the shirt was clinging to his well defined torso, the top two buttons straining a little.

“You scrub up well, Dean,” I said to him, trying to sound pleasantly surprised. Instead, I think I sounded incredibly flirtatious. Dean didn’t seem to notice though as I watched his jaw slacken and his eyes flit over my body.

“Uhhh-um yeah, thanks,” he said, clearing his throat a little as he stepped aside to let me out.

“You look great, (Y/n),” Sam said, making such intense eye contact with me like he didn’t know where else to look, his cheeks glowing a little.

“Thanks Sam,” I smiled up at him before locking the motel room door and trying to ignore the fact that Dean didn’t say anything. Back to being an ass I see.

“So (Y/n), you’re with Dean. It should be pretty simple: get in, get the hair pain, get out. With that many people at the event, we don’t want to risk anyone getting hurt so I'll be ready and waiting outside with everything we need to destroy it and put the ghost to rest,” Sam briefed us before carrying on, “I’ll head back to our room to get everything and I’ll meet you there - you guys get going,” he nodded his head to Deans car which was parked out front. Dean said a quick farewell and headed out and I did the same, giving Sam a wave as he turned to leave.

I climbed into the front of the Impala, running my hands over the plush leather seat.

“You really do have great taste in cars Dean,” I said, looking around at the immaculate interior. He hummed in agreement, putting his arm over the back of my seat as he reversed out of the parking spot. Those top two buttons on his shirt were not going to last all night. I crossed my legs, getting comfortable for the short journey into town - the satin of my dress falling open and completely exposing my thigh to Dean. I watched him take his eyes off the road and fixate on my bare skin, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. Returning his eyes to the road I saw his chest rise as he took a deep breath, a small but deep groan emitting from his chest.

“You ok?” I asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“I’m fine,” he rasped.

“Ok… you’re acting strange though,” I said, leaning on the passenger side door to watch the street lamps turn on.

“Can you blame me?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

There was a few seconds of silence before he flicked on his cassette player and classic rock filled the car, bringing a smile to my ruby lips.

“Good taste in music too? I’ll be damned, you’ve got more of a personality than I thought.”

He scoffed a little before smirking, “there’s more to me than meets the eye sweetheart.” He looked over at me, green eyes piercing into mine with such intensity I suddenly felt a little warm. I looked away, quickly counting my lucky stars when I noticed we’d arrived.

Dean parked up and I reached for the door, however Dean stopped me from opening it.

“Wait,” his tone was authoritative as he reached a hand out to stop me, his rough fingers lightly grazing the soft skin of my thigh. Before I could even respond, he’d hopped out, slamming his door shut before striding around the front of the car to open mine for me. He held his hand out, which I grasped delicately and he pulled me to my feet.

“What was that for?” I asked, puzzled as he closed the passenger side door behind me.

“Just trying to keep up appearances for this shit-show,” he stated bluntly before he walked off ahead of me towards the front door whilst he left me to navigate the uneven cobbles in these death-trap shoes.

“Jerk,” I muttered under my breath, but he must’ve heard me because he turned around, sighed and held out his arm for me to take.

“Just ask if you need help,” he leaned in and said quietly, his face close enough that I could feel his breath on my skin. I sucked in a breath, which was a mistake as he smelt positively divine. He was filling my senses and I didn’t want him to.

We made it into the building with no trouble at all thanks to Sam’s hard work. The inside of the auction house was a grand spectacle indeed; with high ceilings, a chandelier made up of thousands of tiny pieces of crystal and two symmetrical mahogany staircases at the end of the entrance hall. It was busy, lots of people in expensive attire milling about and drinking equally expensive sparkly wine.

“Shall we get some champagne?” I turned and asked Dean, who chuckled slightly.

“You’re already more fun than Sam,” he said before whisking two flute glasses off a passing waiter and handing me one. We chinked glasses, laughing a little at how awkward all of this pomp and ceremony was for us before we both downed the expensive alcohol like shots. Dean winced slightly, handing his now empty flute back to the same waiter who gave him a concerned look.

“Aw damn, those bubbles - that shits wrong.”

“That’s because you’re supposed to sip it,” I laughed at him, placing my empty glass on an old polished oak sideboard.

“Then why did you neck it too if you knew?” He asked, furrowing his eyebrows at me. I shrugged.

“To be honest I don’t know - I guess I wanted to lighten the old-money mood in here.” He nodded, seeming to understand where I was coming from. After that fiasco we made our way towards the immense curved staircases at the end of the room, Deans hand occasionally touching my exposed back as he guided me in front of him, making me shiver involuntarily. We ascended, making our way up and past people who were at the top of the stairs, idly chatting and leaning on the bannister - not paying us any mind as we turned down a quiet corridor. We walked quietly, the hum of chatting remaining behind us as we made our way down the dim corridor, looking out for the room number Sam had given us.

“Room 19, room 19, room 19…” I chanted to myself searching every door until we found the right one. Coming to a stop, Dean quickly knelt down and pulled a lockpick from his pocket. I watched in fascination as he inserted the device, ever so gently manoeuvring it with a look of pure concentration on his face. I couldn’t stop myself from looking over at him whilst he was unaware; looking at those focused and hooded dark green eyes, slightly parted lips that he wet with his tongue and large muscled shoulders that were almost as wide as the doorway. I didn’t want to admit it, but God damn he was attractive. There was a click and he stood up quickly, pocketing the lockpick and opening the door, hurrying me inside. I walked gingerly into the room which looked like a mixture between a study and a museum. There were large bookcases spanning the walls, sideboards boasting an array of intriguing items, all contained in secure glass cabinets, and finally a large leather-topped mahogany desk in the centre of the room. This place smelt old.

I heard Dean close the door behind him as he paced in after me, immediately scanning the room.

“Right,” he said, his tone stern and authoritative, “you take that side and I’ll take this side.” I nodded, immediately scouring every surface for our haunted item.

We must’ve been looking for around ten minutes when Dean called me over.

“Do you think that’s it?” He almost whispered, pointing to an item that I would definitely have described as a jade hairpin.

“Yup,” I whispered back, leaning slightly closer to him so I could get a better look. I felt him draw a sharp breath in before sighing slightly. “Can you pick this lock?” I asked, ignoring his antics and sticking to the business at hand.

“Yeah give me a second and I’ll get it open,” he stepped in front of me. Not wanting to get in his way, I walked into the centre of the room to where the desk was and leant against it, looking around at all of the bizarre items. Surely there are some other haunted things in here other than what we came for. My eyes eventually landed on an old gramophone.

“Oh that bitch is definitely haunted,” I mumbled to myself right as I heard Dean pop the lock on the glass cabinet. I watched as he wrapped the hairpin in a square of fabric before shoving it into his pocket and clicking the cabinet closed.

“Mission complete,” he said, a slight grin on his lips as he walked to stand in front of me. That grin fell from his face though when suddenly there were voices outside the door and keys rattling in the lock. We hadn’t planned for this. He looked at me in a panic.

“Kiss me,” I blurted.

“What?”

“I have a plan: Dean just fucking kiss m-” it was like I didn’t have to tell him twice before he had a hand in my hair and his lips were on mine. My heart started pounding and his mouth was hot against my cool skin. I hummed, sliding my fingers up his chest to grip the lapels on his jacket, pulling him further in towards me. Before I could get sucked into whatever it was that I was feeling, the study door flew open and two older gentlemen in brown tweed suits walked in, stopping in their tracks at the sight of us.

“Good heavens! What are you doing in here?” One of them exclaimed. Dean turned his head to look at the men, a smirk on his face and I couldn’t help but blush furiously at the sight of my lipstick that was now smeared on the corner of his lips.

“So sorry gentlemen, the door was unlocked so we just let ourselves in. I hope you don’t mind…” I watched, my eyes widening a little as he lifted his jacket slightly, showing the gun that was tucked into his belt. The men’s eyes also widened and they backed up towards the door.

“Yes, yes! Of course you did! Please, take your time. Just…” the man paused, his eyes darting to the precious items on his desk, “please try not to make a mess - it’s all I ask.” And with that they both left as quickly as they arrived, closing the door behind them. I let out a sigh of relief, looking up at Dean.

“Thank fuck… Dean I’m so sor-” I didn’t have a chance to think as Deans mouth was back on mine; rough and needy. I sat in shock for a second before being pulled back to reality when Dean held the side of my face, his fingers sliding up to tangle with my hair. I couldn’t stop myself from kissing him back, my mind racing and going blank simultaneously. His free hand ghosted up my exposed leg, touching so gently I could barely feel him. He soon decided though that gentle wasn’t working for him, and he gripped my thigh, his fingers digging into my soft flesh and making me gasp - his hands on my body were already working their magic as I couldn’t stop his name from leaving my lips.

“Dean…” I moaned. I can’t believe it - I had actually moaned his fucking name. He groaned into my mouth, obviously liking the sound of his name rolling off my tongue. Tearing his hand from my hair and gripping my other thigh, without warning and with rushed movements, he lifted me with ease so I was sat atop the desk.

“Wrap your legs around me darlin,” he said with a deep lustful tone against my lips. I whimpered involuntarily as I did as he said. He pried his mouth from mine and started to kiss elsewhere; my cheek, behind my ear… my neck. I ran my hands over his shoulders and up the back of his neck, running my nails over his scalp and making him shiver. I gripped his hair and yanked, forcing his head up. I locked eyes with him, his eyes no longer that brilliant green but now blown and black with lust. My own eyes were probably no different. His gaze fluttered from my eyes to my lips, and before I let him kiss me again I leant forward and pressed my lips to his throat, my tongue on his skin. It was his turn to moan as I reached a hand down and traced a finger up the hard weapon growing in his pants. His large hands moving from my thighs to my ass, gripping tighter than ever before as I seemed to be pushing all the right buttons. He slid me to the edge of the desk so my lace-covered intimates were pressing right against him, friction and pleasure commencing. I pulled my lips from his throat before tugging his face down to mine, instigating the finale. I spoke breathlessly over his lips, already craving the taste of him again.

“Are you gonna fuck me or what, Winchester?”

Dean practically growled, frantically fumbling with moving my dress aside. He hooked a shaky but skilled finger into my underwear, trying to pull it aside but the elastic wouldn’t allow for it. I began to tremble as his digits kept ghosting over my most sensitive area. He soon gave up with his first plan, and his second plan made my eyes roll into the back of my head. Dean pulled a large hunting blade from inside his jacket and slid the flat side against my skin and up my thigh until it was under the lace fabric. The ice cold metal made me shiver before he swiftly sliced the blade up towards him, cutting my panties to shreds as he repeated the motion on the other side.

“Fuck that was hot,” I panted as he put the blade away and captured my lips again, running his tongue over mine. I gasped suddenly when he dipped a finger inside me, curling it and caressing that soft, sensual cushion that was hidden away. When I moaned, he added a second finger, leaning away from me slightly so he could see what a mess I was beneath him. After a few moments of utter bliss, he pulled his fingers out, sticking them straight in his mouth.

“You’re fucking delicious,” he groaned, standing up straight to shimmy out of his jacket. I leant forwards, grasping his belt buckle, undoing it and pulling down his zipper. Slowly I reached in and pulled him out of his boxers, his rock hard manhood hot and heavy in my palm. He closed his eyes as I ran my thumb over the tip, guiding my hand up and down, up and down, again and again until he grabbed my wrist.

“Let go so I can fuck you ‘til you can’t walk,” he practically growled, making me weak. I leant back on my palms, watching as he lined himself up and then disappeared inside me in one earth shattering motion. My eyes rolled back and my lips parted as I locked my ankles instinctively behind his back, my heels catching on the gun still tucked into his pants. He started to set a rhythm as he fucked me into the desk, the wooden structure sliding back with every thrust he made. He had both hands firmly planted on the desk beside me and I gripped his forearms tight, my head starting to spin from the overwhelming pleasure. It didn’t help that Deans head had dropped into the crook of my neck and his heavy breathing was like music to my ears. He kissed the skin there softly, drawing a moan from my lips with the sudden tenderness. The pounding was speeding up, and he suddenly wrapped an arm around my waist, desperately trying to get closer - to get deeper. The need for release was building and I’d lost control of my voice; Deans name tumbling from my lips like a prayer. I pressed his lips to mine feverishly, his breath ragged as he managed to pant out;

“Shit, (Y/n) I’m so close… I’m gonna need you to cum for me…”

I whimpered at the sound of my name on his breathless lips and he let go of my waist, placing his large palm on my stomach and sliding it down until his thumb connected with that bundle of nerves.

“Shit-Dean-,” whining against his mouth I started to feel the tension in the pit of my stomach build - the feeling of him pounding into me and stretching me more than ever before combined with his thumb on the magic button was a recipe for a quick release. And Dean knew that. He was fucking me so hard now that the sound of wet skin on skin echoed around the room and the banging of the desk could surely be heard from out in the corridor- maybe even downstairs. That knot was tightening, and tightening, and tightening until:

“Fuck- Dean I’m gonna cum!”

“Fuck,” was all he managed to groan before I shattered around him, that knot snapping and sending me into probably the best orgasm I’ve ever had. As I tensed up I pulled Dean over the edge with me and he buried his face into my neck, breathing heavily and cursing occasionally.

We stayed like that for a few moments, regaining some clarity and returning to earth. He took a few deep breaths before standing up and pulling out, tucking himself back into his pants and doing up his belt as his cum dripped down my thigh. He couldn't seem to look away, even when he reached for his jacket on the floor and put it back on.

“Stay there,” he said finally, disappearing behind some shelves for a second before returning with a box of tissues. He helped me clean myself up, tossing the tissues in the bin as we attempted to get rid of the evidence.

“Are you ok?” He asked sincerely, concern in his eyes as he offered me his hand. I smiled a little bashfully, placing my palm in his.

“I hate to admit it but I feel great.”

He helped me down off the table, placing a hand on my waist to help steady me on my still trembling legs. We both stood in a comfortable silence for a few moments before realisation hit us both and we looked at each other with wide eyes.

”Oh shit - Sam!”

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Up Next:

Chapter 7

#dean x female!reader #dean winchester x you smut #dean winchester x reader smut #dean x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester #smut #eventual smut #dean winchester enemies to lovers #enemies to lovers #slow burn

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lemonadeinfuser · 8 days

Text

Holiday House

Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

In short: Hotch needs help, and you need a job. Part 1 of ?? we shall see how far this goes :) Warnings for mentions of alcohol (very infrequent) possible mentions of smut/cut to black scenes in the future! ;) __ Is in place of Y/N!!

“And the town said, ‘How did a middle class divorcee do it?’”

Aaron Hotchner was never one to admit to needing help, let alone one to ask for it. But as he sat in the dim light of the kitchen, a case file in one hand, a glass of whiskey in the other, a million thoughts ran through his head. His thumb rubs his temple gingerly, averting his gaze from the graphic crime scene polaroids, over to his son’s bedroom. Just a few hours earlier, he had called off abruptly to pick up Jack prematurely from school, after he had climbed to the very top of the jungle gym in an attempt to do something Garcia called “parkour”.

He survived with only a few scrapes and bruises, but it was clearly a drastic cry for attention.The door was open ajar, illuminated only by the dinosaur night light, casting a soft blue glow over the sleeping boy. When Haley had died, he had quickly realized that being a full-time father would not prove easy with his job. As time went on, it only got more difficult for him to divide his attention- and Jack’s recent episode at school was a cruel wake up call. One thing was evident- he needed someone to attend fully to him, and Hotch needed the ability to commit fully to his team, and to the BAU.

So, first thing in the morning, Penelope was faced with a curt knock on her office door. Spinning around in her chair, she rises and opens the door, Starbucks in hand. “Fancy seeing you here, hands- Oh, hello, sir, m-my apologies. I thought you were Derek.” She cleared her throat, but arched an eyebrow as she detected a faint twinkle in Hotch’s eyes. “Garcia.” “What do you need sir? Stats? Access to a secure database?” She spins around quickly, already typing the nearest case details into her supercomputer. “Well, actually, it’s more of a personal question. Do you happen to know any, uh, childcare workers?” “Like a nanny, sir?” He cringed at the cutesy word, but nodded nonetheless.

“Yes, I suppose.” Garcia pushed her glasses up her nose slightly, observing the man in front of her. Although she wasn’t technically a profiler, she knew Hotch well enough to find things out of place, as they were now. “Actually, yes, sir, I know just the person.” A slight plot began to form in her head, as she sent a number through her printer and into Hotch’s hands. “That’s my friend, __. She’s perfect, lots of experience, Jack would love her. Actually, sir, you would too..” Hotch fumbles for a second, before raising an eyebrow in her direction. “That’s quite enough, Penelope. This is strictly for Jack’s benefit. I appreciate this, however.” He nods curtly, backing out and bumping straight into a coffee-bearing Morgan. “Trying to steal my girlfriend, boss-man? Not cool.” Derek chuckles, pushing past him politely and planting a kiss on Penelope’s cheek. “Damn, I beat you to it!” He gestures to the coffee already in her hand. “I can always use more,” Penelope giggles.

Hotch shuts the door quickly, glancing down at the number in his hands. He walks quickly back to his office, passing right by Spencer and Rossi arguing about something or another. “With all due respect, sir, Logan Paul has absolutely nothing against Mike Tyson-” “He’s a billion years old!” Shaking his head slightly at his team’s banter, Aaron sinks into his chair, punching the number into the landline on his desk. Everyone else may use cellphones now, but Aaron still preferred the old fashioned way, when it came to business.

You had just finished an extremely degrading night shift at the diner, picking up your phone with a raised brow as you exited the back room. “Hello?” “Hello, this is SSA Aaron Hotchner. Is this __?” Your heart rate picked up- maybe from the fact that an FBI agent was calling you, maybe because his voice was low and steady and weirdly attractive. “O-oh, um, hello sir do you- need something?” Hotch takes notice of the light and airy pitched voice on the other side of the line, and something about it makes his heart skip a beat. He ignores it, proceeding, “I was wondering if you were prepared to interview for an in-home, uh, nanny job? For lack of a better word. Penelope Garcia gave me your number, and I trust her judgment for better or worse.” A smile spread across your face. “Absolutely, sir. When would be a good time to meet, Mr Hotchner?”

It’s strange. Aaron gets called sir about a hundred times a day, but something about your innocent voice sends a shiver down his spine that he can’t explain, but does his best to ignore. “Why don’t you stop by my house at around 6 tonight? We can talk, you can meet Jack, and we can go from there.” “That works for me, sir.” You smoothen out your skirt, a sudden blush chasing your cheeks as you think about meeting this mystery man, one you’d only heard anecdotes about from your best friend and her boyfriend. “Perfect. I’ll have Garcia send over my address.” The line clicks before you get the chance to respond, leaving you slightly flustered, with your hands wrapped around your cellphone a little more tightly than you thought, almost as if you were holding onto the idea of him. The poor man, left alone with his son, with a job like that.. You shake your head, quickly grabbing your purse, clattering your nametag down on the counter with a defiant “I quit.” to your manager as you happily left that damn place for the last time.

Back at the office, Aaron watches his team out in the bullpen, Morgan and Garcia enveloped in something on his desk while Spencer spins a rubix cube towards Emily, with a “good luck” sort of look. He’s not sure what the emotion he’s feeling is, but whatever it is, he brushes it off and grabs the case file dropped off earlier, emerging into the open office, with the same professional air as always- if a little less uptight than usual.

“Who knows, if she never showed up, what could have been?”

A/N: AHHH this was so so much fun to write!! I hope my writing style and the way I write Hotch is okay, I’m still new to the fandom and show but I did my very best! Suggestions are always welcome! Please like, comment, reblog and send me requests!

-e.a <33

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