#I’m too tired to tag this properly

[feralcorpses]

Tw/Cw: Bright Colours, Possible Eyestrain, and a LOT of Eyes.

I love drawing watcher Grian so so much man

I was gonna give him more eyes but I got lazy I am gonna rant abt the watchers and stuff under the cut cause I really love my version of the watchers and have been dying to share how I view the silly eye cryptid.

(Click for better quality btw!!)

Watcher rant ^^ (This wasn’t proof read btw so gl)

Sooooo Ima start off with talking abt the drawing I made, so this is watcher Grian aka Xelqua (Fun fact, Xelqua was Grians old name for his channel) and basically this would be considered their causal watcher form because DUN DUN DUNN they have a few diff types so they have a base form (so player disguises) semi-base form (player disgue + watcher features) lowest of watcher form (basically just what is shown in the peice here just less wings and eyes) their causal form (the one shown here in this piece) and thennn full form which is some creepy biblically accurate “humanoid” cyrptid creature.

There’s 5 types of watchers, low rank (usually newly turned ones) mid rank (most common one) high rank (woah your stupid for trusting these creatures this much 💀) pure watchers (blipped into existence as watchers) and then prime watchers (also blipped into existence but hold a lot more power, knowledge, wings, eyes, just rlly a lot more of everything tbh.)

The ranking system is based off skill, power, and reputation ig?? (it’s a odd one ok-) the easiest way I can explain it is it being the opposite to the feduel system so you can move up ranks you just can’t become a pure or prime watcher for obvious reasons.

Watchers usually only have 3 pairs of wings at most, pure watchers having abt 5 and prime watchers are undetermined. Their tails usually include some wings so a pure watcher might have one or two sets of wings on their tail with max for them being three and normal watchers very rarely have wings on their tails but will only have one pair if they do. (I am so not hinting at anything with this very specific thing noooo Grians wing number is soooo normal ;D)

This a bit of a odd one but they like don’t reproduce, pure watchers and prime watchers are just blipped into existence every now and again and taken care of by the previous generation of watchers and stuff.

Watchers can also be any species/hybrid so for example for example I usually base Grian off a great horned owl or rarely another owl I can’t remember the name of (I think it’s a long or short eared owl I sometimes base him off of idk) but anyway so watchers can be moth hybrids, phantoms, bats, anything but if the creature is non winged it’s eh a lot more painful to get turned because lets just say they give you wings you didn’t know you had :,)

Grians actually missing his eyes like his main eyes on his face like he has zero vision in those and usually tucks them away by covering his face with his main pair of head wings or the ones on top of his head but he wasn’t born blind it was more so a “freak accident” that made his eyes like that. He still sees tho through the rest of his watcher eyes because with his watcher type he can use more magic to hide things so he keeps his “extra” eyes out and makes them invisible and use those to see.

That’s all I have to say for now since I don’t wanna drag this post on for too long but thanks for reading this if you did lol

[yandere-isopod]

I wanna be the sexy kind of mentally ill. The kind that can post edgy things online and when I log off it stops hurting. I wanna be the kind who’s just silly obsessed and doesn’t feel like I want to eat the end of a gun whenever my love leaves the room for a second. I want to feel like I can breathe and function like a normal person. I just don’t wanna feel like I’m drowning the only thing in my life worth living for with my own broken existence. I don’t want my damage to take over.

[hannanodaa]

Did a bunch of tiny haikyuu and jjk sketches today~

[rosieparker1856]

I was dead asleep and woke up like a fucking zombie with the thought of “I wonder if when people go to Danny’s Grave to offer their condolences or whatever people do, if Danny can only hear it when he is a ghost.” I’m imagining it like an answering machine, you don’t actually know the message unless you play it back. This idea has probably been said before, but it’s 4 a.m and I’ve written 6 college papers in the last 24 hours. I wasted good sleep for this random bunny.

This premise lies solely on the fact of Danny actually having a grave stone, for people to go to.

That being said, a lot of people don’t go to Cemeteries every time they think of someone who passed away. Personally, with my Great Grandmother, when I want to remember her I bring out her old cookbooks and make her favourite recipes. And I talk to her the entire time I’m cooking. Especially during Harvest Fest.

So, in that mindset, can Danny hear everything people say when they’re remembering him? Cause that could get really annoying really fast for a boy who’s still half alive.

Like he’s partnered up with Wes on a Chemistry project and all that’s going through his head when he’s fighting a ghost when they’re supposed to meet up is “Danny Fenton, Danny Phantom, why isn’t he here already? I didn’t see a ghost on the news” or something like that. Don’t judge the dialogue literally have had 2 hours of sleep the last 3 days cause of work and classes.

Someone please, if this is a thing and there are fics about it drop them in the comments. Is that pick me? To ask you to comment? Anyways, i should try and get back to bed.

This is not proofread and I didn’t even put on my glasses for it, so if it’s clunky/there are misspelled words, no there aren’t.

[magic-pincushion]

I love it when games let you make something so so … beautiful

[neim-batteries-not-included]

jonathan jarchivist sims when i fucking catch you

[evansbuck-ley]

Tell me your wildest theory for tomorrow's episode!

omg so glad you asked bc I’ve got a few

so my main one is that tommy actually has nothing to do with the main emergency bc my guy is at home passed tf out after getting home from a 48 hour shift like an hour before shit hits the fan and doesn’t find out about what’s happened until several hours later after being woken up by buck showing up to his house absolutely bewildered and about a thousand missed calls and text messages

brad somehow convinces both bobby AND athena to get into a throuple ??? idk how but it works and bobby just spends the whole time confused how he let this man have so much power over him (and this is how we get to keep brad for the rest of the season)

gerrard comes back at the end of the episode and he has amnesia after hitting his head and suddenly he’s nice to everyone and tries to start a weird father/son thing with buck who is not here for it bc bobby is his fire dad (which could lead to the golfing pic that we saw)

this one isn’t wild but I just really hope for it to happen - but when everyone is safe and sound and the firefam are having a post “one of us nearly died again” bbq, hen notices eddie just stood by himself in the corner, riddled with anxious energy, so she goes over to him and they have a heart to heart about chris and just talk out his feelings (pls just give me more of this dynamic or just more of eddie reaching out to people other than buck)

[war-finding-reason]

Server wanted my mgs oc. oki.

[viibingfox]

for my bestie @jinngweis !!!! their oc astraea !!!

[found-wings]

Soooo. I had a thought that I can’t quite explain and I kind of just threw a bunch of things together.

This is the result, though it is more of a concept than anything :D

I hope you enjoy it, it‘s slightly longish so lmao

The wings of Death welcome everyone beneath it‘s feathered blanket of safety.

Always has and always will, so it goes.

And Phil is no different as the messenger of Death, an angel of the deepest void of what comes after.

Even as the angel that watches over the mortal realm for the Goddess herself, even he knows that eventually he has to give way to his life too. He knows that he too eventually has to part to go back to where he belongs and leave this world in the hands of another, no matter how long or how little it takes.

So every hundred years or so he holds a tournament for the strongest of the best.

People of all kind and from everywhere come every time, ready to take on what it means to be chosen by Death herself, worthy of her grace to ascend to the ranks of higher ups.

Phil has lost count on how long it‘s actually been, thousands of years mashing and blurring into each other with no chosen to be found.

He didn‘t mind and he knew Death was patient, she trusted him with everything. This wasn‘t a simple matter of being able to go back, so choosing someone to step up to his place - not to replace, but to honor and follow his steps as a bringer, a messenger of Death herself..

It was no simple decision, no simple matter of trying out.

Phil has never found anyone particular, no one catching his attention for long enough to even consider.

It was frustrating, in a way.

.

"Phil?" He can hear Techno call out, voice echoing through the halls as the piglin makes his way to their shared room.

When Techno enters the room without as much knocking, Phil is sat quietly on the edge of his self made nest. The blankets aren‘t properly tugged in, feathers scattered on the ground along with the gold accessories he is usually seen wearing and a bunch of pillows underneath the dropping wings settled behind the crow.

Phil was, least to say, not ready.

Techno stays silent in his approach, stepping past Phils unmoving figure to grab one of the bottles of water and another blanket. As he returns back to his friends side, he kneels down in front of him and slowly guides Phil into holding the bottle.

Once he‘s assured that Phil won‘t just drop it, he uses the blanket to wrap it around him, being extra careful in tucking away the wings despite their size. With his hands he starts rubbing the blanket against Phils arms, a low rumble escaping him.

"Something is gonna happen," Techno says. It‘s not a question because he knows Phil. He knows Phil is not one to sleep in, to let himself be sat somewhere and lose the fine gold accessories Techno had made him on the floor, to grasp at his feathers until even the healthier ones come out - unless something deep within his mind violently screams and claws at him until that‘s all he can focus on.

Phils movement is steady and gentle when he lifts the bottle up to take a sip, visibly relaxing at the cold temperature of it.

A couple of moments hurry by and Phil sighs, leaning forward to bump his forehead against Technos. "I haven‘t felt this shitty since.. you know."

"Good or bad?" Simply comes from Techno, watching as Phils eyes slip shut.

He takes a few more seconds to either brace himself or to observe his own feelings so he can give a proper response, even if Techno would be content with even no answer at all.

"Not as bad as the last time someone tried to assassinate ya. But not good," Phil hums.

Receiving messages of the higher ranks is exhausting, even as a chosen. Techno had a bit of an easier time because luckily his connection and culture worked differently, however Phil was hit with it like a train driving in circles again and again, chipping at his physical and mental health in repeating manners.

"Todays the tournament," Techno notes and fully wraps the blanket around Phil, scooping him up in one of his arms before organising the stray blankets and pillows. "You think someone’s tryin‘ to go for you today?"

Phil chuckles, followed by a long drawn sigh afterwards. "As in for my title or for my head?"

"Title. Tryin‘ to kill you is a pain," Techno responds with a snort, a silent I‘d know tacked on behind it.

Once the bed is done, he walks over to the closet and is extra careful in not knocking anything down with the feathered tail that is poking out of Phils blanket burrito.

While Techno goes through the varying outfits, Phil watches with a soft smile playing on his face. "I hope not. I’d miss you."

.

It‘s loud.

The arena is filled to the brim and probably overflowing, but Phil chooses to ignore that.

"I recognise a few people," Phil hums as he gazes down at all the competitors that are entering the fighting area. It was still the beginning, which meant all fighters were to gather where they would be fighting and introducing themselves to each other.

They could talk, spar with any brought weapons they had, or just spend it on their own until the actual fights began. It was Deaths original suggestion, because it would form new bonds and make everything feel more real, more familiar.

Phil couldn‘t help but agree, maybe he is a bit biased though considering he met Techno in a similar way. Not fortunate enough to willingly participate, but similar enough at last.

"Any nether folk?" Techno asks, curiosity laced between his seemingly uninterested tone as he glances up from the book he‘s reading.

Phil reaches out for his spyglass and mutters about why their personal seats had to be this far up again, taking a closer look at all competitors.

Most people are hybrids, yes, but generally only overworld ones were seen around here. It was most common. "A few, but not many. Even less end folk, as usual."

Techno mumbles something and Phil knows he’s already back to focusing on his book. Which he can‘t be blamed for, this tournament was held with Phil in mind and not for Techno.

A sigh escapes the crow and just as he‘s about to avert his attention from the group, something catches his eye.

Literally, as the sun blinds him for a brief second and forces him to squeeze shut his eyes until the flash of light disappears - and then he sees it.

Within the many people is someone holding what appears to be a sword that Phil has not seen yet, tainted at the edges with a green. The handle is black and a couple of green gems adorn it - however as Phils eyes lay on the owner of the weapon, his eyes widen.

He watches the white haired man take a swing with his weapon, the green skin occasionally broken up by a few white bandages wrapped around it. The black jacket is tattered and patched up in a couple of places with star shaped cloth, a backpack draped across their back with an oddly shaped and colored shield attached to the side of it. The belt from the slightly baggy pants holds a few potions and smaller tools from what Phil can see, everything needed for surviving within the damned places of the mortal realm.

His breath catches and he feels.. Death.

This is it.

That is the person he‘s been waiting on for as long as he can think when Death had first brought up having to choose someone at the right time.

The person to offer a wing and guide on learning the duties of what it means to be Deaths messenger, what it means to be bound to Death for thousands of years to come.

He can‘t quite explain the pull he feels, but he just knows this is right, this is his warrior.

"That‘s them," Phil whispers, leaning even more over the railing he has been standing at.

Techno glances up once more, offering Phil nothing but a confused gaze when the crow doesn’t say anything more. "Heh?"

Phil however whips his head around to Techno, eyes wide and the piglin can practically see the sparkles in his eyes.

"That‘s them," he repeats. "I found the one."

It takes a couple of seconds before it sets in what Phil means and Techno is standing beside his friend without a second thought.

He watches Phils gaze and pointing at an almost isolated figure, directly picking out one of the couple people who aren‘t socialising with any other.

"Them?" Techno asks to confirm and Phil nods immediately, watching the person with an odd sense of admiration. Techno hums and smiles a little at Phils reaction.

Phil is not one to be easily impressed by someone he hasn‘t met, hasn‘t heard of or anything of that sort, so to get this reaction means it’s a feeling send by Death.

Techno nods and grins.

So be it.

.

"He hasn‘t even met them at all and Phil thinks they‘re the one?"

Techno waves off Wilburs concerns as they follow behind the giddy crow, who is basically bouncing with every step they take within the arena.

"I trust him," Techno simply counters.

Wilbur huffs, clearly annoyed by the lack of consideration from the emperors side. "Phil doesn��t usually act like this."

"Exactly," Techno shoots back again. "That‘s why I trust him."

There is no reply to that comment for a little while and Wilbur sighs, taking out a notebook and starting to note down some things - or to go through the many pages of trying to find something.

As they make their way out the gates and onto the field, the conversations from the competitors quiet down when they walk past. There‘s a couple of greetings that range from cheerfulness to suspicion all the same, but Technos attention is mainly on Phil and occasionally Wilburs words.

"His name is Etoiles. We’re not sure on his past, where he currently lives nor his species, but we do know that he’s a hunter." Wilbur writes down another thing as he explains to Techno.

A hunter. That‘s.. interesting, least to say. "Hunter of?"

"Elytrians and Avians, according to multiple sources we’ve found. One of the top rankings."

Techno halts and stares at Wilbur, who is wearing a similar expression - distrust bordering on disgust.

"How did he get in?" Technos tone is low and his stare is redirected towards Phil, the crow already having approached this 'Etoiles' person with a little too much curiosity for his liking.

Wilbur takes a few moments to collect any written down information before giving a response. "We have sources and words of other kingdoms that he no longer hunts those. He has a few friends now who are avians, apparently."

Wrong. That has to be wrong, he will not let any hunter get Phil again.

"Tell the guards to take him out or I will take care of him myself."

[steampunk-raven]

I think there’s something to be said about how Hollywood’s depictions of “demonic possession” or similar stuff all somehow manages to literally just be my tics. Or some of my friends’ tics. Why does Hollywood seem to think tics = evil dark magic

[nagalias-mindscape]

Can’t sleep. Must write. So, have a(two) little blurb(s) from the fanfic I’m writing. Except it’s currently all crack spin offs like Iceberg meeting the Scarlet King (which may actually become canon. I don’t know, yet. Same with this thing, depending. I really haven’t decided.)

This one is two snippets for Iceberg’s (second) meeting with 682. This is unedited because it’s 2:45 AM for me and I’m too tired to make it pretty and fancy and coherent. Yucky tired editing, boo-hiss!

Iceberg knew that 682 could talk, but he was not expecting the voice. Deep and gravelly. Hoarse. Something about it faintly echoed in the back of Icebergs head, filling him with a feeling of disjointed dread. Of the first dregs of hopelessness mixed with the beginning embers of fury, with an undertone of something physically unpleasant. Like bugs crawling over every inch of his skin. Like trying to breathe through heavy wool.

Iceberg ignored it much like he ignored most of his problems and pulled on his anomaly to be rid of the unnatural feeling. Why bother with the useless distractions when he could instead ignore it simply by making it disappear? It perhaps wasn’t the most healthy of options and Dr. Glass was going to give Iceberg that very pointed frowning glare of his when he learned of this, but he could afford the intentional misuse of his anomaly for this meeting if it kept him from feeling weird things and turning tail.

Wouldn’t that just be embarrassing- turning tail on a meeting he had requested. He really was stupid, wasn’t he?

“Yes… I remember you.” 682 seemed… for the lack of a better word, amused. “Has the Foundation come to try another useless attempt at ending my existence? Ha!” 682 barked out a laugh, and Iceberg felt a sea of something molten momentarily flood his senses before it was hungrily devoured by the ever-growing abyssal cavity of ice inside of him. “As amusing as it is, surely even they grow tired of all the failures?”

“I imagine so,” Iceberg nodded his head, “but I’m not here to kill you. I actually wanted to talk if you were up for it.”

682 made a sound that was like a mix of a wheezing laugh and distained huff. It would have been impressive if not for the sneering growl that came after it and the quicker-than-a-blink lunge that followed immediately afterwards.

Iceberg, being the snow-apocalypse poorly bound in human flesh that he is, simply let his senses expand and melded into the abyssal cold that has been clawing at his existence ever since he obtained his anomalous abilities. The literal explosion of snow, ice, and cold had only hurt the initial first time he’d done this, but now it was almost as simple as breathing for him.

(Iceberg still refused to tell people how he had learned to do this or that he’d literally blown himself up the first time and 408 had a feast on what little remained of his blood and guts. He had not expected to lose a bet to 408, much less three times in a row. For all that it was humiliating to have a hive-mind of butterflies try to teach him, Iceberg couldn’t deny that they had done a phenomenal job. That it was the stepping stone towards maybe finally being able to repay Dr. Bright for all he’d done for him was just a bonus, really.)

(Also, 408 were chatterboxes when you didn’t have to rely on their visual communication skills. How Dr. Kondraki could stand being in contact with them twenty four hours, seven days a week, was a mystery to Iceberg, but he was getting off topic.)

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Idly, he noticed that he had fallen over and was now laying in the snow alongside 682, who was giving him a weird look. Ultimately he ignored it, left himself where he was, and muttered to himself still loud enough for 682 but maybe not loud enough for the people in the observation chamber. Hopefully safe from his stupidity.

“Yeah, okay. Fair, life can be painful and unfair and a right bitch. But, like, if you’re willing to cut down on the murder thing the Foundation will probably be willing to help make everything stop… hurting. We just need a direction to go in. We can’t help unless you’re willing to work with us and talk.”

“What makes you think you understand, worm?”

“I don’t- I’m not you.” Iceberg huffed out, turning himself so he was flat on his back and staring at the brightly-lit ceiling of the containment chamber instead of 682’s lower mandible. “But here you are, not murdering me outright for burying you in snow. Which, from observation of your past interactions with things, indicates you don’t hate it outright.

682 growled again, but nothing extra surged forth to uncomfortably greet him this time, and it turned to bury its head in the snow that had built up around it. That was fine with Iceberg, he could wait. He knew patience, despite popular opinion. Just didn’t like to exercise it under normal circumstances. Normal circumstances these were not.

Instead, he took a leap of faith and closed his eyes. Allowed himself to be slowly buried under the still falling snow alongside 682. Allowed himself to be weak and undefended right next to a being who could- and possibly would- attempt to murder him again once it hit some imaginary barrier on its own patience.

Iceberg simply kept his eyes closed and allowed a small smile to grace his lips when he heard 682 make some kind of snort-huff sound and then shift to curl up around him.

Proof that his foolish gamble was paying off for the time being. In five minutes from now, who knew. Certainly not him, but he could just become literal snow if 682 tried to attack him once again.

[object44object]

page dolls I made for TH :)

+ an extra tree one

(2nd oc belongs to saurium)

[youremyfriend-youremymission]

First panel

Red: I borrowed the uniform to wear. Even if I can only wear it, it makes a very happy small captain.

Second panel

Red: What do you think? Do I look good?

Blue: how come my uniform is suddenly so cute…

[sttoru]

your boyfriend sleeps on the couch after an argument you both had earlier that day. after calming your nerves and taking time for yourself, you realise that you might have been a bit too harsh on him.

☀︎｜tags. older bf!gojo satoru x female reader. fluff / angst / hurt + comfort. age gap (reader early 20’s & satoru early 30’s). nicknames used; ‘(little) baby’. he’s honestly just the perfect combination of gentle and teasing. subtle mentions of size difference.

satoru shifts on the couch whilst letting out an inaudible yawn. he was tired after an entire day at work and finally had the chance to settle down in the comfort of his apartment.

though, he couldn’t really relax just yet. the reason why being the undeniable tension hanging in the air. he was in fact home, but it didn’t feel like it. not when you were missing.

you had holed yourself up in the master bedroom after an earlier argument the two of you had. it wasn’t a big fight — just a little squabble between lovers. satoru didn’t rush after you when you had decided to walk away midst argument. you clearly weren’t in the right headspace to properly articulate nor communicate your feelings.

he figured that you just needed some time alone and thus decided to leave you be. he didn’t want to risk losing you by annoying you any further.

satoru scrolls on his phone out of boredom. the light radiating off the screen starts to bother his already sensitive eyes. with a sigh, he shuts off the device and puts it down on the coffee table.

it was dead silent in the apartment that was usually filled with your lively chatter. the sorcerer wants nothing more than to cuddle up with you under the covers and fall asleep. but, you needed space and he wasn’t going to disturb you.

he drapes an arm over his eyes and pulls the thin blanket over his chest. his breaths were steady and his thoughts were surprisingly calm. satoru almost drifts off to sleep, however his body lightly jolts awake once he hears the creaking of a door.

careful footsteps echo throughout the hallway and stop right at the doorstep of the living room.

satoru moves his arm to the side so his vision wouldn’t be obstructed. his eyes land on the figure standing at the doorframe — one he could recognise instantly.

it was you, standing there with your head held low and your fingers curled around the hem of your nightgown. you didn’t take another step forwards and just lingered in your spot for a few seconds without saying anything.

“hey, baby.” satoru breaks the silence. his voice was as soft as it could be, not an ounce of annoyance or frustration in it. even if he had all the reason to be upset according to you.

you remember just how childish you acted earlier; you had lost all rationality, shouted at your boyfriend out of frustration and ran off mid sentence instead of properly addressing the issue at hand. the way you handled that situation was wrong and immature.

in contrast to your immature behaviour, satoru had stayed calm and collected throughout the entirety of your argument. he hadn’t raised his voice at you even once nor did he blame you for anything. you felt bad for acting like a bratty kid who didn’t get her way.

you eventually move towards the couch, still not making eye contact with your boyfriend. he sits up and simply watches you with a raised eyebrow—curious as to what you were about to do.

you knew you had to apologise for your behaviour, but what you needed first was his validation. you wordlessly climb onto the couch and under the blanket satoru was using.

your arms wrap around his torso and you hug him tightly to your body, face buried in his shirt to cover your embarrassed and remorseful expression.

satoru’s eyes widen a bit at the sudden show of affection, though he wasn’t complaining. he reciprocates the gesture and nuzzles his cheek against the top of your head.

“my little baby.” he chuckles, hands rubbing your back in attempt to reassure you that everything was and will be fine, “i’m happy you decided to come back to me — thank you.”

again. that tender tone satoru uses only with you and for you. the guilt from earlier hits you like a truck and your eyes well up with tears before you could stop the process.

“sorry,” your voice cracks once you finally muster out an apology. the warmth engulfing your cold body was enough to make you sob in his comforting embrace. satoru sighs and closes his eyes. he rests his chin on top of your head whilst holding you like his life depended on it.

no words were exchanged between you two for a good minute. satoru silently encourages you to cry it out and so you do. after calming down, you sniffle and pull your head away from his chest. your eyes were watery and a bit red.

the pad of his thumb sweeps the stray tears away from your cheeks, his touch precise and careful. he smiles softly at the sight of his teary-eyed girlfriend. you were so adorable and precious to him. even when you looked like a mess — a pretty mess.

“i just..” you start off, small hiccups interrupting your sentence, “i wanted to apologise for acting so childish. i shouldn’t have said nor did any of those hurtful things. i apologise for that as well.”

your lover nods along to your words. he hums in delight and kisses your forehead, his lips lingering there for longer than intended, “don’t worry, baby. i understand. thank you for apologising, though.”

you mutter a small ‘of course’ in-between sniffles. that was all the reassurance you had needed to hear from your boyfriend. though, you still felt bad and the guilt of your immature actions seemed to linger in the back of your mind.

you lay your head back on satoru’s chest and listen to his heartbeat — hoping that the constant sound would drown out any other thoughts. your lover lays on his back and pulls you down on top of him. his hands rub your sides, slender fingers toying with the silky material of your nightgown.

“i’m sorry for being immature sometimes. i’m sure it must be troubling to deal with.” you whisper as you enjoy the feeling of being back in satoru’s arms.

he grins and shakes his head in response. he loves every side of yours — even your immature one. if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be here right now. he truly loves all of you.

the older man places another soft kiss on top of your head and closes his eyes afterwards, “heh, i’d be lying if i said that you trying to act all tough earlier wasn’t cute.”

satoru snickers at the memory. he remembers how you pointed that little finger of yours in front of his face and how you tried to subtly stand on the tips of your toes so you could look him in the eyes properly. your attempts at looking intimidating were quite endearing.

it’s not like he was invalidating your feelings with that comment — he was genuinely trying to lighten your mood. and it wasn’t like it didn’t work.

“whatever.” you huff, playfully swatting his biceps and gaining an over exaggerated ‘ow!’ in response. you’re glad that things have gone back to normal between you two. if the situation had continued for any longer, you’d have lost your mind.

you aren’t the only one who is extremely relieved. satoru is beaming with joy because he gets to hold and talk to you again. that small period of silence between the both of you felt like an eternity to him.

no matter how many times you have those little arguments, satoru will still love you all the same.

[spencerreidenjoyer]

giddy up | spencer reid x reader

Spencer gets shot in the leg. You help him feel better about it.

wc: 1.7k, rating: explicit/18+

tags/warnings: s5/jesus hair reid, established r/s, reader and spencer are both switches, riding, grinding, frottage, porn without plot, fluff and smut actually

a/n: was thinking about writing jesus reid/crutches reid for a long time and this was the only thing that came to mind. I am only a little sorry about it. (also find this fic on ao3!)

Of all the things Spencer could complain about after having been shot in the leg, not being able to fuck you properly is something you definitely did not consider.

You’d been worried sick when Penelope had called you, when Spencer had woken up after surgery. You were the first person he’d called for.

No unnecessary pressure on the leg, the doctor had said. Spencer was to use crutches at all times until the doctor cleared him. You don’t remember the rest of the doctor’s instructions, at least not now, when Spencer’s doing much better. He’s just been cleared to walk off his crutches, but he still has a slight limp in his step and starts to wince when he’s on his feet for too long. He hasn’t healed completely, but it’s enough to put you at ease being around Spencer, not having to worry excessively about him. 

While you know he’s grateful to have only gotten shot in the leg and not somewhere more risky, Spencer’s got a mouth on him, which leads you to where you are right now:

“I’m so tired of not being able to fuck you,” Spencer groans. 

You’re lounging in bed with him when he says this, and you whip your head around to look at him, shocked at his sudden admission. “Damn. What’s the matter, baby?”

“I just–” Spencer huffs in the middle of his sentence, like he needs to find the right words. It blows his hair out of his face. It’s cute, but what he says next is filthy in comparison: “I miss fucking you. Properly. Not just handjobs.”

“I thought you liked my handjobs, babe.” You pout, pretending to seem upset. “And my mouth.”

“I do!” Spencer is quick to correct you, insisting, “I like all of that, but it just doesn’t feel the same.”

“As to when you’re buried inside of me?” You whisper, resting your hand on his chest, giggling when Spencer turns red. While he was no longer the innocent, virginal nerd you’d met him as, sex talk still flusters him from time to time, and you love to fluster him.

“Baby,” Spencer whines at your teasing. “I’m serious. I miss making you feel good too.”

“You’re good with your hands, though,” you swoon, mind drifting. “And your mouth. Really good with your mouth.”

You think about Spencer asking you to sit on his face for the first time. Neither of you were exactly used to the position, Spencer typically preferring to be between your legs when he went down on you. But the way his tongue was expertly flicking at your clit, slipping into your hole, making you feel so good until you were making a mess of his face, your slick everywhere–

“Hey, focus.” Spencer taps your cheek, and you puff your cheeks. “I want you to feel good too.”

“I know, pretty,” you hum, letting your thumb trace his jaw. “I think I have an idea.”

Spencer quirks a brow in attentive curiosity. You, getting up from laying next to him, swing your leg across his hips. You sit down squarely on his crotch. 

Spencer’s eyes widen. “O-Oh.”

“Let me make you feel good, baby,” you coo. Spencer nods hurriedly. 

Spencer looks up at you with wide eyes, roaming all over your body but unable to leave it. He watches you roll your hips into his crotch. He lets out a pitiful whine. You feel him hardening between your legs already. You grind against him like this, solely intent on working him up. You know this kind of pressure isn’t enough for Spencer, pleasure dulled between layers of fabric, so you aren’t surprised when Spencer asks, “More, please?”

You smile. “Poor thing.”

“Please, darling,” he exhales. 

“Okay,” you hum, climbing off of him so you can get your shorts and underwear off. His eyes are so big as he stares at you, all of you, like he’s still surprised that he gets to see you undress. You laugh, and snake your hands into the waistband of his pyjama pants. You push them down, until his hard cock springs up, bobbing against his stomach. You meet Spencer’s gaze, before pressing your cunt to his cock.

You both gasp, feeling each other’s warmth. You’re so wet you know you must be making a mess of Spencer right about now. You don’t slip him inside of you just yet, instead grinding your bare pussy against Spencer’s length. You can’t imagine how it feels for him, but you see the way his face is scrunched up in pleasure – what you’re giving him is not entirely enough. You know he misses sinking into your wet heat, and you’re just giving him a taster, sliding his cock along your slick folds, pressed against your leaking hole.

“Spencer,” you moan, rocking your hips harder. It feels so good, Spencer’s hardness against your cunt, the tip of his cock nudging at your clit every time you press your hips down. It’s too much yet not enough, both you and Spencer needing that sweet relief, the feeling of his cock pressing into you. Still, you want to drag it out for him, and you grind your pussy against him some more. “You feel so good, baby.”

“It would feel better if you let me fuck you, darling,” Spencer grunts with gritted teeth. You can tell he’s desperate, his hands antsy by his sides, nails digging into his palms. 

“Mm, not yet,” you hum, feeling a little bratty, enjoying the feeling of building tension, growing arousal between the two of you, between your legs. It’s heaven grinding against Spencer like this.

And maybe you’re too wet, or Spencer is too convincing, because by some act of God, when you roll your hips down against him again, the head of his cock is breaching your entrance, and you moan when you feel his tip pressed inside of you. “Oh–!”

“Fuck,” Spencer moans, long and drawn-out. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

You can’t blame him, since you’d put a stop to sex with Spencer as he recovered. You’d only started giving him handjobs and blowjobs once you were sure an orgasm wouldn’t break him – “I promise an orgasm won’t hurt. It’ll be fine. I’m a doctor.” “You’re not a medical doctor, idiot.” – even then, penetrative sex was off the table.

Until now, as Spencer’s cock pushes deeper inside of you, and the rolling of your hips only serves to remind you just how good Spencer feels. You’ve missed this, his thick cock pressed inside of you, splitting you in half, filling you up until you don’t know anything other than his name. 

“Spence,” you whine. “Feels good.”

“I know, darling,” Spencer groans. “You feel tighter than I remember. Wetter too.” 

He sounds so nonchalant saying these things, and that only serves to drive you more insane. When did he get so confident, so cocky? You want to say something witty but you can’t find the words. Spencer just continues, almost bored to the untrained ear, but you know Spencer’s barely keeping himself together, “So, are you going to ride me or not?”

You grumble, your thighs flexing as you push yourself up, shifting from a rolling, grinding motion to bounce on Spencer’s cock instead. You don’t think you’ve done this before with Spencer, always content letting him get on top, so the new angle makes the both of you a little crazy. He moans, and so do you.

Like this, Spencer’s cock fucks you deeper, harder, the weight of your bouncing thrusts driving him into you until you feel positively ruined. You cry out, desperate, “Spence– Oh, Spencer, oh my God–”

“You’re riding me so well, darling,” Spencer says in awe, slack-jawed. His large hands come to hold your waist, feeling you bounce on his cock, helping you with the laborious movements. “You look so fucking hot right now.”

You whine, thighs already feeling the burn, but the way Spencer’s using your weight to fuck you down onto his cock has you feeling lightheaded. You think you like the feeling, being pushed around like a warm, wet fleshlight for Spencer to fuck into. “Spence, so deep–”

“I want to fuck you so badly right now, my love,” Spencer groans. You feel his hips bucking up into you slightly, right when he pulls your ass down against him, but you know his movements are restricted because of his leg. Still, his desperation to bury himself into you is wild, and your head spins. “But I can’t, and you’re doing so good fucking yourself on my cock.”

You tremble, using all your strength to fuck yourself on his cock, sobbing because you just feel that good. Spencer’s filthy words and the intensity of it all has you weak, and you wish Spencer could just flip you over and finish the job.

“Come on, darling,” Spencer encourages, his hands squeezing your ass and your thighs. It makes you feel wanted, a desperate Spencer’s way of feeling you. “I’m so close too. You’re doing so good.”

“Spencer-!” You sob, clenching around him as you come, your orgasm wracking through your body like electricity in your veins. It’s so good, too good like this, Spencer pressed up inside you like he could split you in half. 

You’re frozen as you feel him inside, his cock twitching as he blows his load. It’s warm and wet and sticky, as you feel it drip out of you. You almost can’t believe it, feeling Spencer buried to the hilt of you after months, and you wonder why it hadn’t occurred to either of you to do this sooner. 

You whimper as your emotions rush over you, and Spencer is quick to pull you close, his lips pressed to the top of your head. “That was crazy. You’re amazing. And perfect. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you say, still a little breathless. “We should do that more.”

“Until my leg is better? Then I can fuck you the way you want,” Spencer soothes, his hand petting your hair, and that certainly sounds like a good idea.

“Yeah. But we should also just do that again some time,” you giggle, resting your head on his chest. You feel his heart pounding under your ear. “I like riding you.”

Spencer laughs heartily, a warm sound that is like music to your ears. “Giddy up, cowgirl.”