#and he was like is he me. is that why i dont like him. and i was like LOL

[beatlblog]

#LOVE when celebrities accept awards on behalf of other people as a way to be messy (via @estrangedfiances)

#why is Art emerging like Smackdown wrestler#They should have given him a microphone and made him argue from his seat (via @lord-pain)

#'oh well too subtle that one' <- me when im insane (via @obrother1976)

#literalmente el mejor video que he visto nunca es tan doloroso (via @hawkeyeqierce)

#vibes rancid but beret powerful <3#i'd carry them all on my purse... (via @blondecasino)

#paul simon and john are both losing their divorces extra hard in that clip#the ‘where’s Linda?’ joke being the nadir#also clearly Olivia Newton John is a secret drama lover to tap Art Garfunkel to accept her award lol#thanks Olivia! (via @drivenalphabitchpaulmccartney)

#i don't know these ppl and i dont care but the vibes#mammon#fizzarolli#vivi (via @ten-below)

#where's linda is so insane#your jealousy is showing john (via @foryouwereinmysong)

#Isekai: two guys who were abandoned because someone got married to Linda (via @got-ticket-to-ride)

#gay people who are dl in Hollywood are so funny lmao (via @paceywittergayboatman)

#john lennon#necesitocontexto (via @akamy08wt)

#dear fucking LORD the hatred in that handshake (via @cobblepottery)

#dear god#do you think paul and art and paul and john had to split custody of all the shows and awards to not be there together (via @thevowels-pt2)

#it is serious#lol#simon and garfunkel#showed my dad this and he said “theyre an odd couple” (via @l00r0ll)

#I know that both she and her producer won but it really sounds like Garfunkel is using they/them pronouns for Olivia Newton-John (via @marnie1964)

#john lennon supposedly pro peace. well (via @bleaksnails)

#bisexual disasters all of them#art & garfunkel#john lennon#still sad that macca didn't rise to the occasion to wallllllk on that stage with Art and show everyone his fat insane cunt#or maybe he KNEW what would happen and decided to watch it on tv with a giant bucket of popcorn or smth#the girls are fightingggggg (via @tenitchyfingers)

#I need to watch this tomorrow but John why did you put on your suffragette outfit before going out on stage 😭 😭 😭 😭 😭 (via @blackbeltkitten2)

#lets bring this back. olivia newton john was crazy for sending art knowing damn well paul was hosting.#she knew what she was doing and thank god for her because lmfao#it is serious. (via @muirneach)

#like. at this point they should have started biting and maiming either each other or john lennon (via @rpfofficial)

#i like how johns looking around like the worlds most scared meerkat like theyre gonna bring out paul next#wwe cage match for 60s singer songwriters (via @tabiheel)

#the amount dl subtext and just straight up messy homosexuality in this clip is crazy (vi @paceywittergayboatman)

#paul simon and john lennon were then held back for after-grammy detention#sooo childish dear god😭 (via @plaguegirll)

#THIS IS THE FUNNIEST THING I’VE SEEN IN ME LIFE 😭#ART…………..#the way paul simon’s joke got zero laughs and he’s standing there like 🧍🏻‍♂️ (via @planetaire)

Screaming#no but you’re so true prev#I come back to this when I want to remember the gays are also not okay (via @annebrontesrequiem)

#omfg#the fucking music when grunfunkl started to walk up made me laugh way harder than it should’ve (via @dolmansunflower)

#i love that every one of John's jokes was so terrible received here like alsjslsjksjskska#baby went out to the world to find out he was not that funny paul was just down so horrendously bad he would die at the stupidest comment#anyway starting the rumour art pulled a joan crawford and dedicated months of his life to orchestrate this#purely out of spite (via @sohardlovingyou)

oh dear god... also listen to the interview linked above bc he totally did

#<- prev hes literally not even funny mccartney was just dickmatized (via @oldmanpusspuss)

#whyyyy is john like that (via @nastassyafilippovna)

#bc he’s from Liverpool hope that helps (via @dilfsisko)

#hwaaatt is happening here. many rudenesses (via @jumpin--bean)

#witness the Simon and Garfunkel divorce in real time OFFICIATED BY JOHN FUCKING LENNON. (via @pisshandkerchief)

#olivia newton john decided she wanted to cause problems on purpose#watch as the most divorced man in the entire music industry mediates a couple of equally divorced men in the music industry (via @indigocatpaws)

#imagine you're doing something that you know DOES NOT INVOLVE YOUR EX-BOYFRIEND and then YOUR FUCKING EX-BOYFRIEND SHOWS UP (via @danexist)

#also the 'where's linda' falling completely flat and john going :/ screammmmm (via @menlove)

Wearing a tshirt with a tuxedo design is the highest form of art (via @hollychully)

#i love the 1970s#john lennon is having a great time#paul simon is having a terrible time#is john lennon having a great time because paul simon is having a terrible time? can't hurt (via @saturn-iidae)

#just. besides everything else. the fact that art garfunkel is wearing#what appears to be a tuxedo shirt straight from hot topic#is crazy (via @spending-life-pretending)

#WHERE'S LINDA 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭#this is why we need to be homophobic (via @neilyoungs)

#gonna start going up to arguing couples and ask 'which one of you is ringo' (via @whereforareyouknowingit)

#that Linda joke when Art Garfunkel was literally divorcing her 💀#feel like John probs didn’t know that though (via @delightfullyatomicfest)

THE FUMBLERRRRRS (via @zaubermaerchen)

#👆 (via @tweeterwilbury)

#The best part is Paul is having a horrible time but John seems kinda silly with it. (via @scary-ivy)

#wrestling announcement: ART GARFUNKEL#was this the same one where bowie was coked off his face and had to give an award to arethra franklin#and she made a jokey comment that landed badly w bowie fans and then they were like. we hate her for insulting our guy#and bowie himself obviously had no clue what happened bc of the aforementioned being coked out of his head#they just let you host award shows in the olden days#didnt matter that you were shit at it (via @thaliatimsh)

the very same https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W5CrfwTJf9w also after he says "a language of love" the cam cuts to JOHN AND YOKO

#anyway john's outfit here is so iconic#like that is how I dress for formal events#to a t (via @dinkydiamond)

#my dad really is a john lennon stan#bc the round glasses and beret I'm like oh my dad does that look (via @alexythimya)

#this video always gives me so much second hand embarrassment oh my god I feel it in my veins and bones#each of them dressed worse than the other#John looks like the little land and absolutely none of his jokes land I’m crying real tears#little lad*#John somehow trying to insult Paul (mccartney) who ISNT IN THE ROOM AT ALL#the tension between Paul and art#the awkward jokes#I believe all of history happened to make this moment possible (via @paulic)

shoutout to that time paul simon and john lennon hosted the grammys

[burreauxsss]

couldve been her

background: y/n a wag for the chiefs who is dating travis kelce of 3 years finds out he cheated on her. she assures herself that she'd never watch the nfl nor date another nfl player, until a convincing quarterback hits her dms.

(all pics from pinterest)

synopsis: week 5 of the season and y/n decides to break the silence on the cheating between her and travis, in return several chiefs fans make her feel like she couldve just stayed for the money.

notes: linked the song below, also in the playlist in the series. a short ish chapter? before i start plotting for this other idea i have.

FYI I DONT KNOW WHY THE MESSAGES IN THIS CHAPTER ARE BLURRY.

warning: proofread while drowsy?

joe burrow x reader x kelce!ex au

y/n_handle posted a story

caption: back home 💆🏾‍♀️

joeyb_9

❤️ 737,010 💬 99,998

Liked by: y/n_handle bengals lahjay_10 and others

joeyb_9: keep fighting.

y/n_handle: so lucky. 😌

joeyb_9: y/n_handle you are my lucky charm mamas.

lahjay_10: get a room. for everyones sake.

yourbsf: lahjay_10, for our sake please.

username_1: just fell to my knees at joe's comment..

username_2: atleast she isnt with travis because he never liked her posts or reposted them like joe does!!

username_3: mamas??? joe what are we doing.

*load more comments*

tmz

❤️ 2.5m 💬 120,000

Liked by: y/n_handle bengals lahjay_10 and others

tmz: breakup clarity? y/n y/ln former chiefs wag ended up speaking out on a podcast about the cheating incident.

y/n states "i found out because of mutual friends, it wasn't because of anyone in my dms. i was loyal, i was never loved. i wanted to be loved, i wanted to be there for him and not the money. but everything doesn't work out the way we want it to. i've now found someone who loves me, thankfully majority of everyone respects it. they do think its outrageous though."

y/ln is officially dating cincinnati bengals quarterback joe burrow, more info on our website.

username_4: travis just sounds dumb sometimes, how are you going to say she downgraded when she pulled the hottest dude in the nfl?

username_5: this is why we love any other team but the chiefs.

username_6: wasnt burrow already in her dms when they were together?

username_7: y/n cheated first. and im convinced by that.

*load more comments*

y/n_handle

❤️ 145,299 💬 40,189

Liked by: joeyb_9 yourbsf and others

y/n_handle: girls night out ✨

yourbsf: not you posting like you didnt blackout after this.. y/n_handle: who is me?

username_8: the exposing lmao..

username_9: those drinks look good.

username_10: we're proud of you for revealing everything.

username_11: ms shiesty!! come to the home game this weekend.

joeyb_9: fyi, same woman who also called me while drunk. y/n_handle: shut up.

joeyb_9: ill take back that telfar, dont play with me. y/n_handle: okay.. love you.

*load more comments*

bengals

❤️ 808,000 💬 77,112

Liked by: lahjay_10 y/n_handle and others

bengals: livin' in the fast lane

#BALvsCIN

username_12: joe's so fine bro username_13: he has a girlfriend unfortunately

username_14: is ms shiesty coming to the game today????

username_15: that hand though-

y/n_handle: ill just stay quiet 🥸

*load more comments*

y/n_handle ���kansas city, missouri

❤️ 101,922 💬 3,984

Liked by: yourbsf and others

y/n_handle: 💆🏾‍♀️

username_16: baby joe doesnt comment on your posts alot, you shouldve stayed for the bills.

username_17: nfl players pay alot, just saying.

username_18: she shouldve lowkey shut her mouth.

username_19: as long as he comes home, what harm is there in doing it?

*load more comments*

bengals

❤️ 1.1m 💬 287,934

Liked by: y/n_handle and others

bengals: bengals dub!

username_20: defense sucks so badly joe is used to it.

username_21: we almost lost. that was a prayer.

username_22: im gonna need joe to stop daydreaming about travis kelces ex and put up numbers next game. y/n_handle: now whos fault was that? not mine.

username_23: same dude that is currently screwing travis's ex guys.

username_24: we have below 500 teams for the next 2 weeks.

y/n_handle

❤️ 332,140 💬 2,789

Liked by: joeyb_9 yourbsf lululemon and others

y/n_handle: gold on ice.

lululemon: ate down!

yourbsf: love this combo girl.

joeyb_9: mamas pretty. y/n_handle: thank you ml.

username_26: ate tf up.

username_27: lululemon responded..

username_28: shes pretty and she upgraded?

username_29: i wanna be her when i get older.

*load more comments*

notes: as of proofreading this, im taking myself to bed. goodnight.

[bluewolfangel01]

Favorite Parent Challenge with Lucifer, Mammon, Levi, & Satan

(If you don't know, it's basically a challenge to see who the pet's favored human is)

-Lucifer-

Done with Cerberus

Cerberus is very confused when Mc and Lucifer walk in different directions while he stays

Each head looks from left to right, unable to understand what he's supposed to be doing or even who to go to

He begins to whine

Mc gets a bit closer to comfort Cerberus, reaching their hands out to offer pets

Only then does Cerberus decide to move

Lucifer: "I don't think it counts if you bribe him"

Mc: *doing their best to pet all 3 heads* "Well he doesn't seem to mind, do ya boy?"

Cerberus: *tail wagging very fast, looking very happy*

Mc: "If you want, I could give you some pets later tonight~ seeing as you seem a bit jealous."

Lucifer: "Well I'm not jealous, but I'll happily accept your offer."

-Mammon-

Done with a few crows familiars

The crows look between the opposite directions where Mammon and Mc went

The crows stay where they are for a few moments

It almost seems like they'll never move

Then they fly and land at Mc's feet

One crow even lands on Mc's shoulder

Mc proceeds to give the crow that landed on their shoulder, some scratches

Mammon: *walks towards Mc* "They're my familiars, why do they go to ya?!"

Mc: "Aw dont feel so bad, haven't you ever heard that pets copy the personality of their people?"

Mammon: "Yeah. So?"

Mc: "So that means that they only went to me 'cause you love me so much."

Mammon: "Gah... silly human."

Mc: *grabs Mammon's jacket collar* "Tsundere demon." *gives him a smooch*

-Levi-

Done with Henry 2.0

Levi and Mc stand on opposite side of Henry 2.0's tank, rather then walking in different directions

The small fish doesn't swim to either side

He kinda just floats for a moment before lazily swimming around the fish bowl

It's clear that Henry 2.0 doesn't understand the challenge

That or he just doesn't care

Mc: Well, I don't know what we were expecting, but that result seems about right.

Levi: Why did we decide to do this again?

Mc: The new co-op game we've been playing is getting updated so the servers are down and for the memes.

Levi: ...

Levi: For the memes.

-Satan-

Done with a few stray cats

Satan and Mc sit a few feet away from each other outside the H.O.L

They both agreed to have no items or smells that could possibly draw in the cats

They both sit there for awhile while waiting for the strays to show up and pick one of them

Suprise, suprise the strays end up going towards Mc

Satan: "They almost never come to me, it's like they hate me."

Mc: "Aw, don't say that, they don't hate you."

Mc: *Picks up and holds Kuro in front of Satan's face, who meows cutely* "See, Kuro likes you~"

Satan: *smiles and lowers head in defeat* You...~"

[alinathinkstoomuch]

Filthier Flat-Pack Thoughts

18+ MDNI pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: your boss rejects you the first time but what happens when he's the one in charge? (part 2 of Filthy Flat-Pack Thoughts, but can be read as a standalone) warnings: baso porn w/o plot, hotch has a filthy mouth, reader and hotch both have a thing for mirrors... p in v sex, fingering, idk man i got carried away, enjoy xx (not proof read, dont come for me) word count: 5.6k

You had taken the coward’s way out when Monday came. But really, what else were you supposed to do after throwing yourself at your boss and getting let down?

So, instead of facing the consequences of your actions – or worse, facing him – you sent Hotch a text claiming you weren’t feeling well and asked if you could use your PTO for the day.

He didn’t respond. Not directly, at least. But just before the usual morning briefing, Garcia had texted you.

Feel better soon, sunshine!!!

Accompanied by enough emojis to make your head spin. Which meant he must have told them. Which meant that it was fine. And yet, the thought of him seeing your message, reading it, and choosing not to reply left a pit in your stomach that you weren’t ready to unpack.

You just needed one more day.

One more day to shake off the mortification, to stop replaying every humiliating second of Friday night in your head, to convince yourself that come Tuesday, you would walk into work and pretend none of it ever happened.

You didn’t want the day to go to waste so you tried to be productive, throwing yourself into the thing that would keep your hands and mind occupied - finally unpacking.

And you had mostly succeeded.

Most of your boxes were empty, your things finally finding a place in your new home, and after an embarrassing amount of time, you had even managed to put together your bedside table. But despite the distraction, despite the minor victory of assembling furniture without Hotch’s help, the second you sat down, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, it was still there.

That awful, gnawing awareness that sooner or later you were going to have to face him.

You decided that a hot shower might help wash away the lingering shame clinging to your skin. You turned the water up almost too hot, as you stood under the shower head, hands pressed against the cool tiles.

It was fine.

You just needed to stop overthinking it. Hotch wasn’t cruel. He had let you down gently. He had done the right thing. So why did your stomach still twist at the memory of it?

By the time you stepped out, your body felt warm, relaxed - your mind, less so. You pulled on one of your softer, more delicate chemises – a small indulgence in comfort you desperate needed. Then, with a sigh, you settled onto the couch, grabbing your phone and tapping through your contacts.

Garcia picked up on the second ring.

“Ah, my fallen soldier! How are we holding up?”

You groaned, shifting on the couch, tucking your legs beneath you. “I’m fine, Pen. Just taking a day to recover.”

“As you should, my dear. Self-care is critical after a weekend of… whatever happened that has you hiding away.”

You rolled your eyes, stretching out against the cushions. “Moving, Penelope. Moving has be hiding away. It is truly an exhausting process.”

Garcia hummed, evidently not convinced by your little white lie. “Well, boss man seems exhausted too. Or just very tense and broody. I can’t tell anymore, his scowls are all starting to blend together. Did he maybe pull a muscle helping you with your furniture or something?”

Your stomach dropped.

“Penelope -” you started, only to be cut off by a knock at your door.

You froze.

“Okay, who have you sent to my door this time?” you muttered, pushing yourself up from the sofa.

“Excuse me? I’ll have you know I’m not the mastermind behind all surprise visitors.”

You didn’t believe her for a second.

Still, you pulled on your robe, tugging it over your chemise as you made your way to the door. The fabric felt softer than usual, almost fragile, like it wasn’t quite enough of a barrier between you and what was waiting on the other side.

Balancing your phone between your ear and shoulder, you tied a loose knot at your waist, fingers fidgeting with the belt as Garcia sighed dramatically on the other end.

“Well? Who is it? Spill.”

Your hand hesitated over the lock, a second of hesitation turning into two, three, before you finally turned the knob and pulled the door open.

Your stomach plummeted.

Because there he was.

Aaron Hotchner.

Standing on your doorstep – again. Looking every bit like the man you had spent the last two days trying to avoid, trying to forget, trying not to replay in your head on a never-ending loop.

“Let me call you back, Garcia,” you murmured absentmindedly, already pulling the phone away from your ear, hanging up before she could even think to respond.

Because right now, the last thing you needed was an audience.

You barely registered the sound of the line disconnecting, too focused on the man standing in front of you. Hotch didn’t speak right away, didn’t explain why he was here, didn’t offer you anything to ease the knot forming in your stomach.

He just watched you, which was almost worse.

You had been bracing yourself for tomorrow, telling yourself that by then, the weight of everything would have settled just enough for you to fake your way through the awkwardness, to act like Friday night had never happened.

But here he was. Now. And the fragile plan you’d built to protect yourself had just gone up in flames.

“Can we sit?”

His voice was softer than you expected. Softer than you were ready for.

You pressed your lips together, shifting on your feet, your fingers tightening around the knot of your robe, grounding yourself in the feel of the fabric, something real to hold onto.

A moment passed before you finally stepped aside, nodding slightly.

"Yeah."

Your lips pressed together as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, your fingers tightening around the knot of your robe.

He moved toward the couch, and you should have followed.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you lingered near the doorway, arms crossing over your chest, putting space between you. An invisible barrier, as if it could protect you from whatever was about to come next Hotch noticed, of course he did. His gaze flicked over you, reading every tiny shift in your posture, every hesitation, every instinct to put distance between you.

And still, he didn’t push. Not until he settled on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Sit, angel."

It was the way he said it – so soft, so steady – that you almost weren’t sure you’d heard him right. You sighed, resigned to the fact that there was no avoiding this conversation and lowered yourself onto the couch, leaving enough space between you.

A brief pause stretched between you. He was studying you, assessing you, trying to read you. And you suddenly felt so exposed despite the layers of fabric now separating you from him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his tone feeling dangerously close to concern.

You let out a small, dry laugh, shaking your head. “You came all this way to ask me that?”

“Did you take today off because of what happened Friday?” he countered your question with another, leaning forward.

You expected the question, but hearing it out loud – acknowledging it – made you ache all over again. You dropped your gaze, fingers toying with the edge of your robe, avoiding his eyes like that somehow could make this easier. “I just… needed a day.”

Hotch nodded like he understood, like he had already known the answer before you even said it. His expression softened, and when he spoke again, it was even gentler than before.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” you said quickly, too quickly.

Hotch didn’t look convinced, your name falling from his lips.

“I mean it,” you continued, making yourself sound certain. Trying to convince yourself as much as him. “You were kind, Hotch. You let me down in the nicest way possible. I appreciate that.”

“But –”

“I just needed today to clear my head,” you cut him off. “To remind myself that you were right.”

His brows furrowed. “Right?”

You let out a quiet, humourless laugh, dropping your eyes to your lap again. "That Friday night wasn't... real," you murmured, more to yourself than him. "It was stress and exhaustion and maybe a little too much wine. I let it get the best of me. It was a mistake."

The silence that followed was too long. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your robe, waiting for him to agree, to tell you that yes, it was a mistake, that it shouldn’t have happened, that you were right.

“Is that what you think?”

You looked up, brows pinching in confusion. “I mean…” You faltered, searching his face but it gave nothing away. “It was a mistake, wasn’t it?”

Hotch let out a breath, his fingers pressing into his thigh. “It wouldn’t have been right,” he said finally.

Maybe that should have been enough of an answer, maybe you should have left it alone. But you didn’t. Because something about the way he said it, the way his voice dipped slightly, made your stomach tighten, made the words slip out before you could stop them.

“That’s not the same as saying you didn’t want it.”

The moment they left your lips, you wished you could take them back.

His jaw clenched, his muscle ticking once.

And just as you started to convince yourself you had imagined this whole exchange, just as you prepared to backpedal, to fill the silence with some half-hearted attempt at smoothing things over, the most beautifully damning words falling from this mouth -

“I did want it.”

The air left your lungs in a sharp, breathless rush and you felt the room tilt.

“Then…why –”

“Because you deserved better than that.”

His words were firm, absolute, wrapped in the same conviction he carried into every case, every impossible decision.

“Hotch –”

“You’d been drinking,” he continued. “You’d had a long week and I know how quickly having too many things lined up at once overwhelms you.”

That sentence alone was enough to unravel you because he really did know you. He knew how your mind worked, knew how pressure built inside you until it spilled over.

“And I would have spent the entire next day wondering if I’d just taken advantage of you.”

Your throat tightened at the quiet honesty in his words, at the careful way he measured them, as if he had thought about this. As if it had sat with him just as much as it had with you.

And fuck, you didn't know what to do with that.

“You wouldn’t have. I didn’t need to be drunk to know that I want –” you hesitated, “–wanted you.”

He looked up at you, like he was weighing every single word you’d just spoken, turning them over in his mind like pebbles, making sure he heard you right.

“And what do you want now?” he asked lowly.

He was giving you the choice. No leading words. No hidden meaning. Just a simple, open-ended question.

Your stomach twisted, nerves and something warmer curling in your chest, in your belly, in the space between your ribs.

"You," you admitted, barely above a breath. "I still want you."

He nodded slowly. “Then take me to your bedroom.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d even heard him right, but the look on his face told you that you had. A sharp pulse of awareness ran through you, so strong it made your fingers clench into the fabric of your robe. You weren't sure you'd even be stable on your feet after hearing those words from his mouth, but you were sure as hell going to try.

Before you could move, he stood first. Your eyes followed the movement, unable to look away as he shrugged off his jacket, the rustle of fabric filling the space between you. Then came the cufflinks – carefully removed, set aside-before he rolled up his sleeves, revealing the strong lines of his forearms, the flex of muscle, the way his veins shifted beneath his skin.

And then, he reached for you. His hand open, waiting. Your gaze flickered up to his, searching, but all you found was patience and certainty.

“Only if you’re sure.”

Your fingers tightened around his.

You were sure. So damn sure.

You rose to your feet, and the moment you did, his other hand moved to undo the knot of your robe. His fingers worked it loose, the tie slipping free with ease, his breath coming just a fraction heavier as the fabric parted, revealing the delicate, pale pink lace beneath.

His tongue darted out, wetting his lips as his eyes dragged over you, taking you in inch by inch, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to memorize every detail.

And then he nodded toward the hallway. “After you.”

You turned, leading him down the hall, toward the first door on the right.

The soft glow from your bedside lamp spilled into the room, casting warm shadows against the walls. You silently thanked your past self for leaving it on –it was just enough light to see him, to see this, without feeling too exposed.

Pushing the door open, you stepped inside, moving toward the end of the bed. You didn't speak, didn't need to. You just waited, for his next instructions, for his next move.

Hotch's eyes swept over the room, taking everything in. It was still bare, not yet lived in, not yet filled with you –a work in progress, much like the two of you.

But then his gaze snagged on something. The full length mirror that rested against the wall, directly opposite your bed. You saw the moment he noticed it—the slight shift in his stance, the way his lips twitched, like he was already picturing something.

And then he moved.

Came to stand behind you, his hands finding your shoulders, warm and sure, guiding you just slightly until you were perfectly centered in front of it.

“That’s a very pretty mirror.”

Your eyes tracked every movement through the reflection, mouth parting, but for once you had no words. Then his lips brushed against your hair, barely there, but the heat of it lingered, seeping into your skin, into your bones, branding itself in a way you knew you wouldn’t be able to shake.

“Did you put it there so you could watch while you touched yourself?”

A slow, molten heat curled through you, pooling deep in your belly, spreading down between your thighs. Your legs tensed on instinct, pressing together as his fingers traced over the bare skin of your arms, feather-light, teasing, making you ache.

“Hm, sweet angel?”

You nodded meekly, biting down on your lip to supress the moan threatening to escape – one he had earned with nothing more than words.

“Did you do it after I left?”

Your sharp inhale gave you away, your body betraying you before you could even think of forming a response. Your back arched into him, fingers twitching as he intertwined them with his own, lips grazing the slope of your shoulder.

The mirror didn’t lie. You looked ruined already and he had barely touched you.

“Come on,” he murmured. “Use that pretty mouth before I find something else to do with it.”

That didn’t sound like the worst idea in the world.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed. “Aaron, please.”

A slow, satisfied hum rumbled against your back as his hands finally moved higher, fingers ghosting over your nipples.

“Did you start from here?”

You felt dizzy. So dizzy that if you weren’t leaning into him, if he wasn’t holding you up, you were sure you would’ve collapsed. His right hand drifted lower, tracing the outside of your thigh while his left gripped you tighter, his palm kneading into your flesh.

“Or did you start with your thighs?”

You could feel his smirk against you skin, could see it in his reflection – the way his dark eyes met yours in the mirror, the way his lips curled at the edges as his fingers edged higher, inching toward the heat between your legs.

The fabric of your slip bunched up in his fist, silk riding up your thighs, baring you to him, exposing your lace panties.

Hotch exhaled slowly, watching the way the delicate material clung to your body.

“Show me, pretty girl.” His fingers flexed against your thigh, his grip firmer now. “I want to see what I missed out on.”

You looked at him through the mirror, eyes wide, lips parted in a soft pout because he couldn’t possibly be asking you to do this. Could he?

“Don’t make me ask again.”

Your thighs instinctively pressed together again, only to be met with his hand keeping them apart. A breathless sound escaped you, your body betraying you yet again, and his smirk deepened.

You knew what he wanted. And so, with shaky fingers, you moved your hand. His grip loosened slightly, giving you just enough space for your fingers to brush over the lace at the apex of your thighs.

“Atta girl.” His lips skimmed the curve of your jaw. “Show me. Show me how you thought of me.”

Your lashes fluttered, breath catching as your fingers dipped beneath the lace. Maybe it was a good thing it was your own touch and not his, because if he felt how wet you were, if he had proof of just how much you wanted him, it would only feed into his smugness.

And you weren’t sure you could survive that.

Hotch hummed in satisfaction, his right hand trailing up, covering yours, guiding it, controlling it as you started rubbing slow circles over your clit. His touch wasn’t hurried. Wasn’t forceful. It was intentional, like he wanted you to feel every second of this – feel what it was like to have his hand over yours, dictating the rhythm, deciding exactly how much pleasure you were allowed to take.

“Did you say my name?” he asked, voice rough. “Did you pretend it was me?”

Your lips parted, a desperate, needy noise slipping past them, your body trembling as he watched.

“Look at yourself.”

You forced your heavy eyes open, meeting your own reflection and you barely recognised yourself. Your body was trembling against his, your slip bunched at your waist, panties pushed aside, thighs twitching as you fought for air.

“What do you see, angel?”

Your breath hitched, your fingers faltering as his words wrapped around you, sinking deep into your stomach.

“I see a pretty girl who falls apart the second I tell her to.”

Your entire body shook. A fresh whimper broke free, your knees threatening to give out as his left hand tightened at your waist, keeping you upright, keeping you his.

“Please, Aaron –” Your voice was wrecked, desperate. “I don’t think I can keep going.”

His exhale was slow, like he was savouring the sound of you breaking. “Oh, sweetheart. Do you want me to take over?”

You nodded feverishly, too fast, your entire body screaming for relief. “P-please. I need you to.”

His grip on your wrist loosened enough for you to pull your hand away as he replaced it with his own. And then – God help you – his fingers moved.

A slow, deliberate drag through your slick folds, teasing, testing, until he found exactly what he was looking for. His touch was immediate and so much better than your own. A broken moan slipped past your lips, your head falling back onto his shoulder as your thighs quivered, struggling to hold yourself up.

“That’s it,” he whispered, voice rich with satisfaction, like he had known this would happen. “So much better when I do it for you, isn’t it?”

Your only response was a chocked sob, your hands grasping at his forearm, nails digging in, pleading.

You felt him smile against your skin. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

His pace quickened, precise and devastating, and you pressed into him – your body instinctively seeking more, needing all of him. And that’s when you felt it. The undeniable proof of what the sight of you like this had done to him. The thick, hard press of his arousal against the curve of your ass, straining against his slacks.

A fresh wave of heat rolled through you, a cry slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Hotch groaned – actually groaned – his hips pressing forward, just enough to let you feel him.

“You feel that? That’s what you do to me, angel.”

Your breath hiccupped, tears burning at the corners of your eyes, your thighs clamping around his wrist, body trembling on the edge of something catastrophic.

“Aaron –”

“Be a good girl for me, hm? Come for me.”

And you did.

Your body tensed, your back arched, and then you shattered, a strangled sob escaping your lips as he worked you through it, whispering low, filthy praises into your ear, his grip never faltering.

Your body slumped against his, boneless, spent, your breathing uneven as you struggled to come back down. And when your hazy eyes flickered up to meet his in the mirror, the sight made your stomach flip all over again. 

“How was that, angel?”

He knew you would never be able to touch yourself again without thinking of this. Knew he had achieved exactly what he wanted.

“Really good,” you breathed, head lolling back against his shoulder, your body still trembling from the aftershocks.

His lips curled into a knowing smile before pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Good, honey. But I’m going to need you to take everything off and get on all fours.”

Your stomach tensed.

Fuck.

He was trying to kill you.

His hands finally released you, giving you space to move, but not before he watched.

Waited.

Your fingers were unsteady as they found the hem of your slip, lifting it slowly, peeling away the last barrier between you. The silk slipped over your head, landing somewhere on the floor, followed by your underwear.

The air hit your bare skin, goosebumps trailing in its wake but it wasn’t the cold that made you shiver. It was him and the way he looked at you. You turned toward the bed, moving to crawl onto the mattress when his voice stopped you.

“Not the bed.”

You bit your lip as you turned back to face him, your pulse skittering in your throat. He was still fully dressed, still so composed when you were the exact opposite. His gaze dragged down your body at an achingly slow pace, taking his time, allowing himself to drink you in – every inch of you, every part he hadn’t gotten to see a few nights ago.

“The floor, angel. Right in front of the mirror.”

Your body burned as you complied, knees wobbling as you lowered yourself onto the floor. You positioned yourself exactly where he wanted, your palms pressing into the cool surface, your back arching slightly – offering yourself to him.

And the second you settled, the second you caught his gaze in the mirror you saw it. The way his eyes devoured you. The way his gaze landed between your thighs, locking onto your bare, glistening pussy, and the way his lips curled.

That bastard smirked.

Smirked at the mess between your legs, at what he had done to you.

You watched as he lowered himself behind you, his broad frame closing in, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a second skin. A sharp inhale tore through you as you felt the press of his thumb collecting the wetness from your folds, spreading it, claiming it.

And just as you started to adjust to the feeling, just as your body tried to catch up – his thumb was gone, replaced with his middle and ring finger, teasing at your entrance, then slowly, slowly pushing inside.

A sound left you, something between a gasp and a whimper, something utterly helpless, so desperate it made your skin burn.

He chuckled.

“You can use my fingers, honey. But you’re going to have to do the work.”

Your eyes snapped open, meeting his through the mirror.

He wasn’t kidding. His fingers stayed inside you, buried deep but he wasn’t moving them. Your walls clenched around him instinctively, desperate for friction, for more but he stayed still.

“Go on,” he said, his other hand pressing down on the small of your back, encouraging you. “Make yourself feel good.”

Your palms flattened against the hard surface beneath you, bracing yourself as you moved – tentative at first, a slow, testing roll of your hips as you slid down onto his fingers. The stretch had you sucking in a sharp breath, your lips parting around a whispered curse.

And he watched. His eyes never left you, locked onto your reflection in the mirror, tracking the way you rocked against his hands, the way your thighs trembled as you found your rhythm, the way you used him exactly the way he wanted you to.

But still it wasn’t enough. You needed more. You needed all of him, buried deep inside you, stretching you open in ways his fingers never could. But he wasn’t offering that, so you took what you could get. You bucked your hips harder, forcing more friction, forcing the stretch, chasing what you knew only he could give you.

A sharp cry slipped from your lips. “Fuck, Aar –”

“I know, baby.” His fingers twitched inside you, pressing just enough to make you gasp, just enough to remind you he was still in control “I know.”

And then, just as quickly, they were gone.

A desperate whimper spilled from your lips at the sudden loss, your body clenching around nothing, the emptiness leaving a sharp pang of need that made your head spin. And yet, before panic could settle in, before you could beg for him, you heard it.

The click of his belt buckle.

Your head moved up to meet his eyes in the mirror just in time to see him work the leather through the loops before letting it drop to the floor with a thud. He never broke contact as he reached for the button of his slacks, undoing it before the soft sound of his zipper filled the room.

He took his time.

Watched you squirm, watched the way your thighs could do nothing but press together.

His slacks slipped down, bunching at his feet, and then, finally, his boxers. Your pulse pounded against your ribs as he exposed himself, the tip of his cock already slick with precum, showing you just how much he wanted this – wanted you.

Once his shirt was discarded, he lowered himself back down, hands finding your waist, fingers pressing into your skin with just the right amount of pressure to remind you who you belonged to. Your back arched, your body responding before your mind could catch up, offering yourself to him in every way you knew he wanted.

You felt the hard, warm press of his cock against the back of your thigh, the slickness of it smearing against your skin, though you weren’t sure if it was from him or from you.

It didn’t matter because the next thing he was doing was dragging himself against your aching, soaked pussy. A sharp gasp tore from your lips as the thick length of him slid through your folds just enough to have you clenching around nothing.

He did it again, slow and deliberate, letting you feel him, letting the weight of his cock glide through your wetness, coating himself in it, using your own arousal to make you squirm.

"Jesus," he exhaled, his grip on your hips tightening, fingertips pressing into your skin like he was barely holding on. "So fucking wet for me, angel. You need it that bad, huh?”

The desperation in your body was humiliating, but you didn’t care. Not when he was teasing you like this, not when the heat between your legs pulsed and throbbed with every slow glide of his cock, not when he was so close to giving you what you wanted but still holding back.

“So bad, please,” you begged, pushing back against him, arching your spine, doing anything to get him where you needed. Every inch of you was trembling, every muscle coiled tight, your body nothing but pure, raw need.

He hummed, rolling his hips just enough for his tip to nudge against your entrance.

“Okay, sweet girl, okay.” His voice was gentle as he gave in. “But I need you to watch.”

His hand trailed up your spine before threading into your hair, gripping just firmly enough to tilt your head up, forcing your eyes to meet his in the mirror.

“Take a deep breath for me.”

And just as you sucked in that breath, he thrust inside you, the sudden, overwhelming stretch stealing the air from your lungs. Your fingers dug into the floor, nails scraping against the hard surface as your body jolted forward from the sheer force of it. The sensation was too much, not enough, everything all at once. Your head spun, struggling to process the way he filled you, how impossibly deep he was, how your body clenched around him, trying to adjust, trying to take him.

A ragged curse tore from his lips, his grip on your waist tightening, fingers pressing so hard into your skin that you knew you’d feel it long after this moment had passed.

His pace was slow – tortuous if you had to use one word to describe it. You watched him in in the mirror, the way his head tipped back, brows furrowed in restraint, chest rising and falling as he bottomed out inside you, taking a second to breathe before pulling back, leaving just the tip inside—before slamming back in.

A wet, filthy sound filled the room, followed by a broken sob from your lips as your body struggled to keep up with the intensity of it. The way he moved, the way he owned every inch of you, the way he was ruining you.

You didn’t know what you were begging for when his name slipped past your lips, raw and desperate. You just knew you needed it. More of him. Deeper. Harder. Just more.

"You're gonna come for me," he growled, his breath hot against your skin. "Gonna make a mess all over my cock while I fuck you through it, yeah?"

You nodded mindlessly, over and over again. “Y-yeah. Y-Yes.”

His hand slipped between your thighs, finding you clit once more, pressing down with just the right amount of pressure, unravelling you inch by inch. Your body was already trembling, barely holding on, every muscle tensed.  

And he knew it. Of course, he knew it.

He could feel it, the way you clenched around him, the way your breath caught, the way you pushed back against him like you were chasing something you were already seconds away from losing yourself to.

“Fuck, baby, your gripping me so tight.”

Your body reacted to the words, your head dropping forward, your hands curling into fists against the floor as another wave of pleasure crashed through you.

"That's it, angel," he coaxed, his fingers moving faster, his thrusts hitting deeper. "Let me have it."

You came again, your body shuddering, incoherent mumbles falling from you lips as the orgasm swallowed you whole. But it still wasn’t enough for him. If anything, feeling you fall apart only spurred him on, made him rougher, hungrier, his grip bruising as he held you there, as he used your body to chase his own release.

His movements turned sloppy, his breath uneven, each thrust deep and desperate, dragging out his pleasure just a little longer. And then – his body tensed, his hands tightening on your hips as a sharp groan ripped from his throat, your name spilling from his lips as he buried himself inside you, coming hard, filling you completely.

His hips rocked into you a few more times, slower now, savouring every last second, his breath warm against your skin, ragged and uneven as he rode out the final waves of his release.

Then, his forehead dropped to your shoulder, his lips grazing your skin. “You okay?” he whispered.

You let out a breathless, satisfied hum. “More than okay.”

His hands slid to your hips and with careful movements, he rolled you onto your back, pulling out slowly before settling you against the floor. The loss of him sent a shiver through you, but you barely had time to dwell on it before his body hovered over yours.

You stretched beneath him, your fingers trailing up his arm, tracing the muscles still tensed from holding himself back. A lazy smirk tugged at your lips as you teased, "Who knew Aaron Hotchner had such a filthy mouth?"

“Consider it payback for not wearing a bra.”

You let out a laugh. “Well if that’s payback, I might just have to start wearing short skits with no underwear at the office.”

“Is that so?”

You grinned, stretching your arms above your head in an indulgent, satisfied way. “Mm-hm. I mean, if this is how you handle insubordination, I’d say I have a pretty strong case for pushing the dress code.”

His laugh was quiet, but it vibrated through you, something warm and rare and entirely for you. His weight shifted slightly as he reached for you, one hand trailing along your side, stopping just below your breast.

“Angel,” he murmured, dipping his head closer, brushing against your jaw before dragging down your neck. “You do that and it’ll be your last day in the office.”

“You’d fire me?”

He shook his head, his teeth grazing the delicate skin of your neck before soothing the spot with his tongue. “Never, honey. You just wouldn’t be able to walk for a week.”

divider creds. cafekitsune

[beatlblog]

#i hate it here#for the record it is insane that i could find/replace some of these quotes with 'freddie' and 'brian'#the bit about dreaming they're still alive and waking up and ... oh: brian has Literally said that#you can see him do that in real time during the fmtc when he starts the somebody to love guitar solo#and he looks like he's been punched in the solar plexus (via @royaltyisshe64)

#what if i aggressively start sobbing#i dont feel so good rn#why do i keep seeing these in school#the beatles#screaming crying throwing up sliding down the wall ripping out my hair (via @one-after--909)

#this kinda shit truly kills me#the other day I went to the movies to see strange darling#and at the end of the movie the killer is shot and its just one long shot of them dying#and it goes on so long and I suddenly just started thinking about John and Paul and Paul imagining John dying#(that’s how long the shot was)#and I just started tearing up lol and I was like oh no people are gonna think I’m just crying cause of this ending#and I’m like no I’m just thinking about the Beatles again (via @sleeper9)

#eu sempre imagino como tudo seria se o john estivesse vivo nem consigo pensar em quantas vezes o paul já imaginou isso também (via @ellienism)

#and once again a datalounge comment reflects a v specific prev-attested-to Paulism#not for nothing (via @adriennefrombrooklyn)

#i've never seen the bob spitz comments and wow i hate this for paul and us#stares blankly into space#also his comments about the psychiatrist djfglsbfg BABE SEEK HELP IT'S BEEN 44 YEARS (via @scurator)

#jesus christ#the idea that ur lover died so tragically that you still keep them alive in your mind forever#so that you don't have to deal with their death#what is grief if not love persevering (via @repressedgaymer)

we love a good cs lewis/wandavision quote

#i feel sick. oh my god#it’s actually so completely tragic it’s unlike anything else in the world. im sick (via @wronglennon)

#i feel like i discovered a new universe#my eyes are wide open#the gaytles (via @crazycrabbby)

Paul's grief over time: A Compilation

“During the session [in 1981] Paul fell into a lugubrious mood. He said, ‘I’ve just realized that John is gone. John’s gone. He’s dead and he is not coming back.’ And he looked completely dismayed, like shocked at something that had just hit him. ‘Well, it’s been a few weeks now.’ He said, ‘I know, Eric, but I’ve just realized." (Eric Stewart)

“It’s still weird even to say, ‘before he died’. I still can’t come to terms with that. I still don’t believe it. It’s like, you know, those dreams you have, where he’s alive; then you wake up and… 'Oh’.” (Paul, 1986)

"Occasionally, it wells up. Y'know, and I'm at home on the weekend suddenly and I start thinking about him or talking to the kids about him and I can't handle it." (Paul, 1987)

"Is there a record you like to put on just to hear John’s voice?" I ask Paul the next day. Paul looks startled. He fumbles. “Oh, uh. There’s so much of it. I hear it on the car radio when I’m driving.” No, that’s not what I mean", I persist. "Isn’t there a time when you just wish you could talk to John, when you’d like to hear his voice again?" For some reason, he instead responds to the original question.“Oh sure,” he says and looks a little taken aback. ‘Beautiful Boy". (1990)

"Also not obvious is that McCartney [for the Liverpool Oratorio] has penned a gorgeous black-spiritual-like piece for mezzo-soprano that intones the last words spoken to John Lennon as he lay dying of gunshot wounds in the back of a New York police car -- "Do you know who you are?" McCartney gets a bit choked up at one point when he reveals, "Not a day goes by when I don't think of John.” (1991)

"Delicious boy, delicious broth of a boy. He was a lovely guy, you know. And it gets sadder and sadder to be saying “was”. Nearer to when he died I couldn’t believe I was saying “was”, but now I do believe I’m saying “was”. I’ve resisted it. I’ve tried to pretend he didn’t get killed." (Paul, 1995)

"Paul talked about John a a lot, but the strange thing was that it was in the present tense, “John says this" or "John thinks that. Very weird." (Peter Cox, 2006)

“John Lennon was shot dead in 1980. That totally knocked dad for six. I haven’t really spoken to him a lot about it because it is such a touchy subject." (James McCartney, 2013)

"It's very difficult for me and I, occasionally, will have thoughts and sort of say: "I don't know why I don't just break down crying every day? […] You know, I don't know how I would have dealt with it because I don't think I've dealt with it very well. In a way… I wouldn't be surprised if a psychiatrist would sort of find out that I'm slightly in denial, because it's too much." (Paul, 2020)

"Like any bereavement, the only way out is to remember how good it was with John. Because I can't get over the senseless act. I can't think about it. I'm sure it's some form of denial. But denial is the only way that I can deal with it." (Paul, 2020)

"When I talked to Paul about John and when he missed John most, he couldn't answer me for a long time and his eyes teared up. And I asked him where he thinks about John and when John comes into his mind and he just … he lost it, he completely lost it." (Bob Spitz, 2021)

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

The following two are from the gossip website Datalounge, so they may or may not be true. Still interesting though:

"The one time I was ever actually in a room with Paul, zillion people between me and him (and no way I'm gonna bother him, all of us who travel in celeb circles have people we're fans of and all of us inexplicably try to hide it to seem "cooler"), he started talking loudly about himself and John, and how hard it was not to have him there. I remember him saying something along the lines of not a day passing that John's not still in it with him, but it's not like he can pick up a phone and say, "Hey, just needed to hear your voice today," and even when he got craggy responses, he still missed them. He misses it all, and it's bothering to him that he misses him more as time goes on -- it doesn't heal, he just learns new ways to bandage the wound."

“Since everyone is anonymous here, I guess I can give a bit of info I got from a female friend of mine who at one time was Paul worked as one of Paul’s assistants.[...] She does not know for certain if John and Paul were involved but she suspects it since to this day whenever John’s name is brought up he acts in her words ‘like a widow’ and he also addresses John in present tense. He would say things like, ‘John thinks that the music should be like this,’ and during his bitter divorce from Heather he was saying, ‘John says that this is getting nasty.’ Kind of creepy." (this one actually seems very intriguing because it sounds very similar to what Peter Cox said, about Paul often talking about John in the present tense, saying "John says.." or "John thinks...")

[kaxserlvr]

Toxicbf!kaiser who always puts soccer above you. He doesn’t think twice cancelling dates for training or matches if it would mean becoming the best.“You should’ve known what you were getting into”

Toxicbf!kaiser who avoids serious discussions. He hates emotional confrontations, can’t handle them and will dodge it or dismiss it completely. “We’re doing fine, why ruin the atmosphere?”

Toxicbf!Kaiser whose ego is his biggest flaw. He will constantly prioritise himself and make you an afterthought not an equal completely disregarding your feelings . May even seem like he’s looking down on you. “You should feel lucky you’re with me”

Toxicbf!kaiser who doesn’t apologise. Even when he knows he’s in the wrong(which is rare lol) he’d prefer to straight up ignore it or buy expensive gifts in hopes you’ll forget. He hates the feeling of being vulnerable.

Toxicbf!Kaiser when you start to pull away from him will act like it doesn’t bother him(it does). He thinks you’re just trying to get a reaction from him, he’d call it “cute” He fully thinks you’ll come back(until you dont)

Toxicbf!Kaiser who feels something disgusting stir in him when he sees you talking to someone with a smile you no longer show him. He suddenly has a strong urge to be near you to show you’re his glaring at the person.” Are they bothering you,hm?”

Toxicbf!kaiser who starts to panic when he realises you’re genuinely getting tired of him. He’ll try to act like it doesn’t bother him but starts to notice how you don’t wait up for him at night, you dont try to start small chats, you no longer look at him,you no longer send him cute messages on how he’s doing. He’s starting to sound desperate.”Talk to me” “where are you?”

Toxicbf!kaiser who uses anger as a defence. He’ll try to blame you for his issues since it’s hard for him to take the fault. Truth is beneath all the anger is fear-fear of losing the one person that makes him feel something. “So that’s it? You’re just gonna give up on me?”

Toxicbf!kaiser who finally breaks and apologies. Seeing you slip away for good causes him to drop the act. No more looking down,no more games. He looks desperate and his usual cocky voice is replaced by something quieter “I’ve never done this…I- I don’t know how to be…I don’t want to loose you..” hed swallow his pride and admit he’s wrong if it means not losing you “I know I messed up and should’ve treated you better..I’m sorry”

Toxicbf!Kaiser who’d give you space but still be available. Texting you so he can remember you’re still here “have you eaten?” “What did you do today?”

If you choose to leave him for good …he’d take it hard and he wouldn’t be the same. Hed spend most of his time on soccer to try forget everything and his emptiness. It does pay off as he improves even more and becoming the best of the best but when he scores the winning goal and everyone cheers for him he instinctively looks for you in the crowd-to see your not there-he realises how bad he lost

But if you choose to give him a chance…you can see he’s nervous he will mess up again by the way he fidgets more around you. You two would have a talk and Kaiser would open up about his fears and insecurities he’s had and hed promise to work on himself and you promise to help communicate more so you guys can grow from this for the future.

[r-moony-lups]

Hi, or whatever

Im Remus, im 16, he/him, i like women & men idrc tbh,i also like sleeping, and i play the trumpet for the martching band

yes, im that kid who kicked through a mirror, no you cannot ask me why

umm i like david bowie, classic books (my favorite is catcher in the rye), chocolate milkshakes, vandalism, and my friends i guess

i do not however like stupid people, people who ask about my scars, people who think rock music is bad, or people in general

more abt me (eww me)

Music favs: David bowie (!!! <3), Bo Burnham, The Smiths, Artemas, & TV girl

-> always looking for music recs

I can draw but im not very good but maybe i'll share smth idk ,I have chronic migraines but hoe life or no life, I am a literal monopoly god dont even try me, i also have ocd and stuff but dont ask 

✰people i dont hate:

@deer-in-head1ights

@my-rats-call-me-daddy

@d3ad-l1ttle-st4r

@madprofessorevan

@marlene-and-co

@l0ve-1s-str4nge

@pandoras-g1fts

@ultim4te-br4t-b4rty

@tarotpills

✰this is a roleplay blog so if ya dont like it just LEAVE its not that hard, if ya wanna joinnnn contact @aesthetic-writer18✰

[majimaisms]

So riding with the fact that majima is gay, do you think he forgot that with the amnesia? Like do you think he's confused in some way that he's just inexplicably not attracted to the women he's meeting? Or do you think that it's something he just knows about himself, to some degree, whether he has the label or not?

im so glad u asked

i am personally choosing to interpret this as him definitely noticing that he has absolutely 0 interest in women and realizing hes attracted to men and going "yeah i dont think i was um. married"

i dont think it would like. confuse him? hed just be like oh ok cool. so thats a thing about me

[rpfofficial]

i think probably i could talk forever and ever about everything i deem wrong with the pacific as if it isn't one of my favourite shows ever... they gave me robert leckie . but they didn't give me the full extent of his madness as showcased in his memoir. they changed aspects of reality and made a bunch of shit up to give me hilldane but they took away beach date singing by the campfire scene. i live in constant tantalising agony of enjoying a really good show that could have been an even better show and yet still heralding it as an amazing show . And above all, most importantly, eugene sledge is there. life is beautiful and complicated

[azure-bluet]

i dont have time to transcribe rn but i need this immortalised on my blog forever

Transcription below!

Hannah: Because he [Minute] will just try and kill us.

Bacon: Like, why would he kill us if we just asked him to get on? Like, randomly. Is that gonna be his first reaction? [Mapicc: No] [Hannah: Maybe] No, he's gonna say: "Wow, this mouse really looks like me"

[The three laugh]

Hannah: He doesn't look like a mouse.

Bacon: I mean, he definitely doesn't not look like a mouse

Mapicc: [laughing] Yeah! If we're being so honest.

Hannah: What? [Bacon: He definitely has some mouse-like features] That's absurd. [Mapicc: Yeah, he has like one or two]. That is absurd. [Bacon: Yeah] That is insane. You guys are mean.

Mapicc: It's not even in a bad way!

Bacon: Well, yeah! Mice are- mice are cute. And you know, there's no denying Minutetech-

Mapicc: Yo, what are you tryna say, bro, what? YO! [Hannah laughs] Relax! Relax! Relax!

Bacon: Wait, what's so crazy about that?

Mapicc: Guys, I'm just gonna come out and say it: Minutetech is sexy.

Bacon: Yeah! I'm just saying, like, I feel like we're just [???] off here, y'know? I'd feel bad if he was, like, if he was ugly. [Mapicc and Hannah laugh in the background] We're calling him a mouse. I feel like- Does this make sense? Do you guys not get what I was saying?

Hannah: I'm not gonna comment. I'm not gonna comment.

Mapicc: No, I know what you mean. It's just funny to make fun of.

[glossykissies]

how would peter react to finding out his sweet girl has all these hard kinks and wants him to be mean to her. I feel like he’d be conflicted with wanting to be gentle with you but also give you what you want

he’s doing nothing to soften your need for his meanness when he’s stood there, looking like that — looking so big in his work shirt, still tucked into his slacks. you were sitting on the counter, having worked up the courage to ask him all day — and by god, he was trying not to look judgmental.

“…hit you?” his face twists up a little, not in a rude way — mostly just disbelief. you’re sat there in pyjama shorts, his tshirt and frilly socks. the sight of you makes it harder to believe that this would be something you’d want, especially when you’re swinging your legs so innocently.

you nod and he blinks at you, studying you for a moment before he approaches slowly, standing between your legs where you sit. peter cups your face, hands so coarse but so gentle with you. your eyelashes flutter when his thumb strokes the skin beneath your eye.

“why do you want me to be mean to you?” he asks softly, tilting his head a little. don’t get it twisted — his softness turns you on too, already sucking on your lip with those guilty doe eyes just from the way he’s babying you, but you had urges.

“just for a little bit.” your voice is so quiet it cracks a little, leaning into his hand. “dont want you to hit me too hard anyway.”

peter sighs out his nose pensively. “but what if i do? what if i hit you too hard by accident and then — what — you’re scared of me.” he deflates, still keeping his voice fairly quiet whilst relaying his stress on the subject.

“you wont. i trust you and we can just try it out. it would make me feel good.” you shrug, trying to keep it light and casual but he’s sighing again, taking his hands off you to scratch his temple.

“i don’t know.” he responds, hushed and your face falls a little — feeling embarrassed that you even asked.

“then you don’t have to do it peter. it’s okay.” you offer him a wavering smile that was meant to look reassuring and take the time to hop off the counter to walk away — but before you even take one step he quickly stops you, pressing his body up against yours as he ushers you back against the counter top.

“no, no.” his voice is just above a whisper, eyes a little more pleading than before. “i wanna make you feel good.” just like that his hand is back stroking your soft cheek again and you can tell he’s envisioning delivering a slap to the spot, trying to feel it out. “i…will hit you a couple of times. we’ll try it out. i think… for now… i’m not gonna be mean to you. just yet. it won’t sound right it’ll be all unnatural and weird and… yeah. that’s my compromise. does that… work?” he furrows his eyebrows and you smile. the sight of you physically deflating doesn’t go amiss to him, like he’d just taken weight off your shoulders. he likes how that feels.

so, soon — he has you kneeling between his legs at the foot of the bed. he’s holding you still with one gentle hand before counting you in and giving you harsh little smacks with the other. you look all wrecked and clammy with tears crowding beneath your eyes but god do you look blissed out, hanging onto his every word and drinking up his praise like you were parched.

“there you go. took that so well sweetheart. i’m… proud of you, okay? want another one baby?” he’s getting a little breathless and worked up from seeing you in this state too, cock straining against his work pants.

“‘nother.” you softly beg out, slurred and spitty.

“alright, 3,2,1.” he counts you in and smacks a little harder making you whine, his thumb soothing over the burn instantly. “mm, yeah. ‘that a good one baby?”

“mmph.” you nod. maybe he could get used to this.

[emmyrosee]

Please for the love of all unholy don’t read this (also if you do read it, pls bear in mind I’ve only watched the anime PFFFFFF-)

———-

“Whaddya mean youre not dating!”

You’ve been at this argument for what feels like hours.

Drinks with adolescent friends shouldn’t be this… harrowing, especially not with the friends you’ve decided to pick. After all you’ve been through, after the trials and tribulations, them saving your ass more times than you’ve known, you’d assumed that now you’ve reached adulthood, you can have civil conversations about work, childhood memories, the weather, anything other than your relationship status of yourself and the one and only Umemiya Hajime.

“Please, Sakura,” you sigh, massaging your temples. “I think the neighbors heard what you said.”

“YOUR NEIGHBORS SHOULD KNOW THAT YOUVE BOTH FUMBLED EACH OTHER!” He quickly barks back.

Suo takes a sip of his water, “be careful, neighbors might think you’ve caught feelings yourself, Sakura.”

He sputters in indignation while Neiri leans over to you, “he’s not entirely wrong, you know? Of all of us, you both managed to stay the closest, and it’s not like either of you hid your crushes from each other well back in high school.”

You roll your eyes and groan at the memories of yourself and the former captain of Bofurin, who indeed played many a game of telephone about your crushes on one another, but that stopped once Kotoha got fed up with it, and forced you both to awkwardly confess to each other. The fact that your friends can remember the cringiness of your actions with Umemiya is detrimental enough to your mental health.

But right now, Suo is smirking at you. Knowingly. He’s quiet, characteristically so, but it’s clear there’s something brewing in his head.

“You, im ignoring- quit smirking at me.”

Without a moment to spare, the door opens swiftly, revealing the one and only Umemiya, dressed down casually with a bag of snacks dangling from his arm. As all heads whip to the new arrival, you feel your shoulders relax, butterflies fluttering around your tummy as he cards a big hand through his hair and sighs dramatically.

“Sorry to be late,” Umemiya sang, making himself comfortable around the coffee table, working his way between you and Suo; even in his youth, he’d always had a pinch of jealousy for you and the other man’s dynamic, a slight hint of possessiveness that came from the fact that you and Suo were close, even though you’d spent hours yapping in Suo’s ear about Umemiya constantly- not that you’d ever mention that to him, of course.

And judging by the way Suo is currently chuckling at you, it’s obvious he knows the jealousy lingers as well.

“Traffic was a nightmare, why do you have to live so far away, when I-“

“Now’s not the time!” Sakura hisses, hands flat on the table as he looks at Umemiya. “How the sweet hell did you friend zoned! For fucks sake, you’re the great Umemiya, what kind of dickhead like you gets friend zoned!”

You bury your face in your hands as Umemiya slowly turns his head to look at you, “why’s he yelling at me?”

Sou shrugs, “that’s kind of what he does. Apologies.”

Umemiya returns a pleasant, nostalgic sigh and nods, “ah yes, I recall from back in high school.”

“DONT TALK ABOUT ME LIKE IM NOT HERE!”

“Why’re you still yelling in my house?” You hiss.

Amidst all the commotion of Suo’s sass and Neiri’s feeble attempts to quiet your mutual friends down, Umemiya leans closer you, his voice low and raspy as its whispered in your ear, “you told them we weren’t dating?”

You start to smirk. In your peripheral, his face morphs from his casual smile to return a cheeky smirk.

“They’re not ready for that kind of news,” you whisper.

“That’s fair.” He gently shifts his knee to nudge against yours, a symbol of secret affection to hide the true status of your relationship with Umemiya:

That being, absolutely smitten with each other.

[cl0udy3]

Lemme get a Viktor X reader. Probably femme reader. Reader is a lab assistant there and works closely with Viktor and Jayce, but as reader starts getting closer with Jayce until Viktor gets a little jealous and then…

You decide.

I’m mostly looking for jealous Viktor, arguemdnt that leads into a bit of jealous smut if you’re down to do that. If you do that, lots of Viktor marking then. I’d like if he could be on bottom bc of his leg and all, but I’d still like him to top.

𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍

viktor x fem!reader angst, then nsfw LIKE HEAVY SMUT, then fluff A LITTLE BIT OF EVERYTHING WE DONT DISCRIMINATE (since theres smut, cw: improper use of lab equipment, teasing, denying release, p in v, cunnilingus or something like that idk what to put here)

wc: 5105 a/n: GLORIOUS OVULATION (p.s. this is my first time doing in depth smut AND publishing it so if it sucks mb :'D)

You were always in the background, by Viktor’s side—through every breakthrough and every failure, through sleepless nights spent poring over blueprints and theories. You knew him better than anyone.

Or at least, you thought you did.

Lately, that role—your place—felt like it was being rewritten.

Jayce had always been there, but recently, something was different. They were different.

You notice it in the way Viktor leans in when Jayce talks, in the quick, secret smiles they exchange over the workbench, in the way Jayce claps a hand on his shoulder, his touch lingering just a second too long. And Viktor… he never pushes him away.

Then there are the late nights—the ones that used to be yours.

“Viktor, do you want to run a few more tests before—”

“Not tonight,” he interrupts, barely glancing up. “Jayce and I are reviewing schematics for the new Hexcore modification. We need to fine-tune the energy output.”

It’s the third night in a row that you’ve been dismissed in favor of Jayce.

You tell yourself you don’t care.

You tell yourself it’s not personal.

But when you see Viktor actually laugh at something Jayce says, something sharp and ugly coils in your stomach.

When was the last time he laughed like that with you? When was the last time you were the reason his eyes lit up?

“You alright?” A voice snaps you out of your sour thoughts—one of the other assistants, blinking at you with mild concern.

You force a smile, gripping your pen so tightly your knuckles ache. “Fine.”

Liar.

You cast another glance toward the two of them, watching as Jayce nudges Viktor playfully, their heads dipping closer together over the blueprints.

That’s when you realize—this burning in your chest?

You’re jealous. And it’s only getting worse.

But being you, you tell yourself it isn’t that. It can’t be. Even if it were… why should you feel this way?

Viktor isn’t your partner. He isn’t yours. And yet, at the same time, he is.

The contradiction eats at you.

For days, you try to push it down, telling yourself it shouldn’t matter—that it’s ridiculous. But the thought lingers, festering in the back of your mind like a parasite, gnawing away at your sanity.

The jealousy—the rage—bubbles hotter each time you see them together: the way Viktor leans into Jayce’s space, the way they whisper over shared ideas as if you’re not even there. Maybe you’re just an assistant, but you’re his assistant—one of his best.

And yet, somehow, Jayce has his attention in a way you never have.

“Viktor, would you like me to stay and run some tests with you tonight…?”

You ask softly, almost shyly, your heart gently hammering against your ribs.

Viktor glances at you, then smiles—small, absentminded, but genuine. “I could use the help.”

You nod your head and leave the lab to drop off some blueprints in his office, but with a little extra pep in your step.

But when evening comes, as you enter the lab, Viktor doesn't even bother to look your way.

Viktor is still in the lab, laughing, joking, effortlessly engaged in some experiment with Jayce. Like he forgot about you entirely.

Your stomach twists, something sour rising in your throat. Your fingers tighten around the files in your hand until it slips from your grasp, falling to the floor with the papers flitting around you.

Neither of them notices.

You cross your arms and force a composed expression as you walk in, feigning a casual visit.

“Ah, Y/N!” Viktor looks up, offering you that same easy smile. “Welcome.”

You hum quietly, tilting your head. “Oh, so I’m still relevant to you?”

Viktor’s smile falters. He blinks, his brows drawing together. “What?”

“Nothing.” You shake your head, gripping the loose papers in your hand a little too tightly. “Forget it.”

You try to walk away, but he follows after you. His voice is calm but sharp.

“Are you okay?”

You laugh dryly, shaking your head. “I’m fine. Absolutely fine,” you reply sardonically.

Viktor narrows his eyes, tilting his head. “Lying does not suit you, Y/N.”

His words strike a nerve, and you shoot back, “Oh, but ignoring me suits you just fine, right?”

“Ignoring you?” Viktor retorts with a frown, clearly confused. “I have done no such thing.”

“NO?” You scoff. “Tell me, Viktor—when was the last time we actually worked together? When was the last time you actually needed me for anything?”

“You are being ridiculous,” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is about Jayce, is it not?”

That’s the last straw. You snap.

“Yes, Viktor, this is about Jayce!”

“I don’t understand—”

“Of course you don’t!” You throw your hands up in frustration. “You’re too damn smart for your own good, but you’re completely blind when it comes to this! To me!”

As the two of you argue, Jayce remains completely oblivious, nose-deep in his work. He doesn’t even register the tension in the air.

“I have been here since the beginning, Viktor. Every long night. Every experiment. Every single time you pushed yourself too hard—I was there. Not Jayce. Me.”

“I never said you weren’t—” Viktor begins, but you cut him off.

“But suddenly, he waltzes in, and now you don’t even need me anymore. Now, I’m just—just some humble assistant!”

Viktor stares at you, taken aback for a few moments.

“You are jealous,” he finally murmurs.

“No shit, genius.”

Viktor stays silent for a few seconds, processing the words. For the first time, he truly sees it—the fire in your eyes, the way your hands are clenched into fists, how your breathing is too fast, your body too tense. The realization shifts something between you.

A long, charged silence falls.

You’re angry. Viktor is processing. But the air is different now.

Viktor’s gaze flickers over you—not just with irritation, but something darker. You feel your pulse quickening.

“Jayce and I are colleagues.” Viktor says, breaking the silence.

“Prove it,” you retort.

A single step, and suddenly he’s too close. You reach up and cup his collar, drawing him in. He lets you, his breathing heavier as his gaze dips between your lips and your eyes.

Jayce finally notices something is up but remains oblivious to the situation.

“Uh, hey, you guys okay? You’re kinda—”

You don’t even turn to look at him; you point sharply toward the door.

“Get out, Jayce.”

Jayce blinks. “What? But I still—”

“Out.” You mutter, your tone final.

Viktor says nothing, just watches as Jayce hesitates, clearly wanting to stay and finish his work. But your look leaves no room for argument. Your free hand reaches for a nearby tool mug, and you quickly dump its contents before tossing it in Jayce’s direction—missing his head on purpose.

Finally, Jayce throws his hands up with an exasperated sigh. “Alright! Alright… sheesh, I’m going.” He gathers his things and leaves, grumbling under his breath.

The moment the door shuts, your head snaps back to Viktor, a vicious desire burning in your eyes. You let go of his collar and watch as he leans onto his cane again.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. Just watches you, his gaze flickering with something unreadable.

You shove a single finger against his chest, forcing him back. He hobbles, barely catching himself before his cane slips from his grasp and clatters to the floor. He lands hard against the workbench, breath hitching, bracing himself with a palm against the metal surface.

And then you’re on him.

You cage him in, hands braced on either side of him, your body looming close, too close. He doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t push you away. Just waits, breath measured but uneven, something coiled tight in his chest.

You smile, slow and wicked, tilting your head as you lean in until your lips hover just shy of his.

“No one else but us now.” Your voice is syrupy sweet.

His brows draw together, and he opens his mouth to speak, but he hesitates.

“Nothing to say?” Your fingers drift, slow and deliberate, tracing the sharp line of his jaw. His breath hitches—barely—but you catch it. You see the way his grip tightens against the edge of the table, how his fingers twitch, aching to touch you back but resisting.

Perfect.

You let your hand wander lower, teasing down the column of his throat, feeling the pounding heartbeat beneath your palm before trailing further—down his chest, to his ribs, to the firm plane of his stomach beneath his vest.

“You work too much,” you murmur, lips brushing his ear, delighting in the way he tenses beneath you. “Maybe I should make you take a break.”

Viktor’s jaw tightens. His voice is low, strained. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet,” you hum, rolling your hips just barely against his, feeling the faintest shudder run through him, “you let me do this.”

His fingers dig into the table, breath stalling for half a second before he recovers.

“You think you own me, do you?” His voice is rougher now, but there’s no heat behind the words—only hunger, barely restrained.

“Maybe I do.” Your smirk grows, tilting his chin up with two fingers. “And I think you like it.”

Your hands wander, reaching back until you too, can no longer take it. 

The moment your lips crash on his, it’s ravenous. Teeth clashing, tongues desperate, like neither of you can get enough. Like days–weeks–of tension are finally snapping at the seams.

Viktor grabs you, fingers digging into the fabric of your uniform, pulling you closer until there's nothing between you. His breath is ragged, sharp gasps swallowed by your kiss as your fingers tangle into his hair, pulling, taking, claiming. 

The workbench trembles beneath him.

You lift his frail body and press him down on the table. Papers slide, tools shift, small bits of scrap metal and instruments rattle against the surface as you knock aside anything that isn’t Viktor. 

In the background, a small device rolls off the edge, clattering against the floor. 

At first, you don’t notice. You're too lost in him, in the way his fingers claw at your back, the way his body shudders beneath your touch. Until a faint hum fills the space and you pause.

Viktor’s lips are kiss-bruised, his pupils blown wide, his breath uneven as he chases your mouth again, but you pull back, something catching your attention.

You glance down, spotting something small and metallic on the floor–trembling slightly with a gentle vibration.

Your eyes flick back up to Viktor.

“What's that?”

He blinks, still hazed, still drunk on your touch, until he follows your gaze. His brows furrow, and then his expression shifts–just barely–but you see it. The flicker of realization, followed by something tense, tight like he doesn’t want to answer.

You grin. 

“Oh?” You slide off his lap, bending down to retrieve the object, letting your fingers trace over the sleek metal as the vibration hums through your palm, “Interesting.”

Viktor shifts on the table, watching you like a hawk. “That–” He clears his throat, voice rough. “That is a calibration device.”

You raise an eyebrow, turning it over in your hands. “And what exactly does it calibrate?”

“Precision tuning for fine mechanisms,” he says, a little too quickly, “It–it vibrates to detect inconsistencies in structure–”

You hum thoughtfully, dragging it across your own palm.

You drag it along your wrist, watching Viktor’s throat bob as he swallows hard. “It’s not that strong,” you muse, letting it glide up to your collarbone. “Barely noticeable… until you put it somewhere more sensitive.”

Viktor swallows hard.

His fingers twitch at his sides, curling and uncurling, his knuckles turning white as he grips the edge of the table. He’s trying—desperately—to stay still.

But the moment the device glides lower, a sharp inhale hitches in his throat. His thigh jerks involuntarily, his body betraying him before he can stop it.

"Sensitive?" You tilt your head, feigning innocence as you watch the way his thighs clench involuntarily..

He swallows, blinking hard, his hands tightening into fists. "This is…" His voice is strained, his accent heavier than usual. “An unfair advantage.”

A low purr escapes your lips as you lean in, pressing the buzzing device gently against his knee. Slowly, you trace its path up the soft inside of his thigh. His muscles twitch, his hips shift just a fraction, and his fingers curl against the rough surface of the workbench until they tremble with unspoken desire.

A strangled sound escapes him. You tilt your head, lowering your voice to a sultry whisper. “Use your words.”

His jaw clenches, and his pride wrestles with his desperation. His resolve crumbles as he manages, barely, “Please.”

That single word fuels you. Your lips curve into a mischievous smile as you climb back onto the table, straddling his lap. You straddle his lap, your free hand sliding up his thigh as he shudders beneath your touch. 

Before anything, you put the device down beside him and remove his belt, removing it with ease. You reach over him and pin his arms behind him, binding his arms together with the same belt.

You sit back down and grab the gadget again, continuing your playful antics.

You let the buzzing device trace a slow, tantalizing path along his chest, never venturing too low—just enough to tease, to torment. Viktor groans, his grip on the work table tightening so that his knuckles turn white. His words, though barely audible, send a thrill coursing through you.

“Y/N…” he begins, his voice thick with a plea you’ve heard before, but you cut him off with a playful, mocking tone. “Use your words,” you repeat, swirling the device deliberately along his clothed erection.

His pride, now a fragile barrier, shatters with a whispered, “Please..”

A quiet giggle escapes you—soft and triumphant. “I don’t think you mean that,” you tease, your fingers brushing the edge of his growing hardness. Viktor’s eyes dart to your hands, hungry and pleading, but something deep inside him tells him to wait.

The vibration pulses through him, his hips jerking uncontrollably, trying so hard to stay still. His hands clench into fists, nails digging into his palms as his breath hitches sharply.

“Y/N—” his voice cracks, a tremor running through him. “Please—”

You smile as you lean forward, your free hand pulling his head toward you. Your smile stays as you press your lips to his, and he simply melts at the feeling.

But then, just as he starts to chase the pleasure, you pull the device away.

Viktor whines. Actually whines.

You laugh softly, tilting your head. “So eager. Where’s that sharp tongue of yours now?”

His head falls back against the workbench, his breath coming in shaky, uneven gasps. He swallows hard, lips parted, trembling.

“Patience,” you coo, dragging your fingers down his exposed throat, feeling the way his pulse flutters beneath your touch. “Or do you need a little more time to learn?”

A frustrated noise rumbles from deep in his chest, but he nods, jaw clenched. You hum in satisfaction.

“Good boy.”

His body jolts at the praise, his fingers twitching where they remain bound behind him. You pretend not to notice the way his hips lift slightly, chasing contact he knows you won’t give. Not yet.

For what feels like an eternity, you toy with him—pressing feather-light kisses along his jaw, his throat, trailing down, down, down, only to pull away each time he shudders in anticipation. Every time he thinks you’ll finally give in, you pause, hovering just above where he needs you most, letting your breath ghost over his heated skin.

He shudders violently, his body betraying him with each twitch, each involuntary jerk of his hips.

“Y/N—” His voice is wrecked, thick with something dangerously close to desperation. “I can’t—”

“You can,” you correct smoothly, running the tip of the vibrating device up his inner thigh, watching how his muscles clench. “I think you like this more than you’re willing to admit.”

His head shakes furiously, a strangled moan escaping him as you drag the device lower. But you stop again, just before it reaches where he wants it most.

A broken whimper leaves him.

“Beg properly,” you whisper, lips brushing against his ear. “Say it exactly how you mean it.”

His pride wars with his needs. He’s trembling, barely holding on, and you can see it—the moment he cracks. His jaw clenches, his breath stuttering, his body rigid beneath you as he forces the words out, hoarse and unrestrained.

“Please,” he gasps, raw, unguarded. “Please, I need—”

You reward him immediately, pressing the buzzing device directly against him.

Viktor chokes on a moan so desperate, so utterly broken, that your smirk falters. For a moment, you just watch him unravel, watch the way his fingers flex uselessly behind him, the way his head tips back, his mouth falling open on a silent cry.

And then, just when he’s right there—

You pull away again.

His entire body jolts, his breath punching out in a choked sob.

“No—” His voice is barely there, shaking, pleading. “Y/N, please—”

Your heart pounds at the sight of him—completely undone, completely at your mercy.

For thirty straight minutes you continued this: letting him chase his release until he was right on the edge, you’d deny his release, he’d whine and whimper and groan and make every sound you could think of, his hips bucking up for more friction until he finally broke. 

Viktor’s breath is ragged, shallow, his body trembling violently beneath you. His fingers flex uselessly against the table, his nails dragging over the surface as if searching for something to ground him.

He still tries to hold on—tries to resist—but the control is slipping fast. His hips jerk instinctively, chasing nothing, and a sharp, frustrated noise tears from his throat.

You grin. “Just say it, Viktor.”

He clenches his jaw, fighting, always fighting. Even now, when he’s this wrecked, he still refuses to just—

You pull the device away.

A choked, desperate sound escapes him, his whole body jerking in protest. His head falls back, his breath coming in shaky, uneven gasps. He swallows hard, his lips parted, trembling.

"Y/N—" His voice breaks.

"Please—please, I need—"

“I– I need you, please..” he gasps, his voice shaking. 

Success!

You hum in satisfaction, caressing his sweat-slicked face. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Viktor whispers quiet thank yous and murmurs his gratitude as you begin to remove your own clothes, haphazardly throwing each piece around the lab.

On the contrary, you carefully remove his uniform save for the dress shirt, and fold each piece neatly for him, leaving it off to the side on another table.

He sighs shakily as you climb on top of him again, removing the belt that restrained his hands. Viktor rubs his sore wrist but as soon as he’s done, his fingers finally move—gripping your waist, holding you to him as if he's afraid you'll pull away again. The way he trembles beneath you, the heat pooling in his gaze, the way his breathing stutters when you press a kiss against his throat—it’s intoxicating.

You trail your lips down his jaw, past the dip of his collarbone, feeling the way his muscles tense under your touch. You take your time, savoring every second, every quiet gasp that leaves his lips, until finally, finally, you undo the last barrier between you.

The moment you give him what he’s been begging for, Viktor completely unravels.

You pull the waistband of his boxers down painfully slowly, but Viktor doesn’t complain because he knows he���s about to get what he’s been wanting this whole time. You.

He breathes a deep inhale as you gently grip the base of his dick, pushing his only other undergarment down his legs.

You stroke his cock a few times, earning quiet whimpers and moans as you do, the pre cum leaking from the head.

“Y/N–” His voice breaks, his hands shaking as they clutch at you, as if even now he can’t quite believe you’re finally giving him what he needs.

You hush him with your finger and smile as you raise your hips above his, raising the tip of his dick to just kiss the entrance of your cunt.

You let the tip of his cock slide in and out, his tight grip sliding from your hips to your thighs as he groaned from the feeling of your two bodies almost colliding.

And finally, in one swift motion, you gently let your hips fall and your cunt consumes his dick like the perfect sleeve, the sensation immediate to him–hot, wet, and tight.

His head tips back, mouth falling open on a ragged moan, his grip on you tightening. The sound that escapes him—wrecked, desperate, utterly grateful—is enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You groan quietly, your arms trembling as you wrap him in a tight embrace. Viktor’s hands snake up and down your back, his nails digging into your skin like he couldn’t get enough of you.

His hips rut against yours as you begin to bounce up and down, your hips softly hitting his so as not to further maim his leg.

Viktor rests his forehead on your shoulder, inhaling your scent like it was oxygen, as he panted and groaned, each sound a symphony to your ears.

“Does this..” You moan quietly, feeling his cock throbbing in your tight hole. “Do you… fuck– feel good..?”

He can’t even form a full sentence. He can’t even begin to describe how good you felt–at least not right now when the two of you were fucking so carnivorously.

He nods his head, growing more and more intoxicated with the feeling, the scent of you.

Viktor partakes in the meal in front of him, hands clamped onto your back as he begins to suck and lick certain spots on your neck, almost like he was taking in new data in an experiment. His mouth explored every crevice on your collarbone, each dip and vein on your neck.

So many long minutes passed of the two of you fornicating together, your body gently slamming onto his as you rode his dick in slow, long strokes. Moans and groans and whimpers and whines–any sound you could think of was heard, echoed in the lab. 

Viktor shudders violently, his body arching beneath you, his grip on your hips turning bruising as he finally, finally lets go. A wrecked, shattered moan escapes his lips as warmth spills inside you, his entire body trembling beneath yours.

"Gods, Y/N—" he chokes out, voice hoarse, shaking. "I can’t— it’s too—"

And finally as if on cue you felt your thighs clench, a small smile peeking on your lips as your walls clenched around his dick as you released a small amount of fluid from your own cunt.

The two of you sit for a moment, panting to catch your breath as you each come down from the high of your release. Viktor whispers sweet apologies and quiet gratitude against your skin. You run your hands through his hair, gently feeling the locks.

Finally, after a couple of minutes, you pull his cock out and it falls limp against your stomach. You moan and chuckle quietly at the shy look on his face.

The lab is quiet now, the only sounds are your uneven breaths and the faint hum of cooling metal beneath you. The heat of the moment lingers between you both, heavy and sated. 

Viktor is flat on the table, spent, his arms lazily wrapped around your waist like he doesn’t quite have the energy to let you go just yet. His forehead rests against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, still recovering from everything you just put him through. 

Your body hums with exhaustion, limbs weak, nerves still tingling. You're warm, content, completely satisfied. 

Or so you think. 

As soon as you try to sit up, Viktor stops you.

His hands tighten around your waist, fingers flexing against your overheated skin. He’s still catching his breath, still trembling from how completely you ruined him. But even now, even after everything, there’s a look in his eyes that tells you he isn’t finished.

You laugh breathlessly, dragging your fingers through his messy, dampy hair. “Viktor–”

“You cannot walk home like this.”

His voice is soft, laced with something else. Something fond. Something grateful.

You blink. “I’ll be fine–”

Viktor tilts his head slightly, eyes dropping to where your thighs are still slick, messy, evidence of what you’ve done together clinging to your skin.

“That will not do,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “I should fix it.”

Your stomach tights, a fresh spark of heat curling through you. “Viktor, I–”

But before you can argue, he slides you off and presses your back against the workbench, legs parted, Viktor kneeling between them with your spare clothes as support for his leg.

Your breath catches in your throat.

Viktor… on his knees for you.

Your brain barely has time to process the sigh of him–his flustered cheeks, the wet strands of hair clinging to his forehead, the way his lips are still swollen from every desperate kiss–before he leans in.

You twitch, too sensitive, too raw, but Viktor humans softly, brushing a kiss to the inside of your thigh.

“Shh,” he soothes, voice full of gentle amusement. His hands tighten, keeping you from squirming. “I am only returning the favor.”

Your stomach flutters. “Viktor, you don’t have to–”

“I want to.”

His voice, is low but certain. There’s no hesitation, no teasing, no arrogance. Just pure, unfiltered need.

"Let me take care of you," he murmurs, voice thick with reverence.

His hands caress your thighs, slow, deliberate, tracing over every mark he’s left behind. His breath is warm against your skin, his lips pressing a lingering kiss just above your knee.

"Gods, look at you," he breathes, almost to himself. "Perfect."

The first, slow, lazy drag of his tongue makes you jolt, a sharp inhale cutting through your chest. Your fingers twitch, grasping at the smooth metal surface of the workbench, trying to anchor yourself.

“Too much,” you gasp. “Viktor, I–”

But he doesn’t stop. He’s not playing games.

He’s learning you. Studying you. Committing every sound, every reaction, every shuddering breath to memory.

Your head tips back, lips parting on a quiet moan. Your fingers find his hair to hold him closer.

Viktor groans at the feeling, the way your fingers grip his hair harder, at the way your thighs shake around him. His nails dig in slightly, his own breath stuttering.

He wants this just as much as you do.

“Gods, you’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs between licks to your clit, his voice thick with something dangerously close to reverence. “Let me hear you.”

Your body arches as he laps at you again, deeper, firmer–and suddenly the heat inside you that you thought had finally burned out flares back to life.

It builds too fast.

Your body is too sensitive.

“Viktor–” Your voice catches, half a warning, half a plea.

He pulls back just slightly, lips shining with your slick juices, gaze heavy-lidded and dark with hunger. “Again,” he urges softly, lips brushing against your cunt. “Give me another.”

“I can’t–”

“You can.”

His voice is soft but commanding, his hands keeping you still as he pulls you apart all over again.

And then he presses his tongue just right.

The coil inside you snaps violently.

Your body locks up, a sharp cry tearing from your lips as the pleasure overwhelms you all at once. It’s more intense than before, sharper, hotter, burning through every nerve.

Viktor groans against you, holding you through it, his grip steady as you come undone in his hands. 

He finally pulls away, pressing one last lingering kiss against your thigh.

“There,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against your thigh, his hands stroking your sides in lazy absentminded circles. “That is much better.”

You stare at him, lips parted, body weak, mind still fuzzy from the aftershocks. 

And then, finally, you find your voice.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Viktor grins, pressing a final kiss to your knee as he quotes you. “And yet, you let me do this.”

The two of you finally manage to stand. You clean off most of the fluids from his body and help him back into his uniform.

The whole time he can’t keep his eyes off of you because you’re still naked, but you pay him no mind.

You throw on whatever clean items you can find and Viktor watches you as he straightens his disheveled vest, smoothing down his messy hair, ever the perfectionist despite the fact that he was just on his knees for you.

Together, you quietly restore order to the lab–blueprints shuffled back into place, discarded tools returned to their proper shelves.

The only thing you can’t fix is the faint smirk that refuses to leave Viktor’s lips.

You fasten the last button on your clothes, running a hand through your hair as you glance over at him.

“What?”

Viktor just shakes his head, grabbing his cane. “Nothing.” His smirk grows, “Just… you are truly insufferable.”

You laugh, stepping closer, grabbing his collar to kiss him one last time–slow, letting him feel the way your lips curve against his.

You pull away first. “I didn’t hear you complaining earlier. In fact–”

Viktor exhales, long-suffering, dramatic, but utterly pleased. “Go, before I decide I need another break.”

You chuckle, finally turning for the door, stepping into the hallway with a newfound lightness in your step.

As you close the lab doors behind you, you spot Jayce standing a few feet away with his arms crossed, clearly waiting.

His eyes flicker to the lab door, then back to you. Jayce chokes on his own breath, eyes darting between your disheveled clothes, your swollen lips, and the absolute mess you just walked out of.

"Did you—" He stops, his voice cracking. He looks past you, at the closed lab door, then back at you, as if trying to process what just happened.

Jayce blinks. Once. Twice. His mouth opens, then closes again, like he’s struggling to process what he’s looking at.

His gaze flickers to your unkempt appearance, the slight limp in your step, the faintest smirk still curving your lips. His expression morphs from confusion to realization to sheer, horrified understanding.

"Did you—" He stops, his voice cracking. "In the lab?"

You pat his shoulder, grinning. "He's all yours—though, I doubt he has much left to give."

And with that, you walk away, victorious.

[abyssalzones]

re ur tags on the characters that's actions dont make sense unless their gay post i think ab that so often cause genuinely why was he doing all that if he didnt at the least love ford more then his wife if not Romantically Specifically...one could say its out of fear to leave the project or whatever but thats just not compelling At All and just doesnt line up as much. fiddlefords such a crazy character to me i think so much about his motives tldr ur very right

literally exactly. Literally exactly this. I think about it all the time like why would he:

move his ass all the way to nowhereville oregon at the drop of a hat while seemingly invested in starting his computing business (with a toddler/very young child in the house)

Not wear his wedding ring. at all. during this timespan

only visit for christmas and not bring his wife a gift and then just come back immediately????

make him a custom laptop with extra keys for his extra fingers. make him a snowglobe with a miniature of their lab inside as potential future merchandise for their business ventures together. knit him custom six-fingered gloves because god knows ford isn't going to bother keeping warm on his own. buy him a pet axolotl because its gill stalks reminded him of his sideburns. Please god can anyone hear me

most pressingly of all: choose to stay with ford. I think people forget about this one a lot in discussing ford and fiddleford's dynamic but not only was it fiddleford's decision entirely to stay and work on the portal alongside ford after multiple traumatic events but he did everything in his power to ensure he Could stay (irt the memory gun). people are welcome to disagree but based on what we know I really doubt it could be owed to ford pressuring him. it wasn't about the portal it was him. he wanted to stay to support Ford.

basically I think he cares about ford to an insanely devoted degree which drives me to madness on a daily basis (AND IT'S RECIPROCAL. in case anyone was thinking about reblogging to talk about how unappreciative ford was. I could make a whole powerpoint about ford's feelings for fiddleford but I'm choosing to spare you guys)

[dashamanych]

What if it's all was just a game...

Hi there! I finally can create art again :3 im finally free and i WANT TO TELL YALL A LITTLE ABOUT MY SILLY DONT STARVE AU....

I just had a funny thought... what if there was no magic, no another dimensions, no real survival - what if its all was just imagination of a lonely boy Max (i thought it would be funnier if he'd name his edgy selfsona after himself, so he is not William there)...

He is a fifth grader with a very rich imagination and a rather unpleasant temper. I think one day he found a big notebook in a stationery store that had the first letter of his name on it (maybe it meant "Math," or maybe it was just one of those lame designs for cheap stationery), and just started to pretend that this is some sort of his magic book, lol! After a while, he came up with his own imaginary world where he was the edgy ahh king of nightmares MAXWELL!!!!! He drew all the monsters and stuff as well

But of course that wasnt enough....... He didn't have a very good relationship with his peers, I think. That's why he's exploiting someone younger! One day Max found Wilson, a random third grader, compliant enough to play his games. He came up with a lore for him, annnddd the just played their "don't starve" game, some kind of improvisation roleplay xd ????? Idk how i could call that in english

Sorry for bad translations english is not my mother language x')

Anddd of course there was a girl sitting at the same desk with him, and she really liked him!!! But he didn't seem to notice, because he was too caught up in his imaginary world 😥

Then, however, he will agree to write her as a character in his story!! He didnt know..... That someday shes going to appropriate his setting

"To spite Mom, I'll freeze off my ears."

That's all i have for a while! I'm pretty bad at describing things in words, and I prefer to show rather than tell! ^^" So forgive me being a bit awkward

[changing-for-myself-this-time]

Thank you @cherrychillz and @sealmonger for @ ing me!!

Last song: Never Getting Rid Of Me - (that musical with the waitress? I don’t remember what it’s called)

Favorite color: AAAA this one is hard. Reds oranges and yellows all tie, and a coral ish kinda pink too but it has to be orange like. All of those. Oh and the color of trees and grass and home and summer and sky and love and

Last book: Cinder MIKE THIS WAS YOURE TOO DONT LIE he forgot the author and so did I O_0

Last movie: uuuuhmmmm yeah it was definitely a western… I don’t remember which one. I think Jimmy Stewart NOPE IT HAD THOSE THREE GUYS AND THAT KID AND YEAH WHAT WAS THAT CALLED…..I can’t remember :(( I had a crush on the big guy. I liked him

Last show: Sherlock! That was fun!! (Why does Sherlock remind me of Mike?!)

Sweet/savory/spicy: yes although I’m a bit of a baby about spice….

Relationship status: Mike

Current obsession: I don’t really have one if I’m honest currently 😅

Looking forward to: moving out, cleaning the house, being happy doing chores with my husband, listening to stories told by my friends, getting more friends.

@ anyone who would like to!!

Thank you @thesem for the tag! <3

Last Song: That's a really hard one to answer at Christmas. Honestly I've had the theme song from Santa Claus Conquers the Martians stuck in my head for three days now.

Favorite Color: Changes frequently, but I like purple and deep greens!

Last Book: Joy in the Morning by PG Wodehouse

Last Movie: The Alistair Sim 'Scrooge' - which is my absolute favourtie Christmas Carol adaptation

Last TV Show: All Creatures Great and Small (the new one)

Sweet/spicy/savory: Sweet, alas.

Relationship Status: giant snowman pattern minecraft

Last Thing I Googled: giant snowman pattern minecraft

Current Obsession: I've kind of got two at the moment that I guess are linked? I've been trying to read/watch my way through the complete works of Shakespeare, and I've been researching the backstage side of how theatres work and theatre history, ostensibly for a future project.

Looking Forward To: My game The Beekeeper's Picnic is coming out in a few months! I have so much work left to do on it, but I'm also excited about entering the final stretch!

I will tag @fruitviking, @jeremys-come-to-bed-eyes @sandygarnelle @geeoharee and anyone else who would like to do it <3