#and working with my brain instead of against it

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

Work Rivals with Office Siren!Suguru Getou

Getou Suguru is the worst.

The absolute worst. He makes your life a living hell, your job a warzone, and worst of all, he’s the most maddeningly attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

You hadn’t always been mortal enemies. In fact, your first impression of him was something out of a cheesy rom-com.

On your first day as a junior accountant, you stopped by a local coffee shop to grab a medium, hot, cream, no sugar. The moment your order was called, both you and a sharply dressed man stepped up to the counter.

The first thing you noticed was his height—towering enough to make you tilt your head back. On the way up, you took in his impeccably tailored navy suit, crisp white shirt, and slim black tie. His sleeves were neatly cuffed at the wrists, revealing a deep bronze complexion adorned with a flashy silver Rolex and a few understated rings.

When your gaze finally reached his face, your breath hitched. He was striking. Long black hair tied back in a half-up style, sharp cheekbones, and a strong jaw. Black gauges and a gleaming silver eyebrow piercing accentuated his features, and a pair of rectangular glasses slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose. He eyed you with an air of irritation, violet eyes glinting behind the glare of the café lights.

“Is this yours?” he asked, gesturing to the coffee being held out by an increasingly impatient barista.

You had a perfectly charming response prepared in your head. But as luck would have it, your brain short-circuited, and what came out instead was less… ideal.

“Why else would I be here? Course it’s mine. It’s my first day, and you’re holding me up.”

The sharpness in your tone made you wince internally, but you couldn’t backtrack now. Crossing your arms, you tilted your head, doubling down.

His brows knit together as he huffed. “Could’ve done without the attitude. Just take it and go.”

You grabbed the coffee with a muttered, “Whatever,” and turned on your heel, heading for the door. But before it swung shut, you glanced over your shoulder at the disgruntled stranger. At least you’d never have to see him again, right?

Wrong.

When you arrived at work and sat through the orientation, you focused on staying out of trouble. That plan went out the window when you were led to your cubicle—right across from a familiar face.

Your guide tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, and when his eyes met yours, surprise flickered for the briefest moment before being replaced by irritation.

“—and this is Getou Suguru, your cubicle neighbor. It’s also his first day as a junior accountant, so don’t be shy. This job can get pretty isolating, so building relationships is important,” your senior said cheerfully.

Forcing a polite smile, you extended your hand, hoping he’d let your earlier encounter slide. His handshake was firm, his larger hand warm against yours.

“Nice to meet you,” he said smoothly. “Looking forward to working with you.”

Your senior walked off, satisfied. But as soon as he was out of earshot, Getou grabbed a bottle of hand sanitizer, pumping an aggressive amount into his palm.

“Enjoy sharing the same title,” he said coolly. “Soon, I’ll be your superior, coffee-girl.”

He spun his chair around, strands of sleek black hair whipping over his shoulder.

That was six years ago.

Time had not softened the animosity between you two. If anything, it had calcified into a rivalry so intense it pushed both of you to climb the ranks faster than anyone expected. You were both promoted to Corporate Controller—a position that typically took eight years to reach—on the same day.

It was supposed to be a single-person role, but after the CFO reviewed your identical performance stats, he decided to make an exception. Now, you and Getou are seated on the 36th floor of the company’s sleek high-rise, with matching titles engraved on silver plaques outside your offices.

The only thing separating you is a glass wall, through which you exchange daily glares.

Competition fuels everything. From routine tasks to major projects, you turn every assignment into a wager. The CFO, Nanami Kento, has become your unofficial referee. At first, he admired your drive. Over time, though, even his legendary patience has begun to fray.

“Getou’s management style is 2% less efficient than mine,” you declare during a performance review, presenting your meticulously crafted charts.

“Her sales plan took a 0.5% dip last quarter,” Getou counters with his own spreadsheet. “In hindsight, my proposal conserved more resources.”

“His data compression wastes company time!”

“Her budget oversight missed the social media revenue I proposed—”

“You stole that idea from me!”

“SHUT. UP.”

Nanami’s voice, usually calm and measured, reverberates through the room. He stands abruptly, the tension radiating off him like heat.

“I cannot take another second of your childish bickering,” he snaps, slamming a hand onto his desk. “You’re both brilliant, hardworking, and utterly insufferable. You’ve turned this office into a battlefield, and frankly, I’m this close to quitting just to escape you.”

The words hang heavy in the air.

If Nanami’s outburst isn’t enough to make it clear something has to change, the rest of the accounting branch soon makes it crystal. Your colleagues have begun avoiding you and Getou like the plague, steering clear of the drama that follows wherever you go.

Well, everyone in the accounting branch has turned against you and Getou—except for one person: your one and only work friend, Gojo Satoru.

Gojo, the accounting manager, ranks just below you. He is a walking billboard for excess, always dressed to the nines in custom Dolce & Gabbana baby-blue suits that match his piercing cerulean eyes. Every month, he carries a new designer briefcase, each more luxurious than the last, and you have yet to see him repeat one.

He wasn’t just anyone. Gojo is—or was—the heir to a global media empire. His great-grandfather had founded the conglomerate, which owned everything from cable networks to film studios and streaming platforms. But seven years ago, the Gojo family had severed ties with their infamous black sheep.

Gojo had always been a loose cannon, his antics splashed across tabloids with alarming regularity. When he was finally caught in a particularly compromising situation—a sleazy nightclub rendezvous involving a rival conglomerate’s heir and a bottle girl—his family decided they’d had enough. The Gojo media machine couldn’t suppress the scandal, and rather than shell out another fortune trying to salvage their name, they cut him off.

He went from riches to rags—or as close to “rags” as someone with Gojo’s charisma and wits could get. He clawed his way up the ladder at your company, and while his charm earned him plenty of allies, his ego alienated just as many. That left you as the only one who could truly tolerate him. Perhaps it was your shared arrogance, though yours stemmed from your relentless rivalry with Getou, while his was… well, Gojo was just Gojo.

Which is why you’re currently in a supply closet, your back pressed against the metallic shelving as Gojo shakes your shoulders like a madman, his usually smug face looking uncharacteristically panicked.

“You have got to end this feud with Getou,” he hisses, his bright blue eyes practically glowing in the dim lighting. “It’s spiraling out of control. The whole department’s gone to hell. Nanami’s snappy, everyone’s overworked, and the accountants are making more mistakes than ever because they’re so stressed.”

He runs a hand through his shock of white hair, sighing dramatically before adding, “You two have the worst reputation I’ve ever seen. And coming from me—someone who’s made global headlines for my bad behavior—that’s saying a lot.”

You open your mouth, ready to defend yourself, but Gojo raises a hand, cutting you off.

“Don’t even start with the whole ‘but our numbers are the best’ speech,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Because while your stats are impressive, they’re not enough to make up for the chaos you two create. And,” he leans in closer, a devious smirk curling his lips, “don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at him.”

You freeze, your heart pounding as if he’d just exposed your darkest secret.

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” Gojo teases, his tone sing-song. “You’re practically undressing him with your eyes half the time. It’s honestly disgusting. If this is your idea of flirting, you might be a masochist. Or a sadist. Or both. Either way, the rest of us shouldn’t have to suffer through this painfully obvious sexual tension.”

Your cheeks burn, and for once, you’re speechless.

Gojo straightens his lapels, his smirk widening. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense. I’m going to fix it, one way or another. Consider this your warning.”

Before you can respond, he spins on his heel and storms out, slamming the door behind him. 

You stand there for a moment, your mind racing.

“What can he even do?” you mutter to yourself, laughing nervously. “He’s just an accounting manager.”

But you’d underestimated Gojo.

By the time you return to your office, he’s already marched into Nanami’s and laid out his nefarious plan. Meanwhile, you find yourself staring blankly at the income statement on your screen, utterly distracted.

Your gaze drifts to the glass wall of your office, where you can see Getou seated at his desk. He’s wearing a fitted chestnut vest over a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his tanned forearms. His black hair is tied in a loose bun, a ballpoint pen shoved haphazardly through it.

As you watch, he reaches up to twirl a strand of hair around his finger, his violet eyes scanning a thick packet of papers. When he suddenly glances up and catches you staring, your breath hitches.

His piercing gaze darkens, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. He arches an eyebrow, his expression equal parts smug and devastatingly attractive. Then, as if to torment you further, he returns to his work, the faintest smile still lingering on his lips.

You shift uncomfortably in your chair, heat pooling in your cheeks. If your hatred of Getou is a defense mechanism, it isn’t working—if anything, it only heightens your attraction to him.

But you resolve to keep your distance, for the sake of professionalism.

That resolve lasts precisely one day.

The next morning, Nanami summons you to his office. Confident in your newfound clarity, you stride in—only to feel your confidence waver when you see Gojo lounging against the window like a model in a photoshoot, the sunlight framing him perfectly.

Then the door opens behind you, and in walks Getou.

He takes the seat next to you, his legs spread obnoxiously wide, oozing dominance.

Nanami wastes no time. “I’ve reached my limit with your behavior. The entire branch is suffering because of you two. So, effective immediately, you’ll both be attending the annual financial policy conference together as a team-building exercise.”

You groan. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think—”

“This is non-negotiable,” Nanami interrupts, holding up two plane tickets. “And to ensure you take this seriously, know that if this doesn’t work, I will demote both of you and give your positions to Gojo.”

Gojo grins triumphantly.

Nanami adds, “And don’t think I won’t be monitoring your behavior. The conference is hosted at one of our company hotels, so we’ll have access to surveillance.”

As you leave his office, the weight of the tickets in your hand feels suffocating. Later that evening, you seek refuge straight off of your shift, at the nearest bar, ordering a drink to drown your sorrows.

Slouching on the barstool, the straps of your dress slip down your shoulders, but you don’t bother fixing them. At this point, you’re too far gone to care. Nursing your drink quickly turns into downing shots, thanks to the kindness—or opportunism—of nearby patrons. Some, sensing your frazzled state, buy you a drink out of pity. Others, mostly men, let their eyes linger on your neckline before waving down the bartender to pour you another on their tab.

You lean your cheek against your arm, swirling the straw in your glass absentmindedly. The din of the bar becomes white noise as your thoughts spiral. Then, you sense a presence settling on the stool next to you.

“Rough day?”

The voice is low, amused, and far too familiar. You stiffen before letting out a slow, tired huff.

“Fuck off, Getou.”

You aim for venom, but your tone lands somewhere closer to exhausted. His chuckle vibrates through the space between you, and then you feel the warmth of his hand on your shoulder, his fingers tracing small, deliberate circles.

“Aw, don’t tell me I’ve finally worn you down,” he drawls, his voice dipping with mock concern. His hand moves, catching the strap of your dress and sliding it back into place with a languid tug. “Resorting to alcohol already? Never thought I’d see the day.”

You snap your head toward him, gathering the last scraps of defiance you have left. He’s leaning casually against the bar, his beige sweater hugging his frame a little too perfectly, the knit fabric stretching taut over his arms. His expression is maddeningly amused, dark eyes glinting with the kind of satisfaction that makes your blood simmer.

“Pretty cocky, aren’t you? Need some liquid courage for our trip, I assume?”

Instead of answering, he reaches forward and swipes your drink. He takes a long sip, his throat bobbing as he swallows. His teeth click against the glass when he sets it down.

“Strong,” he remarks before leaning closer, his voice dropping. “And speaking of the trip, I assume we’ll put on quite the show, hmm? Don’t get me wrong—I hate you. But I hate the idea of Gojo taking either of our jobs even more.”

He nudges your foot with his own, a silent challenge in his raised brow. You hesitate only for a second before extending a hand, your manicured nails catching the dim light.

“Finally, something we can agree on. Look, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep our positions. Yeah, maybe we go overboard sometimes, but we get results. We’re the best.”

“Damn right,” he replies, his smirk sharp and self-assured. His fingers brush yours as he takes your hand, and then he raises it to signal the bartender for another round.

You clear your throat, trying to regain control of the conversation. “It’s just a weekend. We can fake being civil for two days. We’ve never failed to perform before, and we’re not about to start now.”

His hand lands on your shoulder again, his touch oddly grounding. “We always exceed expectations. You always go above; I always go beyond.” He emphasizes the last word with a teasing smirk that makes your jaw tighten.

“Oh yeah? Always?” You lean in, narrowing your eyes. “Bet I can out-drink you. Hell, I already have. I’ve practically forgotten why I was even upset in the first place.”

“Big talk for someone who’s clearly lying.” His grin spreads wider, white teeth gleaming. “But hey, I’m all for proving you wrong. Again.”

The conversation dissolves into a blurry competition. Before you know it, the counter between you is littered with empty glasses. The room spins around you, your skin hot, your head light. 

Somehow, in the midst of it all, your legs have tangled beneath the bar, Getou’s foot hooked possessively around your ankle.

When you glance at him, his bronzed skin is flushed, a pretty pink spreading across his high cheekbones. His hair is loose now, cascading over his broad shoulders in soft, inky waves. His glasses hang from the collar of his sweater, and he reaches out, his finger brushing against your chin.

“You’re spilling,” he murmurs, dragging his finger along your skin to catch a stray drop of liquor. He pulls it back and raises it to his lips, licking it clean with a slow, deliberate motion.

“Playing dirty, huh?” you mutter, your voice thick.

Getou takes the last sip of his drink, his cheeks puffing slightly as he holds the liquid idle in his mouth, and shrugs. The casual gesture makes something snap inside you. Desperate to turn the tables, you grab the collar of his sweater and yank him toward you.

His lips crash into yours, soft yet insistent, and for a fleeting moment, the world shrinks to the warmth of his mouth and the faint bitterness of alcohol lingering on his breath. Your tongue grazes his bottom lip, and he parts for you, letting the sharp tang of liquor transfer between you. A low groan rumbles from his chest as his hands tighten around your waist.

You swallow, leaning into the kiss, your fingers clutching at him as his hand slides up, tangling in your hair. He tilts your head back, deepening the kiss, and a moan escapes your lips before you can hold it back.

His other hand moves lower, pulling you closer until you’re perched halfway on his lap, the warmth of his body pressing against you.

“You might’ve had more to drink than me,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice teasing yet dark with intent. “But I bet I can have you begging for me off a kiss.”

His thigh presses between your legs, and your dress rides up higher than you’d like to admit. You’re soaked, the flimsy fabric of your underwear doing little to shield your dignity—or his slacks—from your arousal.

“Think you’ll have me begging?” he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot against your skin. 

“You’re the one falling apart, sweetheart.”

Before you can retort, your phone buzzes on the counter, the vibration cutting through the haze. 

A message lights up the screen.

Gojo Satoru: I just KNOW the hate sex is gonna go hard. Don’t thank me all at once, sweetie ;)

beautiful ass fanart by: _viziiro_ on twt/X

[no-144444]

in sickness- c.leclerc

summary: you get sicky...

pairing: charles leclerc x fem! reader

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When Charles had decided to go vacationing with his friends while you finished up your work before Christmas, he was not expecting what he saw when he came back. Every single blind in your apartment was down despite it being the middle of the day, the temperature was down from its regular 20 degrees, and you were nowhere to be found. 

He dropped his bags by the door and left his shoes on the rack, and he ventured further into the apartment. You weren’t in your office, nor your living room, nor your kitchen, so the last place was your bedroom. When he opened the door, he wasn’t exactly ready for what he saw. 

You, on your bed, looking sicker than ever, somehow asleep as you battled some sort of temperature. He put his hand to your forehead, and he almost pulled it right back off, you were so hot. He quickly grabbed a face cloth and ran it under cold water, then placed it on your head. He didn’t really know what else to do. You never really got sick, it was always him who was ill. 

He left you to sleep as he cleaned up the rest of your apartment. Not that it was messy, it was just not as clean as he knew you liked it, so he got to work. 

After about an hour of that, he decided he should make you soup or something, but then he remembered his abysmal cooking skills, and ordered food in, instead. 

When you resurfaced, you didn’t feel as shit as when you went to bed, which was a plus. The past 5 days had been this awful temperature, chesty cough, nausea, and full-body aches. You groaned as you got up, knowing you should probably start cleaning your apartment-

You questioned your own brain when you opened your door from your bedroom to see your entire living room clean. Had you done it and you just didn’t remember? Were you starting to forget things now? Is that a new symptom? You should probably go back to the doctor-

“My love,” he sighed, pulling you into a hug. 

“Charles?!” you questioned. 

“Hi darling,” he smiled, looking down at you. 

“I thought you were still in-”

“I came back early,” he explained. “What’s been wrong with you, mi beauté?”

You cracked a small smile. “I seriously doubt I look half-way beautiful right now.”

He shook his head. “You’re always beautiful.”

You rolled your eyes. “Cheesy,” you scoffed before letting go of him and walking to your kitchen. “I’ve just been sick, it’s not anything bad.”

He looked at you sceptically. “You’re sure?”

You nodded, taking out some of the soup. “Thank you for coming, but I really don’t want you to get this, so you should head to your apartment or something.” 

He frowned. “My own girlfriend kicking me out?”

You rolled your eyes again. “Your own girlfriend is looking out for your safety, I think you’ll find.”

He shook his head, sitting beside you on the couch. “I’m not leaving you. In sickness and in health.”

You sucked in a breath of air. “We’re not even engaged yet.”

He shrugged. “I plan on honouring that for the rest of my life, why not start now.” 

You grinned, resting your head against his shoulder on the couch as you started channel hopping. “You’re so sappy.”

He shrugged. He didn't mind anything you called him, once you still called him yours. 

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navigation for my blog :)

ferrari masterlist

[mariasont]

EEEEK your post prison fic for spencer is fREAking me out!!! could you maybe do one where spencer is now teasing the reader a bit? maybe he's giving her extra praise and she freaks (what would i do if he called me a good girl? 😩) (this is very indulgent to my praise kink i'm so so sorry 🧎🏻‍♀️‍➡️) tytyty!! i adore love and cherish you and your work 💕

I Aim To Please - S.R

a/n: shewwwwww to be complimented by post prison spencer fucking reid. im drooling!!!! but anyway babes i adore & love YOU!!!! so thank u so so sooo much for requesting 💖💖

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x shy!media-liaison!reader

warnings: spencer being hot, reader being shy girl, spencer being a little shit who loves to tease

wc: 1.5k

There were a few basic rules you had established from working at BAU. First, avoid Rossi at all costs until he’s had at least two cups of coffee. Second, never attempt to outwit Emily; she’ll see right through you and crush your argument every single time. And third—perhaps the most crucial—do everything in your power to maintain your freaking composure around Dr. Reid.

That last one, however, was proving to be a monumental challenge. It wasn’t just the way he spoke, his brain firing off at a speed only he could keep up with. It wasn’t even the way he seemed oblivious to how endearing those very quirks were. No, it was the fact that the simple act of him breathing in your direction had you scrambling to hold yourself together. And honestly you were failing miserably.

Which is why you spent most of your time holed up in your office. It wasn’t much—just a desk, a slightly uncomfortable chair, and a perpetually growing stack of case files that seemed determined to bury you. But it offered privacy, and that was enough. Here you could breathe, decompress, and occasionally allow yourself to daydream about a certain genius profiler without the risk of public humiliation.

The bullpen was proving to be too chaotic, too close to him. Your office gave you distance, a buffer. But, as you had come to learn, hiding only worked when he didn’t decide to seek you out. And Spencer Reid had a knack for finding you when you least expected it.

"Hey."

You jumped slightly, nearly fumbling the stack of press notes you’d been carefully organizing.

Turning toward the door, you found Spencer leaning casually against the frame, a file tucked under one arm and a distracted sort of smile on his face. His tie was slightly loosened, his sleeves rolled up just enough to expose his forearms, and—just like that—your brain completely short-circuited.

"Hi," you said, trying not to sound too startled. "Do you, um, need something?"

"Yeah." He further into the room, lifting the file in explanation. "I was looking at the local coverage of our case, and I noticed a couple discrepancies in the timeline published."

"Oh,” you said softly, quickly shuffling the press notes into a messy pile and pushing them to the side. "Well, um, sometimes reporters try to fill gaps when they don't the facts. It's... frustrating, but it happens."

You glanced up at him briefly, but that look of his made your cheeks warm. Your fingers twisted together in your lap as you tried to focus on anything other than how ridiculously self-conscious you suddenly felt.

"That makes sense. I figured you'd know."

Instead of lingering in the doorway or leaving like you assumed he would, Spencer, casually grabbed the chair across from your desk. He spun it around in one fluid motion and sat it backwards, draping his arms on the backrest with an ease that felt strangely familiar—like you had been friends or colleagues for years instead of just a few months.

"I'll reach out to them about fixing the timeline," you said, your hand instinctively moving a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You clasped your hands together to still them, offering a small, nervous smile. "It shouldn't be too hard to correct."

"Thanks," he said. "That'll probably save from giving another long-winded lecture on factual reporting."

You gave a quiet laugh, grateful for the distraction from your tasks, though you weren’t entirely sure how you felt about the company. Not that you didn’t enjoy his company—there was plenty to enjoy, more than you cared to admit. If you could manage to function like a normal human being around him, you might even look forward to moments like this.

But then he tilted his head slightly, his eyes studying you as if he were unraveling some kind of puzzle and for one terrifying second, you were convinced he could hear every single thought racing through your mind.

"So," he began, "how are you liking it here so far? The job, I mean. Is it what you expected?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. "Oh, um... yeah. It's been great so far. Busy, but... I like it."

"That's good," he said, nodding. "I know it’s not exactly the most predictable job. Some people don't expect it to be so... chaotic."

"Well," you said, fidgeting slightly with your pen. "I knew what I was signing up for. Or, at least I thought I did. It's a lot, but it's rewarding."

"That's a good attitude to have," he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Honestly, you're doing a great job. I don't know how you manage to keep everything straight."

Your heart leaped, thudding in your chest as warmth flooded your face. You weren’t used to hearing compliments, especially from someone like him. You wanted to savor the moment, to bottle up the way his words made you feel, but your nerves refused to let you fully enjoy it.

"I'm just, um, organized I guess,” you stammered, your hand flying up to rub at the back of your neck.

"More than just organized," he replied easily, completely unaware of how his words were affecting you. "You've got half the team wrapped around your finger already. Even Rossi listen when you talk. That's impressive."

Your face burned. "I think that's more about respect for the job than me."

Spencer shrugged lightly, as he was watching you, like he didn't quite believe you. "Maybe. Or maybe you're just better at this than you give yourself credit for."

You let out a nervous chuckle, fingers twitching as you fiddled with the corner of the paper in front of you.

"I don't... I don't know about that."

He tilted his head, again, his brow quirking. "Do you know how to take a compliment?"

"Of course I do." You were sure your voice lacked the conviction needed.

He smirked, leaning forward over the chair. "Doesn't seem like it."

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat, tangled in the frantic web that was your thoughts around this infuriating man.

"Well, uh, you’ve only done it twice, so I don’t think that’s enough for you to judge."

His grin widened. "Oh? So you’re saying I should try again? For research purposes?"

Your eyes widened, and you blinked rapidly as if to process his words, your hands shooting up as if to physically block the implication. "I—uh—no, that's not what I meant.”

"No, no," he said, sitting up straighter and waiving off your flustered attempt to deflect. "I aim to please. If more compliments are what you’re after, I’ve got plenty.”

"Please, no."

"You're incredibly efficient. Seriously, I think you've managed to anticipate what the team needs before we even know we need it. And your ability to keep your cool under pressure? That's impressive. I mean, do you even get stressed? Because if you do, you hide it really well."

"Dr. Reid—," you squeaked, covering your face with your hands as if that could somehow shield you from the onslaught of praise.

"And," he continued, clearly now enjoying himself. "You're probably the most patient person, I've ever met. Which is something, considering you work with people who constantly interrupt and derail your perfectly planned press briefings."

Your stomach flipped, and you felt a flush of heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment pooling in your chest. As much as you wanted to sink to the floor, the way he looked at you sent every nerve in your body spiraling. Each word felt like it was tailored to you, peeling back the very thin veneer of control you’d desperately tried to maintain over the massive crush you found yourself drowning in.

Your head dropped to the desk with a soft thunk, muffling your groan. "Okay, okay, I get it."

He leaned forward just slightly, resting his chin on his arms atop the chair. "Now what do you say?"

"Thank you."

He smirked widened. "See? That wasn't so hard was it?"

Your cheeks burned even hotter, and you averted your eyes, trying to hide the nervous smile tugging at your lips. "You didn't have to go on and on..."

"Oh, but I did." He was still grinning. "You deserved it."

You risked a glance back at him, losing your cool by the second. That only made your face heat up more. "You're impossible."

"And yet, you haven't kicked me out of your office."

"That's only because I didn’t think it would work."

"Well," he said, turning towards the door. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you didn't mind the compliments."

You opened your mouth to protest but no words came out. Instead, you watched helplessly as he shot you one last smile before disappearing into the hallway.

When the door finally clicked shut behind him, you let out a shaky breath and drop your head back onto the desk.

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[cheezritsu]

Itoshi Sae has far more feline traits than those narrow turquoise eyes of his. At the top of your notes app titled “I don’t need a cat, my boyfriend already is one,” is the fact that Sae will never, ever be clingy, will never ask for your touch, and is coy about romance as a whole—but he just has to be near you.

Manshine City is playing Ubers. Ubers cannot resist having a yellow card every time they step on the pitch, and Manshine City pisses Sae off more than even he knows. You’ll press him about that later, because he’s watching the match in your shared bedroom and not the living room television which is not only bigger, but louder like he likes. Why is he fixing your temperpedic to be a damn near 90 degree angle when there’s a perfectly good couch in another room?

“Who’s winning?” You call from the bathroom. You’ve chosen to grab a bar stool from the kitchen to make yourself comfortable as you part your hair into four sections. It’s a hard ritual, but it pays dividends; you noticed that you were shedding a lot less hair when you sat down and pre-detangled before the shower. And you were a little optimistic about your last style and ended up stretching it out a few days longer than you should have. The end result wouldn’t be good to your heart.

You’re half way through finger detangling your section when you realize Sae hasn’t answered you. You lean back, the open door to your bedroom allowing you to catch a glimpse of him. There’s something off about his expression—Sae’s normally indifferent looking, sure, but there is a harder frown etched into his face. And he’s not even looking at the game. He’s glaring at…the door frame?

“Babe,” you say, and it breaks his trance. He looks up at you, but you’ve once again disappeared from his line of sight. That lean back was killing your spine.

“Huh?”

“I asked who was winning.” You carefully two-strand twist the now slippery section together, then use an alligator clip to keep it off your back. It’s kind of crazy how long your hair is now compared to the beginning of the year. You take down your next section, looking up from your lap and-!

“Holy shit!”

Sae gives you an unimpressed look in the mirror. You look at his reflection instead of him when you demand “When did you get in here?”

“While you were daydreaming.”

The tv is off. Or it’s paused. The vacuum of silence is a little uncomfortable. You were doing your hair in an old tshirt; a reprint of Sae’s U20 match jersey. It would make plenty money on the internet, and here you were getting hair products all over it. Sae looks at the front of your shirt with a wrinkled nose. Other reasons your boyfriend is a cat: he needs a fucking collar, and he pulls faces instead of vocalizing.

“What are you doing?”

“My hair.”

You can see his roaming gaze trying to piece together the exact routine you have, but he’s struggling. Before another quip can leave his mouth you elaborate. “Pre-detagnling. That way when I wash my hair it has less breakage.” You squeeze your detangler into your hands and slather it into the wetted section of hair you were working on. “I wanna keep what little hair I have.”

You get a real reaction this time—a snort of disbelief. “You have more hair on your head than Aiku has on his entire body.”

You blink. “That’s not really a metric I’m privy too.”

“He’s like a gorilla. It’s gross.”

You hum, but you love Sae’s endless opinions. You can tell he still has some rattling around in his brain that he’s having trouble spitting out. Perhaps he’s finally using a filter around you, or he’s really trying to find just the right delivery to piss you off. It’s 50/50.

He finally settles on, “You hair has gotten really long,” as he’s transfixed by the quick motion of your digits twisting the hair into a long rope. When it drops against the side of your head and he sees where it reaches, he shakes his head. “Like, really long.”

“Thanks,” you smile, and warmth spreads in Sae’s chest. “Weren’t you watching the match?”

“I paused it.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t answer. “I thought long hair bothered you?”

“It does,” you answer slowly, really trying to keep up with this conversation. Sae pings questions at you like the midfielder he is, but this is a little too quick. “But I think when I was growing my hair out the first time I never shaped it, or did styles with it. There was this girl at a restaurant I went to, like, years ago when I was at the beach with my parents who had long natural hair. She had it pulled back in a satin scarf and had like two little front pieces sticking out.” You create the style by gesturing your hands over your head. Sae’s gaze melts, the usual hard line of his mouth settling into something content.

“She was so pretty.” You have a distant look on your face, and Sae doesn’t doubt you have that crystal clear memory in your head. “I wanted to be as pretty as her. But I didn’t really know what to do with my hair, and it has really hot all the time, so I cut it. I think about it all the time though.”

Sae acknowledges your story with a nod. He traces shape of your curls with his finger, careful not to pull too hard. A soft tug elongated the spiral, and then it snapped back.

“Your hair is beautiful,” Sae suddenly spits, making eye contact with you in the mirror. “I liked it when it was short, and it’s pretty now that it’s longer. I don’t know if I ever told you.”

He hasn’t. Not so bluntly, at least. Sae never needs to occupy his hands, so he doesn’t touch your hair at all, ever, but now he coils the strands around his finger like his own personal fidget. Something stupid balloons in you lungs and press hard against your ribcage. Pride, maybe? Love, probably. You twist your neck and the piece of hair slips from his grasp.

“‘Preciate it,” you reply, adopting his casual air to force down your excitement. Sae’s face stays the same though, and he even goes so far as to press a little kiss to your exposed shoulder blade. He must feel the heat of your skin, because a smirk curls across his face. Oh, you could kill him.

“Alright, alright,” you shoo him. “I gotta get to work. This is just the pre-wash, so I’m going to take a minute in here.”

“I could shower,” he says absently, and before you could even protest, Sae is opening the shower door, rearranging products around the wall to make sure your shampoo, conditioner and wide tooth comb are front and center. “It’ll be warm though, and not scalding hot like you like it.”

“Then don’t shower with me.”

The pipes turn on, Sae’s funger’s dipping under the water the check the temperature. “It’s bad for your skin anyways.”

You don’t even mention it. You probably will halfway through when he’s “unknowingly” doing your hair for you, but it could wait.

[mysticmutants]

not a lot, just forever (pt.2)

summary: weddings weren’t logans thing, but being at one with you made him mind them a whole lot less. your (not so) subtle confession may have helped—but now it’s his turn to make the next move.

pairing: logan howlett x reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: romcom themes, weddings, possible ooc!logan, reader is described as wearing a dress

authors note: thank you to everyone who read and interacted w my first fic. it genuinely means so much! here’s a part two for everyone who was asking<3 I’ll be working on requests over the next few days, feel free to keep them coming loves! part 1 is on my profile (still figuring out hyperlinks and such, masterlist will be coming soon!) ౨ৎ

logan doesn’t think he’s ever been more excited for a party. whenever there’s been a gathering or a social event at the mansion in the past, he’s been enthusiastic, sure, but mostly at the prospect of being able to get drunk off of his ass—not having to deal with the heavy weight that finds its home in his chest when he’s sober.

this time, though, it’s not the liquor. that’s almost the last thing on his mind, for the first time in years. right now, all he can think of is you. you in your dress, your perfume overwhelming his senses in the best way possible.

his heart finds a shaky rhythm in his chest as time inches on, throwing noncommittal glances at the altar where jean and scott exchange their vows. his knee bounces up and down sporadically, as he attempts to subdue his racing mind. he can feel you next to him, feel the heat radiating off of you—or was that him? he wasn’t so sure. he steals small glances at you, biting back the urge to reach for your hand; settling instead for resting his arm on the back of your chair.

he almost lets out a cheer when everyone begins filing out of the venue—ripping him from his thoughts. his eyes catch on you momentarily, breath hitching in his throat at the mere sight of you, holding up your dress and treading carefully on the grass. if he was bolder, less reserved, he’d extend an arm and help you. as everyone gathers outside, cooing at the newlyweds, he’s only focused on one thing.

the bouquet.

everyone knew the old wives tale. whoever catches the bouquet, is next on the list to get hitched. determination swells in his his chest, eyeing the assortment of pink and white blooms that rest in jeans arms.

he observes the surrounding area as photographers flash a few pictures of the couple— the more animal side of his brain working overtime, like a wolf stalking a caribou. he doubts that he’ll actually go for it, too rational to do something so childish. it seems he has no choice, however, because as soon as he sees a flash of pink and white against the blue sky, he’s already taken off—as though his legs made up his mind for him. he weaves through the crowd, hushed apologies falling past his lips. once he reaches the clearing, he jumps off, reaching for his prize. a smug grin adorns his lips, as he grazes the wrapping of the flowers—only to have it jerked away from him.

his brow furrows as feet meet solid ground once more, only to soften when his eyes lay upon the person who actually caught the bundle of flowers.

you stand in front of him, eyes locking with his. any frustration in his mind is washed clean as he sees the grin on your face, flushed cheeks. you stay gazing at him for a little too long; even as your shared friends gather to congratulate you.

those who were close to you, though—namely your teammates— knew that this meant something deeper. anyone who knew logan could tell that he had feelings for you, and vice versa. the stolen glances, hands brushing as you walk side by side.

as the throng of people begin to head for their cars, logan tries to spot you in the crowd, itching to tell you how he feels—to confess— spilling every emotion he’s ever felt for you onto the dirt for you to do as you please with. he sighs gruffly, heading for his motorcycle.

the road to the mansion is practically ingrained into his memory, unfortunately giving him enough time to overthink the rest of his evening. what if he misread? what if you changed your mind? what if he got you hurt? what if it was actually about someone else? like scott, or hank.

please don’t let it be scott.

he pulls up to the large building, gates propped open to allow guests easy entry. upon entering the room where the reception is held, his eyes immediately search for you: something that’s become a daily occurrence in his life since you stumbled into it. when he finds you, you’re already there, staring right back at him. if he had a tail, it would be wagging.

he rolls up his shirtsleeves, tugging at his tie anxiously, hating the way it clings to his throat. he clears his throat gruffly, swallowing his pride before starting across the polished wood floor, directly to you. he stands in front of you, his cheeks flushed this time.

“hey,”

he starts, any plan or script he had in mind abandoned once he saw your face. placing a palm on the back of his neck, his jaw tightens.

feelings.

logan had seen the worst parts of humanity. its darkest corners—and conquered it. risen above. yet feelings, were something he could never seem to overcome. but he’d be damned if he didn’t try for you.

“logan,” you speak, voice soft and low. he knew you. you hated to see him struggle—always wanted to finish his sentences so he didn’t have to say the hard things. he raises a hand, stopping you in your tracks. “let me,” he huffs. he takes a moment to look at you, really look at you. your parted lips, pupils wide. he has all the courage he needs.

sucking in a deep breath, he finds his footing.

“you were right. about me, i mean. i am scared. fuckin’ terrified, actually. im…” he trails off, swallowing hard in an attempt to regain himself, to soothe his racing mind. “telling you this— telling you how I feel, scared me, darlin’. but after you telling me you felt the same I realized that… never getting the chance to hold you—at least not in the way I want to—scares me a hell of a lot more.” he finishes, gazing at his feet. if he met your eyes right now, he didn’t know if he’d be able to continue, his brain screaming at him to give into fear. to run away.

for once he didn’t want to run. not this time. silence hangs in the air for a moment after his words, the anticipation allowing him to drag his eyes up your body, meeting yours.

before he can register, there’s a hand on his jaw, and one on the back of his neck pulling him closer. your foreheads meet, dark eyes gazing into yours. he almost melts at the way you look at him. doe eyed, completely at his mercy. he meets you halfway, plush lips meet his. shaky hands wind around your waist, tugging you in closer to him.

for a moment, the world stops.

it’s just you two. no nightmares, no impending doom. just this.

as you both pull back, logans heart calms in his chest. for the first time in a long time. he can breathe, actually think—cathartic. his eyes stay closed, chin coming to rest atop your head as he pulls you into him.

“I love you.”

your words make him jump a little. he knew what he was feeling. he had for a long time—too scared to admit it to himself. he softens after a moment, warmth filling his chest. it felt right. his right person.

“I love you too.”

as you pull back, world around you seemingly coming back to life— a slow song plays from the speakers softly, couples and friends gathering to dance. a hand reaches for logans wrist, guiding him to the dance floor.

his hands find their place around your waist, yours around his neck. your bodies intertwine, your face to his chest and his chin on your head. his eyes flutter shut, heightened hearing tuning out everything around him, focusing in on your heartbeat. steady, soft. home.

you sway softly, gathered by friends, and loved ones.

the beginning of forever.

[sagesbard]

What song the crew would play while ✨shaboinking✨

CW: NSFW MDNI I do NOT condone any of Jimmy's actions this is an AU where the crash never happens and pony Express is just a regular shipping company.

Curly

Dark red by Steve Lacy

Something about the beat just gets him going yk?

It's not to the point where every time he hears it he pops a boner but it definitely does something to him.

He doesn't normally have music playing in the background when y'all shaboink but sometimes he does it it's already playing.

There have been times where instead of telling you he's horny he just plays that song and you already know what's coming. (Him, he's cumming)

As you go up and down on him his moans echo in the room, bouncing off the walls as the song plays in the background. He's thrusting up into so you can't think straight but in reality he's doing to to the beat like Jimmy does.... The second he slips into you his brain goes on autopilot, the only thing mattering to him at the moment is you.

Seeing red by Dustin Lynch also kinda gets him going but not in the way Dark red does. (I'm just now realizing they both have red on the name what a cawinkydink.

When he listens to it it just makes him think about the two of you.

Daisuke

Redbone by childish Gambino 100%

He likes the slow beat of it but the part near the end turns him on like no tomorrow for some reason.

Probably because by the time that part comes on both of you are messes by that point, your moans paired with that song makes him go absolutely FERAL.

Similar with me and your mama by the same artist except he's a bit rougher with this one.

He actually plays music pretty often when y'all shaboink.

He's used to using music to cover up sounds.

When the base comes in it's almost like clockwork when he bites your neck or something along those lines.

Anya

Moonlight by Kali Uchis

Kinda like Daisuke she likes the slow aspect of it.

It's very relaxed and makes her feel calm in a way.

There have been times where she just needs to unwind so she puts on that song and you automatically know that she's either horny or stressed, both end with you eating her out.

Your fingers slowly going in and out of her as the music continues.

Jimmy

A little bit harder now by she wants revenge

He doesn't catch himself but when he's playing that song he ends up fucking you to the best of it.

His hips grinding against yours as you whine and moan until you realize it's the same speed as the fucking song. Nothing wrong with that though, you didn't mind as long as you got fucked dumb. Which you were every time.

Animal attraction is also on there. But he just plays that to kinda tell you he's in that type of mood ykwim?

The way his heavy breathing matches the beats and knocks of the songs is making your head spin. Each thrust burying himself deeper into you until you can't think straight.

A/N: OMG hiiiiii I haven't posted any head canons in a while so I thought I'd treat y'all to something while I work on my next one shot. Since exam season is over and I'll be spending the holidays with my family the posting schedule will probably be a little iffy. Anyways I love y'all and happy holidays 💗💗

[softspokendove]

"Good Job Sweetheart"

pairings: bf!matt sturniolo x nerdy!reader

summary: matt decides to make his girlfriend feel good after she shows him she got an A+ on a test.

warnings: smut, blowjob f!receiving, nicknames (sweetheart, baby), fingering, praise kink, teasing, begging, reader is a bit shy and easy flustered, a little bit of overstimulation towards the end.

As you run through your boyfriend's house, completely oblivious to his two brothers watching tv in the living room, you speed past them and down the hallway towards your shared bedroom door. Your boyfriend's head shoots up at you excitedly pushing open the door and you run over jumping on top of him.

"I did it Matt! I aced the exam!" Matt furrows his eyebrows; his brain still hasn't caught up to speed. Instead, you push the exam paper in his hands, helping him figure it out. As his eyes scan over the page and the big letter A at the top of it a smile spreads on his face.

"Good job sweetheart, I knew you could do it." He sets down the paper on his side table and cups your face with both of his hands. He leans in giving you a passionate kiss in hopes of showing his approval. As he pulls back, he gives your now flushed face a once over, "So all that studying really paid off huh?"

You smile and nod your head as a response. You've been studying for endless nights trying to prepare for this exam, which your mind kept constantly telling you were gonna fail. Your boyfriend who knows how important school is to you, even tried to help you prepare. This consisted of you and Matt in the living room until 3 am reading post it cards until you soon fell asleep on his lap, completely exhausted.

You appreciated this about Matt. He knew how important this is to you, so he took time out of his day to help. He's never once complained about how much time you spend studying, if anything he just asks if you can do it in your shared bedroom so he can be near you.

"I'm so proud of you baby." Matt's words cause you to practically melt in his grasp. Matt knows all about how much you love receiving praise towards your accomplishments, especially from him. He finds it adorable how easily flustered and red you can get from it.

"Thank you." You smile once more at him before trying to get up off his lap, instead Matt's hands move to your hips and force you back down.

"How about I give you a reward for all your hard work?" He says it as a question.

"Like what?" Your obliviousness makes Matt smirk, and he leans towards you once again this time leaving small kisses along your neck. You gasp at the newfound sensation and subconsciously lean your head to the side to give him better access. Matt applies more pressure on his kisses, his hands roaming the sides of your body.

"You did so good on your test baby, you deserve to feel just as good." As his lips continue to attack your neck, your mind starts to become consumed by Matt and what he's doing. His hand wonders from your side down to your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. You feel a sense of need gather lower and lower, causing you to softly grind on Matt's growing bulge in his pants.

"We can't. It'll be too loud." Your words come out breathless as you keep grinding on Matt, nowhere close to stopping. Matt knows that you're talking about his brothers being close to the other side of the wall, and your record of screaming while Matt has his way with you.

"Then you'll have to be quiet, can you do that for me?" Matt pulls away and looks you dead in eye, you're hesitant for a few seconds and then nod your head. A huge part of you knows that you can't keep quiet with Matt, it's impossible. But he already feels so good you don't want to end here. "That's my girl." Matt gives you one more appreciative kiss before setting you flat against the bed. He gets up to walk over to the door, closing and locking it.

As he returns, he climbs over you nudging your legs open with his knee to give him room. His lips connect with yours again, the kiss filled with love and passion. Matt's knee comes up and pushes against your clit, making you moan into his mouth. He swallows up your noises and slips his tongue into you. His tongue dancing with yours, both of your saliva's mixing up and creating a mess. His hand tilts your head to the side allowing him a better angle.

When he finally pulls away, you're both gasping for air. "Arms up." You lift up your arms and feel the warmth of your shirt leave your body as Matt throws the clothing across the room. He kisses a trail from your neck down to your boobs, leaving small bites here and there. His one hand lifts up your lower body as his other hand slides below you and unclasps your bra, this also getting thrown.

Matt takes one of your nipples into his mouth and sucks, swirling his tongue around the nub. He rubs your other boob in an effort to give them the same attention. Once he feels satisfied with one nipple he moves on to the other one, doing the same with his mouth. Your hand finds its way into his hair and gives a small tug which brings Matt to moan against you.

He lets go of your nipple with a pop and starts kissing your body again, this time getting lower and lower. You squirm in anticipation and whine, desperately needing Matt to touch you there. "Easy baby, this is all about you. I promise to make you feel good."

His words lead to another whine escaping your throat, "Matt please."

"Please what baby?" His tone is teasing. He knows what you want, he just loves hearing you say it.

"You know what." You huff out. This makes Matt chuckle and start to slide your pants slowly down your legs, too slowly for your liking.

"No, I don't think I do. Let me hear you say it." After your pants are completely gone from your body, you spread your legs wider for him, hoping he'd get the hint. Your cheeks red from embarrassment. Instead of understanding, Matt just slides his hands up and down your thighs. Inching so close to where you need him then quickly retreating.

You feel tears start to prick your eyes as the need for him becomes too much. Your whole-body craving Matt. Needing him to touch you anywhere and everywhere. Your pussy leaking out more slick just thinking about him. That proven to be true when Matt notices a dark patch on your panties, his mouth watering at the sight. "Please touch me," You reach out for one of Matt's hands and place it on the wet spot, "here. I need you so bad. Please."

Your words go straight to Matt's cock causing it to throb in his pants. There's just something about listening to you beg for him. Your words are like honey to his ears. "There you go baby; you sound so good." He leans down and places kisses on your clit, the action making your hips rise towards his mouth. His lips getting wet from your need.

He grabs your panties and slides them down your body, dropping them onto the floor. He places a hand on your hip holding you firmly in place. "You gotta be quiet, okay?"

"I promise." The words leave your mouth in a hurry, hoping to get him to work faster. He kisses your clit again, this time without a layer of clothing to get in the way. The new feeling making you grip onto his hair again.

He slides his tongue down your folds and then back up. His saliva and tongue feeling blissful against your pussy. He moans at the taste of you and slips his tongue inside your hole, hoping to taste more. This catches you by surprise and a small moan leaves your throat, you see Matt raise his eyebrows at you, warning you to stay true to your promise.

He swirls his tongue around inside of you, once again moaning at the flavor of you, his noises getting muffled against you. You hear the small noise of Matt's tongue gliding in your juices and the sound of him slurping as much as he can up. He takes his tongue out and slides it back up your pussy before swirling around your clit.

His lips then attach to your clit and suck while his tongue swirls in a circle around it. You bite your bottom lip trying to silent your moans. Matt's hand squeezes your flesh on your thigh and then moves his hand to your pussy. His middle finger circles around your clit, teasing you. You try to raise your hips to get it inside of you, but Matt's hand doesn't let you budge.

After Matt feels he's teased you enough he enters his finger into you at a slow pace. You sigh in relief his fingers start moving back and forth at a good pace. The pleasure you've been searching for finally here. You start to feel a sudden need to hold on to something-anything. One of your hands grips onto Matt's hair while the other holds onto the sheets, knuckles turning white from how hard you're gripping. Matt moans again at feeling a tug on his strands of hair, the noise vibrating against your pussy making it flutter.

This spurs Matt on, him feeling your pussy throb and tighten against him. His finger increases its pace, your juices starting to drip down you and onto the sheets. The overwhelming pleasure raking up your body and getting stuck in your throat, your moans and whimpers desperately wanting to get out.

It doesn't help when Matt adds his ring finger, filling you up. Your walls clench around his fingers, your body getting closer and closer. You move your hand that was gripping the sheets towards your mouth and try to muffle your moans with your hand.

The core in your lower belly keeps tightening. "Matt, I'm gonna cum." The words sound muffled, but Matt knew what you said. You look down and see Matt's blue eyes staring right back at yours, this being his favorite view. Your clit throbs in Matt's mouth at the sight.

Matt's tongue starts swirling letters, his name. You feel the motion of his tongue form the letters M-A-T-T and then repeating. Your eyes roll back into your head as your legs tighten around Matt's head. "Come on baby, cum on my tongue." Matt's voice sending you over the edge.

You scream into your hand as the bubble finally explodes, your walls throbbing around Matt's fingers. He removes his fingers from inside you and brings them up towards your mouth. You take away your hand and suck around his digits, tasting the proof of your beautiful orgasm. Matt hums in satisfaction as his tongue reenters inside of you tasting your cum for himself.

Your hips jerk in oversensitivity as his tongue continues to wiggle around inside your walls. "Matt too much." You try to move away but his hand pulls you right back. He ignores your comment and shoves his fingers further down your mouth towards your throat, igniting a gag from you.

When he pulls his fingers out, they're covered in your salvia which is then returned inside of you when Matt lifts his head up. "Give me one more sweetheart, wanna make sure you feel as good as you should."

You go to protest, but Matt just dives back down to your pussy, leaving no room for arguing.

a/n: holy. I had all of this written out a week ago but the last couple sentences. It took me so long to finish this for what.

[bonbonly]

not sure which driver would fit this (maybe carlos or max?) but something about them degrading you so much to the point he buys nipple clamps that connect to a chain. so he treats you like a dog, pulling on your chain to make you move—and each time he does, your nipples harden even more, slick dripping down your pussy……… ohh my god

bon's thoughts (18+) i'm putting this in the boss!lewis x secretary!reader universe because that's all i can see right now

you've been pretty upset the whole month having to deal with lewis edging you and never letting you cum, so you plan an entire thing where you're going to get your payback. your vibrators are all broken with the amount of times you've had to cum in the middle of the night in your apartment after every day of an excruciating day at work where lewis was torturing you like crazy.

so one day during your lunch break, lewis passes by the break room to get a cup of coffee only to instead see you bouncing on another intern's dick, screaming in ecstasy as you stare at lewis the entire time saying "fuck, i'm cumming, i'm cumming!"

and he's biting the inside of his cheek, nodding his head at you. ok, if you wanted to be office slut he'd let you be the office slut. he calls you to his office later in the day, and you walk in adjusting your pencil skirt and stretching your arms, "oh it feels good to have someone's cum dripping down my thighs. so much better when i get to cum too!"

"sit your ass down before i have you fired," lewis rolls his eyes and you smirk at him. he'd never fire you, he has way too much fun with you, "take off your clothes, now."

"but it's the middle of the work day? i have work to get back to, which you gave me remember?" you scoff, and he shakes his head at your attitude,

"run that mouth of yours one more time and i'll buy a ball gag to match this..." he pauses, pulling out a box from his drawer and he holds up nipple clamps. you gasp out loud, standing up,

"nuh uh, i'm not wearing that. lewis, it's bad enough that i have to sit down on a vibrating cock every day when i work, not this...." you cross your arms, pouting at him and he stands up to walk over to where you stand,

"first of all, it's mr. hamilton, you keep forgetting that i'm your boss, not your boyfriend. second of all, this isn't a request, love," he grabs your blouse, ripping the buttons off of you before unclasping your bra and tossing it onto his chair. you struggle against his arms, mainly because it's fun to see him get more pissed at you for being disobedient and he flips you onto your stomach which causes you to moan at the feeling of the cold table pressed against your tits, "you're such a slut, honestly, who even let you into the workforce?"

he giggles under his breath, tugging your skirt and panties down before dragging you down to the ground. he rolls your nipples between his thumbs, loving the way you're gasping and squirming under his touch before reaching out and grabbing the nipple clamps and placing them on you.

"finally, god, you always make this so much harder on yourself," and he sits back down behind his desk, tugging the chain that connects the clamps towards him and you moan out loud, rubbing your thighs together for some friction, "of course you're into this. your brain's just empty at this point with the amount of times i didn't let you cum so now you're into sick shit like this to get you off, right?"

you can't even process his words because you want to feel him inside you, and every time he tugs at the clamps harder, calling you a dirty whore, you're whining about how you want him to fuck you, you want to feel his cum coating your walls. that's enough for him to toss you onto his lap, letting you straddle him. he places the chain in his mouth, biting down into the metal and occasionally jerking his head back to let the clamps pinch your nipples a little more harder than before and when he slides his aching cock inside you, you're letting out a wanton moan that echoes through the entire office. you're sure everyone can hear you. and probably can now see you because lewis at his desk presses a button to let the blinds unveil the sin he's committing. he wants the entire place to know that you're his, and only his.

"this is what you wanted? you wanted to get fucked? you wanted me to fuck your brains out until you're just another dumb whore to take my cum, yeah? you're doing all this just so you can cum, yeah you're gonna cum," his hips snap against yours in a brutal pace, and you're crying at how intense this feels. you scream out loud as his thumb rubs harsh circles on your sensitive nub, and you're cumming around his cock for the first time, feeling like you're on cloud nine. he took his words to heart though, because he's still fucking you, his grip on you tightening, "i'm going to make you cum again and again until you're begging me to stop, oh fuck, you're going to regret riding that intern love."

you don't know how many times you've cum, and you're pleading with him telling him that you can't take it anymore but he flips you onto your stomach and starts rutting into you once more. you glance out the window of the door to see the intern just staring at you with wide eyes and he walks away, his cheeks turning red.

"i thought you wanted to cum? you spent all this time whining and crying about how i never let you cum! and now that i'm letting you, you're telling me to stop? make up your mind. unless you're too fucked out that your dumb brain can't think properly, is that it sweetheart? is my cock too much for you?" he laughs in your ear, and you're wailing out loud as you cum for another time, squirting all over his desk as he smacks your ass for making such a big mess. he wraps his hand around you to tug at your clamps and you whine out loud.

he takes you home with him that night, refusing to let you take those clamps off. "we're far from done, love. don't forget that."

[sickfictropes]

Hey sickfictropes! I have ideas in my brain about torturing telekinetic characters and I'm putting them here :) yknow just in case anyone likes em

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

Headaches. Since telekinesis largely has to do with the mind, it's not a surprise that overuse would cause pressure in the brain. This might also lead to other fun things like nosebleeds and brain fog that makes it progressively harder to focus enough to keep using the ability!

Insomnia. Kind of hard to sleep when your mind is always in overdrive due to your magic brain, isn't it? The others notice that Whumpee is exhausted but what they don't understand is that she's not staying up on purpose. She literally can't sleep and it's only getting worse.

Physical injury. Whumpee gets distracted in the middle of floating a big object and it falls on her! Now she's trying to get it off but her muscles aren't strong enough and the pain is blurring her focus too much to pick it back up with her mind. Bonus points if Teammate was the one who distracted her and feels terrible now.

Fever. Maybe prolonged use of telekinesis strains the immune system? So when Whumpee overworks herself or uses her powers too much on missions, her condition gradually worsens until she can pretty much barely stand. Her powers still work though, even though her body kinda doesn't! Which is why she's still insisting on coming along...

Or maybe instead of telekinesis causing illness, an illness just happens and it really screws everything up. Whumpee is mostly okay but she's having a harder time with her powers and it's stressing her out

Anxiety attacks!!! Whumpee getting triggered and her powers activating automatically and a bunch of stuff floats around her to shield her from danger and her friends are trying to fight through it to get to her spbmgfipbnfdinr

aa powers. i love powers and i love using them against the characters who have them

these are great!!

[glitchy-npc]

19 please! For whichever ship you feel

19…for luck. Sidestep era. [AO3] for easier reading

“This is so stupid!” Ortega throws his hands in the air in frustration. “I don’t even know why they are insisting on another diagnostic, I’m fine!” The wires connected to ports along his knuckles and wrist flail wildly before returning to a haphazard heap as his hands fall to the sides of his medical bed with a soft thump. The wires are long enough to allow for at least some range of movement – the thick cables connecting to the ports in his spine, not so much. With the generator in diagnostic mode, his legs rest limply against the sheets, no electricity to transmit to the nerves there. He’s stuck and he knows it, so what else can he do but complain? 

You can empathize, all too well. It's why you agreed to visit in the first place. You know how it feels to be helpless, trapped ��� a lab rat to be poked and prodded until the scientists find the answers they're looking for. You try to suppress the memories but your brain never was very kind to you.

The sticky feeling of electrodes being fastened to your freshly shaved scalp. You’ll rub your head for weeks, still convinced the conductive gel is still there. The pain in your wrists from the restraints. Too tight, you had gotten too good at slipping out of them before. Not enough to activate your pain gate but sitting just inside the boundary of discomfort and pain that makes you grind your teeth. Or you would if not for the bite guard. You shouldn’t have bit that last scientist but it felt too good to truly regret it. Shouldn’t have gotten his fingers so close to your mouth, even lab rats bite.  

Ortega’s disgruntled huff brings you back to the present.

“You know why.” Despite the outburst you don’t look at him, instead you cross your arms against your chest, and squint at the output readings on the diagnostic terminal, trying to make sense of them. It’s not exactly your area of expertise but you’re starting to recognize some of the patterns. And you suppose the lack of giant flashing warning lights is a good thing. “You took a beating in that last fight so they want to make sure nothing got rattled.” You’d bet money his higher ups are more concerned about the machine than the man but you don’t point that out, he probably knows.

“Hey, we won didn’t we?” Ortega’s voice is full of wounded pride. Probably more than his body, in truth. Footage of the fight had been all over the news and the sight of the Marshal being thrown like a rag doll by a massive power armored villain had been a popular clip. The Rangers media team had done their best but the damage was already done.

“Barely.” You shrug. “It’s your own damn fault for rushing in.” You don’t need to coddle him, even if his ego is bruised.

“I knew you had my back.” Stubborn, as usual. 

“And you should be glad I did or you’d be in worse shape than just having to sit still for diagnostics. So quit whining.” There's a bite to your voice but it's more worry than anger. 

“I’m not-” He starts but sighs heavily. “Fine. I hate it when you’re right.”

“I usually am.” You don’t bother to suppress the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“So…” He draws out the pause a little too long and you see him gesture at the monitor out of the corner of your eye. “You’ve been staring at that thing long enough, what's your assessment?”

You sigh through your nose. You don’t know exactly how his mods work and that's frustrating but from what you can figure out the majority of his systems are in the green. For all intents and purposes Ortega appears perfectly functional. You give yourself a mental kick for that. Functional. Ortega is a person, not a thing. Not like you.

“From what I can tell…it doesn’t look like there's any lasting damage-” You don’t get to finish before he interrupts you.

“Great! Unhook me.”

“What?” You turn to fully face him for the first time since you got here, his bright smile in stark contrast to your incredulous scowl. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Probably.” He chuckles at his own admission. “But you said it yourself, I’m good to go.” 

“I didn’t say that! And you do realize that if I fuck it up I could permanently paralyze you or electrocute myself or-”

“You won't.” The certainty in his words stops your rant dead in its tracks.  So sure, so trusting. What did you ever do to deserve that?

“How can you be so sure?” You need to know, it doesn’t make sense. 

“Please, you’re good with tech and electrical stuff, I’ve seen you hotwire more cars than I can count.” He holds up a finger for each new point that he makes. “You made a police scanner out of an old walkie talkie and who knows what else, that abomination of screens and wires you try to pass off as a computer and, dios mio, you even made a small bomb out of-”

“None of those are even remotely the same thing!” You groan. “But fine, it's your ass on the line and then we gotta get out of here, I’m probably breaking half a dozen laws just being here.” Not that you actually care about breaking the law, you just can’t afford to get caught. 

“Yes!” Ortega punches the air in triumph. “I am so ready to get out of here, I’ll owe you one.”

“You will, now give me your hand.” You hold yours out expectantly.

“Aww.” His smile grows wide and teasing. 

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes hard enough to hurt but this time he obeys. You try not to think about how warm his hand is in yours and you can tell he’s looking at you but you need to focus. You hold a breath as you slide the first grounding pin out from above his index finger and are relieved to see no sparks. You lay it gently on the bed before moving to the next. It feels intrusive, intimate, you can't tell if it's better or worse that he's not making any quips as you work. Maybe it's weird for him as well.

When you finish with the right hand, he offers his left unprompted and your own fingers move more quickly, more sure in their task. When the last pin is removed he mumbles something too low for you to hear.

“What?” And like an idiot you lean in. If you could read his stupid, static mind you would have known. Even without the safety net of your telepathy your reflexes should have been better. Maybe you were distracted, maybe you let your guard down, but you feel his free hand snake around the back of your neck and pull you down into a kiss. A deep one. You know you should pull away, it's not the first kiss you’ve shared but every one feels like one step closer to secrets you don’t dare reveal. Would he still kiss you if he knew? You’re mortified by the small sound that is teased out of you when his tongue brushes against yours but the embarrassment is at least enough to push yourself away.

“What was that for?” You say because you have to say something or you're liable to start kissing him again.

“For luck.” He punctuates his words with a wink.

“I don’t need luck.” You quickly duck and scurry to the underside of the medical bed, hoping your blush wasn’t as hot as it feels. “I need to concentrate.”

This is the most dangerous part after all, unhooking the ports in his spine poses the greatest risk, especially for him. There's a thin rectangle cutting through the plastic and foam of the backrest to bed where the cables snake through and you can see the hexagonal pattern of his spine mods and just a hit of his skin. You have to start somewhere so you choose the lowest port, closest to the small of his back. You take a deep breath and will your hands steady before slowly turning the head of the connector and sliding the cable out.

Ortega’s yelp startles you into dropping the cable and hitting your head on the hard plastic underside of the bed.

“What!? What's wrong!?” You can’t keep the edge of panic out of your voice, your heart is beating too fast, did you hurt him?

“Nothing, it's nothing! It's just…weird when I can feel my legs again, ugh they're asleep.” You can hear him shift as he tries to stretch newly invigorated muscles.

“You idiot, you almost gave me a heart attack!” You take a deep breath to return your heart rate to normal.

“Worried about me?” There's a teasing tone in his voice that would have gotten him slugged if you weren’t stuck under the bed. 

“Worried all this electricity has fried your brain more like.” You grumble as you start working your way up the rest of the ports.

“I’m not so sure how well I could argue that.” He says with a self-deprecating laugh. “But we should hurry, that might have attracted attention.” 

“You think?” You grumble sarcastically but your hands havn’t been idle. You breathe a sigh of relief as the last cable, one between his shoulder blades, is disconnected. You hear a small crackle and the smell of ozone. Looks like ortega’s got his power back. 

To prove it ortega leaps out of bed in one fluid motion as you scramble out from underneath it. He offers you a hand, which you take as he pulls you into a tight hug.

“I knew you could do it!” His laugh is happy and proud, arms wrapped tightly around you. You spare a moment in his embrace, safe in a way you rarely feel, but the clock is ticking.

“I thought you said we were in a hurry” You point out as you untangle yourself from him.

“Yeah, true, hey can I borrow your hoodie?” He pulls off the backless hospital shirt and gestures with it. “Would probably look suspicious.” 

You hate when he’s right.

“Fine, just don’t stretch it out.” You’re loath to lose one of your layers but you don’t have any other options. Besides, a shirtless Ortega isn’t something you can deal with right now. Not after that kiss.

“Thanks, I’ll owe you one.”

“More than one.” Several ones by your count.

“I’ll make it up to you.” He says with a wink, and you feel the heat creeping back into your cheeks. 

“We need to go.” You push him towards the door as he pulls your hoodie down over his head, several sizes too small for him. 

He looks back over his shoulder at you. “Race ya.” And he doesn’t wait for a reply before bounding down the hallway.

“Idiot.” You mumble, but you’re already chasing after him. Like always. 

[thatonecrazysidekick]

So, I wrote this a few nights ago, and this is basically how it came into being:

Brain: I see you've gone to bed early so you'll be well rested tomorrow, that's cute! Anyways, what if the Triforce was cold?

Me: ...what?

Brain: what if the Triforce was cold instead of warm? Glowing golden stuff is usually seen as warm, right? But what if is wasn't?

Me: that's cool, but I'm trying to sleep rn

Brain: well that's too bad, because I'm already thinking about it in great detail!! Better start typing away, because it's either that or try to ignore it, be unable to fall asleep until 1am anyway AND forget all but the vaguest details of it by morning! :D

And that is the story of how I went to bed at 10pm and still stayed awake until 12:30am typing out ALTTP Link (or pre-LU Legend) making his wish on the Triforce, with a sprinkle of a timeline split theory, in my phone notes. Please enjoy my creation.

----

Link’s lungs were burning, every breath feeling like it was dragging hot knives down the inside of his throat. His limbs trembled in exhaustion, and the Master Sword in his hands suddenly felt too heavy to hold. He let it slip from his grasp, watching it fall to the floor. It clanged loudly against the cracked stone, and the sound seemed to echo around the suddenly empty-feeling chamber.

Link had won. Ganon was gone.

Link had thought maybe he would feel a thrill of victory or something similar, like heroes always did in stories—not always, not the one who had fought the darkness before him and failed and died—but he just felt…tired. And maybe a little relieved, but mostly he was so, so tired. He wanted to curl up in a ball on the floor and never move again, but he remained standing.

His ragged gasps for breath were beginning to even out, the ache in his lungs fading. Link took a deep breath, holding it deliberately for a few seconds before letting it out, slowly. He glanced down at his hands. They were strangely steady, considering how the rest of him was shaking like a leaf in an autumn breeze.

A flash of light caught his eye—the Master Sword, still laying a few steps to his left. Its blade was glowing gold. No, that wasn’t right. It was only shining in one spot, more like a reflection of something else, but what…?

He lifted his head, and there it was: a bright, glowing golden triangle, hovering at about his head level in the center of the room.

The Triforce.

Link’s eyes widened, and he took a few hesitant steps towards it before stopping. He was sure that it hadn’t been there a moment before. He studied it carefully, looking for any sign of danger.

Nothing. Just a sparkling triangle of triangles.

“A wish for the bearer.”

A voice seemed to echo inside Link’s head, and he jumped. It didn’t seem to come from the glowing triangle before him, but from someone or something much older.

He glanced quickly around the room. He was alone, save for the vines creeping along the walls and the sword laying a few paces away, still where he had dropped it.

A wish for the bearer.

A wish? Could he wish for anything? The voice hadn’t said if there were limits, so he might as well try.

Link tried to think about what he wanted most, but his mind began to wander of its own accord. It strayed to the people whom Agahnim had harmed in his mad quest for power; the seven maidens, sacrificed for his twisted cause, the king, who had disappeared completely, the soldiers who had killed and been killed—who he’d killed— at the wizard’s beck and call.

It strayed to a too-large sword pressed into his shaking hands, and the dying breaths of the only father figure he had ever known.

It strayed to a weathered and moss-covered stone in a tangled and ancient wood, and a child who had fallen and taken the world with him.

A wish for the bearer.

Link looked up at the Triforce, gleaming with divine radiance in front of him.

It was not good. It was not evil. It was the purest form of power, and it was waiting for him to choose how to wield it.

He took a deep breath and reached out a hand.

He was half expecting his fingers to pass through it, like it really was made of light; brilliant but insubstantial. Instead, the golden surface was smooth and surprisingly cool, like a polished shield left under the shade of a tree in high summer. He curled his fingers around the edge of its lower right facet and closed his eyes. He knew what his wish was.

All those people who had been controlled and killed by Agahnim and Ganon, just for their blood or their status or for daring to resist; they hadn't deserved to have their lives cut short. They should be able to live.

Family. Maidens. Royalty. Soldiers. A lonely tale of a failed hero, recounted by all with pity and resentment.

The Triforce pulsed beneath his fingertips, its glow flaring bright enough that it seemed to cut right through his eyelids and burn into his retinas. The cool material grew colder, his fingers going numb as the triangle turned to ice against his skin.

He didn’t dare let go.

The light grew until it illuminated everything, embraced everything, became everything. It settled over Link like a second skin, one made of hoarfrost and crystal, and his breath turned to snow in his lungs.

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to let go now, even if he wanted to.

Link felt as though his blood was freezing in his veins, sending ice rushing towards his heart and spreading out through his limbs. His eyes were still screwed shut, he was sure they were, but the world around him was pure white and glittering with colors he had never seen before and certainly couldn’t describe. He was everywhere and nowhere and somewhere that didn’t exist but was definitely solid beneath the worn leather soles of his boots.

He tightened his grip with fingers that he couldn’t see or feel but knew were there, still wrapped tightly around the Triforce. It seemed to be the only truly real thing that was left anymore, beating a steady rhythm in his chest to replace the heart that it had petrified, golden power pouring through his veins instead of blood. It grounded him, froze him, blinded him. It unmade time and space themselves before reweaving them into a newer and more complex pattern of kaleidoscope textures and colors and shapes.

The Triforce hummed, a sound that he couldn’t hear but felt reverberating through his very soul, thawing him from the inside out until his heart was pumping blood and his lungs were filling with air and his skin was warm again.

Link opened his eyes.

The room was the same as when he had closed them, with creeping vines clinging to the pockmarked walls and shattered stones littered across the equally ruined floor, the Master Sword still nestled atop the debris. The Triforce remained hovering in front of him, its blinding glow having faded back into a soft shine. It felt cool to the touch once more, no longer so cold it burned his flesh to the bone.

His eyes flicked towards his hand, still wrapped around the corner of the Triforce with a white-knuckled grip. It was unmarred, save for the streaks of dirt and blood left over from his battle with Ganon.

Nothing around him seemed to have changed, and yet…

A wish for the bearer.

Something very important had happened just then, something far greater than what he had thought he was wishing for, but Link couldn’t put a finger on what it could be.

He placed his other hand on the Triforce too, wondering if he would be able to move it around and examine it. He might be able to find out how the supposed wishes worked if he could take a closer look at the source. As soon as both his hands were laid on the Triforce, it flared brighter—though nowhere near as brightly as it had before—and began to melt.

He jerked back, watching in wide-eyed fascination as sharp edges blurred and ran together, becoming a floating cloud of liquid light that slithered its way down the fingers of his left hand. It pooled on the back of his hand, sinking itself into his skin and tracing out lines to form an image of itself there: three smaller triangles, placed corner to corner to form the larger one. The symbol shimmered like gold leaf against the smudged and dirty parchment of his skin for a few seconds before fading completely.

Link continued to stare at his hand long after the mark vanished, turning it slowly this way and that to see if the Triforce would reappear, if any glimmer of gold would show itself through his skin.

Nothing. It was almost as if there was never anything there at all, save for the unnatural coolness that had settled into his bones alongside the Triforce.

A wish for the bearer.

Link finally let his hand fall to his side, moving to scoop up the Master Sword. His body ached in protest at every movement, but he pushed through it as he straightened up and returned the sword to its sheath before heading towards the exit. He needed to get back home, needed to see if anything had changed. He needed to see if Uncle was back.

A second chance.

Time to go see if his wish had come true.

[writingwisterias]

Day 21: Rope Play

Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Reader Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Rope Play, Oral (M receiving), Restraints, Dom Leon, Sub Reader, Light Degration kink Masterlist

“I don’t remember Krauser teaching us this” Leon teased as you both practised the knots you had learnt in today's training. However, curiosity had gotten the best of you and you were now outlining certain parts of his body with the ‘extra’ rope. Leon took it like a champ, he didn’t complain about what you were doing. Instead, he let out small breathy moans and whimpers when the rope brushed past his nipple or when your hand drifted lower. It was now hovering next to his hips, your brain processing if creating a harness was a good idea. After all, you were both just practising, right? 

During the lessons, it was hard not to notice Leon’s bulge as you both created the makeshift harness. His cargo trousers never did anything to hide that area anyway, every time he sat down it was painful not to look. The two of you were dormmates, after being the only two who didn’t mind the intersex room sharing in the whole camp. You had gotten along well, often sparing or training together out of hours. Krasuer had been impressed with your progress so he didn’t interfere. What he didn’t know was the benefit package you both had agreed on. At least to make the boot camp that much more bearable. 

Leon had caught on to what you wanted to do and nodded. His hands were already tied behind his back so he didn’t have any means to stop it and that to you made it slightly more exciting. “What if we tried it in different ways? Something more exciting?” You said nervously. You had both used each other for release, Leon more than you when the nightmares had gotten too bad from whatever he had endured. “I mean the black rope is hard to see on my cargo” he spoke up, his confirmation you could explore your sudden ideas. 

With his hands tied the task fell to you, your fingers shook as you worked on the button. You could feel him twitching underneath your touch as you undid the zip. Leon found the blush on your cheeks adorable as he watched you work. Your small gasp was like music to his cock as you looked at its prominent status in his boxers. “They are black too” You whispered. He almost didn’t hear it with how quiet you were. “You are so right” He chuckled. Another sign of his approval. You helped him pull down his trousers, his weeping cock now in view. His length curved slightly and that glorious vein was puffy - begging for you to drag your tongue up it. You worked quickly with the rope, focusing on the tension of the knots his body jolting as you moved him around. You could smell his arousal as the saltiness dripped down his length. 

Leon wanted nothing more than to shove your mouth over his cock. He could feel your breath against his skin tickling the gaps in between his hairs. Your hair strands touch the sensitive area in teasing strokes. The only issue, his hands were still tied behind his back. You looked so smug when you saw his forearms flexing to free himself. The rope budged to support the movements without hurting him but it was still tight enough that he couldn't slip free. What made it was now you had finished the harness, the rope sitting directly around his cock making it even more prominent. The slight pressure squeezed his balls together as he moved. Your touch was feather-like, further adding to the overstimulation of his mind. Your chuckle was evil, taunting him. 

“Do you need me to help you? It looks pretty sensitive” You muttered, your breath was so close. Breezing over the angry red tip. Leon groaned at your teasing, your bratty attitude beginning to turn him on even more. You had never gotten a chance to return the endless teasing he often gave to you. The constant nights of passing out of overstimulation finally looped back to him. What made it even better…he couldn’t do anything about it. “Baby I need you to suck my cock please…your breath is too much” Leon commanded. He was being polite you could give him that. 

Your fingers wormed their way underneath the rope tugging his hips towards you also causing it to tighten around his balls earning a glare from him. Your tongue licked up the small dribble of cum that was spilling down the side like candle wax, his groan was guttural. You were sure the room next door would be able to hear what you were both doing. “Stop being a brat” 

“Or what?” 

Leon scoffed, his arms flexing once against you as he desperately sought to punish you; to shove his cock so far down your throat you croaked at the next role call in the morning. You took some pity on him, sinking your warm mouth around his length and gagging slightly as you took as much of him in. Leon groaned again attempting to lift his hips to thrust his cock into your mouth but forgot the harness surrounding his hips and your fingers still gripping the ropes. His hips didn’t move far, his gaze meeting you with a less than amused look. 

You almost faltered and surrendered your control to him but you had outsmarted him this far. It would be a waste. So you hollowed out your cheeks and sucked, his tip hitting the back of your throat. Leon smirked as you gagged each time, he didn’t even have to force you to do it, you were just so dumb that you were doing it yourself. Despite the hold you had on the darkness, his balls practically bulging from between the ropes every time you tugged at them, he still had full control. You noticed he stopped struggling, instead, his eyes looked down at you, lust blowing them wide. His abs clenched as he drew closer to his finish. 

Leon didn’t look away from you as he came. He kept the dead eye contact as his cum shot down your throat spilling out the sides. He was impressed you still swallowed, wondering if you were going to let it go to waste by dribbling out was going to be part of your bratty mood tonight. Leon smirked when you removed yourself from his cock, watching as it now shined in the light covered in your spit. “Is it my turn to practice now?” Leon grinned.

Taglist: @kasueli@luvrgreyy@michellekmsh@miss0giarra@cinnabunnysavvy@redollface@my-loved-figure-skates@luvlouiee@drawboo22@moth-quasar@nyxxoxo@crazy-b1tch

[dirthamen-enjoyer]

please remember that this is all my personal thoughts and i might be wrong about some of the things. it is critical. this started off as one specific topic about solas and then ended up turning into more of a ramble. i guess? anyways spoilers for veilguard under the keep reading line.

i wish my brain worked properly sometimes because i really want to know why i feel like they didn't write solas cohesively enough. to me, he is the best part of datv. and no, it's not because i romanced him in inquisition. actually, i could never finish his romance because he was such a know-it-all and it would annoy me lol. (it's because i'm a know-it-all and know-it-alls tend to clash. i plan on forcing myself through it one day though.) despite him annoying me, i liked him as a character. i liked his reveal, the moral greyness of him.

i think mainly my problem is how they presented his morals and why he wants to tear down the veil. it feels like they couldn't decide how to focus him. so originally he's tearing down the veil because it was a mistake and wants the world to go back to the way it was so the days of the ancient elves - specifically after the evanuris are gone - could return, at least that's what i got from it.

then at the beginning of veilguard, it suddenly it feels like tearing the veil down is just a byproduct of him needing to move the last of the evanuris to a better prison. huh? in my head i always thought that solas was ready to fight the evanuris when the veil is brought down because he's willing to take the risk of dealing with them just to bring the old world back. maybe that's too headcanon-y? also i never got around to reading the books or comics fully so i might have missed some details.

then at the end it's "i must do this for mythal or her sacrifice would be for nothing" or whatever he said. huh? i don't get why it's suddenly about mythal, even with the regret murals showing how close they were. it should be about him and all he sacrificed, only for it to not go the way he wanted. without even talking about what was revealed in the regrets murals, he sacrificed the world he knew to lock the evanuris (and forgotten ones) away to try and make life better for the common elves, the slaves.

i don't know how well that last paragraph comes off. i'm just saying that it felt like it didn't belong. his whole story is about regrets, yes. makes sense. he regrets the events that happened because of the veil mistakenly happening. he regrets what's in the murals (which i might talk about in another post because :/) but the game acts like him tearing down the veil is just selfish. there's no other nuance there, it's just selfish. huh? there is so much nuance to this position, in my opinion, that i can't even figure out how to write it.

okay so i've officially lost my train of thought about this original topic, which means i don't know what else to put. i'll just say that i feel dumb that i don't understand it while it feels like everyone else does. also i don't understand why i dislike how everything ended for him. it was like someone punched me when lost elf started playing because this ending didn't feel right. and i don't know why. (that one ending... "i am a god!" bffr he would NAWT FUCKING say that.)

also let me just quickly state that i do not think they should have made the evanuris, and elves, originally spirits. it takes away the fantasy in a the fantasy story, is the best way to say it. i know it sounds weird, but... mysteries are good. not everything needs an explanation. we could have had the mystery of "what were the evanuris?" if they kept them as just gods instead of explaining them. just have the reveal be that the gods weren't good to their subjects and are all-powerful. no need to explain all the time.

this has nothing to do with how much i wanted to fight actual gods (i did. i wanted to go up against actual gods other than the archdemons. and we know that reveal :/ ) or even how much more impactful it would have made solas's history.

[mutalune]

I woke up at a reasonable time I contacted my realtor I picked out houses to look at this weekend I set up an appt with my mortgage person I did my dishes I did my laundry I took out the piles of trash/empty boxes/etc I decluttered every surface in my apartment I dusted I picked up so much junk that was on the floor I put clothes away I shoved a lot of stuff into boxes and put the boxes in a closet/corner/etc I cleaned my water bottle I cleaned the bathroom I cleaned the window and window sill that I use for late night moody gazing time I fed myself I reviewed my finances I brushed my cat

and I finally feel 72% less overwhelmed by life than I have in ages

All of this is stuff that has been needing done for a long while and somehow I’m supposed to manage these things while also working every day? I’m never going to manage that man I’m going to have to build in “get my life together” staycations into my work time off from now on which is. A bit annoying as that means I have less time off to use for fun things like ACTUALLY GOING ON VACATIONS and doing fun things but I will adjust my life as I need to remain sane because I will love myself and meet myself where I’m at instead of trying to force me to be a way that I’m not 😙

And now. It is 5PM. I have worked enough today. It’s now edible + sudoku + bob’s burgers time baybeeeee 😎

[chr0n1c-ag0ny]

(cw: talk of suicide, self harm, etc.)

Kunidazai's first kiss not being some moment of realization or confession of feelings, not some romance movie moment, it's not followed by smiles or laughs, or even words.

No.

Their first kiss came months after the pair had been partnered up at the ADA. Kunikida had thought he'd seen it all. He'd learned to call Dazai at least twice a day, once in the morning and once at night, three times if they didn't have work, more than that if Dazai never showed up. He'd learned how to tell a bad day from a bad day just by the sound of the other man's voice. He'd spent long nights and weekends and days off (most of which were sick days he took off for Dazai's sake) taking care of the other man, changing bandages hand holding his hand. He didn't think it could get any worse.

but it did, it found a way, Kunikida had stopped Dazai from genuinely making an attempt on his life (he'd stopped his more... spur of the moment attempts, the ones that had minimal effort or true intent to them, before. they were always scary even if he knew dazai would more or less walk away unscathed, but this was different), barging through his door just in time to keep the blade from hitting his wrist that final time.

Dazai wasn't there, for lack of a better word, sitting there, loosely conscious, as Kunikida re-wrapped new and old wounds, as he wiped the blood off of him, as he helped him change into new clothes. Kunikida could smell the alcohol wafting off of him, stared into blank, empty eyes, talked to deaf ears, hoping to coax his partner back from his absent haze, but nothing broke the blur his partner was stuck in.

he tugged him up off the floor and onto the couch, knowing it was a safe 'no-mans-land' both could sit on without waking up dark memories. he wanted to hold him, wanted to take him into his arms and never let go, but he didn't know if he was allowed, if he could touch Dazai like that, so he just sat and watched, not knowing what to do, when Dazai suddenly spoke.

"why?" his voice a whisper, "why do you even care so much?"

and he would try and put it into words, tried to tell him he deserved to be cared for and to have people worry for him, that he was his partner and it was his job to worry, that he loved him goddammit and he was scared of losing him, but nothing seems to reach Dazai.

he he leans forward, slow enough for Dazai to pull away even in the state he was in if need be, and kissed him. not on the lips, this wasn't a profession of love, no, no he presses his lips to the curve between his nose and his cheek.

- I don't want to lose you. I love you. it hurts and is stained with tears, but it's there and I don't want it to go away. I don't want you to go away. stay here, please, please stay here - He hopes to say.

the kiss is soft, so soft he's not sure Dazai could feel it, but any firmer and he thinks he might shatter his partner. He keeps placing little butterfly kisses to his cheek and the bridge of his nose regardless, tasting the salt of their shared tears. he doesn't even know why he did it, it wasn't something he ever thought of doing, but he didn't know how else to tell Dazai how he felt, so he showed him.

Dazai sinks into it, tries to make Kunikida kiss him in earnest, but Kunikida knows better than to try and let Dazai self medicate with physical affections, and instead takes him close, hugging him tighter than he's ever hugged anyone before, as if to hold the brunette together. Dazai lets him with a huff. Kunikida rests his lips against the man's greasy hair, holding his partner as close as he could. they're both crying. it hurts. the kiss burned and ached and might as well be a bruise festering on both of their faces. but neither of them would trade it for the world, cause there is some understanding in it.

Dazai calls Kunikida next time.

[millerflintstone]

This made me laugh, made me muse introspectively, got distracted doing that and then while scrolling tumblr on my phone, went back and replayed parts especially 16:26 through about 16:50.