#cheap water filter

[humhowellujah]

i'm drunk off two lavender martinis what the fuck do you MEAN dan and phil went on a step by step recreation of their japan trip as a part of a HONEYMOON episode for their sims. be so fr rn be so serious please. dan howell you have 4 minutes to respond . phil, keep it up babygirl. lavender martini recipe in the tags

[fellator]

anyway it's just that im sharing an apartment now and im somewhat mindblown by how easier things can be

[pisciformshenanigans]

Hm... while Ramen and Udon seem to usually get along fine, I am seeing some chasing and nipping going on :/ And I don't think I actually CAN put Ramen back in the 5 gallon, not without severely stressing the shrimp. I might have to set up the 3 gallon again and put her in there if she keeps being like this. Disappointed, but I knew this was a possibility. 3 gallons is smaller than I'd really like for a betta but it's what I have on hand.

I COULD see if I can snag the 5 gallon my work is using to display the christmas decorations, although that's where I got a different 3 gallon for my fiancée (which hasn't been set up kdsjf) so idk if they'll let me take two tanks in a row. They probably will, because otherwise they just have to throw it out since we can't sell tanks that've had water in them.

[tucsontoiletrepair]

Plumbing Service Tucson

[greenglowinspooks]

Thinkin about a DCxDP where Danny’s helping ghosts find peace while he’s laying low in Gotham.

Like, he moved away from Amity for whatever reason. Maybe the reveal went badly, maybe he just couldn’t stand staying any longer. For whatever reason, he’s in Gotham, because the rent is cheap and he’s nowhere near the strangest thing there so no one looks at him twice.

However, this city is cursed. Like, cursed beyond cursed. It’s actively alive with how many curses there are, and the ghosts there are extremely unhappy about it.

(Of course, that’s not a problem for Danny. His ghost side filters out the toxic smog and the chemicals in the water, and his human side gives a resistance to the rank ecto and the hexes that are actively trying to devour him.)

He doesn’t really want to do anything about it, to be honest.

He’s sick of playing hero, considering how it went last time, and he’s busy working at Waffle House or Walmart or whatever other store doesn’t bother doing a background check (in Gotham, that’s probably all of them), and maybe trying to find a way to get highschool credits that don’t immediately disqualify him from every college in existence.

Still, the ghosts know he can hear them. They know, and they keep coming for help.

So, hey, why not? He definitely can’t put this as experience in any sort of job application, but he really doesn’t have much else to do.

So, he becomes errand boy for a bunch of ghosts.

Sometimes he’s finding objects that are important to them, sometimes he’s giving evidence they collected together of their murders to the police, sometimes he’s getting them the last meal they never had, sometimes he’s just spending time with them like they’re not dead.

The ghosts don’t always move on, but they’re always more at peace. Occasionally they pay him back in charms and blessings and the locations of valuables that he can keep or pawn for cash.

Eventually, a new ghost shows up.

She looks like a shadow, like all the ghosts of Gotham, but she seems stronger than usual. She asks him for a favor that those who came before him were never able to fulfill.

She asks him to find her engagement ring, and give it to her son.

Easy enough, he thinks. It’s a bit of a pain to buy the ring from the seedy pawn shop it’s in (he would usually just steal it, but he doesn’t want to implicate her kid in anything, which she seems grateful for), but everything’s going mostly alright.

Then, she tells him who her son is, and wow, no wonder no one’s helped her yet.

He’s Red Hood. The guy who is(/was) the crime lord in charge of crime alley. The title sounds a bit stupid to Danny, but he’s still a genuine threat to a living person.

Good thing he’s not one of those.

And so, the next time he sees Red Hood out and about, he goes right up to him. The man seems mostly unbothered, but Danny does notice how his hand slightly drifts towards one of his many weapons.

He tells Red Hood outright that he’s there on behalf of the man’s mother, then just holds out his hand with the ring inside, dropping it into Red Hood’s open palm.

Then he leaves, not waiting for a response.

—

Jason has a mystery on his hands, and he might just cash in some favors from Babs and Tim to figure it out.

He’s got to find the guy who gave him his mother’s ring, and find out everything he knows.

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic! Danny Pt.9

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.10]

"Fan-sea meeting you here. You must be Phantom!"

Danny slowly turned around, grin blinding. "I shore am. Who's asking?"

Danny knew exactly who was asking. Bludhaven's vigilante, Nightwing. If the giant dark blue bird emblazoned on the front of his suit didn't give it away, the friendly demeanor and the puns would have. Plus, now that Danny's figured out who Tim was, the rest were pretty simple dots to be connected.

"Hi. I'm Nightwing. Thanks for saving Batman."

"I am Phantom. You are welcome. Please lecture him on the necessity of keeping the waters clean."

"Uh, I think he knows," Nightwing grinned. “So, why are you cleaning Gotham’s bay? I heard the Atlantic is nice this time of year.”

“Exactly. This?” Danny flapped a gloved hand around them, specifically at the moldy docks and the paint scraped board. “This is not nice. If it were nice, I wouldn’t need to be cleaning it. Look at that paint! It’s flaking off into the water! Does Gotham not have proper boat maintainance? That’s dangerous for the waters and seafarers!”

“Woah, you know a lot about boats,” Nightwing commented, crossing his arms and leaning back. What the hero didn’t know was that he knew more about boats than Danny did, as Danny’s hyper fixation was more focused on space ships and Dick had education à la maison de Bruce Wayne which usually meant an absurd amount of information for someone who doesn’t actually use boats as a regular mode of transportation.

“Rust! Rust is very much a thing!” Danny ranted, using his ice to scoop up water and using it like a makeshift filter. “It weakens bonds! It’s a tetanus hazard! And oh, don’t even get me started on how you people mutated the ocean life!”

“Mutated ocean life? I’m pretty sure we hadn’t. It’s just a little weird, right?”

Without another word, Danny dove into the weird ecosystem that was the Gotham bay. He came back holding a wriggling green thing the size of a worm.

“Do you know what this is?” Danny demanded. The thing flopped around on his gloved hands.

“A sea monkey?”

“They’re brine shrimp. Brine. Shrimp. Do you know what regular brine shrimp look like???” Danny shoved the thing at Nightwing, who took a step back.

“Not like that?” He replied, a quizzical look on his face.

“No, not like that! What in the ancients is this?!” Danny waved the weird sea brine that had started glowing faintly, like Danny’s natural ectoplasm glow. “Far be it from me of all people to judge evolution but this was all man made!” Danny gently tossed the brine shrimp back into the bay. “Brine shrimp is staple food for the ocean! You’ve got weird brine shrimp? You’ve got weird fish! Why is it impossible for this place to, for even one day, refrain from dumping hazardous chemicals or dead bodies in the water?”

“Ooookay, how about we take a breather?” Nightwing quickly glanced around, trying to find something to change the subject, feeling oddly guilty at the earnest expression on the kid’s face. “Uh, I was actually wondering if you’d swing by the waters near Blüd?”

Danny crossed his arms. “I clean the waters as a past time because you humans don’t know how to keep it clean. I am not a personal, on call, seakeeper.”

“Batman will pay you for your time,” Dick offered. Danny straightened. Amity didn’t actually cost that much to live well, but Gotham was a whole other ball park. The rent might be dirt cheap for a city, but the special pricey little add ons such as gas masks and space level insulation on top of the sky high insurance policies were draining what’s left of his half dead soul. As they say, Danny was a city dweller first and Phantom second.

“How much, when, and I won’t fish up the bodies unless he pays me extra.”

“Four thousand base pay, extra one hundred per identity, fifty for bodies with no shades, and on the weekends.”

Danny straightened as his mother’s steel spine, Jazz’s whip sharp wit, and his own craftiness made their appearance as he bargained. “Five thousand. Rate agreed, but I can only do every other weekends and I’ll have to call out some days.”

“Okay.” Nightwing rocked back on his heels with an affable smile. It’s Bruce’s money and it’s going towards his probable future baby brother, after all, even if said baby brother is a dead immortal Atlantis founder. Or something.

Danny groaned. “You are supposed to bargain back. But I’ll take it.”

“Great! Who do we got tonight?” Nightwing looked down at the plastic/burlap wrapped person Danny dragged onto the shores a bit ago.

“The lake kept the body cold, so it should be preserved adequately if you want to examine him,” Danny tilted his head to the side, the flames of his hair tilting with him. “He said his name is Gorganzo Bean.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s a nickname he got for eating a whole can of beans straight.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it. Any more details?”

“Sure.”

When Danny reached to take the money from Nightwing, he found that the hero had tightened his grip on it.

Danny pointedly dropped his gaze from Nightwing’s face to the money.

“Wait. I- I heard from a source that you could possibly smell souls.”

Danny yanked the cash out of Nightwing’s hand and shoved it into his shoulder. If that didn’t confirm Nightwing’s identity, he doesn’t know what would other than the guy telling Danny who he was. “You’ve been speaking with Danny. Yes, I can.”

“Can you tell what’s wrong with my brother?” Nightwing blurted out.

Danny stared at him, his legs flickering in and out to his tail form. “…Other than dressing in probably leather or Kevlar and going out to beat criminals with his bare hands?”

Nightwing opened and closed his mouth. He coughed awkwardly. “Other than that. Why is he- um, stinky? Soul-wise,” Nightwing added, clearly humoring the tinny little voice at the base of his temples that was an annoyed Red Hood saying that he showered. “He showers often. And is definitely not stinky body odor wise.”

“I am not a doctor. Well, not now anyways,” Danny said, thinking about his future PhD. “But he’s got a… soul infection. His natural immunity- all souls have a natural immunity against regular outside influences- is working hard to repel the equivalence of chronic bronchitis.”

“There’s… no way to help him?”

“I never said that,” Danny tilted his head. “Bring your brother to meet Danny. He could probably handle it.”

“The civilian?”

“His parents hunted my kind, once. He helped protect me and my people. If anyone knows how to cure it, it would be him.”

Phantom could not afford to deal with this right now, because Danny had a presentation tomorrow that he needed to finish.

“Oh. Thank you, Phantom.” Nightwing said, looking relieved and pensive. Danny decided right then and there that was Future Danny’s problem.

Danny nodded distractedly, blinking out.

He blinked back in. Nightwing jerked back. “Do you happen to have any examples of corrupt politicians in Gotham?”

Nightwing blinked before laughing. “It’d probably be easier to name the ones that aren’t.”

“Good to know. Thank you!”

——

A couple of days later, Tim and two older guys ambushed him in the quad.

“Hi! I’m Dick! This is my brother Jason! We’re Tim’s older brothers!”

Danny looked down at his hand- trapped in an overexcited handshake- and back up at Dick.

Whatever expression he was making, it must have been ha-fucking-larious because Tim and Jason burst out into laughter. Danny cursed his past self.

“Yeah?” Danny blinked. Wait. His smile grew and he made a face like he just realized something. “Oh. So you’re Nightwing?”

The laughter cut off.

“Haha, what?”

“Phantom told me you’d be coming but I, uh, thought you’d be in gear. Not… straight up telling me who you are?”

“You’re in regular contact with Phantom?” Tim demanded.

“Yeah, dude. After you- wait, you’re Red Robin!” Danny whispered.

“Oh shit, B’s gonna be pissed,” Jason drawled, looking mildly amused and hiding an extremely cautious, possibly lethal (if it weren’t for the fact that Danny’s pretty much impossible to kill with regular weapons) reaction.

“You’re one to talk. I’d smell your soul no matter what your disguise was.”

“…About that.”

——

You might be wondering: wouldn’t Dick know not to show up in civvies?

Yes. Except for the fact that Tim stalked Danny for weeks after he met Phantom and Danny hadn’t hung out with (himself) at all. They think Danny doesn’t know Phantom well enough to even talk to him much, despite being from the same town because: they’re all big city kids and have never experienced small town solidarity and, more importantly, gossip grapevines + they have no idea these two are the same people.

A deleted scene:

“When did you have time to talk to Phantom?” Tim demanded. Jason nudged Tim. That had hinted too much at what Tim was doing on his off hours and stalking was usually frowned upon.

“When I wasn’t talking to you, duh.”

[hoshifighting]

WARNINGS: non-stabilished relationship, oral (f.receiving), big!cock vernon, semi-public sex, reader is bent over the university's rooftop railing, alcohol, hangover, ditch classes, mentions of getting caught,

thinking about college fling!vernon so badddd 😫

college fling!vernon that you would meet in one of those lame college dorm things that somehow ends up being packed even though the music’s trash, drinks are watered down, and you can’t move without bumping into some dude playing beer pong way too seriously. seungkwan’s buzzing around, doing his best “life of the party” impression, talking to anyone who’ll listen—mostly about how great his friend vernon is (the boy that looked too quiet for the setting) “you gotta meet him,” seungkwan had said earlier, face glowing like he'd just won the lottery. you’d been mid-sip of some cheap punch that tasted more like regret than alcohol. but you nodded because why not? you’re there, stuck, might as well meet the guy.

so here you are, watching vernon from across the room, trying to look like you’re not watching him. he's got this frank ocean shirt on, the one that’s slightly faded, like it’s seen too many nights like this, and you can’t help it—you have to comment on it, break the ice before this gets any more awkward. “nice shirt,” you say, sliding up next to him, trying to sound casual like you didn’t just spend the last five minutes psyching yourself up to say that.

vernon looks at you, and there’s this second where you swear he’s sizing you up, not in a judgy way, just like... observing. “thanks,” he replies, voice low, almost lazy. “you a fan?” you nod, and he gives you this small, almost imperceptible smile. it’s the kind of smile that makes you feel like you’ve passed some sort of test, like you said the right thing. and just like that, the awkwardness melts. he loves music, that much is clear, and suddenly you’re talking about frank ocean’s best album like you’ve known each other for years.

the thing with vernon? he doesn’t say much. but he’s got this way of looking at you—direct, almost too direct, like he’s daring you to break the eye contact first. you’re talking, yeah, but his eyes are doing most of the work. they flicker over you in that slow, lazy way, like he’s got all the time in the world to take you in, to make you squirm.

and you do squirm. because damn, when was the last time someone looked at you like that? like they see you?

he doesn't try to hide it either—the fact that he finds you hot. there’s no playing it cool with vernon, no pretending he’s just here for the conversation. but he’s not crass about it; it’s more subtle than that. like, instead of throwing some cheesy pick-up line your way, he just lets his eyes do the talking, like the way they drop to your lips when you laugh, or the way they linger on the curve of your neck when you turn your head. it’s fucking magnetic, honestly. you’re not even sure if you’re saying anything coherent anymore, but you’re still talking because it feels like a game now. you want to see how long you can keep this up, how long you can hold his gaze without breaking.

so, somehow, after that intense stare-off that lasted way too long, the night blurred after things got a little hazy after the third round of whatever cheap alcohol was in that red solo cup. the party faded into background noise, and all you could really focus on was vernon—how his hand would brush against yours, how his eyes didn’t leave your face, even when you weren't looking. and damn, the way he kissed you, slow at first, but chocking you at the same time, had you practically yanking him back to your room by the end of the night.

college fling!vernon that is butt-naked in your bed in the morning. as you wake up to a dull throb in your head and an even duller one between your legs, the kind of discomfort that reminds you exactly what went down last night. you hiss, eyes squinting against the light filtering in through your half-assed curtains, feeling the sheets sticking to your bare skin.

you groan, sitting up slowly, body protesting every movement. your legs feel a little wobbly, and as the blanket shifts, you wince at the slight sting between your thighs. it’s not intolerable, but enough to remind that you definitely overdid it.

vernon stirs beside you, stretching out like a cat before blinking his eyes open. he sees you, and without a word, sits up, grabbing a half-empty water bottle from your desk. instead of handing it to you like a normal person, he holds it out without the cap—just letting you sip straight from it. it’s messy, some of the water spills on your chest, but whatever, you’re too thirsty to care. you down it in a couple of gulps, the cool liquid soothing your dry throat.

you’re about to bitch about it, complain about your sore muscles or whatever, but vernon’s eyes are already on you, half-lidded but sharp, like he knows exactly what’s going on in that head of yours. before you can even think about capping the bottle, vernon’s already leaning down, shifting the covers off of you, and making his way between your legs. “gonna help with that hangover,” he murmurs, hands gently parting your thighs as he settles down, face close enough to your core that your breath catches. and yeah, you’re hungover, sore, but the second his mouth touches you, all that discomfort? gone.

he’s sloppy, so sloppy, like he’s thirsty for it. his tongue drags over you in these messy, wet strokes that have you gasping, body tensing under his touch. vernon’s got this way of eating you out that’s chaotic and precise. like, one second he’s all over the place, licking you like he can’t get enough, and the next, he’s right there, focused on your clit, swirling his tongue in tight circles that make your toes curl.

“shit, vernon,” you gasp, your hand instinctively finding his hair, tugging as he goes at it like it’s his fucking job.

the slurping, the little moans he’s making like he’s the one getting off—it’s obscene. he’s not even trying to be neat about it, just going all in, licking you like he’s lost in it, like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. and honestly? u don’t want him to. not with the way your hips are lifting off the bed, chasing his mouth, chasing that high that’s building so fast it’s almost embarrassing. your hand shoots to his hair, tangling in it, pulling him closer because jesus christ, this is—

“so fucking good—ah!”

your body arches off the bed, thighs trembling as he pushes you over the edge faster than you can even process. the orgasm slams into you, fast and hard, and all you can do is ride it out, his mouth still on you, not stopping until you’re completely wrecked. you cum in record time, panting and shaking, and vernon pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like it was nothing.

“feel better now?” he asks, voice all smug and hoarse, and you want to say something—anything—but your brain’s too scrambled to form words. he chuckles, before crawling back up the bed, like he didn’t just ruin you before breakfast. he knows he’s got you.

college fling! vernon that when you’re sitting in class, staring at some powerpoint slides that you know you're never going to remember, your phone buzzes in your lap. half paying attention, you glance down at the screen. it's a message from vernon, and already, a smirk tugs at the corner of your lips because you know this dude barely makes it through class without some kinda stunt.

“yo. wanna ditch?” is all it says, and you can already picture him slouched in the back row of his own class, practically melting from boredom. god, he’s so bad at hiding when he’s bored. you bite your lip, torn between ignoring it like a good student or just saying fuck it—like you always do when it comes to him. why even pretend? with a quick glance to make sure the professor’s not paying attention, you text back:

“where we going?”

he sends the location pin. and it’s for the rooftop.

now, you know the university rooftop’s supposed to be off-limits. it’s plastered with no entry signs, and apparently, they’ve got some security guards roaming around to make sure no one goes up there. but vernon? he doesn’t give a fuck about rules, and, honestly, neither do you when he’s involved.

five minutes later, you’re sneaking out of class, the adrenaline already starting to build as you make your way up the stairwell, heart racing. when you finally push open the heavy door to the rooftop, vernon’s already there, leaning against the rail, hat on backwards, that signature lazy grin spreading across his face when he sees you.

“thought you might leave me hangin’,” he teases, eyes flicking down to your legs as you walk up to him.

“you wish,” you scoff, rolling your eyes but feeling the heat rise between you two the second you’re standing next to him. the air up here is cooler, but with vernon looking at you like that? it’s making it hot, at least down there.

“so... what now?” you ask, though you know exactly what he’s got in mind.

he doesn’t answer right away, just steps behind you, hands sliding down your waist, squeezing your hips as he pushes you gently toward the railing. “bend over,” he mutters.

you hesitate for a second, glancing at the drop below you. “you want me to fall off this fucking roof?”

vernon laughs under his breath, stepping closer until his body presses into yours. “nah, i got you. promise.”

you roll your eyes but do as he says, leaning over the edge, gripping the metal railing for balance. your heart’s pounding in your chest, half from the thrill of getting caught, half from the fact that you’re so fucking turned on. and when you bend over, purposely sticking your ass out, vernon lets out a low whistle.

“goddamn,” he mutters, hands gripping your hips harder, fingers digging into your skin. “you always gotta tease me like that?”

“maybe,” you throw over your shoulder, a smug smile on your lips as you give your hips a little shake, knowing exactly what you’re doing to him.

“fuck.” he groans, and you can hear him fumbling with his belt behind you. the sound of the metal buckle makes your breath catch, and soon his cock’s out, heavy against your skin as he drags it along your entrance. he’s teasing you back now, taking his time, like he’s trying to make you beg for it.

“you want it?” his voice a little strained. you can almost picture the way his brows are furrowed, cheeks probably turning pink from how hard he is.

“you’re too fucking big to be playing games like this, vernon,” you shoot back, though the words come out breathier than you intended.

that makes him pause, his grip on your hips tightening, and when he finally slides inside you, you feel the stretch—god, you feel all of him. it makes you gasp, your fingers clutching the metal railing as your body adjusts to how thick he is, pushing in until he's buried to the hilt. vernon’s groan is low and drawn out, like he’s losing his mind a little, too. “shit. you—” he starts, voice hitching, “you feel so fucking good.” you moan in response, pushing back against him, and that’s all he needs. he grabs you by the waist, holding you tight—so tight you’re sure there’ll be bruises tomorrow—and starts fucking into you, each thrust rocking your body against the railing.

“hold on,” he growls, one hand sliding up your back to grip your shoulder, pulling you back against him, making sure you don’t fall forward. the metal of the railing digs into your stomach, but you’re too lost in the feeling of him pounding into you to care. your knees r weak, but vernon’s holding you so tightly that you don’t even have to think about standing.

“fuck, vernon,” you moan, turning your head to try and catch a glimpse of him. his jaw’s clenched, beads of sweat gathering at his temple, but when he catches your eye, he looks embarrassed for a split second.

you manage a smirk. “you’re—fuck—big.”

he blushes, actually blushes, but he doesn’t stop. if anything, he fucks you harder, grunting something that sounds like an unite of a complaint and a thank you. his hat’s still backwards, so you grab it, yanking him down into a sloppy kiss, lips crashing together as his hips slam into you, fucking you into the rooftop’s edge.

he pulls away just long enough to bite out, “we’re gonna get caught if you keep moaning like that.”

“then stop fucking me so good,” you snap back, voice shaky as he hits that perfect spot inside you.

vernon just grins, all cocky now, and mutters, “never.” with a deep thrust that makes you see white, angels and everything.

he doesn’t stop until you’re both cumming, bodies so in sync that you don’t even notice the footsteps until they’re too close. panic flickers in your chest as you realize someone’s coming—probably a guard—but vernon just pulls out quick, shoving you behind a vent as the guard makes his rounds. both of you are a sweaty, fucked-out mess, trying not to laugh as you adjust your clothes, and vernon gives you one of those signature smirks.

“guess we’ll have to finish this next time”

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

Basically, it’s discovered that to help stabilize Danielle, aka Ellie, it’d be best to have her be smaller. She refused to be turned into a kid by Frostbite/her own power ability, when Danny remembered the shrink ray his parents made. The side effect is that they’re kind of stuck as humans when they’re that small—they can use some ghost powers, but basically, it’s a weird side effect of the shrink ray. That’s canon, by the fucking way, lmao

Anyways, so Ellie agrees, and Danny will shrink himself with the ray to her size to help her out when needed/when she wants company her size, with Jazz, Sam, and Tucker occasionally helping out. Sam buys one of those really ornate Victorian dollhouses, with wooden everything, and Danny does some… renovations… so that it no longer opens and is a proper house. There’s still some oddities because it’s a dollhouse originally, but it was easier and faster to give her a home. One of the first additions was a water/wastewater system, followed like two hours later by an electrical system. Since it was so small, Danny was able to do it fairly quickly in his big size, occasionally going small and using the small window for using his powers to double check on things.

The water system had to be refilled every week, unless hooked up to a plumbing system in a house, which Danny made some outlets for in Jazz’s room—it was easier and had significantly less questions/didn’t stand out as much if placed in Jazz’s room. They usually did it every three days, though, as the plug-in process was still a bit… hinky. The tanks for holding the water were in the ‘basement’, which was mostly inaccessible from the inside of the dollhouse but basically looked like a big stand the dollhouse stayed on. Like someone ripped a full house out of the ground WITH the basement attached. There was a small access hallway down some stairs in the house for the clean water system, though.

The electric system was fairly simple, as it didn’t cost much energy to light a dollhouse and heat/cool water. There was an AC unit, Ellie’s request, but it hardly was used and was fairly efficient just due to pure size. It was fueled by ecto batteries, which Danny made sure had a few rechargability options—just because it was efficient energy didn’t mean it didn’t ever need recharging. There was a very small ecto filter, but due to its relative small size, was easy to clean and was fairly stable, so they had a whole closet of them just chilling out, both filled and empty. The battery itself could be charged by ecto sources, Danny’s own blood, or ambient ectoplasm gained by using something that looked like a solar panel and a satellite dish had a child that the batter could be placed in. The hookup also allowed for like… normal D cell batteries.

They would buy dollhouse furniture, and occasionally just buy the big version then shrink it down. Ellie had a huge old house to herself, basically, might as well go ham. And she had a fun time with the designer doll clothes Sam liked to get, although the cheap doll clothes from the store were also fun. Best option was just buying normal clothes and shrinking them, but using things that were already small or just making stuff using normal sized objects was fun.

At some point, though, the Fenton siblings decide to go on a trip. Ellie begs to be taken along, and Jazz agrees—there’s a doll showcase in Gotham, and Jazz wanted to see if anything caught Ellie’s interest. Danny, having a room in the dollhouse himself, also went along. Might as well make it a sibling’s trip, right?

Ellie can be full size for small chunks of time, which they did while exploring the expo. They found some cool things to add, and some doll clothes Ellie was far too interested in trying on, as well as some to force on Danny later. He sighed, but like—that’s his little cousin-sister, he’d put up with it. After all, he learned how to plumb an entire (miniature) house in two days when she refused to move in until it had a fully functional bathroom, so.

Anyways!

They have a fun time, and sure, lugging the relatively giant dollhouse was a PAIN, but it was Ellie’s home, and some stabilizing tech made it relatively safe to move without risking everything freaking breaking. They load everything in again, and the dollhouse is now restocked with clothes, tiny furniture, and a lot of shrunken supplies—some foods are just hard to work with full size, and are easier to shrink, okay? Also soap, paper goods, pencils and pens, books, etc. Jazz loads the thing into her car, and Danny offers to stay with Ellie in the dollhouse—so Jazz gets them in, and shrinks them down, holding onto the shrink ray in the meantime.

All is going relatively well in Gotham traffic until there’s a rogue attack.

Go figure.

Jazz ends up unconscious, and Danny and Ellie can’t do anything before the rogue is taken care of and a paramedic team comes up. They hide back in the dollhouse, listening as the medics say she seems to be okay, just unconscious. A relief, but now they’re taking Jazz away. Fenton luck states she’s one of the few actually injured. The Bat Brigade comes by, and Batman notices that there’s a wallet for one Danny Fenton. Red Robin confirms that Jazz was likely here with at least two other people, based on the ticket stubs for the expo. However, there is a strange lack of social media presence, Danny doesn’t have a photo ID, and there’s no way of knowing for SURE that it was just Danny with her, if it was just two other people, or if Danny was in the car with her. Still, as they can’t find him but DO have his sister and his wallet, they assume he might be missing, possibly kidnapped.

The Gotham PD of course take in the car, although it’s pretty trashed. Knowing well and good that the dollhouse and such things are actually quite expensive, Commissioner Gordon mentions that it wouldn’t be a bad idea for Batman to maybe hold onto the Fenton’s things that *aren’t* related to the investigation.

Batman just takes everything. Including a rather peculiar looking gun that seems to have sustained some damage during the attack and car crash.

Gordon sighs. Figures.

So, Danny and Ellie end up in Wayne Manor. Most of the things end up in the Batcave, but Alfred insists that they place the doll things upstairs in the manor proper—the cave isn’t *that* damp, but doll things are small and delicate. So, upstairs they go.

At first, it’s fine. Danny and Ellie are fine in the dollhouse, and it’ll be at least a week before any of the systems NEED to be worked with.

Then Ellie ends up with a massive migraine. She gets them, on occasion, a sort of growing pain. Usually, they just shrink some medicine for her as she needs it, because she’s like—twelve. While they did have some medicine that had been pre-shrunk, when they were stocking up in Gotham, it turns out pain medicine was more expensive there. Not by much, but they figured—they’ll just stock up in Amity Park, they’ll be there in two days.

Haha. Nope.

So, Danny finally has to venture out. He lucks into finding the first aid kit—why there was one in the main living room, he’s not sure—and is currently working on trying to get open the blister packet of an ibuprofen when Alfred finds him.

Alfred stares at this tiny boy with a tiny make-shift knife trying to get into… over the counter pain medication.

Danny stares at this butler guy who had very gently cleaned the outside and noted the strange fact that the dollhouse did not open.

Danny waves at Alfred.

Alfred waves a tiny finger back.

“Hello,” Alfred says softly, which is fantastic because loud noises could get painful—part of the reason for Ellie’s headache was an argument between Tim and Damian. “How do you do?”

Danny hesitates, before he makes an exaggerated so-so gesture.

“You understand me?”

Danny nods—it’s rare for people to understand what he’s saying when he’s 5 inches tall.

“How wonderful,” Alfred smiles. “And how can I help our young guest tonight?”

Danny gestures to the blister packet.

“Pain medication? Isn’t that a little bit large for you.”

The teen thinks for a second on how to communicate. He points to the pill, then makes a slight show of pretending to grind something, like a mortar and pestle.

Thankfully, Alfred got the idea. “Would it be easier if I ground it up for you?”

Danny takes a moment to think before accepting with an enthusiastic nod.

“Very well,” Alfred says, taking the blister packet in one hand. He then hold his other out, palm up, like a platform. “Would you like to come with me?”

Danny ‘his survival instincts died when he did’ Fenton gets into Alfred’s hand.

Alfred grinds up the pill into a fine powder. Danny hands him a tiny bottle—still large in Danny’s hands, as it was not a shrunk bottle—that he had tied around his waist. Alfred fills it, and hands it back.

“I assume you came from the tiny house we have in our living room?”

Danny again nods. Alfred takes him there, setting him down outside the front door. Danny bows, and sure it’s Japanese as hell, and he’s white as all get out, but it’s a generally understood gesture of thanks. He hopes.

Alfred understands it just fine. “I bid you goodnight, then. Perhaps we will talk more, when you are feeling better?”

Danny hesitates, again, but he nods. Alfred had been nice enough, so far.

Danny heads in, quickly measuring out the medicine—shrunk pressure plates and scales and weights made what it was measuring relative—to him the weights on the hand balance scale felt the same weight. Ellie got her medicine, and they both went back to sleep.

He told her in the morning what happened. Ellie was strangely gung-ho about meeting this butler guy, and so—when no one else was around—, she and Danny went onto the tiny balcony as Alfred came in to dust.

“Oh my,” he said. “There’s two of you, now. Should I expect more?”

Both of them did an exaggerated ‘no’ dance.

“Very well, I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself. I’m Alfred Pennyworth, the family butler. Welcome to Wayne Manor.”

[fumekara]

ALL THE THINGS I HAVE DONE (Final part)

SatoSugu x Gn reader 

Plot: Your relationship with the strongest sorcerers in Japan was falling apart after they yelled at you and broke your heart. 

n/a: English is not my first language, there will be a final part of this writing experiment, I am not very satisfied with how it came out. I know this is probably not the ending you were expecting. 

Tw: A lot of angst, fluff, comfort, mention of sex, polyamorous relationship, mention of the death of one's pet, the reader has a cat, in this version Geto is a sorcerer. 

If you are sensitive to mourning for your pets, do not interact with this fic. 

WC: 2K

Click here for part 1 part2

You woke up blinded by the sunlight filtering through your bedroom window. Your eyes were swollen and sore from crying the night before. You felt a lack at the side of your bed and realized that Satoru and Suguru were not with you. Still groggy from waking up, you sat up and turned your attention to the bedside table to your left to check what time it was. You noticed, however, a glass of water, a muffin and a note with a message written on it that you were sure were not there the night before. You take the note in your hand and immediately recognise Suguru's handwriting. 

We went out on an errand, we'll be back soon'.

Sighing, you brought the note to your face, as if trying to get something from it, like the warmth of the people who had cradled you and held you in their arms yesterday. 

You didn't know where they might have gone, but you wanted to be with them, wanting to understand at all costs what would become of you from now on. 

You had met the boys through Shoko, who was a close friend of yours in university days and had introduced you to her friends when you had all gone out together to celebrate your graduation. Although you were a bit shy at first and talked only to Shoko when you were sitting at a karaoke table, you managed to have a rather pleasant conversation with the two boys. 

As time went by, you became more and more friendly with each other and went out more and more often with Gojo and Geto, even when Shoko wasn't with you, you enjoyed their company, you liked the fact that Gojo and Geto were so different, but still managed to find their stability in being together. They soon grew fond of you and began to be more open with you, their trust in you had strengthened and they showed genuine happiness in being with you. As a result, you could not help but have feelings for them, which gradually grew as your friendship continued. 

You had become friends and remained friends even when Gojo and Geto got together. You knew it would happen sooner or later from the way they treated each other, plus you knew their history, since they had confided in you, during one of the evenings spent together watching movies, that they had been through a lot of bad times together. You were happy for them, really, but a part of you was unhappy that you could not be part of that unbreakable bond. 

At the time you were living together, after graduation you had decided to look for a flat in Tokyo to start your career, and since they had a spare room at home, they offered to put you up. 

You were sure you would only inconvenience the couple and didn't know what your life would be like knowing you were living under the same roof as them. You hadn't told anyone about your feelings for them, not even Shoko. They assured you that they would be happier to have you as a roommate and that you could never be a nuisance, since you were a close friend of theirs, and that they would never allow you to live in a dingy cheap flat until you finally settled down with your job. 

And so you did, you went to live with them and were relieved that they both agreed to let you take Nuko with you. Moreover, living with them was great from day one. When you got up in the morning, you would find Suguru in the kitchen preparing breakfast and greeting you with a 'Good morning love', showing you his beautiful smile as always. Gojo, who to tease you would put some items on the shelves and top shelves and then laugh when you got nervous with him because you couldn't reach them, and every time he would muss your hair with his hand when he returned it to you doing his usual cheeky grin. Sometimes you would fall asleep on the sofa with your legs tangled during movie nights, sometimes both of you and sometimes you would spend evenings sitting on the sofa late into the night talking about silly things, deep thoughts about the most existential questions or the doubts and fears that tormented you. 

Even when you managed to settle down in Tokyo and in your job you stayed living with them and they were fine with that.

Everything changed the day they asked you to become part of their relationship. They had both grown fond of you and, although at first you thought they had asked you in order to offer you a friendship with benefits, you realized that the more time passed, the more your triangular relationship turned into something absolutely wonderful. The months spent with them made you feel happy and fulfilled and you felt complete. 

But now what was left, what would become of you from now on?.

________

At noon it began to rain and meanwhile you were preparing lunch while waiting for Satoru and Suguru to return. As you boiled the rice, you turned your head towards the bowl still full from the day before yesterday that lay in the corner of the kitchen floor and once belonged to Nuko. You sighed sadly and went back to work, deciding to chop some vegetables. 

Suddenly you heard the sound of keys turning the lock of the front door: they were back. 

"Hey, Y/N, where are you?" you heard Satoru call out to you. "I'm in the kitchen," you replied, continuing to cut. 

Hearing their footsteps heading towards the kitchen, you decided to turn around and not look back. "I'm making saffron rice for lunch," you said not knowing what to do in that situation. 

You turned your head slightly for a moment and then returned to what you were doing. You saw them on the threshold of the kitchen door, both slightly wet and Satoru was holding something in his hand, although you saw it in passing without realizing what it was. 

You could feel their gazes on you and you were sure they wanted to talk about what had happened in the last two days and that perhaps it would lead to you breaking up. 

"Y/N can you come here for a moment?" asked Satoru in an extremely quiet and gentle way. "I'm cutting Toru here," you replied, hoping that would be enough to avoid talking to them until you heard them approaching further. "Y/N, please look," Suguru added in the same tone.

You heaved a sigh surrendering to what now seemed inevitable and turned toward them. 

What you saw left you speechless. 

Satoru was holding what appeared to be a kitten only a few months old lying in the sorcerer's arms. Both men looked at you with an expression of regret. 

You stood for a moment confused by the scene before you. You tried with all your might to say something, but nothing sensible came out of your mouth except a series of quivering babble. "Come here," Suguru told you softly, extending his hand for you to come closer. 

You slowly approached them to get a better look, and Satoru gave you the kitten so you could hold it. You heard him meowing and that seemed to awaken you from your trance-like state, and staring at him better you saw that he had Nuko's gray fur. You were so astonished that you did not notice that both men's eyes had glazed over with tears at your reaction to their gift.

"I don't understand...," you said in a trembling voice, "why you...I...I don't...." Unable to finish the sentence, you looked up at them feeling the tears flow down your cheeks. 

At this point they hugged you and exactly like you let the tears flow.

"Y/N we are so sorry, for everything, I mean it, forgive us," Gojo said rubbing his forehead with yours as he sobbed undaunted like you had never seen from him. "We didn't mean to say those things to you, you didn't deserve it and we were so stupid to let us talk to you like that, sorry, please forgive us, sorry." You looked into his eyes before he planted a series of kisses on your face wet with your tears. 

Suguru took your face in his large hands so that you could see him face to face, and you saw him completely destroyed by the situation you had put yourselves in. "We love you Y/N," he said, "We really love you and we are sorry to have made you feel so long." . Before you could say anything, he softly kissed your lips, letting you both drift away from the intensity of the emotions you were feeling at that moment. He pulled away from you as if to get some air, before returning to kiss your face as Satoru had done. 

"We don't want to lose you Y/N, you are the most precious thing we have."

Satoru turned your head and kissed you at the corners of your lips as he wiped away your tears in an attempt to comfort you and then went back to talking. "I know this won't be enough to make us forgive each other, but know that we have talked about it and we both agree that we are both in love with you and don't want to lose you and that we will do everything to get your forgiveness and make you feel loved as you deserve. Even if it takes a lifetime, we will make sure that neither of us will come back to make you feel as bad as we do these days. We want to love you as we love you right now." 

"Don't feel obligated after this Y/N, but..." both of them left you some space "please forgive us for everything. Give us a chance to let you know how sorry we are."

You continued to cry as Suguru rubbed a hand on your back to make you calm down and Satoru took the kitten from your hands and then placed it on the ground so as not to overwhelm you. 

"You... that's why you went out this morning," you sniffed, "but how?" and leaned down to pet the kitten who purred at your attention.

"Mrs. Momaru had mentioned to us some time ago that her cat had had kittens, and we went to her to ask if there were any left," Satoru told you as they both snuggled with you. You knew Mrs. Momaru; she was your neighbor, an elderly lady with a heart of gold. 

"We're sorry about what happened to Nuko, we were hoping she could lift your spirits," Suguru told you uncertainly, "I know she won't be able to replace him, but...." 

"I love her," you interrupted him and turned toward them. Now that you had calmed down, you were ready to say how you felt, "I love you guys and I want to be with you, but it will take time before I can forgive you completely," you said and they took your hands gently. 

"We understand Y/N," Suguru whispered, kissing your hand. 

"We will make sure you never feel this way again, we promise," Satoru said, as they wrapped you again in a loving, desperate embrace and for the first time in a long time you felt at peace. 

It might have taken time to forgive them, but there was still hope between you. 

Taglist: @qualitygiantshoepsychic @dark1paradise @mel1mak @tatahungry @aish777

[iguanodont]

Hi! Given the recent heatwave that has struck the part of the US where I live, I was wondering what Birgs do to keep cool on a hot day? I imagine that they don’t go for a swim given their dense coats.

Mostly, they just stay indoors. The high axial tilt of their world means that at the height of summer, the sun does not set for weeks or months depending on the latitude, leading to brutally hot summers in inland areas. Where the terrain allows it, thick earthen walls and subterranean rooms help inhabitants shelter from both extreme heat and cold. Sunken courtyards contain trees which filter incoming sunlight and slowly release moisture, keeping both the trunk below and any birgs nearby nice and cool.

Widely used in the Northern Landmass, wind catchers and roof vents establish a draft through the building, which are then paired with wet terracotta pipe structures to cool the passing air as water evaporates through the porous clay. Relatively cheap and easy to install in buildings that aren’t already sheltered by the ground itself.

[syoddeye]

kinktober - day 17 - period sex

soap x f!reader | 2.5k words cw: noncon/rape, periods and menstrual blood, blood as lube, comeplay, bloodplay, restraints, gags, stalking, some sexism from side character, food, abrupt-ish ending a/n: the way i could've kept going. blink-and-you'll-miss-it plot. lightly edited. summary: you're chum in the water. banner by @/cafekitsune | kinktober list

The lights hum louder than usual, buzzing like flies in your ears. They compound your headache and the nauseous blur hugging the edges of your vision. The heat is thick and oppressive, open flames on all sides of your station. One quick move, and you think you might faint. 

Such is Saturday night.

“What happened to the caviar dish for–”

“Gave it to the maintenance man. A gift.”

You sharply inhale, biting back something more sour than the lemon gelée. “Expensive gift.” 

Jace adjusts his jacket in the reflection of a hanging sauté pan. “‘Least we can do. Third time the walk-in’s compressor has tried to fail. We can’t risk losing it.”

He’s not wrong, but he’s become insufferable ever since he made sous. More so than when he literally rubbed elbows with you in the kitchen.

Frustration bleeds into your words. “Of course.”

“And between you and me,” he chuckles. “The fella isn’t playing with a full deck. Twitchier and twitchier every time he’s here. And, he’s said–” 

“Jace, could you–ugh.” You don’t have time for gossip. You forcefully pluck a few sprigs of dill off its branch. “Just…Ask next time. That was a complete dish, ready to–”

“Don’t lecture me.” Jace interjects, staring down his nose with a sneer. He slides past your station, ducking close to ask. “That time of the month?”

You grip your santoku tighter and pretend the fresh lemon under your blade is Jace’s stupid neck.

You do not notice the maintenance man.

But the maintenance man notices you.

“Oh, what’s this?” The man attached to the hand down your leggings asks. 

You whimper pitifully through your repurposed eye mask, knowing precisely what he’s found. You hoped it would stop him, that he’d freak out in disgust and flee, but the moment that ‘oh’ left his mouth, you knew it was a futile hope. 

His fingertips come back bright red, slicked with blood, and leave a wet trail on your stomach. He wiggles them, chuckling before he reaches up and pats your cheek. Smearing blood, your nostrils flaring at the smell. What little light filters through your flat’s cheap blinds hits his eyes perfectly. Two blue rings, like swordfish, thin as he speaks.

“That’s alright. I dinnae mind runnin’ red lights.”

Head pounding from the amount of tears you’ve already shed since he surprised you in the bathroom, it takes you a second to compute. A second he takes advantage of.

Though your wrists are already uselessly cuffed to a headboard rail, your legs are free. Your leggings and panties, the pad still attached, are at your ankles by the time you remember. The realization hits you quicker than the cool air. Instinct takes the reins, and you kick out your feet hard. Your heel cracks across his skull, right in the dead center of a vaguely star-shaped scar on his temple. He cries out, barely smothering the sound in time. He keels over, hinging at the waist before sliding off the bed and crumpling to the ground.

He goes still.

Then his head turns slowly. Something selachian glares through the dark over his bicep as he cradles and tests the skin around the mark.

“S’not a good button to hit.” 

He rises to his feet and stands out of range of your legs. His hand drops to his belt, pulling it open and loose in one fluid movement. He gestures at your legs, which you’ve bent in an attempt to hide and protect yourself. “I ken you’re embarrassed, but it’s natural. It’s what we’ve been doin’ for a millennia. And I’m no’ the type of man to turn away a good cunt ‘cause she’s bloody. Extra lube, ye ken?”

His trousers and belt hit the floor with a muted thunk. He’s bare. The cock you’ve felt poke and jut against you as he hauled you to your bedroom springs free and bobs. Happy to see you. Leaking, red, and slightly curved. His fingers close around its base and glide, smearing the remnants of your blood with a stroke.

“Had a feelin’ ye’d be startin’ soon anyway. Ye were in such a foul mood last week.” 

Fear surges. The rancid taste on your tongue grows stronger, and your stomach churns. You rattle the cuffs above your head as he rucks off his shirt. Desperately, you rack your brain trying to place him, reckoning with both the fact that this bastard stalked you and is currently stalking toward you, arms wide like a zookeeper trying to corner a frightened animal.

His mouth curls. Feral. Jagged rows of teeth perfect for biting and tearing gleam. “Gonna play nice? Or do ye want a second bloody gash?”

In his hand is your boning knife, taken from your roll. He must’ve watched when you dropped your things upon arriving home. And it clicks, then and there, where you saw him.

Another night, another shitshow. Half a dozen men and women barking in your ear as you minded the cod, ignoring the blanket of sweat under your whites. Waving off some man with a toolbox that the stagiaire let in. Missing caviar. Jace’s crude question. A man hovering at the door of the walk-in. The same man you barely acknowledged when you stepped out for a break, glued to your phone. Who you continued to ignore, needing a minute alone, who you thought was taking pictures of the mural on the restaurant but must’ve– 

“Saw how ye handled this and the others. Good hands. Nimble little things.” He steps closer, testing. He hums, pleased when you remain still. “Knew I couldn’t let ‘em be free, as bad as I want ye to rake those claws down my back. You’re somethin’ fierce when you’re mad. We’re the same that way, so be good. Nod if ye understand.”

You do. Mechanical and stiff, resignation and dread intermixing in your blood. You don’t want to die.

He whistles as he clambers back onto the bed, situating himself between your legs. You watch him part them, limbs locked in both panic and a shred of noncompliance. The word ‘condom’ sits, preemptively smothered, on the back of your tongue. It suffocates there, knowing it’s no use.

With his unoccupied hand, he grips the base of his cock and dips its head to your bloody, drenched core. You hiss under the fabric, but he doesn’t push in. He pulls it back, groaning at the sight. His fist glides up his messy shaft, stroking himself with a loose grip. His head falls back, lips parting in silence. It almost looks like he’s going to come from just this, he looks rapturous, and then a sound bubbles up from his chest, low in his throat. He snaps forward, and the knife sails forward, clutched in a tight fist.

There isn’t even time to scream, your stomach simply falls. You brace, every muscle in your body flexing and seizing in a hard flinch. Your life, the thousands of hours spent in hundreds of kitchens, the countless meals and tears shed—it all flashes before your eyes. 

But nothing comes. 

Instead, a faint vibration passes through your skull and hands. The man above you breathes heavily. Panting open-mouthed, his air puffing down the slope of your forehead. Convincing yourself to open your eyes takes effort, but you do as your trembling slows. You lift your chin, stare into the man’s gaping mouth and crazed eyes, then up even further. Your stomach drops like a stone.

The knife is buried in the headboard.

There’s no time to dwell, no time to calm the rapid beat of your heart. 

The slap of his cock to your sensitive skin reorients your world. 

“Red’s m’favorite color,” he mumbles, words slurring like he’s drunk. His eyes drill into your matted hair and slick cunt. Revulsion sits heavy on your chest, rocking back and forth over your ribs, feet firmly planted on your sternum. His hand does the same. It slides over your lower stomach, petting it. Then it presses harder and harder to the point where it rivals the dull ache of your cramps, and you struggle to hold back a noise. “Fuck, it just keeps comin’.”

It does. Your blood gushes from where you’re spread open, pooling under your ass and ruining your sheets. No amount of water or hydrogen peroxide will ever get the stain out. You’ll need to throw them away. Your mattress, too. Your whole flat.

“Does it hurt?” His nails rasp across your skin at your silence, lifting when you hastily nod. “Poor thing.”

The pressure on your stomach eases, but it shifts elsewhere. His cock slips through your folds, then nudges at your hole. It’s mortifying, the wet sounds, the ease with which his head slides in. Its heat lights a match that travels behind your navel, the whisper of something terrible and inevitable.

“This’ll make it feel better. I’ll fix it.” 

Then he pushes, steadily sinking in one long plunge. It’s revolting. Hurts. Reminds you of burning metal. The smell of sweat and blood clings to the air like a damp cloth, so heavy it perforates your gag, coating the inside of your mouth before you notice you’re breathing it in quick, panicked gasps. It’s an eternity before he bottoms out, settling flush against you. He rests for only a moment before pulling back.

The squelch makes your innards flip and summons a new flood of tears.

Above you, his expression slightly softens, but impatience leaches into his voice. “Shh, shh, you’re fine, not even goin’ yet.” He rolls his hips for a bit, watching you cry under him. His head tilts every so often, almost reptilian. Detached, studying. Eventually, decision flickers behind his eyes. He mumbles something and lowers himself.

His elbow anchors beside you, supporting his weight as it lands. His chest is warm against yours, its hair coarse and thick. He squeezes your tit, guiding it toward his mouth to suck the nipple between his lips. Behind their lids, his eyes move as if dreaming, then blink rapidly, like he can’t believe where he is or what he’s doing. He smiles around your flesh, biting and tugging your nipple with a happy hum.

“See? Not so bad,” He releases your breast and cups your cheek, adding another smear to your skin. You wince as he plants a kiss over your parted mouth, tonguing the silk he placed behind your teeth himself. He acts as if it isn’t there, upping his pace into short, shallow thrusts as he makes out with your eye mask, tongue occasionally catching your teeth and chin. “Soon as you’re off the rag, gonna do this to your cunt.”

You whimper at his promise, which just makes him moan. Makes him shudder and grit his teeth.

He becomes enthralled with watching your face as he fucks you. Adjusting according to what he sees, but he’s often wrong, a priest too deep in his cups to read his knucklebones. The twitch of brow or tone of your gasps. Too far gone, too drenched in his pleasure to try and make sense of yours. But even a broken clock is right twice a day, and at some point, he stops petting your damp eye socket with his thumb to find your clit.

To your fury, he finds his rhythm and matches it to his brutish thrusts. Heat spreads under your skin, making your toes curl and knees press to his sides. Even with all your sniffling and muffled curses, he stares, fascinated. Entranced. “Oh, fuck, ye look–ye look so good like this. Chokin’ the life out–”

You howl, pathetic and hateful. Beneath his weight your body jerks uncontrollably, your quivering thighs welded to his sides by sweat. Your orgasm rushes out of you like a tidal wave, sweeping up everything else—his face, the pain, even the way the light bends through the blinds. For a moment, it’s as though you’re outside of your own body, the rush of endorphins and adrenaline stamping out reality if only for a few seconds. But there is no reprieve as you come down, no soft landing. John pats your clit, cooing when it makes you clench around him again.

“Next time,” he bets on the future again, the stars still popping in your eyes. “I’ll let ye keep your tongue free. Ye’ll call me ‘John’, then.”

Learning his name makes it somehow worse.

Mortification scorches your insides to fond for him to scrape up and use again. John’s thrusts turn punishing. The obscene sounds of him rutting into your sopping pussy bounce off the walls. It’s deafening, and the scent of blood is heavy and overpowering. It knocks you back into the kitchen, gloved hands slick with entrails and reeking brine, avoiding looking at the eyes beyond the customary tests. You’ve always felt some measure of empathy for the things, but maybe not enough, you think, as John pinches your clit. Your knives, extensions of your hands, scaling and gutting and cleaning until they’re perfect cuts. Remnants of their former selves. Lighter and emptier. 

It’s how it feels when he wrings another orgasm out of you, pleasure sharply turning to pain as he takes what he wants. Hollowing you out.

His hand returns again to your face, which screws up in disgust and contorts with your sobs. His palm is bathed in your essences, slipping around to the back of your head to bring you into another not-kiss. He presses your foreheads together, panting feverishly. He rambles, one long string of filth. How tight you go, how perfect you feel. How hot, how wet, how yours is the messiest and best pussy he’s ever had. The last pussy he’ll ever have.

When he comes, his weight knocks into you full force. The steel around your wrist digs into flesh and the air is driven from your lungs in a yelp. Notching his cock deep to the seal of your womb painfully, soothing with a torrent of cum. His shoulders slump, elbow near collapsing as he gradually comes to rest atop you. Even if you weren’t cuffed, the heft of him would lock you in place.

It’s some time—minutes or hours, it doesn’t matter—before he pulls back to sit on his haunches. His softening cock tugs free, releasing a deluge of cum and blood. It squishes beneath the cleft of your ass. You’d cry if you had anything left.

Apparently sated, he treats your abused and blood-soaked cunt like an inkwell. He guides his tip through your flood so many times, it lulls you into a strange, middle space. You’re simultaneously in your bed, shackled under a psychopath, and at the same time, floating elsewhere. Somewhere untouchable. You don’t feel the bite of the cuffs or the soreness between your legs.

You slip under.

Later, wide-awake at the business end of your knife, you struggle to swallow the tinned fish he pushes in your mouth with his fingers. He washed you both in the shower, but you taste phantom traces of iron.

John coos at your floundering and swipes a bit of escaped flesh back into your mouth with his thumb. He hooks it in your cheek to watch you chew.

“It’s good, right?” He meets your eye with a genuine smile. “It’s good for you.”

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Kinktober Day 4 - Lingerie

College!AU - SimonxKyle

CW: Smut, 18+/MDNI, He/They genderqueer Kyle in lingerie, anal sex, dub-con, forced orgasm, pre-nut insanity, post-nut clarity, gross college boys don't clean up after themselves

"Oh fuck, Si-imon." 

Kyle is a mess. He can't feel his legs, can barely keep himself up on his elbows as Simon pushes into him again.

His normally stoic boyfriend had come over after rugby practice with Soap and Roach, like usual. Kyle had taken the afternoon for himself, like he did every week. Unlike last week, Kyle had a new lingerie set under his robe when he'd met them in the kitchen, but besides a lingering glance at the almost sheer stockings, Simon had greeted him, the same as he always did, with a soft kiss to his temple.

Dinner had come and gone. Soap had tried to sneak a peak under Kyle's robe, because he's a perv. Roach had stolen his potatoes while he was distracted. Simon had covered Kyle's exposed bra strap with his robe, then set back into his chicken. Normal.

Well, still waters must run deep because as soon as Kyle's bedroom door closed behind them for the night, Simon pounced.

Now, Kyle's arms do give out. He gasps, "Simon, I can't-! I can't come again!"

"'s okay, beautiful," Simon pants against the back of his neck, pace quickening. One big hand gropes past torn lace to pinch at Kyle's nipple. "'ll get you there, I know you can."

"I really can't," Kyle hiccups. "I'm gonna pass out."

"C'mon, pretty," Simon coaxes. "Got all dressed up for me, you c'n take a little more. 'll help you."

Something on the cheap garter belt pops when Simon pulls out and flips Kyle on his back. Through tears of overstimulation, Simon looks wild eyed, desperate, like Kyle's been teasing him. Certainly, he doesn't look like he's already come three times. Kyle had thought he'd have to do some laundry magic when Simon had spilled his cum between the panties and the garter belt with a bitten back shout, but now? There was nothing left worth saving.

A groan is pushed out of Kyle when Simon almost folds him in half and then pushes back in, hissing from his own oversensitivity. He sobs, he can't help it. One of his flailing arms grips the sheets and pulls, trying to get away.

"Where'd'ya think y're goin'?" Simon growls, setting his knee on the bed and yanking Kyle back into himself. He laughs, breathless. "One more, 'n you c'n kick me out."

"D'n't wanna kick you out," Kyle slurs.

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Simon's thrusts become even harder. "No? Wanna let me ruin your pretty things s'more? God, lookit'chu. Pretty stockin's, lace all ripped up. Fuck. Wanted t' bend y'over in the kitchen, almost gave the lads a show, fuck, y're so pretty, baby. C'n feel you workin' up, gonna come for me one more time, gonna come in your pretty panties for me again?"

"Si!"

"Yeah, say my name when you come," he groans. He wraps his hand around Kyle's cock, rough palm tearing the lace even more. He whines, then, hand sliding in Kyle's cum from a previous orgasm. "Oh fuck, Kyle, y're so wet, babe, yeah, come for me, one more time, wanna feel it-"

The roaring in Kyle's ears drowns out whatever else Simon is saying as his whole body locks up. He comes dry, and it feels so good it hurts. He thinks he wheezes some approximation of Simon's name, but he can't even hear himself think at this point, vision going white around the edges as Simon grunts his own release, again.

(When they both come to, half an hour later, Simon goes so red Kyle is worried he'll pass out again. Whatever loosened his brain-to-mouth filter is long gone, and he only gets more consumed by embarrassment when Kyle tells him to just throw the barely held together pieces of lace in the trash.

Kyle puts another set in his online cart before passing out.)

(They both stick to the sheets in the morning.) 

[demonicbaby666]

Tears on the Window Pane

One shot | Supergirl Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Supergirl

Pairing: Lena Luthor x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Words: 2.6k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, toxic ex, jealousy, alcohol, rough sex, fingering, humiliation (if you look hard enough), semi-public sex, degradation, hair pulling, asphyxiation, daddy kink, top!Lena, bottom!reader

Summary: months after a breakup, you bump into your ex. Though the relationship was filled with turmoil, and you’d long since believed you’d learnt some valuable lessons from it, it seems you’re not as strong to resist as you think.

A/n: this was originally going to be an enemies-to-lovers story but then a devilish creature crawled out from a dark corner of my room, muttered mean!Lena really seductively in my ear, and I was helpless to fight what came over me then...

It was foggy that Friday night. National city's streets pulsed with life as people filtered out of bars and clubs, only to move on to the next, then the next. When their wobbly steps turned solely to stumbling, they would wave their white flags and surrender to the night or, better yet, early morning. That, too, is what your plan had been - to wander aimlessly with a group of friends until your head spun and your feet hurt, till the sun rose from beneath skyscrapers and the morning breeze would snip away at the lingering effects of hard liquor and cheap beer. Those plans, however, had been wholly derailed when you made your way into a club, and tendrils of cold shivers made their way up your spine, forcing your gaze to flicker over the swarming sea of sweaty bodies, landing on one person. 

If it were a year ago, a mousy smile could be caught stretched across your lips. A sudden timidness to being perceived by this goddess whom you'd once called your girlfriend may have even sent butterflies flittering low in your stomach. But a year ago, you were naive, blinded by flashing lights that coloured red, green and toxic, sweet. 

You stood there, hand in hand, with a stray girl your group had adopted for the night, past feelings dwindling low in your stomach as your mind walked the line between now and then. Fear had the muscles in your stomach tensing, pupils dilating, and legs refusing to heed the commands of the arm tugging you towards the bar. The other emotion you harboured was similar in nature. However, it differed in that although its predecessor forced your legs to remain rooted, this successor wedged them closed to alleviate the quickening pulse, growing thick and lively. 

Trying to ignore that even from a distance Lena's eyes had locked onto your every move with chilling precision, you elbowed your way to liquid relief. It had been your intention to leave after slinging back a few shots of watered-down vodka, but then came the shift - the subtle twist in your gut that made you courageous enough to entertain the attention you were receiving rather than cower away from it. 

With a turn of your head and a feeling of which direction to turn in, you granted yourself a few moments to really take the CEO in. She appeared to have come straight from a business meeting, dressed in a navy suit, surrounded by white-collared men and women all fighting to gain recognition. And yet, she gave them nothing. She remained silent. Eyes cemented on the light sway of your hips and the shrinking space between you and the unknown body lurking beside you. 

With each boom from the speakers and the accompanying shake of the floor, bodies morphed together until there was only Lena and the blur of scattered masses. The music died in your ears, reduced to a faint hum, and the constant pounding of the bass became secondary to the pounding of your heart. The beginning of a slow-motion step forward was attempted, the heel of your boot hitting the sticky floor before, "You want to dance?" 

The spell was broken. Music assaulted your eardrums. The reek of alcohol polluted your nose, and calloused fingers brushed your elbow before a tall figure obstructed your view, sporting an aggravatingly hopeful smile. 

"What?" you snapped, not realising how harsh your tone was until the man’s unabashed beam faltered. You tried again, this time softer. "It's loud in here. What did you say?"

There was a charming awkwardness to him. The way he rubbed a palm over the back of his neck and let out a nervous laugh made you feel bad for the guy.

"Come have a dance with me?" he asked, voice gruff but not entirely unpleasant. 

The human blockade made it hard to gauge if Lena was still watching, and in the absence of her scrutinising glare, you allowed yourself to be led to the crowded dancefloor. 

As the music flowed and your body moved, you let your mind wander. You thought back to the breakup and how the following months were spent re-wiring your brain, re-learning how to make decisions independently and cultivating a life centred around yourself. You’d told yourself it had been worth it. The freedom was blissful, and opportunities popped up where they had never seemed to before. But with the merriment came the bittersweet - evenings spent alone, men thinking they had free rein to eye fuck you and, occasionally, get handsy. A day didn't go by where you wouldn't crave the guidance and praise Lena bestowed. But more than anything, you missed the feeling of being wholly owned. It was that deep-rooted longing that had you looking back to Lena. 

Despite not being in a relationship with the woman, the look she was shooting at the poor man behind you led you to believe her claim over you was still unconquered, and that single fact should have sent you running. But once again, strobing lights really did have a way of distorting things. 

Her gaze remained fixed, and though it was unnerving, it was thrilling. Being with Lena was always like this. She was intense and stubborn and so damn territorial it spoke directly to the servile side of you in a way that nothing and no one else ever could. It made you desperate to bend to her will, no matter the costs. The only problem then was you weren’t hers to bend, and it became clear in that second that that needed to change. 

You kept up the act, dancing as provocatively as stilettos would allow and laughing along to rehearsed pickup lines. The last straw for the fuming brunette came when a pair of hands snaked around your waist, pulling you back into a muscled torso, and a pathetic little jab touched your ass. Lena was up on her feet and charging towards you in no time.

"Hands off,” the older woman growled, digging her blunt nails into your forearm and yanking you forward. 

"Take it easy.” The man tried to make a grab for you, but Lena beat him to it, stepping forward to shield you from his grasp. Instantly, he backed away, throwing his hands up. “I didn't know she was spoken for." 

"Shut the fuck up." Lena was seething, her jaw clenched and her eyes vicious. “If you even think of you touching her again, I'll chop your dick off and feed it to you."

She didn't wait for a reply to come or give notice to the small crowd that had formed around the three of you. Instead, Lena hauled you into the bathroom in record time, practically threw you into an open stall door and pressed your front firmly against the wall. 

"A few months, and you're already whoring yourself out,” came the surly voice from behind you. "Did you learn nothing?" 

"I," you tried to answer, but a hand fell over your mouth, silencing you. 

"You're disgusting,” she sneered. "What makes you think I care what you have to say?" 

The palm over your lips was held tight. There was no space between slim fingers and no room to breathe from anywhere other than your nose. A woeful whimper arose from the back of your throat, sounding so pathetic heat rushed to your face and painted your cheeks pink. 

The fact you knew, from experience, there was no way to get out of Lena's hold evaded you. From the surface level, it could be said you were under the assumption your sudden hike in mental strength extended to your physical. However, deep down, you knew the fight was what you and Lena needed. All that pent-up anger, resentment, and hunger required liberation, and together, that was something you always did well. 

"You're so desperate, aren't you?" Lena snarled, lodging her foot between your heels and wedging them apart until you were spread open for her. "I bet if I reached into your panties, I'd find you soaked." 

As predicted, the contentious grunt that heaved a puff of cool air out your nose and elbow to the gut sparked something primal in Lena. It forced her hand to the back of your neck, where she pushed your cheek harder into the wall and laid a stinging slap over your clothed cunt. The yelp that followed met a quick demise, cut off by bracketed fingers restricting your airways and survival instincts chose then to seek the help of your hands. They flailed about, aimlessly reaching out for Lena, begging her to stop or to give you more; you didn't know. All you knew was your mind's conflict. 

The top half of your body fought hard, shoulders driving back and forth, whilst the bottom speedily submitted, rocking against the minimal pressure Lena's palm offered and greedily pushing down to gain more stimulation. It was all in vain, of course. 

"Pathetic," she tutted, delivering another swift slap to your aching sex. "Little slut wants her pussy fucked?" 

"Lena, please,” you quietly sobbed. 

Swift as the wind, the brunette had your back to the wall, one hand gripping your jaw, the other holding your wrists above your head. 

"Please, what?" she goaded, pushing your head up to work the blank space of your neck with not-so-gentle bites, topping them off with soothing licks. 

"I d-don't know," you whined. 

It wasn't far from the truth. Your mind was hazy from alcohol. You were letting your body lead you into something you knew you’d later regret. But the scariest thing was that it didn't frighten you at all how willing you were to throw months of hard work away. You knew what you wanted. The problem was grappling with whether it'd be a good idea to say the words out loud. 

Your indecisiveness earned you a piercing pain that rang from the veins of your neck to the tiniest of capillaries in your toes. There was no way to see the irreparable damage done. Alas, there was no need. You felt the sharp edge of each tooth sink into your throat, marking you. The agony, however, was thankfully quashed seconds later as you received your second reprimand. Between the tearing of lace and Lena thrusting three fingers into your tight channel, there was no time to stop the ear-splitting moan that tumbled from your lips and bellowed over the bathroom stalls. The sound alone sent any remaining occupants fleeing in fits of laughter as your stomach sunk due to both mortification and arousal. 

With Lena's new hand placement came the opportunity to use your hands again. Instead of using this as a chance to fight back, you pulled Lena up from the nook of your neck and hastily interlocked your lips together in a frenzied kiss. She reciprocated at first, then drew a sharp breath before pulling away. You attempted to chase her. However, you were woefully mistaken in thinking you had the authority to initiate such an act again. A brutal strike of curling fingers taught you that, alongside the smirk you witnessed when your eyes flew wide open and a shove to your neck forced the back of your head to collide with the wall. Lena wasn't shy with her pace after that. It was like she was adamant about proving how easy it was for her to drive you crazy. 

Trailing fingers up your jaw to the back of your neck, Lena bundled your loose waves into a bun and tugged, forcing you to look into her blackened eyes as she frowned. "Do that again, and I'll bring you to the brink over and over again, then leave you here crying. Understand?"

You heeded the warning with fast nods and chants of 'yes, yes, yes', which seemed to please the brunette. She kept up her hurried movements, digits sliding rapidly up and down your hot canal, occasionally curling to stroke the rough patch of tissue that had you seeing stars. 

The closer you got, the harder it was to remain still, and when Lena didn't stop your hips from matching the flow of her ministrations, you were beyond grateful. In fact, the move garnered reward, specifically a svelte hand moving south to knead your breasts. It turned out this was only a distraction from the nimble thumb readying itself for work. A swipe to your clit followed the next hit to your sweet spot, and before you knew what was happening, your stomach muscles were convulsing, and pangs of liquid heat soared through every vein in your body. 

Your breaths were short and shallow. Lewd moans were given free rein to fill the four walls of the suffocating stall, and the thrumming bass coming from outside was being overtaken by the pulsing sound of blood pumping in your ears. Yet, somehow, through it all, you could still hear the shameful jabs Lena was throwing at you. 

"I'm going to,” you began, only to be cut off by a stern voice.

"I don't think so, honey,” she interjected. “Who decides when you get to come?" 

"Lena, oh god, Lena," you cried, squeezing around her fingers and trying to stop the tight coil in your gut from unfurling. "I can't!"

"Who tells you when you get to come?" Lena barked, slowing down. 

Tears were welling in your eyes, giving shine to the stars interspersed across your vision.

"You!" 

"Who?!" Lena sped up again, redoubled her efforts and slipped a fourth finger inside you, filling you so completely that your knees almost buckled beneath you. Even still, you weren't granted permission to release the strained muscles holding you from your orgasm. 

"Fuck!" you screamed. A tear spilt down the side of your face, your jaw shook, and blood coated your tongue as you bit the inside of your cheek, tearing into the smooth flesh. “You do, Daddy!" 

Just when you thought you might pass out, hot breath skimmed the shell of your ear, and Lena whispered the words that were your undoing. 

"I want everyone to hear you. Come nice and hard for Daddy."

Finally, you let go. All the pent-up tension rushed to the surface like a tidal wave. It submerged you in a whirlpool of flooding pleasure that had you shouting out for Lena, begging her to hold you steady whilst you shook and shook for what felt like hours. Her arm was around you in no time, providing a lifeline to hold onto whilst her fingers kept you under, massaging soft tissue. 

You stood there, mind numb, body useless, until the shudders passed, and Lena carefully pulled her fingers out of you. It wasn't until after feeling had returned to your legs and the strain of standing wasn't registering that you realised Lena was practically holding you up. Her arms were on your hips, and her body firmly pressed you to the wall, so there was no chance you'd keel over. 

When your eyes met, you detected the slightest bit of worry, making your heart skip a beat, and that alone was why you didn't argue when the next thing she said was, "I'm taking you back to mine."

It wasn't so much a walk to the car; rather, Lena stormed through the club, dragging you alongside her before slamming you against the back door of the vehicle and kissing you silly. At first, you were taken aback. Her reluctance to do just this only minutes ago was still echoing between your legs. You shook it off and accepted the moment for what it was: fleeting. That was when the rain started to fall, and the drunken mob's laughter erupted into roars of childlike amusement, and for the first time in a while, you felt content. 

You laughed and laughed and laughed, genuine bubbling girly giggles shaking your chest and vibrating between rain-kissed lips. 

"I'm so screwed," you half-whispered, half-sighed, nestling your head into Lena's neck. And as the sky cried a fresh set of trickling tears that splattered off the car's window panes, you happily bled a few of your own. 

"Mmm," the older woman hummed in agreement, kissing your temple lightly. “Yes, you are."

Tags: @anonslay @homo-oddity | Click here to be added to my tag list

[xwingsandohs]

‘Haunted Beauty’ | Spencer Reid

prompt: ‘Person A likes to sketch, and B catches them sketching, and asks what they are drawing. Person A had been drawing B, so they stutter out an excuse while slamming their sketchbook closed.’

word count: 2.3k

content warnings?: none. fluff

a/n: this is the beginning of a renaissance where i come back to tumblr. bare with me while i reformat stuff and checkout my recent posts if ya can

When you reach eleven days without being called out to the field for a case, there’s a lull in the BAU that leaves everyone bored and irritable.

Morgan sits at his corner desk twiddling his pen, spinning on his chair and occasionally ripping up small pieces of paper to aim at someone’s (usually Reid’s) head. His aim is terrible, only because the small, rolled-up balls weigh so little, so you can watch with suppressed giggles until Reid finally notices his game. A hit to the head leads to an irritated “Hey!” - While you and Morgan laugh openly.

Morgan walks over to ruffle the messy hair of your colleague and picks up the small mess he’s left on the floor around him- Spencer shuts the small notebook he’d been working in at the disruption.

You spin around on your chair to see Emily not-so-subtly looking for cheap flights on her laptop- one of her favourite ways to guarantee her time-off is approved is by booking the trip before she even puts in the request. There’s no need for the efforts really, Hotch has never denied a PTO request since your jobs are so demanding, though it doesn’t hurt to be sure.

JJ comes up behind Emily waving an empty mug, asking if she wants another coffee too. She nods, groans into a “God, yes please.” - before JJ begins to ask about her vacation plans and where she hopes to go, pointing at her computer.

Coffee sounds like a fantastic idea, so you stand from your chair and do a lazy spin towards Morgan - “Yes please, mama.” - and taking the empty cup from Spencer’s extended hand too before he even gets the chance to ask. You smile at him warmly- and before you even get a chance to lean over and see what he’s been working on, he’s slammed his notebook shut again and said “Actually, I could do with a break too, I’ll join you.”

You nod and shrug acceptingly, and Spencer jogs across to JJ when she shouts to make enough for everyone, and grabs the two mugs from her hand as well. “Thanks, Spence.”

It takes you only a minute to prep the coffee, replacing the filter and dumping in some grounds and Spencer has swooped in to fill up the water jug before you get the chance. You thank him, and watch as he turns to the sink in the small kitchenette, flicks the tap on and watches as the water fills its container.

He’s wearing a comfortable-looking navy cardigan, it’s well-fitting and you’re acutely aware of how he’s allowed his own sense of style to come through in his working wardrobe over his years in the BAU. You allow yourself an indulgent look at your co-worker while his back is to you, grinning slightly as you enjoy the view.

“How’s the case files?” He asks as he finishes loading the machine and presses the button to let the coffee drip. His hands glide in their motions after so long of using the machine most days.

“I finished all my consults, now it’s just an endless pile of cold cases to keep me busy.” You drag out a few vowels as you speak, teetering close to yawning in exasperation but the easy nights at home have kept you well-rested.

“Me too.” He shrugs, gently pushing the tub of sugar closer to the mugs to use when the coffee has finished.

“What are you making notes on?” You ask, and lean your body comfortably against the countertop.

“Notes?” He scrunches his face.

“You’ve been scribbling in your notebook for the past half hour.” “Oh!”

Realisation washes over his face, and you wonder if there’s a reason for his unusually cloudy brain. You laugh just once and raise an eyebrow in confusion at him.

“Nothing in particular, just some musings to keep me busy.” He shrugs.

There’s an old metal tin sitting on the side, some cookies that an agent had made and brought in for everyone to take from. You reach across and open it, looking closely for the biggest one before taking it. You snap it in half and present the biggest piece to the man beside you.

“Thanks.” He utters, before taking an indulgent bite.

“What kind of musings are keeping Dr Reid busy on this fine Thursday afternoon?” You ask with a glint in your eye.

He shrugs, and begins to mumble through his cookie-filled mouth before pausing to actually swallow before he speaks. His action makes you giggle. “I was asked if I’d like to do a guest lecture on profiling for the FBI Academy and I’m not really sure if I want to do it.”

“Why not?” You ask sincerely.

“I think a lot of my stories about the job might change their mind about working here.” He smiles, you both laugh, and then he shakes his head. He’s not wrong. “No, I’m kidding. I’m just not sure if I’m ready for doing something like that alone, I think there’s a lot of pressure for lecturers to be engaging and informative, and I tend to go off on a tangent.”

“I love your tangents.” You reply honestly and with a smile, which he returns appreciatively, and a little rosy in the cheeks. “But I know what you mean, I’m a profiler for a living but I don’t think I could get on a stage and give a good lecture on it.”

“I, um,” He smiles wistfully and nods his head as he speaks, something he frequently does. “I’d love to run my own classes at the Academy or maybe Georgetown one day, but I’m not ready for that kind of responsibility yet.”

He’d be a fantastic professor, you know this. And you’re sure he’d have a lecture full of hopeful psychology fanatics just like you both once were. “Maybe a guest lecture is a good trial run, even if it’s a little out of your comfort zone.”

“Yeah.” He smiles, then begins to pour out the coffees. Each mug is almost identical- white or navy with some variation of the FBI logo on, but somehow he knows who’s is who’s, and leaves enough room for cream in cups that need it. “Which case would you choose?”

“For a guest lecture?” He nods. “Um…”

It’s difficult, while every case is important you know that a balance needs to be found in a case chosen for an Academy lecture- it can’t be too standard, it wouldn’t show off why your jobs are so important or might even struggle to keep the audience interested. But you can’t choose one of your worst cases either, some of them can be particularly heavy even for you all to think back on.

“Maybe the zodiac imitator?” You suggest with a shrug. “You can go through how you deduced it wasn’t the real zodiac, looking for messages in online articles, Garcia going through MENSA records, you could even talk about navigating all the reporters and public attention.”

“Y’know, I was thinking about that one.” He agrees and you tap his arm playfully. “The trainees always enjoy the imitator cases.”

“As much as you can enjoy this kinda thing, right?” You laugh humorlessly. Spencer knows everyone’s coffee preference off by heart, you know that, but it still makes you feel a little hot when he perfects your drink and holds it out to you.

“Maybe ‘interested in’ would be a better way to put it.” He corrects himself with a similar chuckle. You nod in agreement.

You both take a small moment to enjoy a sip of your drinks before taking the rest of the mugs to the members of your team- Morgan grins at Reid as he passes his mug, and JJ and Emily thank you when you bring their drinks too.

“What do you think,” JJ calls you by name. “Where would you go for a beach holiday?”

“Beach?” You say and laugh lightly. “Wherever Morgan’s not going.”

They both grin and laugh, and you hear Emily begin to say “Y’know I’ve seen those pictures of Morgan’s Jamaican resort…”

You head back to your own desk, you have Reid right in front of you and Morgan at a table across from you both, it makes for easy conversation and sharing of the sweet treats you bring in when you try to hide them from the rest of the team- more for you that way. Every so often you stop on your way to work and fill up a pick ‘n’ mix, you know by now that Spencer’s favourites are the chocolate jazzles and Morgan loves anything sour.

Emily shouts for Morgan to help her find a holiday destination, so he shakes his head playfully and taps you on the shoulder as he walks past you.

The coffee is perfect as you sip it, just slightly hot, not too sweet and not too strong. You cradle it between two hands as you step past your desk and stop in front of Spencer’s, leaning gently against the table. He looks up at you, mid sip, and raises his eyebrows to ask what you need from him.

“Can I see what you’ve been writing?” You ask innocently, pointing at the small brown book that sits central on his desk. A pen sticks out of the top of it to hold the page he was using, and he seems unusually shocked by your question.

You’re profilers, though Spencer is a surprisingly good liar, you have a feeling he wasn’t pondering a guest lecture for the Academy.

“There’s nothing important in there.” He shakes his head and instinctively goes to pull it out of reach.

“C’mon, Reid!” You giggle, putting your coffee cup down in a space on his desk. “I just wanna know what’s been keeping you occupied. You’ve been scribbling in it all afternoon, so secretively too.”

“I-I’m not-” He pauses, stuttering and puts his own mug down and out of reach before pulling the pen from between the pages of his notebook. He leaves the brown pad where it is. “being secretive, why do you want to see?”

“I’m just curious.” You say, bowing your head in apology. “I didn’t mean to pry, I’ll just leave you to it.”

“N-no, wait,” He stops you, seeing your small change in demeanour and immediately washing with guilt. Your body language changes just slightly, not quite closed off but a little less open and maybe a smidge of your own guilt for possibly upsetting him. He’s not upset, and he certainly does want you to be. “I’m sorry. I-I’m just, um,”

You turn back to him, offering another apologetic look. It’s not necessary, and he holds the notebook tightly in his hand, looking at it while he thinks. “Would you like to see?”

“Only if you want me to.”

“Why not?” He hums, gently passing the small brown book to you. You take it, just as gently, curling a finger into the gap created by the pen to hold the open page.

The brown book is worn on the edges, creased from opening so many times and his recent page is over half way through. You’ve seen him scribble in it frequently, and you’ve seen the way he slips it into his satchel at the end of the day- it’s important to him, you know that.

You open the page and it’s a drawing, a sketch in black biro. You’ve seen some of Reid’s drawings before- wavy lines, shrunken eyes and wiry hair, it’s his own unique style of illustration and you love his hidden passion for it. His drawings have been of imaginary characters, animals, even halloween decorations; they have a haunted aspect to them and you admire his talent for capturing the way he sees the world. This one is adorned with small wavy lines bouncing off the central figure.

“It’s-” This one you recognise, an unhidden smile and the shape of the hair. “-me. You drew me?”

“Um… yeah.” He smiles, but it doesn’t hide his nerves as he shifts in his chair while you look over the lines he’s made.

It’s today, you know the top you’re wearing today and one wiggly line for the chair you’ve been perched on. Your hair is styled as it is today, but you haven’t smiled so brightly today, you haven’t had the reason. That part, you realise, is from his memory. You like that he thinks of you as a happy person- the lines show that too, they add a bright, liveliness to the illustration of you.

There’s small flowers on the page adjacent- lavender, daisies, chrysanthemums, with what you assume is the scientific name underneath. They dot across the page like a printed pattern, but with the handwriting you know of Spencer all around. Underneath the drawing of you, though you’re not sure if it’s meant to describe both pages, it says “Beautiful”.

“Wow, Spence- I mean- Spencer,” You stutter over your words, grinning and feeling flushed at the thought of him spending his afternoon drawing you so dearly. “It’s amazing, you’re really good at art, y’know.”

“Thanks.” He replies sweetly, face unabashedly pink and smiling from ear to ear. “It’s um, really tempting to draw you when you’re sitting right across from me. I wanted to try and capture your smile but my drawings have given you more of a… haunting beauty.”

You don’t know what to say, still smiling and stuttering over nothing at all as you look over to him, to the drawing, then him again. His pride in his work makes his face light up in a way you rarely see on the job. “A-and Spence is fine, if you like.”

“Thanks for letting me see, Spence.” You say, dancing lightly around the last word, an affectionate nickname you know is only reserved for the special few. It feels good to be special to him. “I’ve never been very good at drawing.”

“I don’t think skill matters when you’re passionate about what you’re trying to recreate on the page.” He says with a simple smile, then bites down on his bottom lip to stop it from being too bright.

“You think so?” “Yeah.”

—

a/n: and just for funsies…

[bullet-prooflove]

Mike franks x reader with the prompt

40. So, can we kiss in your swimming pool?

thankss!

Tagging: @kmc1989 @love-affair-with-fandoms @ihatethenciswritingteam @daddyleroyjethrogibbs @fan-fics-reblogs

Companion piece to:

Count To Five (NSFW)

When you suggest meeting at the hotel pool after hours Mike doesn’t expect to find you swimming naked. Your clothes are neatly folded up on one of the white plastic sun loungers alongside the pool, there’s two towels and a bottle of whiskey he guesses you stole from the bar sat neatly beside them.

The L.A Law Enforcement Conference that you’re attending was supposed to be a mini vacation. By day you’d both be attending seminars, testing equipment, mingling with other law enforcement personnel but at night…

You’d be all his.

It goes to hell because both NIS and SDPD are too cheap to shell out for separate rooms for their employees. He’s ended up sharing with Randy, who goes to bed promptly at ten pm and spends hours on the phone talking to his wife and new baby. You’re bunking with another female detective, one whose had a scrunchie on the door since day one because she hasn’t met a fed she doesn’t like. The parade of men coming through your room is like San Diego airport during the Christmas rush.

There’s an irony there because Mike’s spent the entire weekend with blue balls while your roommate is getting fucked three ways from Sunday. It’s driving him crazy having you so temptingly close and not able to touch you. Everytime he catches the scent of your perfume, or you brush up against him at the bar, he gets a hard on that would be very hard to explain during the HR workshop.

“How’d you get in?” He calls out across the water as he begins to undress.

The rings come off first, placed carefully on top of your clothing. His shirt’s next, followed by his shoes, socks, trousers and finally his underwear. He’s hard already, leaking because the sight of you wearing fuck all, it’s enough to bring a man to his knees.

“Someone taught me how to pick a lock.” You respond as he descends the steps into the water. It laps against his skin in small waves as he swims towards you.

“It sounds like you’re letting him corrupt you.” He says, his arms wrapping you and drawing you against him. Your thighs hug his hips as he cradles you close, his eyes locking on yours as you float together.

“Maybe, I’m corrupting him.” You murmur, your fingertips running through the damp hair at the nape of his neck.

“You most certainly are darlin.” He whispers, his lips brushing over yours as he notches his cock at your entrance. “You’ve been driving me crazy all damn weekend.”

He makes love to you wildly, his face buried in the curve of your throat as he thrusts inside you with long, hard strokes that have your nails scratching up his back. You start to tighten around his dick, your moans getting louder and Mike chases your release relentlessly, hitting that sweet spot over and over and over again until finally you shatter underneath his hands.

You’re fucking stunning in that moment, eyes bright, skin flushed and the way you grip him…

It’s like he’s died and gone straight to heaven.

He climaxes with you, his release spilling deep as he holds you in place, keeping you filled with every inch of him. This is what he’s been missing in his life, this feeling of intimacy, of connectivity. He’s never felt like this with another woman, so complete, so whole.

You spend the rest of the night tangled up with each other on that plastic sun lounger, a towel wrapped around his hips and one draped across the both of you. He falls asleep with the taste of you and Jack Daniels on his lips, your warm body tucked in against his. These are his favourite moments, he thinks as he starts to drift, the ones where you curl up together and just exist.

He wakes up as the dawn breaks, the orange and pink hues streaking across the sky as the light starts to filter in through the giant glass skylight overhead. You lips brush over his mouth tenderly and it feels like just the sweetest damn thing. He opens his eyes to find you standing over him, fully dressed, your fingertips ghosting along the line of his jaw.

“It’s time to go.” You whisper and Mike sighs as you pull away, forcing himself into a sitting position as you saunter away.

He snatches up his underwear, pulling them on underneath the towel before he tosses it aside. His gaze comes to rest on the clock above the pool as he tugs on his trousers.

5:45am.

The pool opens in fifteen minutes.

“I’ll see you back in San Diego Special Agent Franks.” You say without so much as a second look.

“I hate it when you call me that.” He responds because it feels so fucking impersonal considering how you’ve just spent the night together.

You don’t respond, you don’t even hear him because that door, it’s already closing and leaving Mike all alone.

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[lowkeyrobin]

MCYT ; at a trampoline park

includes ; tommyinnit, badlinu, ranboo, & quackity

warnings ; language, mentions of nosebleeds

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

absolute problem child

we all saw the trampoline park vlog

jumping off anything and everything

almost broke his ankle double bouncing onto a hard ledge because he's a dumbass

constantly double bouncing you

forces you to hold his belongings, like just set them on the ground it'll be fine. we're three feet away 😭😭😭

makes you hold the vlog camera at all times when he's doing tricks and attempting them

throws a ball straight at your face and gives you a teeny tiny nosebleed

"Tommy, what the hell?"

"Sorry!"

gets the staff to play Jort Storm over the speakers

people stare at him the whole time like "who is that annoying child?"

if only they subscribed

BADLINU

a little less tame than the problem child

he and harry attempt to do tricks off the angled trampolines and that just goes so well

he records the whole thing for his weekly vlog dw

the amount of double bouncing.

you wanna puke when you're getting ready to leave

Freddie almost lost his phone in the weird pit of soft cubes

there's a slide, which just goes so, so crazy hard

in the vlog he edits in some copyright free metal and that stupid red filter if yk what I'm talking about

somehow you ended up busting your finger on the side and he slows it down like an instant replay 💀💀💀

RANBOO

does a bunch of tricks to land in the hand-on-head-laying-on-side position like in the tom simons vlog from like 2 years ago

doesn't mean to double bounce you but he does constantly

jumps over the hard ledges like it's so easy

you almost break your legs trying that

wrestling matches

that's a story in itself

you pour water into his mouth through his mask while he's wrestling Tommy like it's the WWE

QUACKITY

gets you guys those cheap sunglasses

he got the blue and yellow star ones

so swag

he posts a pic on Twitter and saves it in his photos to his 'shenanigans' album lol

double bouncing competitions

he almost loses his beanie like 10000 times

you guys call like karl or tubbo and bother them for like five minutes while you're taking a break lol