#i can never find good content of this guy

[gold-onthe-inside]

debriefing

v. def. the systematic questioning of individuals to procure information to answer specific collection requirements by direct and indirect questioning techniques.

who? spencer reid (s7) x analyst!reader summary: the one where you finally confront the thing between you and spencer content warnings: none word count: 2.5k

You couldn’t sleep, restlessly turning in bed as flashes of Spencer torment you - vaguely remembering his hand on your ankle as he slid your heels off, kneeling in front of you with his hands grasping yours, his firm grip on your arm, his hand on your lower back, guiding you downstairs. “The team knows that my priority is you.”

You feel like a teenager trying to decipher whether a boy likes you. More importantly, you have to go back to work in 5 hours, and if he doesn’t like you the way you think he does, then there’s no point losing sleep over it. A wave of frustration washes over you, stuffing a pillow in your face as if that could remove the imprint Spencer’s made on your brain.

The pillow falls to the side, leaving you staring at the ceiling with a desire to kill or kiss Spencer, and since neither of those were options to you, you did the next best thing. You knocked on the partition between Penelope’s room and the living room. She had dragged you through Lord knew how many thrift stores and flea markets to put together this magical room that was a cross between Turkish royalty and California in the 60s. The woman, your best friend, bless her heart, woke up with a slight grumble, pushing the unicorn kitty eye mask up (apparently it reduced dark circles, and seeing as she didn’t have any while you were left to suffer, it must work) to attend to your distress.

“Honey, it’s 2 in the morning, can we talk about this in daylight?” Penelope asked, her saccharine voice a soft rumble in her sleep.

“It’s about Reid,” you said, hearing how pathetic you sounded, standing on the step to the raised platform that led to her bedroom. But it seemed to perk her up, and she got up faster than you’ve ever seen her wake in the 10 years you’ve known her.

“I’ll put on a pot of tea,” she announced, moving to the kitchen.

“I-I don’t need tea,” you said uselessly to the whirlwind you called your roommate, trudging across the floor to the kitchen.

“Do you even remember the last time you came to me with boy problems?” Penelope asked you, grabbing her teapot and dropping bags of masala chai in it before setting it to boil on the stove while you parse through your memory, coming up empty. “That’s right. Never. Not once in the entire history of our friendship have you ever come to me about a boy,” Penelope continued and you sink into a seat on the bar stool.

“Because there’s never been anyone worth talking about,” you replied, rubbing your face. “God, how did I let this happen?”

“Let what happen?” Penelope asked, sitting next to you.

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely. “I don’t lose sleep over guys, and it’s like Spencer just… snuck up on me and now he just lives in my brain or something.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“Yes, it’s horrible and embarrassing and—”

“You really like him,” Penelope finished for you, watching your hands fall to the kitchen island.

“I really like him,” you admitted, letting out a disgruntled sigh as you dropped your head into your hands.

“Sweetie, it’s okay,” Penelope assured you, trying not to laugh as she rubbed your back. “And for what it’s worth, he’s a really good guy. A little nuts, but a really good guy.”

“He’s not nuts,” you muttered and Penelope really wants to laugh. The idea of you defending a boy from Penelope’s words was such a far stretch from who you were as a person…

“He also really likes you,” Penelope told you, tilting her head to try and find your eyes. “Seriously, he was hounding me the other day asking if you were into that Jack Ryan-esque new guy or not.”

“He was hounding you?” you asked, looking up with a skeptical brow.

“As in took up residence in my office until I gave it up,” Penelope clarified and you sighed, rubbing the back of your neck as the teapot whistled. You watched as Penelope poured you a cup of tea with a little milk, just the way you like it.

“What if it doesn’t work out?” you asked, taking the cup and slowly spinning it as you waited for it to cool. “I don’t want to have to avoid him forever. Or put you in a weird position with me and him.”

“What if it does work out and you fall in love and have adorable genius babies?” Penelope countered, making you furrow your brow.

“That sounds so much scarier,” you muttered and she sighed.

“Look, sweetie, as much as it pains me to admit it, he makes you the happiest I’ve ever seen you,” Penelope told you. “Seriously, I have video footage.”

“Delete it,” you tell her immediately, putting on your most serious face, but after 10 years, she’s grown immune.

“You’ll never find it,” she sings, sipping her tea. You suck your cheek in, staring at your tea.

“So… what, I just… tell him?” you asked and you looked so clueless that Penelope had to giggle just a little. “Don’t laugh.”

“I swear to God, you two are so meant for each other, it’s written in the stars,” Penelope said, laughing. “Yes, baby doll, you tell him. Because Lord knows he’s not gonna tell you. He’s been dancing around his feelings so long, he could be Kevin Bacon in Footloose.”

“But I don’t want to,” you protested childishly. “Can’t I just ignore it?”

“Not if you want to sleep at night,” Penelope said, tucking a stray hair behind your ear and you pursed your lips.

“I hate this.”

“Yeah, that’s what being in love is,” she replied. “Welcome, it sucks.” You hummed, disgruntled, and sipped your tea.

You’re close to clocking out for the day when Penelope’s heels clack against linoleum, rapidly approaching your cubicle. “The time is now,” she hissed and you frowned immediately, pressing the back of your hand to her temple.

“Are you okay?” you asked and Penelope shook her head.

“Morgan’s setting Reid up on a double date, I couldn’t talk him out of it,” Penelope said rapidly.

“Wait, what?” you asked and Penelope growled in frustration, pulling you out of your desk and towards the elevators.

“You remember the blonde girl who worked with us last year, her father was a serial killer, she transferred to Swann’s unit? Ashley?”

“Yeah,” you said hesitantly. You’d helped Penelope bake cupcakes for Ashley’s graduation from the Academy — and swatted Kevin when he tried to swipe more than he was given.

“Yeah, well, Morgan’s got a date to this Hitchcock Festival, and he wanted to make it a double date—”

“Why? Double dates suck,” you interrupted, completely missing the point and Penelope shook your shoulder.

“Do you hear the words coming out of my mouth? Spencer is going on a date and it’s not with you.”

Passers-by look at the two of you strangely before walking off and you pressed the button to the lift in an attempt to look normal.

“So what?” you asked half-heartedly. “I’m sure Ashley’s a great person.”

Penelope looked like she wanted to pry open the lift doors and throw you down the shaft. “Her father is the Redmond Ripper, is that what you want for Spencer? For his future father-in-law to be a serial killer?” she demanded, the last few words coming out as a hiss and your lips part. Words, you remind yourself.

“It wouldn’t go that far,” you said, sounding weak even to yourself as you both step inside the lift.

“You don’t know that,” Penelope retorted. “Maybe they go on one date, maybe two. Next thing you know, he’s asking Charles Beauchamp for his daughter’s hand in marriage.”

You’ve just been following Penelope’s lead, and it doesn’t strike you that you’re headed to the BAU until the lift opens again and you’re standing face to face with half the team. Spencer’s brow furrowed as he recognised you, JJ glancing at Penelope curiously and Derek grinning at the both of you.

“Hey, what are you doing up here?” Derek asked, with a lot more charm and casualness than Spencer could have mustered.

There’s a shove from behind you, Penelope pushing you out as she chirped. “She wants to talk to you,” she said, ambivalent to your horrified expression as she pointed at Spencer.

“Me?” he asked, meek and slightly alarmed, going through every interaction of the past 7 years to check if he’d done something wrong. Derek and JJ shared a glance, with every intention to stay and listen, until Penelope pulled them both inside the lift.

“Bye!” she chirped, immune to your glare, waving as the lift closed. You stared at the lift, your escape route disappearing before your eyes, Spencer’s glued to you. His fingers drummed on the belt of his satchel, lips pursed in anticipation, heart hammering in his chest as you take a breath and look at him. Of course he had to wear purple today.

“Um… Penelope said you were going on a date,” you started slowly, hands sliding into your pockets despite your sweaty palms.

“Yeah, Morgan kind of roped me into it,” Spencer said, his expression turning pained. “We had this practical joke war and the truce agreement means I have to go on a double date with him. It’s a… whole thing, what did you want to talk about?”

You sucked your cheek in, a telltale sign that something was making you anxious. “So… you don’t want to go on the date?” you asked, tentative and Spencer furrowed his brow.

“Not… enthusiastically, but Seaver’s- I mean, Ashley’s nice, so…”

“But you don’t like her,” you reasoned slowly, gauging his responses so analytically that you could have your own desk here.

“I don’t not like her?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling more and more as the conversation went on.

“Right,” you said quietly, having run out of questions. “Cool, so… I’m gonna go. Have fun on your… date?”

He’s never seen you this unsettled, this flustered, especially around him, and cute as it is, it worried him, his hand reaching out to nudge your elbow before you could run off. “Are you okay?” he asked, deeply concerned.

“Yeah, no, Penelope’s just… um…” You closed your eyes, took a breath, and internally went, Fuck it. “If you don’t like her, don’t go,” you said, looking at him again. Bad decision. You really want to kiss him.

“Okay… But I kind of already agreed to go,” Spencer said, shifting where he stood nervously.

“I… I don’t want you to go,” you said, hoping he would extrapolate the meaning, but of course he doesn’t. He just narrows his eyes in confusion.

“You don’t—”

“I’m asking you not to go,” you insisted, your heart in your throat. You might actually cry if he goes anyway. A beat passed, Spencer just looking into your pleading eyes.

“Okay,” he said eventually, moving to press the lift button, and it’s your turn to frown.

“Okay? That’s it? I asked you not to go and you’re not going?”

“Pretty much,” he replied casually, moving to call up the lift. “Besides, Hitchcock movies don’t really have the same appeal after you know who the murderer is. I mean, it’s nice to appreciate the cinematography of the whole thing, but once you know who the killer in Psycho is, there’s only so many times you can rewatch it before it becomes predictable. Now, if it was something like a novel, that’s a different story, because literature can be interpreted so many ways, and Arthur Conan Doyle still appeals after the third or fourth time you read—”

“You’re not going?” you repeated, standing there, completely struck by him and he looked at you, as though puzzled that you were still stuck on it.

“You told me not to,” he said, concerned again. “Are you sure you’re okay?” His hand flitted up to press against your temple and you freezed, his hand drifting down to your neck to check your pulse, which fluttered when he touched it.

“Why would you just… I mean, how can you just listen to me like that?” you managed to ask and he dropped his hand, slightly amused.

“You’re impossible, you know that,” he said, the lift opening and he waited for you to get in first, his arm keeping it open. “I mean, I don’t listen to you, you argue with me. I listen to you, and you’re still arguing with me. Is there any way to win with you?”

You ignored the easy avenue into a catfight, still looking at him. “She could be the love of your life and you’re just not gonna go because I—”

“She’s not,” he said, his voice plain and firm. “Will you get in so I don’t have to hold this forever?”

“You don’t know that she’s not,” you continued, frowning at him. “She could be the woman you spend your life with—”

“She’s not,” he said again, just as firmly as before. Fact. Not opinion. Not doubt. He looked at you intently, your throat moving as you swallow, not that there’s anything there with your mouth completely dried out.

She’s not the love of his life.

The team knows that my priority is you.

Whatever happens next, I am here. I won’t leave, not unless you ask me to.

You have people. Even if you can’t see them.

How many times had he told you how he felt without saying it? “I’m such an idiot,” you murmured, shaking your head. “I have no business calling myself an intelligence analyst when you…” He frowned at you as you trailed off, still holding the stupid lift open. Penelope was right. All along, she was right. You crossed the foot between the two of you. “Spencer Reid, will you go out with me?” you asked, your voice calm, finally finding yourself on even footing with him. “Properly, I mean. On a date.” No more cryptic codes to decipher, no more dancing around each other. Everything had been decoded, deciphered, plain to see.

“I…” He blinked at you in surprise. “Really?” he asked, almost in disbelief, then checked down the hall like someone was watching him.

“Not a practical joke, I promise,” you said, your heart settling back in your chest. “We could get a drink, see a movie, I couldn’t care less what we do, I just… Spencer, I like you. A lot. And if you don’t want to, which, I mean, fair enough, your call, but—”

He crosses whatever gap is left between the two of you, pressing his lips to yours and grasping your jaw and your hands emerge from your pockets, holding his waist as he takes your breath away. His fingers threaded into your hair, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world, and you kissed him back, pulling away only when your lungs ached for air. His eyes are bright and dilated when he looked down at you, lights glittering in his clear gaze. “I want to,” he murmured, a slight rasp. “Very much.”

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

P*rn ☆  Epilogue

Masterlist Word count: 2.3 k Sylus x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have been following a spicy content creator by the name of Red Crow for some time now. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what would happen when he moves into the apartment next door.

Author's note: That's it guys. Thank you so much for reading and all the sweet comments. I've had a blast writing this story<3

Warning! This story is meant for mature audiences. It contains sex, swear words, porn, smoking, intimate piercings, mentions of drugs, alcohol, mentions of domestic abuse, and other mature themes. Do not engage if you are under 18.

Mature content under the cut.

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'So tell me, Rafayel, did you actually set them up,' Zayne asks with a smile as he looks at the happy couple. Rafayel frowns at him. 

'No. Why would I want them to move in together? That's less rent money,' he says in an annoyed, whiny voice. But then he sighs and rolls his eyes, making his annoyed façade a lot less believable. 'I guess they look good together though.' 

'That they do,' Zayne agrees, smiling as he looks at the happy couple entering the ballroom together. 

Today, he had had the great honor of being your best man with Tara by his side as your bridesmaid. He doesn't think he's ever been prouder than he was seeing you walk down the aisle in your beautiful wedding dress with your hair and makeup all done up and the biggest smile on your face.  

It became even more beautiful when he heard the softest sob coming from the man standing there waiting for you. Tears of joy freely flowed down his cheeks as he wore a smile as big as yours. 

He's glad you've found your forever person and couldn't be happier for you. He gets to watch you grow happier and happier each and every day, gets to see you with a partner that allows you to be yourself fully and give yourself fully without taking too much. By now, he loves Sylus like a brother and can't imagine his life without him. 

As he watches Sylus and you sway over the dance floor, your first dance as husband and wife, it brings a tear to his eyes. When the song ends, you approach him with outstretched hands. He takes a quick peek behind you at Sylus to check if it's okay. Sylus nods with a calm smile as Zayne takes your hand. Together, you sway across the dance floor with Sylus gentle eyes on the both of you, smiling contently. 

'Zayne, I don't think I can ever thank you enough for everything you've done for me, for us, but still... Thank you.' 

'I'd do it again a million times to see you happy.' You smile and lean your head on his shoulder. He looks over at Sylus, who is still happily looking at the two of you. It is truly a gift that you two managed to end up together like this. The happiness that has been granted to you is a gift from the gods, truly. He can only hope he'll find something like this for himself. 

'Remind me to introduce you to one of my colleagues,' you say with a cheeky grin, 'I think you'll like her.' 

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'Wait, stop,' you giggle, pushing Sylus off you. The man has been leeching on your neck ever since people started leaving. He pouts at you but lets you do what has to be done. Which is unlocking the door to your shared apartment. When you push the door open, he picks you up and you squeal. 'What are you doing?' 

'Carrying my bride over the threshold,' he states proudly as he walks into the apartment. He closes the door with a kick and carries you straight to the bedroom where he gently puts your back on your feet. 'Would you grant me the honor of taking off your dress?' 

'If you promise me we'll take a shower after.' His pout reappears. The man was banking on something else happening, but you have been in a heavy dress all day and you truly want to wash the day away. It was beautiful and a memory that you'll never forget, but you can almost feel your skin itch under your makeup. 'Please?' 

'Anything my wife wants, my wife gets,' he agrees and walks around you to busy himself with the beautiful pearl buttons on the back of your dress. 'You were enchanting today. Truly in my top five of your most beautiful moments.' 

'Top five? Is it even number one?' 

'No, number one will always be when I woke up with you after we finally had the talk. But it's a good number two.' You giggle as you feel his hands gently work your buttons. Each inch of freed skin is kissed lovingly. 

'What are the others?' 

'Five is when I saw you for the very first time. I was having a terrible time setting up my apartment and you came over with that bottle of whiskey.' You let out a chuckle. 

'You were so rude to me.' 

'I was, but you were beautiful. Even if you did look annoyed,' he adds and continues his list, 'number four is the first time you let me eat you out.' Another chuckle leaves your lips, but then you feel his hands on your hips as he kneels down onto the floor. 

'And number three will be waking up with you tomorrow. The first time waking up with you as my wife,' his voice sounds a little wobbly. When you look over your shoulder, you can tell he has tears in his eyes. With the last button undone, you turn and kneel on the floor with him, taking his face in your hands. He instantly leans into your touch, eyes closing to focus on the warmth you spread through his body. 'I could've never imagined we would've made it this far if it hadn't been for your stubbornness.' 

It almost sounds like a joke, but he means it wholeheartedly. 'And I would do it again and again, a million times if I have to, if that means I get you as my husband,' you tell him, not a trace of uncertainty in your words. His eyes open again and he looks at you, taking in your figure. The dress draping off your shoulders, your makeup so perfectly done, the honestly in your face. 

'I don't know what I've done to deserve you, but it must've been pretty damn good,' he tries to joke, but a tear slips out. Your thumb wipes it away and you lean in to press a kiss on his lips. It's searing hot, a burning promise to stand beside him whatever may come next. 

As lips part, he seems much better. You smile and get up from your knees, offering him your hand. 'Now, I think it's about time we consummate this marriage.' He takes your hand and gets up, pressing a kiss on your cheek. 

'Sweetie, I know you're tired. Let's just take a shower.' 

'Fine,' you pretend to be annoyed, but he sees right through it. 'I'm waking you up with a blowie though.' 

'If I ever say no to that, shoot me.' 

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Despite both being drained from the wedding, you talked for hours. About the past, the present, the future. Little things you hadn't admitted to each other, like Sylus secret love of Fleetwood Mac and your extreme love for- and fascination with sunsets. By the time you both fell asleep, it must've been three or four am. So you aren't really surprised that you wake up with the late morning sun bathing the whole room in a warm orange. 

However, you could've slept for much longer had it not been for a certain someone sucking hickeys on your thighs. With a sluggish movement, you pick up the covers and see Sylus between your legs. Each of his arms wrapped around a thigh, your underwear nowhere to be seen, and a cheeky grin on his lips when he meets your eyes. 

'I thought I said I was going to give you a blowjob.' 

'Well, the day is still young,' he rasps, his voice still full of sleep, 'and I intent to show my wife how much I love her first.' My wife. The words make his stomach tingle the same as they do for you. 

'Okay, but push the covers off. I want to see my husband.' 

'Yes ma’am.' He throws off the covers in one swift motion and plunges right into his breakfast. Right away, flattening his tongue against your clit and licking a thick stripe. Your back arches as you whimper his name. After that, there's no stopping him. 

He plunges two fingers into you and eats like a man starved, like he needs your pussy to stay alive. His fingers pump and curl deliciously inside of you while your body moves uncontrollably, only staying in place because of Sylus’ tight grip on your thighs. The room is filled with moans and whimpers of Sylus’ name. He revels in it. 

Before you know it, your orgasm washes over you. As you try to steady your breathing, Sylus moves from his spot which is slightly uncharacteristic for him. Usually, he tries to get you on the edge of a second orgasm first. 

'My beautiful wife, would you grant me the honor of fulfilling a fantasy of mine,' he asks between kisses as he makes his way slowly to your mouth, placing a loving kiss right on your lips. You wrap your arms around his shoulders to hold him close to you. 

'And what would that be, husband?' 

'Remember that video in my bathroom of me jerking off?' You nod. 'That was the evening after the party. I heard you masturbating and I started imagining being with you. Holding you. I'd like to fuck you how I imaged I would.' 

'Is this something we need a traffic light system for?' He shakes his head. 

'No, none of that. I just want you to stay laying here, just like this and,' he gently lifts your legs until your feet are planted on his mattress, thighs far enough apart to allow space for him. He takes your hands and move them into the hair on the back of his neck. He spreads his legs, sitting on his heels as he gently lines his length up to your pussy. 'Is this alright for you?' 

A smile spreads across your face. This is nothing special. It almost makes you blush that he would imagine such a normal scene and get off so hard on it. You nod and pull on his hair. 'Fuck me, Sylus.' 

He slips in gently and leans closer to press his lips on yours, setting a gentle pace as he kisses you deeply. But you quickly get enough of the slow pace and pull his hair again to separate his lips from yours. 'Quicker, please,' you beg, looking desperate and longing for release. With a smile, he starts driving his length into you at a quicker pace. An orchestra of the little sounds you make fills the room once more. It's so much more beautiful than he imagined back then, so much more beautiful. Your eyes are focused on him and only him. 

'You're absolutely stunning, sweety,' he tells you as he leans closer, wrapping his arms around your body to pull you closer, his lips exploring the expanse of your neck and shoulders. Your hands slip out of his hair and onto his back, your nails leaving works of art on his back in despair. One of his hands leaves your body, moving between the two of you to rub your bundle of nerves, helping you closer to a state of ecstasy. 

'Sylus, you feel so good,' you manage to moan out, clawing your way as close to him as you possibly can. In response, he pulls you up into his lap and holds you close to his chest, as close as humanly possible, while picking up the pace and drilling into you. 

Your moans become louder and you are so grateful the bedroom doesn't border on another apartment as you hear the bed creak pitifully. In a terrible attempt to silence yourself as you rapidly get closer to the edge, you bite down on his collarbone. He groans out your name in a mixture of pain and pleasure. The feeling tips him over the edge. 

His hands grab your hips so hard you're sure it'll bruise, severing you the same mixture of pain and pleasure to help you tip over the edge and fall into the abyss with him. Your teeth let go of his skin as you whole body shakes in pleasure. Sylus holds you close, his arms wrapping around your body like a safety net whilst his hips jerk up to help you ride through your orgasm. 

When he feels your shaking subside, he gently lays you down on the bed and slips out of you. A pathetic whine slips from your lips as your face contorts in disagreement, but all he can see is his beautiful wife. His absolutely perfect wife who is so willing to give herself to him. 

He lays down and snuggles up to you, arms wrapping around your body like they're meant to be there. 'You did perfect.' 

'Sylus?' He hums in response, eyes already closed again, ready for a nap. 'Can I say that I am absolutely flattered that this is what you thought of doing with me the first time you met me?' 

'You can, but do remember that I first fell for you because you were being a brat,' he retorts. There's a chuckle in the back of your throat, but you force it down and huff instead, pretending you're that bratty again. A rumbling laugh goes through his chest. 'I'm joking.' 

'You're really not.' 

'No, I'm not. I still love you though.' The biggest grin spreads on your face, basking in the bliss that this beautiful man loves you. It's something that you didn't see coming, but when you first saw him it hit you like a semitruck. You truly couldn't be happier than you are when you're with him and you hope you'll ever find the words to truly express that to him. 

'I love you too.' 

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Previous - Fin. - Back to the start

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[akawifeyy]

LOVESICK | smau pt.2 (AKA12)

description: it's getting harder for you and kimi antonelli to deny your attraction to one another. but even the best-laid plans can go awry.

tropes: best friend's little sister, childhood friends, one-sided love, ob87 sister!reader

face claim: daniela avanzini

trigger warnings: suggestive content, hate speech (misogyny & covert death threats), swearing

| note: ahh this was a crazy smau to write 😞 also this is part 2 / 3 fics!

@ yourusername: out and about

tagged: @ f1, @ olliebearman, @ kimiantonelli

comments (394):

@ user1: help why did she post a big ass pic of the mercedes team logo? 💀

-> @ user2: Didn't you see she also tagged Kimi? I hate to be nosy, but like... This is getting a little...

@ olliebearman: No picture of me in my Haas is crazy

-> @ yourusername: maybe if you won, i would include it in my posts 💁🏼‍♀️

-> @ user3: DAMN GIRL

@ user4: the nails eattt 👀👀

@ f1gossip: Rookie Kimi Antonelli has been spotted with best friend Ollie Bearman's twin sister, Y/N! Wonder what the Haas driver thinks of this...

tagged: @ kimiantonelli, @ yourusername, @ f1wags

comments (245):

@ user4: this is such an appalling invasion of privacy. what happened to respect and decency?? why are we lwk stalking ppl now??

-> @ user5: HELP it's just one pic? 😭

-> @ user4: imagine if someone was doing this to you. i feel so bad for y/n and kimi 🙁

@ user6: They're soooo cute together omgg

@ user7: sigh, i can't even be jealous. she's literally y/n 😩

Text messages between Kimi and Y/N (2025):

comments (1984):

@ user8: bruh this is just rage bait, no one knows if she actually was with any other driver 😒

-> @ user9: Yeah Lando has said before that they were just good friends but that Y/N was too young for him

-> @ user10: the fling w paul might be true but it's never been confirmed either 🧐

@ user11: I honestly believe it tbh. She seems like the kinda girl to go around and fuck a ton of guys

-> @ user8: this is so disgusting i might puke 🤮

Instagram conversation between Y/N and a hate account:

@ yourusername has temporarily deactivated their account. (June 13, 2025)

comments (127):

@ user12: NOOO STAYYY PLS WE NEED YOU 🙏🙏

@ olliebearman: Love you sis, sorry you have to deal with all of this.

@ user6: chat I just failed a chem exam and now I see this? Worst day of my life

Text messages between Kimi and Y/N (2025):

comments (3329):

@ user14: i hope she comes back. i'll fight every hate bot and troll till she does 🤺

-> @ user1: We'll miss her

-> @ user9: her life is no one's business. I hope she finds peace and solace after all of this because the internet is a cruel place

@ user15: This is what happens when ppl don't realize how lucky they are. Y/N doesn't owe us anything.

-> @ user11: I don't know why everyone cares about this so much, Y/N is another nepo baby who's just popular bc of her face and body 🧍‍♀️

Further excerpt from the Instagram conversation between Y/N and a hate account:

@ kimiantonelli: So thankful to be P5 in Montreal!

tagged: @ f1, @ mercedes

comments (694):

@ user16: Help he's so dry

-> @ user9: we all know why smh... 😵‍💫

@ olliebearman: Great job!

@ user17: Not seeing Y/N in the comments feels so wronggg

-> @ user18: ikkk i'm so sad 🥲

Text messages between Kimi and Y/N (Three weeks later):

─── ୨୧ ─── THE END ─── ୨୧ ───

[bullet-prooflove]

Request for Wes Mitchell please ❤️

"Still, I don't let go And fields of flowers grow"

Tagging: @kmc1989 @mckinleysbones @district447 @witchygagirl @cosmosnkaz

Prequel piece to:

One Night - Wes asks if he can stay the night while he finds a place in Budapest.

Think About It - Wes asks you to think about his offer.

Push - Wes realises he's pushed you too hard.

Broken - Wes doesn't think you're broken.

Demons - Wes has his own demons.

Night Calls - Wes always calls you at night.

It’s been a couple of years since the night you and Wes spent the night together. Wes, he’s had plenty of great sex before but he’s never made love, not until you. It’s all he can think about as he sits in the back row at the LA Law Enforcement Conference and watches you up on that stage, discussing International Policing Tactics and the role of Fly Teams throughout Europe. It’s interesting stuff but his focus isn’t on your words, it’s on whether he’s just caught a glimpse of silver on that wedding finger.

By the end of the session he still can’t tell, it’s the bane of sitting in the nosebleeds, he doesn’t get to see everything he wants to. It shouldn’t matter, he tells himself, after all he’s still with Ella but the thought of you married to another guy, it twists him up inside.

He thinks about approaching you at the drinks reception but his phone has been vibrating up a storm in his pocket, Ella is on a tirade because she found the conference leaflet on his nightstand and she knows you’re one of the speakers.

He’s been difference since that night, he knows it and so does she. Right now he’s just going through the motions, maintaining the status quo even though he knows this thing between the two of them hasn’t been good in a while. The fighting is getting worse, there’s mistrust on both sides. He can’t forgive her, she can’t forgive him.

What is this all for? He questions himself on a regular basis.

Deep down he knows the answer. Wes, he’s terrified of something real because if it goes bad that’s something he will never recover from. It’s a Catch 22 because he craves it so viscerally, it makes his chest physically hurt everytime he lays eyes on you.

His phone buzzes in his jacket, drawing his attention away as some silver fox hands you a drink. He focuses on the way the other man touches you, a light palm on your lower back as he whispers in your ear. It feels like a gut punch, like everything is wrong and he can’t seem to figure out how to fix it.

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself, it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter…

But it does, it really fucking does.

Love Wes? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won't be added.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[ominous-faechild]

ENABLERS' TREAT 2:

FAERIE'S DAWN

BONUS: AURIK “FINDS OUT” (PART 3)

CHARACTERS: ⚜ Aurik Albrecht (POV) ⚜ Ailwyn, God of the Faewildes

(special early release in return for the outlines' official release being pushed back a bit!!!)

navigation: aurik “finds out” part 1 / part 2

story intro table of contents start reading

God: (amusedly) "well!"

Aurik: [pulled forward as though by the chin—except, the ground itself folds and bends under his feet, tipping him while an invisible grip lifts his head]

God: "—I knew showing you myself would do the trick!"

God: [pauses, a thought occurring to them—]

Aurik: [all but thrown back, reverted to standing straight on his feet]

God: [at the same time, scoffs]

God: (annoyedly) "and it's not like you can do anything to me while you're here."

Aurik: [although he can't see anything, can sense their sharp, burning glare dig into him]

God: "—that tiny little dagger of yours can't do anything to me. Not Me, at least. My body, maybe… but—"

Aurik: [jerked forward once again as the ground and air cooperate to twist him]

God: "—not Me. I am far too Vast, too Abstract, for anything so pathetic as a measly weapon to do anything to Me."

Aurik: :'DDDDDD

Faewilde: [vibrating from God's rage—]

Aurik: [feels his entire body sweltering, all but literally melting from the intensity of God's rage]

God: (darkly) "and don't think I didn't notice that's what you were thinking earlier. That you wanted to attack me."

Faewilde: [suddenly cools again as—]

Aurik: [simultaneously thrown back, his spine cracking as he's slammed into the trunk of a tree]

Wind: [sighs again, annoyedly]

God: (begrudgingly) "but… I guess I technically did invade your home… so!"

Air: [swirls around Aurik, gliding him back to his feet]

God: (voice turning cheerful and amused again) "consider yourself forgiven!"

God: (hint of a threat underlying their playful voice) "so long as you don't try anything like that again, yes?"

Aurik: (automatically, voice thick) "right. Of course not. I would never."

God: [hums a happy, amused hum—]

Wind: [whirls around him, spinning so fast it tore branches, leaves, dirt, and all sorts of things from the ground and trees—]

God: (slyly) "good." >;D

Wind: [suddenly ceases, dropping all it'd picked up as it scatters outward with another sigh]

God: (tiredly) "alright, so… to business. Aurik, wasn't it?"

Aurik:

Aurik: [a lump in his throat, hesitantly looks around himself and takes in God's heart]

Aurik: [and slowly faces forward again, awkwardly crossing his arms]

Aurik: (voice subtly thick) "… yes, God of the Faewildes. But can I—"

Aurik: [at the same time, gets yanked from the ground as all else falls away to become sky]

God: [—and interrupts) "right. Well, I wanted to talk about—"

Aurik: [terrified, but—]

Aurik: [interrupts, voice desperate) "could you please return me to Manhagen?"

God: [falls silent, stunned]

God: [genuinely caught off-guard by being interrupted—]

Aurik: [and suddenly plunges through the air as—]

Ground: [simultaneously reforms far below, flying toward him—]

what kinda author would i be to NOT leave you guys off on a cliffhanger? 😉😘

(Also sorry about the wait, life's been a bit rough lately. It's been the most I can to do what little I have, but I promise I've been hard at work! Faerie's Dawn still resumes on Thursday, Feb 13th, at 7PM EST ❤️)

navigation: aurik “finds out” part 1 / part 2

story intro table of contents start reading

divider by @thyming

[skellseerwriting]

5 Times Iida Thinks You’re a Boy and 1 Time He Finally Realizes

Oblivious!Iida x Fem!Androgynous!Reader

Part 2: Changing Rooms + Binder

Part 1

Word Count: 800+

Content & Warnings: Reader references having trauma (implied to be sexual trauma), reader mentions wearing a binder (this is me projecting my former body dysmorphia), something Iida says sounds transphobic but he’s just uneducated, Mina makes a (slightly) inappropriate joke

Summary: After waiting for everyone to finish changing their uniforms, Iida realizes you aren’t there

Everybody was waiting in the hallway outside the locker rooms; all in their blue training uniforms. Iida tapped his foot impatiently. He had done a head count and they were still waiting for someone to finish. As he glanced over the small sea of heads, it finally clicked to him on who was missing.

You were nowhere to be found.

In fact, Iida began to realize, he hadn’t seen you in the boy’s locker room at all. There was over a dozen other guys in there, but he distinctly recalled the lack of your distinguished aura amidst the loud and slow-paced boys. After glancing around once more, he eyed the group of girls who huddled together to chat. No… was it possible that-

“Sorry I took so long!” You were quickly walking down the hallway (running was against the rules), wearing the same blue as everyone else. “It took me a while to find the nearest restroom…” you sounded out of breath, so it was possible that you had been sprinting earlier.

Iida briskly walked toward you, his angled arms swinging back and forth in front of him. “Why didn’t you use the locker rooms to change?” He demanded, standing in front of you while you caught your breathe with your hands on your knees. After giving him a sheepish smile, you straightened up and shifted to a more hushed tone.

“I have… trauma.” You explained, not meeting his eyes. “So I’m not comfortable changing in front of other people.”

Tipping his chin up, Iida chided you. “That’s no excuse to keep everyone waiting!”

You hunched a bit under the words. “I know I know… I’m sorry.” Finally, you looked him in the eye again and steeled your resolve. “I’m sorry, Iida, it won’t happen again.”

Satisfied with your answer, he nodded. “Good.” Then, he turned back around. “Alright everyone! It is time to get moving! We are approximately three minutes and twenty-seven seconds behind! We must maintain a quick and steady pace if we want to get there on time!”

The other students groaned, but you smiled. He may have been prude, but his lack of care for your methods truly showed how much he understood your situation by not trying to negotiate you out of it; considering how much he prioritized efficiency.

“Hey, what took you so long?” Ashido bumped into your hip with her side. “You know, other than finding the restroom.” The two of you started walking down the hallway. With your position, you were actually at the front of everyone.

Turns out you had just come from the direction you were heading.

“Ah,” you clocked onto what she was saying. “Couldn’t get my binder off. The darn thing was practically stuck to my skin.”

Finding it funny, she tickled between your shoulder blades where your sports bra now lay. Unfortunately, it was a must-wear when exercising.

“Don’t worry, Training is only for an hour. You’ll have it back on in no time.” She reassured. Her quick pace brought the two of you closer to Iida, who now turned around to look at you.

“Binders?” He said it like he had never heard the word. “Aren’t those something women wear?”

You winced, and felt Ashido do the same.

“No.” You said, trying to keep your tone light. It was obvious he didn’t mean it maliciously. “Most people who wear binders aren’t women. When women do wear them, it can often be for things like costumes or cosplay, as opposed to wearing them for the usual purpose.”

You sensed Ashido relaxing at your side as you explained. No need to punt Iida today over stupid reason number ‘I stopped counting’.

He nodded thoughtfully, falling in line next to you. “I see.”

You felt satisfied with the knowledge that this had gone well rather smoothly. Then, Iida hit you with the question of: “And what is its usual purpose?”

Your footstep halted for a moment. Ashido grabbed your shoulder and shook her head. You scrambled your brain for a way to word it in a way that your class rep wouldn’t deem scandalous. “It’s… um…” you scratched your neck. “Well, you see…”

“Ah!” He interrupted, turning his attention away from you. “We have arrived!”

Leaning into Ashido, you let out an exhausted sigh at being given a free out to try and provide an explanation. She just patted your shoulder in understanding.

“He’ll probably look it up online later and get traumatized all on his own.” She jested, supportively pushing you off of her so you could walk outside into the clear sun.

“Better the internet than me.” You jested back, lightly elbowing her ribs. Shrieking in laughter, she pulled your arm in to bring her lips to your ear.

“But you could have given him a lesson on female anatomy.”

Gasping loudly, you tried to elbow her again, but she ran away onto the training field. Trying to keep down your smile, you intentionally didn’t look at Iida as you sprinted after her; shouting and throwing empty threats.

She was never going to let the Iida jokes down, and it was going to be a long semester.

Tagist: Tenya Iida

@electronicexpertshark

[fangdokja]

Hiya! Is it okay to ask who your favorite OC is so far? I'm just so curious, that's all! God Bless ^^!!!

((also unrelated:was I hallucinating or did you have Ichiya from variable baricade as a header before??? He's one of my fave otome guys, I genuinely love his pathetic meow meow vibes, especially that crying CG—))

— Lear

WARNING: Prepare for unstructured (OOC?) Fang Dokja rambling. Because I'm exposing myself in excitement again nuuuu. ALSO SPOILERS. Basically rare times of me posting being weird.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss. No questions. That man can choke and kill me and I'd let him. Joke. My husband would kill me whahahahaha.

Above all, my husband is ALWAYS my favorite of course. Always will be, and nobody can compare. Technically in "Her Hell, His Heaven." I'm writing it with my husband and I in mind, so my favorite is obviously that. But for existing Yandere! OC's?

Anyways, I would say there are two ways to answer this. As a READER, my top 3 are:

♡ Main Story. 🔞"I trusted you, wife, and now I'll teach you what betrayal feels like."

#1: Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss - Daddy Dom who can and will kill you. Yes. Please choke and desecrate me Daddy. Yes.

Also there's good reason why I made the banner one of my favorite manga story + art style of all time = Brutal: Satsujin Kansatsukan No Kokuhaku. I don't simp for Hiroki Dan but he's both relatable and incredibly funny to me. Also plot is plotting. Fav arc and punishment was the woman gang rape + assault + date drugging arc. Second arc. Graphic and realistic, also the punishments are always satisfying. One of the manga I reread regularly until today.

Yes, I love unhinged + unapologetic + black flags + sadistic men who will hurt and kill you. Yummmyyyy. Why? Reminds me of my husband. Don't ask. *sweats*

Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor

♡ Sub Story. In the world of the dead, he was the only thing keeping you alive—and tearing you apart.

Headcanons 1 : Flesh and Fetish (General)

In a world where only the strongest survive, he’s the monster you can't escape.

#2: Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor

I love morally grey men who love to make people suffer. Yes, even if it's with the one he loves. I'm weird I know. Hm... I do like the worldbuilding since I've always loved zombie apocalypse stories and worlds. But, he's ayt.

Yandere! Marine Corps & Good Girl

Oneshots

He crushed a man’s skull beneath his boot and turned to you with a smile.

"You’ll never escape me—not when I’m the only one keeping you alive."

#3: Yandere! Marine Corps

Basically me picking what reminds me of my husband. Don't really have anything that reminds me solely of him tbh.

For numbers 2-3, I can't pick anything else tbh. A lot of the characters I write can have my husband's qualities, but I never write my husband so... I can only find certain parts I can see; but a lot of times, I don't write my husband because that's weird haha.

As a WRITER (OK THIS HAS MORE ANALYSIS). Meaning it's about the way I constructed these characters especially, their behavior as yanderes + psychological horror-thriller content:

Yandere! Author

Headcanons 1 : Fate’s Final Draft (General)

He’s the hero in his own story… and you’re his latest toy.

🔞"You like happy endings? Too bad. I don’t write those."

#1: Yandere! Author - Not to be weird and all, but I based him off on both Scar from Wuthering Waves and myself.

For me, I wrote it because I genuinely like making characters suffer. Yes, I admit it. No one is safe. It's why I love writing grimdark stories. To me, in all honesty? Happiness is not relatable to me, especially fluff and slice-of-life (but I can read and enjoy it). It's suffering and hardships that I relate to most. So, I wrote a character that I based off my writing style in essence.

Haven't fully captured personality, but attempted and inspired by Scar.

Now for the Scar part: Personality wise we're nothing alike. But I love Scar's personality and eccentric actions + theatrics, ever since I saw him. Like seriously. He's chaotic, unapologetic and honestly I love moral dilemmas. ALSO HIS FACE IS SO EXPRESSIVE, he's theatrical. I love it.

The story he gave when talking to Rover, well, I really loved it. Relatable and psychological. YES. I AM HARDCORE SCAR MAIN. WHERE IS HIS BANNER FUDGE. Like there's this new pirate blue haired guy that gives ENTP vibes. WHERE IS SCAR. WHERE IS HIS BANNER COMING. WUWAAAAAA.

Am I a simp? Fudge no. I don't simp for him. But I relate hardcore to him. He's one of my top tier I-relate-to-so-much characters. Yeah, I wouldn't say I'm like him personality wise. Definitely not. But morally wise? Like I just love it. I really liked the storyline of WuWa, not sure how it's going but FREAKING SO MANY RELATABLE MALE CHARACTERS.

I don't simp for any WuWa males. But.... I relate: Jiyan, Geshu Lin, Scar, Xiangli Yao, Rover. YES I RELATE TO ALL OF THEM. FREAKING I FOUND JIYAN'S STORY SO SAD AND RELATABLE LIKE WWATTTT. Xiangli Yao's story is also sad but for me JIYAN STORY TOP TIER. ALSO YES, I REALLY LOVE THE DYSTOPIAN VIBES OF WUWA.

I LITERALLY READ ACTUAL LORE LIKE THE NOTEBOOKS YOU FIND????? or papers and shiz? I READ. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. OF IT. YES. EVEN THE SIDE QUESTS AND EVENTS. I don't do that when gaming. So you can tell I really loved the story of WuWa. For others, it's crap. But for me, I hardcore related to it and I enjoyed it.

Me to myself: tryard.

Me: Shut up.

Me: SHIZ. you're making me want to get back into WuWa. *cries in no Scar banner* Though I do love the pirate vibes.

Hopefully story hasn't gone downhill.... anyways.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss

Headcanons 1 : The Bride of Blood (General)

To him, you're perfect. To you, he's just a mission.

🔞"I don't need your love, I need your submission."

#2: Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss - Up next, torture simulator.

I made Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss + Yandere! Spanish! Pirate Captain + Yandere! Alpha! Hybrid Wolf around the same time. When making each story, I basically thought....

"How much can I make the protagonist suffer?"

Literally my thoughts. How far can I take this? It's also one of the reasons why making the sequels are a challenge. I am making all of the sequels, since a lot of people requested. But, it's a challenge because I wrote every one of these stories as original standalones. I was literally like ".... wait. You want more???"

But I welcomed the challenge. Difficult but still doable.

Anyways, I enjoyed writing his most because his torture scenes are peak quality among all my works so far. I think that's the main reason why. Personality wise? He's still emotional to me. Not like my husband. BRUH, sorry, my husband is like really....really, REALLY, like uhhh, I don't know, but Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss is still emotional in general.

When I mean emotional, I don't mean he's stupid or reckless. He's still methodical and loyal even, but he's also driven by a need to prove something and to claim control again.

But, I wouldn't say I like him emotionally, more of the way I made the torture. Yes. Simply. That's it. ahhahahaa

Now for third, I don't really have an all-time favorite, but one I do remember off the bat that impacted me was because of how I wrote and ended the story:

Yandere! Stepfather & Stepdaughter

Novella 1 : Paternal Privilege

He’s your family, but he doesn’t act like it.

🔞Pleasure in every strike, pain in every kiss.

🔞In the end, love is both their salvation and their damnation.

🔞His love is suffocating, but she’s forgotten how to breathe without it.

🔞Love shouldn’t feel like drowning, but he’s the only one who can save her.

She fell, but not by accident. He made sure of it.

#3: Yandere! Stepfather - For this, sure, Daddy's hot. But, it's not just that. What I enjoyed when writing this story was the plot itself. Especially the ENDING.

What I was thinking of when making this is basically, "Let's distract the Readers with so much sex that they don't notice what's happening underneath. Use sex and erotica as the red herring!"

And it worked pretty well actually hahahaha, based on a lot of comments thus far.

Hm, yeah, not really much right now, but what I enjoyed for this is mostly plot, not fully the characters all the way. I prefer ones with extreme or actual gore and horror. This series was more on the subtle manipulative side, even with the sex.

...

Yes. I still have a type. wahahhaahha

ADDITIONAL INFO + Yandere Male Recommendations (AND SPOILERS FOR THE GAME):

YES, I played Variable Barricade a long time ago and I enjoyed it a lot. Actually, the picture was not Ichiya, it was the bad ending with the twin. I came for the pink-haired guy, Taiga. Reminded me most of my husband's infuriating demeanor with me before we officially dated and stuff. Literally. INFURIATING.

And what happened? Played the routes, both Taiga and Ichiya's. Found myself seeing the twin and doing the bad ending last. I was like "Shiz this guy's the one most like my husband ahhhhhhh". Not yandere, just a jerk, tbh, but it's more of the, ....uhhh. IDK It's hard to explain! But LITERALLY I FOUND MYSELF RELATING CRAZY TO THE BAD ENDING MOST THAN ANYTHING. CRAZYYY ahhhh

That smirk does things to me. LOLLLLL AHHAHAHAH

This was my banner image before, since when I see it, reminds of my husband and I. GAH, I relate more to bad endings than good ones sometimes tbh (or maybe all the time.... does that say something about myself? Yes it does, haha).

Also this is the scene Anon was talking about. If you like crying yanderes, here. For you all who love your pathetic crying men:

ALSO PEOPLE SAID THERE IS NO YANDERE IN THIS GAME.

ICHIYA IS YANDERE. He's an ENFJ YANDERE that is the "If you can't be with me, then let's die together." kind of vibes. It's been a while, can't remember, but yeah.

WDYM THERE IS NO YANDERE. I was shocked because I was just chillin' then I found that ending scene. So guys, yandere reccs for youuu alll. And this is a good game in general, liked it.

ALSO I LOVE THE SONG. Still listen to it. Just listened to it actually.

ALSO THE ART IS AMAZING. JUST LOOK AT IT. The mini endings were oddly satisfying. IDK I related to it a lot, not for the characters, but it just reminded me a bit of how my own personal love story went. Definitely not as dark, but still. My all-time favorite otome. LEGIT.

Other notes, I found the MC relatable at that time, and also the friends. I usually get annoyed with females. Not being sexist. But it's more of a lot of bland breads around. It's also why I always make sure the female OC's I release have substance in them, like all my characters.

Ok, I'm sorry if I'm wrong but will I refer it to you as "Lear" then? I don't know why I thought of Lurker, but yeah. If I'm mistaken, feel free to inform me or to ask for a name change, no worries. Thank you so much for asking me this, and being comfortable enough to ask :))

Anyways, I'll note down your name then as my first named Anon ever, "Lear." Thank you! God bless too :)) Literally exposed my excited self, but oh well.

Also I'm a naturally curious person, no worries, Lear. For Readers, don't be afraid to ask or something, as long you obey the RULES, like the usual proper human respect and decorum, then all is chill.

[pedricos]

one with bernal where he's afraid of hurting the reader because of the size difference, but he can't control himself 

smut plss

Marc Bernal – in too deep .ᐟ

a.n: thanks for feeding into my size difference kink! it ended up more as a small blurb

warnings: NSFW!! smut, suggestive content (725 words)

he's in too deep.

your boyfriend, marc, truly cares about you.. how can he not? you're just so petit and pretty, how could he ever do anything to hurt you? he couldn't ever hurt a fly, and he knows you couldn't too.

not that he was agressive, nor did he wanted to ever cause you any pain, but the way you squeeze him is just too much, the way he can clearly see the bulge of him in your belly, the way your tits bounce when he goes fast.

he knows he's tall and he know he getting stronger by the day, but how can he resist? you're so vulnerable under him; his own hand holding your wrist up, as a warning to keep hands to yourself, your back arched, welcoming him deeper in your soaked cunt and eyes flushed shut.

he doesn't want to go harder cause you already made clear this pace is too good for you, but he can't get enough of you. he can never think you're not enough.. he thinks you're way too much for a guy like him.

he slows down his pace, panting loudly as he almost bottom out of you and letting go of holding your wrists, putting his hands by the side of your head and lowering his head, hiding in the crook of your neck.

he whimpers so ridiculously at your mercy. your, now, free hands find his face, cupping his cheeks and making him look at you.

furrowed eyebrows with small tears forming in the corner of his eyes, blushes face with this puppy-like expression, batting his eyelashes at you. his mouth opened as he was about to say something, you wait for it, but he never does.

“qué pasó? is everything okay?” you body froze, your walls contracting against your boyfriend lenght and he gives you a shy moan in response, “aah.. y/n” he calls for your name as you weren't already so impossibly close to him in the moment. (what happened?)

“can i.. can i go harder? please.. any pace you want, please” the thin tear finally roll down his cheek. you can't get any words out of your mouth right now, still processing your boyfriend's words. “marc.. of course you can, why are you asking?” your tender touch doesn't match with the burning sensation of your boyfriend stretching your pussyhole.

“tengo miedo de hacerte daño” he looks down at your bottoms connect; his dick halfway through your walls and soaked in white liquid. theres no place were he's rather be right now, ”go on, cariño" you give him a reassuring kiss on the cheek. (i don't want to hurt you)

he grabbed your wrists once again, pinning them above your head, going all the way inside your hole; every inch of him touching every warm wall of yours. he leans down to start a messy kiss, with tongues everywhere and teeth clashing.

but he doesn't care. he's in too deep.

his pace animalistic fast, his dick touching impossibly far, hitting your prostate again, again and again, making the familiar feeling of a knot in your stomach beginning to form.

“oh! oh! marc!” you chant his name, your legs around his waist pulling him closer. by the way your bodies are connected, you're probably breaking the law's of physic.

the bulge on your belly going up and down, as he move his hips back and forth. all you can hear in the room are moans and grunts, along with the headboard of the bed hitting the wall like crazy, and there's nothing going on on your mind but how close you're to cumming.

“please, please! yes, there!” you're probably screaming so loud that all your neighbors probably are hearing. but can you blame youself? sure you can't, your boyfriend is fucking you so good right now you probably don't even remember your own name.

he hit the same spot over and over as he let go of your wrist, moving his hands down to your clit and stimulating your pussy as he's take you.

you can't even remember how much time took you to cum, but the mess you made surely showed you it didn't take so long. and marc follows your after a few more thrusts; painting your insides white with his babies.

but you can't even get mad at him for finishing inside; he was in too deep.

check out my masterlist .ᐟ

im a major size difference enjoyer, yall wouldn't get it..

thanks for the request and for being so patient. requests still open! bye bye, hope u like it 💋

[fairytales-and-folklore]

My Friend Thinks You're Cute

Teen Wolf » Sterek

Title: My Friend Thinks You're Cute

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: Teen Wolf (Masterlist)

Relationship: Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: And that's when Stiles sees him, standing in the middle of the crowd, swathed in a black leather jacket, eyes alight as he flashes Stiles the most dazzlingly perfect smile. Derek The Music Major. The guy Stiles has had a massive crush on ever since they shared a class together in Stiles's freshman year. The guy who went on to graduate later that spring and leave town to go on tour with his band. The guy who composed such beautiful music that it made Stiles fall even more stupidly in love with him. The guy who wrote the lyrics to the song he's currently up on stage singing motherfucking karaoke to. So yeah, Stiles is pretty sure he's going to kill his best friends for dragging him along to this party.

"This is my friend. He loves your work. Big fan," McCall informs him, gesturing to the mortified guy with the adorably disheveled dark brown hair, wide brown eyes, and a blush as deep as his scarlet jacket. "Also, he thinks you're cute," McCall adds, a big goofy grin spreading across his face. "And I'm like 98% sure he's thought of you naked."

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So yeah, Stiles is pretty sure he's going to kill his best friends. After two long, exhausting weeks of relentless badgering, Stiles had finally given in and agreed to accompany Scott and Danny to their stupid goddamn dorm party. He'd figured, fuck it, he's a senior, he's so close to graduation he can almost taste it, he can abandon his studies for one Saturday night and try to have a good time.

What he hadn't factored in was his meddling, dumbass friends dragging him up on stage and announcing to the whole room that he was the next karaoke performance of the night. Rolling his eyes at Scott and Danny's cheers, jeers, and catcalls, Stiles makes his way over to the monitor and begins flipping through their song selection. The overwhelming majority of it is early 2000's garbage with a few 80's power ballads and 90's pop remixes thrown in, and just when Stiles is about to resign himself to performing Bye Bye Bye or Don't Stop Believing in front of a crowd of judgmental drunken college kids, he comes across a newer track he'd never expected to find in a karaoke lineup.

"Uh, hi," Stiles winces as the microphone gives an ear piercing screech, and the crowd grumbles and groans. "So, most of you probably haven't even heard of this song. The band's kind of new, only really started gaining traction about two or three years ago, I think? Fun fact for out-of-towners, their lead guitarist actually grew up in Beacon Hills and went to this school. He also wrote the song I'm about to perform, which I've heard, like, dozens of times on some pretty popular radio stations, so I guess that means there's hope out there for the rest of us art students. Anyway, here's my horribly butchered rendition of the song Triskelion by The Alphas."

Sweating bullets, Stiles clicks play and cradles the microphone in the palms of his shaking hands, eyes fixed resolutely to the monitor, not daring to look at the audience. The monitor displays an error message and gives him the blue screen of death, refusing to let the lyrics scroll across the screen, but it doesn't really matter, because Stiles knows them all by heart. 

The overhead lights cast the stage in a golden glow, blinding Stiles to the surrounding world so that the crowd is just a sea of blurred faces. For a moment, he can pretend that it's just him, alone in his dorm room, or in the driver's seat of his powder blue Jeep with the radio on full blast, and really give it his all. So he does. Stiles sings his heart out. And it's actually…well, not great, but not terrible, either. Much to his surprise, everyone starts cheering him on, singing at the top of their lungs along with him, and Stiles is delighted by the fact that they all seem to share his love for his favorite band.

And that's when Stiles sees him, standing in the middle of the crowd, swathed in a black leather jacket, eyes alight as he flashes Stiles the most dazzlingly perfect smile. Derek The Music Major. The guy Stiles has had a massive crush on ever since they shared a class together in Stiles's freshman year. The guy who went on to graduate later that spring and leave town to go on tour with his band.The guy who composed such beautiful music that it made Stiles fall even more stupidly in love with him when he happened upon one of his live performances on YouTube the following summer. The guy who wrote the lyrics to the song he's currently up on stage singing motherfucking karaoke to. Derek Hale, Beacon Hills sweetheart, local legend, and international rising star. Derek Hale, lead guitarist of The Alphas.

Oh

My

God

It's a feat of fucking heroics and sheer dumb luck that keeps Stiles's voice steady until the very end of the song, and then he's bolting off the stage and colliding face-first with a wall of muscle in the shape of his two best friends.

"Hey man, you did great up there!" Scott beams at him, his smile so warm and sincere, so filled with pride, that Stiles finds it difficult to stay mad at him. Stiles has known Scott since kindergarten, and he's pretty damn sure that Scott is an actual ray of sunshine in human form.

…and then there's Danny.

"Seriously, Stilinski. That was pretty damn impressive," Danny agrees with an air of genuine surprise. And honestly, coming from Danny, that's like, god-tier praise. If Stiles wasn't freaking the fuck out, he'd probably take a moment to bask in it, ask if he can get it writing, and then gloat so hard it sours Danny's mood and makes him threaten to take it back.

"Dude, you are not going to believe who I just saw," Stiles exclaims, one hand gripping each of their shoulders so that they're just standing there in the middle of the common room like an awkward triangle. 

"So, you remember that guy that— oh my god, there he is," Stiles groans, bolting side to side in a panicked attempt to duck behind a corner, but as tragedy would have it, there aren't any corners in the epicenter of a room. Why aren't there ever any corners when you actually need them? Why do corners only ever seem to exist when you're in a rush and you're not paying attention and you bash your face into an inconveniently placed patch of hard plaster? There should at least be a column, or a couch, or something. In the end, he figures using Scott and Danny as a human shield is as good a hiding place as any.

"Can you fucking not," Danny growls as Stiles all but claws at his neck to peer over his shoulder. "Who are you even—"

Danny squints in the direction of a dark-haired man with hazel eyes and a chiseled jaw peppered with five o'clock shadow, backed into a far corner of the room, smiling awkwardly as a gaggle of fans bombard him with photo ops and autographs.

"Is that who I think it is?" Danny gasps dramatically, and there's something in the way his eyes crinkle around the edges, like he's enjoying a private joke, that makes Stiles quirk an eyebrow.

"Holy shit," Scott exclaims, eyes widening in theatrical surprise. "It's Derek The Music Major!"

"Yeah, well, it's Derek the fucking sex god rock star now, isn't it?" Stiles practically moans, scrubbing his hands through his hair and burying his face into Scott's shoulder. "Ugh, he's even more unattainable than he was before. How is that even possible? And like, more to the point, why is he even here?"

"Oh, uh…" Scott's voice rises a half octave, a telltale sign that he's about to lie through his teeth and make it sound casual. "I think Derek's cousin goes here. Miguel, or something."

Stiles lifts his head up, eyes narrowed in suspicion as he fixes Scott with a scrutinizing glare. Scott keeps his gaze resolutely glued to the floor, looking for all the world like a guilt-ridden golden retriever who'd just been caught digging in the garden.

"What," Stiles spits, an entire world's emphasis on the t.

"What?" Scott and Danny ask in mirrored tones of mock innocence.

"You…you guys knew he was going to be here, didn't you?" Stiles sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"We…might have heard something about that," Danny offers around an infuriatingly amused little chuckle.

"We overheard Miguel talking about it a couple of weeks ago," Scott bursts out, physically incapable of keeping this a secret for even a second longer. "Apparently, Derek and his bandmates are back in town for the summer, and they got invited to come and perform at his cousin's friend's party. This party."

"And you guys thought it would be a great idea for me to go up on stage and make an ass out of myself…singing one of Derek's songs…in front of Derek," Stiles says slowly, his tone positively drenched in quietly seething sarcasm.

"Relax," Danny says, rolling his eyes. "What we did was get you noticed."

"Yeah, man," Scott jumps in with a barely contained goofy grin, trying and failing to look solemn and apologetic. "He was totally checking you out. It was so obvious."

"Didn't you see the way he kept smiling at you?" Danny asks.

"He was probably laughing his ass off at the dipshit butchering the fuck out of one of his songs," Stiles whines, smacking his head repeatedly into the side of Scott's shoulder.

"Ugh, you're impossible," Scott groans, rolling his eyes and fixing Danny with a pleading sort of look.

"Yeah, look, this whole pity party thing you're got going on? It's boring," Danny scoffs, wrenching Stiles away from his makeshift hiding place and clapping both hands on either side of his shoulders. 

"You've been sweet on the guy for like, what…three and a half years now? If you won't take the chance and finally introduce yourself, then—" Danny pauses, peering over Stiles's shoulder to stare resolutely at Scott, seconds passing as the two of them share some kind of bizarre, silent conversation over the top of Stiles's head that ends with Danny setting his lips into a determined line and giving Scott a curt nod.

"Scotty," he says with a melodramatic sigh. "I think it's about time we take matters into our own hands."

"Just like we rehearsed?" Scott replies with a crooked smile. Without warning, Scott and Danny each grab a hold of one of Stiles's arms and start marching him toward Derek's corner of the room. The ruckus of muffled shouting and flailing limbs that it causes scatters the crowd of fawning fans, clearing a direct path. 

Derek quirks an eyebrow as he stares back and forth between the three of them, taking in the perplexing but not altogether unwelcome sight of a guy with adorably disheveled dark brown hair, wide brown eyes, and a blush as deep as his scarlet jacket, sandwiched in between two thoroughly amused smirking faces. 

The guy in the middle swallows thickly, and Derek watches with spellbound awe as his Adam's apple bounces along the curves of his mole-and-freckle-dappled throat. His eyes glaze over as he imagines, for the briefest of seconds, what it might be like to graze his teeth along those curves. The sound of someone's voice breaks him out of his wandering thoughts, and Derek shakes his head as if to clear it.

"Hi," the guy on the right with the crooked smile and kind eyes addresses him. Name's McCall, if memory serves him. Derek vaguely remembers seeing the name printed across his jersey on the rare occasion he'd managed to make it to one of his cousin's lacrosse games.

"This is my friend," McCall informs him, gesturing to the mortified guy in the middle. And this is must be…Stilinski, #24, Derek muses. Spends more time on the bench than out on the field. "He loves your work. Big fan."

Instinctively, Derek goes into Greeting Your Fans mode, smiles politely, and prepares himself for another flash of a camera, but then—

"Also, he thinks you're cute," McCall adds, a big goofy grin spreading across his face. "And I'm like 98% sure he's thought of you naked."

Stilinski splutters, turning toward McCall with a manic look in his eyes.

"Oh, I'm 110% sure," the guy to the left confirms with a barely contained smirk. Mahealani. This one, Derek definitely knows. Miguel won't outright admit it, but he's got a bit of a thing for this guy. Blushes every time he walks by. "I literally walked in on him once while he was—"

"Anyway," McCall interjects, clapping a hand over Mahealani's mouth, eyes growing wide as he realizes, albeit a bit too late, that that may have been taking it too far. "We're gonna go, and leave you two to get better acquainted."

"You're dead to me!" Stiles calls after them in a playful sing-song voice as his traitorous friends swagger off in the direction of the pong table, cackling madly, twin shit-eating grins plastered across their faces. Cheekbones prickling with the equivalent of an instant sunburn, Stiles slowly turns back toward Derek.

"Well," he says with mock cheerfulness, stuffing his fists into the pockets of his dark red jacket. "I'm gonna go find the nearest bridge and jump off. Nice meeting you."

He makes to turn away, but Derek reaches out and places a hand across his shoulder, hoping to stop him.

"Wait," he says. "Please don't be embarrassed. Honestly, that was funny as fuck, and I am, like, so beyond flattered. Can I at least know your name?"

Stiles pauses, sets his lips into a hard, thin line, turns back to face Derek, resolutely avoiding having to look directly at him, and sighs.

"It's Stiles," he says.

"Derek," he replies jovially, extending a hand for Stiles to shake, ridiculously formal.

"I know, dude," Stiles laughs, rolling his eyes. "You're like, super famous."

Derek gives a half-hearted shrug, like he genuinely hadn't even noticed, and says, "Yeah, I guess…but am I cute? Your friends said you thought I was cute."

Stiles barks out a laugh, hastily covering up his mouth with the back of his hand. He rearranges his features into something akin to casual indifference, and says, "I mean…I guess you could say that."

Derek laughs, quirking an appraising eyebrow as his gaze flits across Stiles's face, lingering at the curves of his collarbones just visible beneath a pale blue form-fitting henley, before dipping down to admire the cut of his torso. Stiles swallows thickly.

"You're cute, too," Derek says, his smile warm and genuine. "And you've got a nice voice."

Stiles's eyes widen. Oh fuck. That's right. Motherfucking karaoke.

"Oh my god, shut up, no I don't," Stiles laughs, shaking his head as he shoves his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket, absentmindedly kicking the toes of his sneakers into the hardwood floor.

"No, I'm serious. You were great," Derek insists. Stiles chances a look up at him, heart leaping into his throat at the sweet sincerity he finds there. And then—

"You look so familiar," Derek says with a sudden, sharp intake of breath, head tilted to the side, brows furrowed in concentration as he scrutinizes the details of Stiles's face. "Have we met before?"

"Econ 311," Stiles replies with a shaky sigh.

"Oh my god, that's right!" Derek exclaims, realization dawning on him. "You were that smart-mouthed little shit who always got on Finstock's last nerve. Man, that guy hated you."

Well, Stiles muses, there are definitely worse ways to be remembered.

"I like to think we had a love/hate relationship," Stiles chuckles, delighted over the simple joy of having made Derek laugh.

"Yeah, I thought that was you. Didn't recognize you at first without the buzzcut," Derek reminisces. "You were pretty cute back then, too."

"Yeah, okay," Stiles quips with a hollow laugh. "There's no way in hell a guy like you ever looked twice at a guy like me."

A frustrated crease sets into Derek's forehead, lips twisted into a frown as his eyes bore into Stiles's, studying him like he's a puzzle he can't quite figure out. And what a ridiculous moment this is for Stiles to notice just how thick and full Derek's eyelashes are, to become mesmerized by the honest to god sparkle that dances in his irises like a goddamn Disney prince.

"So," Derek says after a moment, ripping Stiles out of his reverie. "How did I look?"

"Sorry, what?" Stiles shakes his head, genuinely confused.

"Your friends also said that you've thought about me naked," Derek says with a casual shrug, but the Cheshire Cat grin that spreads across his face is anything but. "Did I look good?"

Stiles's eyes widen in shock. Scarlet paints the pulse points across the hollow of his cheekbones and the base of his throat in bright, angry blotches. He opens his mouth, willing the perfect string of words to come and save him from the nightmare of a plot twist this conversation has taken, but all that comes out is a series of high pitched squeaking.

"Damn. That good, huh?" Derek bites his lower lip, and Stiles about dies, because it is simultaneously the hottest and most adorable thing he's ever seen in his entire life.

"Well, I hope I live up to your expectations," Derek sighs around a barely contained smirk, and the blue screen of death flashes across Stiles's mind. "You wanna go out for coffee sometime, see where this goes?"

What?

What?!

This can't actually be happening. There's no way in hell this is real. This is the part where Stiles wakes up, and realizes that it was all a dream. 

Derek pauses, eyebrows raised, waiting for his response. A string of unintelligible nonsense tumbles out of Stiles's mouth, none of it any actual words.

Derek chuckles softly, rummaging through the pockets of his leather jacket before withdrawing a bright blue pen, and scrawling his number on the back of Stiles's hand. Derek's fingertips curl into the palm of his hand, and Stiles forgets how to breathe.

"Give me a call if you're interested," Derek says, flashing Stiles a positively radiant smile and giving his hand an affectionate squeeze, before turning on his heel and sauntering off in the direction of his beckoning bandmates.

Seconds later, Scott and Danny emerge from out of the shadows, clapping Stiles on the back and ruffling his hair, chanting a resounding chorus of I told you so.

"You're welcome," Danny says with a smug smile. 

"And now it's my turn," he says, taking off in hot pursuit of Derek's cousin.

[kabane-neon]

toedscruel stimboard!!

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[risingsunresistance]

sorry him saying he has no idea where the misogyny thing comes from when ludwig just talked about how he sent him a big apology for calling his friend a whore when it was about THE WRONG WOMAN is funny as fuck

i dont think he realizes that the reason no one gives a shit about his apologies and honestly just straight up ignores them is because EVEN IN THE EVENT THAT THEY ARE TRUE he's been proven to lie soooooo many times to the point where you really cant believe a word that comes out of his mouth. he says something and im like "damn maybe i was wrong about that one... i'll look into it" and you get more info and go "oh. he just made that part up. and misworded that. and lied about that part... oh it was actually WORSE than i initially thought!"

[gold-onthe-inside]

blind date

who? spencer reid (s8) x blake!reader summary: you finally give into your godmother's insistence on going on a date with her colleague, if only to get her off your back, and find yourself having to break the heart of someone who could have been the love of your life. content warnings: not a happy ending (i warned you, you don't get to yell at me), reader is blake's goddaughter and a therapist. word count: 2.1k

You let out a slow breath before entering the restaurant, smoothing down your dress, still second-guessing your outfit - a purple dress matched with a dark velvet jacket and a black purse with a gold chain belt - as if you hadn’t spent your day looking up what women in their 30s wore on first dates. Not like it matters, you told yourself. You’d get through the date, politely tell the guy that he was great but you weren’t interested, and hopefully be home by 10pm. You turn your gaze to the maitre’d, telling him the table was under Reid’s name.

You had told yourself on the way that you couldn’t hold it against him if he was late — you still remember the coffee meetings your own godmother never turned up to — but it turned out he was earlier than you. Where you showed up to everything ten minutes in advance, he showed up twenty-five minutes.

You saw him first, looking into the silver ware and flattening down his hair and adjusting his tie, clearly nervous, looking up when he heard you thank the maitre’d. Spencer almost stumbled over himself as he stood up to pull your chair out for you and you feel an overwhelming urge to reassure him. “H-Hi,” he said, matching your awkward smile. “You look really nice.”

“Thanks,” you said softly, taking the seat and watching him take his, his hand splayed against his chest to keep his tie back. “You’re taller than I thought you’d be.”

His laugh is nervous, God help him, and he corrects the displaced silverware so they align perfectly before he looked at you again. “I, uh, I get that a lot.”

“Go on a lot of blind dates then?” you asked, sipping the water within reach, and you can see panic flash across his face.

“No! I mean, I’ve-I’ve been on dates before. Just um—” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I meant I get the-the height thing, quite a bit. Not that there’s been a lot—”

“Breathe, Spencer,” you feel compelled to say as his face flushes. You’d meant to tease, not give the man a heart attack.

“Sorry,” he murmured, trying to get a grip on himself. God, how did Derek do this? “Um… Blake, sorry, Alex, told me that you’re a therapist,” he said, focusing on something concrete.

“Uh, yeah,” you answered, not sure how much information you wanted to tell him. Though, to be fair, he was a federal agent. He could have it found out anyway. “I work at a clinic in Georgetown,” you said, folding your hands in front of you and overthinking whether you should be crossing your legs or not. This was usually the point where the guy would ask if you could read his mind, or attempt to educate you on how mental health was a sham and everyone just needs to get some exercise, and that would be your cue to fake an emergency exit. Maybe you’d get home in time to watch some decent TV.

“Is it hard?” he asked, taking a sip of water before he leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with genuine interest. It was endearing, and surprising.

“It can be,” you answered, leaning in slightly. “Some days you get really, really good sessions, you know? And other days it’s…”

“Hell?” he offered and you let out a small huff.

“Try having a seven year old drawing on furniture with chalk,” you told him, watching him wince.

“I, uh… have a confession,” he said, leaning even closer, his voice a dramatic whisper. “I did that as a kid.”

"Understimulated in class, huh?" you asked, smiling at him a little more.

“A lot,” he admitted. “I learned to read very young, and… well, then everyone wanted me to read, and it wasn’t as fun anymore, you know?”

“Mm,” you say in agreement, but before you continue, the waiter comes, and you both order a glass of wine, and appetizers to split. “So, you must be dealing with a lot worse than pre-pubescent vandalism, right?” you asked, pulling apart the fried mozzarella balls with delicate precision, and you watch him think for a moment.

“I’m just trying to decide if the last case we worked would be preferable to handling a toddler, and I honestly think I’d prefer the serial killer,” he said thoughtfully and you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you.

"Yeah, no, I don't blame you," you replied, sipping your wine.

“What about you?” he asked between bites. “Did you know you wanted to be a psychologist from day one?”

"Uh... No, I actually thought I would go into linguistics, like Alex, but somewhere around my first year into undergrad, I realised that psychology was my calling," you said.

“What changed your mind?” he asked, tilting his head to the side and leaning his elbow on the table. You liked the way he gave you his full attention; his eyes hadn’t strayed from you since you’d gotten there.

“Uh, we used to have to do these case studies and we’d do these role plays where everyone had a presenting concern to work with, and I used to get this… high whenever I’d figured the client out. Like that moment where everything just… clicks into place. And I got addicted to it,” you said, your words and love for your job captivating.

“I know exactly what you mean,” he said, his smile widening. “I’m sure Alex’s told you that I have an… impressive memory. The cases we work on-the ones they don’t put in our files on purpose-I remember every single piece of information. It’s like the details don’t leave me. So when we finally catch the unsubs, the-the serial killers…” His voice lowers, leaning further over the table to you and he’s so close, you can almost smell his cologne. “That’s when it clicks.”

You stared at him for a beat, like everything else in the world had gone still, his soft hazel eyes looking affectionately into yours, and then the waiter comes over and the bubble between you two pops, springing apart like two teenagers being walked in on. You can see the flush come over his skin, just as the waiter places his plates in front of him, and focus on ordering your dinner, Spencer agreeing to whatever you ordered.

“So,” you started as the waiter left, and you could see the hint of a smile cross his lips. “Spencer, what do you do for fun?”

He hums a little, thinking. “I read, obviously, and I play poker, although I think half the team suspects I’m counting cards.” He leans forward. “Don't tell them, but I am.”

“You can count cards?” you asked, looking at him in disbelief.

He tilts his head to the side, and he looks like some kind of adorable dog, and your cheeks flush a little darker. “Is it that surprising?” Spencer asks. “I mean, if you know the math, it’s-“ He seems to stumble a little, like he’s worried he’ll bore you with the explanation.

“Keep going,” you prompt him, interested.

“I mean, it’s not foolproof,” he starts, the words flowing quickly from him. “You can’t really predict probability with any certainty. It’s just… really good guessing.” He smiles proudly. “I’m actually banned from a few casinos in Vegas.”

You sipped your wine, shaking your head. "You've gotta teach me how, cause I swear, Alex beats me every time."

“You play poker?” Spencer asked, and you nodded, taking another sip of wine. “Of course, you do,” he added, smiling. “You’re perfect,” he blurted, then started, his face flushing a deep colour.

You could fall in love with this man if you let yourself, and it’s a scary thought. Alex hadn’t been kidding when she said that Spencer was perfect for you. Then why was there this horrible pit in your stomach, like an anvil hovering over you?

The rest of the dinner went perfectly, Spencer pulling out your chair for you as you both prepared to leave. The air was crisp, just a little chilly — spring wasn’t quite ready to fully come out of hiding yet. There was a certain energy between you both; a sense of hope you had long forgotten, and as he walked you to your car, you couldn’t stop yourself from looking up and meeting his eyes.

You'd felt this way before... four years ago when you met the man you thought you'd spend the rest of your life with, and suddenly, the idea of going through that again... It scared the living daylights out of you. "This was really nice," you managed, looking at him.

“It was,” he agreed, his hands shoving into his pockets. “I’d like to see you again.” He said it casually, but his eyes betrayed him, like he was afraid you were going to refuse.

You swallowed, reminding yourself to take a breath. "Spencer, you're... really great. I mean, seriously, any girl would be lucky to go out with you," you said slowly. "But if I'm honest... I only came out tonight to get Alex off my back."

You can see the way it crushes him; the light in his eyes dimming. His shoulders drop and his head lowers, and you feel a wave of guilt overcome you, but your feet stay rooted to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but you know his words are meant more for his own failings than for you - you can see it in his body language, how he’s withdrawing into himself. What you expect is for him to walk away; instead, he looks back up at you, and you feel your heart break as your eyes meet his pained ones.

"I'm the one who should be sorry," you said softly. "I should never have..." You took a sharp breath. "I like you, Spencer. A lot, probably more than I'm ready for. But I just got out of a long-term relationship. I'm not ready to jump into another one, especially with someone who... who deserves a lot more."

“I-I don’t mind taking things slow,” he said, his voice soft as his eyes searched your face, and you knew he was telling you the truth. But he doesn’t deserve to be some kind of… emotional training wheels for you, as you work through a bad breakup. He deserves more than you’ve got to offer.

"Of course you don't," you said, with a tinge of fondness. "You're perfect."

"I think I'm far from perfect," he says, with a self-deprecating grin. "But I'd be happy to be, um... whatever it is you're ready for."

You don't want to say it, but he's really, really, really hard to say 'No' to, and the fact he was so genuine in wanting to be around you made your heart clench. You wanted to say 'yes' so desperately.

Maybe you should say 'yes'. Just to see what happens.

"It's a bad idea," you said reluctantly, your resolve crumbling.

"But it might be just what you need," Spencer said, and he's right - you hate it but you can feel the way he's pulling you in. The way those hazel eyes hold you; the way you just want to spend more time with him.

A mistake, you think to yourself, just as his hand slides down, his fingers slotting with yours. A glorious mistake.

"I don't want to do that to you," you murmured, even though all you wanted to do was kiss him and take him home and ruin him.

"Please," he murmured, stepping just a little closer, as if you had any resolve left at this point. "I'm a big boy. I can make that decision for myself."

The way he stepped so close to you made your skin tingle, and something deep within you tightened, and you were sure that Spencer could see it in your eyes. Your free hand lifted, sliding along his cheek. "I can't," you said, thumb gliding against his cheekbone. "I'm sorry."

Spencer stepped back, and you watch the way his face falls, your hand falling away to your side, but he nods, and the part of you that wasn't ready for this, was happy you'd made that decision. That he would stay safe and away from you - but then he leaned down, and before you can process what it was, he presses a warm kiss to your cheek. "I had a really nice time, tonight," Spencer murmured, and you can hear the sound of his footsteps leave before you can get your mouth to work again.

"Me too," you murmured into the air, sinking against your car, wondering if you'd just made the biggest mistake of your life, letting him slip through your fingers.

[daeluin]

also not necessarily related with the last post but with the og, like uhmmmm i don't like going farther than calling a man babygirl/wife bc actual truthing about someone's identity is fucking weird

but. like. since others brought it up. it is weird how you can go around calling miss asian fetishism gway a woman like nbd all based on that time he wore drag & some comments about gender that were cringe even back then. but the second you say something like that about a nonwhite guy you got the gender police on your ass like..... uhmmmm wonder why.

[rosicheeks]

You could post cute pics and get validation from strangers on the internet while you wait.

Fr tho I hope you're doing okay ❤️

What do you think I’ve been doing 😂😘

[deus-ex-mona]

little brothers and their will to #slay, man </3

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)