#man i love ballpoint pen

[1caru]

spooky lil skull kid I doodled in a waiting room :D

[phonification]

going through the horrors (art block)

[creepyscritches]

My mom is thinking about picking up watercolor :3 my partner is starting to practice his pen/sketch exercises :3c Even though I didn't go into my initial choice of middle school art ed, I have kept compiling teaching materials, supplies, and teaching strategies for the past decade so it's fun to have two people eager to learn crafts I am FULLY outfitted to supply them w mediums and instruction :'3c

[chuckchuck228]

CAN YOU PLEASE DRAW STEVE COBS AND BALLPOINT PEN PLZZZZ I LITERALLY LOVE UR ART IM NOT EVEN LYING BUT PLZZZ DRAW THEM TOGETHER 🙏🙏🙏

My requests are closed right now BUUUUUUUT YOU'RE IN LUCK BECAUSE I DRAW THEM A LOT FOR MYSELF!!! Here one art I drew this week :3

And THANK YOU!!!!! I AM FLATTERED ÓwÒ

[iluvvaporeon]

starlo doodles!!!

[dye-it-rouge-et-noir]

If you go to any academic campus and scan the ground, you will never have to pay for a cheap ballpoint pen ever again in your life.

[policyoftruth]

black ballpoint pen: *exists*

me: FUCK YEAH *SCRIBBLE SCRIBBLE*

[heyimcolleen]

🌼Various Mayas🌼

[viktortittiforov]

on the subject of old ships DO YOU remember our old drrr ship. mikado x aoba. i still have fanarts saved somwhere i think

YEAHHHHH ofc i remember!!! also kida x mikado for me ahahaha oh man :") i still have a tender spot for these ships too......... never 4get

(also the fact that toyonaga toshiyuki voiced both mikado and yuuri is NOT lost on me lol I WONDER IF IT'S A COINCIDENCE THAT I IMPRINTED ON BOTH OF THESE CHARACTERS HMMMMM)

[saturnsorbits]

I got a bit carried away... Sorry!

Bakugo's almost crushing his coffee cup by the time Kaminari eventually trips through the door of the cafe. He's late and dressed in those stupid, bright blue loafers he bought from his mothers last collection.

The sight of him alone almost makes Bakugo leave, but then he remembers how his hands had clammed up when you scanned his notebook at the check-out last week and he contents himself with scowling at the oncoming fashion nightmare.

'Hey, bro -.'

Whatever niceties Kaminari has prepared aren't even allowed to tumble from his tongue before Bakugo is shoving a - now cold - dry cappuccino towards him and mumbling about how he: 'Best not fucking tell anyone about this.'

Kaminari cocks his head, eyebrows furrowing over his drink as he sips at the foam. 'So...' He starts, 'What's up?'

Bakugo mumbles, again.

'What?'

'Fuck...' Embarrassment coils in his stomach. He's thought about asking literally anyone for advice before Kaminari, but desperate time call for desperate measures. He cringes as he admits: 'There's, there's this girl.'

With his eyes shining, it takes everything in Kaminari's body to stop him from blurting out the stream of exclamations rushing through his mind, but he manages: just. 'A girl?'

'She...' Bakugo coughs, but fails to dislodge the awkwardness in his voice. 'She works in the shop down the road, y'know the -.'

Kaminari grins. 'The one with black hair, right? Pretty eyes. Makes the uniform look great?'

The muscle in Bakugo's jaw jumps. He know's he shouldn't, but the idea of Kaminari's eyes roaming over your body makes his skin burn. He resists the urge to call him out and settles on a meek 'Yeah...' He can punch him when you're actually his, he reasons. It makes his fists un-clench.

'And what? You wanna ask her out?'

Bakugo nods, but it's stiff.

'Ahh.' Wiggling his eyebrows, Kaminari stretches out his arms and clasps them behind his head. He winks. 'And you thought you'd come to me for advice, huh? I mean... I don't blame you. We all know I have a way with the ladies...'

With a roll of his eyes, Bakugo pops Kaminari's bubble. 'You're just the one who puts themselves out there the most. You don't have a problem going over to people and shit, it's got fuck all to do with being a bastard ladies man.'

Pretending to act hurt, Kaminari covers his heart with a hand.

'I just, I don't know how to talk to her, y'know...' Bakugo fixes his eyes on his cup and tries not to stutter as the all-too familiar butterflies start to flap their wings in his stomach. It's a new sensation, one that torments him when he so much as thinks about you - which seems to be more and more often these days. He's hopeless, he knows. 'She's just. She's so fuckin' pretty and I - my brain just turns to fuckin', I can't...' Slumping forward, he rests his head in his arms on the table and grumbles into the black of his sleeves. 'I'm a fuckin' mess. I'm never a fuckin' mess.'

Kaminari coos. 'Bakugo's got a crush...'

'Shut up.' Swiping at him, Bakugo peaks over his arms. A crush seems like too weak of a word for the tumult of emotions swirling in his chest, but he supposes that is what anyone else would call it. Even if he's pretty sure he's wanted to marry you since he saw you screwing up your face in concentration while stacking a new set of books. He sighs. 'I just need you to fuckin' tell me what to do.'

A laugh bubbles up Kaminari's throat and then, he's shrugging. 'I don't know what to tell you man. You're rough around the edges, but you're attractive enough and you're actually not a terrible person. You can keep a conversation going... Just, talk to her: Be yourself.'

Bakugo blinks, unbelieving. 'Your advice is for me to be myself?'

Kaminari nods. 'Yeah... Ask her about her day, that kind of shit. If she's feeling it, she'll keep the conversation going. If not... Well, if not I know this great bar we can go drown our sorrows in.'

Swallowing, Bakugo licks at his lips. He imagines how you might act, if you'll blush and bite your lip, or giggle at him.

Fuck, he wants to make you smile.

Nodding, he's about to thank Kaminari for his advice, but Kaminari is already beating him to speak:

He clicks his fingers, a light bulb shining above his head as he levels Bakugo with an amused smirk. 'If that fails, you could always ask to borrow her pen.'

I love the thought of Bakugou having the fattest crush on you and being so desperate to talk to you that he actually takes advice from Denki and uses a cringe pick-up line on you that obviously doesn’t work and he gets so mad about it because he thinks he’s ruined his chances🥺😭

[anisangeldust]

————————————————————————-

Office Hours 𝜗𝜚⋆

Summary: Anakin definitely has a favorite student.

Pairing: Prof!Anakin x Student!Fem!Reader

Warnings: READER IS 18!, masturbation (m receiving), mentions of sex, no use of ‘y/n’, undertones of grooming.

A/N: Ik this shouldn’t be glorified, but i also crave for an older man to tell me he’s proud of me and that i’m doing a good job <\3. Also i hope the perspective changes make sense in this!

PART 2 HERE!

————————————————————————-

Anakin loved grading your work, in fact, he set aside your papers so he could grade them together.

He taught a required course, one that all student who wished to have a degree in anything to do with English had to take and pass. Some hated it, most just did their work and got their grade.

But not you.

You cared, Anakin could tell. you were always on time, you were attentive, a gifted writer, a wonderful person, and a great student. On top of all that, you were the prettiest girl he’d ever seen.

At first he kicked himself for his feelings, telling himself it was inappropriate, that it was wrong, how dare he think about one of his students like that! But you were 18 and he was only 32, that’s not so bad right?

The more he stared to feel about you, the more he let himself think about you. How could he not? When you always wore little pink bows at the back of your pigtails, when your lips were always pink and glossy, your cheeks always flushed when he’d compliment your work. You were truly an angel, perhaps a goddess; but that didn’t matter to him.

He’d worship you either way.

The ding of a clock indicated that he had 30 minutes to grade before his next class started, the class you were in, and he dug into the pile of ungraded work like it was the best book he’d ever read.

The last assignment Anakin gave was easy but long, a research paper on a book of your choice. Then you had to take notes on your work and turn in the paper and notebook.

He was giddy with he saw yours, the essay neatly tucked into the cover of the notebook, adorned with a small smiley face on the corner by your name. Anakin saved yours for last, a little treat he reminded himself as the other students’ work was less than savory.

When he got to yours he opened it up and almost groaned with excitement. never would he be over how neat and tidy your handwriting was, nor the fact that you wrote the whole thing in with a crisp, pink ballpoint pen.

Your work was superb, as always.

Anakin could have cum in his pants from how careful your essay was, the time and detail was apparent as he read through your incredible notes. He read both over and over again before the filing in of students reminded him that class was starting soon.

He wrote a few notes on your work and put it in the stack of graded notebooks to hand back.

————————————————————————

“Brilliant work as always clever girl”

The words seemed to jump out at you, they were right next to the big red 98% on the corner of the essay you just got back from your favorite professor.

Surely it meant nothing, he was a professor, an educator, he was meant to praise those who did good, so why when directed to you did it always feel so different?

‘Maybe i’m just better than the people in here’ was the thought that jumped forward in your mind, of course your professor didn’t have a crush on you! what a silly thought to even entertain!

Yet his glances at you when you left the classroom, and the fixing of his pants when you smiles and waved at him made you think otherwise.

————————————————————————-

Anakin was rock hard when your class got out. the look on your face when you saw your final grade and the little note he wrote was enough to make a lesser man moan out loud. The way you chewed on your nail the rest of the class and jotted down notes had him sitting down so his erection was less apparent.

Naturally, he wasted no time when the day ended.

He quickly discarded himself of his blazer before sitting in his desk chair and unzipping his pants, his aching dick slapping against his stomach as he pulled down his boxers and immediately started rubbing the pad of his thumb over his leaking tip.

He wondered what it would feel like if it was your cunt, the mewls that would erupt from your throat, the desperate movement of your hips as he pounded you into his desk, the wet slapping of your arousal, god he craved you.

After gently teasing himself for a few moments, he fully wrapped his hand around his full length and began to messily jerk himself, your name falling from his lips like a sacred mantra.

The moment felt so good, the feeling of his hand was heavenly against his aching length, it was so good that he began to wonder what he could do to get you to let him fuck you, asking you up front could lead to him losing his job, no.. he needed privacy, he needed to know you wanted it to.

Ropes of cum spurted from his fat dick, the moments of clarity allowing him to think of the most perfect scheme.

————————————————————————-

The flutter in your heart was almost painful, you had ran the moment over and over again in your mind. Double, triple, quadruple checking that you weren’t crazy, that your beloved professor did, in fact, call you sweetheart.

If you were a man you’d 100% have a boner right now.

All you did was mention how you were proud of yourself for your grade on your last assignment, you were not expecting your beloved Professor Skywalker to quip back with-

“I’m proud of you too sweetheart”

-you could’ve cum right there, and you might’ve if you didn’t race out of that classroom like someone was chasing you.

This was wrong, horrible, ghastly. Though he wasn’t married, he had a tendency to ramble during his lectures, he was still 32! a whole 14 years older than you! But no amount of self-scrutiny could stop you from wanting to tangle your hands in his shaggy blonde curls while you rode him like a stallion.

———

The next few weeks felt interesting to say the least.

It seems your professor was un-aware of how much he was affecting you. the semester was coming to a close, so he rid himself of his blazer to prepare for the summer air, dawning only a white button up that displayed his back muscles the way they deserved.

You wanted to rip him apart, claw at his back until it was bloody and raw, suck on his skin untill you were the only thing he could feel, you wanted to destroy him, the only stronger feeling in your system was your want for him to destroy you.

His little notes also changed. It went form standard teacher notes like:

Awesome! or you did great!

to ones you could tell he only left on your paper, adorned in the corner of everything you got back was:

good girl, i’m so proud, i knew you could do it princess

It was getting too much to bare, he even started to touch you, to let his hands linger. Like when he passed you in the library and places his hands on your hips to move by you. It was too much.

He had to know what he was doing right? he had to know that you were rubbing your pussy raw to the thought of him, gridding pillows and hooking up with random boys that had similar mops of curly blonde hair and piercing cobalt eyes. he had to right?

He did.

————————————————————————-

Anakin knew he had you. Weeks of teasing, testing the waters, leading you to him, and you finally took the bait.

When he opened his E-Mail this morning and saw one from you he almost jumped out of his skin. it was professional, just you saying that you’d like to chat about your grades, but he knew, he knew the moment you walked in that you were his, that you’d do whatever he wanted.

It just so happened he was unavailable the rest of the day after you scheduled your office hours.

———

Anakin groaned, he thought maybe he could wait, that he could hold in his desires for after you two spoke, but he just couldn’t. He was uncomfortably. hard, his whole body was shaking from need, and it was still 5 minutes until you had scheduled to see him.

despite his better judgments, he undid his belt and palmed himself through his boxers, it felt so good, his balls were heavy with need and the tiny wet patch indicated that he needed to get off, now.

Yanking down his boxers, he did the same thing he did everytime he was alone with the thought of you, his hand pumping up and down his fat cock. The only thing he could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. he was so deaf, in fact, that he didn’t hear the rattle of the turning knob to his office door.

“Professor Skywal-“ your voice was sweet like velvet. His eyes shot open.

shit.

————————————————————————-

[kisses4reid]

convenient pt.4 | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

pt. 3 (you cannot read this without prior reading)

summary - you don’t need help with your biology anymore, you need help understanding the chemistry that seems to be growing between you and spencer.

warnings - jealousy, dickhead guy, unwanted flirting, awkward spencer, mentions of getting run over and pouring rain, studying.

genre - college!fem!reader x earlyseasons!spencer, fluff, angst if you squint, jealousy trope

a/n - i hope you all enjoy this part. comment or put in a req to be added to the convenience taglist, if you’ve already asked and i haven’t mentioned you please message orso i can make sure you’re on my list for the next part! love you all 🫶

sat in a plush office chair, in a cool room, in a comfortable dress shirt, surrounded by the people he trusted most, spencer couldn’t seem to live in the moment.

now that’s not something you would suggest to the man when he’s sat in front of multiple gruesome photos and case files, usually he would be 100% focused, no bullshit, no wandering thoughts.

but suddenly he felt light, airy, like these cases were just another day and he would be confident either way. it wasn’t completely untrue, but it was odd. everyone else seemed to notice.

“spencer, are you okay?” aaron hotchner startled the man with his stern and concerned voice, everyone looking up at spencer as a natural reaction. spencer looked around the table, noticing a growing grin between garcia and morgan.

hotch continued, “if you need to sit this one out, by all means.”

spencer shook his head and adjusted his posture, picking up a profile to skim over. there was a small giggle from garcia that brought the attention of aaron.

“what’s going on?”

“reid’s distracted because of a certain someone…” morgan replied, biting the end of his ballpoint pen. garcia slapped his shoulder.

“don’t tease him, meanies. keep going, hotch.”

they were right. he was distracted and felt far away most of the time. he wanted to go somewhere comfortable, like a convenience store with a pretty employee to talk to.

ricky, a handsome guy a few years older than you, was annoying logan with questions he could’ve answered himself. he tagged along with logan to your weekend study session at a small cafe not far from the college. the tall man was mostly agreeable, except for his apparent obsession with straight black coffee. he had had two cups of it already.

“so, y/n. what do you study? wait don’t tell me. nursing, because you seem to be healing my broken heart. psychology, because you’re making me crazy? or is it music, because your voice is like a song?” he leaned forward from across the table, disregarding the punch in the shoulder from logan. you only glared and returned to your expensive textbooks, leaving your drink to turn cold in its abandonment.

“don’t try anything, ricky. she’s basically taken.” she warned with a smirk. you lifted your gaze and rolled your eyes,

“you’re nonsensical. you’ve had too much coffee,” you stop filling out a questionnaire, “he’s not even that… he’s… ugh, i don’t know.” you place your pen down and stretch in the stiff wooden chair.

ricky laughs, clapping his hands together, “okay so you totally have a crush on a guy.”

“i do not.”

“i guess i’ll back off with my advances, unlessss, you truly don’t have a crush on your lover boy?”

“i do not- but still please back off, you’re gross.”

logan and ricky shared a glance and went back to their work silently. like they knew something you didn’t. your brain had turned stuffy, you need to get some air, you needed to get away from the truth.

garcia and morgan appeared so suddenly spencer thought turbulence had pushed them into their seats in front of him. his gaze snapped from the airplane wing to their two giddy faces and immediately knew what this conversation was going to be about. it only made him a little bit uncomfortable, these types of conversations. girls, flirting, being happy around someone he doesn’t work with, it was all unfamiliar. it seemed he chose the best people to talk about it to though; garcia had given him a little too much information about his crush from her unwanted snooping, and in the process morgan was also given all of this information.

“yes, okay, i told derek all about your girl but i couldn’t help it! he’s very persuasive!” garcia pouted. spencer thinned his lips and nodded, expecting a surge of conversation but he was only met with silence. morgan and garcia shared a glance.

“look, spencer. we’re only doing this to distract ourselves from the case we just closed, and to help you. if you don’t want help, if you think this… thing, will die out, then tell us. but, if you do want some adviceee…” morgan spoke smoothly, quiet enough to avoid attention from anyone else.

when spencer stayed silent, thinking about how he could never use you as a distraction, morgan whispered, “if nothings happening, you gotta light the match.”

you were standing on an uneven step ladder when the doorbell rang with 10 minutes to closing. you rolled your eyes, thinking you’d have to stay even later because of this customer. but your demise quickly turned to calmness, a little bit of panic, when spencer appeared in the entry way.

you nearly fell off the ladder, dropping the pile of juice boxes in your hands onto the floor. you cursed under your breath, watching from above as spencer picked them up for you.

“thank you.”

there was no need for formalities anymore, it was like you had known each other forever. spencer was silent again, it was becoming his thing.

you clear your throat, “i changed my medication.”

he glanced at you, brown eyes observing your tired expression. he came here unconsciously. he had already had some take out, he didn’t need any coffee, and his fruit bowl was stocked to the brim. spencer walked to this convenience store, the result of the action being evident through the pain in his feet.

the phone in your back pocket caught spencer’s attention, before he promptly looked elsewhere to avoid looking like a creep.

“good, im glad.”

are we really back to this? was one awkward conversation all we needed to go back to strangers?

you stepped down, “no more bruises.”

spencer placed his fingers delicately on his healed cheek, holding back a smile that you actually remembered that.

he asked, “who’s texting you so much?” without much thought. he didn’t think about how it sounded, like he was protective or worried, or what it implied. he didn’t even have your number, why should he be so upset?

“oh it’s just logan and ricky.” you replied simply, folding up the ladder and glancing at the clock placed above the register desk, “are you getting anything?”

because it didn’t seem weird if he came here for you instead of his groceries.

“like your brother, ricky?”

there was a small match burning in his stomach at the sound of those names. he felt like taking your phone and snooping until he reached the end, until his fingers hurt. spencer felt like asking intrusive questions, before he bit his lips to stop himself.

you made notice of his hands fiddling in his pant pockets, rolling your eyes. that made his tongue slip.

“how many guys do you know?”

you looked at him with surprise, walking over to the register, “you think i’m a whore?”

spencer’s heart skipped a beat, “no not at all, i just- i didn’t word that right.”

you shook your head and laughed quietly, starting to count the change sat on your swivel chair. something was off. the street was empty. “did you walk here, spencer?”

spencer’s breath hitched. oh god, were the only words circling in his brain. when you used his name, it was different. this was weird, he needed to get out of there.

you looked so effortless. he looked so anxious.

“yeah. i did.”

you nod, “okay, you can help me lock up then.” you pass him a set of keys for the window covers, and add, “you can walk me home, to make up for the other day.”

spencer nods with a small smile and begins locking up.

you lead the way out of the store and around the corner to a set of traffic lights. the streets are silent and misty, but neither of you felt the need to jay walk in an attempt to speed up this process of awkward walking.

spencer watches you from his advantage point. at how you bite the inside on your lips, how you look at the concrete pathway.

“what’s wrong?” you don’t react, instead push the pedestrian button and sigh.

“it’s monday, spencer. you were going to ‘retry’, ‘be better’? i’m not 100% sure what you meant by that, but you said that right after you told me you were going to ask me out so.”

spencer gulps and nods, hands going back to their safe space in his pockets. “yeah, i said that. but i’m going to have to delay that again. this isn’t really,” he motioned towards the weeds, litter, and flickering street lights with his eyes, and you nod with a smirk.

“romantic?”

“romantic.”

you smile at each other, and for a second he’s utterly entranced before a wave of wind and tires pass him. before a soft hand is hard on his upper arm. his eyes trailed the car, heart beating nearly as hard as it does when he looks at you.

“jesus, are you okay?” you asked worried, and when he nods with a simple stare accompanying it, you look away.

light a match.

you hand leaves him quicker than it got there.

in front of your apartment building, you notice logan’s window alight behind white curtains, and turn to face spencer.

“thank you for walking me home. i would invite you in but it’s 1:20am and i don’t really… know you.”

spencer furrows his eyebrows slightly, looking at you expectantly. your faces turns cold, slightly sorrowful.

“spencer, i don’t know you. i know things about you but i don’t actually know you.” you yawn, wiping a hand over your eyes, “maybe i’m just tired and overworked and…” logan’s voice echoes through your head as you look over the tall, tired and handsome man in front of you, “if you’re not going to ask me out first i’m going to ask you out. so, make a decision.”

it felt wrong being so stubborn and solid with him, but with school and family stress you truly didn’t need any unknown feelings to topple on as well.

spencer was taken aback. he didn’t know one couple where the girl asked out the guy, he didn’t know someone could like him that badly. he didn’t know what to say.

“goodnight, spencer. i’ll see you.”

you turned and pushed on the pull door, before pulling on it. heart thumping in your ears, you slowly held a hand over your mouth, impressed with yourself.

but you lied, you weren’t going to ask him out. you have no idea how to ask someone out.

the convenience store wasn’t so lonely tonight.

logan was arguing with ricky over his choice in deodorant almost louder than the terrible radio music playing throughout the store.

the beating of rain was creating a calming background to this chaos, as well as keeping customers away. all but one, of course.

spencer had an excuse, he was supposed to bring food for the team tomorrow, and this was the closest store. totally. but as he stood under the cover of the stores overhead steel, he felt another match being burnt in the bottom of his stomach.

a tall and toned man with bright blonde hair was leaning over your register and talking to you, making you smile and laugh. your arms were crossed, you were leaned away and you avoided eye contact, but spencer didn’t see any of these signs as the waves of jealousy drowned him.

spencer looked out onto the street. he had no right to feel that way, this was his own fault. he felt even weirder and out of place than he usually felt.

the doorbell rang and your fake smile turned real. logan watched from the toilet spray section and smirked when she recognised the purple-sweater adorned man. ricky stopped his flirting and turned to meet spencer’s eyes, they sized each other up. the blonde man smiled and looked back at your much happier face, “so this is lover boy?”

you smacked his arm hard, receiving a squeal in return. “what? no. ricky this is spencer, spencer this is ricky.”

spencer gulped and ignored the stranger and you. he went for the fruits section. ricky glanced at your confused face, “i might be a threat.”

“in your dreams.” you rolled your eyes and pushed his elbow off your desk. logan approached the counter with a basket full and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. you noticed ricky’s change in expression when looking at her and held back a smile.

“you didn’t get anything for me?” he asked, voice teasing. logan took out a block of mint chocolate and threw it at him, which he caught perfectly with a smirk on his face.

“what’s wrong with lover boy?”

you glare at her, deciding avoiding that nickname was out of the picture. your shoulders slump as you begin scanning her items while making sure spencer wasn’t in earshot. “i mentioned you two, and then he went weird.”

“i mean, if i liked a girl and she told me about two guys- sorry, two people with guy names- i’d be pretty jealous,” ricky inputted.

“is that all? some jealousy got to his head?” logan pressed.

you seriously doubted he would be jealous over that, he seemed smarter than that. he was smarter than that.

logan paid and left, literally dragging ricky behind her, as he waved and winked at you through the windows.

the store was eerily quiet, the only noise coming from the thunderstorm brewing outside. it felt uncanny and uncomfortable. you needed someone’s cologne to wade through or something.

turning while shaking your head, you grabbed out some posters taller than you and turned to have the life scared out of you.

“jesus! i thought i told you to walk louder.”

his groceries were perfectly in line to be scanned, a small smile appearing before promptly vanishing. spencer avoided your eyes, a beating all he could hear.

“he’s your…”

you sighed, disappointed spencer even thought that dumb blonde was someone to you, “acquaintance.” you finished his sentence. “i’ve known him for two days and he a flirtatious dick. everyone named ricky is a dick.”

he pulls out his slim wallet to hand you a $20 bill, fingers skimming each other. one glance.

spencer nods and nearly leaves before you stop him, “can you help me?”

spencer is on the top of the ladder outside, barely staying dry underneath the steel overhead cover with the top corners of a food poster in his hands. you tip toe to give him a piece of double sided tape. the laminated photos wave in the wind, spencer sticks his tongue out in concentration and you smile at the innocent act. leaning against the wall, quickly glancing inside to make sure nobody wanted to check out, you begin talking.

“thank you for doing this, i totally would’ve fallen and died if it weren’t for you. what can i do to repay you?”

spencer thought for a moment, looking down at you, “nothing. you don’t have to do anything. just keep talking.”

so you did, because you didn’t know if you’d see him again after tonight.

PART 5

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[ddejavvu]

hi! i was wondering if you could write spencer reid with a reader who's hotch's niece? and hotch always tells her that she should meet reid and go out with him instead of all the shitty guys she usually goes out with so when she meets him she's just like "oh! you're the guy my uncle wants me to fall in love with!" and he gets all flustered. thank you, have a good day/night!

You'd already been eyeing up the FBI badge clipped to the man's chest pocket, but when you put together Reid from the laminated card and Spencer when the barista gives him his coffee, you know it's the man, the myth, the legend.

"Oh my gosh," You pipe up from where you'd been waiting for your own drink behind him, "You're Dr. Spencer Reid?"

He doesn't look like he'd been expecting you to speak to him, and he clumsily stops in his tracks, nearly spilling his coffee through the short opening in the plastic lid.

"Um- yes, hi." He blinks bewilderedly at you, "Are you- do I know you?"

"You know my uncle," You grin, turning briefly towards the counter to accept the coffee that the barista slides towards you, "Aaron Hotchner."

Spencer's brows shoot towards his hairline, "You're- oh! You're Hotch's niece?"

"That's me," You nod, shuffling towards the corner of the shop so that you're not in the way of the other patrons, "Y'know, my uncle speaks very highly of you."

Slowly, very slowly, rouge starts spreading over Spencer's cheeks, coloring them close to the salmon accent that the coffee shop has running along its crown moulding.

"Uh, he's- that's good to hear. I try my best."

"Oh he says you're a fantastic agent," You nod, "But I meant more personally. He tells me I should fall in love with you, actually."

All of a sudden salmon is out, and fire-engine red is in.

"You- uh, love?" Spencer splutters, and your heart skips a beat. Maybe you could take your uncle's suggestion.

"He's not a fan of my love life," You laugh, "He'd rather me go for someone nice and, uh- not a criminal."

Spencer's face quirks up in a bashful grin, and he fights through his flustered state to chuckle, "Uh, yeah, that sounds like something he'd want for you."

You delve a hand into your bag, coming out with a ballpoint pen that you uncap, "Listen, Dr. Reid, if you'd ever like to take me out, and- uh, not to your prison cell..." You reach for his hand, and the tense muscles beneath your fingertips relax as you neatly pen your number onto his wrist, "Give me a call, okay?"

"Okay," He nods, and you're sure the word was supposed to come out as a confident agreement, not a breathless whisper. But he finds his voice soon after, clearing his throat, "Um, it was- it was nice meeting you...?"

"Y/N," You smile, heading for the door opposite of where he's heading, "Hey, good luck with work! Don't let my uncle boss you around."

[aphrogeneias]

Congratulations, bby! 🥰 I’d love to participate but I am so lousy at prompts 😓

I’d love like an interview moment? All the press for Day One has got me thinking about Eddie doing like marathon interviews and him being like…distracted by his assistant the whole time?

If it doesn’t spark anything feel free to toss ❤️

warnings: smut (+18), biting, oral (f receiving). sex flashbacks in the middle of the day are one's biggest enemy.

Somewhere between the third and fourth questions, Eddie zoned out.

The band was lined up at the press conference table, and as he sat at the far left of his bandmates, his mind started wandering. He didn't know if it was the flash of the cameras going off, or the repetitive questions being made by the journalists sitting on the chairs reserved for the press in front, but he couldn't keep his attention fixed.

“What can we expect from this second U.S. tour now that…”, and “Can you guys tell us your plan for…”, and “What do you think about the comparisons made between you and…”. The last question, made by a man directly in front of him, almost made him roll his eyes. Eddie looked away, barely concealing a sigh, and let Jeff handle that question more gracefully than he ever could.

He chose the circus life, he enjoyed the circus life, but when it was moments like this where he discovered he didn't have much patience for it.

Wandering, like his mind, his eyes found you standing at the side, between Rick and their manager, Jim. With your trusty notebook in hand, listening to Rick whispering something as you scribbled something quickly. Eddie wanted to smile at your concentrated face, and the way your nose scrunched as you struggled with the ballpoint pen in your hand.

He couldn't, though, but that didn't stop him from looking.

As you strained your neck further to listen more closely to what Rick was telling you, the collar of your sweater moved just enough for him to see a peek of a reddened — quickly turning purple — bruise close to your collarbone.

The memory hit him, then, all at once.

You spread before him in bed like a feast, looking good enough to eat. Running his nose through your naked chest, nuzzling his cheek on your soft skin to feel you close, holding you down with his hands on your waist. Your giggles and your hands on his hair, keeping it from falling on his face.

Marking you with his lips and teeth, tongue and spit, lavishing you with it. Teeth on your neck, suckling on your sensitive skin, relishing on the sweet noises you made, on the feeling of your hands as they squeezed his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh.

You marked him as he marked you, and if he moved shoulders the right way, he could still feel them running down his back.

Eddie sat, bored, his legs spread wide, thinking about you. About sucking bruises over your chest, leaving delicate bites on your nipples, the bite mark he left on your lower stomach, knowing he would find it there later, if he lifted your pretty sweater up. Another journalist raises their hand, another question is made.

Another memory of his mouth on you, kissing your thighs, biting on the meat of them. Your taste on his tongue, like honey on his lips. The view of your back arching as he raised his eyes to see you fall apart on his mouth and fingers, hands squeezing your tits just as he'd asked.

He shifted uncomfortably on his seat, wishing he'd kept his sunglasses on. His already tight jeans feel tighter, and if he closed his eyes, he could still feel you on him, skin on skin, thighs squeezing his waist, the bed moving and hitting the wall behind you, the shadows undulating on the wall.

If this was a spell you'd gotten him under, he didn't wish to be broken free.

“My question is for Munson,” he heard, then, coming from a journalist at the far back. A woman, with a microphone labeled with a magazine he'd heard of before, but only in passing, “do you…”

He had to ask her to repeat her question, amping up his charm, making the crowd of press-people laugh. You didn't know what you'd done, but he'd get you for it later.

[yuphoric]

STOCKHOLM SYNDROME ❥ yuuta okkotsu (m) | part 1

➵ summary: Yuuta Okkotsu is head over heels (read: pathetically) in love with a girl who wouldn’t even spare him a second glance. When the opportunity to call her “his” arrives on a silver platter—that is, when she loses all her memories—without thinking, he grabs the opportunity to claim himself as her husband.

➵ pairing: obsessive stalker!yuuta okkotsu x f!reader ➵ word count: 1,163 ➵ warnings: MINORS DNI – stalking & obsession (for future drabbles? chapters? smut)

author’s note: ALL LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! <3 inspired by the 1D fanfic i read 9 years ago (“illegally yours” by _DaniMoon_)… ALSO PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS……….. the yuuta brainrot was just sooo... bad i wrote all of this in one sitting SCREAMINGGGG

Yuuta Okkotsu is a well-calculated man; he’s a “mastermind” as Taylor Swift would say. He’s smart, and he’s careful. He’s everything but stupid.

However, when it comes to you, he becomes stupid. Stupidly in love. All thoughts of intellect trashed at the deepest corner of his mind, all reasons of rationality ignored. Even back in high school, he’d admire you from afar—too insecure to even place himself in your world. He never deemed his world worthy to accommodate you; you who he defines as perfection, you who shines brighter than any of the constellations combined.

When this seemingly perfect chance to have you, to love you, falls beneath his feet; he takes it—he grabs it. 

His day started like his usual routine. He greeted the kind barista named ‘Yuuji’ behind the counter and bought his usual coffee order from the small café he frequents at. He sat at the plush chair (technically, could be labeled as his own by how much his ass sat on it) near the window, catching sight of the beautiful morning scenery—

You.

You, at exactly eight in the morning, arrive with the usual twinkle in your eye. Yuuta falls in love more every day with the sight of perfection. In these typical mornings, you always carry a digital camera, taking pictures of your usual subjects; like the shop’s designs that change weekly (Last week, he recalled it was designed with cute little balloons to celebrate the owner’s birthday), the baristas which have become your friends, and the pastries layed out inside the glass display. He always wondered when he could be the subject of your pictures.

Once Yuuta hears the soft jingle of the shop’s bells, you dash over the counter and greet Yuuji. If someone would ask Yuuta what you usually order, he could easily recite it: “One sea salt latte and a banana muffin, please.” On days you feel like ‘experimenting,’ he knows that you would instead order a double shot of espresso and a puff pastry.

While he tries to not seem obvious stalking—admiring—you, he couldn’t help himself to let his eyes wander on your body. Especially when today, you wore the pink miniskirt he loved seeing on you, how it perfectly hugs your waist down to your thighs. After you pay, you walk to your designated seat: the one near the counter, just beneath the air conditioner. He shakes his head, turning back to his table; his hand grasping the ballpoint pen he brought to messily sketch the you of today on his journal. His ordered drink is neglected at the side, his focus on your sketch and his view of you by the corner of his eye.

Today seems like any other day.

Until it wasn’t.

The bells ring once again at the entry of another man with dark hair bunched in a top knot. Yuuta watches as your eyes light up at the sight of this man, and he could swear he feels his stomach lurch. Who is this man and why is she so happy to see him? The grip Yuuta had on his pen tightened, similar to the feeling of his vulnerable heart. Do you have a boyfriend he never knew of?

For the next couple of minutes, he watches the sequence of events play out. First, Yuuji delivers a tray of two different drinks and two different pastries on your shared table. Second, the sweet conversation you introduced to this ‘top knot’ (read: ‘top one asshole,’ as Yuuta conjured in his head) seemingly turned sour instantaneously. Then currently, Yuuta watches the back and forth of free flowing arguments between the two of you.

How dare this man hurt you?

Someone as perfect as you?

The chatter in the shop couldn’t mask the heated conversation you shared with the man across your seat. Yuuta desperately wanted to intervene; to say something, to wipe the leaking tears away from your face—but he stayed still. He remains unmoved. What else could he do, anyway? He watches as your emotions get the best of you; your face displaying emotions of frustration and anguish. Yuuta vowed to himself not to make you feel the way you do right now because of the asshole you were with, to not see these expressions on your pretty face.

You stand up, and Yuuta hears the loud screech your chair evokes as you trudge your way out. The ‘top one asshole’ remains seated, his back turned against Yuuta. With no other thought passing through his head but you, he follows your lead outside the shop. His coffee remains untouched, pen now bashed in his jean’s pockets and his journal pinched between his fingers.

He, himself, couldn’t calculate his next few actions.

Yuuta follows the blue sedan car you drive; he strikes closely behind you, not too near, but not too far either. His eyes zero in your form, maintaining the pace of his motorcycle. He hopes you don’t notice him following him for the past couple of minutes already; of course, he just wanted to ensure that you were safe—that you were okay. He was just worried, that’s all.

After the three alternating turns and the two highways you drove, the road the two were driving at started to get steeper. The cars and other transportation devices started to lessen and lessen. Yuuta feels the sweat start to drip down his neck, the helmet he wears starts to loosen, while he continues to push down all the weight of his body on his seat to control himself. He sees your car get faster than a lightning speed, your car evoking a loud screeching sound. 

What the actual fuck were you trying to do?

You seemed frantic, displayed through your driving. In a matter of seconds, you started to lose control of your car. Yuuta watches your car fishtail like a wild animal, spinning repeatedly until you hit a light post. 

He feels the adrenaline rush through his veins, as he pushes his motorcycle behind you. The exhilaration overcame his body’s fatigue from the extensive, one-sided pursuit. The reverberation of the screeching continued to pierce the tranquility of the road, resonating in the middle of almost nowhere. Yuuta feels his heart race, but not because he's in love with you; rather, it’s because he worries you got seriously hurt. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Yuuta mutters to himself as he sees dust erupt from your car’s tires, casting a cloud that obscured his view of you. He catches up to your swerved car, him haphazardly pushing down on his rear brake pedal. “What the fuck happened?”

He cautiously approached your car, his heart stuttering against his ribs. Yuuta peers through your car’s cracked window, only to see head laid on your headrest with your eyes closed. His gut wrenches at the sight of the blood seeping through the wound on your forehead; fortunately, the cut wasn’t too big, but it was deep.

What the fuck is he supposed to do now?

a/n: will post other parts to this!! planning to make this multichaptered?? I JUST LOVE YUTAAAAAA.....the brainrot is so bad imnfdndsbhjhbascdhjdajchhjajksjkjsdkdnwkejkdjw pls lmk what u think <33

[coryosbaby]

Thinkin’ of Anakin with a Ditzy Girlfriend Who Completely Forgets Everything <333

Frustration ebbs as you remember that you completely forgot to wash Anakin’s shirt for work tomorrow. He sits next to you in your shared bed, watching the way your plump lips turn into a pout and your lashes form crystalline tears.

It’s not uncommon for this to happen; you’re a sensitive girl, a delicate little thing, as Anakin always says, and when your memory jogs you always feel terrible about forgetting. He pulls you against him, wiping your tears away with his thumbs.

“It’s okay, baby, ‘m not mad at you. It’s not a big deal.”

“B-But it is! I always forget. Now you can’t wear your favorite shirt tomorrow…”

So considerate. So precious. That’s what Anakin thinks as you sniffle into his neck, your tiny hands grabbing onto the drawstring of his sleep pants in frustration. He smiles, regardless of your tears, because he knows you just want to make him proud. He kisses your head, taking note of the ribbons you love to wear so proudly in your hair.

And that’s when, a couple of thoughts later, Anakin gets the idea.

He pulls one of those ribbons from your hair. Your brows furrow as you pull away.

“What’re you doin’ Ani?”

“Hush, baby. Jus’ helping you.”

He grabs something from the bedside table, a hot pink ballpoint pen with tiny hearts decorating the expanse of it. It’s your favorite pen, one you use to do crosswords and write little poems for Anakin when you’re feeling extra sentimental. He leans over to the table, places the ribbon down, and begins to write.

You lean on his shoulder, trying to get a peek of what the man is writing, but he’s done before you can even try to read it. He shows it to you, his handwriting messy but predominantly Anakin so you find it completely endearing.

𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛: 𝚆𝚊𝚜𝚑 𝙰𝚗𝚒’𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚠 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝

He grabs your finger, much to your confused face, and wraps it around your index finger. He ties it into a little bow, and presses a kiss to it.

“There. Now everytime you forget something, you can look at these and remember.”

And that’s how it is from then on: your fingers are always covered in pretty bows, some color coordinated to the outfits you let Ani pick out for you, some just plain and pink. There are times when Anakin loves to write sweet little messages. Things like, “Remember: Ani loves you” or “Remember: Ani’s gonna marry you one day”. It should be hard to carry those around on your fingers all day, but Anakin does most of life’s work for you. His friends know when “Anakin’s girl” comes in to greet him at work because of the trail of ribbons that follow behind the ditzy girl in the tiny skirt. Ribbons stay strewn around the house, smelling of your perfume or with tiny pieces of your hair woven in between them. But Anakin wouldn’t have it any other way <3