#paint on your bricks)
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Photo
@chiangyorange‘s poor guy had to fight for his damn life so far, meanwhile my old man got to chill half of the time in the @rottmntpeepawpolls
Twitter || Ko-fi || Instagram
#rottmnt#rottmnt movie#future leo#peepaw polls#odd man out#wmas#we'll meet again soon#tmnt#teenage mutant ninja turtles#clip studio paint#fanart#digital art#digital sketch#doodle#cartoon#place your bets people#who will win#someone who went to hell and back thrice over and is armed with a brick#or just some guy in a flannel
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
the inherent beauty of being alive! there is much to be thankful for
#– ying.talks#daisies on the grass butterflies flitting about dandelions cloudless skies cloudy skies skies that look like theyve been painted by monet#heart shaped birthmarks weird shaped birthmarks paw prints in cement frogs hiding in brick cracks raindrop stains on glass#perfumes that you love with your whole being that they become your signature scent the distant & familiar melody of a neighbour singing#trinkets that lie on your windowsill from people who “thought of this when i saw you” the scent of home that stick to bedsheets#polaroids with tape that is peeling and dried flowers from celebrations and freshly refilled flower vases with fresh flowers from outside#people who say i love you without hesitation because they have so much love to give#i love you! i love you. and you and you and you. i can go on and on#– ying.falling in love with the world ♡
31 notes
·
View notes
Text
i was on zillow today, fantasizing about being able to live somewhere, when i came across the listing for my childhood home. it wasn't active/being sold, but it was on there with some pics of the interior. and my GOD. THEY MADE HER UGLY. THEY TOOK HER RUSTIC PUSSY OUT. WHAT THE FUCK
#i'd share pics if it didn't dox me a little#but it's SO SAD#PLS#i needed to see her... curiosity got me. i dream of this house genuinely nearly every night#but like. oh my god.#this is probably for the best bc it means i cant romanticize about buying this home again one day and expecting it to look at all like#it did#but they literally took down to bare bones and reshaped her and ohh my god#babes there was so much gorgeous wood work in that house#there was an accent exposed brick wall in the living room#the open layout was still closed off Enough to feel like separate rooms. but they opened it even more#AND THEY TOOK AWAY THE BARSTOOL/COUNTER AREA ?? IM SO CONFUSED#WHY WOULD U DO THAT#YOU COULD SIT AT THIS GORGEOUS BLACK GRANITE COUNTER AND EAT SITTING IN THE LIVING AREA AS SOMEONE YOU LOVE SERVED YOU A MEAL DIRECTLY FROM#THE KITCHEN#i'm not genuinely bent out of shape about this btw. i just had to share this somewhere sldkjfdskl#people will buy YOUR childhood home and make it ''''MODERN.'''' it will happen one day to YOU#they will paint the walls GRAY & take the pussy out of her TOO (the walls were warm deep yellows/oranges/reds. bedrooms were lighter blues)#THEY TOOK AWAY THE WARM COLORED TILES OF THE LIVING AREA AND REPLACED IT WITH UGLY WOOD FLOORING ???#THEY REMOVED THE MOLDINGS ENTIRELY ??#NO MORE WINDOW LEDGES ??????#WHAT WAS HAPPENING HERE#praying that these were In Progress pics and somebody has returned love to this home since bc. my god#again vague for my own safety but i moved out within the last decade and the home was resold in the last 5 or so years and thats when these#pics r from i think. so they've had time to fix her since#and boy was she a fixer upper after the horrors that happened inside those walls </3 ASLKDFJSAK#i should literally just write about this and instead i'm posting on tumblr#yeah that's life. that's being a tumblrina writer.#personal#.txt
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
I gotta learn how to say no to my roommate. Every single fucking week on my weekend she's like "let's go out with my hairdresser and paint pottery" "let's take the cats to the vet" "let's install new knobs on all the doors and also the gates in the yard" girl. I'm not your fucking wife. I need a goddamn break
#it's really my own fault bc i can't say no#but every time i say no she has a guilt spiral and acts like she's suuuuuuuuch a huge fucking burden on me#girl no i just need a break. chill#this is the main reason i refuse to ever date her#she has an absolute talent for sucking my energy for empathy completely dry#sorry about your anxiety disorder and body dysmorphia and trauma babe but could you stop making it my problem#anyway i still need to hold my ground and say no to her when i need to#and eventually she'll get the fucking picture and maybe even learn to say no back!#in the meantime i do want to put my head through a brick wall though#the pottery painting was fun actually i painted a beehive cup#i'll post pics once i get the piece back it has to be fired#monologue
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
just need to vent about the Olympics
#Saw the shittiest take saying “on top of the emotional distress on imane imagine how much in danger she is back home”#are you stupid? no seriously. are you stupid?#You think the entire goddamn country who sent here to the Olympics and the mena singing her praises didn't already know about the yx thing?#“oh i meant like bc of the trans allegations and yk”#literally go fuck yourself#don't make the cost of yout activism the demeaning of arab countries and painting us as savages#some of you are too comfortable showing your racism and ignorance under the guise of supporting queer identities#surprise surprise! us in those “barbaric uncivilised” countries don't go throwing people over roofs bc of trans allegations#Yes women can dress as manly as they want and hijab is never forced. Do you ever think before you speak??#Women like imane are welcomed and common in arab countries#the transphobes we have here are the same fucking ones you have in the west! how come yours is special and civilised terfs???#And stop calling her khalif for fucks sake. learn how arabic names work before butchering them with your ignorant self centered naming systm#Imane is her first name. Khalif is her FATHER'S first name. You're calling her by her father's first name NOT her last name#arabic names go with your first name first. father's first name second. grandpa firstname third then great grandpa THEN last name#call her imane and stop embarrassing yourself bc you're just calling her by a man's name. her father's#“trans allegations” as if our people take the west media seriously rather than a circus show at best. You're repeating old news.#And even if there were. People here are actually a community nurtured on kindness. even the most conservatives mind their business#We're raised on being a community. strangers are your brothers and sisters. Live and let live#But your goddamn media takes stories of religion extremist and paints ALL of us like that. and your tiny brain actually believes it#Hey! you know those gay stories on my blog you've been reading? They were written by a savage arab oh no!#They were written by someone who lives in those dangerous arabic countries! oh no!#You don't know our culture. You don't know our beliefs. You will never grasp our ideals bc they were weaved from kindness and helping others#So don't fucking talk shit about things you know NOTHING about. You don't know the queer arab struggles#the same bad apples you have there we have here. shitty people are shitty regardless of nationality#But actually we do have some etiquette and considerations for others here. We don't go throwing bricks at queen tourists do we?#So why would we do it to our own people you sad excuse of a human
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
not to be dramatic but furniture flippers should go to jail
#if you take a beautiful antique wooden dresser#and paint it gray#im in your house waiting with a brick
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
i'm soooo stressed out about next week that i'm laughing at myself, my whole internal monologue is just 'encouraging slogans from tumblr posts on repeat'. cannot tell if this is good or bad but does it matter tbh :P
OH WELL i can do it!!!! we can all do it!!! let's survive the week and feel the relief afterwards!!!!!!!!!
#*probably at LEAST slightly misremembered and interpreted for my own purposes :P#'if you do things they become done' <- literally face the stuff and feel the relief and growth.#'very beautiful very powerful' <- empowering + you get to think about the spiny lumpfish.#'the world is scary but i'm strong as hell' <- literally. i can do this.#'you can do anything you want forever' <- just paint the dang wall green if that will stop you being immobilised with terror.#'water off a duck's back thursday friday' <- spell of surving thursdays specifically#OH WAIT! 'WAHOO YIPPEE WEDNESDAY' <- don't forget to manufacture some excitement on your wednesday!#'but still we stay silly :3' <- the horrors are relentless but so am i + make it fun#'if it sux hit da bricks' REGRETFULLY NOT APPLICABLE HERE BECAUSE I HAVE TO FACE ALL THE STUFF. AARG! :P#a real goldmine here thought tbh. very encouraging :P
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
^^^ credit to this 💙gorgeous💙 pic from @moonlovingvampire for driving me back to the palettes because i love everything about it (including the moon lamp *eyes it enviously*)
under the cut, the original suggested colors -
i know it looks for "accent" shades but COME ON
all those soft subtle organic hues and it grabs ... black, and the yellow of the one light in the background? for sure they are contrasts i guess
when i see a glowing moon at twilight it definitely evokes images of ... bees??? warning signs? crime scene tape? lol
#palettes#too good to just admire passively thank you for this it's stunning#like moon sky greenery wood water stone (it think that's granite or similar) and *light*#just everything visually - but also mentally emotionally - satisying to look at#fantastic composition as well - you are so right to be proud#god i love how the moon lamp looks - i keep almost getting one for myself but other things take precedence :/#your plant looks healthy too - all of mine are either going gangbusters with little input from me or like deathly unhappy#the colors are just SO GOOD#however i will mention again how gray is just the weirdest fucking thing in digital shading#like look here: every shade of gray just glows and has subtle hues hidden in it#but when you pull out the individual shades they are SO flat and boring unless you are very careful and picky#like select the wrong area and instead of the depth and luminosity you get like ... minecraft brick or 8-bit videogame 'castle'#just the strangest thing - and it throws all the other colors off bc it looks so artificial#i guess in nature nothing is ever really a flat gray so in the human eye it hits the uncanny valley easily#and the only other time you see unrelieved flat gray is like the painted walls of institutions or whatever#for sure there are lovely soft grays but somehow without the benefit of like ... textural variation on here it's a tough selection#there's your useless observation for the day hah#seriously though thank you again for the photo - it triggered a part of my brain i haven't really been using lately
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
(this isn't a call-out, just a personal post) I'm done trying to befriend anyone who has ever been part of the la cosplay scene lol. twice over I've seen people from that group be revealed to be racist, elitist assholes who are allergic to apologies. so when other people in that sphere treat people outside of it with cold indifference... idk it doesn't speak well! I'm sorry if I ever made anyone uncomfortable by extending the hand of friendship bc we had a lot of interests in common and used to be in pretty close proximity/attended the same events. I will not be extending that hand any longer.
#to think i ever got my feelings hurt by being ignored by you people all those years#you're probably all the same and you can have each other#it was laughable how unsurprised i was by the cc drama#like yeah i believe it! y'all act weird!!!!!#and if you didn't want to be painted with the same brush#then some of you might have thought to not be such a brick wall to anyone outside your sphere#idk#it's one of those trust your instincts moments for me ig#and the latest thing--to try to ignore me in my own fandom??#dragon age is one thing#massive monolithic of a time when it was believable to think oh maybe they missed my message or forgot about the conversation we had#but my home turf fandom?? nah.#get out of here with that 'ignoring the poors' vibe#it's so ugly and weird
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
fellow artists and writers what would we think about a discord centered primarily on engagement of your works? like … comment4comment, reblog4reblog, events where we all focus on/hype up a certain fic or art for the day, prompts every week to keep our creative juices flowing, etc?
there’s a real lack of actual engagement regarding our work and i really want to bring back that magic. people don’t understand how much that can do for your mental health as a creator and i want to facilitate a healthy and positive space we can all go to to get the attention we so rightly deserve
#writeblr#artblr#reblog or like if you like this idea ig? i’ve already got the skeleton of the server worked out#it’d be awesome if y’all could reblog to reach your fellow writeblr/artblr friends that aren’t following#so they can see and reblog/like as well!#like … talking to creators over the past few years i’ve noticed this is a huge thing#much more so with writers but with artists too#people just … refusing to engage at all#only liking or giving kudos (which is the equivalent of liking on ao3)#and sometimes not even then#i think if we just hyped each other up it’d go a long way#i think a lot of people would be inspired and motivated by the very thought that people are actually enjoying their work#what people who view these art pieces/fics don’t realize is that the smallest things make creators so happy#even just a simple reblog. a simple keysmash tag. anything. can be enough to fuel usfor our next piece#*us for#(sorry. tags do that when they get too long lol)#but i think it’d be a good idea and i want to see it grow and i want to see US grow#which can’t happen without encouragement and engagement#i mean for the love of god da vinci (i think it was him) said he almost gave up painting#bc it felt like he was just painting for a brick wall#but he had ONE friend who always told him what he thought abt his paintings#and it was enough to keep him going#and like. same fuckin hat dude
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
Every time I’m searching or recommended home decor/renovation videos on youtube that have ‘colorful’ in the title or thumbnail or description but they show me white walls and grey wood floors ‘but the couch is a funky color! and look! complimentary colored pillows!’ I increase the number of throats I’m going to rip out with my teeth once I finally snap.
You don’t want to know what the number is right now.
#the dork is being a dork#PUT#COLOR#IN#YOUR#HOMES#THIS#IS#A#THREAT#one video showed this bland ass white brick house exterior and when i did the hover-play thing the 'before' at the start was this super#SUPER pretty terracotta color brick#that guy is on the list#STOP fucking. painting your brick#(also low-key if you're an amateur/diy-er you might risk doing serious damage to the structure of your house if you use the wrong kind of#paint on your bricks)
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
It’s soooo validating when my niche slightly traumatic experiences come up in media and I get to watch everyone go what the FUCK bc like. The person who pulled that shit got soooo mad at me for ‘overreacting’ and it is nice to see that is not true. Also it’s just so funny to be like yeah that happened to me one time.
This post is about the blood bricks in succession btw
#ok it wasn’t bricks it was welcome to night vale fanart#painted in blood#but still.#succession spoilers#like literally @adrienne#3 point pr plan#maybe don’t send people your blood#ok like. I mostly stopped the actual blood painting bc she was like omg I know EXACTLY what to do for your birthday#and I was like. bestie. don’t do that.#and then the actual fanart was blood free except for a couple stains in the corner that I’m not like. 300% sure about
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
accidents | Spencer Reid x Reader
Summary: during a long case away, Spencer accidentally sees Reader's nudes on her phone and can't cope because he is a MESS for reader whoops [5.5k]
Warnings: SMUT MDNI, 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff, some angst mainly Spencer doubting himself aww :(, Spencer is PINING for you hard (haha get it), nudes, Spencer loves you so much, pls someone give him a hug, m!masturbation, talk about sex, proofread but prolly not perfect lol, like you aren't probably ready for the amount of longing in this, *slaps Spencer* this bad boy can fit so much pining and yearning
read pt.II here
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆
Spencer swears it was an accident.
You were all away on a case, somewhere in Florida. And of course, something like that can only happen in Florida, because as much as he dislikes connecting random events with random locations, non-sequitur fallacy and all that, he cannot not say that many of his most embarrassing moments aren’t attributable to the south-eastern state. (He will not elaborate on these moments, he very much likes to keep most of his dignity still intact, thank you very much.)
But his dignity isn’t really the only thing that had been shattered to pieces by… by the accident. Far from it really and it- well, it- God, this really won’t end well for him, will it? He’s well and truly, as Emily likes to say, fucked.
It happened on the fourth day he and the team were cooped up in a small, dingy police station, chasing down an unsub that liked to paint intricate body art on the victim’s corpses as part of his MO. Aside from, y’know, slitting their throats with what seemed to be an old, rusty saw. The paradoxical duality of these two aspects, of the interplay of carefulness and diligence put into the painting process and the absolute careless way the unsub ends his victims was fascinating really – but not as much as it is disturbing, still.
Thus, this case is a very photography-heavy one. Most of the cases they solve involve photographs of some kinds of course, but Spencer has never sat in front of quite as many pictures of art and gore in his life before. It was strange, to say the least, even to him. Strange and annoying, to be honest.
Because Spencer isn’t exactly fond of all things that come with some electrical inner life, i.e. smartphones, his old brick of a phone isn’t exactly helpful for this case. He still feels the need to roll his eyes at Garcia after she, for the umpteenth time, called him an old grandpa and his phone a potato trying to pass as a phone. And failing miserably, especially when looking at the pictures it takes and their quality. Well, Penelope would say “pictures”, because she would also say that a resolution of beneath 60 PPI should be considered a war crime against modern technology, but Spencer doesn’t know and doesn’t want to know what that even means, so. Jokes on her.
Well, actually, the joke is on him. And yes, he knows, the joke is almost always on him, he knows his pipe-cleaner physique and too big eyes and long hair and everything about him really, makes him the perfect target for the occasional bullying he gets still as an adult, but he’s used to that. It’s normal, part of his everyday life. He can deal with that (more or less).
What he so brilliantly cannot deal with however, is having you around him almost 24/7. Because Hotch had had the amazing idea of fixing you to his hip as his personal photographer to circumvent his technological potato-problem. Uh- not that you, that you take pictures of him, why would you ever do that, but more like, taking pictures for him. Of their victims. And the body art.
Spencer was actually waiting for your protest, because there seems to be nothing worse for you than to stay inside the office when you could be out there, on the fields, in midst of all the action. Where Spencer usually isn’t. But that’s fine of course. Completely, absolutely fine. Spencer doesn’t look up every time the door to the tiny room he’s set up his camp in opens to see if it’s you bringing him another coffee just the way he likes, if it’s your smile that will make him feel more energized than any overly sweet coffee ever could. If it’s your voice and smell and aura (Penelope is definitely getting into his head) that for the short while you are there, makes everything seem so much more manageable.
It’s an energy burst unlike any other and Spencer is aware of what that means, so aware his body burns with it sometimes… Often. Okay, fine, most of the time. He just prefers to ignore it and enjoy the precarious friendship he built with you for what it is because he just likes to have you around so very much and – this was so not the point he wanted to make. He’s hopeless, when it comes to you, and it really is kind of embarrassing.
So, this is why the joke is so entirely on him that it’s not even a joke anymore. It’s basically bullying, he feels bullied. Because you actually had beamed the prettiest smile he’s ever seen at him, said ‘Oh finally, I can unpack all the dark hidden talents from within me’ which was so cryptic but so you and then you also winked at him. And well, Spencer has to lie if he were to say that he was being totally normal about this. That you didn’t just upheave his insides like an earthquake of magnitude eight with a single wink. Oh, he’s in so much trouble.
The first two days the two of you work side by side proceed without any unforeseen occurrences. And Spencer is so glad about that he could cry. From the moment you had joined the team two years ago, from the moment he met you, it was an undeniable fact that you were nice. Not only that, but truly, selflessly kind in a way that has left him all too choked up to even speak on multiple occasions now. The team is nice to Spencer, of course they are, they’re his family. But nothing in the entire world could have adequately prepared him to the spring of kindness you so freely distribute to anyone willing to receive it. And god, Spencer is willing. Is it every time you listen to him ramble on and on, unable to really hold his tongue despite the embarrassment clouding his cheeks darker. Is it every time you ask him about the book he’s reading, every time you ask him how his mother is doing and just- all these tiny things that add up and completely smush his brain into a fuzzy mess of warmth that leaks down his body.
He literally could spend every minute of every day just sitting next to you and soak up your presence and he would be the happiest person alive. That’s why he cherishes your friendship to him so strongly, and that’s why it’s the worst thing that Spencer is, well, himself.
He knows that you would probably be too nice to outright state that something he does unsettles you. Changes the way you think about him. Still. There is the worry. Buried so deep in his mind it’s as if he was born with it. And that’s why he’s so relieved that he is keeping the worst of the ‘Reid effect’ at bay while working with you on this twisted painter case.
It all goes well, until it doesn’t. Of course. Good things never seem to last for Spencer.
It’s already later in the afternoon on the fourth day you are working the case, no end in sight, unfortunately. Spencer is bend over the table, hands entwined in front of his mouth as he’s staring down the printed pictures of the unsub’s latest victim from three days ago. The brushstrokes seem remarkably stable, the colours uncannily vibrant. Spencer does not know much about art, but he does recognise talent when he sees it. And this unsub seems to have it in abundance. It’s almost a shame he’s a deranged killer. But oh well.
He jumps in his seat when the door to his room abruptly bangs open and a dishevelled looking you is bustling into the room.
Your expression turns apologetic. “Oh Spencer, shit, sorry. I didn’t wanna startle you, but they just found another victim.”
And oh. Spencer feels his heart sink in his chest. Guilt tugging it further down into the abyss. Why wasn’t he faster with figuring out these paintings?
“Really? Where?”
You immediately launch into a rapid-fire list of details, all in the wrong order because you do tend to be a bit all over the place. Spencer doesn’t mind. Gives him a bit more of a challenge to order the information in his brain the way it works for him. You two work surprisingly well in that regard.
While talking, you round the desk that almost takes up all the little space available in the room. You sit in the chair next to him, so close he can feel the stressed warmth radiating from you and it takes a very good portion of his brain’s capacity to stop his hand from reaching out. Or do something else even stupider. More stupid? Oh hell. It’s a wonder he can talk in complete sentences with you.
He watches you pull out your phone, fingers typing in the passcode he guessed right after two weeks of knowing you. The indignant expression on your face had been adorable. That’s why he still guesses your new passwords weekly, just to mess with you a little bit. Because he’s apparently insane like that.
“Here”, you turn the display of your phone towards him, “Precinct’s out of ink. Do you mind looking at the pictures on my phone until I come back from the store?”
This is where Spencer should have said no. Declined politely, smile on his face. Tell you that sorry, I don’t really get the same detail on screen like on a printed version. Should’ve emigrated to Tristan da Cunha, change his name to Ferdinand. Whatever. Anything, except say, “Oh, of course. That’s no trouble.”
You smile that breathtaking smile of yours, fingers touching his slightly while giving him your phone. Spencer sucks his lower lip between his teeth to keep himself from making any kind of noise at the tingly feeling skittering down his back.
He can’t not smile back at you. It’s one of his many weaknesses. Jello, trying to out-solve himself every day with New York Times’ new crossword puzzles, dairy. Halloween themed socks. Old obscure movies no one has ever heard of. Reading the most difficult books in twenty minutes. You.
Once you left, Spencer starts diligently going through the photographs of their latest victim. Not yet identified white male. Average height, average weight. Short-buzzed sandy brown hair. Striking blue eyes that seem to stare at him accusingly even after death.
He works through approximately forty pictures taken off the intricate and detailed body art. This time, the unsub left many smaller paintings woven in a bigger, overall painting. There’s still one that Spencer hasn’t seen a close up of, that’s kind of hidden behind the victim’s ears. Maybe you saved it to a different folder. He clicks around your gallery for some time, opening and closing folders full of holiday pictures. Pictures of you, smiling, at the beach. A folder full of memes that he doesn’t get but is familiar with because you keep sending them to him anyways. Spencer is aware that he probably shouldn’t have just- perused your gallery like that. But he was in case-mode. Hyper-focused on finding the next clue, on detangling the next hint that would bring them further. That would finally be the key to end this case and bring justice to all the victims.
He isn’t really thinking, when he clicks on a folder titled ‘xxx lol’. Thinks it’s another one full of memes because of the abbreviation, but maybe you accidentally saved pictures of the case in there, wouldn’t be too out of character for you and-
Spencer sucks in a breath.
Drops your phone almost as an afterthought. The noise of it clattering to the table makes him flinch.
It lands display down. Small mercies and all that.
And Spencer is- he is-
… That was not-
Not -
There’s a weird buzzy feeling in his limbs, his chest and head. Like his blood turned into a swarm of bees. He feels like someone dumped a bucket of ice over his head and like he’s on fire simultaneously.
Okay. Okay.
That was not- pictures of the case.
Definitely not.
Oh Jesus Christ.
Spencer was definitely not supposed to see. That. Not supposed to see you- like that. Ever.
His heart is totally beating itself into a frenzy. There are at least two litres of blood rushing to his head. The other four are gathering somewhere down down down and oh. Oh shit.
Spencer is actually fucked. More than that. He wants to get fucked and that’s. Just. Even worse.
He wants to scream.
He ends up biting his knuckles and letting out a frustrated noise against his fingers.
Did he really.
Did he really just see your nudes?
(And yes, he knows that word. Penelope is a bad influence on him.)
His head is kind of a- a mess. More than usual when you are around. And… what. What does he do now? He can’t just- can’t just leave your phone like that. You’d obviously see what he was looking at and that’s just- unacceptable.
But the other option appears just as preposterous. Because, because, he’d have to look at your phone again. At you, like that, again. To get out of ‘xxx lol’. Damn you. Why did you have to be so unserious and name your, uhm, very personal folder like that? And no password-block?
Spencer feels a different kind of warmth enveloping him because it’s just- so you, silly and funny and kind of unbelievable and Spencer is so deeply in love with you that he feels like he’s going crazy with it. Of course, you’d be like that about stuff like that as well. Spencer would give everything to just once experience what it’d feel like to kiss you. To feel your lips twisted in a silly smile against his, flicking a finger at his ear because you would. Do that. When kissing someone. And okay. Okay. Spencer needs to get his shit together, like, yesterday.
You could come back any second now, actually and fuck. He needs to close the gallery app on your phone, asap.
His hands are trembling as they retrieve your phone from the table.
He allows himself a deep breath. And then. With eyes squeezed almost close, he taps the return arrow. Well, tries to. He thinks he managed to escape your nudes-folder without any hiccups but well.
Spencer is freaking inept with technology.
So. He finds himself looking at another picture of you and god, it actually might kill him.
It’s inappropriate. So so so so inappropriate. You would kill him dead if you ever knew Spencer was ogling your pictures like that. Like a perverted stalker.
But. But.
There shouldn’t even be a ‘but’.
But.
You’re just. You’re just- You’re incredible. Not even in a sexual way, just-
You’re so beautiful it hurts.
And call Spencer selfish, a pervert, whatever. Because he knows, okay? But he also knows that he’d never, ever get to see you like that. And it hurts in a different way now, because Spencer just wants. Wants you so much. You and you, just you.
But…he’d never get to have you. Which is fine, of course. Having you as a friend is actually one of the best things that ever happened to him, and he’d never do anything to endanger that-
…Well. He’s not perfect. So, sue him, for only once, giving into his deepest darkest desires. He’s only human. And pathetically in love with you. And attracted to you. Oh, he wants to be with you so badly. Wants to- wants to get kissed and held by you. Wants to make love with you, which just. Sounds so dumb and cliche. But maybe he just is that for you.
Still. He shouldn’t think how absolutely breathtaking you look, sprawled across the white linen of presumably your bed. He knew you worked out regularly, but. Spencer feels hot all over when he thinks how easily you could just. Manhandle him around. To wherever you wanted him. And this is something he apparently likes. (He consciously stores that information away for later. Later.)
He shouldn’t think how you would tease him, how you would make him beg for you before he’d even taken off his clothes. He would. He would beg for you, go on his knees. Everything, everything.
He shouldn’t think how warm and safe you’d make him feel, even after knowing he’s inexperienced in everything. You’d take his face in your hands, smile at him so beautifully he’d cry. Tell that ugly internalized shame to go ‘fuck off to Jupiter’.
Oh, he shouldn’t be looking at you like this. He shouldn’t, shouldn’t, shouldn’t.
But there’s always so much he shouldn’t do. Friends shouldn’t think of other friends like that. Friends don’t imagine how it would feel to be taken apart and put together again by their friend. Friends shouldn’t want to touch, touch, touch-
Maybe, for once, he just. Has enough of that. Maybe, he could just. Indulge. For a minute. To know what it’d be like. Just. A little.
To know what it’d be like if this picture was meant for him. What it’d be like- Be like to see you. And for you to see him. Like that. What it’d feel like to crawl into your lap, bury his face in your neck. Set his teeth on the gentle skin there and hear you gasp for him. How you’d bury your hands in his hair, and he’d make the most miserable noises until you pulled and-
Something in the corner of his eyes catches his attention and- shit.
Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.
That’s you. Walking towards the door.
His hands are shaking so badly he has difficulties navigating your phone. But thankfully, this time, he manages to leave ‘xxx lol’ and find his way back to the evidence folder.
Oh god.
Oh god.
Did he actually- He actually-
The door springs open. Spencer startles kind of violently.
(Oh god.)
You have a big grin on your face. Some magenta ink smutched across your left cheek. And Spencer knows what you look like without-
“Heya, Spence, you won’t believe what just happened-“
(Oh god.)
“Uh… you okay there?”
His face feels like it’s on fire. His heartbeat is spiking and, well. He’s never been quite this turned on his entire life. He feels himself hard and aching against his trousers and Spencer wants you to push him down on the table and-
Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god-
He needs to- leave. Right now.
“Fine”, he squeaks, voice all over the place and he cringes, “Just-“
He wags his hands around in a very confusing, general manner. Grabs some photographs.
“I need to- Need to. Bathroom”, is all he somehow manages, photographs surely placed in front of his, ahhhh, problem.
You look at him as if he lost his mind. He probably has. “Oh-kay? Then… go?”
Spencer goes.
------------------------------
Spencer can’t stop thinking about those pictures.
He’d known it would come to this. Him, lying wide awake on the uncomfortable hotel bed.
Having an eidetic memory has never felt more like a curse to him as now.
He buries his head further into the pillow. Fingers digging into it. Pulling his legs closer to him and, ah. That. Probably wasn’t the greatest idea of his.
He’s still- turned on. Uncomfortably so.But just thinking of taking care of that. Well. He’s 100% sure that that’s not the way to go about forgetting these pictures.
Also, it’s bad enough already that he even saw them. It would be so much creepier to jerk himself off to them. To you. His best friend. But- ugh.
It’s always kind of uncomfy for him to be away on a case. He prefers his own four walls over anything else, kind of, except maybe the university library. And now, being sexually frustrated away on a case that requires even more focus than other cases do?
Oh, Spencer is so fucked.
------------------------------
You notice that something is off with him. It really would have been a miracle if not, because then Spencer would’ve had to question your profiling skills. But even then- he doesn’t think that you’d even need to have these skills to notice him acting off.
Because Spencer is so not the person to play incidents like that cool. He is painfully aware of that, thank you very much.
So, the next day, when you came to say hi to him (“Hey there, Mr. Doctor.”), after he basically ran off the day before, and you, as always, casually put your hand on his shoulder, Spencer, he-
He spit out his coffee.
He could feel you freeze through the hand on his shoulder. Your expression would’ve been comical if Spencer wasn’t dying.
“Uhh… Do you… Do you need a moment?”
Well, that was a freaking understatement. Spencer needs not a moment but all of them to try to get his act together.
…which he didn’t. Not for the rest of that day, and also not for the day after. And the day after. This case apparently will never end. Fucking Florida.
You, of course being the kind soul you are, tried talking to him.
(“Spencer, are you okay? You’ve been acting kinda-“
“What? What do you mean? I’m fine, completely.”
“Uhm… Sure. If you wanna talk about it, you got my number.”)
And well. Spencer feels like he is going insane.
It’s come down to him not being able to spend more than thirty minutes uninterrupted in your vicinity without getting semi-hard, because he knows. Without him almost doing something stupid and drop to his knees then and there and beg you to either forgive him or to please let him eat you out.
Ah, yes, because apart from being so frustrated he could scream, he’s also feeling so guilty it’s slowly killing him.
There you are, still being his absolute favourite person on the planet, unaware of what kind of person you are laughing with. Of what Spencer did. It was an accident yes, but- He should’ve said something. Maybe warned you so that it would not happen again. Ugh, but the more time passes the worse it gets. The more impossible it feels to just- go to you and say ‘ah, uhm, by the way, I saw your nudes and maybe you should put those behind a password block’.
Spencer is just- the worst friend. What friend doesn’t give their friend a heads-up about something like that? He’ so, hopeless, incompetent, and he gets it now why he didn’t have that many friends in school.
It’s gotten so bad so quickly that the others started noticing too, obviously. It really is a curse working with profilers. Spencer should reconsider his move to Tristan da Cunha.
“What’s got pretty boy so worked up, huh?”, Morgan asked him on the day after the incident.
“Did something happen, Spence?”, JJ pulled him aside on the second day after.
“Are they cancelling Doctor Who?”, Emily, on the first day after.
“Kid, you need to eat something”, as Rossi pressed a protein bar into his hands.
Even Penelope texted him.
is it what i think it is? ;))))))
He did not dignify her with an answer.
When Hotch comes to him on the evening on the second day after, Spencer is a mess. He’s practically spent the entire day in some state of fluster. He noticed he’s trailing off when he’s info-dumping. That he’s just- staring off into space more often than he usually does. That he can’t talk to you properly without stuttering, that he avoids looking you in the eyes. So, it really was only a matter of time until their unit chief would scold him. Or whatever Hotch is here to do.
“Listen, Reid”, he says, tone of voice a little too similar to when he is talking to Jack when he did something mildly inconvenient, “whatever it is, and I don’t want to know unless it’s something bad, deal with it. We need you with a clear head here, okay?”
And well, that could’ve gone a lot worse.
------------------------------
He still thinks so once he falls into bed that evening. But now-
Deal with it.
How? How should he deal with that? It’s not like he can just press the ‘Delete’-button in his memories. Thanks for nothing, Hotch.
His eyes strain from staring at the ceiling in the dark. Closing them doesn’t really help because all he’d see is you. He’s such a mess.
A pining, pathetic loser mess and he’s so hard again he can’t properly think. It’s just- Spencer has had rather inappropriate thoughts about you before. Has actually spent way too many hours in his apartment just lazing around, thoughts occupied on all the countless ways he’d like you to make him lose his goddamn mind. It had been kind of an accident (isn’t that just the story of his life), the first time it happened.
Spencer had almost been finished with his report, he’d just needed an additional detail from you to finish up. He’d asked Morgan where you were, and this is how he found himself walking down the corridor to Penelope’s ‘Dungeon’. Which, he’d never say out loud because that’s just ridiculous, right?
He saw the door to her office was slightly ajar, a mix of yellowish-red light splitting the hallway in half where it spilled out of the open gap.
There’s a giggle coming from inside the room and Spencer smiles- can’t help it really, because your laugh is just so absolutely ridiculous, a kind of high-pitched screech that ends in airy laughter and he’s so obsessed with it he wants to engrave it on a CD to listen to it again and again.
“No way, gorgeous, I don’t believe that”, Penelope whisper-giggled.
Spencer didn’t realize his steps slowed down, too curious by what you two could be talking about. And also, kind of forgetting that you shouldn’t just listen to other people’s conversations like that.
“Oh yes”, your voice was low, and Spencer would be lying if he said it didn’t send a tingle along his spine, “He broke up with me, but he came crawling back to me not even two months later because I apparently ‘ruined him’ for anyone else.”
Ruined him? What did you mean?
Both Penelope and you were laughing now, louder than before.
“You really, really gotta teach me your devious ways, buttercup.”
You snicker. “I guess it all boils down to making them come so hard they cry and forget their own name, really.”
Spencer didn’t get the detail he needed from you that day.
He’d gotten something much worse and that was curious. From the limited sexual encounters he’s had in his life before (a rushed hand-job somewhen in university in a toilet cubicle by that one other student he was into back then) he couldn’t really imagine something like sexual gratification that made one cry. Sure, getting himself off felt good. Sure, that orgasm had been fine. But… it could feel better?
He kind of didn’t think of that before.
So, when flustered-he had returned to his apartment after that overheard conversation, he kind of… thought about what these things could be that you did, to make others feel so good they lose the basic functions of their memory.
And the rest is basically history.
Of course, he’d never touched himself while doing… research about your techniques. It just felt- wrong. You are his friend and despite of his crush on you, it didn’t feel right.
But now…
He really really shouldn’t. But, he’s just so- desperate. For you and for things to go back to how they were. Without him almost bursting at the seams each time you look at him because before, he never had any problems with categorizing his mind like he does now.
So maybe… Maybe he can just… Do it once? Real quick, to get it out of his system?
The longer Spencer turns the thought in his head, the more… it seems like a good idea. You’d never know. Spencer could forget about- about the accident and move on. Solve the case and finally leave cursed Florida behind. If he just does it this one time, it’s not that bad right?
The fuzzy pleasure that shoots up his spine when he finally, finally presses his hand against himself through his pyjama pants answers him. Yes, yes, it says and more more more-
Spencer has never been good in denying himself things that make him feel good, better than good, things that make him forget about any pain that has nestled inside of his body or mind. Right now, that thing is you. Oh, perfect beautiful lovely you. He can’t stop the way his lips twitch into a smile, almost shy, even though he’s alone. But something about you just-
He gasps, back arching a little when he slides the palm of his hand along himself, still through two layers of fabric.
Something about you just- god, how can he put this into words- something about you just makes him feel- safe. Seen. Taken care of. And it’s just, so foreign to him. Strange. He’s always been looking after himself. After dad left and mom-
He’s kind of addicted to it. To the way you make him feel. Spencer can’t get enough of it, can’t get enough of you. Never never enough.
His fingers trail circles around the head of his cock, light and unhurried, enjoying the shivers of good good amazing it sends through his limbs, to his fingertips. Spencer can feel the tension leaking out of him, can feel his muscles relax and his mind become hazy. He should do this more often, god he always forgets how good it is, it feels.
He almost forgets why he decided to get off right now. It had something to do with you. You. Naked and there, here with Spencer. He whines a little because you aren’t here, why aren’t you here he wants that so badly-
But all he has is the crystal-clear mental snapshot of your nudes. Spencer doesn’t remember ever remembering something with such clarity before. He feels kind of embarrassed by that, how obviously desperate he is for you. How he would do everything for you, with you. But this feels so good that he doesn’t care about any kind of embarrassment or shame that might trigger his self-loathing.
He increases the pressure of his palm slightly, oh god oh oh, it’s so good already and Spencer hasn’t even touched yet, not properly at least, but oh. Oh, he wants moremoremore-
It’s so easy letting his thoughts tangle, mixing old and new. Fantasies and reality. The you from the pictures merges with the you from his daydreams and oh shit. Oh fuck.
Spencer moans, high and needy at the back of his throat and god how are you so beautiful?
Imagined-you has absolutely nothing on the real you. Spencer could have never himself come up with you because he just lacks the imaginative capabilities to conjure the absolute vision you are. The vision you portray on those freaking pictures that have branded themselves into his very neurons. He’s sure, absolutely sure, that he will never get over them. Over you. Doesn’t even really want to.
Because he is quite certain that the sight of you, your stomach your thighs your arms your tits your- oh he forgot where he was going with this.
By now, Spencer’s hand has dipped beneath his pyjamas and beneath his boxers and he moans again, his lips pulled between his teeth and eyes shut because the feeling of good good better more almost peaks when he grabs himself, finally.
His right hand starts an even, slow pace along his cock because if he is only ever doing this once, he is going to make most of it.
It doesn’t take long for him to get close, though. He’s been so wound up the last few days, it really is no surprise. It’s actually more surprising he hasn’t come all over himself already.
Soft, keening noises are continuously spilling from between his lips, hips moving together with his hand because he just can’t help himself. The heat in his abdomen is building and building and he whimpers because he wants it to be you so so badly, his thoughts are a mess, he is a mess and he wishes he could be your mess, yours, yours to make a mess of and oh god he’s going to-
A knock. On his door.
He freezes, blood rushing loud in his ears, heart pounding and his cock hot in his hand and begging him to not stop but-
“Spencer? It’s me, can you let me in?”
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆
pt. II? 👀
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x you#tinywrites#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x reader fanfic#spencer reid fic#spencer reid smut#spencer reid x reader smut#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds smut#tinywrites:accidents
4K notes
·
View notes
Note
hiiiii I'm new to your page but i would like to ask you what would've happened if simon mail-ordered a bride?
mail-order bride
you stare down at the address on the card, blinking as you reread the house number and look back up at the cottage in front of you. the numbers match, but you just need a few more minutes before you knock on the door.
you're not holding too many things. you have one suitcase with the entirety of your belongings at one side, the cat carrier sitting on top of it. on the other side, you hold a bundle of papers. your immigration papers, all shiny and new, your birth certificate, and your new british passport.
when you look back down, you swallow as you read over your name. it's odd, to see something new in the section labeled SURNAME.
Riley.
you've never met him. this isn't legal, it can't be, to have all of these things. he must be someone important. someone they value. or maybe, they are just too afraid to say no to him.
the front door opens, and you freeze on the spot as you see someone duck their head to step outside. they're wearing a mask, covering their entire face except for their dark eyes, but it's hitched up over his nose as he holds an unlit cigarette between his lips.
he stares as he sees you at the end of the steps. he frowns, looking you up and down.
"weren't supposed ta be 'ere for a few weeks."
your eyes water a little, but you only manage a shrug.
"i-i..." you meet his eyes. "i-i couldn't stay there any longer. i didn't have anywhere else to go."
he tucks the cigarette back behind his ear, slipping the mask off. it reveals a tousled mess of short blonde hair and a terribly scarred face. his eyes dart to the little carrier sitting next to you when he hears a soft meow coming from it.
"said no pets."
your lip trembles.
"please," you whisper, and his lip twitches as he fights off a scowl. you imagine he must not have much practice in hiding his emotions. he comes down the steps anyways, coming closer, and you pick up the carrier as he snatches the suitcase off the pavement, making his way back inside. you follow him, naturally.
when you close the door behind you, you're surprised at how quaint it all is. nice brick fireplace, a soft carpet (no shoes allowed is what he snapped at you), and wonderfully furnished to make the place cozy, warm, lived-in. there's throw blankets and accent pillows. there's pictures on the walls, paintings, yellow corner lights to give everything a soft glow. the kitchen is beautiful, with lovely colored tile and wooden cutting boards, a drip-coffee setup in the corner and worn cookbooks stacked neatly by a stainless steel toaster. there's herbs growing in little pots sitting on the windowsill above the sink, and there's a cast iron pot decoratively resting on the stove.
it's spick-span clean. there's no specks of dust or splatters left over from bacon grease. there's papers pinned to the fridge, lists to remind him to buy whole milk and sliced bread and call about the internet bill being charged twice again.
you set the carrier down on the couch, unzipping the top. a little curious black head pokes out of it, and you reach in and pick the cat up under its belly and drop it onto the floor. immediately, the cat spreads its front paws, claws sticking out as they begin to knead the carpet and use it as a personal scratcher, the prick, prick, prick sound enough to draw the giant man out of the bedroom with a hard frown on his face.
he points at the thing and shakes his head.
"keep tha' thing off the fawkin' counter," he snaps at you. he purses his lips when he sees you still standing there, afraid to even move. he comes closer, the cat scurrying off, and he yanks your coat and scarf off, going to the hang them up by the door. "can unpack tomorrow. need t'make somethin' ta eat."
you move immediately towards the kitchen, hoping he keeps a stocked fridge, but he puts out a big hand and stops you, stepping in front of you.
"the fuck are y'doin'?" he asks, and you blink up at him.
"you said to make dinner...s-sir?"
he tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes.
"y'listen t'this," he murmurs. "women don't lift a fuckin' finger in this house, y'hear?"
you nod, and he reaches up and palms your throat, cupping your jaw.
"and my wife doesn't call me sir," he mutters. "it's simon."
you soften a little. "i-i'm sorry, simon."
"don't apologize," he grits his teeth. "did nothin' wrong."
when a fresh set of tears comes down your face, he wipes them away with ease, calloused thumb swiping over your cheeks and quieting you. he puts something into your hands, a velvet box that he must've gotten when he went to put your suitcase away.
"y'r a riley now, yeah?" he murmurs, and you tilt your head at an angle, and your foreheads brush together when he bends low to speak to you. "act like it."
you lean up on your toes (he's so fucking tall), and you kiss him softly beside his mouth. when he moves his head, your lips brush against each other, but he pulls back to make his way to the kitchen. you hear the gas stove light up, and a few minutes later, there's a familiar smell of onions hitting hot olive oil.
you take a seat on the couch, smiling to yourself, wiping your eyes as you curl up there. you flip open the box, sighing shakily when you see the rectangular diamond and matching gold wedding band. when simon comes back in to give you a mug of tea, you take it with your left hand, and his eyes flicker when he notices the new jewelry there, so pretty, so new.
mine.
when he pads back into the kitchen, the cat blinks up at him slowly, green eyes bright as they sit on the counter.
simon walks past it, saying nothing at all.
#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost mw2#ghost cod#ghost call of duty#ghost mwii#ghost x reader#cod#call of duty#simon thoughts#order up
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
LET ME // t. nott
RATING: R / 4.8K WORDS
Theodore Nott x Fem Reader
+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* Theodore Nott has been harassing you ever since he found out you had a crush on him. Now, you’ve been paired together for a project for McGonagall’s class and he has nothing good in mind.
+ WARNINGS - SMUT! (P in V), unprotected, sub!reader, Dom!Theo, slightly rough!dom!Theo, marking kink, slight size kink, bulge kink, brief dumbification, brief spit kink, reader wearing a skirt, light enemies to lovers, language, one (1) slap, name-calling, praise kink, slight degradation, public sex, fem!reader, oral (fem!receiving), Theo is persistent, not proof read (lmk if I missed any)
+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -
Echo - XANU
- - -
Merlin, forgive whatever you had done to deserve the treatment you were currently receiving.
You thought back on every negative deed you’d done in the last year and still hadn’t found anything worthy of your horrendous luck.
The arrogant boy turned to stare you down, malicious intent etched into the unfortunately gorgeous features of his face.
You could feel your face contort into an expression of horror as you tore your eyes away from him and turned to Professor McGonagall.
“Professor, I— you started.”
“All partner decisions are final—no exceptions!” McGonagall finished, as if trying to answer the question you had before you could even voice.
You deflated into your seat, your mood dropping like a brick. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have guessed the entire class was staring at you. The entire student body of Hogwarts knew how you felt about your new Transfiguration project partner, Theodore Nott. The bastard…
You glanced back at up—arms crossed and lips poured—just to find the boy still staring you down, evil smirk painted on his lips. He gave you a sardonic wave, wiggling his fingers tauntingly.
“Fuck,” you sighed, pressed an exasperated fist to your forehead.
Your knee anxiously bobbed beneath the desk, the heel of your uniform shoe beating against the floor in a flurried rhythm.
Luna Lovegood, your best friend, was sitting directly next to you. Intuitive as she always was, you knew she could feel the pure panic radiating off of you. Her hand rested on your shoulder in a small motion of comfort, but nothing could calm you now. You were utterly screwed.
McGonagall finished off the rest of her speech on the instructions for her project, then dismissed the whole class. Luna helped you to gather your things together as you struggled to force yourself to move.
Maybe you’d pissed McGonagall off? Merlin, what had you done to deserve this? You asked yourself the same question over and over again.
Out of the corner of your eye, you glimpsed Theodore flouncing over to you with an unnerving glint in your eyes.
“Well, aren’t I just the luckiest man on earth?” he said snidely.
“Fuck off, Theo,” you growled, intentionally not making eye contact with him.
You made to pick up your books and slide them into your bag, when he slammed his hand down on the cover of one of them, pressing them down against the desk. He pinned your fingers beneath them against the wood—just enough to keep them sturdy, but light enough so that it didn’t hurt you.
“Stop!” You yanked your fingers out from beneath the books, the heavy leather smacking against the table with a thud. Now, you made eye contact with him.
“What are we going to do our project on, baby?” he asked.
“Don’t call me that!” You yanked your books out from underneath his strong hold and shoved them quickly into your bag. “We can discuss it in the library after class.”
“I’m looking forward to it—I’ll be sure we get a quiet corner, you know…,” he stepped closer to you, “…so I can explore every inch of…the subject.”
You sneered in disgust and pulled away from him, his voice still rattling in your ears.
“You’re disgusting,” you scoffed. “I’ll see you later for nothing more than our assignment.”
“Looking forward to it…can’t wait to put those big brains to use. Lovegood.” He nodded politely to Luna before heading off.
You glanced at Luna and acknowledged her slight smile. Everything in you was telling you to snap at her and tell her not to encourage any of the delinquent boy’s behavior, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to ever be very mad at Luna Lovegood. At least, not for long.
Instead, you rolled your eyes and took off toward the door, bag swinging between your shoulder blades.
“Wait up, friend!” Luna shouted lightly, running to catch up with you. You snorted and laughed at her, letting her sunlight hair fall into step beside you.
- - -
By the time your class of the day dismissed and the sun had begun to sink beneath the Hogwarts skyline, you were soaked through with nerves. The saturation of your anxiety had managed to breach every protective barrier you held up, and fill your hands with shudders and your stomach with nausea.
The root of your nerves when it came to Theo came from the consistent comments he insisted on making toward you. It seemed that he loved nothing more than dropping sexual hints into your ear every few days just to watch you squirm. He’d only started this after he’d heard through the grapevine you had a bit of a thing for him.
You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive, and that his words had absolutely no effect on you, but you couldn’t deny that he was just as annoying as he was charming.
It had gotten to a point when he made these comments, that he loved to joke aloud about your reactions to him, effectively embarrassing you in front of all of your peers. That was your final straw. All resemblance of an attraction toward Theo had melted away and been replaced by hatred.
And yet, as your feet led you to the grand library, you couldn’t stop the rapid pattering of your heart beat. Something about the boy had always been so…irresistible to you. Whether it was the way he always knew where to place his hands when he “accidentally” brushed you, or how he knew exactly what to say when he pressed his lips against the shell of your ear. You figured you should be grossed out and tell him to get away from you, but, unfortunately, you kind of liked it when he did those things.
As you came up to one of the several library doors lining the wall before you, you decided to try and swallow your nerves and focus only on the project. That was what you were supposed to do anyway—this wasn’t a date.
You pulled one of the doors open and slipped into the warmly-lit room. It always seemed to be just a tad bit cozier here than anywhere else in the castle—whether that was from the multiple fireplaces or the sweet aroma that floated through the air. Either way, you loved it.
Your neck craned as you glanced about, trying to glimpse the cocky boy, but to no avail. Wherever he was, he surely wasn’t interested in making it easy on you to find him.
A sigh left you as you started toward the back of the library where a couple tables rested behind a few conveniently placed bookcases. Unfortunately, the feeling in your stomach told you that he surely would be sitting at one of those tables, simply because you knew how his dirty, little mind worked.
That corner of the library was…infamous for its concealed nature. Everyone in Hogwarts had heard the little rumors that fluttered about, of couples getting a bit too friendly with each other while the librarian was downstairs.
Because of those rumors, it had garnered a reputation. And if someone who had a penchant for gossip slipped past you and Theodore Nott studying back there, you’d be screwed.
Once you passed the last book case, zigzagging between the three that formed the perfect labyrinth, you came upon Theo comfortably waiting at the table in the middle. A groan of defeat left you and your head dipped back. You stared at the ceiling for a few moments while contemplating your options—you could still run away.
“Hello, beautiful,” Theo said, leaning his chin down on his propped up fists. “I’ve been waiting so impatiently for you.”
“Whatever,” you sighed. You crossed over to the table and sat across from him—the farthest away you could get. Your bag collapsed to the ground and unzipped itself on the way down. The things you needed for this assignment floated out and landed neatly on the table before you, including a few rolls of parchment, a quill and ink, and your books.
He marveled silently, seemingly trying to hide his fascination at your wandless magic. Perhaps if he studied as hard as you did, he would also be able to achieve it.
“Alright, shall we do this?” you asked, maintaining a bored expression.
“I’d love to,” he smirked. “But I’d love to showcase a bit of my magic as well, if that’s alright with you?”
“What—?” Your voice was cut off with a slight gasp as all four legs of your chair lifted off of the ground. Your fingers wrapped around the sides of your seat to keep you from slipping off.
Theo’s eyes followed your chair as it floated over the table and all the way beside him. Once your shoulders were inches from his, your chair dropped a few centimeters to the ground. A small yelp came from you as you regained your balance and glared at him. Perhaps he was a better wizard than you thought.
“What the hell, Theo?” you demanded, immediately scooting your chair away from him, putting a good few inches between you.
“I just thought we’d be able to work better closer together,” he purred, his arm dropping against the table to cage you against him and the bookshelf a bit to your left. You eased away from him so you were closer to the shelves than you were to him. His eyes never dropped from yours. “Merlin, what is that smell? You smell absolutely divine—”
“Okay, let’s just get this done,” you interrupted him, pushing his approaching body back away from you.
“Mm, alright,” he smiled. “Have you decided on a topic you’re interested in presenting on?”
“Actually, I have.” You pulled your books across the table over to where the two of you were sitting, flipping everything to the appropriate page. There were a couple pages in your notebook where you’d jotted some ideas down earlier today, and you’d figured he’d want to see the different ideas, as it was his grade, as well. “So, I threw a couple of ideas together in my fourth period. We can see what you think of them…”
As you explained the details of all of your ideas, it became increasingly obvious that Theo was not at all interested in what you had to say about the project. Though you refused to look directly at him, the corner of your eyes granted more than enough knowledge.
Theo’s eyes were ravenous as they drew down your body, curving across the most private areas of your body with no shame. You could feel your cheeks burning, but hoped the warm tones from the candles around you would conceal that.
When he scooted a bit closer to you, you kept talking. And when he laid his arm across the back of your chair, you kept talking. And when his fingers began to toy with the ends of your hair, you kept talking. But when he took your quill gently from your fingers and set it down on the table, you finally stopped. You barely made eye contact with him, constantly glancing away and down to the table. You could feel your heartbeat in your ears.
His fingers pulled away from your hair and dropped to your shoulder. They squeezed the hard muscles a few times.
“God, you seem tense,” he spoke lowly, his voice barely above a whisper. His other hand reached up and matched the opposite’s position on your other shoulder.
When he placed a gentle amount of pressure, it expressed a small sigh from your lips. He was right. You were very tense—in general, but especially around him.
“Here, let me…,” he stood and appeared behind you rather quickly.
“Theo, I don’t think this is appropriate. I’d really just—” Your voice cut off as soon as he began to roll your taut muscles beneath his nimble fingers. Your eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, pleasurable jolts of pain shocking across your neck and down your back.
“That’s okay, baby,” he whispered, dangerously close to your ear. “Finish telling me about your idea. I’ll just loosen some things up back here. Fuck, you’re so tight.”
He pressed an especially hard drive against your skin. You bit back a moan at the sensation. You don’t think you’d ever had a better massage in your life.
You wanted to tell him to stop, but it felt so fucking good. And you really were sore around your neck and shoulders.
“Theo?” you tried again.
“Read.” His voice had a commanding tone to it. One hand released your shoulder briefly to grab your books and slide them closer to you, before returning to its position against your skin.
His hands worked their way up around your jaw, cupping it gently, so he could press his thumbs against the back of your neck. You audibly sighed this time without intending to. Embarrassed, you attempted to cover it up with a clear of your throat.
You began to explain the rest of your project plan, small shudders rippling through your voice every time he’d hit an especially sore spot.
By the time he finished and pulled his hands away from you, your body was mourning the loss of him but relishing in the relief it felt. It honestly hadn’t felt far off from a professional massage.
“How’s that?” He walked around to your side, still not sitting back down.
“Er, good,” you chuckled nervously, rubbing your hand along the back of your neck, trying to spread the relief around.
“Perfect,” he smiled, gently swiping his index finger beneath your chin. He sat back down beside you.
“So, what do you think?” you asked.
“About what?”
“The project idea…”
“Oh, yeah, I think it’s wonderful,” he said, shrugging a bit. “I think we can work with it.”
“Theo, did you even listen?” you asked, rolling your eyes.
“Of course, I did,” he chuckled. “It’s just not easy to focus when you have such a gorgeous partner.”
There went your cheeks getting insanely hot again. He thought you were gorgeous? There was no way. Someone must have put him up to this, right? Or he was fucking with you because he knew you had had a bit of a crush on him.
“I—er…” you stuttered hopelessly, pulling your eyes away from his.
He placed a hand on your knee. You could feel the warmth of his skin through your tights. The heartbeat in your ears picked up wildly.
“Don’t be nervous around me.”
“What?” you laughed suddenly. “I’m not nervous, I’m just—you’re just really…friendly? I don’t know. Why are you pretending to be so interested in me? Did someone put you up to it?”
“Why would someone have put me up to flirting with you?” he asked, genuinely confused.
“Because they know I had a thing for you,” you blurted before thinking. “I mean—”
“Nope! Can’t take it back now, my love.” Theo chuckled, an evil smirk printing across his lips. “And, for the record, no one put me up to flirting with you. I just want to.”
His hand slid up to the top of your knee as he leaned a bit forward.
“Theo!” you hissed. “We’re in the library—you can’t do that.” Though you verbally protested his actions, you couldn’t deny the heat building in your stomach at his touch.
Despite the conviction you had for needing to decline him and all of his advances, you couldn’t seem to suppress the need you felt for him right now—a different kind. His eyes remained on yours and refused to look away.
The two of you were in the library, and had seemed to despise each other’s company only minutes earlier, but for some reason, you couldn’t force yourself to stop his rising hand.
Soon, his fingers were toying with the edge of your skirt and his lips were millimeters from your own. You could feel his gentle breath against your cheeks.
“Theo…,” you shuddered at his proximity. His thumb slid slowly down the side of your thigh, the contact eliciting chills along your legs.
“You’ve wanted me for months,” he murmured, lips brushing against yours. “Are you finally going to let me fuck you?”
You gasped slightly as the tip of his thumb just barely brushed your core through your panties.
“Say yes, or I’m not going to touch you anymore.”
As if on cue, his hands pulled back from you and his mouth seemed to hover a few inches away. The cold air hit the spot his hand had been occupying on your thigh and sent a row of shivers up your spine.
“I don’t understand. Is this a joke?” you shuddered.
He shook his head slowly. “Not a joke, I just want you. Say yes, baby.”
“Y—” before you were even able to get the singular syllable out, his lips were pressing against yours and devouring them like a predator.
His hand found its place against your thigh again, the other hand following suit on the other thigh. He pushed them up the expanse of your skin, inching your skirts up in the process.
You moaned against his lips in embarrassment at the sudden loss of dignity.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he sighed against your mouth. “Let me taste you.” He pressed his lips roughly back to yours.
You gasped for air and pulled away, noses brushing against the other. “Say please,” you managed to choke out.”
“What?”
“Say please,” you repeated. “What, did you think I was going to come here and just give you whatever you wanted?”
“Oh, that’s how you’re going to be?” he smirked. You stared back astutely, not yielding to any teasing he tried to give.
“Alright, baby,” he conceded. He pulled himself closer to you and worked his way up your neck and to your ear, pressing chaste kisses against your flesh. “Please let me taste this sweet cunt. ‘ve been dreaming about it for months.”
You shivered at his words before nodding. You weren’t in your right mind—you couldn’t be.
He slid out of his chair and dropped to his knees. His hands wrapped around your hips and yanked you to the edge of the seat. His fingers pushed your skirt up around your hips and angled you up toward his face, pulling your legs over each of his shoulders.
The cool air flushed against the hot wetness slathered across your thighs. But the shock of wintry air was canceled out quickly by Theo’s hot mouth placing against your clothed core.
Your head fell back against the chair as your hands flew to his honeyed curls.
He swirled his lips across you, gathering your lust on his tongue. Each time you let a little moan slip, he’d echo you with his own louder one. It wasn’t loud enough to be heard anywhere else in the library, but it was enough to vibrate against you and send your head spinning.
The second your thighs began to shake on either side of his sharp jaw, he pulled away from you, leaving you bare and wanting.
“Turn around,” he panted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Obstinately, you held your chin up and refused to obey him. You wanted to appear strong and resistant as payment for how much of a dick he’d been to you, but with your quivering lips and legs still spread wide for him, you figured you didn’t quite get the point across.
He suddenly grabbed your jaw in one hand, while undoing his belt buckle with the other. Anticipation boiled in your belly.
“Turn around,” he said before suddenly and mockingly tilting his head to the side. “Or do you not understand what’s good for you?”
When you said nothing, he pulled you out of the chair and bent you over the library table. You yelped as your chest collided with the table.
Once on your stomach, he flipped your skirt over against your back and ripped your panties and stockings down your legs until the soaked things were stuck around your ankles.
Then, without another warning, he was sliding into you and stretching you wide. You gasped aloud and gripped at the smooth table, begging to find purchase on anything.
He moaned slightly at the way you clenched around him. He pushed himself into you a little more with each slow thrust, the movement splitting you down the middle. His hands held you tightly in place by your hips, pinning you down against the table.
“Shit, you feel fucking perfect,” he moaned, fingers gripping into your flesh.
Every alarm bell was ringing in your head, telling you to separate and cover yourselves, because you were in public. But, for some reason, you found yourself loving the thrill of possibly being walked in on; of possibly being found with Theodore Nott buried deep inside of you, taking his pleasure from your body.
By the time he’d finally bottomed out inside of you, he was panting and willing himself not to come prematurely.
“I’ve never felt anything this tight,” he groaned.
You hadn’t been able to see the size of him before he started pushing into you, but you had to guess he was the biggest you’d ever felt. Just having his hips pressed to your ass felt like the tip of him was brushing your cervix.
“Ah, fuck, wait,” he said, panting heavily. He rubbed your back as he slowly pulled all the way out of you and stood you up. He turned you around to face him and laid your back against the table.
He brought your legs around him and you hooked them together behind his back. You watched him with deep admiration as his fingers stroked up and down your legs, preparing to explain what he wanted.
“I want to watch me fill you up,” he whispered, leaning down to press a slow kiss to your lips. It was sweet and thick with saliva but, despite everything else he’d so far, this set off a flurry of butterflies in your stomach.
His hands came away from your legs and wrapped around your waist. He watched addictively as his fingers wrapped entirely around your body, his large hands positively dwarfing your small frame. And you could’ve sworn you saw his eyes fill with an inky, black glint as he brought his hips to the underside of your thighs.
He placed his dick on your stomach, reveling in how far up your stomach it went. He moaned at the sight and pulled your right leg up and over his shoulder. He pressed a small kiss to the side of your calf.
“Theo,” you whined, still reeling from the loss of him inside of you. “Please, no more teasing.”
“Be patient, baby,” he whispered against your leg. “I want to remember this moment.”
“Theo,” you urged once more. But his hand came down hard against the outer side of your thigh. You yelped at the pain that radiated down the side of your leg.
“I said to be patient.” He soothed the pain gently with his fingers, still looking down at how big he looked compared to you.
One of the things he’d always had on you was height. No matter if the things he said were stupid and undermining, you couldn’t deny that his size was enough to have the high ground.
“Look, we don’t have all the time in the world,” you sighed, leaning up on your elbows to speak with him. “The librarian could walk in here at any—”
He pushed back into you, choking any other words in your throat. You gasped and fell back against the wooden table, the cold lacquer biting into your flesh.
“Fuck,” Theo all but whined. He pressed his fingers against your lower abdomen where his dick had created a perfect impression. Every time he pulled out then pushed back in, his sheer size forced the body wall up and simultaneously probed a spot inside of you that had your eyes rolling backward.
Without wasting another second, he picked up his pace while dropping his hands down to your still-tucked in uniform shirt. He ripped the material out from beneath the waistband of your skirt, and ripped the buttons apart.
The candles floating overhead illuminated the curves and dips of your stomach, highlighting The valley of your breasts.
Hips still pistoning into you, and left hand holding your waist still, his right hand reached forward again and ripped the clip of your bra apart. Luckily, you’d worn the front access one today.
At the force of the destruction, your breasts fell apart from one another, bouncing against your dampened chest.
“Fuck,” he growled. “Gonna mark this beautiful body. Gonna let everyone know you’re mine. My girl.”
His words sent shockwaves through your system. You tried to reach for him but you couldn’t reach. Your arms fell back down against the table, your lack of anything to hold on to leaving you completely at the mercy of the pace he decided to set.
“T-Theo,” you stuttered, your voice breaking beneath the weight of his abuse.
He leaned down, pushing himself all the way into you for a moment, and latched his lips around a mouthful of your left breast. He sucked roughly on the flesh, pulling the blood to the surface. You whined through the pain that mingled with the pleasure from him below.
Once he was satisfied with the bruise painted on you, he moved toward your neck, sucking and biting just as rough, hips never halting.
“That’s it, baby,” he whispered. “Tell me how it feels.” He nibbled on your earlobe.
You said nothing, your lips unable to form enough to make any words come out. Your fingers still gripped uselessly at the sides of the table. One leg was held uselessly over Theo’s shoulder while the other dangled limply over the edge of the table.
He leaned up. “Tell me how it feels, baby.”
Still, you made no sound.
“Oh, you pathetic thing,” he whispered, lips pressing to your elevated leg once again. “Am I fucking you stupid? Is that what it is? Yeah, baby? Next time, I’ll shove this dick down your throat and see how quiet you are then, you dumb slut.”
Now, within the final moments before your finish, his thumb dropped to your clit and began to rub small circles into the nerves. Your mouth fell open and your back arched to the ceiling as his hips intensified. They forced your finish closer and closer until you were spilling all over him, coating your legs and his stomach.
At the clenching of your core, his release was barreling forward, as well. He came with a long groan and a slow walk down of the brutal pace he’d set with his hips. His spend mixed with yours dripped down your legs.
Finally, with him still inside of you, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours. He eyed you sweetly, caressing soothing lines across your temple with his thumb.
“My sweet girl, you did so well,” he whispered against your lips. “Has anyone else ever fucked you so well?” There was that cocky Theo again.
“Maybe like one other person,” you gasped, trying to catch your breath.
“Oh, yeah? Who?” he asked, suddenly grabbing your jaw again and forcing you to look directly at him.
“Hmm, I’m not sure,” you said. “I think I forgot his name. I’ll probably just forget yours tomorrow, too.” You teased him meanly, smirk building on your lips. This was further payback for all the months of harassment you’d dealt with from him.
He pinched your cheeks together until your lips were pushed open.
“You can forget my name, sweetheart,” he whispered roughly, “but you’ll never forget what I just did to this body.”
His eyes watched yours with an intensity like no other. Then his lips pursed, and you watched as a line of spit dropped into your waiting mouth. It was the ultimate display of humiliation, but also ownership. You belonged to Theo, now.
And even if you forced yourself to forget his name or this day in the library, you’d never wipe the taste of his claim out of your mouth.
“Now, let’s get to work on that attitude, shall we?” Theo asked, voice suddenly chipper again.
He pulled out of you and zipped his pants back up, before selecting his bag off of the chair—which you’d now noticed he hadn’t even unpacked.
“Tomorrow at 6?” he asked.
Then he Disapparated, leaving you entirely exposed and alone.
That son of a bitch.
- - -
Tag List:
@lilymurphy03 , @mypolicemanharryyy , @angelfrombeneth , @clairesjointshurt , @bunbunbl0gs , @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303 , @thestarlithideout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw , @yhiiil , @xxrougefangxx , @thatblackthorn , @robinyx , @starsval , @jolly4holly , @blvebanisters , @chgrch , @ilovehotmenandwoman , @smutnyrobocikwrakiecie , @synicaljah , @abaker74
#creative writing#fanfiction#fanfic#writing#reader insert#harry potter#harry potter fanfiction#oneshot#slytherin#harry potter smut#fem reader#theodore nott x reader#theodore nott smut#theodore nott#requested
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Okay, you know how bird don't ACTUALLY look the way we think they do?
They are far more colorful? But only to the eyes of other birds?
And it has to do with how light reflects off them and how their eyes are shaped etc etc.?
Well..... humans can see the most shades of green, right? But! We sure as shit can't see UltaViolet and InfraRed? Or shades BEYOND those. Ectoplasmic colors. Magical ones. Third eye, need to see with your SOUL type ones.
Danny? Could very well still have lil baby "kitten's eyes who haven't open yet" syndrome.
He thinks the Zone is Green and his hair is white.
But it's not.
His hair is Starlight colored. Frost. His suit is specifically "the void between stars" colored. Which looks... different? Then black? No, no, guys. How can you guys not see it? It looks REALLY different! How did he not NOTICE before?! They're not ever CLOSE to the same shade! It's like calling salmon and hot pink the same. You know... if you were to compare an actual fish and some irradiated, violently glowing version of "hot pink".
......guys?
His gloves are.... guys, these ares stars. Pressed so close together there's no gap. His body is the night sky, all rearranged. He's wearing SPACE, guys.
*continues to stare at his gloves for the next five hours*
Now... why is this relevant? Because! Danny slowly, as all humans do, adjusts! It's like finally having glasses after years of blurry vision. He... forgets, what it was like, not NOT See Zone Colors. Not completely, mind you, but enough he has to be reminded.
And the Zone? A Realm of the Dead. Specifically, the great catch-all and highway of the Dead. They get EVERYBODY. Misfits and vagabonds. Those who don't quite fit. Funky lil dudes. And of course, assholes, but everybody has those! See, Zone colors?
Are DIFFERENT.
They're all of um!
It's like looking at the technicolor, stobe light, multi galaxies in one, Sun. Tingly(tm)!!! You get used to it. What helps? Is that as garish as the Zone is? The painting and grand tapestry of it all? Keeps changing. Like weather. If it's too much for you, you can stay inside your Lair until the current Color changes. Until the designs shift. Vibe changes.
There are even glasses for that! "Temperate" areas for people to set up, that get headaches or are just... kinda killjoys. Too each their own. Though the stormy areas? Those guys are freaks. Watch out for those guys. They're the kind who stare directly are stars until their eyes burn out.
Where was I? Oh yeah! Danny!
No longer a wee baby, smol baby, twig-o!
Sad. We miss it.
But he did get used to Seeing The Colors. Got a handle on his powers. And! Finally worked with his parents on how to safely turn the portal OFF. There was much booing. Cries of "kill joy" and "booo! You suck!". But? Like? Dude DID have the right to protect his home. Go to college. What can you do?
Problem with THAT is? Baby grew into his "built like a brick shit house of constantly running off to literally tackle the Supernatural excellence" Fenton genetics. He Tall. Muscles! And he PUMPING out "somethings fucked up with me" Vibes!
Add in his DEEPLY Sus off hand comments. Weird ability to tell when someone has or is about to die. Basic immunity to the cold. Fuckin EYE GLOW?
Ha ha... *Horror movie screams from his college dorm mates*
Clearly a demon!
He gets kicked out. Well... not kicked out. He's a model student and broken no rules. They'd never survive the lawsuit. But... he's? STRONGLY INCOURAGED to finish his education elsewhere. Repeatedly. By like... 15 colleges.
Sam is not just livid, she's actively foaming at the mouth.
Breathe, Sam! Remember what your doctor said! Your mortal body can't handle that kinda Vengance spiral! Think of your blood pressure! Breathe!!! (Were not for the laws of this land... and the weak, fleshy constraints of her mortal form!)
Thankfully? Tucker's been interning, remotely of course, with Wayne Industries. He asked his manager where he could find some of those scholarship forms. (Since Gotham University is just a touch out of Danny's price range.) Manager wanted to know why. And oh! Oh holy shit. Apparently? Danny is the hot new office gossip.
People in the main office are OUTRAGED. Danny's "too spooky"?! Too FUCKIN SPOOKY!? Are you KIDDING THEM? Even juicier, a Meta kid from some wacky ghost hunters turned scientists. From a line of Supernatural hunters. Wants to be a aeronautics engineer.
Ooooooh how SPOOKY! Better watch out! He'll design an ENGINE at yooooou!
Fuckin casuals. Non-Gothamites are WEAK. "Too scary" their collective asses. Yeah, maybe the kid SHOULD come too Gotham. He can be the weird kid. Mildly unsettling or something. His powers won't be SHIT in Gotham. Just remind him to buy a gas mask.
So! Danny gets his Scholarship! Merrily packs his bags for darker, Gothic hellscape hills. Unaware... that Constantine has been following reports of a "demon" that he's? 80% sure is a Banshee but MIGHT be a winter spirt with a shtick? For the past 13 colleges. He's getting closer. And this sucker is a strong one.
Not "this is going to cause me serious, life imperilling danger" strong. But more? "Man, that cat is HUUUUUGE". Could he still get mauled a lil? Yeah. Scratched to all hell and back? Probably! But DIE? Unlikely.
He just needs to know why the FUCK this spirit his hanging around colleges.
Which is made harder... by the fact that what HE sees? And what OTHER people see? When they look at this guy? Separate things. Yeah, he'd LOVE to give you guys a description! IF HE HAD ONE.
@the-witchhunter @hdgnj @hdgnj @spidori @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @lolottes
4K notes
·
View notes