#punch him punch him punch him punch him punch him

[whispergallagher]

no it hasn’t. 🎀

Hirogaru yami no naka kawashiatta kakumei no chigiri Darenimo jama saseru wake ni wa ikanai kara

Kajitsu ga tsugeta mirai Yume, risou ni kaeru

Daremo ga nozon da "owari" wo...

Hirogaru yami no naka kawashiatta kakumei no chigiri Darenimo jama saseru wake ni wa ikanai

Itsuka boku ga misete ageru Hikari kagayaku sekai wo

like to charge, reblog to cast <3

[mellosdrawings]

Is that twinkified Governor John Ratcliffe???

Congrats y'all!

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

Baji and Sugishita's new game animation!

Not Baji getting annoyed at being ignored

[xinganhao]

not for sale 💳 mingyu x reader. (3)

celebrity!mingyu and small business owner!reader. check out 🛒 not for sale's masterlist.

You can’t bring yourself to end the call. 

Your phone is overheating. You’re below the acceptable battery threshold of twenty percent. And the dark-haired boy on the other end of the screen looks more asleep than awake. 

You should end this call, but you can’t. 

Mingyu doesn’t seem keen on ending it either. His eyes are drooping and his head has begun to loll every so often. He’d spent the first couple minutes of the call talking about his day— the seemingly endless rotation of engagements that came with being a celebrity. 

Sometimes, it still strikes you as odd that this is the life you now lead. Being on FaceTime with somebody that hundreds, maybe thousands of people fawned over. 

But you were friends… right? And friends called each other. Friends texted. 

This is friendly, a small voice in the back of your head tries to convince you. So very, very friendly. 

The conversation has since mellowed out. Mingyu makes good on his word; he falls quiet, observing your work like it’s some form of entertainment for him. At one point, you even forget he’s watching. 

It’s why you’re a bit jolted when he absentmindedly mumbles, “You have nice hands.” 

You pause in the middle of bubble wrapping an order. One cursory glance at your screen, and you see that Mingyu is absolutely fighting for his life to stay awake. The sight almost makes you smile. 

“You should head to bed soon,” you say instead of addressing his compliment. “We’ve been on call for— what? Two hours, I think.” 

Mingyu says something too low for you to catch. You give a noncommittal hum of ‘hmm?’, prompting him to repeat what he’d said. 

And maybe he’s just tired enough to decide fuck it. Maybe it’s past midnight and that makes everything fair game. 

Because Mingyu breathes out a quiet “not enough,” and you swear something screeches to a halt in your brain. Two hours. Not enough. 

You swallow. He’s out of it, you think to yourself, your fingers quivering a bit as you cut, tape, seal. He’s sleep-deprived and talking out of his ass. 

That’s what gives you the audacity to ask what’s been on your mind for days now. 

“Mingyu,” you ask, “why do you want to be an ambassador for Bittersweet?” 

A beat. One that stretches long enough for you to wonder if Mingyu had finally succumbed to his exhaustion. 

But then, his voice— quiet, but not any less sincere— rings over the line. “Because I like your jewelry.” 

Plain and simple. You’re not sure why you expected more. 

He goes on, his tone a little softer, slower. “I like what you’ve done with the business. I like… how hard you work. Your passion. All that.”

Mingyu pauses to yawn. You glance over to see him smiling into his phone, his half-lidded gaze trained on your hands moving over your workbench. It makes his next words a one-two punch on your poor heart. 

“Your brand may be called ‘Bittersweet’,” he says, “but you’re as sweet as they come.” 

EXCERPTS FROM "MINGYU opens up on being named Rising Star of the Year"

Q: Earlier this year, the Internet fell in love with you for being an ‘advocate for small businesses.’ You’ve seemed to take it a step further, though. 

MINGYU: [laughs] Is that what they’ve been saying? I had no idea. But, yes— the pieces I have on right now are from a small business. It’s called Bittersweet Jewelry, and it’s something I found one day while scrolling through SNS. 

Q: You didn’t know the seller prior to purchasing? 

MINGYU: No, not at all. They didn’t even know it was me. I used an alias for a while. 

Q: I see. A lot of people believe your support has been reflective of your personality. Being caring, considerate. 

MINGYU: That’s very nice. I appreciate that. Although, if I’m being honest, I’m just a guy who likes good jewelry. I admire consistency, quality. [holds up his rings] These have it in spades. 

Q: That’s why you keep coming back to brands like Bittersweet. 

MINGYU: Sure. We could say that.  

[...]

THE TOP FIVE SONGS MINGYU HAS BEEN PLAYING ON REPEAT LATELY

Love Me Like That by Sam Kim

Linger by The Cranberries

Tadhana by Up Dharma Down

If You Do by GOT7

LMLY by Jackson Wang

[...]

Q: What do you look for in a partner? 

MINGYU: Now, Minghao… [laughs] 

Q: Sorry. The readers want to know. 

MINGYU: I’m never going to escape this question, am I? Give me a minute to think about it. 

Q: Sure. 

MINGYU: [after a moment] I’d like somebody dedicated and passionate. Someone sweet. And… 

Q: And? 

MINGYU: Someone with nice hands, I guess. [smiles] 

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[absentia-misere]

Hi lurkers and mutuals, this one's pretty close to home for me. I try not to reblog political stuff on this account but personal topics and generally helpful/safety info is gonna get posted here.

I'm intersex. I've even got some pretty extreme hormonal issues to back it up, fun fun.

And, uh, I exist.

As many times as I have wished I didn't- I fucking do. Quite literally came out the pussy as nonbinary.

And let me clear this up real quick because if I have to deal with my own existence then so the fuck do all of you.

Magats can suck my nuts through my vulva 🤘🏻

lets please not forget this is also violently intersexist. please don't forget about us.

[aureatelys]

adore you

pairing: aaron hotchner/fem!bau!reader w.c. 3k a/n: written for @mggslover's 1k celebration event, congrats baby! i initially wrote 5k, hated it, and basically rewrote all of it but i swear i still had fun writing this. i hope you enjoy <3

summary:

Weird. You're acting like my boyfriend. - God Is a Freak, Peach PRC Your boss has essentially become your best friend. What the hell does Derek mean he looks at you a certain way?

c.w.: fluff! friends to lovers, age gap ofc, feelings realization, reader is oblivious and tipsy but is a consenting party

read below or on ao3 here <3

“So, you and Hotch, huh?”

You had just finished putting your coat up, stepping through the massive entryway of Rossi’s mansion, when Derek approaches you with that familiar shit-eating grin and hands rubbing together like he’s scheming something.

You blink up at him, confused. “Yeah… he gave me a ride.”

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head but still wearing that smile that made you want to lovingly punch him. “Yeah, I saw that. I meant, you and Hotch aren’t…?”

You squint at him, because you really aren’t sure what he’s hinting at. Also, a glass of wine has been calling your name since you started getting ready and Derek is very much in the way of that. Hotch was always annoyingly punctual, and today was no different because you were honestly about to open up a bottle when you heard his car pull up in the driveway. “We aren’t what?”

“Sweetness. You’re really trying to tell me you and Hotch aren’t together?”

You choke on your spit, coughing so loud in your fist that it echoes down the entryway and gathers the attention of Rossi and Hotch at the end of it. You wave them off when they both give you equally alarmed and concerned looks while Derek laughs heartily, like the asshole he is.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you hiss at him, slapping him on the shoulder as he nearly makes himself tear up from laughing.

Derek puts a somewhat apologetic hand on your arm as he steers you to the kitchen and pours you a glass of red, finally. “Hey, I see the way he looks at you, I just wanted to make sure I’m up to date on everything.”

And that catches your attention.

Your chest still aching from your coughing fit, you give him another perplexed look. “What? He looks at me the same way as he looks at everyone.”

Derek’s face morphs into a nervous, almost uncomfortable one as he starts slowly backing away into the living room, as if you were an unpredictable dangerous animal. “I think I’m gonna… look for Garcia.”

And then he turns on his heel and is out of the kitchen before you can blink, leaving you with your lone glass of wine and the sounds of laughter emanating from the patio.

You’re still so fucking confused, because you and Hotch were only friends. In fact, you can almost consider him your best friend with the way you two are spending so much time together, even on the weekends.

One late night spent in his office to work on reports that were due the next day that you had procrastinated on and ordering Chinese food eventually turned into a habitual thing, now spending the last hour of the workday every night in his office. Then, he started inviting you to the park to play with Jack who had apparently been asking for you, then staying for dinner because Hotch was not eating the way he should’ve been and him and Jack didn’t deserve to eat pizza rolls with mac and cheese every night.

It's been a couple of months and now, you can honestly say you two are nearly attached at the hip. You’ve tried to tone it down for the office, because you knew you would get teased, and clearly you were right.

But dating Hotch? Honestly, the thought had never occurred to you.

You’ve been single for over a year and you were okay with that, because at least the job kept you busy. And you know for a fact that Hotch hasn’t even thought about dating since Beth moved a couple of years ago.

The sudden thought of Beth, her pretty blue-green eyes and perfect hair, causes a sour taste to form in your mouth. You had never met her, having only technically heard good things about her, but every time you thought of her or someone mentioned her in passing, you felt… upset.

For no reason.

When you glance at Hotch from where he’s talking with the rest of the team on the patio, you catch his gaze for a brief second before he’s turning his head back around to chuckle at something Rossi says.

You feel your heart start to race, your blood rushing through your ears, because what the fuck did Derek mean when he said Hotch looks at you a certain way? You were telling the truth when you said you’ve only noticed him looking at you platonically and nothing more.

Sure, Hotch was conventionally attractive, handsome even. You guess he hit all your boxes in a guy; tall, capable hands, and pretty brown eyes. He was a good boss, a good man, and was always putting other people first before even thinking about himself. He had an intense sense of justice, loves children, and would do absolutely anything for his team and even beyond for Jack.

He has a nice laugh once you break down his walls. For all he’s meticulous at work, his house is absolutely chaotic and it takes you nearly an hour sometimes to get him and Jack ready for a soccer game. He doesn’t prefer to cook but he seems to enjoy it more when you’re in the kitchen with him, laughing at his technique and groaning about the lack of certain utensils.

The sudden realization that you like Hotch, your boss that is older than you by 20 years, hits you like a ton of bricks. You nearly snap the stem of your wine glass, something like panic and mortification climbing up your throat before you could help it.

It’s fine, you’re fine. It’s normal to have a crush on someone you spend time with on a regular basis and is conventionally attractive. You can deal with that.

But the absolute possibility that Hotch doesn’t want you romantically was very real. In fact, it had to be the only possibility. You were younger and less experienced, both romantically and professionally. The only reason that he’s been spending so much time with you was because you needed guidance and reassurance as the newest member of the team.

He doesn’t look at you any differently than the others. That’s it. Derek has no idea what he’s talking about.

You take a shuddering deep breath, quickly composing yourself because, hello, you work with profilers. Which meant you couldn’t avoid or hide from Hotch tonight, no matter how much you wanted to.

When you make your way out to the patio to join the others with a full glass of wine and you spot the only space left in the circle was between Spencer and Penelope, you internally thank whatever God was out there. The sound of them talking over each other about something inane was oddly comforting as your eyes met Aaron’s from the other side of the circle.

His eyes appeared golden from the numerous fairy lights strewn across Rossi’s backyard, making his face appear softer and younger. You’re not sure how it took you this long to realize he was so handsome.

He raises his eyebrows at you, silently asking if you were okay because, somehow, he’s grown to learn your facial expressions like the back of his hand, which means he most likely will catch on to you having a silly juvenile crush on him.

You give him a weak smile, raising your glass slightly before taking a large gulp of it. You’re glad that Rossi is Rossi and that he doesn’t spare any expenses when he throws his parties, the strong cherry flavor refreshing compared to your cheap boxed wine you’re used to. You don’t even remember what you were celebrating tonight, or if you were even celebrating anything at all and this was just another much needed get together after case after case.

You catch something soft in Hotch’s eyes that makes your chest pang painfully as he raises his own glass of whiskey before taking a sip. No one else has noticed, too enthralled by their own conversations, so the intimacy of the private moment doesn’t escape you, in fact making you even more anxious.

It was going to be a long night.

-

You are absolutely going to give Derek an earful on Monday morning.

It’s entirely his fault that you’re not enjoying Rossi’s party to the full extent, his words swimming in your mind.

Now, you’re psychoanalyzing and second-guessing everything Hotch does.

You had made sure to walk alongside Penelope on the way to the large round table for dinner, somewhat consciously as you continued to avoid Hotch but also because she was rambling about the show you suggested she watch. Spencer was on the other side of you, interjecting whenever he could, and you made a mental note that Hotch was still on the other side of the circle between Rossi and Tara.

So imagine your surprise when, after you tear your attention away from Spencer’s ramblings and back to Penelope, you’re met with Hotch’s pretty eyes and woodsy cologne instead.

“Oh, hi,” you say, hoping he doesn’t hear the shakiness that’s suddenly overtaken your voice as that familiar panic starts to crawl up your throat. This wasn’t going to be good.

“’Hi.” The corners of Hotch’s lips quirk up, eyes softening, and what the fuck is going on. “Can I sit next to you?”

You swear you’re going to have a heart attack. This man cannot be healthy for you. “Oh, yeah, sure.”

And then he’s pulling out your chair for you.

And it’s not anything new—he pulls your chair out for you all the time, in the conference room, in his dining table when you made not-pizza rolls, and even at restaurants the afternoons after Jack’s soccer games. You’ve never thought anything of it, but tonight, after your impeccably timed realization, your brain feels like it’s going to implode.

He’s just being a gentleman, that’s all.

“Thank you,” you manage out, heat starting to come to your face. Before Hotch, no one’s ever pulled your chair out for you. It’s nice.

Hotch doesn’t say anything, because of course not, just scoots your chair in closer to the table before he takes his seat on your right.

And he’s sitting really fucking close to you.

Have you always sat this close to each other before? You must have at least once during those late nights in his office, poring over case file after case file.

Not only could you feel the heat of his body just from sitting next to him, but his arm kept brushing up against your bare one while he ate, because of course you had to sit on the left side of a left-handed person. Every brush of the sleek fabric of his green button-up against your bare arm sent shivers down your spine despite the summer air, making you shift uncomfortably in your seat.

His hand kept brushing against yours as you ate and your eyes are drawn to how large his hands are as he handles his fork and the thickness of his forearms, having had rolled up his sleeves earlier. If you searched closely, you could find scars scattered over them through the dusting of hair, undoubtedly from his time on the job.

You don’t realize you’re staring at his Rolex and the way it glints underneath the lights, until Hotch is suddenly leaning into you. “Are you okay?”

Jesus Christ, hearing that smooth voice speaking lowly in your ear, breath warm as it fans over your cheek, causes all of the air in your lungs to escape. Has his voice always been that smooth, attractive?

When you risk a glance at him, conversations around the table slowly fading into the background, his face is merely inches from yours. His brows are pinched in concern and lips are pressed into a flat line. There’s something dancing in his eyes that you couldn’t quite put a finger on.

You clear your throat. “Sorry, I think the wine is just getting to me.”

He chuckles low underneath his breath. “Good thing I’m driving.”

And then he’s knocking the back of his hand against yours, the briefest brush of skin that causes electricity to zing up your spine, and then he’s back to listening intently to Derek and Emily’s bickering over who cheated at the last game of charades.

At this point, you think Hotch is able to read your mind. Why else would he be touching you, be sweet on you, if not to torture you?

You try to wrack your brain through these past couple of months, trying to find whether Hotch touching his hand to yours has happened before or any other sign that he actually is attracted to you. You come up short.

You chalk it up to him loosening up from his whiskey. He’s already moved onto water, because he was your ride, after all, so maybe this was a fluke. A one-off.

But it’s not a one-off. In fact, you think you’ve honestly died and gone to Heaven after suddenly tripping and breaking your head open in the entryway after Derek spoke with you. If you didn’t know any better, you would think you were actually on a date with Hotch, sans the rest of the team.

He must have noticed your distracted mood, because he’s making sure you’re included in almost every table conversation by glancing at you and giving you a smile that has started to make something flutter in your stomach. He’s participating minimally like usual, content to listen, but whenever he has a comment or thought he wants to share, he’s leaning in and sharing it with you.

He's leaning in to top of your wine, reaching over the table to get more of those green beans you like, and once even knocking his knee against yours underneath the table when you looked especially lost in thought while staring at your plate.

And then when the team has moved into the living room for charades, Emily wanting payback against Derek, it somehow gets even worse.

You’re quick enough to be the first to volunteer to not play due to there being an odd number of players, thus requiring Hotch to play. Everyone cheers teasingly, because Hotch is always quick to volunteer himself out of games, content to watch.

You blame the copious glasses of wine you’ve consumed and the decadent filling dinner, warmth thrumming through your entire body, when you poke at Hotch’s considerably firm bicep. “Show us what you got, old man.”

There are resounding oohs and aahs from the rest of the team. Something fuzzy settles in your chest when Hotch rolls his eyes good-naturedly at you and stands up from where he had sat next to you on the couch to JJ’s team.

You continue to nurse your wine, pleasantly buzzed, as you are thoroughly entertained by your team’s antics. Emily and Rossi argue at least 3 times, Penelope gets significantly close to having a private meeting with HR, and Hotch continues to stare at you.

Or at least, you think he’s staring at you. The alcohol has started making you second guess things even more than you already were. Because for some reason, despite JJ sitting on the other side of the living room and being on a team with her, he moved to sit in the empty spot next to you after the first round.  

He’s definitely participating in the game, even in second place behind Penelope and Derek, but you swear you feel his eyes on you now more than ever.

It’s distracting as you try to follow the game and guess along with everyone else. This time, the right side of him is nearly molded against your left side, pressing into you so hard that you’re starting to sweat from how much body heat he’s radiating.

When you glance at him to try and catch his eyes, he meets your gaze steadily. His hair is starting to come undone, a few strands falling against his forehead, and his dimple seems to have made a permanent appearance from how much he’s pretending not to laugh at his team’s antics.

It’s nice to see him enjoy himself—a flush rising up his neck and shoulders relaxed. Although you understand he has a certain image he maintains for his team, it’s become familiar to you.

By the time it dwindles close to midnight, there’s a chorus of yawns around the group. Penelope’s the first to call it, stumbling to grab a hold of Derek’s arm and dragging him with her out the door to drive her home, ruining your initial plans to catch a ride home with her instead of Hotch. After that, everyone starts to say their goodnights and exchanging hugs despite the chance you may get called on a case as early as tomorrow morning.

“You ready to go?” Hotch leans to whisper in your ear, his breath fanning over you again and causing heat to rise to your face.

“Absolutely,” you exhale, clutching the water bottle that Hotch retrieved for you in the middle of the game, hoping the breathiness in your voice could be blamed on how late it was.

When you get to Hotch’s car, heart full and warm after spending another wonderful evening with your makeshift family, he opens the passenger side door for you.

You think you’re going to lose your mind if he keeps this up. How are you supposed to stop having a crush on Hotch when he keeps doing things that justify that crush?

“Do you need to stop anywhere for anything? Are you hungry?”

You blame it on the wine despite the fact you’ve been drinking nothing but water for the past hour, thanks to Hotch silently getting you and only you a water. Your body and tongue feels loose, inhibitions naturally decreased, and it’s not your fault. It doesn’t matter if the soft lights of the driveway highlight the sharp angles of his face or the way his woodsy cologne has infiltrated your senses.

“Weird, you’re acting like my boyfriend or something.”

The silence that ensues is deafening. Your brain takes forever to catch up with you, but then you’re suddenly struck with humiliation and dread. You mind starts to race, as best as it could, when you realize that you may have just royally messed up the best job you’ve ever had and the best group of people you’ve ever met.

Before you can backtrack and say that you were just joking, Hotch carefully says “Do you want me to be?”

“What?” Wow, you really can’t hold your alcohol well, why did you drink so much wine?

And then Hotch is stepping closer, into your space, and you’d be worried that the rest of the team was going to see if the car door wasn’t shielding you from view from the front of the house. You get a whiff of whiskey on his breath again, but when you meet his eyes, there’s not a hint of the same full body dizziness you feel.

“Was I not being direct enough?” There’s amusement sparkling in his eyes, eyebrows raised. He looks like he’s politely trying to hide a fond smile. He’s teasing you.

This Hotch is the one you’ve grown to become familiar with over the past several months. Charming and unafraid to tease you when you’re away from prying eyes. Hotch is a private person, always has been, so it’s not a surprise that him essentially torturing you tonight was his version of being direct.

“You’ve been flirting with me?”

Hotch ducks his head bashfully to chuckle. It’s ridiculously endearing and you want to tug him closer and touch him all over. “I’ve been trying to flirt with you all month so I’m guessing I didn’t do a very good job.”

You stare at him as if he grew a second head, suddenly feeling much more sobered up than 5 minutes ago. Clarity sluggishly comes to you. The various invitations to spend the night or go out to dinner without Jack comes to mind. The touching had steadily increased, but you had assumed it was just due to Hotch getting more comfortable around you.

For a profiler, you weren’t very good at noticing what was happening right in front of you.

Hotch may be a ridiculously patient person, clearly since he’s been content to flirt with you for apparently a month while you didn’t notice, but you were not. You knew what you wanted. The wine still thrumming through your veins just gave you that little extra push.

You place your palms on his chest, relishing in the subtle firmness you can detect through his shirt, and you wonder if that’s his heart you feel thumping erratically or your own. “I promise I’m not that drunk and am fully aware of what is going on right now.”

Hotch hums and places his hands on your hips, the heat of him searing through the fabric of your dress. His eyes briefly flit to your mouth before back up at you. “I’m not sure if I believe you.”

Instead of providing a snarky response, and because you know Hotch wouldn’t make the first move since you did have some to drink, you finally lean in to close the distance between you two to kiss him.

It’s soft, chaste in a way that makes you feel pleasantly warm all over, the barest tendrils of electricity tugging at the pit of your stomach. The intensity of how much you like him, how much you adore him, nearly barrels you over, but Hotch’s grip on you tightens, steadying you. His lips only slightly move against yours, as if briefly testing the waters, but it does nothing to quell the sudden desire slowly twisting inside of you.

When he pulls back, chest only marginally heaving, you instinctively chase after him. He chuckles again, low and comforting, as his hands come up to hold you still by the shoulders. It shouldn’t feel as nice and soothing as it does. “I should take you home.”

“Are you coming with me?” You sincerely hope that Hotch doesn’t question you and your boldness tomorrow. Again, not entirely your fault.

“I’ll walk you to your door, how about that?” As if he already wasn’t going to do that.

On the drive back to your apartment, the tight ball of panic and uncertainty in your chest quickly unfurls and is replaced by affection, tenderness, and promises of the future. Hotch’s hand, large and protective, doesn’t leave your thigh the entire way home.

You make a mental note to send Derek a gift card and thank you note on Monday.

[reginyani]

Lessons | s.reid x fem!bau!reader

summary: You take it upon yourself to help Spencer Reid, your genius FBI co-worker develop confidence and social skills— especially in flirting. As you continue to give Spencer casual lessons in flirting, you both begin to realize this isn't just 'casual'. This leads Spencer into overthinking, and making a rash decision which ends in with him in your apartment half-naked.

cw: smut, 18+, mdni, flirty!reader, mentions of being in bar and drinking, use of y/n, clueless!spencer, sub!spencer, softdom!reader, p in v, unprotected sex, reader rides spencer, spencer comes inside reader

wc: 2.7k

a/n: please like and reblog if you enjoyed! support is always appreciated<3 (i listened to smarty while writing this and im absolutely screaming.)

Spencer Reid had many strengths. He could recite the periodic table in under a minute, read 20,000 words per minute, and could quite literally remember every single word ever said to him in perfect detail. But when it came to social interactions?

Well.. He was a work in progress.

You had noticed it early on— how he hesitated before speaking, how he fumbled over his words when confronted with casual banter, how he shrank away from physical contact as if it burned him. It wasn't that he lacked intelligence, in fact, he quite literally was the definition of intelligence. The guy could outthink just about anyone. But social nuance? The art of casual confidence? That was definitely not his forte.

Which is why, one evening after work, you decided it was time to do something about it.

"You really are hopeless sometimes, you know that?" You said, leaning back against your desk as Spencer furrowed his eyebrows at you in confusion.

"I don't— what do you mean?"

You smirk, pointing toward the break corner, where a young woman from accounting had just left from, looking vaguely disappointed. "That girl was flirting with you, Genius."

Spencer blinked. "No she wasn't."

"Yes, she was."

"She asked if I liked tea," he said while rolling his eyes, as if that was somehow an airtight defense.

You groaned, shaking your head. "Spencer, she was looking for an excuse to speak to you. She was touching her hair, laughing at everything you said— even the things you said that weren't funny."

Spencer frowned. "I wasn't exactly trying to be funny."

"Exactly," you say, crossing your arms. "Which means she wasn't laughing at the joke. She was laughing because she liked you."

For a moment, Spencer just stared at her, eyes narrowing in thought as if he was cataloging this information for a further study and analysis. Then he suddenly sighed loudly. "Even if that were true, it's not like it matters. I'm not.. great at that kind of thing."

You tilted your head. "At what?"

"Flirting. Making conversation that isn't strictly informational. Even as a profiler I struggle reading people." He gave an awkward shrug. "Flirting isn't really a skill I ever needed."

You studied him for a moment before pushing off your desk. "Alright, that settles it. I'm making you my new project."

Spencers eyes widened slightly. "What does that mean?"

"It means I'm gonna teach you how to be more confident," you said with a smirk. "How to read body language of a person who isn't a serial killer, and how to hold a conversation without sounding like a Wikipedia page, and maybe even know how to throw a decent punch while we're at it."

He scoffed, though there was a faint blush creeping up his neck. "I don't need—"

"Yes, you do," you interrupted, grabbing your coat from the back of your chair. "Come on, Boy Genius. We're getting drinks."

Spencer hesitated. "I don't really—"

"It's a lesson, not a date," you teased. "Unless you're scared."

That did it. He straightened his back, squaring his shoulders slightly. "I'm not scared."

"Good," you said, patting his arm. "Let's go then."

When you both arrived at the bar, it was quieter than most. It was a small spot near your apartment that you go to occasionally to decompress. Spencer had never been here before— not surprising, given that he rarely went anywhere that wasn't work related.

"You do realize I don't drink, right?" he asked as they slid into the booth.

"Yeah, yeah, I got that memo," you said, crossing your arms. "You can have water if you want, alcohol isn't exactly the point, it's the atmosphere around us."

He folded his arms together, looking skeptical at your words. "And what exactly am I supposed to learn here anyway?"

"Confidence, Reid. Social ease. You spend way too much time in your own head that you forget to live in the moment. So, here's your first ever lesson: stop overanalyzing."

He opened his mouth to argue, but you raise your finger to stop him. "Nope. Don't say anything. Just trust me on this."

Spencer exhaled heavily, looking vaguely pained in annoyance, but he nodded anyway. "Fine. What do I do then?"

You gestured to the bar. "Pick someone in the room and tell me what their body language says. C'mon, use those profiling skills to good use."

He listened, scanning the room, until they landed on a man at the bar nursing a whisky glass. "That guy is probably going through some kind of personal issue. His posture is slightly slouched, and his fingers are tense around his glass, and he hasn't checked his phone once, which most likely means he's avoiding calls or texts from someone or possibly has no one to even reach out to."

You raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Damn. Alright, expert profiler. Now, please do it with someone less miserable."

Spencers gaze shifted to a couple laughing together in a nearby table. "Well, the woman there is interested in the man, but he's clearly not picking it up that well. She's leaning towards him, angling her body to fully face him, but he keeps glancing away, distracted. Either he's oblivious, or not interested in the conversation at all."

You grin. "See? you're better at this than I thought."

Spencer huffed out a small laugh. "Observing is one thing. Applying it in real time is another."

"Okay, well then let's practice." you say, leaning froward slightly. "Tell me what my body language is saying."

Spencer hesitated for a moment. "You're.. teasing me."

"Obviously, Genius. What else?"

He studied you, his eyes darting over your posture, the way you rested your chin in your hand, and the slight smirk playing at your lips. "You're comfortable. Your body language is opened, relaxed. But you're also amused, probably at the fact you know I'm over thinking this."

You laughed. "Bingo!"

Something flickered in his eyes, something victorious, straightening a bit as he smiled.

"Alright," you said, finishing your martini. "Lesson one complete. Next up is casual confidence!"

Spencer groaned. "This is going to be painful."

"Excruciating," you said with a grin. "But trust me, Spencer. You will thank me later."

Over the next few weeks, your lessons continued on.

You taught Spencer how to hold eye contact without looking away in embarrassment, corrected his posture when he hunched over too much. Much to his horror, you even demonstrated how to casually brush someone's hand without making it completely awkward.

But somewhere throughout these lessons, things started to shift between the two of you.

It started out subtle at first. A glance that lasted a little too long. A touch that lingered a second past appropriate. The way you started to notice how his eyes crinkled when he was smiling, and how his voice softened just enough when he spoke to you.

It wasn't supposed to mean anything, but it did.

Another normal evening, after a round of drinks, you both found yourselves outside of your apartment complex. It had surprisingly been a good night— Spencer had successfully navigated himself through a conversation with a stranger without stammering, and you were so damn proud of him.

"You're getting better at this," you nudged his arm as you both walked up the steps of your apartment building.

Spencer smiled, small but real. "You're a good teacher." he said as you both made it to your apartment door.

Something in the atmosphere changed in that very moment, the air charged with clear unspoken tension.

You weren't sure who moved first, but suddenly, you were closer, looking up into his unreadable expression.

For a second, just a second, you wondered.

Then Spencer cleared his throat awkwardly, stepping back. "I should go."

You nodded quickly, shoving your hands into your pockets. "Yeah, yeah.. of course." you said disappointingly.

Neither of you said what you were thinking, and it was quite clear you didn't have to.

The were both wrong about this 'just being a 'lesson', and you both knew it.

As you heard his footsteps fade away, you quickly fumbled through your purse to find your keys. When you did, your hands shakily inserted the key into the keyhole as you unlocked the door.

When you finally entered, you let out a heavy sigh, removing your shoes at the entrance and putting them on a rack.

The door had just barely clicked shut before a loud knock echoed throughout your seemingly empty apartment.

You immediately froze, already knowing who was on the other side of the door.

Your heart thudded against your chest, your fingers curling around the doorknob. He didn't even enter, theres no way he left something behind— he never did anyway. He definitely didn't just come back to say goodnight either.

No, there was only one clear reason he was standing on the other side of your door.

Swallowing hard, you reached for the handle of your door, hesitating for a fraction of a second before pulling it open.

Spencer stood there, his expression unreadable, his breathing uneven and as if he had walked down the stairs and immediately ran back up. His hands were curled at his sides, and for once, he wasn't overthinking— he was only acting on his emotions.

Before you could speak or process anything, he leaped forward.

His hands found your face, fingers threading into your hair as his lips crashed against yours.

A startled gasp escaped your lips before you melted into his touch, your own hands gripping at his jacket to pull him in closer. It was desperate and certainly messy, all the built up tension from the past few weeks of lessons spilling over in one perfect, and reckless moment.

Spencer Reid —your best work partner and friend— was here, kissing you like he had been holding himself back from it far too long. And honestly, maybe he had.

He wasn't being shy now. There was no hesitation on either of your ends, no second guessing. His lips moved against yours like he had been studying the movement for years, like he memorized every possible way to make you feel like your knees could give out beneath you at any moment.

Your back hit the doorframe as he pressed closer, and eventually he pushed you inside, shutting the door. His hands slid from your face down to your waist, gripping your hips like he was afraid you might disappear if he were to let go.

But God, no, you were definitely not going anywhere.

You tilted your head, deepening the kiss, your fingers tugging at the soft curls that hung at the nape of his neck. He made a quiet, shuddering sounds at your contact, and you grinned against his lips before pulling back just enough for both your eyes to meet.

His pupils were completely wide, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he caught his breath.

"Spencer," you whispered softly, still catching your own breath.

His hands continued to tighten on your waist, like he wasn't ready to let go of you just yet.

"I was completely wrong," he admitted, his voice low, almost dazed.

You arched one of your brows in confusion. "About what?"

"About not having feelings for you." His thumb traced against your waist, tapping in nervousness. "About this just being a lesson."

You let out a breathless laugh. "Took you long enough, Genius."

He huffed, half exasperated and half relieved. "You knew?" he asked in confusion.

"Of course I knew. I was just waiting to see if you were gonna figure it out."

He shook his head while letting a soft chuckle escape his lips. He finally let himself lean back, being able to fully take you in now. "And what now?"

You smirked, reaching up to brush your thumb against his soft pink bottom lip, swollen from the kiss.

"Now," you said, tugging him back toward you. "I teach you everything else you haven't learned in lessons yet." you say, grinning as you start to pull him away from your door and onto your couch.

Spencer is at a complete loss, unsure of what to do as you straddle his lap. He gulps, his eyes glued to you as you remove your shirt, throwing it somewhere across the room.

As if he were just following your lead, he removes his own shirt, completely unsure of what to be doing. His stomach seems to be twisting in knots, the heat rising in his chest.

Your lips crash into his once again, sucking on his bottom lip as your hips move against his lap, your skirt lying against your thighs. You pull away, the friction overwhelming and just enough on its own. Your hands grip onto his shoulders, feeling his erection through his pants.

Spencer bites his lip, holding himself back from letting out a loud whine, or saying something embarrassing like 'holyfuckpleasejusttouchmealready'. Although, as hard as he tried, of course he was unsuccessful.

"I.. need you, Y/N.." he whimpers, panting heavily as you move.

"That's all I needed to hear, baby." you tease, your hands quickly making their way to the clasp of his belt, quickly unbuckling it. You then unzip his pants, but instead of immediately pulling his boxers down, you rub his cock through them.

This drives him nuts, making him let out a loud moan.

"Please, just.." he mumbles, throwing his head back in pleasure.

"Please.. what?" you smirk, raising an eyebrow as you continue to move your hand, watching him as eyebrows furrow and his slick lips part.

"Just fuck me already!" Spencer begs, at this point almost screaming.

Although you wanted to tease him more, you could feel your own pussy throbbing as it quietly begged for the touch of the man beneath you. So instead, you smirk, allowing him to pull his boxers and pants down to his thighs.

You quickly scrapped your skirt, leaving you in just a pair of pink laced underwear. You look down at him, your own lips parted as you move your underwear to the side.

Suddenly, your hand takes his cock, slowly stroking it, before quickly speeding it up, making him moan in pleasure. "Holy— shit, Y/N.. Ah!—" he manages to sputter out, practically melting in your touch.

"Ready?" you ask, smirking down at him. He nods rapidly, not wanting to wait any longer.

At his approval, you lift yourself from his lap and position yourself above his cock, allowing it to hit your wet entrance. You groan in pleasure, feeling his tip slowly enter your pussy.

Eventually, his cock is all the way inside you, and you're bouncing up and down, feeling the warmth of him inside you as both your moans and slap of skin on skin filled your apartment.

"Fuck, Spencer... you feel— so good." you moan, stuttering as you continue to bounce on his cock, feeling him pulse inside you.

He rocks his hips, sliding in and out of you as you both begin to chase your high, sending Spencers mind reeling as he gasps.

"Is this okay?—" he asks, continuing to rock at a decent pace.

"Fuck, yes.. So good, Spence.." you answer, allowing the noises that are escaping your lips be the answer. "Shit.." you breathe out, "You're so fucking incredible, darling."

Spencer squints his eyes shut, feeling himself get driven closer and closer to the edge.

"Y/N.. 'M close.." he warns, beads of sweat rolling down from his forehead as he gets closer to coming.

"You gonna come for me Spencer?" you say with watery eyes, close yourself. "Look me in the eyes, baby." you demand him.

He looks up, his eyes meeting yours as you continue to fuck yourself into him, moaning in pleasure. You throw your head back, now your practically yelling out.

"Yes! Right there, Spencer! Come inside me!" you wail, your bodies now moving in synchronized motions.

This finally sends him through, jolts of electricity shooting through his body as he comes, legs shaking heavily as he fills you up with his sweet liquids.

You come soon after, moaning as the warmth of him inside you makes your own orgasm feel even better.

Eventually he pulls out, and your body finally gives out as collapse next to him, feeling empty without him inside you now.

"You better take me out after this." you tease, still catching your breath.

"Aw, do I have to? I wasn't planning on it." he jokes, chuckling as you smack his arm playfully.

"So, do you think my amazing lessons payed off then?" you ask, raising an eyebrow as you smile.

"Eh, I guess they were alright." he answers, zipping up his pants as he shrugs.

"Oh, c'mon!" you whine, defeated.

tags:

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

part one

“so how was your first day?” robin asks steve as he slides onto the barstool next to her and chrissy.

“it actually wasn’t that bad,” steve shrugs before taking a long pull from the freshly opened bottle the bartender slides his way.

“it wasn’t that bad?” chrissy asks, incredulous. “so he didn’t make you go to the erewhon all the way across town? the one he goes to because selena gomez was seen there once?”

“that’s why he made me go there?”

“yeah, he really likes that one movie she’s in.”

steve thinks for a moment. “the dead don’t die?”

“no, the one with the dancing,” chrissy snorts.

steve makes a face and then shrugs again. “i made him his breakfast, i drove him around, i organized his tshirt closet… pretty standard stuff for an assistant.”

“you organized his tshirt closet? what the fuck does that even mean?” robin asks, laughing.

“exactly what it sounds like,” steve grins at her. “anyway, really, it wasn’t that bad. sure, he’s insufferable but not anything i couldn’t handle. don’t worry about it.”

“well, thanks for doing this,” chrissy says. “vickie handled it for a while, but i guess once you’ve been fired twelve times in the course of six months, you have to draw a boundary with the thirteenth.”

“it’s really not a big deal, it’s not like i’m doing it for free,” steve responds. “the money is more than worth it.”

“still, i know how he can be. but he’s really not so bad. once he’s… comfortable.” chrissy frowns.

“whatever,” steve shrugs for a third time. “i’m just here for the cash.” he winks and gives her a reassuring smile.

~*~

the next morning, steve pulls up to eddie’s huge beverly hills mansion bright and early, just as he had yesterday. he punches in the gate code, waves to the security guy on duty, and makes his way inside to the kitchen.

eddie storms in while steve is halfway through cooking another omelette, this time with tomatoes and onions and freshly grated cheddar cheese.

“i don’t care, wheeler, i’m not making a fucking appearance and i’m definitely not doing it with him,” eddie snarls into the phone pressed to his face. he hasn’t seemed to notice that steve’s in his house again.

eddie waits for whoever it is on the phone to speak before he says, “well maybe i don’t want to fix it. maybe this is it,” and then hangs up the phone. he lets out a frustrated little scream before he turns to leave the kitchen, finally noticing steve by the stove. “you’re back,” he says, voice monotone.

“i’m back,” steve smiles, sliding the plate full of food across the large island toward him. eddie looks down at it like he’s surprised. “eat,” steve tells him.

“another sweater vest?” eddie sneers instead of picking up his fork.

“i like them,” steve shrugs, still smiling.

eddie rolls his eyes. “whatever,” he mutters and then picks up the plate and retreats from the kitchen.

~*~

eddie is deeply annoyed by how good steve’s omelettes are. he practically licks the plate clean when he’s finished, which only serves to make his bad mood worse.

“can i take your plate?” steve asks from the doorway of the living room.

“jesus christ, man, wear a fucking bell,” eddie grumbles before holding out the plate, forcing steve to walk across the room to the couch and take it from him.

“i’ll remember to announce myself from now on,” steve replies. “chrissy just called; you have another meeting with the pr team this afternoon. we’ll leave here in about an hour.”

eddie doesn’t respond and steve goes quietly back to the kitchen.

~*~

eddie tries to confuse steve with the directions to nancy’s office again, mostly just to annoy him since the car has a built in gps. steve ignores eddie, leaving him to play on his phone in the back seat. the windows are tinted dark, just how eddie likes it & it lulls him into a false sense of security to where he’s almost relaxed by the time they get to nancy’s office.

the meeting is a fucking drag. it’s just a rehashing of the morning’s phone call and eddie had already made himself perfectly clear. he’s not willing to fix anything. nancy and chrissy try to double-team him, begging him to think about the tour & the album roll-out & the rest of the band. the entertainment blogs are running wild with the rumors circulating about the other night and now they’re digging up shit that he wishes would stay buried.

“absolutely fucking not,” eddie spits out. “i refuse to be fucking cordial with that moron.”

“fine,” nancy says finally. “i guess we’re done here then.” she gets up from the head of the conference room table and leaves through the big glass doors and the rest of her team takes that as their cue to leave, too.

chrissy levels him with a look, waiting until the last intern has left the room before speaking.

“eddie, i know you’re pissed right now. trust me, i would be too,” she says, using that tone eddie always hates—the one that makes it sound like she’s trying to placate a rabid dog. “but the label has invested a lot of money into you and they need you to put in some work right now. take a minute, take a breath, and then we’ll talk again. but we need to respond; we can figure out what that looks like. i’ll talk to nance… maybe we don’t need a joint appearance. maybe you can just make a statement.”

eddie knows there are a ton of people relying on this tour & this upcoming album. he knows the band doesn’t deserve the hit from this. but what is there to even say? he’s just so fucking angry about it.

“fine. i’ll make an appearance. but i won’t, under any circumstances, be seen with him,” eddie tells her firmly. he slides his sunglasses back onto his face before pushing himself out of his chair and making his way over to the door. “just tell me when and where. and make sure nancy doesn’t make me sound like a fucking idiot.”

“great,” chrissy smiles so bright she looks like a teenager again. “i’ll talk to nancy. we’ll figure it out.”

any reassurance eddie feels is washed away by a renewed sense of annoyance when he sees steve waiting for him in the lobby, still wearing his pastel yellow sweater vest, drinking a purple smoothie from a straw and scrolling on his phone. he’s laughing at something on the screen and the sunlight comes through the huge front windows just right, making him glow golden, and eddie just feels something inside him twist unpleasantly.

steve looks up then to see eddie coming, but eddie breezes past him to the sidewalk. steve jumps up to follow, handing the valet their ticket. when the car finally pulls up, eddie says, “no liquids in the car,” before sliding into the back seat.

he sees steve shrug before smiling at the valet and handing him his half empty smoothie to dispose of and a tip.

the car ride home is silent. eddie practically leaps from the car before it’s even come to a stop when they pull into the driveway. there are packages on the table in the foyer, likely brought in by the security guy at the gate. “grab those,” eddie tells steve with a wave of his hand.

steve follows eddie into the kitchen, arms laden with paper bags and boxes. most of it, eddie knows, is free product and merch, stuff he never uses and mostly stuff he doesn’t even want. steve places the packages on the counter and watches as eddie sifts through them, clearly looking for something.

“do you want lunch?” steve asks. eddie ignores him, finally finding the package he’d ordered earlier today. he flings it across the kitchen island toward steve on the other side.

steve catches the package in his hands and arches an eyebrow.

“open it,” eddie tells him, nodding at paper wrapping. he opens the fridge to pull out a bottle of water and takes a long sip as he watches steve’s fingers tear at the brown paper.

once the package is open, steve huffs out a laugh, barely a breath, before holding up a bright pink cat collar with a tiny bell attached. he shakes it in the air, making the bell tinkle. the collar clearly will not fit him.

“fuck you, man,” steve says, still smiling.

“fuck you, too,” eddie says.

and then he leaves the kitchen.

[catgrandpa]

Yes absolutely ! I didn’t want to erase their trauma and trauma responses, I just feel like these two specifically react to their own ptsd with sass and jokes, and after a little while, they learn each other well enough to do it back and forth.

I also think it would drive Bruce absolutely crazy.

No more Tim flinching away from him and Jason brooding about Tim being scared of him. It should be like this:

Jason: has a flash of panic/rage after seeing Tim do something particularly triggering in the Robin suit and lashes out a little

Tim: flinches back hard and falls into a defensive stance

Jason:

Tim:

Jason: lmao dude did u think I was gonna kill u or smth? weak shit

Tim: kinda, but at least I can drive down the road without being triggered by a stop light. embarrassing.

[pricetagged]

MEDIEVAL SCAMMER GHOAP?! Please enlighten us🙏🙏🙏

Since you both asked so nicely, have a snippet of a whisp of a concept😅

I have an idea. Not fully fleshed out. I could go in two directions, either historical Ghoap working as Pardoners and taking advantage of ignorant village reader (corruption kink, religious themes, abuse of power etc.).

OR, for my monster-lovers, has anyone seen Dragonheart? I was picturing, like, one of them is something beastly, the other plays at knight = profit? Fantasy scam and rescue? So, it would go something like this:

(Tw kidnapping and kind of mean Ghoap)

---------

Your situation didn't look any better flipped on its head. Flipped on your head, rather. Snatched and thrown over a bulky shoulder, high– higher than even your standing position. It was discomfiting; it was terrifying. Blood rushed to your face not only in fury but also in shame as your skirts fluttered in the breeze.

He noticed, too. His greedy fingers dug into your thighs, skimming down like he was soothing a skittish horse. But you felt the way he lingered. The way he chuffed and squeezed tighter when you kicked out with all the strength of a skittish colt.

Your fists pounded uselessly against heavy splint-mail, hands-catching on rough nodules and spikes that didn't quite register as pain. Not to your panic-stricken mind, thoughts flying off in the wind behind you as the beast carried you off.

But the smack registered.

Perhaps it was the sound, the harsh slap of flesh on flesh. Whipping crack, like the snapping of a great branch. The precursor to an eerie stillness, violence begetting obmutescence. And it worked–

–for a second. For the time it took for your stinging nerves to catch up with your racing mind. Then you howled. Kicked and clawed and hissed like a feral cat as tears welled in your lash-line.

"How dare you–"

"Quit yer fashin'. Ye'll bring the whole kingsguard down this way–"

"–good–"

"–and then I'll have tae kill them all," That had your attention, legs tense under the heavy band of his bicep. "Dinnae much feel like sharin' ye around."

"Oh, you beast! You foul, vile, disgusting–" Your voice was high, words scratching as they hitched out of your aching throat.

It hurt to speak, vocal cords already shredded from the way you'd screamed when he'd first ransacked your village. Coughing on heavy, acrid smoke and crying futile warnings about the Black Knight and his monster-in-arms ('Quiet, girl. Viper-tonged harlot, slither off and for gods' sake, quiet!') . But it hurt more to be silent. You flung insults like broken arrows, hoping that they would somehow land. That they would hit, fortuitously, and pierce the thick-hide of this brute. But hope is vain, and the fancies of men make gods laugh.

You landed hard on something soft.

Ego almost as bruised as your knees, you kept your eyes low. Sweeping. Marshy, wet silt. Topsoil sluiced off, only mud and clay and reeds to your right. A cheerfully babbling brook just beyond, water murky and discoloured with backwash from– the water flowed past the estuary of the village so it must be– no–

The realisation was caustic. Mordant. Burning at you like the scorched air in your lungs.

"You're a monster," you spat the words, mouth watering in your haste to let ichor drip forth and blacken him as much as the foul, brackish water ahead.

"Noticed that, did ye," he laughed, words glancing off like feeble blows. "Best not tae piss me off, then. Stay there and behave yersel'. Company's comin'."

Glancing up at him was like a blow to the stomach, wind punched out and body shaking. You already knew that he was big, inhuman. But now you could see every inch; monstrous, twisted mockery of natural features. Like a man formed of rock, too immense and hard and jagged to pass for anything but artificial. Counterfeit. Contranatural. Creation's bastard. All tusks and teeth and shorn hair. Hair everywhere, even down his bare, bulging forearms and thick knuckles. Coarse, dark.

His eerie, bright blue eyes blazed around black, pupils wild and blown. It could be the thrill, cruel playfulness of an apex predator. Berserker-wide, coming down from the kill–

But he'd been carrying you for a while, bloodlust long-since sated on the men and manse of your homeland.

You shivered, sweat and cold mingling in a discomfiting damp that raised the hairs on your arms. (The hairs on the back of your neck were already needle-stiff and prickling).

You pocketed a stone, a big jagged filthy shard. One you hoped could bruise and slash and poison, turn wounds weeping and sick.

Now that you were silent, he seemed especially strident, swaggering around the barebones of what you supposed must be a dwelling. You felt the slight whistling of air from the cave behind, cavernous and black. If you had to run, to hide, you'd take your chances with the forest and river ahead. To be lost in the appetites of the mountain abyss would spell death as surely as at the hands of this creature.

You watched him, cocksure and comfortable as he shucked off his warhammer and began unbuckling his braces. If you could read the snarl of his crooked teeth, you'd perhaps say he was in high spirits. He sent you a wink as he shrugged off his splint-mail, gravelly laugh echoing in the cavern behind.

It disguised the approach of your visitor.

"Grabbed the wrong one, Johnny," you shrieked as something grabbed your forearm, hauling you up. Looking down you saw the muted sheen of a spiked gauntlet. Black patina, flaked in iron rust. You swallowed hard, lump in your throat so big that it caught any words that might try to escape. Him. The Black Knight. The Liar. 

"Ye said to grab the pretty one by the fancy house."

"She's not the magistrate's daughter. No ransom for her." He spun you around, metal biting hard into your chin as he arched your face towards his.

Cloaked in ink-black helm and visor, you could just about peer in to meet his gaze. He looked back with cold, assessing eyes. The voice that rumbled forth was as harsh and breccial as you remembered, words rending you apart with serrated precision: "Not worth a rescue mission."

He released your chin with a final shake of your head, huffing amusement as you rubbed at the thin scratches he left behind.

It was hard to breathe now, stomach swirling and head-light. Even if you could will yourself, it wouldn’t help. There was already a faint coppery smell leeching from the Knight; your heart recognised it even if you would not give name to it. It sped up, fast enough to rush past your ears with discordant force. 

You didn’t feel the other one step up behind you, not until it was too late. There, trapped between man and monster (man the monster), tight enough that you couldn't even shiver. You felt the power of the creature even more now without the armour, all muscle and fat, sheer power close enough to sink your fingers into. But you couldn't move, your shallow breaths already catching in your throat into soft, hitching whines. 

"Shh, it's alright, bonnie," Rough, clumsy fingers swiped under your eyes. You felt him crouch lower, stubbly hair and tusks digging into your powder-soft cheek. "Looks like we're gonnae have tae keep you, then."

------------

[specialgradefckr]

thinking about bullying nerd!gojo.

shoving him against lockers. punching him in the arm, tripping him whenever he walks past, throwing his textbooks in the trash.

you sneer at him for being a nerd (you're in the same advanced classes), steal his fancy bento box lunches, make him carry your books between classes, even force him to be your errand boy.

he's asking for it, really. with those stupid digimon keychains on his bag -

"how did you know it's digimon?" "shut the fuck up, nerd."

his anime stickers -

"neon genesis evangelion? how can you like that anime? all the characters are so messed up!" "hehe, asuka best girl~"

and how he loaded up his stupid fancy walkman exclusively with anime openings -

"you wanna listen?" "no! hand it over to me or i'm telling the teacher."

nerd!satoru gojo who could very easily fight you off.

even though he's a bean pole (as you frequently point out), he's a lot stronger than you realize - hidden by his long sleeves and sweater vests and loose ("comfortable!") clothing.

oh, he plays weak in front of you. suguru gets a real kick out of it, but you're not any nicer to him.

"satoru, what the hell are you doing? just walk past."

you shoot the goth a scathing glare, "nobody asked you, edgelord freak."

"at least i have a style," suguru bites back. he's more than used to getting looks.

"yeah, and it's shit. fuck off."

"you-"

suguru is about to release an especially pointed remark on your lack of friends, perceived financial status, and general shitty personality that somehow managed to be worse than his idiot best friends', but satoru gives him an absolutely withering glare. icy.

"yeah, suguru," he parrots, "fuck off."

"you shut up!" you snap immediately, "i wasn't done with you!"

suguru doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

this song and dance has been going on for years now, and you're all seniors.

"oh! yeah, of course, sorry," satoru beams at you, "you wanted to study together after school?"

you'd been threatening him to hand over his homework.

suguru supposes, in satoru's deranged mind, oversaturated with media references and calculus formulas, this might sound like a date.

"fine," you snap in exasperation, "however the hell you want to do it. just be there, all right?"

"of course! i'd never let you down!" he's nodding eagerly as you huff, release his collar, and stalk away.

"wait up!" satoru whines, gathering his books and trailing after you like a dumb puppy.

"fucking keep up, nerd, i'm not slowing down for you," you say, as you slow down for him.

for fuck's sake. it's a miracle two people this dense could even meet each other, and somehow, you're both in advanced classes.

if you don't fuck by the end of the school year, suguru thinks he's actually going to die.

[partiallysame]

Simon Riley Headcanons

- Will sit in silence for so long it scares the shit out of you when he does say something.

- Had to start making noises when he moved around the house bc the giant is someone so quiet and again scared the shit out of you every time he entered the room.

- Can remember everything, the most insane details but still gets it wrong like: you ask him to grab your black boots and he’s like “ah yes the boots you wore on our 4th date when you ordered this specific food and the waiters name was Steve” uh ya ok sure those boots. But he comes back holding heels not boots. And they’re blue not black and then is genuinely confused as to why You’re confused

- Big hot sexy man but sadly just a man. What do you mean you packed for a two week trip? Simon there are only 3 shirts in that bag. “Threes enough” no pants? “M’wearing them”

- Will hold your purse for you and if you tell him to stop holding it weird (straight out in front of him) he’ll sling it over his shoulder and next thing you know his pockets are empty and your purse is full of his keys, wallet, knives.

- Tries to get you to hit Johnny if he makes any crude comments (or unfunny jokes actually if he speaks to you at all) Legit whispering in your ear like the lil angel and devil shoulder guys “jus one punch lovie”

- Old fashioned manners (I see this one a lot in Simon stuff and big agree) you are never paying. Never touching door. In or out of the car? Sit and wait patiently. Sidewalk rule? Fuck any car for even thinking about driving near the sidewalk YOU are on. Princess treatment for life with this one

- So easy to train. Big man loves following an order. Something you want him to do? Done you never have to ask again. Whether it be buying a specific brand. How to wash specific types of clothes. Shoes off household? He’s got house slippers the next time he comes over

- Nerves of steal. Big bad Ghost. Except when he meets your friends for the first time. Brunch with a bunch of girls just like you? Just put him down pls double tap to the head what the fuck does slay mean. He never learned this language. He texts soap during the brunch to translate for him (I saw a headcannon? Actual canon? Once that said soap had 6 sisters. And ya agreed)

[carnalcrows]

BREAKING THE RULES - NAMGYU

pairing: ftm namgyu x guard! top! male reader

synopsis: Nam-gyu makes life even harder in the games; and he makes sure you know it.

content warnings: 18+, slightly ooc namgyu, thanos doesn't exist here, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, mentions of pregnancy, breeding, squirting, creampie.

word count: 1.9k

Nam-gyu was a menace. Not in a violent way—no, he wasn’t the type to throw punches or scheme behind people's backs. He was just loud. Chaotic. Endlessly pushing his luck in ways that made your job infinitely harder.

You, one of the masked guards, had the misfortune of being assigned to watch over him.

“Oh, come on, do you really have to stand so close?” Nam-gyu whined, sprawled out on the cold metal bunk, looking up at you with an exaggerated pout. “You’re like my own personal shadow. It’s creepy.”

You didn’t respond. Guards weren’t supposed to talk to the players.

But Nam-gyu? He didn’t give a fuck about rules.

“Are you at least hot under that mask?” he continued, squinting up at you. “Tall, broad, mysterious—what’s under there? A secret K-drama heartthrob?”

Your lips twitched under the mask, but you stayed silent.

Then he gasped. “Wait, what if you’re ugly? Oh my god, what if you’re, like, a forty-year-old uncle with bad skin?”

You exhaled sharply, already regretting what you were about to do. “Shut up and sleep.”

Nam-gyu sat up so fast he nearly smacked his head on the bunk above. “Ohhh? He speaks! And—wait, wait, that was deep—oh my god, are you hot?”

You turned away, cursing yourself.

“Wait, at least tell me if you’re single!” he whisper-yelled.

Despite the life-or-death situation, Nam-gyu never stopped flirting with you.

During the games, when most players were drenched in sweat and panic, he still managed to shoot you little smirks like this was all some messed-up dating show.

After a particularly brutal round, he was doubled over, panting, hands on his knees. But even then, he looked up at you, grinning through the exhaustion.

“If I survive this, you owe me a date.”

“You’re not supposed to talk to me,” you reminded him.

His grin widened. “And yet… you keep answering.”

The first time you really broke the rules was when you caught him wandering the hallways after curfew.

You found him leaning casually against the wall like he wasn’t committing a punishable offense.

“You know you’re not supposed to be out,” you sighed, arms crossed.

“Oops,” he said, not looking the least bit sorry. “Guess I got lost. You're gonna punish me?”

Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing. The way he leaned in slightly, the way his voice dropped lower—it was all intentional.

“Get back to your room before someone sees,” you ordered, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck.

Nam-gyu tilted his head. “You gonna carry me there, big guy?”

You groaned, grabbing his arm and dragging him back to the dorms. He didn’t resist. If anything, he definitely enjoyed it.

One night, during your usual patrol, his voice whispered through the dark.

“Psst. Guard dude. Come here.”

Against your better judgment, you stepped closer to his bunk. “What?”

“You’re my favorite guard,” he murmured, a lazy grin on his lips.

“I’m the only guard who tolerates you,” you corrected.

“Exactly,” he chuckled. “That means something.”

Then, his fingers ghosted over your gloved hand. A barely-there touch.

“If I die tomorrow,” he said softly, voice losing its usual playfulness, “I just want you to know—I totally had a crush on you.”

Your heart pounded harder than it should have.

At some point, you gave in.

Maybe it was the stress. Maybe it was the fact that Nam-gyu was so damn persistent. But you found yourself alone with him in a supply closet one night.

“This is so against the rules,” you muttered, hands gripping his waist as he smirked up at you.

“Then why haven’t you stopped me?” he teased, breath warm against your mask.

You exhaled sharply. “Because you won’t shut up otherwise.”

“Ohhh, so this is how you make me quiet?” he grinned, fingers trailing over your chest. “Noted.”

The moment was charged, the air thick with something neither of you wanted to name. Nam-gyu was pressed against the shelves of the dimly lit supply closet, his breath uneven as he stared up at you with that maddening smirk.

"You gonna stand there all night, big guy?" he murmured, voice teasing but breathy. "Or are you actually gonna do something?"

Your grip on his waist tightened involuntarily. This was reckless—so reckless—but Nam-gyu had spent days, weeks even, pushing you to this point. Testing your patience, pulling you into his orbit, and now that he had you where he wanted you, he wasn’t about to let go.

You exhaled sharply, then tilted his chin up with two fingers. His smirk faltered, replaced by something else—anticipation, maybe.

And then you kissed him.

Nam-gyu let out a surprised noise before melting into it, arms sliding up to grip your shoulders. His lips were warm and eager, moving against yours with a desperation that made your head spin. He kissed like he talked—relentlessly, all-consuming, like he wanted to prove something.

You didn’t let him.

Instead, you took control, deepening the kiss, pressing him further against the shelves. A soft gasp escaped him when your fingers dug into his waist, grounding him. His hands fisted in your uniform, pulling you closer, as if there was any space left between you.

"You’re—so unfair," he mumbled between kisses, voice slightly dazed.

"You talk too much," you muttered, capturing his lips again before he could come up with another snarky remark.

Nam-gyu didn’t fight it. If anything, he clung to you even more, tilting his head to give you better access. His breath hitched when your hands roamed lower, fingers pressing into the curve of his back, holding him steady against you.

The heat between you was overwhelming, the danger of getting caught only making it worse. But neither of you cared. Not when he was sighing into your mouth, not when his fingers tangled in your hair, not when the world outside this little room ceased to exist.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless. Nam-gyu blinked up at you, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. He looked entirely too pleased with himself.

"You’re really bad at following rules," he murmured, voice thick with amusement.

You exhaled, resting your forehead against his. "And you’re really bad at shutting up."

Nam-gyu grinned. "Guess we make a good team, then."

And somehow, you knew there was no going back.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and way too heated for your own good, he chuckled.

“You’re really bad at following rules,” he teased, straightening his uniform.

You adjusted your mask, trying to calm your racing heart. “And you’re really bad at shutting up.”

“Guess we make a good team, then.”

You should’ve been worried. You should’ve been more careful. But when Nam-gyu looked at you like that—like you were the only thing keeping him sane in this nightmare—you knew there was no going back.

The next morning, you tried to pretend nothing had happened.

You stood at your usual post, arms crossed, mask in place, as if Nam-gyu hadn’t kissed you breathless in a supply closet.

But he wasn’t about to let you forget. Oh no.

He sauntered into the cafeteria, stretching his arms dramatically.

“Man, I had the craziest dream last night,” he said, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.

You tensed.

“So there I was, trapped in a tiny room with this huge guy,” Nam-gyu continued, resting his chin in his palm. “And let me tell you—he had strong hands. Held me real tight, y’know?”

You clenched your fists.

The other players gave him a weird look. “Uh… what kinda dream was that?”

Nam-gyu sighed, all fake wistfulness. “A good one.” Then, without looking at you, he added, “Shame it was just a dream.”

You walked out, shaking your head.

That night, you found him again where he wasn’t supposed to be—this time, loitering near the guard dorms.

“You want to get caught, don’t you?” you sighed, grabbing his arm.

“Maybe,” he grinned, stepping closer. “Or maybe I just wanted to see you.”

You tried to ignore the way your pulse jumped. “You’re reckless.”

“And you’re obsessed with following rules,” he teased, tilting his head. “Except when it comes to me.”

You really should’ve pushed him away. Instead, you backed him against the wall.

“Go back to your room,” you ordered, voice low.

“Make me,” he whispered.

And oh, you did.

Your hands slammed against the wall on either side of Nam-gyu’s head, caging him in. His breath hitched, but that damn smirk never left his face. He thrived off this—the tension, the danger, the way you always swore you wouldn’t fall for his games but did anyway.

“Say that again,” you murmured, your voice dropping into something dangerously low.

Nam-gyu’s lashes fluttered, and for the first time, a flicker of nervous excitement crossed his face. But he was never one to back down. “Make me,” he repeated, this time softer, more breathless.

Your patience snapped.

Your lips crashed against his, claiming him in a kiss that was anything but gentle. Nam-gyu gasped, his fingers instantly tangling in your uniform, gripping the fabric like he needed to steady himself. You could feel his heartbeat hammering against your own, his chest rising and falling in short, shallow breaths as you pressed even closer.

He tasted like trouble, and you had never wanted anything more.

Nam-gyu let out a muffled whimper as your hand slid down to his waist, pulling him flush against you. He was so much smaller than you, but he didn’t shy away—if anything, he leaned in, arching slightly as if daring you to take more.

Your hands trailed to the hem of his sweats, tugging them and his boxers down to reveal– his pussy? You certainly didn’t expect that.

“See– I probably should’ve mentioned this earlier but–”

You silenced him with another kiss, deeper this time, your hands gripping his hips hard enough to bruise. His breath hitched when your teeth grazed his bottom lip, his body trembling against you.

Hastily pulling your own pants down, you pulled out your erection– aligning it with his cunt. Common sense had gone too far out the window now– you were too horny to care.

Before he could say anything, you sheathed yourself inside of him with one swift thrust– making his head hit the wall behind him. He gasped– and you used the opportunity to press your lips to his once more, preventing him from making any of those pretty noises (which you so desperately wanted to hear– but it was too dangerous now).

You pulled out of his cunt almost all the way before slamming back in– the head of your cock almost entering his cervix. His back arched– hands gripping tightly onto your shoulders.

You thrusted in and out of him at an almost animalistic pace– being pent up for so long certainly had its advantages.

You buried your head in the crook of his neck– and used the hand that wasn’t holding him up to cover his mouth– muffling his whimpers and moans, almost divine music to your ears.

Without warning– he climaxed, squirting all over your cock and the front of your uniform. Seeing him come undone did it for you– and you released soon after– pressing into him with such ferociousness and painting his insides a pearly white that he was sure he was going to get pregnant.

After a solid minute– you slowly pulled out of him, still keeping him upright. His head sagged onto your shoulder, the exhaustion getting to his head.

The sudden sound of approaching footsteps made you freeze.

The door to the small room opened– and outside was none other than Square Guard 001.

You were fucked.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[yshoons]

ᶻz﹒─ ͏͏͏͏͏͏I NEED U GIRL

I NEED U GIRL ��� "was i not just a bet?. . .a bet? no you're my everything", when they realize they've messed up, enha x fmr hcs, cursing, alcohol

HEESEUNG (희승)

in the dead of night, the last thing you expect to find is lee heeseung at your front door. especially an incredibly drunk lee heeseung. he reeks of alcohol, and from the way he's hunched he's had far too many drinks then he can handle. "heeseung?" you whisper.

"don't say my name," he answers.

"what?"

"i don't deserve it," he mutters, "i don't deserve anything from you,"

"heeseung let's not do this," you say, taking you're phone out to call jay, "you're drunk, so please go," without warning, he grabs onto your arm, pulling you into him.

and under the starlit night he spills everything to you, "i need you yn, please don't do this, i'm sorry"

JAY (제이)

the unforgettable sound of park jongseong's fancy sports car is enough to throw you off. he had played you, so just what the hell was he doing, coming back here? you storm straight past him, but not before grabs your wrist, pulling you to face him. "let go!" you hiss.

"no," he says, "listen. please," and though you want to rip yourself away, you can't help but stay.

"to listen to you tell me you're supposedly sorry? cut the bullshit jay i-"

"hit me," he mutters.

"what?"

"hit me, punch me, curse me off, scratch up my car or cut up my shit!" he exclaims, "just please don't shut me out, i need you, i fucked up and i know it,"

JAKE (제이크)

you had showed up to his soccer game in spite, to show him that you didn't care anymore, that you were moved on. but then a thunderstorm hits, leaving you drenched and alone in the stands as everyone starts to pack up and leave.

you glance at the field. what were you truly expecting? afterall- "yn!" you whip your head around, and there he is, sim jaeyun, in all his glory dashing towards you. he should've left to the locker rooms with his team, the game having been postponed, but here he is. he grabs onto you, wrapping his team jacket around you and bringing you close.

"you came," he whispers.

"let go jake," you mutter, "we're done rememb-" and before you can even finish your sentence, he's on his knees, gripping onto the ends of the jacket he placed over you.

"no, no," he whispers, "please i beg you, i need you,"

SUNGHOON (성훈)

sunghoon was never one to show much of himself during your time with him. though there were moments of softness between the freezing chill that he was, in the end he was stoic. cold.

so that's why it was shocking to you when he comes to find you: his usually neat hair disheveled, eyes red, and his usually smooth words tumbling out unsurely. the desperation he's seemingly in cuts through the front you had been putting up, and as you reach out to him you can't help but be speechless.

". . .sunghoon?" you call, unsure.

"please," he says, "i want- no. i need you,"

© YSHOONS 2025

[itneverendshere]

lucky strike - brother bsf! rafe (blurb)

pairing: kelce's!sister x hockey!rafe warnings: none, fluff, flirting, yearning

The party was supposed to be fun. Emphasis on supposed to be.

Your brother had dragged you along, promising it would be “chill,” throwing out all his usual excuses—“It’ll be fun, you never go out, and besides, you know everyone there”—but you should’ve known better.

Now you were stuck in a house full of drunk college students, loud music, and—worst of all—a guy who wouldn’t leave you alone.

He’d introduced himself as Jake—or maybe it was Jack; you didn’t care—and you’d been polite at first. A quick smile, a couple of sentences before excusing yourself. But he didn’t get the hint. 

He was following you around like a lost puppy, trying to impress you with stories about his car and his “networking connections,” whatever the hell that meant. 

“Oh, yeah,” Jake was saying now, his voice raised to compete with the music. “They’re starting me at, like, six figures. But, you know, I told them I’d think about it.”

You sipped your drink to keep from rolling your eyes. “Wow, that’s… something.”

“So, anyway,” he was saying as you edged toward the hallway, “if you ever want to, like, grab dinner or something, I know a great spot. And If you ever want to come down to Florida, I could totally show you around. Take you out on my boat.”

You nodded absently, scanning the room for an excuse, but your brother was nowhere in sight, and every doorway seemed blocked by a crowd.

“You and me? A weekend getaway?”

You froze, brainstorming for an excuse. “Oh, uh—”

Then you saw him in all his glory, Rafe Cameron.

He was leaning against the wall near the kitchen, a drink in one hand, his other casually tucked into his pocket. His messy blond hair looked like he’d just stepped off the cover of some ridiculous sports magazine. He looked completely at ease, this party—and everyone in it—existed solely for his entertainment.

You hated that he was your only option right now.

Rafe Cameron was your brother’s best friend since diapers, your public enemy number one on your worst days. Your stomach did that stupid little thingy it always seemed to do when you saw him, and you hated it.

You cut Jake or Jack off, raising your hand. “I need to go—uh—find my boyfriend.”

Jake blinked. “Your what?”

“My boyfriend,” you repeated, internally cringing at the word and already walking through the crowd toward Rafe. “He’s waiting for me.”

Ugh. You groaned internally. You don’t like Rafe. You don’t even think about Rafe. 

“Cameron,” you said when you reached him, grabbing his sleeve. “Need your help.”

Rafe turned, his blue eyes looking down to where your hand gripped his arm. Then he looked back up at you, his lips curving, “Didn’t think I’d ever hear you say that.”

 “I’m serious.”

His smirk widened. “Even better. What’s going on, princess?”

You glared at him. “Some guy won’t leave me alone. He’s been following me around all night, and I need you to—”

“Who?”

You shook your head quickly, knowing that look in his eyes meant trouble and black eyes. “We’re not doing the ‘caveman throws a punch’ thing. I just need you to pretend to be my…” You paused, the word catching in your throat. “Pretend to be my…”

Rafe tilted his head, watching you squirm. “Your what?”

You shuddered at the thought. “My…boyfriend.”

His smirk was back in full Cameron force. “What was that?”

You crossed your arms in defiance, refusing to let him win this. “You heard me.”

“I heard you,” Rafe nodded, leaning closer, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Just didn’t think I’d live to see the day you called me your boyfriend.”

“Fake boyfriend,” you clarified through gritted teeth. “Don’t make this weird, Cameron.”

But it already was, because just standing this close to him made your heart pound in a way you refused to acknowledge.

“Always knew you had a thing for me, but this? You want me sooooo bad,” he drawled out, tongue kissing his teeth as he pinched your arm.

“Wipe that stupid smirk off your face before I do,” You shoved his touch away, “Help me.”

Rafe’s grin widened, and he opened his mouth to say something dumb—but then Jake appeared at the end of the hallway, his face lighting up when he spotted you.

“There you are!” Jake called, heading straight for you.

“Shit,” you muttered, grabbing Rafe’s beefy arm again. “Just follow my lead.”

Jake stopped in front of you, giving Rafe a once-over. “Hey,” he said, clearly confused. “Who’s this?”

You swallowed, forcing yourself to say the word again. “This is my… uh, my boyfriend.”

The second it left your mouth, you wanted to crawl into a hole. It sounded so fake, so awkward—and Rafe wasn’t helping, because you could feel him staring at you with that stupid smug grin.

“Hey,” Rafe cut in smoothly, draping an arm over your shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You lookin’ for my girl?”

Jake blinked, “Oh. I, uh—I didn’t realize—”

“Yeah,” Rafe patronized, “You wouldn’t.”

Then Jake's stupid eyes widened, “Wait… you’re Rafe Cameron.”

Rafe’s smirk grew impossibly smug. “That’s me.”

Jake’s mouth fell open. “Holy shit. Dude, you’re the Rafe Cameron. Hockey star. I watched your game against Michigan last month—you were insane.”

Rafe shrugged, his hand tightening slightly on your waist. “Appreciate it, man.”

You wanted to die, maybe strangle him.

Jake turned to you, his tone almost accusing. “You didn’t tell me your boyfriend was Rafe Cameron.”

You laughed nervously, trying not to grimace. “Yeah, uh,… it’s not exactly my favorite topic.”

The second the words left your mouth, Rafe’s fingers pinched your waist—just enough to make you jolt—and he leaned down, his lips brushing against your hair.

“Careful, princess,” he murmured, “You’re gonna hurt my feelings.”

You clenched your fists at your sides, not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction.

Jake, oblivious to your little argument, kept gushing. “Seriously, man, you’re a beast. I don’t know how you pull off those plays—”

Jake was too busy gushing over Rafe, throwing out stats and plays like he’d memorized Rafe’s entire career. And Rafe, of course, was eating it up, nodding along like he wasn’t already aware of how good he was.

That’s when you felt it—Rafe’s fingers, toying with the hem of your top.

Your breath hitched, and you glanced up at him, but he was still focused on Jake, his face the picture of calm confidence.

“Yeah,” He was saying, his fingers moving tenderly against your skin. “That Michigan game was wild. You should’ve seen her, though.” He tilted his head toward you. “Biggest fan in the stands. Couldn’t take her eyes off me.”

Your jaw dropped. “Are you—”

“Yeah?” Jake said, interrupting you. “That’s awesome. Must be crazy, dating someone like him.”

You clenched your fists, your irritation bubbling over. “Oh, it’s insane.”

Rafe chuckled under his breath, his fingers teasing your side one last time before Jake finally walked away, muttering something about grabbing another drink.

The second he was out of earshot, you shoved Rafe’s arm off you and glared up at him. “You’re fucking insufferable.”

He grinned, his blue eyes sparkling. “Dial down the foreplay, you’re gonna make me hard.”

This motherfucker, oh my god.

You stared at him, your jaw nearly unhinged from the sheer nerve. “Are you—did you just—” You couldn’t finish the sentence, the words vanishing in your throat as your face warmed.

Rafe, on the other hand, looked entirely unbothered, leaning against the wall like he hadn’t just said the most inappropriate thing imaginable. “What?” he drawled, his smirk practically glowing in the dim light. “You started it, calling me your boyfriend. I’m just playing the part.”

You took a step back, glaring at him like you could kill him with sheer willpower, “How does anyone ever put up with you, oh my god.”

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” he quipped, his smile widening as he reached out to tug lightly on the hem of your sleeve.

You smacked his hand away. “If you keep this up, I’ll go back out there and tell Jake—or Jack, or whoever—that I was lying.”

“Please,” Rafe scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You're not gonna subject yourself to that human LinkedIn profile just to spite me.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could retort, a group of partygoers passed by, a couple of them glancing your way and whispering. One of them—a girl in a glittery crop top—stopped to wave at Rafe, her voice eager.

“Oh my god, Rafe! I didn’t know you were here!”

Rafe gave her a polite nod, his hand sliding back to your waist, his fingers pressing just firmly enough to make your stomach go stupid.

“Yeah,” he said, his tone easy. “Just hanging out with my girl.”

Your head snapped up, your eyes wide with disbelief, “Dude.”

What the fuck is wrong with you?! you wanted to scream, but the girl was already nodding, her smile faltering as she glanced at you.

“Right. Cool. Um, see you around, I guess,” she said before walking off with her friends.

The second she was gone, you shoved Rafe’s hand off you again. “You’re having way too much fun with this shit.”

“Can you blame me?” he asked, face softening into something that almost—almost—resembled genuine amusement. “This is the most fun I’ve had at one of these parties in weeks.”

“Glad I could provide you with some entertainment,” you said dryly.

“Don’t sell yourself short, princess,” he said, his voice dipping slightly as his eyes met yours. “You’re the highlight of my night.”

You forced yourself to scoff pretending his sweet nothing’s didn’t hit home.

“I know you, I’m not falling for your little hockey player charm offensive.”

“Who says it’s an offensive?” he asked, tilting his head. “Maybe it’s just a… friendly check.”

“Friendly?” you repeated, arching an eyebrow. “You don’t do friendly.”

He shrugged, his fingers brushing against your wrist in a way that felt entirely too deliberate. “Maybe you just bring it out of me.”

“Why the fuck is everyone saying my sister is dating my best friend?! Hello??”

Your entire body went rigid as Kelce bulldozed through the crowd, looking thoroughly scandalized. He stopped dead in front of you, his eyes darting between you and Rafe with full-on soap opera disbelief.

Rafe, the insufferable fucking bastard, didn’t even try to keep it together—he straight-up bent over laughing, one hand braced on his knee, the other holding his drink like it was sacred.

“Oh, shit,” he wheezed, grinning wide enough to blind someone. “This just keeps getting better.”

You wanted to drop dead right there in the beer-sticky hallway.

Kelce blinked at you, bewildered. “What. The. Actual. Hell?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” you snapped, glaring at Rafe as he tried (and failed) to recover, his chest still shaking with laughter.

“Yeah?” Kelce shot back, jabbing a thumb toward the swarm of gossiping partiers. “Because everyone’s saying it looks like you two are a thing.”

“We are not a thing,” you hissed, making a couple of people nearby glance over. “He was just helping me ditch some guy who wouldn’t take a hint.”

Rafe, still grinning like a jackass, finally straightened up, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. His voice was warm, low, “Your sister couldn’t resist me.”

You whipped around, shoving his chest hard enough that he stumbled back a step, laughing like this was the most fun he’d had in years. “Oh, shut the fuck up.”

Kelce’s jaw practically unhinged. “Wait. Are you actually into her?”

Rafe tilted his head, pretending to think it over. “Depends—am I allowed to?”

Your eyes narrowed to murderous slits. “I will put you in the ground, Cameron.”

Rafe’s laugh rumbled low in his chest, sending a traitorous shiver down your spine. “God, you’re mean,” he drawled, clearly enjoying himself. “Kinda hot, though.”

Kelce gagged dramatically. “Nope. Nope. I’m out. Y’all are sick.”

“Glad we agree,” you muttered as Kelce stormed off, throwing his hands up like you were a lost cause.

The second he was gone, you turned on Rafe, stabbing a finger into his chest. “This is your fault.”

“My fault?” he echoed, grinning like he’d just been handed front-row seats to your breakdown. “You’re the one who called me your boyfriend, princess.”

You scowled. “Yeah, clearly that was a mistake.”

Rafe’s eyes gleamed, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse hitch. “Nah. Best decision you’ve made all night.”

You flipped him off. “I’m fake-dumping your ass immediately.”

Rafe had that look on his face—the one that made you want to throw something at him. A lazy smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned casually against the wall, all cocky confidence and oh-aren’t-I-just-so-fucking-charming energy.

“You know,” he started, dragging the words out like he was savoring them, “this kinda reminds me of when you had that crush on me when we were, what, twelve?”

Your head snapped toward him so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He grinned wider, eyes gleaming with delight. “You used to follow me around like a lovesick puppy at Kelce’s games. Always sitting in the front row, twirling your hair like you were in some rom-com.”

You made a noise halfway between a scoff and a snarl. “Excuse me? I did not have a crush on you.”

“Yeah? So you weren’t the one who told Kelce I had ‘pretty eyes’?”

He did, in fact, have pretty eyes, so what....

Your face went up in flames. “That was a joke.”

“Sure it was,” he teased, leaning in just enough to make you want to run for the hills. “You totally didn’t write my name in your notebook, either, right?”

Your jaw dropped. “How do you even know about that?!”

“Kelce found it last month and showed me,” Rafe said, completely unapologetic. “Heart doodles and everything. Thought you were writing love songs for me or something.”

“I hate you,” you growled, your face now hotter than the sun.

“You loved me,” he quipped, biting back a laugh. “Or at least your little self did. Cute.”

“I’m going to strangle Kelce.”

Rafe smirked, brushing a nonexistent speck of dust off his sleeve. “Too late to deny it now, princess. I’m your first love, and you just fake-dated me tonight. Full circle.”

“You are so full of shit.”

“Yeah,” he drawled, eyes dancing, “but you’re still blushing.”

“I will kick you in the balls, Cameron.”

“Careful,” he warned, “You’re gonna fall for me all over again.”

[colombinaa]

If you don’t know how to properly throw a punch (you could break your wrist), use your palm. Your hand will already be in this position🫸 and you’ll risk less.

To give more power to your arms or legs, don’t just rotate the limb; rotate the whole body with it.

If he’s down, a couple more hits on vulnerable areas to make sure he stays down are fine. Like stamp on his groin or above his knee. You might even break his leg. The important thing is making sure you can run away.

When fighting, don’t stretch your limbs all the way straight (when punching, kicking or even just standing). Bended limbs are more resistant and controllable, you’ll risk injuring them less.

Learn some techniques. My uncle taught me one from Brazilian Ju-jitsu (i cannot explain it in a text, let alone in English) and i easily took him off of me despite him being a very big man. Knowing some tricks will help a lot with the physical disadvantages.

Fight dirty, whether you know techniques or not. Push your fingers (thumbs) into his eyes. Bite him. Headbutt him. Don’t be afraid to hurt him, don’t be kind. It’s you or him.

THROUGH A RAPIST’S EYES” (PLS TAKE TIME TO READ THIS. It may save a life, It may save your life.)

An Article from Neena Susan Thomas

“Through a rapist’s eyes. A group of rapists and date rapists in prison were interview…ed on what they look for in a potential victim and here are some interesting facts:

1] The first thing men look for in a potential victim is hairstyle. They are most likely to go after a woman with a ponytail, bun! , braid, or other hairstyle that can easily be grabbed. They are also likely to go after a woman with long hair. Women with short hair are not common targets.

2] The second thing men look for is clothing. They will look for women who’s clothing is easy to remove quickly. Many of them carry scissors around to cut clothing.

3] They also look for women using their cell phone, searching through their purse or doing other activities while walking because they are off guard and can be easily overpowered.

4] The number one place women are abducted from / attacked at is grocery store parking lots.

5] Number two is office parking lots/garages.

6] Number three is public restrooms.

7] The thing about these men is that they are looking to grab a woman and quickly move her to a second location where they don’t have to worry about getting caught.

8] If you put up any kind of a fight at all, they get discouraged because it only takes a minute or two for them to realize that going after you isn’t worth it because it will be time-consuming.

9] These men said they would not pick on women who have umbrellas,or other similar objects that can be used from a distance, in their hands.

10] Keys are not a deterrent because you have to get really close to the attacker to use them as a weapon. So, the idea is to convince these guys you’re not worth it.

POINTS THAT WE SHOULD REMEMBER:

1] If someone is following behind you on a street or in a garage or with you in an elevator or stairwell, look them in the face and ask them a question, like what time is it, or make general small talk: can’t believe it is so cold out here, we’re in for a bad winter. Now that you’ve seen their faces and could identify them in a line- up, you lose appeal as a target.

2] If someone is coming toward you, hold out your hands in front of you and yell Stop or Stay back! Most of the rapists this man talked to said they’d leave a woman alone if she yelled or showed that she would not be afraid to fight back. Again, they are looking for an EASY target.

3] If you carry pepper spray (this instructor was a huge advocate of it and carries it with him wherever he goes,) yelling I HAVE PEPPER SPRAY and holding it out will be a deterrent.

4] If someone grabs you, you can’t beat them with strength but you can do it by outsmarting them. If you are grabbed around the waist from behind, pinch the attacker either under the arm between the elbow and armpit or in the upper inner thigh – HARD. One woman in a class this guy taught told him she used the underarm pinch on a guy who was trying to date rape her and was so upset she broke through the skin and tore out muscle strands the guy needed stitches. Try pinching yourself in those places as hard as you can stand it; it really hurts.

5] After the initial hit, always go for the groin. I know from a particularly unfortunate experience that if you slap a guy’s parts it is extremely painful. You might think that you’ll anger the guy and make him want to hurt you more, but the thing these rapists told our instructor is that they want a woman who will not cause him a lot of trouble. Start causing trouble, and he’s out of there.

6] When the guy puts his hands up to you, grab his first two fingers and bend them back as far as possible with as much pressure pushing down on them as possible. The instructor did it to me without using much pressure, and I ended up on my knees and both knuckles cracked audibly.

7] Of course the things we always hear still apply. Always be aware of your surroundings, take someone with you if you can and if you see any odd behavior, don’t dismiss it, go with your instincts. You may feel little silly at the time, but you’d feel much worse if the guy really was trouble.

FINALLY, PLEASE REMEMBER THESE AS WELL ….

1. Tip from Tae Kwon Do: The elbow is the strongest point on your body. If you are close enough to use it, do it.

2. Learned this from a tourist guide to New Orleans : if a robber asks for your wallet and/or purse, DO NOT HAND IT TO HIM. Toss it away from you…. chances are that he is more interested in your wallet and/or purse than you and he will go for the wallet/purse. RUN LIKE MAD IN THE OTHER DIRECTION!

3. If you are ever thrown into the trunk of a car: Kick out the back tail lights and stick your arm out the hole and start waving like crazy. The driver won’t see you but everybody else will. This has saved lives.

4. Women have a tendency to get into their cars after shopping,eating, working, etc., and just sit (doing their checkbook, or making a list, etc. DON’T DO THIS! The predator will be watching you, and this is the perfect opportunity for him to get in on the passenger side,put a gun to your head, and tell you where to go. AS SOON AS YOU CLOSE the DOORS , LEAVE.

5. A few notes about getting into your car in a parking lot, or parking garage:

a. Be aware: look around your car as someone may be hiding at the passenger side , peek into your car, inside the passenger side floor, and in the back seat. ( DO THIS TOO BEFORE RIDING A TAXI CAB) .

b. If you are parked next to a big van, enter your car from the passenger door. Most serial killers attack their victims by pulling them into their vans while the women are attempting to get into their cars.

c. Look at the car parked on the driver’s side of your vehicle, and the passenger side. If a male is sitting alone in the seat nearest your car, you may want to walk back into the mall, or work, and get a guard/policeman to walk you back out. IT IS ALWAYS BETTER TO BE SAFE THAN SORRY. (And better paranoid than dead.)

6. ALWAYS take the elevator instead of the stairs. (Stairwells are horrible places to be alone and the perfect crime spot).

7. If the predator has a gun and you are not under his control, ALWAYS RUN! The predator will only hit you (a running target) 4 in 100 times; And even then, it most likely WILL NOT be a vital organ. RUN!

8. As women, we are always trying to be sympathetic: STOP IT! It may get you raped, or killed. Ted Bundy, the serial killer, was a good-looking, well educated man, who ALWAYS played on the sympathies of unsuspecting women. He walked with a cane, or a limp, and often asked “for help” into his vehicle or with his vehicle, which is when he abducted his next victim.

Send this to any woman you know that may need to be reminded that the world we live in has a lot of crazies in it and it’s better safe than sorry.

If u have compassion reblog this post. ‘Helping hands are better than Praying Lips’ – give us your helping hand.

REBLOG THIS AND LET EVERY GIRL KNOW AT LEAST PEOPLE WILL KNOW WHATS GOING ON IN THIS WORLD. So please reblog this….Your one reblog can Help to spread this information.

THIS COULD ACTUALLY SAVE A LIFE.”