#tactile lettering

[signcompanydallastx]

The Role of Door Signs in Establishing Professionalism

Door signs are often overlooked, but their role in establishing professionalism is indispensable. Whether in an office, retail store, hospital, or educational institution, a thoughtfully designed door sign communicates credibility, fosters a professional atmosphere, and enhances the overall experience for visitors, clients, and employees alike.

1. First Impressions Matter

The saying, “You never get a second chance to make a first impression,” rings true for businesses. A well-crafted door sign is often the first point of interaction between a visitor and your space. Clear, stylish, and informative door signs create an immediate sense of professionalism. For example, a sleek metal nameplate on an office door conveys authority and precision, while a playful design in a daycare signals warmth and approachability.

By investing in quality materials and thoughtful designs, businesses demonstrate their attention to detail and commitment to maintaining high standards.

2. Building Brand Identity

Door signs are an extension of your brand. From the choice of fonts and colors to the logo placement, every detail contributes to the overall image of your business. A consistent door sign design across your premises reinforces your brand identity.

For instance, a law firm might opt for sophisticated engraved brass signs to exude reliability and trustworthiness, while a creative agency might prefer vibrant and contemporary designs to showcase their innovation. These signs not only convey professionalism but also align with the brand’s personality, creating a cohesive experience for clients and employees.

3. Enhancing Wayfinding and Accessibility

Professionalism goes hand in hand with functionality. Door signs serve a crucial role in navigation and accessibility, ensuring visitors can easily find their way around the premises. Clear labeling of rooms, departments, or offices eliminates confusion and enhances the visitor experience.

Incorporating accessibility features like braille or tactile lettering demonstrates a commitment to inclusivity. Businesses that prioritize accessibility send a strong message about their professionalism and social responsibility.

4. Setting the Tone for Work Culture

For internal spaces, door signs contribute to the workplace environment and culture. Personalized nameplates on office doors foster a sense of belonging among employees, while clearly marked meeting rooms or restricted areas ensure smooth operations.

Professional door signs also reinforce workplace policies. Signs indicating “Quiet Zone” or “Authorized Personnel Only” establish boundaries and expectations, creating an organized and disciplined work environment.

5. Legal and Compliance Requirements

Many industries are required by law to display specific signage, such as emergency exits, safety protocols, or room capacities. Professionally designed door signs ensure compliance with these regulations while maintaining the aesthetic of your workspace.

Businesses that adhere to these requirements not only avoid penalties but also build trust with employees and clients by showcasing their commitment to safety and responsibility.

6. The Value of Customization

Customization allows businesses to tailor door signs to their specific needs, ensuring they align with the overall aesthetic and functionality of the space. Whether it’s using eco-friendly materials, incorporating company values, or selecting illuminated signs for better visibility, customization enhances the utility and visual appeal of door signs.

In conclusion, door signs play a subtle yet significant role in shaping perceptions of professionalism. They combine practicality with aesthetics, making them an essential element of any professional space. By investing in high-quality, customized door signs, businesses can enhance their brand image, improve navigation, and create a welcoming, organized environment that speaks volumes about their values and standards.

From first impressions to fostering a positive workplace culture, door signs are a small detail that makes a big impact.

[cutiepieautistic]

Pastel princess peach stimboard

×/×/× ×/×/× ×/×/×

[roseserpentpress]

In singular deranged days work (where I was supposed to be getting OTHER things done) I made a cipher journal for decoding the ciphers in Gravity Falls, specifically for Journal 3, the Book of Bill and thisisnotawebsite.com. This included (ultimately) three pages of common ciphers used in the Gravity Falls fandom; originally I was only going to do two, but then got to the Blendin page in Journal 3, sighed deeply and made an extra page on the Vignére cipher. The clasps I made myself by hand, and the little white toggle is a raccoon tooth, which I may change out depending on what becomes available. The purple ink, although unable to be seen within the photos, actually glitters and looks rather cosmic to my delight.

Considering I made the most of it within a day, it meant I used the paper I had at hand, which wasn't good paper for actual ink as it bleeds through slightly (and is thus unbecoming), but as a fancy schm-ancy idiot who insists on using actual ink with dip pens for the 'breadth of the experience', this means I'm ultimately only using one side of the paper (to my chagrin) and the letters aren't as clear as they could be when I write on the paper. Nevertheless, I am rather happy about the result; young me from about a decade ago, who began to make a similar journal only to abandon the project would have been immensely excited that I actually made one and am currently using it to decipher things within Journal 3. There is something rather satisfying about it, I do confess.

[gummi-stims]

📖🔮Magic Spellbook🔮📖

From snoopslimesofficial's Wish Upon A Slime collection!

[dathen]

I am shaking with rage at the conclusion to Thor Bridge, but at least we have this:

He seated himself opposite to me—we had a first-class carriage to ourselves—and laying a hand upon each of my knees he looked into my eyes with the peculiarly mischievous gaze which was characteristic of his more imp-like moods.

[umemiyan]

you re so good at art bruh

omg stop 😭 thank you bby ❤️ i’ve never really thought i was all that good (at least not as good as i wanted to be), but i’ve always enjoyed doing it anyways. i’m really rusty and unrefined and constantly scribbling, erasing, scribbling erasing until i get some sort of result i don’t completely hate lol

i have fairly shaky hands so i’ve always gotten frustrated very easily trying to make things “perfect” along with just always setting standards for myself that are way too high. but now i’m just trying to enjoy myself and see what improvements i can make without expecting too much and giving up!!!

[culmaer]

I made this post on 2 January, and made a concerted effort to use cash throughout the year. today, 23 December, is the first time I see (some of) the new coins irl

the bee on the 10c is really very cute ; I'm neutral about the springbok design, other than still thinking it should've stayed on the R1 coin (which I've not yet seen) ; and the whales are disappointingly underwhelming irl

also I do not like the typeface they've used. I get that sans serif typefaces are supposed to be modern and clean.. but they're also less dynamic. like vary the line weight a little around the curves of the numbers y'know ?

anyway. I've just noticed and do enjoy that the springbok on the R2 and whale on the R5 are accompanied by little babies !!! a design choice they've also implemented on the reverse side of the new banknote designs :

the coins of the South African Rand have been redesigned and apparently go into circulation this month (January 2023). this will be the fourth series of designs since the Rand was adopted in 1961 (previously, as a British dominion, we used the South African Pound).

I have some thoughts

the R1 coin has featured a springbok, our national animal, since the coin was first introduced in 1961. the 1961 R1 coin was actually minted in gold, and mostly the R1 banknote was in circulation. but in 1967 the gold coin and banknote were both replaced by a large R1 coin (image below not to scale), first minted in silver but later in nickel. the "post-Apartheid" design of 1990 was very similar, keeping the springbok motif (!), but a fair bit smaller.

these new 2023 designs, however, features the protea (our national flower) on the R1 and the springbok has been moved to the R2 coin, which used to feature the kudu. and I just feel this breaks the continuity. why not keep the springbok on the R1 and add the protea to the R2 ?

although actually, the protea has been featured on the 20c coin since 1965, so this change also feels odd. the new 20c features an aloe, which used to be on the 10c coin in the 1965 series, but is effectively a new design since it wasn't used in the 1990 series. the new 2023 10c features a bee, which I think is very cute

the 50c also features a new design, some kind of bird, which I don't mind since its a new motif and is thus not confusing. (the strelitzia is my favourite flower though, so I'm a little sad to see it go).

lastly, the new R5 features a southern right whale. the R5 coin was first introduced in 1990 and featured the wildebeest design from the 1965 series 2c coin. the iconic design was kept unchanged when the bi-metallic R5 coin was introduced in 2004, but again, I don't mind new motifs and the whale actually looks pretty cool (reminds me of the old Italian 5 lira coin). my problem is with repurposing old motifs on different coin denominations in an inconsistent manner

[wordbunch]

their love language [LOTR characters]

a/n: not requested, just a little idea that i've had and wanted to share 💛 do let me know how you liked it, what you think, and i always greatly appreciate reblogs and comments 🥰 i wish you a sparkling new year!

ARAGORN ♡ acts of service and words of affirmation

This man would do anything for the person he loves and he is the most comfortable when it comes to expressing his feelings in that way. Any type of physical labor and tasks is no issue for him if he can make it easier for you, and you have grown to notice it all the time and appreciate it. His heart doubles in size when you return your affections in that way too, especially since he isn’t exactly used to having things done for him. When the mood is just right, he has no trouble waxing poetic about you and elaborating his feelings, whether in Westron, Sindarin or any other language - you are worth all of them! When he does that, it’s usually in a hushed tone with a special air of intimacy, and it feels so sacred and special.

BOROMIR ♡ physical touch and quality time 

He is one tactile man and a human furnace, like, constantly, and having an arm around you simultaneously means keeping you safe as well. It’s a way for him to show his love, but also to be his protective self. However it’s not just you he’s trying to reassure through gentle touches, he also feels better and happier knowing you’re there and so close. Due to his position, he has many obligations and not always the desired amount of free time, so he’s keen on spending all on it on you. Boromir feels immensely guilty if he must cancel something last minute, or be late for a meeting with you because he was held up somewhere else, but you can count on the fact that he’ll make it up to you tenfold.

FARAMIR ♡ words of affirmation and quality time

As a person who is well-read and a romantic soul, yet someone who hadn’t particularly received many verbal validations, his absolute go-to are words of affirmation! He will shower you with sincere compliments, praise your achievements, reassure you when you’re down… he will even write poetry for you, or just recite something on the spot, it’s honestly the sweetest. Much like his brother, Faramir can be quite busy, but he tries to make sure that none of his duties interfere with the time that he sets aside to spend with his beloved. 

LEGOLAS ♡ gift giving and words of affirmation

This peculiar young prince doesn’t necessarily have a favorite way of showing you love and he can be all over the place with it - he hadn’t exactly had a bunch of experience with romantic relationships - but something that seems to be a constant is him giving you small tokens of his affections. Not even something fancy all the time, sometimes it will be a pretty flower or a hair pin, but everything pretty reminds him of your beauty and he wants you to know that. If he’s unsure about how to verbally explain all the ways you make him feel, he can always revert to one of many elven songs and poems to describe it!

FRODO ♡ words of affirmation and acts of service

He is a book boy and absolutely the type of person to write long, heartfelt letters! Initially he would hide behind them because it’s easier to write feelings down and slip that under your front door, but just give him time and soon enough he’ll be raving about how in love he is with you and how you’re the best of the best in his eyes - but face to face. Frodo is very selfless as we all know, and he’s able to anticipate your needs and help you with all sorts of things before you even ask for it. Also he really appreciates your gratefulness for it.

SAM ♡ acts of service and quality time

Acts of service is the ultimate love language of this sweet gardener!! He would do absolutely anything for you, strenuous or not, and not even expect anything in return. You’re aware of that and thus you make sure to properly thank him for everything he does in more ways than one. You always joke that he’s going to spoil you. Sam loves just existing with you, not even doing anything particularly significant, but just spending time together no matter what you do. Everything with you feels like home and he never wants to leave your side.

MERRY ♡ gift giving and physical touch

He definitely has a mix of all love languages, but surprising you with small tokens of affection and seeing your eyes sparkle in surprise is just his favorite thing! He notices and memorizes when you like something, and he will use the first opportunity to acquire it for you and make you happy. Besides that, having you physically close to him is a must - Merry is almost constantly fiddling with your fingers, has an arm around your shoulders, or just mindlessly scratching up and down your arm. It’s a simple reminder that you’re there, safe and loved.

PIPPIN ♡ physical touch and words of affirmation

Those are his favorite ways of both receiving and giving love: they’re so straightforward and genuine (and he is least likely to mess up). Everything seems better and brighter when your hand is securely clasped in his, or he receives a forehead kiss, or ruffles your hair and playfully nudges you. Pippin isn’t quite used to compliments and his cheeks will heat up every single time you offer him a genuine compliment or encouragement, and he wants to make you feel the same way - he can talk a lot anyway so, might as well talk about how wonderful you are!

ÉOMER ♡ acts of service and physical touch

Maybe he isn’t the best at romantic proclamations of love, or picking out the perfect anniversary present, but whatever you need him for, he will be there in a heartbeat. Secretly he likes to feel your eyes on him as he does something for you, it makes him feel very proud. Another thing that never fails him is physical affection, because sometimes hands and lips say more than words ever could. And he makes sure that you can feel exactly how passionate and loving he is in every single kiss and caress.

ÉOWYN ♡ quality time and physical touch

She loves her independence and her peace, but letting you in made her realize it’s not too bad having someone occupying her space and thoughts. Éowyn loves to include you in her daily activities and she really grew fond of doing all sorts of mundane things together - you just make them so much more vibrant and interesting. Something that became her weakness as soon as you two met was your gentle touch and affection like no other, especially after long days and during cold nights, and it’s a simple but effective way of showing how much she cares for you.

ARWEN ♡ words of affirmation and gift giving

She is a romantic soul through and through, and she never gets bored of praising you, whether it be for your kindness, beauty, wit, or anything else. She also loves discussing all sorts of topics with you and that’s one of the things that made her fall for you in the first place. Also, this beautiful elf-maiden likes beautiful, dainty things, and she loves making you happy through little surprises and meaningful gifts, especially subtle matching jewelry!

taglist my beloved (probs not even valid anymore but oh well) @starlady66 @queenmeriadoc @entishramblings @thesolarangel @silversword7000 @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @averys-place @valkyriepirate @emmaarenstarr @noldorin-painter @asianbutnotjapanese @adamgetawaydriver @fenharel-enaste @ironmandeficiency @starryeyedrogue @dinofromspac3 @wisheduponastar @lady-of-imladris @frodo-cinnamonroll @unethicallypleistocene @deadlymistletoe @suncran @high-sea-husbands @asianbutnoteastasian @aidansloth @moth-makay

@bubbleyukismile @kitexvi @herstudios @babe-bombadil

[reiding-writing]

Incessant Insomnia [ s.r ]

summary:

The BAU had just finished a case across the country in California, and were now finally on the jet to fly back home, needless to say, everyone was absolutely exhausted and very ready to get some shut eye during the 5 hour flight. Trouble was, Spencer couldn’t sleep, even though he had managed to bag the jet’s sofa, which was arguably the comfiest place on the plane.

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers?

warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence, mentions of child death, mentions of touch-starvedness, no use of y/n

wc: 2.4k

masterlist!!

a/n: this is my first upload so please bare with me i’m still learning 😭

As you board the jet alongside your team, you can't help but notice the exhaustion etched on Spencer Reid's face. It had been a grueling week, with a disturbingly gruesome case across the country that took all semblance of mental energy out of the team to solve. Spencer, ever known for his genius-level intellect and unwavering dedication, didn’t take a single moment to rest throughout it.

And even as he scored the jet’s long sofa for the flight, arguably the most comfortable place on the plane, that moment of rest still didn’t arrive, and Spencer had long given up trying to fall asleep by the time the jet had stablised at 40,000 feet.

He’d tried everything, a Tchaikovsky Sonata playing through his cheap headphones, a travel pillow around his neck, his shoes discarded on the floor so he could curl up his legs under him, he’d even counted the amount of dimmed lightbulbs in the light strips and the number of creases in the leather bound chairs. Nothing. And he was becoming increasingly jealous of the rest of the team resting soundly in their seats.

He’d battled with insomnia for most of his life, a curse of his intelligence as he liked to call it, his mind constantly running so fast it never gave him any time to relax. But this was a little different. Spencer hated working cases involving children, for what ever reason they seemed to press all of the wrong buttons in his mind, and in this instance, the child they’d been called out to save had died before the team had even arrived in California to help.

Spencer couldn’t seem to get the image of anguish from the child’s mother from his mind, replaying like a faulty cassette player with no pause button as he rolled onto his back and let his eyes fall back open. There was no way he was going to get any sleep on this flight.

He instead took to an ever-living comfort of his, reading, in the hope that his inner monologue would drown out the guttural sobs ringing through his ears from the grieving mother when the team had uncovered her child’s body, buried underneath her own house.

He pushed himself to sit upright, his legs stretched out in front of him to the point where his feet were hanging freely, and he rifled through the go-bag left tucked under the sofa beneath him for his hand-bound anthology of his favourite poets, a book you’d gifted him for his birthday a few months prior. A book he’d read a dozen times since then.

His fingers traced over the familiar cover. He could almost feel the indentations of the embossing on the hardcover, a tactile memory that was as comforting as the words within. The pages were already dog-eared from countless readings, corners turned down to mark passages that had resonated with him, pen marks and streaks of neon yellow over phrases that had touched his soul in ways that only the poetic articulation of human emotion could.

It had become more than just a collection of poems to him; it was a sanctuary, a haven he could escape to when the horrors of his job became too much. He cherished each line, each word, each letter, as they provided a counterpoint to the harsh realities he faced daily. Except, this time it didn’t seem to work.

His mind was still overrun with images of the recent case, each line of verse morphing into a haunting reminder of the child’s life cut short. The words that usually brought him solace now echoed with a sorrowful undertone, amplifying his guilt and making his insomnia all the more pronounced.

The jet’s engines hummed steadily in the background, a usual comforting sound, now merely adding to the cacophony of his thoughts. His eyes, red-rimmed and weary, scanned over the pages, but the words blurred, morphing into a tale of despair that was not originally intended by the poets.

He tried to divert his mind, to block out the pictures of the crime scene, the teary eyes of the distraught mother, the lifeless body of the child, but it was all in vain. Their faces, their voices, their cries, they clung to him, refusing to let go.

His fingers tightened around the book, knuckles whitening with the strain. He could almost hear the deafening silence that followed after they’d found the body, the grim realisation that they were too late, that a life was lost before they could even try to save it.

Spencer felt a lump rise in his throat, the weight of the guilt and sorrow threatening to suffocate him. He swallowed hard, trying to push down the emotions that threatened to break him. He was a profiler, a genius, he was supposed to save lives, not let them slip through his fingers.

He closed the book, the once soothing words now a stark reminder of his failure. He leaned back against the plush leather of the seat, his legs stretched out in front of him, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The soft hum of the jet's engines was the only sound that filled the silence, a silence that was deafening in its own right.

Sleep was a distant dream, an elusive solace that he knew wouldn’t come. The guilt, the sorrow, the failure, they were his companions for the night, refusing to leave.

“Spencer…”

Your voice cut through the chaos ravaging his mind, and he flickered his eyes to his left, where you were comfortably curled up under a fleece blanket, head nestled in the small gap between the padded chair you were sat on and the jet’s wall, eyes resting closed.

“Why are you moving around so much..?”

Your question was cut short by a yawn, voice laced with an obvious exhaustion. His restlessness must have woken you up.

"I can't sleep," he confessed, rubbing his temples. "The case... it's still playing in my mind." His voice was barely a whisper, the silence of the jet amplifying its weight.

Your eyes fluttered open at his confession, a mix of concern and understanding washing over your face. You knew how deeply these cases affected him, how they seemed to burrow into his mind, refusing to let go.

"Spencer," you murmured, your voice barely louder than his own. "You did everything you could. You always do."

He glanced at you, his weary eyes meeting your earnest ones, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t have the words to explain the turmoil churning inside him. “We didn’t- none of it mattered…”

You sighed, removing yourself from the comfortability of your previous position, letting yourself sit with your legs in front of you and your feet on the floor. “Spencer of course it mattered,”

Spencer pushed himself upright as you did, subconciously mirroring your actions as you wake further from your half-asleep daze.

“He still died-”

“He was dead before we even landed Spencer, there’s nothing you could’ve done to change that,”

You cut off the inevitable start of a ramble from Spencer, raising your voice a little to take over the conversation whilst still making sure not to wake your sleeping teammates scattered around the jet.

“I know… I’m sorry i’m just-”

Spencer sighs, dragging his hands over his face and through the unruly mess of his hair, flattened and tangled from his incessant restlessness. “I’m fine… Sorry for waking you,” He let himself fall backwards to lie down again, turning onto his right side so that his back was facing you, as if not being able to see you would put an end to the conversation.

You didn’t say anything else, and Spencer resigned himself to listening to the mind-numbing drone of the jet’s engine as he heard you shift around, presumably getting back into a comfortable position to fall asleep again.

Except you weren’t quite done with him yet, and your weight on the edge of the sofa shifted his position as you sat down, your hand ghosting over his shoulder, not quite sure if you should actually touch him or not.

You knew Spencer had an aversion to physical touch, he always had, as long as you’d known him anyway. He’d rattled on about the number of bacterial colonies on human skin and how their transference could lead to illnesses you wouldn’t even try to name, swerving handshakes for awkward waves and keeping a pocket-sized bottle of hand sanitiser on his person at all times. He’d insist on keeping his distance, even from the people he was closest to, claiming that ‘you never knew what illnesses someone could be carrying’.

But you also knew that he needed comforting, and that words seemingly weren’t enough.

You gently placed your hand on Spencer's shoulder, your fingers just barely grazing over the sleeve of his shirt, offering a silent comfort that words couldn't provide. He tensed for a moment, his body still on high alert from the intensity of the never-ending rampage of his thoughts, but then slowly relaxed into your touch. The weight of his exhaustion seemingly lifting off his shoulders as he allowed himself to lean into your presence.

The soft warmth of your touch seeped into his skin, soothing the deep-rooted ache within him. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes, conveying a depth of understanding and empathy that words could never fully capture. In that moment, you became his anchor, providing a much-needed respite in the midst of his turmoil.

As Spencer leaned into your touch, his eyes closed, shutting out the harsh realities that had plagued his mind. He found solace in the simplicity of your presence, the tangible reminder that he wasn't alone in his pain. The weight of the guilt and sorrow that had threatened to suffocate him slowly began to dissipate, replaced by a sense of comfort and support.

You sat there in silence, your hand still resting gently on his shoulder, offering a steady presence that allowed him to find a temporary refuge from his racing thoughts. You didn't need to offer empty reassurances or try to fix what couldn't be fixed. Instead, your mere presence and the touch of your hand conveyed a profound message: "I am here for you."

Time seemed to stand still as you sat there, connected by that simple touch. It was a fragile moment. Fragile, but powerful.

You slowly added a gentle pressure with your fingers, rubbing your thumb over the curve of his shoulder as his behaviour showed that the contact wasn’t crossing any boundaries, as Spencer felt the tension in his shoulders ease and his racing thoughts begin to quiet, a sense of calm washed over him.

The weight of the case and its tragic outcome still lingered heavily on Spencer's mind, but your presence provided a much-needed respite.

“I’m so tired…”

You slowly escalate your touch, running your hand slowly over his shoulder and up the side of his neck, careful to watch for any signs of discomfort from him.

“I know Spence…”

The soft nickname rolling off your tongue only fuelled to add an extra blanket of comfort over him in the moment, although joined by an uncertain ache that spread through his chest until it felt almost suffocating. Your touch comforted him more than he could ever thank you for, but it also upset him beyond belief.

Spencer couldn’t stop the tears from welling in his eyes, nor could he stop the slight tremble of his shoulders as they threatened to spill down his cheeks, and the shaking of his breath only proved to expose him further as you slowed the gentle caresses of your fingers to a halt.

As you felt the weight of his emotions, you gently pulled him into a comforting embrace, allowing him to release the tears he had been holding back as he buried his face into your lap. You held him tightly, offering a safe space for him to let go of the pain and sorrow that had consumed him.

“I’m sorry-”

Spencer choked out an apology through his tears, as though his emotions were burdening you. His tears soaked into your shirt, but you didn't mind. You were just grateful that he felt comfortable enough to let his emotions out, to release the pent-up pain that had been haunting him.

“Don’t apologise Spencer, it’s alright…”

You whispered soft words of comfort and reassurance as your hand moved to slowly run through his hair, reminding Spencer that he was a brilliant and compassionate person who had done everything in his power to help. You reminded him that he couldn't shoulder the weight of the world's tragedies alone, that he needed to take care of himself too.

Slowly, Spencer's sobs subsided, replaced by deep breaths as he regained control of his emotions. He pulled away slightly, his eyes red and puffy, but there was a glimmer of gratitude in them.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice filled with both exhaustion and appreciation. "I don't know what I would do without you."

You gently guide his head back down into your lap, allowing him to use your thighs as a makeshift pillow so he could finally get some rest from his own mind. “It’s alright Spencer, just relax for me alright?”

As Spencer finally succumbed to the exhaustion weighing him down, his breathing gradually slowed and his tense muscles relaxed. You continued to stroke his hair gently, your touch offering a sense of comfort and security that Spencer desperately needed.

The weight of the case and its devastating outcome had taken a toll on him, both physically and emotionally. He had carried the burden of the child's death on his shoulders, blaming himself for not being able to save a life that was already lost.

But in your embrace, he felt a glimmer of hope.

With each gentle stroke of your hand, Spencer felt a wave of warmth wash over him. It was as if your touch carried with it a healing energy, easing the pain and sorrow that had consumed him. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to fully surrender to the comfort and safety of your embrace.

In the silence of the jet, Spencer's exhaustion finally overcame him. His body relaxed completely, finding respite from the relentless strain it had endured as it fell into a peaceful slumber. You continued to hold him, providing a sense of security and warmth that he hadn't felt in a long time, and you slowly fell into your own exhaustion, your fingers slowing their movements through his hair to a halt as you drifted into your own state of sleep.

[cripplecharacters]

what are the top 5 things you'd like to see a disabled character do in a story?

Hey! This is a very vast question and a lot of it would depend on the character's actual disability - I have completely different wishlists for what I'd like to see intellectually disabled characters do versus what I'd like to see characters with facial differences do. Different stereotypes and tropes affect different groups of disabled people differently - to work with this fact, the below list will try to account for as large amount of disabled character as I can reasonably think of, but it won't have as much detail as you might want. If you have a specific kind of character in mind, feel free to send another ask.

Not in specific order:

Disabled characters being in love. Disabled x disabled, disabled x abled, disabled x very different kind of disabled, all these variants but including more than 2 characters (since I've yet to see a polyamorous disabled character), all of this.

And I mean in actual relationships, not the pitiful and devoid of actual chemistry thing that we usually get (think "really sad disabled man only becomes happy after an abled woman takes pity on him, but they never kiss or god forbid have sex because that's gross and the disableds surely don't do that anyway").

I want to see an interabled couple going through IVF because they want to have kids, a wife with hemiplegia getting to grow old and wrinkly with her autistic husband, a lesbian with Treacher Collins syndrome moving in with her chronically ill girlfriend after a month of knowing each other, DeafBlind men getting hands on each other in the bathroom of a shitty nightclub, a trans woman with autism asking out a trans man with Down syndrome via her AAC tablet, a neurotypical guy with an obvious crush on his classmate with cerebral palsy.

I want to actually see disabled people being shown as desirable partners, good parents and grandparents, potential crushes, going through some new feelings and going on both good and bad dates, from all walks of life, of all sexualities and genders. Just like abled people.

Disabled characters participating in their community. Especially severely and/or visibly disabled characters. This is obviously a concept as vague as it could possibly be, but a big problem with a lot of disabled characters is that they don't... do anything. Not in the sense that they aren't "active enough", but that they aren't really... characters. They're often reduced to a family member who's at home and maybe the abled character takes care of them sometimes, but that's seemingly all that happens; they have no interests, hobbies, agency, preferences, or an internal thought process. All they do is wait for an abled savior to do something to them, not even with them.

I want to see more disabled characters who have jobs (whether it's a "regular" job, a supported employment workplace, a creative job that maybe they can only do a few hours a week, or self-care as a full-time job kind of thing), participating in hobbies that are accessible and/or modified to their ability level, emailing or sending pigeon letters to their friends, trying out new stuff that they're interested in, having actual complex relationships with their caregivers. Anything to actually make them feel like characters that exist in their setting, not just cardboard cutouts that the author had no ideas for.

Disabled characters who are a part of real-world disability (and adjacent) culture. Obviously also a vast topic. Most disabled characters, regardless of setting, are completely separated from concepts that were made by disabled people for disabled people; usually the connection to disability is their actual medical condition and a sterile mobility aid. This is not incorrect or bad to represent since that describes a lot of people, but I'd like to simply see more variety.

I want to see disabled characters who do parasports, who are excited about tactile art, went to blind/Deaf/SPED schools, call themselves #a babe with a mobility aid, decorate their AAC device, learn about disabled history, experience Feelings when hearing that Neanderthals cared about their disabled children, go to disability-centric events or support groups to meet people similar to them.

Do all disabled people do these? Absolutely not, but I'd like for even 1% of fictional characters to represent those who do.

Yeah I just want more disabled characters doing sports. As in real-life sports that real-life disabled people do, apologies to all the fantasy swordfighting that's out there.

There are so many sports out there we can do, some are adapted, some have a sitting or wheelchair version, while others were made specifically for us. Team sports are such a good opportunity to have your character have a community of people like them, have interesting dynamics, yet the only anything I can think of that's about it is REAL by Takehiko Inoue (wheelchair basketball) and the art by @/gayaest / @/sproutwiki (sitting volleyball). Also some Paralympics documentaries that I can count on a single hand - there's like three of them.

I want to see characters who are starting out and really suck at their sport, ones who are decent, ones with ridiculous sports-anime-level over the top abilities. I want to see all kinds of sports done by all kinds of disabled characters; blind kids learning goalball with their blind parents, quadriplegic guys working their ass off to qualify for national murderball championships, folks using sticker-covered bright-pink ramps in their boccia games, people with POTS playing along with their abled partner on their wheelchair rugby league team, standing fencers becoming disabled and adapting to wheelchair fencing that they love just as much. More disabled people having fun, knowing other disabled people, having interests!

Also, parasports are just cool as fuck and interesting to both watch and read about.

Disabled characters getting to make bad decisions. Disability representation is often extremely black-and-white in terms of morality: the character is either an angel who always does the right thing and talks about being grateful a lot, or the character is comically evil, wanting revenge because of their disability, hating their disability, constantly in grief and anger since not a single mildly ok thing happened to them since they became disabled. Neither of these feel like real people.

Disabled characters should be able to say hurtful things, get mad, lie, and whatever else, without being demonized to hell for it the same way abled characters are. They should be allowed to consciously make a decision that they shouldn't take (also known as "dignity of risk" in context of disability). They should get the same consequences for mistakes as everyone else and need to have the opportunities to actually make them.

In a much shorter way: more complex disabled characters.

These are things that I'd enjoy seeing for disabled characters. But the main thing would probably be that I want more of them. The scope of disabled characters in media is so painfully narrow because there's so few of them + they're usually capped at one per series. More writing featuring multiple disabled people please.

Here is a list of wishes from other mods who wanted me to throw them here:

Disabled characters who act like the author did more than a 10 min google search about their disabilities. [So authors doing actual research.]

More disabled characters of color. A lot of time disabled characters are white because it's only acceptable for them to be one kind of marginalized. In real life that's not how it works. People of color are disabled too!

Characters with comorbidities, characters with physical and mental health and developmental symptoms. Disability doesn't just come with one cut and dry disorder all the time - you can even be diagnosed with some things and undiagnosed with others.

[A character can have 5 comorbidities, or 5 completely unrelated disabilities - both happen. Or, most frequently, a bit of both.]

Characters existing in all parts of their diagnostic journey. [So characters who are yet to be diagnosed, currently investigating their symptoms, ones recently diagnosed, and ones who had their diagnosis for their whole lives - and as mentioned previously, you can be on one stage with disability A, and on another with disability B.]

Characters whose whole life isn't just tragedy/struggle! See this a lot when a story with disabled character is just about how life is hard for them as disabled person. Would love disabled characters being leads in other genres and just existing as people. Not to say disability isn't a struggle, but there is more to life and person than disability.

mod Sasza

[icejjfishesz]

ꗃ dating paige...

she’d never admit to it...but she is clingy as fuck!! the only way i can rly describe it is indelibly tactile.

she kisses you all the time (holds your face tenderly afterwards, rubbing circles on your cheeks while she smiles at you), her head lives in the crook of your neck istg, kisses your tears away when u cry :/, her hands are forever interlocked with yours (or on/in between your thighs to "keep them warm"), will stand behind you and rest her chin on your shoulder, uses you as personal pillow and will lay on your (lap, stomach, ass), has fallen asleep on you too many times to count. 

can’t sleep without you

so if you aren’t already in bed by the time she goes to sleep she will drag you away from anything you’re doing to bring you to bed + if you wake up before (which you do like 60% of the time) she will not let you go until she’s awake (literally has a death grip). whines like a baby if you stop cuddling her

temperamental but hates arguing with you

it happens mainly over little shit cause she has kind of a quick temper but the love is always there. might say smth dumb she'll regret later but she'll make up for it later.

possessive idk

makes you wear her clothes (especially getting you to wear her jersey to games 😩😩). gets jealous so easily because you’re the object of her every affection and to her you are absolutely perfect, she thinks everyone else will think the same. gets you a necklace with the letter "p" on it for valentines and probably gets herself a necklace with your initial on it at the same time.

casual intimacy is her thingg 😩

showers/bathes with you any chance she gets (defo gets offended if you shower without her). will pout like a child (she's dramatic like that) if she comes home and sees you showered without her.

[eddiestightywhities]

“Shit.” 

Eddie mutters the curse under his breath when he can't seem to release the clasp on his St. Christopher chain.

He'd plopped himself down next to Buck after arriving home from dropping off his fourteen-year-old budding socialite at a friend's house, having already kicked off his boots and hooking an arm around Buck's still crossed-at-the-ankle legs, getting comfy with them resting over his lap—well, his lap and the arm of the sofa, because Buck has the longest pair of pins in the whole frickin world.

“Nope, I'm afraid shit can't possibly be the answer to seven down, Eddie, because even though it starts with an ‘S’, and the third letter is definitely an ‘I’, twelve across has got to be 'Skating', which would make the second letter a ‘K’,” Buck says with mock-seriousness as Eddie is still attempting to take off his chain. “And anyways, I don't really think the answer to the clue ‘Dermis’ could legitimately be shit, not by any stretch of the imagination; ‘Dermis’ sounds too… I dunno. Scientific? Medical?”

Eddie snorts his amusement at Buck, and Buck grins back at him with that particular twinkle in his eye that Eddie has come to think of as belonging to him.

He really tries his best not to be possessive over his best friend, knows he has no right to anything like that, but Eddie can't help being in love with Buck, no matter how much he wishes he wasn't.

Eddie's been fighting his desires his entire life, regardless of the fact he knows there isn't a damn thing wrong with being gay. But growing up in Texas, with a family as traditional as his own? It means Eddie hasn't ever felt entitled to getting the things he wants in life.

Buck must notice Eddie struggling, then, because he immediately drops his pen and the crossword puzzle book Eddie picked up for him yesterday at the newspaper stand near the firehouse, and is now swinging his legs off the sofa so he can scooch further up to Eddie, until he's almost on top of Eddie, and is saying, “Here, let me get that for you, Eds.”

Eddie freezes.

He knows he should shoo Buck away like he's supposed to, do the right thing, but ever since Buck started dating Tommy—and ever since Buck broke up with Tommy—Eddie's been pretty bad at being well-behaved around Buck.

Buck doesn't exactly make things easy, though. Never has, truth be told. He's always been a really tactile kind of guy, and right now his tactile nature is trying to murder Eddie, dead, dead, dead.

“Lemme just…” Buck's tongue is poking out of his mouth and resting against his bottom lip in concentration—and Eddie knows he should look away but can't—and then he's leaning right into Eddie's space, like he goddamn belongs there and, oh god, Eddie can't take this. He can't. He can't fucking breathe let alone act like this isn't bothering him, like it isn't turning him on like he's a horny teenager again, like this isn't everything he wants and has dreamed of. “Eds, just… lean forward a little would you, so I can—a little bit more, man, c'mon, don't be shy, I just need to…”

Buck really is on top of Eddie now, big arms wrapped around Eddie's head, musky cologne in Eddie's nostrils and warm breath in the shell of Eddie's super-sensitive ear and fuck, he's practically straddling Eddie now, right thigh pushed up against Eddie's junk, oh hell, and Eddie is panting softly and only about two seconds away from moaning his best friend's name like the pathetic hot mess that he is, Jesus fucking Christ.

“Got it,” Buck mutters, and just as he goes to lean back and pull away from Eddie, Eddie hears his internal monologue say: Yeah, I've got it real bad. 

Then something just—snaps inside of his brain before it's shutting down completely and his heart is in his throat as he finds himself whispering, “Screw it,” while he grabs onto both of Bucks biceps with purpose because he's terrified that if he doesn't, they might leave him forever.

“Wait,” he says. Pleads. 

Buck's right thigh is snug against Eddie's left one, the other still in Eddie's lap, his gorgeous face right there next to Eddie's, so close Eddie can almost feel the prickle of Buck's stubble.

“Eds?” Buck whispers, and his breath is mingling with Eddie's and Eddie hasn't prayed for a long, long time, but he's praying now; praying that he's not about to fuck up the best thing, bar Christopher, that has ever happened to him; praying for redemption; praying that Buck might want Eddie even just a fraction of the amount Eddie wants Buck.

His voice breaks when he says the only thing he can. “Don't go.”

Eddie wants this so, so badly, just this one thing, that's all he's asking for, and he's willing to beg for it if he has to—swears he'll never ask for anything again as long as he fucking lives.

“I'm not, Eds, I'm…” Buck trails off, frowning a little. He swallows audibly and licks at those sinful lips that are right fucking there and then says, “What, um—w-what exactly do you mean by 'don't go', Eddie?”

Eddie's heart is thumping so hard against his ribcage it feels as if it's going to burst right out of his chest, and Buck has to be able to feel it too because his solid chest is pressed up firmly against Eddie's, and Eddie can't believe he's doing this and seriously might just pass the fuck out any minute now—

“I don't…” Eddie shakes his head.

Fuck.

Is he really doing this?

“You don't know? Or you don't want me to go—like, as in go home?” Buck's asking. Eddie can't breathe. “Or do you mean, like, go, uh, g-go away from—from right here?” Buck swallows again and Eddie has never wanted anything more than to lick a long stripe up that prominent Adam's Apple of Buck's. “Do you mean don't go from this, Eds? From… from you.” And that last part doesn't sound like a question, it sounds like Buck gets it, and like he isn't horrified by the idea or amused by it or as if he's pitying or mocking Eddie.

Unbelievably, it actually sounds a little like Buck might just want Eddie, too.

Eddie screws his eyes shut, and all he can manage to say is, “Yeah, Buck. The last one.”

Buck is then slowly, gently, sliding his cheek up and down Eddie's, and Eddie finally knows exactly how it feels to have that stubble dragging against his own and there is no fucking way on Earth he could hold in the almost sob-like breath that leaves his lips as Buck's line themself up with Eddie's trembling mouth.

He's gripping Buck's arms so tightly he's scared he might leave bruises there but can feel Buck smiling as he says, “Can I, Eddie? Please?”

Is this really happening?

“Fuck yes,” Eddie urges, and then Buck is kissing him; slowly; gently, and with so much of something that feels like it could be love that Eddie wants to cry.

Then Buck's pulling away, yet not really away because it's only barely enough to let Eddie swallow the boulder-sized lump in his throat and try to catch his breath—only he doesn't quite manage to catch the tear that escapes the corner of his left eye. Somehow, though, that's okay, because Buck kisses that, too—and Eddie finds himself letting it all go, then, and smiling back at the man he's been in love with for almost six years as he cries, because he can finally feel all the colours of the rainbow on his face.

“Eddie, you have no fucking idea how long I've wanted to do that,” Buck chuckles, and Eddie leans in and tilts his own head back slightly and Buck's down a little to press lips against Buck's birthmark, smiling like a fool through his tears.

Buck puts his arms fully around Eddie's shoulders and hugs him, tight.

Eddie just breathes him in until he feels settled enough to look at Buck without welling up again.

“Skin,” Buck says then, bringing his hands to Eddie's face and holding it, brushing thumb pads along Eddie's cheeks and drying his tears because he wants to, and can. Eddie squints in slight confusion at the word, before Buck's revealing the meaning behind it, telling him, “Seven down, Eds, it just came to me: It was the word skin. Yours is—man, it's even smoother than I'd imagined. So, so beautiful. You're beautiful.”

“God, I fucking love you, Buck,” Eddie blurts, because he can't help it. “I'm—I'm in love with you, Evan, and I just—I'm sorry it's taken me so long to tell you that, taken me too long to get my shit together and pull my head out of my—”

“Beautiful, insanely perfect ass,” Buck laughs, and then he's kissing Eddie again, like they've been doing this forever, and Eddie's kissing him back and laughing, too.

“Stay,” Eddie begs between kisses. “Stay forever, Buck.”

Buck looks at Eddie like a man in love and says, “I'm in love with you too, Eds. So, yeah, sure, I can do forever,” he promises.

And Buck always keeps his promises. 

.

happy pride to my beautiful firefam 🌈

(unedited pls forgive me!)

[cutiepieautistic]

Agere Montgomery gator stimboard

×/×/× ×/× ×/×/×

[zombiekooo]

Pretty Please? (18+ Hannigram Fic)

Warnings: Mildly Dubious Consent, Mild Blood Play, Dom/Sub Undertones, Aphrodisiac Use, Mild Homophobia, Subspace

(6.7k Words)

Summary:

Will enters Hannibal’s office for the first time, drugged and confused with the effects of an aphrodisiac. He begs for Hannibal whose touch seems to help the impact of the drug, while simultaneously struggling with the fact he is in fact, attracted to men. Hannibal gets the brute end of it, and knows exactly how to satisfy his fascinating new toy.

A/N: Hannibal is Hannibal, also known as the biggest narcissistic and manipulative freak I have ever seen. So, just keep that in mind while reading.

This will be a mini series, maybe 2-4 chapters long. I haven’t decided yet, but read the tags for future warnings ;)

- Koo

Chapter 1:

Will steps into Dr. Hannibal Lecter’s waiting room. The only reason he knew where he was at that moment was because of the glittering bronze name tag that framed the man’s name like a medallion, greeting him on the door leading to the office.

He felt disoriented. Unlike himself. He couldn’t recall how he had shown up to the man’s office in the first place. He had no appointment, no number to call, not even an email to warn the man of his arrival. He didn’t know why he was here. Hell, he had only met the man a handful of times.

Will flinches, the letters of the psychiatrist’s name blurring momentarily. He felt a particular pinch in his side that reminded him of the vivid sensations of pins and needles across his entire body. He was thankful for it though, seeming as it was the only thing stopping him from succumbing to the fatigue that clouded his brain. He pushes back his messy bangs with a weak hand, absently noting how his hair sticks up sloppily from the sweat accumulated on his forehead, and lifts a heavy limb to knock on the dark wooden door.

Courtesy was appreciated by the man, he had remembered that much.

After he knocks, he recognizes the chatter of two voices stopping abruptly. He curses himself for not paying attention. Of course, he would have patients, it was his office after all. So much for courtesy, Graham.

He hears a faint voice muffled by the door. Thick, accented, ridiculously smooth like melting butter. He could almost find himself envying the undeniably attractive voice. Man or woman, it had the same impact, melting their bones to jelly and allowing the tactile doctor to mold them to his liking with those strong large hands, which seemed unusual to have as a psychiatrist. He must work out. Of course he does, he can’t just be rich, handsome and intelligent. He’s gotta be ripped as well.

“Will?”

He could feel the rumble of the syllable, crawling up his throat and forcing him to swallow it back down, trapping it there, storing it away behind his ribs. He soaks in the way it rebeverates down his spine, and a stronger tremble of pins and needles envelops his body. They’re pleasant, he decides.

“Will.”

The pins and needles shifted to his left shoulder, forcing out a hiss from behind his teeth. The entire width of his shoulder tingles pleasantly, not unlike a massage. He feels himself answer the pleasant feeling with a rumble of his own, unknowingly leaning into the source of the pleasant feeling.

“Your name is Will Graham. You are in Baltimore Maryland, in front of Hannibal Lecter’s office. It is 11:21 PM. You are safe. Can you repeat that for me?”

“Hannibal?” Will sighs dreamily. As his eyes flutter open from being half closed, he begins to piece together the figure in front of him. A crimson suit with checkered patterns, maybe with some yellow stitching— he couldn’t focus his eyes well enough to know for sure—paired with a creamy white undershirt. Glossy black shoes tied meticulously, dark slacks with even darker stripes. Cologne. Rich, warm, and spicy but not overwhelmingly so. Just enough to alight his eyelids to flutter open all the way.

“That’s it, very well done.” Hannibal doesn’t exactly smile, but his eyes suggest that he is satisfied with Will’s response. Will lets out a shuddering breath, his heart fluttering at the thought of pleasing the man before him. He doesn’t let himself think too much about that.

“Jessie, I’m afraid I will have to end our session short. It seems I am faced with an emergency.”

Will only then registers the person inside the office, sitting down in a velvet seat. But he doesn’t process the curt exchange of words they share, his unfocused eyes eventually darting back to Hannibal’s eyes, which he notes haven’t once left his own. Then only once he begins to move his legs, does he realize the hand on his shoulder firmly guiding him, and a second tremor of butterfly wings beat at his chest. The same warm solid hand he was just thinking of, long fingers that encompass his shoulder effortlessly. He leans his weight against it, just to test the firmness of Hannibal’s grip.

“Will, please come in,” Hannibal says, unfazed by the weight of his colleague. He simply guides the man inside with a firm hand.

“M’sorry. You had a client.” Will says, looking at the now absent chair. He hadn’t seen the person leave.

“That is irrelevant,” Hannibal replies smoothly. Will can’t help but notice the way his accent becomes accentuated on certain vowels, and it has him looking back at the older man’s face, specifically his lips.

Hannibal studies him momentarily, his expression unreadable.

“Where did you go tonight, Will? It is awfully late.”

Will grunts, shaking his head in dismissal and motioning to the chair across from him.

“Who was that? Didn’t think’ya had customers… er clients, this time around.” He says with an irritated lilt. He couldn’t remember what the person looked like, but if they had the company of Hannibal at this time of night, then it must’ve been something personal. A boyfriend? Or was it a girl? A girlfriend was more likely... Fuck do I care.

“You’re correct, I normally do not have clients at this time,” Hannibal responds.

Will stiffens and shoves his hands in his pockets like a petulant boy. His eyes drop from Hannibal’s face and he shakes off the hand from his shoulder, instantly regretting the solid weight of it. He desperately ignores whatever bubbling emotion is being stirred in his gut. He steps away from the comforting presence of the older man and begins regretting his entire decision to come.

“I should go, dunno why m’here.” Will grunts, shoulders retracting nearly up his ears. He looks down at his scuffed loafers, comparing them to the most likely designer black leather shoes that reflect the orange light from the office. Only then does he realize how pathetic he must look to the man. Dazed, dirty and whiny. Like a kicked dog. He turns to leave, shame nipping at his heels.

“Will,” Hannibal says firmly, his voice descending down Will’s spine, dragging against each rivet of bone. He stills instantly, shoulders hunched and defensive.

“Tell me what happened tonight. You are disoriented, and as my job as your psychiatrist, I cannot let you leave the building until I am assured that you are safe. Both emotionally and physically.”

Ah, right. Nearly forgot.

Jack had assigned Hannibal as his very own psychiatrist. The very reason why he went to a random bar, drank enough whiskey to surely kill some kidney cells, read the email Jack forwarded of Hannibal’s office address, and called a taxi to drag him there just because he wanted to look at the man, and in spite tell him he didn’t need his help, that he wasn’t unstable.

Then forgot all about it because of the damn pins and needles the man gives him just from thinking of his stupid dreamy accent and his fancy clothes.

“Went for a drink.” Will shrugs, refusing to turn around, staring at the closed door. He feels a prod of anxiety from the realization that he’s alone with the doctor.

“And how many did you have?” Hannibal replies firmly, leaving no room for an argument.

Will turns the question around in his head, trying to remember the evening. It’s all blurred and it gives him a headache from trying.

“Three.” He answers. He knew that much.

“Three,” Hannibal repeats warily. Will hears the shuffle of clothes and the waft of that spicy, woody, addictive cologne come closer. His head tingles with a fuzzy feeling just from the scent alone. He tells himself everyone would react the same, despite their gender. They must have put some kind of pheromone in that crap.

“Who were you with tonight, Will? Did someone accompany you while drinking? A stranger, perhaps?”

“Ya, maybe. So what? So were you.” Will drawls, overly conscious of his Louisianan accent making an appearance.

He squeaks in surprise as Hannibal takes a firm hold of his shoulders, spinning him around to face him. Instinctively, Will reaches to hold onto the older man’s arms to prevent him from falling, the room spinning nearly to the point nausea. But then the fuzzy blend of heat and needles shoot from his fingertips, up his chest, then finally simmering pleasantly around his shoulders and the base of his skull. The heat from the touch was nearly too much and not enough all at once, he could feel the way his eyebrows pinch and his jaw slacken. It felt like electricity and raw nerves, every touch so hot it was almost freezing.

“I believe you have been roofied, Will. Tell me what you remember.” Hannibal says matter-of-factly, leading Will backwards until the back of his knees meet the chair and he falls backwards until he’s seated clumsily into it.

Will can hardly process the meaning behind Hannibal’s sentence. Instead, he blinks up at the solid man above him who is looking down at him with deep maroon eyes, bordering on dark red from the influence of his crimson suit.

Fear prickles at the nape of his neck, telling him that the man was a predator— the looming figure ever so intimidating above him, tall and muscular, with broad shoulders and an even broader chest. He can’t recall ever meeting a psychiatrist who had such a powerful figure. The fear didn’t last long, however. A tingly warmth spread over his scalp like a massage as he felt his eyes struggle to maintain focus on the man’s face. He shrinks away from the intense stare, afraid that Hannibal would figure out the undignified thoughts that began manifesting on their own accord.

“Dunno,” Will responds stubbornly, chanting away the blush he feels rising to his cheeks. He eyes the way the man’s throat bobs in silent frustration, then darts his eyes up just long enough to see his expression, but Hannibal’s gives away no hints to his emotions.

“Then, tell me what you are feeling as of right now,” Hannibal replies calmly as he takes a seat across from him.

Will scoffs, “Lazy psychiatry, doctor.”

“Entertain me then, Agent Graham,” Hannibal says, cold and somewhat unsettling.

Will shuffles uncomfortably, tucking his legs against the chair and squirming around in the chair. Suddenly, he feels too warm. His clothes were suddenly too restrictive. He sighs in defeat and looks down at the floor at Hannibal’s pointed shoes.

“Warm… no, hot, actually. I keep getting these tingles everywhere, and fuzziness too. Like wool is dragged against my skin, but like, the soft wool, not the scratchy kind. Y’know?” Will sniffs absently, making an effort not to look the man in the eyes. He’s painfully aware that he’s rambling, so he looks down at his feet, kicking off his shoes and tucking them under the chair.

Hannibal is silent, patiently watching the squirming man before him. Eventually, Will breaks some more under the penetrative stare.

“It’s especially when m’touched. Or, no, I don’t know. It’s not painful or anything, just a bit overwhelming. Feels like m’just a bundle of nerves.” He shrugs.

Hannibal considers him for a moment, allowing the silence to stretch until it has Will squirming all over again.

“How did it feel when I touched you, Will?”

Will chokes and sinks into the chair, his arms crossing over his body defiantly.

“It was fine.”

“Yet, your expression tells me you ache for it back.”

Will feels on the verge of panic. His eyes briefly meet Hannibal’s, and he nearly loses his breath at the wave of neediness his body swoons with. The tingles return, but only a phantom version of them. He aches for them back, aches for the solid strength of the man before him. The firm grip that was on his shoulder, grounding him, accepting the strain Will forced upon it.

“No, m’not— I don’t swing that way, doctor.”

“That was not what I was implying.” Hannibal has a teasing glint in his eye, a ghost of a smile pulling at his plump lips. “Does that bother you? Homosexuality?”

“No- that isn’t-“ Will shakes his head, eyebrows creasing.

“Tell me what happened tonight.”

Will sighs and rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms, hard enough for him to see stars. He doesn’t realize his glasses fall from his face as he does, nor the way Hannibal reaches down to grab them, placing them on the desk next to him.

“Nothing! Really. I just, I went for a drink, I talked with this man… I don’t even remember his name or what he looked like. He seemed attracted to me, but I didn’t… I’m not gay. So I left.” He drops his hands into his lap dramatically once he’s finished, he looks at Hannibal’s sternum with a pout to avoid the man’s eyes. He felt frustrated, like his body was punishing him for not satisfying a craving that his brain couldn’t figure out. Subconsciously, his hands begin to rub at his forearms, simulating another’s touch.

Hannibal hums and leans forward.

“May I try something?”

Will frowns, searching Hannibal’s carefully blank face.

“What? Like what?”

“I want to see how you react to my touch. Skin to skin, however.”

Will’s gut nearly roars with heat, and he feels a sudden wave of shame cascade down his spine from his body’s reaction. He thinks his expression gives away the mixture of desire and guilt, and his first instinct is to defend himself. He bares his teeth and turns his head away from Hannibal’s intense gaze.

“Don’t— don’t fuck with me. I told you, it’s not a big deal. I don’t even know why I came here, this is stupid—“

Will hadn’t heard Hannibal stand up, and suddenly he felt the searing heat of pressure against his cheek. His body reacts without his brain’s knowledge, and he finds himself nuzzling his face into Hannibal’s palm. The pleasant pins and needles return, and the heat— flaring and incredibly soothing— takes over completely. He doesn’t hear the sigh he lets out, only feels the release of pressure from his ribs.

Will feels the way Hannibal hums and a heat in his gut alights like a hungry flame from the thought of satisfying the man.

“That’s it, that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Hannibal coos, as if talking to a hungry stray pup who had just gotten fed.

Will was about to argue, reel back and defend himself, but then a hand is buried in his hair, and he’s being pulled forward into a solid weight. The cheek that isn’t being caressed by a large hand is being pressed into a hard abdomen, wafting with that masculine scent that he distantly notes isn’t only the cologne.

Will practically melts with a moan, his arms wrapping around Hannibal’s waist and hugs him tight as if at any moment his touch will be taken away from him. His brain feels foggy, his eyelids heavy, and even his body feels limp and malleable, encompassed with a pleasant heat. He imagines this is what it feels like to sleep without nightmares.

Will buries his entire face into the man’s stomach, enjoying the way the material of the man’s waistcoat scratches against his face. He takes a large breath of the man’s scent, and again he feels his body succumb to the pleasure of being touched. He knows he should feel embarrassed, humiliated— ashamed even, but he can’t find the energy to.

“There we go pretty boy, that’s it, just relax. I can give you what you need.” Hannibal coos again, and Will can feel the way his baritone voice vibrates against his face.

“Mm’not pretty,” Will grumbles weakly into the man’s body, his words slurred and obscured by the fabric.

Hannibal chuckles, sending another wave of pleasant tingles and warmth down Will’s spine.

“I care to disagree. I think many people believe that you are a very pretty man, Will. Cherubic, even.” Hannibal responds, a smile present in his voice. He drags a couple of fingertips teasingly light against Will’s nape which ignites an intense shiver down his spine, while keeping a gentle yet firm hold in his hair with the other hand. Will presses his face tighter against the man and bites his lip, unable to keep the groan of delight from escaping him.

Will doesn’t respond this time, instead he stands up, temporarily distancing his face from Hanninal’s body. Surprising Hannibal, Will stoops forward with a dreamy look in his eye and wraps his arms around the man’s neck, then buries his face just below Hannibal’s ear and inhales deeply.

“Y’smell so good,” Will drawls, mouthing absently at the exposed skin just above the man’s collar, as if trying to taste the scent. His hands grab at the neat strands of gelled hair and pull Hannibal impossibly closer.

Hannibal allows him, and moves one hand down to the small of Will’s back, the other pressed across his nape. He notes the feverish heat and the light perspiration against his skin. Hannibal dips his nose into the crook where Will’s neck and shoulder meet and inhales deeply. He smells of cheap whiskey, deodorant and dog, but underneath, below his skin, he smells a metallic sweetness alongside the heady musk of arousal. His suspicions have been confirmed.

Hannibal can’t suppress the shiver when Will gently nibbles at his skin, instantly leaving wet kisses and licks as an apology.

He won’t take advantage of Will like this. Especially not when his fascination for the man has nearly tripled after this new encounter. Instead, he buries his desires and saves them in his memory palace for another time.

But, it proves harder to do so when Will begins panting sweet little moans into his ear while rocking his hips against Hannibal’s, all the while Will’s hands explore Hannibal’s back, shoulders and neck.

“Darling boy,” Hannibal says with a mixture of fondness and sternness, gently easing Will’s head from his shoulder. He cups his jaw, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“Mmm…?” Will hums so sweetly, pupils blown so wide that only a sliver of those gorgeous blue-teal eyes are left. His lips are bitten raw, red and plump, gaping just enough to get a glimpse of that teasingly pink, wet tongue that holds so many sharp remarks and brilliance. Hannibal actively fights the way his gut tightens at the desperate expression Will has, wanting nothing more but to dip his fingers inside that pliant mouth and explore the depths of it. He imagines the velvet heat of his tongue and cheeks, the slippery heat that is the cavern of his throat.

“I am going to suggest something, to help you ride through the aphrodisiac you’ve been given,” Hannibal says in an even tone. He allows himself the luxury of pushing Will’s bangs away from his face, relishing in the way Will instantly nuzzles into his palm.

Will only nods clumsily, opening his mouth to lick Hannibal’s fingers, nibbling at the tips. Hannibal has to take a deep breath to restrain the burning in his gut from intensifying anymore. He watches in fascination as Will’s lips wrap delicately around his skin, sucking and kissing his fingers as an apology for the bites. When he pulls off, his tongue lingers behind, reluctant to leave.

Hannibal clears his throat to try and mask the desire thick in his throat. “I have some paperwork that still needs to be done. I would like you to sit by me as I do so.” Hannibal continues, the only thing giving away that Will’s ministrations have any impact on him is the barely noticeable quiver in his voice.

“Y’still touch me?” Will asks against Hanninal’s palms. Looking up through thick dark lashes, eyes round and sickly sweet. Hannibal wonders if Will knows the impact he could have on anyone just by looking at them the way he’s looking at him now.

“Yes, pretty boy. More than what is being done to you now.” Hannibal promises, successfully appeasing him.

“Please,” Will whispers, pressing his groin tight against Hannibal’s. “M’want more.”

Hannibal can feel the outline of Will’s erection against him, and can’t stop himself from shifting his thigh between the boy’s legs and dragging it beneath his balls and perineum. Will cries out loud, dropping his forehead on Hannibal’s clavicle, and grinds desperately on the thigh graciously given to him.

Hannibal huffs a breath through his nose, silently admiring the frantic rock of the boy’s hips against him. He lifts his thigh lightly, nudging his heavy sac and earning a loud, needy whine.

“Ohhh fuck, please! I can’t…I need more,” Will keens, frustrated tears welling in his sweet eyes. He tugs at Hannibal’s hair and dives upwards to bite at his jaw.

Hannibal quickly grabs Will’s hair before he can leave a mark, yanking him back and looking down sternly at the pouting face below him.

“Violent, greedy thing. That is not how we ask for things.” Hannibal chides, pulling Will back further until he’s straining to keep hold of Hannibal’s neck with his arms. Pitifully, Will whines, squirming and trying to fight against the grip.

Will bares his teeth again, but when the grip in his hair turns painful and the playful expression in Hannibal’s eyes turns cold, he stops and goes limp.

“M’sorry,” Will pants. He struggles to swallow, his neck strained at an angle from the way Hannibal grips his hair.

“You will strip for me until you are in nothing but your underwear,” Hannibal states, ignoring the slurred apology and the keening whine that Will responds with. “You will then kneel between my feet when I am at my desk. Understood?”

Another flare of heat in his gut has Will squirming all over again, and he nods frantically despite the restraint Hannibal has by his hair.

“Use your words, boy. Or have you lost your ability to talk?” Hannibal mocks, cruel eyes staring intensely at the teary blue ones below him.

“Yes! Yes m’understand, please Hann’bol!” Will cries, hands already darting down to his belt buckle and clumsily undoing it. His breathing has become laboured, pants through his mouth rather than dignified breaths. All rationality has flown out the window at this point.

“Good boy.” Hannibal praises. The proud gleam in his eye makes Will’s knees feel like jelly, and when Hannibal lets go of his hair, Will has to slouch against the arm of the chair behind him to stabilize himself. The way Hannibal calls him ‘boy’ has his groin straining painfully against his jeans, and it has him doubling his efforts to rid himself of his clothes.

Will watches as Hannibal takes long strides to his desk, elegantly sitting down in the chair and sliding out documents from his drawer. When Hannibal looks up at him expectantly, Will slides out of his jeans and quickly shucks off his shirt, throwing them haphazardly over the arm of the chair. He doesn’t think twice about how needy and vulnerable he must look— naked, sweaty and flushed from head to toe. All he can think of is getting that incredible sensation back on his skin that only Hannibal seems to provide.

Will rounds the desk somewhat tentatively, unsure exactly what is being asked of him. He silently admires Hannibal’s side profile, his dark eyes paying all their attention to the papers in front of him. Will squirms with impatience, panting through his mouth as he continues to drag his eyes alongside the man’s sharp nose, then his plump pouty lips, and down his jaw, finally catching on the prominent adams apple halfway down a sleek yet strong neck. Distantly he feels the alarm bells go off in his brain— the shame and humiliation that comes with the thought of being attracted to a man. But lust and bursting waves of oxytocin cloud his brain from recalling the touch Hannibal gave, ultimately chasing away those anxious thoughts.

Without thinking, Will pushes his way in front of Hannibal, between his desk and the broad chest of the man. Hannibal relents, rolling his chair backwards to look up at the boy in dissatisfaction.

“I expected you to follow my instructions, Graham.” Hannibal sighs in agitation, an undertone of disappointment in his tone. It has Will’s heart churning in what he could only place as guilt. He bites his lip and climbs into the man’s lap, plopping his pert bottom onto the man’s thighs. Watching Hannibal’s expression closely, he sees nothing but cold blankness stare back at him.

“I did,” Will slurs, hands coming up to wrap around Hanninal’s neck, but his wrists were quickly snatched, and shoved behind his back, earning a pained whimper. He arches his back to ease some of the strain, but humiliating enough, it only pushes out his chest and bulging erection, exposing the hard pink nubs and strained underwear to both his and Hannibal’s eyes.

“You’re testing my patience. Did you want to be left alone, is that it? Without my help? Because that surely can be arranged.” Hannibal pulls his arms further back, forcing Will into a near pornographic pose atop him. With his chest pushed out, inviting pink nipples centimeters away from Hannibal’s lips, and a throbbing cock pressed against his stomach. Never did he imagine Will Graham would ever be willingly presented in this way. But what a pleasant surprise it was.

“No! Hann-“

“Wasn’t it just a moment ago when you were trying to convince me of your heterosexuality? What is this now, Agent Graham? You’re pleading to me like a bitch in heat, all for a simple touch.”

Will moans wantonly at the accented curse. Never had he heard the man swear, and the way it was spat at him like it personally assaulted the man by saying it had his hips rolling forward on its own accord.

“Please! M’sorry, I’ll do anything you say, just- pleeease! M’just… just want it so bad,” Will hiccups, fighting away the frustrated and humiliated tears welling in his eyes. “It just feels so good,” He whines, furrowing his brows and looking up through his lashes at Hannibal, blinking away the tears that cling to his eyelashes.

Hannibal’s grip relents and Will falls forward into his chest. A loud needy moan rips through his throat, and he eagerly scoots closer to the man until his naked body is pressed against his clothed one. Will’s arms wrap around Hannibal’s neck, and he lays frantic kisses and licks against his jaw as a thank you. Hannibal silently basks in the attention, particularly fond of the way Will’s facial hair scratches his clean shaven jaw.

“Ohh, please, need’you so much, anni’bol.” He slurs, indulging in the heat that radiates off the man’s body. His fingers plunge back into the soft tresses of once gelled hair, and he begins to kiss down the man’s neck, inhaling greedily of the scent that is the strongest just below his ear. His hips undulate, and he arches his back, presenting his round bottom obscured by blue boxers to try and entice Hannibal’s touch back on his body.

Hannibal allows him a minute of Will’s desperate touches and kisses, allowing his boy to relax. He can feel the way Will’s muscular thighs tighten around him, as if afraid he will leave him at any moment, but when he grants him a gentle touch to his boy’s nape, Will practically melts, body going limp in his arms.

“Miraculous, deviant thing. How fascinating you truly are.” Hannibal whispers, massaging Will’s nape. “How long have you been without another’s touch, I wonder. Desperate enough to seek the companionship of a male, of which you seem quite averse towards in the beginning. What changed? Or have your walls been weakened enough that your true desire has shown?”

Will only hums, and nuzzles Hanninal’s neck with his nose. He was too far gone to comprehend what was being said to him at that moment, only enjoying the way Hannibal’s baritone voice vibrated his body. Hannibal noticed this and laughed, feeling the unfamiliar emotion of something akin to adoration materialize in his body. He distantly files away the emotion to analyze later.

Hannibal slides a hand up the warm sides of the boy, grazing his ribs and running his palm back down to hold onto his hips. Will releases a pleased moan, muffled by Hannibal’s skin.

“Listen to me, Will,” Hannibal says firmly, but without any venom. Will reluctantly moves his head back, dreamily looking into Hannibal’s eyes after momentarily glancing down at his lips, nodding clumsily, pretty curls falling back into his eyes.

“I’d like you to kneel between my feet while I finish my work. I will continue to touch you, darling boy. But I expect you to be quiet and obedient. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, please,” Will responds with a happy sigh, immediately sliding down from Hannibal’s lap and settling between thick spread thighs, but not without grinding his bottom against his thighs beforehand.

Hannibal smirks at this but says nothing, and once Will is comfortably situated between his feet, he nudges the chair forward, trapping him inside the small space under his desk meant for his legs.

“There we go, beautiful boy. Very good.” Hannibal praises, reaching a hand down to gently caress the thick locks of Will’s head, and he pulls him forward so his head is forced to lay on his lap. He instantly feels the way Will relaxes, nuzzling into the fabric of Hanninal’s inner thigh, just in front of the prominent erection he has worked hard to ignore. He feels Will turn his face to nuzzle at his cock, breathing in a greedy breath and exhaling hot air onto it, igniting a twitch from Hannibal’s tip, but he redirects him to lay his cheek on his inner thigh instead.

“You will stay like this until I say otherwise, do you understand? You will not touch me unless permitted.” Hannibal states, tightening his hold on Will’s hair until he receives an answer.

“Yes, doctor,” Will responds. The name has Hannibal groaning deep, and he pushes the boy's head firmer against his thigh, nudging his nose below his sac, and he hears Will moan in return.

“Good boy.” Hannibal praises, his voice an octave lower and gravelly with arousal.

Will relaxes into the position fairly quickly. His nose rests below the doctor’s heavy sac, his cheek warmed by the inside of his thigh, and the heady musk he inhales with each breath is enough for him to feel high. He doesn’t touch himself, somehow imagining that if he did, Hannibal would be disappointed, and the thought of disappointing the man again makes his heart ache. Instead, he keeps his hands atop the man’s shoes, his legs tucked comfortably underneath him, and his upper body resting against the solid length of Hannibal’s leg. He feels as if he’s floating, tingly and warm despite being nearly naked.

The pins and needles have subsided somewhat, and replaced with a pleasant, fuzzy heat that envelops his entire body. The hand atop his head tugs gently at strands of hair, twirling individual curls and smoothing them back down across his scalp, each time erupting waves of pleasant tingles across his scalp and down his back, punching out a moan of delight. Once in a while, Will will nuzzle his face against the man’s thigh, his nose bumping into the sac, earning no reaction other than a warning pull of his hair.

Will distantly hears the scratch of paper and pen, and the occasional crinkle of paper, but the hand in his hair never leaves once. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but judging by the way his limbs feel tight and a bit sore, he’s been here for at least an hour. Hannibal’s voice penetrates the fogginess of his brain, forcing him back to the present.

“Darling boy, are you asleep?”

Will moans sleepily and shakes his head, lolling his head to the side so Hannibal can see his face. He feels the graze of fingers on his cheekbones, so he presents his neck, shivering when he feels the slide of fingertips across his jaw and down his neck, thumbing at the pulsing artery beneath his ear.

“How are you feeling now?” Hannibal asks, pushing his hair back a bit to get a better look at Will’s adorably sleepy expression.

“S’good,” Will slurs, nudging his body forward to press himself tighter against Hannibal’s legs. Will flinches when he feels a hand slither down his chest and pinch at his nipples, seething through his teeth at the sharp yet pleasant tingles that spread across his chest. He never touched himself there before, surprised at how sensitive he felt there.

Hannibal scratches a nail at the perky bud and Will doubles forward, a whine punched from his throat. He looks up at Hannibal with a confused pinch between his brows.

“Have you ever touched yourself here for pleasure, sweet boy?”

Will furrows his brows and shakes his head as if it is obvious, but when Hannibal gives him a disapproving look, he remembers to use his words.

“No… m’not a woman.” He huffs, yet his shoulders twitch and he exhales a shaky breath when Hannibal pinches rather hard.

“You certainly are not.” Hannibal muses, teasingly shoving a shoe beneath the boy’s balls, and lifting it. Will groans and grinds his hips forward, but as quick as it comes, the shoe disappears. “However, men still can achieve pleasure through their nipples similarly to women. Does this not feel good?” Hannibal twists both nipples this time, scratching the reddened nubs with his thumbnails.

Will’s jaw drops open, and his whole body shudders, savouring the orgasmic sensations rolling down his spine. He traps a moan by burying his face in the doctor’s thigh, hands rising to claw at his knees.

It was a feeling he’s never experienced before, sharp, intense pleasure nearly too overwhelming for him to withstand. He could feel the way his cock pulsed, and a tinge of embarrassment broke through the fog in his brain. This isn’t right, I shouldn’t be enjoying this. He thinks before Hannibal pulls him from that thought by a cruel twist of his nipples.

“Tell me, Will,” Hannibal demands, pulling hard and stretching the abused flesh.

Will moans as a second pulse of pleasure from his nipples runs down his spine and thrums at his tightening balls. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this aroused before in his life.

“No! It’s not—“ A harder pinch has him throwing back his head and each one of his limbs trembling. He felt humiliatingly close to an orgasm, despite not being touched where he needed it most.

“No? Then why are you leaking all over yourself? All messy and dirty, just from this.” Hannibal chides, clicking his tongue and scoffing. “I bet you could come all over yourself just from your chest being toyed with. Hm?” The shoe returns, and applies light pressure to Will’s groin until he presses the hard shaft firmly against the boy’s stomach. Will squeezes his eyes shut and his mouth gapes in a silent scream, his head dropping between his shoulders, his body shaking uncontrollably.

“Please!” Will whimpers, raising his head back up to look at the older man with pleading wet eyes and burning cheeks. His thighs quake, curls damp with sweat cascade over his face, and those adoring lips are shiny with saliva. He looked ravishing, to say the least.

“Please what? Begging for a man to touch your nipples and rub your needy wet cock. I wonder what someone would think if they were to walk in right now, seeing you on your knees, pleading and crying in between a man’s thighs, rubbing your face all over his groin like a mutt. What do you think they would say?” Hannibal becomes cruel with his hands, twisting and pinching the deep red buds, nearly drawing blood from the abuse. His maroon eyes hold a suggestion of a wicked smile, the shadows drawn across his face from the lighting make him look otherworldly, dominant and terrifying— beautiful.

Will only shakes his head, his hips now grinding forward to meet the pressure of the sole of the doctor’s shoe. He can feel the way his balls draw up and tighten, the pleasure intensifying and flooding his drugged mind with oxytocin. He’s so close, and his eyes begin to flutter shut, chanting intelligible sounds and syllables that almost sound like ‘Hannibal’ and ‘yes.’

“You will look at me while you come, boy. You will remember who gave you this pleasure. Of the man who was kind enough to accept your pathetic, whorish act. Then you will thank me afterwards, understand?” Hannibal pulls Will forward by the nipples, breaking the delicate skin open with his nails and drawing little droplets of blood, barely enough to coat his fingertips. Will stumbles forward with a cry, his legs forced to spread around the shoe pressed firmly against his crotch. His hands land further up the doctor’s thighs, and his neck strains further upward to meet eyes with Hannibal like he was told to.

“Yesss! Ohh fuck! Please, doctor, pleaaase!” Will chants, looking through lidded eyes right into the dark pits of maroon eyes, highlighted with what appeared to be a tinge of red. He finds himself lost when looking into those eyes, as if he is floating and losing all awareness of his surroundings. Floating on nothing but solid, firm hands that give him immense pleasure and security— safe and warm in between the cradle of Hannibal’s thighs.

Hannibal’s mouth flickers open in a smile, revealing sharp, glittering white fangs. “Take your pleasure, then, darling boy.”

As if a dam was broken, Will’s orgasm rips through him, forcing his body to double forward, his eyes still locked onto Hannibal's as his hips stutter and his balls draw tight, a high pitched cry ripping from his chest. He feels the powerful force of his cum shoot into his underwear, seeping through the fabric and onto the sole of the shoe he grinds on, creating an uncomfortable stickiness with each stroke of his hips, but the flood of chemicals in his bloodstream makes it hard for him to care.

Even after the initial intense waves have passed, he can feel the pleasurable tingles engulf his body, specifically in his balls and chest. He continued to ride his orgasm through the cants of his hips against the shoe, panting and shaking while maintaining an unfocused, yet direct eye contact with the older man above him, staring down at him in amusement, still teasing the boy’s nipples.

In a lazy orgasmic haze, he moans his gratitude, mouthing and licking at the bulge in between Hannibal’s thighs in appreciation. Hannibal’s eyes darkens, but he allows the ministrations for a moment, groaning deeply at the feel of Will’s warm mouth through his slacks. Then he cuts Will off by digging his nails back into his nipples, earning a high pitched moan muffled by Hannibal’s clothed cock, sending pleasurable vibrations through Hannibal’s balls.

Once the sensation crosses the line of overstimulation, Will keens his chest upward, trying to escape the overwhelming mix of pain and pleasure.

Hannibal grants him the mercy and lets go of his nipples, then abruptly pulls Will up into the his lap. Will falls forward into the man’s broad chest, boneless. The pleasant tingles remain throughout his body and brain, and he settles into a comfortable position atop Hannibal, his face buried in the man’s neck and inhaling that familiar comforting scent of what he can now identify as spiced cedar and coffee grounds. He feels a large hand at the back of his head, encouraging him to press himself tighter against him and breathe more of his scent in. Will doesn’t question it, all too happy to comply.

“You did so well for me, beautiful, darling boy. Exposing yourself to me and allowing me to bring you to your pleasure. Obedient, precious, cherubic thing.” Hannibal praises, his deep voice like a soothing melody to bring Will to sleep.

Will exhales a big sigh, a happy groan escaping his chest. He presses a sloppy kiss against Hannibal’s neck, then quite literally, passes out.

Hannibal smiles to himself.

Oh the fun he will have with this magnificent boy.

[gummi-stims]

💌Self Love Letter💌

From satisfyingaudeez on tiktok!

[butmakeitgayblog]

Ahhhhh Lexa is so cuddly in that oneshot! 😍😍

She had to be

Listen to me

She had to be

Because this little ray of sunshine?

Deserved to be allowed to be cuddly

Because the thing is, she always wanted to be. She did. Even when she didn't know how to ask for it. Even when all she knew how to do was nudge the door open for Clarke and wait silently to see what she'd do

Even when she didn't feel like she deserved to want it.

Lexa spent so much time worrying about Clarke's comfort and boundaries. So much time carrying the weight of her decisions like a scarlett letter on her chest. She lived with the guilt - not for the decisions themselves - but for how those decisions hurt Clarke, and how it all ultimately lost her the girl she had fallen so hard for, so fast.

But still, there were so many instances where she wanted nothing more than to be allowed to be soft. And you could see it.

So many times when she put herself out there just to feel like a fool in the end.

You could see it in these tiny glimpses of moments, her hesitation. Her disappointment. Her wanting so badly to reach out. But not letting herself.

Always waiting to be pushed away. Always accepting when she was. Always swallowing the pain of her own heartache while aching to be let in...

Which is why the second Clarke said yes? Lexa absolutely let the floodgates open.

While we saw after their first time she had given Clarke space again, had rolled away to recover from being fucked into a nap the intensity of finally getting to have that intimacy with Clarke, I don't think it was because it was what she wanted to do. I think it was pure instinct. Fear. A learned habit to always give Clarke space, and always another chance to push her away should Clarke want to. Seeing how Lexa operated when it came to Clarke, I don't think she took them having sex for granted in the aspect of "oh now all is forgiven." I think even after having Clarke make love to her, a piece of Lexa would've been careful not to push for too much too soon. Been too clingy. Assume Clarke woukd want to cuddle with her, to hold her. To even want Lexa to touch her the same way so intimately.

But.

When Clarke gave the ok? When Clarke made it clear that she was open to that?

Oh she smiled.

And she was happy

She held her hand during sex for godssake, you can't get more mushy than that

And even in her final moments, what made her break? What was the only thing that really truly cut through the pain and the strength of Heda, and gave Lexa a moment of solace?

Clarke's touch.

Clarke's comfort.

Being able to soak in another moment of just being close to her. Loved by her.

Lexa was always a touchy a person. She craved that physical intimacy with Clarke from day one. I mean we're talking about a woman who decided to casually ~take a nap~ on her canopy bed with the drapes open while an almost complete stranger waltz around her tent. She was always sending out the signals out that not only did she want more emotionally from Clarke, but that she wanted more physically. And I don't mean sex (ok well not just sex at least), she wanted that soft comfort of just being near her too.

So yeah. 100% I believe if given a chance to have more moments together after they'd both finally let each other back in, every time Clarke even halfway made it seem like she was open to it, I think Lexa would've become more and more comfortable letting go of her fears and been as affectionate as she'd always wanted. I think she would've become more and more snuggly, more tactile in her expressions of love and pride, to the point that when they were alone I don't think Clarke would've quite known what to do with herself and her little commander-noodle-arms shaped shadow

They still would've argued all the time tho