#ticking metronome

[yvofficialfm]

halves way's Daydreaming Tenor

Hisao Tooda {東田悠生}

"Keeping a steady beat can help you be on track."

Leader and tenor of halves way. Hisao goes at his own-pace, acting like an old friend to everyone he meets. He will often daydream, always seeming to have a smile when he does.

#yearnedvoices

[this-reminds-me-of-a-song]

This IS lost media, I actually only got this album through someone asking me if I wanted it

[asparklethatisblue]

Anyway. Here’s to another year of transing the narrative

[thetruekyle]

I think it all just finally clicked,

at 3am on a Tuesday..

☆ I was raised "brokenhearted."

By destitute dreamers and settled seamers..

Raised ever so lovingly, true enough-

-but I became broken-hearted by default,

The relativity of relative psyches,

Warping what was pure right from the off-

He looks like E.T. as I drew my first breath,

Seemingly, the slapped butt of a cosmic joke.

Though I had no real sorrow to dwell upon,

-and my light matched the happy I would poke,

I always tarnished, marked, knicked, scratched,

Sundered, shredded, demolished & destroyed-

All the things I actually sought to hold and love,

Cuz I was never taught how to care for much-

Without breaking and smashing it,

-to smithereens, but good in the end.

I have always been sensitive and soft, you see-

But my rearing to match was never .. me .

It was actually kinda sus, and mostly hood.

So my beast had been caged, and never free.

Incarcerated, violated,

-kept for his own protection,

And too long have his eyes paled,

-away from the sun,

Too long has his mane grizzled and grayed

-from sheer lack of fun,

Too long has this shadow been his home,

-where in a world of billions,

his reflection makes it seem there's only one.

But this one is a good boy deep down,

I know it because he's the same; a part of me,

And I Am every bit the unified Hol-Ogrum one

-but still just a bit shy,

despite being a ferocious guy...

For being otherwise just a bit too strong,

-ever-training apter control of claws & schlong,

Draining pens and loading bongs,

Dulling the edge,

Like landscaping a cliff face,

Now I am leveling up all my pawns,

He's broken free from the molds-

Once created to restrain and hold him.

He rises a monster, a beast, and a horror,

Ever yearning in his won freedom,

Just to be held again,

but in loving arms, for real

Not unlike all those loving hugs,

That conditioned his heart,

After so many years,

-to prefer not to feel........................................

…………………………………………………………………

[tickingispleasure]

You know what, I just realised your user name is Ticking is Pleasure. Not Tickling is Pleasure.

That makes way more sense.

haha how sweet. of course ticking is pleasure. listening to a warm tik tok tik tok tik tok like a metronom or a small watch gets me sooo deep into hypnosis. Everytime I hear some monoton ticking I get hypnotized so very easy and dive deep into a horny and empty mindless being. it's one of my biggest desires when thinking about being hypnotized and horny

[outlying-hyppocrate]

I DO NOT WANT TO MAKE UKULELE MUSIC BUT IT IS WHAT I HAVE.

[abbaswift]

need to see how taylor performs icdiwabh live…. every time the 1,2,3,4 happens she’d go into enthusiastic performance mode

[cartridgeconverter]

I AM GOING TO STRANGLE MY STAND PARTNER

[nimblermortal]

Spent a significant portion of a road trip trying to explain time signatures to Hyacinth, with ultimately this breakthrough:

Hyacinth: Oh! The lower number is how many ticks of the metronome you skip!

Nimbler, a bowed string player: wut

Hyacinth, a beginning plucked string player: It's how many ticks of the metronome you don't play on!

I had been wondering how plucked strings handle the distinction between whole notes and quarter-followed-by-three-rests...

[kibbits]

[ID: Meme of a car veering sharply right to catch an exit. The left lane reads "GO TO SLEEP". The right exit, that the car takes, is labeled "STAY UP FOR NO FUCKING REASON". The car is labeled "MY ALREADY TIRED BODY". /End ID]

[reidrum]

if you keep asking | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

a/n: this was requested with “if you keep asking me i’m not gonna be okay” or smth along the lines 😭 i am a glutton for hurt/comfort fics so if yall have any more requests send em in :)

summary: in which you’re trying to keep it together when you hear some detectives talking ill of you, and spencer isn’t gonna have it

cw: hurt/comfort, self deprecation, insecure!reader, bitch ass detectives, protective bau my heart, use of she/her pronouns

wc: 2.2k

_______

the bau team was filing into the bullpen after landing from their last case in seattle, everyone making a beeline for their desks to get a head start on their reports so they could go home faster. everyone, except you. it felt like you were on autopilot, remembering your last known movements and just repeating them for as long as you could.

the case in seattle was rough to say the least. the unsub’s mo seemed to change every minute, making any progress the team made obsolete. the only thing that seemed to be somewhat consistent was where the unsub was taking his victims, which meant the geographical profile was the most important part to solving the case, a task you and reid were assigned to.

it started off fine, you both had found the comfort zone of where the unsub would strike next to figure out how to catch him in the act. except the next time he struck it was completely out of the predicted range, and this time a kid had died. no one could have anticipated that happening. it didn’t make the loss hurt any less.

the team knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault, humans are unpredictable, and that includes serial killers. spencer made sure to tell you specifically that it wasn’t your fault, he knew how you’d get if someone didn’t tell you.

his efforts went to utter waste when you walked by a room at the precinct with detectives whispering about how “you fucked up the whole profile, that’s why that kid died” and “it’s clear you make the team stupider, how did you even get into the fbi in the first place?”

it wasn’t the first time your abilities were in question. you were the newest member of the team, having only transferred six months ago from cold cases. you may be new to the field, but there was a reason hotch chose you personally for the bau.

you tried hard to prove yourself, despite pretty much everyone saying your skillset was enough proof. you’d stay late to finish reports, do extra research on cases to help garcia narrow her searches faster, and you spent countless hours at the training range.

you were a worthy agent, anyone who knew you or read your resume knew that. but right now, you felt like the smallest person on earth, an imposter. what the hell were you even doing here if you couldn’t save him.

you shouldn’t be allowed to feel relief that the team caught the unsub, not when there’s blood on your hands.

the bad thoughts swirling in your head causes you to stall your motions when you’re putting files away, gaining the attention of morgan, “you alright, sweet cheeks?”

“i’m good morgan, don’t worry.” you lie effortlessly. if he can tell you’re lying, he doesn’t mention it and turns back to his work.

taking a deep breath, you stand up to go to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, when you run into jj finishing up making her own, “i was just thinking about you, i got this new creamer i think you’d rea-, hey, are you okay?” jj starts but ends concerned.

you try to focus on metronomic tick of the clock so you dont escalate, “i’m fine j,” you laugh unconvincingly, “what creamer did you get?”

she ignores your question, “because i know that was a tough case, and if you need to talk about it with someo-“

“jj, drop it, please.”

the blonde’s face drops a little at your sternness, but respects your space and offers you to try the creamer before returning to her desk. you feel bad for snapping at her, but the growing guilt within you is giving you apathy, and you can’t bring yourself to care at this moment.

you linger in the kitchen so as to avoid any more concerned faces, and you’re left to your own devices that are slowly overtaking you.

unbeknownst to you, spencer had been watching you since you all landed back in quantico. he kept his distance, mostly because he knew how overwhelmed you get at confrontation, especially about your emotions. he was the same way, a man of logic getting befuddled by emotion was enough cognitive dissonance to last a long time.

he knew it was different with you. you had a way of internalizing everything in your surrounding, a downfall to your endless empathy for others even if they never deserve it. he could explain the logic behind your beliefs, and hopefully use facts to help you relax, but that was the other thing he knew about you; you were stubborn. asking for help is something you hated doing, and if it wasn’t on your accord to be asking, it was even more detrimental to your mood.

so when he watched you duck out from the kitchen and push past the glass doors of the bullpen, he knew you were reaching the head of your doom spiral quickly.

spencer got up from his desk, “i’m gonna go check on her.”

jj nodded, “just be mindful spence, something feels different.”

they’d all been on cases that hit a little too close to home, how could they not when all they do is rid the world of the evilest of evildoers. but after a good cry, a rant to a teammate, or even an emergency therapy session, even the worst of the scum could be washed away.

something about the way you’ve been acting since they landed seemed like those fixits aren’t going to work this time.

he let out a sigh in response and walked out of the bullpen, realizing he didn’t actually know which direction you went in. assuming you’d want to be alone, he thinks the bathroom might’ve been a viable option for you and heads towards it.

the nice thing about the seventh floor is that it’s only for the bau, the bullpen was where the team spent most of their time but outside the doors there were so many empty rooms being used for storage.

so as spencer walked towards the bathroom in the hopes of finding you, his ears pick up on a tiny sniffle a little ways before it. he stops in his tracks, hoping he was just hearing things. but another pained sob rang through the door on his left, and he knew he’d found you.

he rapps the door a few times, softly calling your name, “hey, it’s spencer…can i come in please?”

you were on the other side sitting at one of the abandoned desks with your head down, but shot up at hearing spencer’s voice, “i- i’m fine i just needed a minute. i’ll be back in like two minutes, i promise.” you angrily wipe at the tears pooling on your face, grateful that you took your makeup off in the plane.

“honey, that’s not what i asked,” he starts, “is it okay if i come in?

your heart clenches at the term of endearment as you stare at the door knowing he was waiting for your okay to come in, and you start to internally weigh your options. you could let him in, and let him in to do whatever comforting you know logically would help. or you could lie, and feign ignorance to the end.

don’t they say ignorance is bliss?

you make sure to wipe the last of your tears and your runny nose before practicing a few fake smiles so it didn’t look like your face was frozen in sadness for the last thirty minutes. turning the knob you swing the door open, borderline creepy smile on your face as you greet the man, “hi dr. reid! was there something you were looking for?”

he furrows his brows at your complete (fake) shift in mood, but he comes in and shuts the door behind him, and moves to stand a few feet from you, “what’s going on?”

“nothing spence, i’m fine.” you insist.

spencer thinks if you could be more see through you’d be a windexed window. you’re avoiding eye contact with him, picking at the skin of your thumb, he can see your nose is red most likely from all the tissue blowing, and your eyes are still puffy and lined with some unshed tears still. you are so clearly breaking at the seams, like an old childhood teddy bear with stuffing falling out the sides yet hoping you can offer some semblance of stability despite your state.

“you don’t look fine, honey. why won’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

his words almost make you falter, and you think the walls you built so high are starting to chip down. “it’s not a big deal spence, i-,” a hiccuped breath gives you away, “i can deal with it on my own.”

spencer instinctively shortens the gap between you two, “you shouldn’t have to. i just wanna help you.”

“but i’m oka-“

“no you’re not.”

there is only one tiny thin thread left holding you together. “well,” you take a deep inhale and your voice gets impossibly small, “if you keep saying things like to me i’m not gonna be okay.”

“that’s why i’m here.” he says softly.

you look up at him with the biggest glassy doe eyed look he’s ever seen, and it’s like spencer can hear the snap of the thread in real time when he watches your face absolutely crumble. he doesn’t hesitate to pull you into his embrace, allowing him to hold your head down in the middle of his chest while his other hand smooths up and down your back in comfort.

“i know, shh, hey it’s okay, i got you.” he comforts.

your hands wrap around his waist beneath his suit jacket and you keep your face buried in his chest, inhaling the musky vanilla scent of his cologne mixed with the fresh laundry detergent smell letting it ground you back to him.

“i’m sorry.” you cry.

“don’t say that,” he hushes, “is it about the case?” you nod in his embrace, “we talked about it remember? there was nothing we could have done. we did everything right, sometimes it just doesn’t work out, you know that.” he moves his hand to tangle in your hair and rub your head.

“i- i know,” you say through labored breaths. you take a big breath before admitting the true reason for your anguish, “when we were about to leave, i walked by a room with some detectives talking about how i ruined the case and that…i’m the reason the kid died.”

“what?” he pulls back to look you in the eyes hoping to find any indication that you didn’t believe those poisoned words, “we both worked on that geographical profile together, the whole team agreed it was accurate and acted accordingly. what happened was not your fault. at all.” he emphasizes the last two words.

“yeah but…i don’t know maybe i could ha-“

“stop. you can’t do that to yourself. we did what we could with what we had, the burden of that child’s passing does not fall on you. we were only able to find the unsub’s hiding spot when you figured out he’d been going to the same gas station since the murders started.” he reinforced to you.

“they said that they didn’t know how i even got into the academy in the first place, and that i make the team stupider.” you quietly added.

spencer felt the rage consume his body, already planning the ways he was going to obliterate seattle pd. he cradled your head to look at him in the eyes, “listen to me. you are an important asset to this team. you make this team better at what they do, you make me better at what i do. you mean so much to me and the team okay? please don’t forget that.”

he swipes at a fallen tear on your cheek as you tell him between sniffles, “thanks spence…” you hope he understands the sentiment and love you’re trying to exude to him, even thought you’re unable to vocalize it.

“you gotta tell me if something like that happens,” he softly scolds you, “i’ll make sure they lose their fucking jobs.”

you’re about to speak when he cuts you off, “and don’t tell me that we should be the bigger people, because once the rest of the team hears about this, they’re all gonna be fighting over who’s gonna kick the shit out of them.”

you let out a tearful giggle, “you sound really funny when you curse.”

he scoffs, “what the hell, i do not!”

“you sound like a baby duckling that just learned how to say fuck.”

he starts to guide you out of the room and towards hotch’s office so you can recount what happened, “ouch, i’m hurt. i’d like to think the pistol and fbi badge i carry makes me intimidating.”

you giggle again, and spencer puts aside his rage to revel in the fact that you’re feeling better.

when hotch learned of what happened he immediately called seattle pd to file a motion to get those detectives fired, and the rest of the team were secretly praying for a case in seattle again so they could, as spencer predicted, kick the shit out of them.

[vampirecorleone]

"Close your eyes, Josh. Take a deep breath and relax. With each breath, let the life around you fade into the background. Just listen to the ticking of the metronome. Focus on the spot in the center of your forehead. The universe is deathless. It is deathless because having no finite self, it stays infinite. A sound man, by not advancing himself, stays the further ahead of himself." Horror Character Appreciation - Patrick Wilson as Josh Lambert in Insidious (2010) dir. James Wan

[this-reminds-me-of-a-song]

Woah my ISAT video got a lot of notes! Well, have a sad star for all you lovely people

[v6quewrlds]

❝ urge, c. sainz jr. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: you love your boyfriend, you really do. but it's hard to give him grace when he looks that good and denies you like that.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: not at all proofread <3 amazed that i got this up bc it was not looking good when i was trying to write last night, but we ball!

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, established relationship, my dreadful high school/south florida customer service osmosis spanish, bratty!reader, dom!carlos, exactly two spanks, unprotected sex, creampie.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: carlos sainz x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 2.4k.

You smoothed over the silk of your crimson lingerie, the fabric hugging your curves like a lover's embrace. You had picked out the set yourself, knowing that the deep red would make Carlos's eyes pop out of their sockets when he saw it. You had been planning this moment for days, each hour of November ticking away like a sadistic metronome, counting down the moments until you could finally have him again.

Carlos had committed himself, without prompting, to a ridiculous challenge: No Nut November. You, bless your heart, had tried to be supportive, but the lack of intimacy was wearing on you. You knew it was all about his "energy levels" and some pseudoscientific nonsense about testosterone that you couldn't bear to pay attention to. You rolled your eyes every time he brought it up, but deep down, you felt a smoldering resentment. It had been weeks since you had been intimate, and you were ready to set that shit on fire.

As you sailed into his office, your eyes gleaming with mischief, you caught him in deep conversation. He was gesturing wildly, the phone cradled against his ear, his full lips moving rapidly in a rush of Spanish that you didn't have the mental capacity or patience to decipher. He looked up at the sound of your entrance, his eyes widening in shock and then darkening with desire as he took in your attire. You bit back a grin, watching him struggle to keep his cool as you sauntered closer.

His thick eyebrows shot up in surprise, and his cheeks flushed slightly, the stubble on them standing out against the tanned skin. He was dressed casually in a white t-shirt and black shorts, which only served to highlight the muscular frame you hadn't been allowed to touch in weeks. Your heart raced, the thrill of the seduction sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

"Carlos, honey," you purred, your voice low with a conspiratorial whisper. If he had questioned your intentions before, there was no doubt now. You watched the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his eyes devouring you. "Who's on the phone?"

He paused, the Spanish on the other end of the line growing more insistent. 'Carlos' he mouthed, his wide, brown eyes shooting you a silent plea for mercy, but you had come too far to give up. You placed a hand on the desk, leaning in so that your breasts, pushed up by the lacy bra, nearly spilled over.

"It's okay," you whispered, "I'll just wait."

The conversation continued on, and you could see the effort it took for him to keep his voice steady. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the phone tighter, the conversation the only thing keeping him from pouncing.

Taking a faux interest in a framed photo on his desk, you pretended to absent-mindedly fiddle with the strap of your lingerie, watching the tension build in the room as Carlos listened to his cousin on the other side. You could almost feel the energy shifting, the air thickening with desire and the challenge you had laid before him. His eyes darted down to the swell of your breasts, and you could see his pupils dilate, his jaw clenching.

A delicate hand reached out to play with the hem of your thong, teasing the fabric that barely covered your lower half. You could see Carlos's eyes flicker to your hand, his gaze lingering for a moment too long before shutting them in frustration. The conversation on the phone was winding down, and you could tell he was desperately trying to keep his focus. But the sight of you, the scent of you, the sound of your voice—it was all too much.

Finally, with a curt, "Tío, te llamo más tarde," Carlos hung up the phone, cutting off whatever his cousin was saying. The silence that fell was electric, charged with the buildup of weeks of unspoken need. He set the phone down with a gentle thud and leaned back in his chair, eyeing you with a look that didn't quite hide the hunger in his gaze. [I'll talk to you later, bro.]

"You think this is funny?" he challenged, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver through you.

You couldn't hold back your grin anymore. "Maybe a little."

You stepped closer, your hand tracing the line of your lingerie as if you were the one in charge. But you knew the second you made that first move, you'd be giving up your power.

"You know what's not funny?" Carlos' eyes sparked with something that could only be described as determination. "How much I want to rip these off of you and fuck you right here on my desk."

Your smug smile only grew wider at the raw desire in his voice. "Oh, really?" You leaned in closer, your breasts grazing the desk. "What's stopping you?"

Carlos' nostrils flared, his gaze raking over your body with a hunger that made your core tighten. He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor, and closed the distance between you two in a heartbeat. He grabbed your hips and yanked you against him, your bodies colliding with a force that made you gasp. He kissed you hard, his teeth grazing your lower lip as his tongue delved into your mouth, tasting you like he had been starved for your touch. His hands roamed over your body, gripping your ass firmly, pulling you closer, making you moan into his mouth.

"You want to play games?" he murmured against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Fine. Vamos a jugar." He spun you around so you faced the desk, your heart pounding in anticipation. He stepped back, and you felt a moment of panic, thinking he might change his mind. But then his hands were on your back, pushing you down firmly. [Let's play.]

You felt the cold wood against your cheek, your palms flat on the surface. The scent of wood and his cologne filled your nose as you leaned over, your ass in the air. You looked back at him over your shoulder, your eyes gleaming with challenge. "Is this how you want me?"

Carlos took a deep breath, his gaze lingering on the curve of your spine, the way your hips jutted out in the lacy thong. "No," he said, his voice gruff. "I want you naked. Now."

You chuckled, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "Make me," you taunted, your voice a seductive whisper that sent a jolt of electricity through him.

With a predatory smile, Carlos stepped closer, his hands sliding above your waist to unhook your bra. You shivered as it fell away, your breasts bouncing slightly from the sudden freedom. He stepped back again, his gaze lingering on your bare back as you slowly, deliberately bent to remove your thong. You straightened, tossing it over your shoulder, the fabric landing somewhere behind you.

Without breaking eye contact, Carlos stepped closer, his fingers tracing the line of your spine before he gripped your hips tightly. "I'm not playing games," he warned, his voice thick with need.

He pulled you back against him, the heat of his body almost too much for you to bear. His cock pressed into you, hard and insistent, and you felt your resolve waver.

"I've been waiting weeks for this," you murmured, your voice dripping with honey. "You've been torturing me, Carlos. It's only fair I get a little payback."

Carlos' hand slid down your body, cupping your sex, his thumb pressing against your entrance, sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

"Payback, huh?" He whispered, his voice a dark promise. "Then maybe you'll enjoy this." He pushed you forward so that you were bent over the desk again, your hands gripping the edge, your breath coming in short, eager gasps.

He stepped back, and you heard the sound of his zipper. You couldn't help but look over your shoulder, watching as he freed his cock, the tip glistening with pre-cum. You bit your lip, eager for what was to come. He stepped closer, the tip of him teasing your entrance, making you whine with need. "Carlos, fuck me, please" you begged, your voice breathy and desperate.

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "You're going to beg for it?" He taunted, his hand smacking your ass lightly. The sting of it only made you wetter. "I think I like this game."

Without warning, he thrust into you, filling you completely. Your grip tightened on the desk as you gasped, your body adjusting to the sudden intrusion. It had been weeks since you had felt him inside you. You felt a wave of pleasure crash over you as he began to move, his hips pumping into you with a force that made the desk shake.

Carlos groaned, his hands moving to your hips, gripping you tightly as he set a relentless pace. The sound of your bodies colliding filled the room, along with your ragged breaths and muffled curses. You couldn't hold back your moans, your body responding to his every touch, every thrust. You felt yourself getting wetter, your juices coating his cock as he slammed into you over and over.

He reached around you, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation was too much, and you felt the beginnings of an orgasm building inside you. "Fuck, Carlos," you panted, your voice strained with pleasure.

"Not yet, amor," he murmured in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. He slowed his movements, drawing out the agony. You squirmed beneath him, trying to get more friction, trying to push yourself over the edge.

Carlos leaned over you, his hand coming to rest on the back of your neck, pushing you down onto the desk. His grip was firm but not painful, sending a thrill of excitement through you. "You're going to come when I say you can," he whispered, his voice thick with need.

The dominance in his voice had your pussy clenching around his cock, and you whined in response. "Please," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled darkly. "You want it?" He didn't wait for your reply, instead speeding up his thrusts, his fingers working your clit with expert precision. The tension grew, coiling tighter in your belly with every movement. You felt your toes curl, your thighs quivering as you neared the edge.

"Prove it," he demanded, his voice strained. "Tell me you want to come for me."

"I do," you whimpered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your skin slapping together. "I want to come for you, Carlos."

With a groan of satisfaction, Carlos increased his speed, his cock pistoning in and out of you with an urgency that made your toes curl. You felt yourself getting closer, your muscles tightening around him. He leaned down, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck as he whispered, "Dale, mi amor. Ven para mi." [Come on, my love. Come for me.]

Your entire body was alight with pleasure, your orgasm building like a tidal wave. You could feel it, so close, just out of reach. "Carlos," you moaned, your voice strained with need. "Yes, baby."

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your neck as his teeth grazed your sensitive skin. "That's it, mi vida. Give it to me." His grip on your neck tightened slightly, your face pressed into the desk, his hips moving faster, his cock plunging into your depths.

Your orgasm hit you like a storm, making your whole body convulse, your pussy clamping down on him as you screamed his name into the wood. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, making your vision swim and your legs threaten to give out. You could feel him tense behind you, his breath hot against your neck, his own release close.

"Good girl, haces un desastre, amor," he growled, his hips stuttering before he slammed into you one last time, holding himself deep inside you as he came, his warmth filling you up. The sound of your breathing filled the room, the only noise in the aftermath of your passion. [Make a mess, love.]

You had missed this, missed him, missed the way your bodies moved together like they had been made to fit. You felt his cock soften inside you, but his grip on your neck didn't lessen, his breathing still ragged in your ear.

"You happy with yourself?" Carlos murmured against your neck, his grip loosening to move your hair aside, bending over to press his lips to your sweaty skin. You couldn't help the smug smile that spread across your face, even as your breathing slowly evened out.

"Very," you replied, your voice still a little shaky from the aftermath of your orgasm. You felt him chuckle, the vibrations moving through his chest and into your back as he slowly withdrew from your heat.

"You're not going anywhere," he said with a growl, his eyes still dark with desire. You watched him stride over to his mini-fridge, his cock still semi-erect and glistening. He grabbed a bottle of water, twisted off the cap, and took a long gulp before walking back over to you. He handed you the water, and you took it gratefully, your throat dry from your intense encounter.

"Thank you," you murmured, taking a sip before holding it out to him again. He took the bottle from your hand, set it aside, and then leaned in to kiss you deeply.

"Te lo dije," Carlos murmured against your lips, the smugness in his voice unmistakable. "You're mine. And I'm not done with you yet." [I told you.]

Your pulse quickened, your body already responding to his claim. You felt a thrill of excitement at the promise in his words. "What do you have in mind?" you asked.

Carlos' gaze was dark and intense, his desire for you written across his face. He took your hand and led you to the threshold of the office, clothing long forgotten on the floor. "I think it's time for round two," he said, his voice low and commanding. You couldn't resist the urge to giggle, but the sound was cut short by a sharp smack to your ass as he guided you to your bedroom.

[froginmygarden]

Got a little brain worm on the way home and have a need to write it down. Just a drabble because I'm not good at writing.

DC x DP Just a (clone) couple

Joung Adult!Team Phantom for some reason end up in the DC universe. For reasons, there aren't any equivalents of them here. Danny and Sam are together and Danny and Dani have a familiar relationship. Whatever the reasons they stay in this universe.

So Sam, Danny and Dani start making a life together as a family, Tucker goes on to make a "small business" involving VPN's and tech in general (finds an anthropomorphic girlfriend on the way or something), Jazz goes to uni (JL members city of choice, although I advise against Gotham or Metropolis, because that would make this too short).

For some MORE reasons unknown, although they might be by the making of our favourite clock-man, the DP people's DNA has by default markings of being clones in DC (I don't know if this is canon or fanon but Connor had something like that ╮⁠(⁠＾⁠▽⁠＾⁠)⁠╭). The thing is here Jack = Bruce, Maddy = Alexander and Jeremy = Clark, Pamela = Lois! Do you see my vision here??

So *JL member from the perspective city* meets the Fenton/Manson/Nightingale?? family accidentally when they are visiting Jazz, and has a sweet deja vu moment. Some time passes and the off handedly mention it to someone in the JL.

Batman being the paranoid bastard that he is goes on to check this thing out, because he can smell the fish from a mile away. Thinks the couple are clones, gets very paranoid again and starts making plans, plans get found by his kids, kids tell the JL and friends. So starts the collective discussions of what should they do, some say that they should get rid of the clones, some others that they don't have proof for anything nefarious and shouldn't do anything at all, someone points out that they have literally showed up out of nowhere and that it is reasonable to be suspicious. And Connor is also there.

Meanwhile Team Phantom is going about their lives like normal, but with a "I know that you know" mindset, and don't really bother with hiding themselves.

In my opinion the part that has to be the most glaringly noticeable about them should be that Danny (Batman's clone apparently) should wear a lot of flannel and have a "Midwestern Nice" personality" (the stuff of legends I have only heard about in passing) and over all should resemble Clark in fashion sense. For Sam (Superman's clone apparently) the exact opposite - she can put the GOTH in Gotham.

And all JL angst/drama/confusion happens in the background as we follow Connor Kent's/Superboy's POV and him dealing with having two half siblings and the half siblings being together and them having a child and this is too much for him oooooooooo noooooooo nononoonononoonononononno what in the sweeet home Alabama whhhhhyyyyyyyy!??!

So it's like a metronome tick's between the POVs of fluffy new life/potential threat to the JL I mean the child of Bruce/Lex and child Clark/Luis having potential super-smart, super-powered (potentially evil??) children. But overall it's crack.

Maybe I'll plan it out and actually try to write it, but meanwhile you can enjoy my half-ill/fever induced brain worms and play in the brown dirt puddle I call my creative thinking.

To who ever finished reading this

Good night! ;P

[leona-hawthorne]

KINKTOBER #7– JUST PHYSIOLOGICAL RESPONSE / lorenzo berkshire

october 22nd no smut in this part

part one part two

lorenzo berkshire x fem reader

summary: it wasn’t until now, sitting across from lorenzo berkshire behind the cold walls of azkaban, that you realized the seriousness of your line of work.

warnings: criminal psychologist!reader, dark!lorenzo, he is lowkey an actual psychopath in this so tread carefully when reading :D, the smut will be in part two

words: 3.9k

a/n: like i’ve said before, these are not typical kinktober fics—they include plot so yeah they’re quite long, don’t hate me lol. this one is a favorite of mine! part 2 will be out soon!

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You had never imagined you would sit in a place like this, surrounded by stone walls that absorbed sound and light alike, a reminder of the darkness beneath the surface. The air was thick with secrets and despair, each breath heavy with the history of those who came before you. Here, in the heart of Azkaban, the ghosts of the past whispered their regrets, their voices mingling with the clinking of metal bars.

As you prepared for the interview, the gravity of your role pressed against your chest like a leaden shroud. Each tick of the clock echoed like a metronome, marking time until you confronted one of the wizarding world’s most notorious figures. Your choice to seek understanding among chaos felt both a privilege and a burden. You had devoted years to studying the complexities of the human mind, yet sitting alone in that sterile room, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were truly equipped for what lay ahead.

The darkness of his deeds stretched far and wide, and the weight of his legacy hung over you like a storm cloud, threatening to unleash emotions you had spent years learning to contain. You had read the reports, the testimonies, the chilling accounts that left a mark on the page, but nothing could prepare you for the reality of sitting across from a man whose choices had altered countless lives. Doubts crept in, whispering questions you had pushed aside: Was this the right path? Could you unearth the truths hidden beneath layers of calculated cruelty?

As the door creaked open, the air shifted, and you steeled yourself for the confrontation. In that moment, you realized the fragility of your conviction, the thin line you walked between empathy and revulsion, a dance with shadows that could consume you whole if you let them.

With a slow, painful exhale, you watched as two guards brought your subject in, harshly holding him by the arms like they were disgusted to touch him. Your breath, measured and controlled, still felt heavy, weighted by the reputation of the man across from you. A minute later, the guards were gone, leaving you alone with him.

Lorenzo Berkshire—infamous, calculating, and entirely too comfortable in the chains binding his wrists.

He watched you with amused detachment, as if this interrogation were nothing more than a mild inconvenience. His eyes, dark and unrelenting, never left your face, reading you like a book you hadn’t realized you’d written.

You cleared your throat, though the sound seemed small in the silence. “Mr. Berkshire,” you began, your voice more controlled than you felt, “It’s nice to finally meet. I’m here to understand and help you.”

A flicker of amusement passed over his features, and then he leaned back in his chair, deceptively relaxed despite the magical restraints. The smirk at the corners of his mouth made your skin prickle, like a warning signal your body recognized before your mind caught up. “Help me?” he echoed, his voice low, rich, almost playful. “How very… noble of you.”

You pressed forward, refusing to let his arrogance throw you off balance. But it was impossible not to feel the tension, thick and charged. Each word from his lips felt like a dare, like he was waiting for you to crack under his presence. But you were determined not to let him win, not to give him the satisfaction.

His gaze locked with yours, and for a split second, it felt like the entire room disappeared—the walls, the chains, everything. Just his eyes on you, unflinching, curious. Something flickered inside you, uncomfortable and unwanted. You pushed it down, forcing focus.

“This is an opportunity for reflection,” you continued, a little more forceful, needing to regain control. “A chance for rehabilitation.”

He laughed, melodic in a way that didn’t belong in a place as desolate as this. The sound curled around you, drawing you in before you even realized it. “Rehabilitation,” he repeated, tasting the word as if it were foreign. “You think I need fixing, Doctor?”

His smile widened, and you could feel the heat rising in your chest, spreading to your neck. The intensity of his gaze crawled over your skin, peeling back layers, searching for the pieces of you he could exploit. The files on him hadn’t prepared you for this. They were clinical, cold, facts and figures that tried to capture his cruelty. But there was no preparing for the feeling of being in the same room as him, for the way he twisted words into something far more dangerous than you anticipated.

You tightened your grip on the folder, trying to ground yourself. “Your actions brought you here,” you said, though your voice wavered. “You’re here because of the choices you’ve made, Mr. Berkshire. This is an opportunity to explore why.”

His smile deepened, dark amusement dancing in his eyes. “Choices,” he drawled, leaning forward, chains clinking softly. “I’ve made a great many choices, love, but none I regret.”

You bristled at the way he threw the word ‘love’ at you, casual and intimate all at once, like he was playing a game you weren’t even sure you knew the rules to. You could feel the shift in the air, the way the space between you suddenly felt too small, too intimate for a setting like this. His legs stretched out beneath the table, and though the room was vast and hollow, it felt as though he was far too close.

“It’s Dr. Y/L/N,” you corrected, needing distance. But he only smiled wider, his eyes never breaking from yours, as if he could see through your barriers.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” he repeated, and the way your name rolled off his tongue sent a strange thrill through you, something you despised yourself for feeling. You straightened, willing your body to remain rigid, professional, in control. But you could feel his eyes, pulling at the threads of your restraint. “Now that’s a name I could get used to. Pretty. Suits you.”

What the fuck?

A strange heat pooled in your stomach, twisting unease and the thrill of his presence. It wasn’t fear—not quite. It was something more insidious, far more dangerous because it felt like an invitation. You could sense it in his gaze, the way he tilted his head, considering you. He wasn’t just interested in the interrogation; he was interested in you. And that thought, more than anything, sent your pulse racing.

“We’re not here to discuss my name,” you stated, though your voice came out breathless. You forced yourself to look back at the file, the black-and-white details of his crimes staring up at you, but they like a flimsy shield against his intensity.

“Shame,” he murmured, voice dragging over your senses. “I’d much rather talk about you.”

You snapped your gaze back to him, feeling the frustration flare beneath your skin, mingling with the strange pull of his words. “That’s not why I’m here,” you said, firmer this time, trying to anchor yourself in the facts, in the reason for your presence in this cursed room. But even as you spoke, you could feel him pulling you into his rhythm, like a song you couldn’t quite resist dancing to.

His gaze slid over you, slow and deliberate, as though he were cataloging every reaction, every slight movement of your body. You wondered if he could hear the way your heart hammered against your ribs, could sense the way your breath quickened despite your attempts to remain unaffected. “Are you sure?” he asked, voice like silk. “Because I’m finding this little game of ours rather entertaining.”

Your throat tightened as his words settled over you, heavy and intoxicating. There was a flicker in his eyes—something raw, something that spoke to the danger lurking beneath the surface. It twisted inside you, something dark and unnameable, something that frightened you because of how close it came to desire.

You took a steadying breath, trying to clear your mind. “This isn’t a game,” you said, though the words felt hollow, meant more for you than for him.

“Isn’t it?” he asked, leaning forward, his presence pressing against you. His lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I think you’re enjoying this more than you’d like to admit.”

A shiver raced down your spine, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you leaned back, forcing the space between you to widen even though it felt like the room was closing in. “I’m here to discuss your actions, Lorenzo. This conversation is about you, not me.”

For a moment, his smile faltered, something cold flashing across his expression. But it vanished, replaced by that same unsettling charm. “Oh, but Doctor,” he purred, voice dripping with dangerous allure. “That’s no fun.”

Lorenzo’s grin sharpened, something almost wicked in the way his eyes darkened, glinting with an edge that made the room feel smaller, more suffocating. He leaned forward, the chains clinking softly against his wrists, though the sound carried a weight heavier than the steel. His gaze flicked over your face—intent, invasive, peeling back the thin layers of control you’d carefully crafted.

“I’ll tell you a little secret.” His voice, low and deliberate, slid across the space between you like a blade, smooth but with a promise of violence beneath it. His eyes bore into yours, and despite the coldness of Azkaban’s walls, a heat twisted in your chest. You swallowed against it, but it stayed lodged in your throat like a forbidden truth.

You kept your expression neutral, fighting the urge to shift in your seat, to break the tension. But Lorenzo could sense it—your discomfort, your curiosity, the tiny betrayals of your body. He leaned back slightly, as if to give you space, but it only made his presence more commanding. There was nowhere to hide.

“Want to know what makes me feel alive?” His voice dropped, curling around the words like he was letting you in on a dark, personal joke. He tilted his head, his eyes tracing a slow path over you, from the top of your head to where your hands rested, clenched slightly, on the table. “It’s taking control,” he purred, letting the word linger, heavy with implication.

“Control?” you repeated, voice steady, though it felt like you were speaking through cotton. “You’re bound in chains, Lorenzo. Not exactly in a position of power.”

That smile of his deepened, his amusement dark and tangible. He wasn’t the type to be provoked, not by something as obvious as his physical limitations. No, his control didn’t come from strength, from force—it came from something far more insidious. And he was using it now, in the way his gaze roamed over you, pulling at your defenses, testing just how far he could push.

“You think these chains mean anything?” His eyes sparkled with dark glee. “I take what I want. Always have, always will.” His voice softened, a dangerous purr. “And you know what’s better than control? Watching the happiness drain out of people like you. Girls like you…”

Your pulse spiked, a flash of heat prickling over your skin. He’d said it so casually, like it was nothing, but it hit you hard. The calm mask you wore cracked, just for a moment, before you could steady yourself again. You clenched your jaw, refusing to let him see the effect his words had on you. But Lorenzo noticed. He always noticed.

He shrugged, his gaze never leaving yours. “It’s the way it lights me up, you know? Makes me feel alive,” he said, his voice laced with an almost boyish nonchalance, as though the things he did, the lives he ruined, were merely a hobby. “And you, Dr. Y/L/N… you’re fascinating.” His gaze flickered down to the rapid flutter at your throat, as if he could hear your heartbeat from across the table.

You forced your spine to straighten, though the effort felt trivial. “It doesn’t matter what makes me feel alive,” you said, careful to keep your tone neutral, measured. “This isn’t about me.”

Lorenzo smiled—a slow, predatory grin that spread across his face with a kind of lazy satisfaction. “Oh, love,” he murmured, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “Right now, everything is about you.”

Your breath hitched before you could stop it, and his smile widened, like he’d caught you in a lie. His eyes followed the subtle movement of your throat, watching the pulse point there with unnerving focus. You could almost feel the weight of his gaze on your skin, like it pressed against the very place where your heartbeat betrayed you.

“Well, look at that,” he mumbled amusedly.

You forced yourself to sit back, feigning a calm you didn’t feel. “It’s just a physiological response,” you said, the words tight. You could feel your cheeks flush slightly, but you refused to look away from him, refused to let him have that power over you.

Lorenzo chuckled softly, leaning back as well, though his eyes never left yours. “Ah, yes, always so clinical, Doctor.” He tilted his head, considering you with a dark glimmer in his eyes, like he was enjoying this far more than he should. “But your body doesn’t lie, does it?”

Your breath caught again, a flash of frustration mingling with the heat spreading through you. No. You had to maintain control. “We need to talk about your notebook,” you said, voice firm.

For a moment, the playful glint in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something colder, something far more dangerous. His smile didn’t fade, but it sharpened, hardening into something unfeeling. “Always back to business, aren’t you?” he said, the warmth in his voice gone, replaced by a cold edge. He leaned back further, the chains on his wrists rattling softly as he shifted in his chair. “Very well, ask your questions.”

You swallowed, feeling the shift in the air between you. It was colder now, heavier, as if the playful façade had fallen away, revealing something darker beneath. You took a breath, willing yourself to remain steady. “Why did you keep a list of the women you targeted?”

His eyes darkened, his grin fading into something colder, almost predatory. “To remember them,” he said, his voice soft but chilling. “To remember every detail, every reaction.” His gaze flicked over you again, and this time it wasn’t playful or curious. It was calculating. “Because I like to keep my memories alive, just like I plan to keep this one.”

The room seemed to close in around you, the weight of his words pressing against your skin. You struggled to keep your voice even, to push through the unease settling over you. “But why target women?” you asked, your voice lower now, but steady.

Lorenzo’s lips curled into a smile again, but it was a different kind of smile—empty, devoid of any warmth. “Because women are fascinating,” he murmured, almost as if he were talking to himself. “They feel so deeply, so much warmer than men. The way they break… the way they fight before they shatter. It’s captivating.”

A chill slid down your spine, but you held his gaze, refusing to look away, even as your pulse raced beneath your skin.

For a moment, the silence between you was unbearable, stretching thick and heavy, the only sound the faint scrape of his chair as he shifted, eyes still locked on you with a dark, unblinking intensity. His gaze had become sharper, less playful, like he was peeling away layers you didn’t even realize you were wearing.

You forced yourself to remain steady, to focus on the role you were meant to play here. He was an inmate—a subject for analysis. He wasn’t someone who could get under your skin. He wasn’t allowed. But still, something about the deliberate cadence of his voice, the way he watched you so carefully, so… possessively—it twisted in your gut, a discomfort you couldn’t easily shake off.

“Captivating?” you finally said, your voice quiet, but not weak. You leaned in slightly. “Is that what you think this is? Some kind of… study?”

Lorenzo’s eyes gleamed, as if your attempt to turn the tables amused him more than it should have. He tilted his head, the chains clinking softly against the table as his fingers flexed. His smile softened, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s exactly that,” he murmured. “People like you, you always think you’re the ones in control, don’t you? Coming into places like this, thinking you can untangle what’s inside the mind of a man like me.”

You didn’t flinch, but the way his voice curled around the word “control” made your pulse jump again. It was subtle, but he noticed. Of course he noticed. His gaze flickered briefly to the side of your neck, where the rhythm of your heartbeat betrayed you once more. His smile widened just a fraction, eyes gleaming with an unsettling delight.

“Physiological response,” he repeated, almost like a taunt. He leaned back in his chair, but the space between you felt even smaller than before, like his presence had grown larger, more oppressive. “You know, I don’t really care about the list,” he said, almost conversationally, as if the shift in subject meant nothing to him. “The names, the details… that’s for your records, not mine.”

You frowned slightly, taken aback by the ease with which he dismissed the topic. “So, it wasn’t important?”

Lorenzo’s gaze darkened, his smile fading once more into something colder. “I didn’t say that. It just wasn’t important in the way you think it is.” His eyes flicked to yours again, pinning you under their weight. “They were just names. Just faces. The real satisfaction comes after the fact.”

Your stomach tightened, the meaning of his words clear. You couldn’t help the way your breath caught slightly, though you hoped the flicker of fear didn’t show in your expression. He fed on reactions like that—thrived on them. “After the fact?” you repeated, trying to keep your voice even, though you could feel the edges fraying.

Lorenzo’s grin returned, sharper now, more predatory. “It’s not the act that matters,” he said, his voice soft, almost intimate. “It’s the memory of it. The way it lingers. That’s what I like to keep. The memory of how they looked when they finally understood…”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay present, forcing the cold, detached mask back over your face. “And what do you think you’re going to remember from this conversation?” you asked, pushing the words out before you could second-guess them. “Do you think you’ll walk away from here feeling satisfied? Like you’ve gained control?”

For the first time, Lorenzo’s smile faltered, just barely, a flicker of something unreadable flashing across his features. He seemed to be studying you again, his eyes scanning your face, your posture, the way your fingers had tightened slightly against the edge of the table.

When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, quieter. “That depends,” he murmured, “on how much you give me to remember.”

You leaned back slightly, breaking the eye contact for just a moment, just enough to gather yourself. The air between you felt thick, oppressive, as if the walls of the room had closed in even further, leaving you with nowhere to go.

“You’ll remember nothing,” you said firmly, meeting his gaze again, your voice steady despite the tension pulling at the edges of your composure. “Because I won’t give you anything.”

Lorenzo’s smile returned, slower this time. “We’ll see about that,” he said softly. His eyes gleamed, dark and predatory, as if he were already imagining the moment you would break.

But you wouldn’t. You couldn’t. You were here to analyze him, to understand him—not the other way around.

You shifted in your seat, the slight movement betraying the tension coiling tight in your muscles. He noticed, of course—his eyes never missed a thing. The faintest flicker of amusement passed over his features as you finally met his gaze again. There was no doubt in his mind that you were unraveling, that you were right on the edge of giving him what he wanted, even if you couldn’t quite name what that was.

But he was wrong.

You stood abruptly, the legs of the chair scraping harshly against the stone floor, the sound cutting through the thick tension like a knife. The movement felt final, decisive, and for the first time, you saw something shift in Lorenzo’s expression. His smirk faltered, just for a second, as if he hadn’t expected you to pull away so quickly, so completely.

He watched you rise, his gaze following your every move, but you refused to let it pin you down anymore. You were done with this—done with the game he was trying to play. Your heart still pounded in your chest, your nerves still thrummed with the aftershocks of his words, but you buried it all beneath a mask of cold professionalism. He wouldn’t see how much this had affected you. Not now. Not ever.

Without a word, you stepped toward the door, your movements steady. You could feel Lorenzo’s eyes boring into your back, that dark, predatory gaze following you even as you placed one hand on the cold metal handle. You hesitated, just for a moment, and in that brief pause, you heard him shift in his seat again, the soft clink of chains reminding you that, despite everything, he was still bound—still trapped.

“Leaving so soon?” His voice was low, almost mocking. He wasn’t in control anymore, not completely. You’d taken that from him the moment you stood up.

You didn’t turn around. “This session is over,” you said, your voice cold, professional, a stark contrast to the tangled mess of thoughts and emotions swirling beneath the surface.

Lorenzo chuckled softly, but it was a hollow sound. “Come now, love,” he murmured, the warmth from before gone, replaced by something sharper. “You’re not going to walk away without a proper goodbye, are you?”

“I’m not here for your games, Berkshire. You’ll get nothing from me.”

For a split second, there was silence. Then, the sound of chains clinking again as he shifted forward, the weight of his presence pressing closer despite the distance between you. “We both know that’s not true,” he said, his voice darker, quieter now. “You’ll be thinking about me long after you leave this room.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the handle until your knuckles whitened. He wasn’t wrong—not completely. He was already under your skin. But you wouldn’t let him know that.

Without another word, you pushed open the door. The cold draft from the hallway rushed in, hitting you like a breath of fresh air, a reminder that there was a world beyond this room—a world where that man’s hold on you didn’t exist.

You stepped through the threshold, the echo of your footsteps filling the narrow corridor as you moved further and further.

As the heavy door swung shut behind you with a loud, metallic clang, sealing him away in that cold, dark room, you felt a strange sense of relief. You’d left him there—alone, chained, and powerless, despite everything he’d tried to make you feel.

He was the one locked up. Not you.

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