#to sit at a desk and draw for several hours

[blackiraven]

Not so long ago, I reread the "War of Jokes and Riddles" and I wanted to write such scriddler. They're just as good, aren't they? I was generally fascinated by the pumped-up Eddie and I'm waiting for Hash 2🌚

In addition, these beautiful drawings have fueled my inspiration. It's not mine, you'll find the author here👈👀

Let's enjoy this version together! My fanfiction is below👇👀

✨Фик на русском тут✨

Play card in chest pocket

"Scarecrow. In my office in ten minutes." it sounded affirmatively from all the transmitters, echoed through the room and collapsed into a quiet sediment. The general frenzy of activity was interrupted, panicked glances were thrown at each other, and after a belated realization they gathered over me. The placebo-like leadership voice even soothed the long agony of the severely wounded, or the reason was relief that someone else had been called instead of them. Bandages have just been changed, stitches were applied a couple of hours ago, and even earlier, a new encounter with the enemy ended exhausted. Batman's intrusion into a process that had absolutely nothing to do with him only spoiled and prolonged our war. It was because of his intervention that I got shot and had to stay with the rest of the injured in an improvised medical center. All the blood had just dried up before the long pilgrimage to the designated place. It is necessary to get up from the couch and walk the learned path with numb legs, loading mute support or the snide grins of the lucky people onto the twisted back. A piercing pain in side pulled me to the ground, to a primitive helpless state in the fetal position, but the order imprinted in my half-clouded consciousness, like a spell, raised me from the dead. The diabolical draw was only accelerating. Someone returned from Riddler's office more crippled, someone got off with an educational conversation, the most suspicious ones have not been seen or heard for a long time. "How do you leave and stay in the building at the same time? To be carried out dead in several bags and remain alive in the memory of the inhabitants."

The main headquarters was located behind a door that carefully hidden into the dark corridor. Crossing his threshold, the summoned one undertook to take off his masks, shed his superfluous personalities and swallow its own ambitions. The appearance of the four walls has long been forgotten due to the hung maps of the districts of Gotham. The lists of remaining and "dropped out" mercenaries, the plans for the placement of small bases and the division of conquered territories. The various photographs, trophies and notes re-drawn dozens of times. Each guest or intruder was hooked and delayed by this gallery, in the constellations of letters and numbers their fate or the beckoning opportunity to decipher Riddler's notes and mentally surpass him could be hidden. A simple deception and a check on an idiot. The dusty screen was of no importance, the necessary data and calculations were actually stored in a large red head. Nygma himself was sitting calmly on the edge of his office desk, completely engrossed in some papers, some of which were finally torn into small pieces. He escaped with major abrasions and still oozing bruises, refused medical help, made a list of all the injured and the dead, and returned to work.

"Come on in. Have a seat." Nygma didn't pay any attention to me at all, incessantly sorting through and destroying someone's personal files with trembling, bluish hands with torn knuckles. Restraining a slight but assertive indignation at such a greeting, I use my last strength to reach the armchair, which is normally located in the center, but now moved closer to the table. Due to the "accidental coincidence", my journey was extended by several more painful steps. There was no soft, decent landing. An attack of painful spasms overtook at the most inopportune moment, squeezing my insides, cutting off coordination and pounding in my head with alarming pulsations. I shamefully plop into the interrogation and torture unit, disguised as a deceptively and captivatingly comfortable chair. You could say that I fell at the feet of the commander. Sweat poured down my temples and the back of neck, and groans broke through my clenched teeth. My hands reflexively wrapped around my stomach, probing the bandages from all sides, but fortunately, the stitches withstood the unexpected test. Gradually, all that remained of the convulsions was shortness of breath. Between the rustling leaves, brown eyes caught hold of me with concern for a moment. The germinating emotions faded away in a vicious cycle of indifference.

After an incalculable amount of time, my withered body merged with the harmless upholstery this time, and dust climbed up my ankles. Just the paper rustle and the ticking of the clock, dissolving and scattering the numbers every time you look at them. To make a painful journey just… to sit here? Of course, his office is quiet and comfortable, but this is not the result that should be included in our meeting.

"Knock-knock." hoarsely and somehow unplanned frighteningly poured out of the throat. When Riddler and Joker exchange these jokes that don't get through… it annoys me. It's a good time to try it myself, right?.. Nygma is definitely not going to kill him, adhering to a well-developed tactic of mental humiliation, turning the saved life of the enemy into a hell of self-destruction. But I would finish Joker off at the first opportunity, poison him to death with a toxin while he is vulnerable, while he is focused on one opponent. To stop… their interactions! Including the whole war. Excessive impulsiveness deprived me of an invitation to the upcoming talks with Bruce Wayne. The white paper curtain finally showed to the honorary guest the same honorary actor of the solitary theater sitting on a high stage.

"Who's there?" startled, Edward replied with supportive interest, glancing first at me and then at the drooping documents.

"A bullet."

"A bullet doesn't knock on the door."

"Yes. It breaks through." at the mention of the sutured wound, it ached and tightened a little. It's a familiar feeling that we can now discuss in private. Sighing, he finally put down the annoying stack.

"Hmf… I'm sorry about that. I don't like public dissection of flaws. You know." Nygma's confessions were not fully revealed, with great pain and resistance, but they were sincere. The rare remorse that made me feel guilty wasn't the main goal. I can really be offended or angered by being ignored, which he just played with without remorse.

"Not everything can be predetermined and calculated." said backhand meant the end of this topic, but in the impenetrable green abyss of continuous thought, everything changed into a claim, into a challenge.

"You just haven't tried it, Crane." his shoulders straightened proudly, one leg crossed over the other, and his hands clasped together on his knee. A smirk, sharpened by the upturned corners of his lips, darted out for the last time and pinned me to the chair at the very moment when I began to relax.

"I don't need it."

"Huh. Just as I thought."

The inappropriate confrontation that was gaining momentum, after the start was immediately cut short by a sluggish, wordless refusal to attack. Physical battles are enough. Nygma accepted my position, or rather, spared me, magnanimously cleared me from the gaming table and brewed us coffee, already looking for ways to vent his displeasure on the next visitors to the tribunal.

"Thanks" carefully sip the fragrant, strong truce with chocolate chips, so that my guts don't turn out and my throat doesn't burn. At least sometimes you can put crucial events on pause and settle down in a cozy corner. It's as if the earth littered with corpses doesn't shake every day outside the room. The sweetness was interrupted by the bitter taste of the old routine.

The hypnotic properties of the cabinet, which was different from the others, once again spun the webs of their influence – and after a "couple" of promised sips, the bottom of the white cup already appeared. "Why is coffee tastier than usual? Because he's poisoned." And the poison can be anything, not necessarily murderous. In exceptional cases…

"How are you feeling?" wandering around with quiet steps, Nygma successfully drove away a viscous doze, from which a shapeless coffee grounds remained. Won't be able to look into the future with even one eye anymore.

"It's much better now." I had to move my head along the trajectory of his direction so that the grateful attention would not run out.

"Would you like to stay?" with an abrupt stop, he fixed my gaze on himself, caught and captured the answer that hadn't had time to slip through, studied it in detail, sweetening his coffee with it.

"There's no place for me in your schedule at the moment, is there?" it's better to accept the obvious disappointing outcome right away, avoiding a slap in the face more crushing than a bullet. The empty and cooled cup was joined by an identical one. Edward took one out of the middle of the tattered stack of papers with one easy movement and, with a wink, handed it to me. This is a list of necessary reagents and equipment for the laboratory that I have compiled. A regular request, approved by Riddler every time, requiring large financial investments. What does that have to do with it? Oh, shit, was he going to discuss this right now? Or… Rereading the items marked with green ticks, I notice the numbers and symbols underlined with the same pencil. Very small. This definitely wasn't the case before. If put them in order, it get… "2:35 am"? The time? Today? Why exactly thirty-five minutes?.. Under Nygma's mischievous laughter, a fragment of the letter was taken away and returned in the same way.

"You guessed wrong."

Before I could fully comprehend the simple six-piece puzzle, Edward came closer, grabbed the rope around my neck and gently pulled me towards him, as if inviting me to a romantic dance. His characteristic suddenness. My retaliatory movements unsuccessfully stumbled and flopped down, so I only managed to pliantly jump out of the chair.

"You're pretty hard to ignore, John." the end of the rope wound around his wrist, bringing closer to the noose, and his voice became charmingly quiet.

"And I can't bear to leave you every time, Edward." finally, I could grab onto him like a saving edge of a cliff into a damp grave. In response, strong arms wrapped around me, lifted off the floor and gently hugged without causing pain. The heaviness was eliminated from my body, the burning sensation in the side calmed down. As soon as the first drops of blush fell on Edward's cheeks, I kissed his plump lips and watched with half-open eyes the saturated shades. Fingers crept up Edward's broad back to the nape of his neck, timidly stroking and twirling the unsupervised curly red strands. Between multiple intermittent kisses, our in-breaths and out-breaths took off, begging for more and more.

"Be careful next time and… stay close to me." his palm intertwined with mine and squeezed tightly, his red-hot cheek pressed against my temple so that the assignment for the future would definitely be heard and understood. Even in such infrequent moments, he continues to think about further plans and their ramifications.…

"So that Bat can overtake both of us at once?" muttering with displeasure, I rudely violate the boundaries and continue to kiss him. This time, the cool imprints of chapped lips remained on the healing abrasions.

"He's obviously going to do it anyway, but he's going to put more force and hate into hitting me." from such a bringing-back-to-earth conclusion, my heart painfully trembled in my chest and casually wrapped a lump in my throat with prickly threads. Yes, it's too obvious and even necessary. Riddler is one of the instigators, it would be strange if Batman chose another target. But…

"Isn't that stupid?"

"I prefer the "tactically correct distribution of combat units."

I hope he can anticipate that very blow. Otherwise, I will become the ultimate punishment for the assassination attempt on my commander. Maybe that's the whole idea, too?..

"How many wing flaps will it take for a hummingbird to fly from the rainforest to the desert?" once again ignoring my mental anguish. That impenetrable smile again, surrounded by bruises from armored punches. I definitely didn't need an exact calculation for this riddle, so I raised an eyebrow questioningly, waiting for the answer that was invisible on the surface.

"Not a single one. Because hummingbird doesn't need to fly to the desert, it die there." my retreating, frowning face was caught by warming hands. Edward resumed the kiss, pressing me against his chest, which was constantly open and did not need a bulletproof vest. A surging, deep, long kiss, like an eternity of pleasure. Tongues circled each other, lips pitied the aching points, taking over the tingling pain. The man-made scar question mark quivered and wriggled like a non-hostile snake, and my wound seemed to respond similarly. There are too many stares, too many lies and flattery said. There are too many emotions of souls who have chosen their side, which elevate and bring Riddler closer to a well-deserved victory, while I am left in his shadow. Hate it. Only I am honored to enjoy him in every possible way, to want him, to hold him, and to hear something other than strict orders. The war not only mixed green with purple, getting red "miraculously", but also closed its shackles on me. Only behind closed doors, behind thick walls, and behind curtained windows can Nygma, who makes up secret schedules, take them off me. Pretending to be sadistic cruelty, forced protection and concealment of faded value. But such a cruel decision only fuels the strength and zeal to fight a new battle for a worthy reward. The pain of all kinds of injuries has long been familiar, but someone's healing caress is completely new and effective.

"Wouldn't such an order be suspicious?" a slight bite of his soft upper lip reminded of Edward's choice of encrypting all heartfelt messages.

"Hmm, not at all. Everything is simple. The cunning and quirky Scarecrow seeks my loyalty in every possible way. For the sake of profit. Just like everyone else." he squinted at me like a trapped traitor, then restrained my angry kicking, smiled playfully and adjusted the bandage with a question mark on my arm.

"Nygma, are you… serious? Retraining me as sycophants?!"

"Of the ten accused, all but one were executed. How did the latter escape punishment? He pretended to be nine people all the time."

[sunwayholm]

[davinawritings]

A Helping Tail

Demon Husband X Human Reader

Your demon husband knew you were a very needy person when he married you. You constantly craved his attention and physical contact; it was just part of your personality. Your constant desire to be close to him was something he enjoyed greatly. He loves having you so needy and desperate for him; it just shows how much you love him.

While he wished he could have you on his cock at all times, bouncing your wet pussy up until you both were moaning in pleasure, he did have times he had to concentrate on his tasks. He had tried in the beginning to focus as he let you have your way with his large body, but your tight cunt proved to be entirely too distracting for him to get any real work done.

Having you stay away from him was not an option; you both craved the other too much for that. However, he came up with a solution that you both enjoyed immensely in the form of his tail. You could spend hours sitting on his tail, alternating between riding it and being cockwarmed by it. 

Your demon husband could sit at his massive desk getting his work done as you writhed and moaned in his lap, your hips bouncing, grinding, and shaking as you cum repeatedly. The pointed tip of his tail moves so deep within you as he strokes your cunt, rubbing against your sensitive g-spot repeatedly until you are crying out his name. He alternates between letting you ride him however you please, and fucking you hard and fast with his tail, drawing orgasm after orgasm from you. Once you finally tire out, he keeps you tight to his chest, letting you nap as his tail stays buried in your dripping cunt. 

When he finally finishes his work, he’ll bring you back to your bed, waking you by kissing your body and stroking your sensitive folds. He’s spent all day with his cock hard and ready to fuck you, your naked body pressed to his own. It’s a good thing you napped because the next several hours are going to be spent being filled by his cock over and over. By the end of the night, each thrust of his fat cock is going to push more and more of his cum from your stretched hole, only to be replaced by more cum, and he fills you again.

[sea-lanterns]

THE PURGE

synopsis: (slasher! AU) a group of purgers break into your home.

featuring: arlecchino, columbina, sandrone, signora

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, dom characters, mentions of blood, vague descriptions of murder, there is a body, mentions of weapons, home invasion, masked se.x, five.some, org.y, transfem! columbina (she has a di.ck), strap ons, oral (both reader and character receiving), face sitting, fing.ering, slight exhibitio.n, may be ooc, not proofread.

art credits: high rise invasion.

Unloading the last of your groceries from the car, you closed the trunk and began walking towards the front entrance of your house. It was a somewhat chilly, somewhat warm day, March 21st to be exact. While the weather was probably enjoyable to those outside of your country, today was going to be a day of misery to many. From March 21st to March 22nd, The Purge will take place; a twelve hour period in which all crime including murder was going to be legal. 

You weren’t exactly sure why your government decided to mandate such a brutal “holiday” but unfortunately as someone who didn’t participate in the Purge, this made your life a lot harder than usual. You had to take extra precaution throughout the year to not make any enemies in your life, even going as far as to shut yourself off from having any friends or close family. 

‘Just twelve hours…I’ve done it several times before, I can do it again.’ You told yourself, unlocking the door to your house. ‘I’ll have to set up the security system again. Only three hours until the Purge.’ 

“Hey neighbor!” You heard a familiar voice call, causing you to look over at your neighbor who was perched against his fence. “Three hours until the Purge, huh?” 

“Ahaha…yeah.” You were getting nervous. It was never a good idea to bring up the Purge with anyone. 

“Hope you’re prepared. Lots of psychos out there who have access to the most dangerous weapons available. I even saw a woman with a chainsaw last year. Had a leather mask and everything.”

“Yeah…” you smiled, but honestly you just really wanted to get in your house.Your neighbor –although seemingly friendly– always gave you the creeps and you tried your best to be on his good side no matter what. 

“Well…Hope for the best for you during this Purge!” He smiled unnervingly wide, making you shiver and fumble to open your door. “Yep! You too!” You called out quickly, shutting the door behind you as quickly as possible. You locked the door immediately and carried your groceries to the kitchen, where you proceeded to double check every exit of the house.

You went through the yearly ritual. Double checking the doors and barricading them with heavy furniture, locking every single window and drawing the blinds (you would activate the security systems later), as well as making your way down to the basement to make sure all your weaponry was secured. 

…And by weaponry, you really only meant the small handgun you kept in a safe down there. You weren’t a super strong person by any means, so a handgun was probably your best suited weapon when it came to defending yourself. However, the handgun was only used as a last resort, so luckily you’ve never had to use it before on any of the previous Purges. Hopefully this year you won’t have to use it still.

You grabbed the handgun and made sure it was loaded before making your way upstairs. Due to being a member of the upper class, you had managed to reinforce your home with a special security system used for keeping your home safe during the Purge. Though it was only three hours before the Purge started, you weren’t taking any chances and activated it now. 

You watched as every door and window in your house became protected beneath a large metal shutter, turning on your security cameras so you could watch whatever was happening outside from the safety of your home. You nestled into the cozy chair of your desk and mentally prepared yourself for another twelve hours of manslaughter you would have to endure. 

You watched from your phone as the infamous warning for the Purge began to play. The alarm never failed to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up on end, the long list of rules flying over your screen as you peeked through your security cameras. So far, the only things you could see were a bunch of hooligans setting fire to a trashcan in some random alleyway. Okay, not bad. You expected a few arsonists in your neighborhood anyway…

You grabbed a bag of chips from your snack stash and opened it, continuing to watch as you stuffed your face with food like you were binging your favorite TV show. Though the Purge was a very scary time, it never directly harmed you through all the years you survived…

At least, you thought. 

For the next two hours, you simply watched in the comfort of your own bedroom while people in your neighborhood were being slaughtered left and right. You winced when you watched a poor victim get a machete to the face by some woman in a hockey mask. Oof…that’s unfortunate. You heard another scream from afar as another victim got stabbed repeatedly with a kitchen knife by a woman wearing a ghost mask. Hm…why did they look familiar? You wonder if you’ve seen them before… 

You took a sip from your drink and laid back, before nearly jumping out of your skin upon spotting a group of Purgers on your porch. Despite being masked, you could tell from their figures that they appeared to be women, with four of them in total all staring at you through the security camera. 

‘Oh…shit.’ You felt your heart sink as you waited for them to say something, anything. You hadn’t expected any Purgers to actually bother you tonight, as the most that Purgers would do is knock over your trash cans and maybe graffiti your garage door. 

One of the Purgers —a woman wearing a dove-themed mask— stepped forward and smiled at the camera. She raised a delicate hand, before ringing the doorbell and speaking into the camera. 

“Hellooooo~ Is this (Reader)’s residence?” She sang beautifully, toying with the ends of her hair. You tried to figure out her appearance to see if she was familiar to anyone you knew or talked to, but you don’t recall ever meeting a woman with black hair and bright pink streaks. 

You stayed quiet, hoping that they would just assume you couldn’t hear them and move on. This however, didn’t work as the group of women were persistent.

“Hellooooo~ I know the cutie is in there…” The dove-masked women cooed, ringing your doorbell again before one of the other Purgers got impatient. A taller, blonde woman wearing a moth-themed mask grumbled and raised her weapon, “It’s no use. Let’s just find a weak spot and break in.” 

“Nooo! That’s so barbaric, we must treat a woman gently.” 

“We are quite literally, purging her home.” Another woman chimed in, this time a short woman with beige-colored hair wearing a doll mask. 

“Yes, but I would like her to respond before we break in.” The dove-mask pouts. 

“Enough.” Finally, the fourth woman spoke up, her posture and height intimidating as she stepped to the front. This time it was a woman wearing a harlequin mask, her gaze piercing through the camera. “We know you are listening, (Reader). It isn’t polite to keep your guests waiting.” 

She smirked at the camera, as if edging you to press the call button and respond. You felt as if your blood was being drained from your body, a morbid feeling of death looming over you like a cloud. You had no choice, if you didn’t respond they would just try and break in anyway, so perhaps it would be wise to try and convince them not to? 

You did not think that was plausible, but Purgers were still human. Maybe they will be human just for you… 

“C-Can I help you?” Fuckkkkk you did not mean to sound like a timid fast food worker working at the Drive Thru. You mentally cursed yourself as you watched the other four women smile at your compliance.

“There’s her cute voice!” The dove-mask exclaimed excitedly. “I was worried some other Purgers may have gotten to you already…” 

“Can I help you?” You stated again firmly, wanting them to leave as soon as possible. “If you’re looking to rob my house, I’m afraid I don’t have anything of value.” 

“Oh…sweetheart,” the harlequin-mask chuckled, sliding her hand across the handle of her bloody ax. “You’re in there.” 

Oh great. Yeah why bother spending the Purge robbing stuff that is actually useful to you, when you can murder people instead. Genius. 

“…Okay, I know what you are implying, but I beg of you not to kill me! I promise that after the Purge is over I will compensate for you all somehow. Whether it’d be money or anything else you’d like, I’ll do it!”

“Open those ears of yours, girl. We want you, not your house.” The moth-mask tsked, a bit of annoyance present on the edge of her voice. “We are coming in whether you like it or not. As long as you are inside, we will get in too.” 

“…No need to be so mean, Signora.” You heard the dove-mask huff, folding her arms. “Just hold tight, baby. We’re coming to find you~”

You let out a small, panicked squeak of terror and cut the mic, standing up from your seat and making your way to your drawer to check on the handgun you had stashed away. You couldn’t believe that this was the year you would have to use it, and your adrenaline was pulsing like crazy. 

‘All loaded’ you mentally prepared yourself for the worst, taking deep breaths and walking back to your computer monitors that displayed the cameras. You let out another panicked squeak when you saw that the Purgers had left your front porch, now scattered around your property doing god knows what. 

“Why this year of all years?” You whined, keeping your handgun close to you as you kept looking through the monitors. Okay, okay, they were just circling your house, no biggie. Their weapons appeared to be of class 1 only, so it would be next to impossible for them to break down your security systems. 

Really, though you were on edge, you should be relatively safe so long as the power doesn’t—

Almost as if your fate was being toyed at the hands of a God, your lights suddenly went out and the sound of your metal shutters started coming up. Oh…you were fucked now.

‘…I am dead.’ You wanted to scream, but knew better as it was time for survival. It was every woman for herself, no beating around the bush. Logistically you weren’t sure if you could take out four Purgers on your own, but if you were going to die tonight you were going to die fighting ugly. 

You heard one of your windows shatter and flinched when you heard footsteps now roaming the downstairs of your house. Okay, you got this. You technically have an advantage as you have a firearm and they don’t know where you are, you should play this safe. 

You held your breath and stealthily made your way downstairs, holding the gun. You saw the broken window in your living room, swallowing thickly before looking around to see if there was anyone around. Your eyes suddenly landed on a bloody trail that looked as if a body had been dragged through your house. Did they just kill someone? 

You suddenly heard a thud behind you and whirled around quickly, only to accidentally let out a gasp when you saw the dead body of your neighbor just lying there on your kitchen floor. You managed to hold in a scream, but it was no use when you felt strong arms hold you from behind, a yell escaping your throat as you felt one of the Purgers’ grip on you.

“Mm…not a screamer…quite the silent one, aren’t you?” You heard a rough, raspy voice as the woman behind you grabbed your gun and tore it away with ease. Just how strong was she?! Your breath hitched when you felt the sharp end of a knife press against your throat, her voice humming with pleasure. “I like quiet girls.”

From your peripheral vision you saw that it was the Purger with the harlequin mask, her hair mostly white with a few streaks of black, yet another person you were not familiar with. Footsteps then entered the kitchen from the thick fog of darkness, a giggle leaving another one of the Purgers. 

“You caught her! Heh, I guess you won this one, Arle~!” It was the Purger with the dove-mask, her cute and feminine voice not matching her appearance at all as her white dress was covered in blood. “I want to pet her!” 

“Wash your hands, Columbina.” Another voice came, this time it was the doll-masked Purger who came walking out of the darkness. “I don’t want you getting blood all over her. She’ll stink.” 

“A little blood won’t hurt her, Sandrone.” 

You whimpered when the woman named “Columbina” walked closer to you, her sadistic smile present as she ran her fingers across your cheek. You would flinch away if not for the harlequin mask —you believe she was called Arle?— holding you in place, her muscles tightening around you and preventing you from squirming. 

“Ah…how cute!” Columbina cooed. “I almost feel bad for scaring her, she looks like she’s about to cry.”

“She looks prettier that way.” Came a deeper, more mature voice, as the moth-masked woman —Signora, if you remembered correctly— came into view. You gulped when Signora strutted over to you and took your chin in her hand, admiring you from behind her mask and turning your face to look at all your angles. “Loosen your grip a bit, Arlecchino. The girl looks like she’s about to pass out from blood circulation.” 

Arlecchino let out a titular hum. “And why would I do that? If I let her go, she can run off.” 

“Not with us here. We all can catch her quite easily.” Sandrone said matter-of-factly. 

“I suppose that wouldn’t hurt.” Arlecchino leaned down and whispered gravely into your ear. “I don’t recommend running, little one. All four of us can hunt you down quite easily, and if you ran out into the open during the Purge, well…”

She chuckled and playfully blew on your ear. “Someone else might get to you before us.” 

Your body involuntarily shivered and you felt the back of your ear grow hot. Upon seeing how much of an impact she had on you, Arlecchino smirked and carefully let go of you. 

You should run. In fact, you weren’t sure why you were staying in place surrounded by these murderous women. Every instinct and sense of logic in your brain was telling you to make a run for it, but another part of you knew that it was fruitless to even make it out of your house. 

“You know, you should be thanking us.” Signora said coldly. “Without us here, you probably would’ve been murdered by that neighbor of yours.” 

“Wh-What?”

“Oh! She speaks…” Columbina giggled. “Believe it or not, we found him messing around with some circuit box in your yard. Looks like he was the one who knocked out the power to kill you himself.”

Your eyes landed on the body of your neighbor laying on the floor. His eyes still wide open like he was stuck in time, lips parted like was in the middle of screaming before meeting his bloody demise. “Of course…we took care of him for you! Wouldn’t want our pretty girl to get hurt.”

Columbina smiled and kicked his body away like it was nothing, looking up at you like they had just done a great thing. You kept looking between the Purgers and the dead body of your neighbor, unable to cope with the fact that this would be the first Purge where you might end up like another body bag. 

“…Is this where I get killed now?” You laughed weakly, cold sweat dripping down your face. “I…I’m not sure what else to do at this point, get on my knees and beg for my life?”

“Ooh. I like the kneeling and begging part.” Sandrone comments bluntly. Meanwhile, the other women chuckle at your pathetic display, with Arlecchino pulling you towards her and murmuring in your ear. 

“Oh, we aren’t interested in hurting you. At least not that much.” She suddenly slid her hands up your stomach and towards your breasts, a gasp leaving your lips when she fondled them through your shirt. ”…Soft.” 

“Easy now, Arlecchino. She hasn’t accepted yet.” Signora hums, gently pulling Arle’s eager hands away from your chest. Arlecchino slips out a small growl of dissatisfaction, but pulls away anyway to comply with Signora’s requests. Despite how refined Arlecchino seemed to be, you could tell she was a woman of a lot of restraint, and she had been itching to feel you up despite her calm demeanor. 

“If it wasn’t obvious by Arlecchino’s…desires,” Signora comments, stroking your face, “We want your body, but not in the way that you think.” 

“You’re just so pretty…especially when your bottom lip wobbles in fear,” Columbina whispers. “How could we not want you this way?”

Oh…oh.

Now you know why they haven’t killed you yet. 

“Look at her face, all dumb and bewildered.” Sandrone comments, the faintest of grins appearing on her face as she took in your confused expression. 

“What do you say, let us have some fun with you?” Arlecchino purrs from behind, making you shiver in anticipation and a little bit of curiosity. 

“…I suppose.” You said softly, a little hesitant to agree. 

“Oh my, what a promiscuous thing she is,” Signora comments, a sly smile making its way to her lips. “Wanting to take all four of us at the same time, what a whore.” 

“Easy now, Signora. She can’t help how curious she is.” Columbina smiles, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm. “Arle~ Be a dear and carry the poor lamb upstairs. The dead guy is killing the mood.”

“Of course.” Arlecchino grinned wolfishly and took you in her arms, throwing you over her shoulder like it was nothing while going up the stairs. You could only watch helplessly as the three other women followed after you, smiling at how utterly pathetic you looked while being carried by Arlecchino with one arm. 

…You weren’t sure how you got up to this point. One moment you were almost pissing your pants in fear, and the next you were suddenly thrown into your bed and surrounded by four Purgers. All of them stared down at you with a look of pure joy in their eyes, practically ravishing you on the bed with just their gaze alone. 

Surprisingly, it was Sandrone that made the first move. For as quiet as she was, the woman crawled on top of you and grabbed your face for herself, pulling you into a kiss. 

“Oh my! I didn’t expect Sandrone to be so eager…” Columbina giggled. Meanwhile, in the corner of your eye; you could see Arlecchino unzipping her pants and Signora taking off her gloves. 

You couldn’t watch them for long, however; as Sandrone forcefully pushed you back and shoved her tongue down your mouth, turning the kiss into a more seductive dance of tongues. The doll-masked woman moaned at the taste of you, pulling you in closer to her as she aggressively pushed her hands up your shirt. 

“Mm…what a sloppy kisser. I could tell you’ve never had another woman in your mouth before.” Sandrone pulls away, a string of saliva connecting your tongue with hers. “Don’t worry, we’ll fix that for you.” 

“Arle, no need to be so impatient. She’s still on the bed.” You heard Signora gently scold Arlecchino and looked over to see what she was doing. The harlequin woman was gritting her teeth and tugging her trousers off as fast as she could, the base of a harness and what looked to be a crimson-colored strap peeking through the gap of her zipper. 

Oh…they were prepared for this. 

“Hey. Don’t look at her, look at me.” Sandrone sounded annoyed and gripped your face to look at her again, pulling you in for a kiss. 

“Pfft. Sandrone is getting jealous.” You felt the bed space behind you dip, and in the midst of making out with Sandrone, you felt Columbina’s lithe and petite body encircle yours. “Let’s see how good you taste.” 

Columbina’s lips latched onto the back of your neck, sucking and nibbling on your skin hard enough to leave a few bruises. The choked whimpers you let out made the dove-mask and doll-mask moan with pleasure, Sandrone pulling you more against herself while Columbina grinded her hips from behind. 

As Sandrone’s hands fondled your breasts under your shirt, you felt something small yet hard growing under Columbina’s dress. It was clear the two women were getting heavily turned on, with how Sandrone was starting to tug off your shirt and Columbina grinding faster against you. 

“Let’s put that sloppy tongue to use.” Sandrone comments bluntly, lowering you down against the bed as she raises her dress to pull off her panties. Columbina takes her position between your legs, pulling your pants off and eagerly wanting to stuff her face in your cunt. “No teeth now. Try to be a good girl.” Sandrone slides her panties off and spreads her legs over your awaiting mouth, using her fingers to give you quite the show of her sweet pussy glistening with juices. The doll-masked woman didn’t wait for another second and took her place at her rightful seat, letting you taste the sweet tang of her cunt smothering your lips. 

Meanwhile, Columbina was eagerly pulling your own panties down with her hands, her tongue —which was freakishly long— swiped at her bottom lip the moment she saw your bare entrance. “Mm…Gotta make sure you’re wet enough to take Arle’s strap.” She whispered, parting your legs gently –though her nails were digging into your thighs– and licking a long stripe across your clit. 

“Nnnh–!” You moaned into Sandrone’s own clit, causing her to buck her hips needily. “Fuck…her tongue feels so good.” 

“I can only imagine,” Columbina coos, smothering her face deeper and darting her hot tongue out quickly. Her hands trailed down to her dress and began lightly jerking herself off while she ate you out, moaning into your thighs as she ravished your insides. You hadn’t expected to be double teamed so easily, but you didn’t mind, eating out Sandrone and tasting her folds more thoroughly while Columbina masturbated to the taste of you. 

“Are you– mmppgh…guys ready?” Sandrone moans out sweetly, riding your face harder as she looks back at Arlecchino and Signora. Both women had stripped out of their festive Purger outfits, with Arlecchino wearing nothing but a thick, girthy strapon and Signora dressed in the prettiest lingerie you had ever seen. “Oh come on Signora, that’s– fuck, overkill for the Purge, isn’t it?” 

“The girl likes it.” Signora tuts, casting you a smirk beneath her mask. “Is she wet enough, Columbina?” 

“Nope!” Columbina pulls her head away from between your thighs, her face smeared in all your juices while your thighs are left a trembling mess. 

“Liar.”

“She needs to be wetter! Let me eat her out more!”

“Columbina.” Arlecchino finally makes her presence known, crawling over to the bed and pulling her hair back, forcefully pulling her away from your cunt. Columbina whined and gave Arlecchino a glare, not quite finished with eating you out yet. “Arle, I said she needed to be wetter.”

You couldn’t believe you had four women in your bed, all fighting for you during the Purge. You would voice your concerns if not for Sandrone still whining and grinding on your face so roughly. Though the woman was a small, seemingly gentle woman, it was obvious she was one of the more desperate ones of the group. 

“Suck on her tits or something. I want her tight cunt swallowing my strap.” Arlecchino growled, possessively stroking your thigh while Columbina huffed. “Fine.” She gave your inner thigh one last bite, causing you to jolt and accidentally make Sandrone come from the sudden movement. 

“Oh– nnngh!” Sandrone’s little legs trembled greatly, her orgasm washing over her as she ground her hips more firmly. The sweet, succulent taste of her cum washed down your throat, making your eyes flutter shut in how good Sandrone tasted. “Was her tongue game that good, Sandrone?” Columbina purred, suddenly taking an interest in your mouth. “Yeah, her movements are amateaur at best, but somehow feel really good?” 

“Heh, good enough for me.” Columbina proceeded to shove Sandrone off and take her place, dangling her small, yet very eager cock in front of your lips. “Let’s get those pretty lips sucking me off, hm?” She smiled and caressed your cheek before slipping her tip inside, watching with satisfaction as you took all of her length so easily. Meanwhile, Arlecchino and Signora were more occupied on your raw pussy, which was twitching with need after being neglected for too long. Signora cooed and pressed a teasing kiss to your clit, lightly blowing on it before rising to focus on your breasts. 

“Poor baby is feeling neglected up here, huh?” She teased, the blonde woman leaning in to lick a long stripe across your tits before latching one nipple in her mouth. She took pleasure in the way your back arched off the bed, the Fair Lady’s tongue swirling around hungrily as her fingers swirled around your clit. “Give me some lube, Arle. I want to finger her for a bit before you start.” 

You heard the sound of growl before Arlecchino reluctantly obliged. “Make it quick, I want to fold her into the mattress myself.” She gave Signora a bottle of lube and you could only moan when you felt the Fair Lady’s cold fingers circle your entrance with a slimy substance coating them. When you moaned however, you choked on Columbina’s cock, causing her to groan and buck her hips. “Goodness her throat is…quite tight.”

Signora chuckled at that and pressed her fingers deeper into your entrance, watching with great pleasure as they sunk in with little to no resistance. “And quite wet. You did a good job of loosening her up, Columbina.” Signora proceeded to finger you to see just how far you could take her. Her fingers –which were very long and thin– stretching you out and brushing up against all your tender spots to see which ones would make you squirm. 

As this was happening, you felt Columbina’s tiny cock start twitching in your mouth, signaling that she was getting close. Unable to keep your moans to yourself, you stifled a small whine and traced the underside of her shaft with your tongue, watching as her face made all sorts of lewd expressions. “Oh f-fu– I’m gonna come…” she whimpered, riding your face faster before shooting a hot load down your throat and throwing her head back. 

“Oh? What a good girl, making two of us orgasm already.” Signora hummed, pulling her fingers out and licking them clean. “I guess it’s time to get to the main event now.” 

Columbina tiredly got off you and went to join Sandrone, who was lying blissfully on the bed and watching how you took the final two women. The taste of sex and cum lingered on the back of your tongue, yet you were now hooked. You gazed at Arlecchino who had been waiting impatiently at the foot of the bed, stroking her fat strap and making sure you saw. 

“Hold her down, Signora.” Arlecchino commanded, watching as you were manhandled to switch positions. No longer were you lying flat on your back, as you were now sat up against Signora with her chest against your back, bare breasts and stomach pressed against your skin and making you shiver. “Such a good girl, letting us manhandle you as we please…” Signora’s deep, husky voice whispered in your ear, her hands making their way down to your thighs and keeping them spread for Arlecchino. “Have fun with her, Arle.” 

Arlecchino didn’t need to be told twice. She crawled on top of you and angled her strap to brush against your entrance. Her eyes narrowed as she saw how needy your pussy was after going through three women, seeing how twitchy and puffy it was. “You three really did a number on her.” She mumbled, brushing the tip of her strap between your folds. When you trembled and let out a gasp at the feeling, both Arle and Signora smirked, with Signora trailing her hands down to pull your folds apart. 

“Do your worst. She wants it.” 

Arlecchino grinned and sandwiched you against Signora, slowly pushing her strap into you and watching as you were speared open on her faux cock. “Fuck– she’s tight still…” She grumbled, enjoying the way your pussy gripped the silicone so roughly. 

“Well you did buy a girthy one.” Sandrone says matter-of-factly. 

“I know, but she seems to enjoy it anyways.” Arlecchino laughed wolfishly and continued to spear you open while your cunt struggled to accommodate her girth. You had never felt so full before when taking a toy, letting out sweet whimpers as the smallest beads of tears formed at your lashes. 

“Oh, don’t cry…” Signora hummed behind you, licking your tears away. “It’ll feel so good soon~”

The harlequin let out a grunt as she pushed her hips further, watching as her strap finally nestled itself comfortably inside you. She could see the slightest bit of arousal pool at the base of her strap, and that only spurred her on more, starting to thrust at a shallow pace. You threw your head back against Signora’s shoulder, feeling her soft lips press kisses on your tear-dotted face. Arlecchino was just so deep, filling your insides on just her girth alone while she thrusted. 

“My…what a peculiar sight.” Arlecchino chuckled, her eyes filled with pure desire as she saw you trembling beneath her. Your legs pathetically squirming yet being held down, clearly overstimulated now that you had to go through the fourth Purger. 

“I haven’t even bottomed out yet.” She smiled wickedly, pinning you in place while she nearly folded you in half. If not for Signora sitting there behind you, you were sure she would have pushed you into a full on mating press into the mattress. “Hold her tighter, I’m going all in.” 

Every woman in the room watched with interest as Arlecchino took a deep breath and slowly inched herself deeper until your cunt hit her harness. With each inch, you felt a loud whine rip through you, the fat tip of Arle’s strap pushing against your walls and forming a slight belly bulge. “Oh my…” Signora’s eyes glazed over with lust, trailing her hand up to rest atop the bulge. “Look how deep you are in her, Arle.” 

“How cuteee!” Columbina cooed. “I wanna give her a belly bulge too!”

“Maybe another time. The poor girl looks as if she’ll pass out after this round.” 

All four women leered at you hungrily before Arlecchino pulled out and slammed back in. They took great pleasure in watching Arle ravage your insides, wet smacks filling the air as your expressions formed into even lewder ones. Signora looked the most ecstatic, her hand gently pushing down on the bulge each time Arle bottomed out and thrusted back into you. 

The extra force of Signora pushing down on your stomach and Arlecchino fucking you like an animal was almost too much to handle. Each punctuated thrust of Arlecchino’s hips made your poor body bounce rather weakly, your legs scrambling to pull away from Signora’s grip and latch around the harlequin’s waist. 

“She’s getting close. I can feel it…” Arlecchino growled, craving to see your cum form a ring around her base. “Come for me…I know you can do it.” 

She held onto your ankle and gave it a small kiss, looking down at you as you writhed around like a worm. The way your leg twitched and the tears trailed down your face was enough to make all the girls swoon over you harder. You were just too cute, they were glad they broke in to get you. 

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you felt your pussy tense up before cumming all over Arlecchino’s strap. The harlequin groaned at the sight and started thrusting even faster, going feral at the sight of your cum drenching her faux cock and helping you ride out your orgasm. The other woman in the room giggled at the sight of you reduced to a whining, babbling mess, Arlecchino finally pulling out and admiring how soaked you made her strap. 

“Goddamn…” she grunted, dropping your legs to the bed and watching as you collapsed against Signora, too tired to even keep your eyes open. 

“Look at her, barely able to stay awake.” Sandrone comments, gently massaging one of your thighs. “We really did a number on her.” 

“Awww, I really wanted to fuck her too.” Columbina pouts, tracing the hickies and bite marks the women left on your body.

“Maybe when she wakes up. For now, let’s let the poor girl rest.” Signora gently caressed your cheek and gave you a small kiss. “Close your eyes, little one. We will keep you safe throughout the rest of the Purge.” 

Arlecchino crawls up to join you by your side, pulling you against her while all the other women adjust to snuggle around you, essentially turning this into one big cuddle pile. “Rest well,” Arlecchino whispers huskily, your eyes growing heavier as you bask in the embrace of the four Purgers who broke into your home, yet showed you the best way to celebrate the gory holiday.

“Happy Purge.” 

[maybanksprincess]

thigh riding.

warnings: thigh riding, fingers in mouth, kissing, jj cumming in his boxers, palming, tiny aftercare at the end.

summary: jj cums in his boxers to his pretty girlfriend riding his thigh <3

requested by this ask, (thank you anon!🤍)

it was 9:56 on a saturday night. your at jjs house and you had grown bored several hours ago. you were sick of scrolling on ur phone and seeing peoples instagram posts about their boring life.

you look over at your boyfriend in his gaming chair. he's wearing a wife beater and some grey sweatpants, his foot tapping the floor, softly drumming against the wood of the floorboard.

you can't help but bite your lip as you look at him, the way his arms flex, along his hands quickly pressing the buttons on his controller. you catch yourself pressing your thighs together in attempt to get some relief from the throbbing on your core.

you would've said something way sooner about wanting attention, but you couldn't bring yourself to draw your eyes away from how sexy he looked playing his video games.

you decide you want some attention, so you stand up, adjusting your shorts and then walking over to his gaming chair where his setup is.

He has his computer screen on the desk, along with a keyboard with crumbs of weed on it, (of course). Theres a joint, freshly rolled, beside his mouse.

you take a seat on his lap, straddling his thigh, and wrapping your arms around his neck. You bury your face in his shoulder and try to forget about the ache between your legs.

JJ immediately pauses his game, turning his attention to you, and setting down his controller on the messy desk.

"hey baby, what's wrong?" he asks in that raspy voice that never fails to turn you on. he looks at you with those baby blue eyes that make your heart race and your thighs clench.

"jus' wanted to be held..." you mumble, a little pout forming on your lips.

he can see the way your thighs clench as you look at his arms, and his lips involuntarily curve into a smirk. "yeah? you jus' wanted some attention, huh baby?" he can already feel his cock start to stir in his pants, and he shifts around, trying to get comfortable with you sitting on his leg all pretty like that.

in the process of him shifting around, his knee bumps up to your core, your eyes fly open and go wide, a high-pitched moan falling from your lips suddenly.

his smirk grows even wider "did that feel good mama?" he already knows the answer, but he wants to hear it out of your mouth.

you nod and start to ground your pussy on his thigh, the wetness in your panties starting to seep through onto his grey sweatpants.

jj groans at the sight, "mm your gettin' so messy f' me baby. keep riding my thigh. mhm jus' like that" he bites his lip to keep himself from pathetically groaning at the sight of you riding his thigh.

he reaches over with the hand that isnt on your waist to palm himself through his sweatpants. his eyes roll back, and he thinks about how good it would feel to be inside of you.

he starts to hear your breathing get heavier, your movements more frantic. "are you close baby?" he asks in that soft voice, gently tracing his veiny fingers along your thigh.

you nod, and your eyes roll back as you continue to ride his thigh. you can feel the pressure in your core building up and his sweet praises have you at the very edge.

"cmon sweet girl, 's okay. you gonna cum f' me?" he asks while using one hand to brush your hair away from your damp forehead, pushing your hair gently behind your shoulders. he sticks his two long digits into your mouth to help with the pressure.

at his praise, and warm fingers gently weighing on your tongue, the pressure in your stomach snaps, and your orgasm rips through.

at the sight of you riding out your orgasm, and the feel of your warm cum coating his thigh, his cock twitches in his pants and he cums, shooting thick ropes of white cum in his black calvin cleins.

he groans softly, still caressing your thigh, gently squeezing the flesh.

after a few moments of silence, he speaks. "you good baby?"

you continue to pant softly, mumbling out a soft "mhm"

he nods, and turns off his gaming device, and scooping you up in his arms. he carries you over to his bed and you two cuddle for the night <3

[mommyslittlebird]

What the Body Wants

Stepmom!Wanda x Reader

Summary: Now that you’ve decided to stay home for good, Wanda decides to take a step further into her role as your mama. The side effects bring out parts of her you’ve never seen.

CW: Stepmom/stepdaughter, induced lactation, breeding, cum strap, ovulation, light choking, W wants a baby, R is lowkey a bad fuck, R is confused but enthusiastic

Word Count: ~5k

A/N: Writer is also confused but enthusiastic. I’m not entirely sure I did this right but I like how it turned out and I really loved the premise. I hope this lives up to the hype/the rest of the series!

Part 5 of Her Special Girl

———————————————————

Coming home actually turned out to be a bit of a better deal than you expected. You’d half prepared to be regretting your decision by now, longing for the dorm life and solitude that moving away had given you. But, in reality, that college had never really given what you had hoped it would, so it didn’t feel like you were leaving anything behind.

Home life had also improved in the years you went away. A new custody agreement between Wanda and her ex-husband meant the boys were gone every other week, and they had grown up enough to not be riding Wanda’s coattails like they had been when you left. Your father was still deadweight, but he fell asleep early and stayed at work late, so even he was only an issue on occasion.

Even though it was only a 15 minute drive to campus, you adjusted your schedule to only have in-person classes on Tuesday and Thursday so you didn’t have to go everyday. So you spent most days in the bay window of Wanda’s office with your laptop and a lap desk, silently working on classwork while she sat at her computer.

Since you’d decided to stay home 2 weeks ago, Wanda had started the process of induced lactation, a thing the two of you had discussed in the past. You couldn’t help but be fascinated by the process. She would sit down on the couch or in bed, and spend around ten minutes with the funny looking devices hooked up to her chest. She still had an electric pump from when she had the twins, and you love to watch in awe as the clear plastic methodically massaged your mama’s nipples. She’d simply be reading a book or watching TV, but your eyes never left her chest.

If you asked nicely, she would let you help her use the manual pump. It never failed to amuse her how seriously you took this task. You would straddle her lap, furrowing your brow and sticking out your tongue slightly in intense focus. You always made sure the cup was placed perfectly, and you watched her face to gauge her reaction as you started to squeeze the pump. You were so receptive to anything she told you, whether you needed to squeeze it a little bit more, or if you’d gone too far. You always felt so honored to be allowed to take part in the process.

Your favorite, though, was when she invited you to join. She always insisted that the best form of stimulation was your suckling. She would lay you across her lap, running her hands through your hair, telling you that you did it better than the machines ever could. You spent 10, sometimes even 20 minutes on each side longing to draw out the process for as long as possible. Occasionally, she’d let you suckle on one side while she hooked up the electric pump to the other. She seemed to get extra stimulated on those days, hardly able to sit still even with your full weight in her lap.

On this particular afternoon, the two of you were curled up on the couch watching one of Wanda's favorite movies. You thought it was a little boring, but you weren’t going to complain while you curled up in her lap, securely wrapped in a soft blanket. The boys were at their dad’s house, your dad was at work and wouldn’t be home for several hours, and Wanda didn’t have any meetings this afternoon, so you didn’t have to worry about getting caught.

You wiggled around a little, trying to get comfortable, and you accidentally pushed your shoulder into Wanda’s chest.

She winced and sucked on her teeth. “Careful baby,” she whispered. “Mama’s a little sore.”

“Sorry, mama,” you apologized, turning to face her while carefully avoiding hitting her again. She took her breast in her hand, gently massaging it to ease the tension. You could see through gritted teeth how sore she was. You wanted to help her in any way possible. “Do you need a massage?” You asked innocently.

She perked up a little bit, intrigued by the offer. “Do you wanna give mama’s breast a gentle little massage?”

You nodded, and she slipped her shirt off over her head, revealing her chest. You could’ve sworn it was growing, though not so much she couldn’t hide it with baggy clothes. She took your hand in hers and slowly raised it to her breast. She could see you were nervous. You didn’t want to hurt her.

“It’s okay baby,” she reassured you. “You aren’t gonna hurt mama.”

You bit your lip, determined to do a good job and ease her pain. She was doing this for you, after all. You cautiously massaged the skin with your fingers, working your way carefully around her chest.

“Mmm,” Wanda hummed, throwing her head over the back of the couch. You could see her chewing the inside of her cheek, breathing shakily through her nose.

“Is this okay, mama?” you ask, concerned. “Do you need me to stop?”

“No, sweet girl,” she assured. “Don’t stop, just a tiny bit harder… ahh. You’re doing such a good job making sure your mama is all taken care of.”

“Mama?” you asked nervously.

“Yes, sweet girl?” she responded breathily.

“Is it hurting your body? To try and make milk for me?”

Wanda sat up straighter and cupped your soft, worried cheek. “Aww, sweetheart. You’re not hurting mama, baby. Mama is doing this because she wants to. And it doesn’t hurt so much as it’s just sensitive.” She stroked your cheekbone with her thumb, noticing how worried you still seemed to be. “Can mama tell you a secret baby?”

You nodded and leaned in, pressing your ear to her lips even though you were the only two people in the room.

Wanda dropped her voice to a whisper, playing along with your overly stealthy approach. “Mama’s body is reacting like this because all this pumping is making it want a baby.”

She took your hand, sliding it down her body and into the front of her pants. You nearly gasped as you felt through her thin underwear just how soaked she was. You pressed lightly into the wet patch, sliding two fingers up her slit through the fabric. She inhaled sharply, already grinding up against your hand. “It’s so sensitive, baby.”

She pulled back, gauging your reaction. There was a glint of recognition in your eyes. You were familiar with this sensation.

—----------

You stood in the doorway of her office, anxious and sweating. Your body felt it was on fire, tingling from your fingertips all the way down to your toes. You typically had a decently high sex drive, but you couldn’t remember a time when you’d ever felt this needy. It would have been easy enough to go to your room and masterbate, solve the problem on your own, but you wanted more. You wanted Wanda.

“Mama?”

Wanda turned her office chair to meet you. “Yes, sweet girl? What can I help you with?” She opened her arms, signaling you to come in.

You sat down in her lap and laid your head against her shoulder. She cradled the back of your head, stroking your hair softly with her thumb.

You hadn’t exactly planned to press your lips to her neck, to gently suck at the skin under her ear, but you were so hot, and her skin looked so soft, and you were so close, and she smelled so nice. And god, the taste, the sound you drew from her lips, the warmth of her skin. You needed her so badly. You slid your hand under the hem of her shirt, sliding your palm across her warm stomach.

“Sweetheart?” she said in a warning tone, using her hand to gently pull you from her neck. “What are you doing?”

She looked down, finding your eyes already glazed over with lust. You were hot to the touch, and just the simple tug of your hair pulled a low moan from your throat. “I need you, mama….”

She swallowed hard. It took a herculean amount of strength not to throw you over her desk and take you right there. If she hadn’t been a tad concerned that you had lost your mind, she would have. “Baby…” she asked. “What’s going on? Talk to mama.”

Your eyes looked into hers, pleading for more. Anything to take away the aching from between your legs. “It… I feel… It’s all so tingly. Everywhere. It… it hurts mama.” You were practically begging her to rip your clothes off and fuck you senseless.

“Ahh,” she hummed in recognition. “It’s that time of the month, is it?”

You furrowed your brow, confused. “What? No. My period was last week.”

“So your ovulation is this week,” she posited, smiling devilishly. “I’ll have to start keeping track of it, if it’s hitting you this hard.”

You groaned and buried your face into her shoulder while your hips bucked against her lap for any source of friction. You didn’t exactly know what ovulation was or what it had to do with you being so unbearably horny, but you weren’t exactly in the mood for an anatomy lesson.

Wanda kissed your head sympathetically and rubbed gentle circles on to the small of your back. “I’m so sorry, little love. Mama will take care of you in just a minute, just let me email Tasha and let her know I’m taking a long lunch.”

Thankfully, Wanda was true to her word, wrapping up her things rather quickly and carrying you to the bedroom. Your body hummed with electricity as she gently undressed you, making sure to egg you on with wet kisses and random hickies placed sporadically across your skin. You nearly jumped off the bed when she finally touched you, running a single digit up your folds and standing back to admire the results.

“Oh sweet girl, look at this,” she purred, holding her fingers in front of your face, covered in your excitement. As disinterested as you were in anything other than her hands and mouth on your body, you were admittedly a bit curious as to why it looked so different. What was usually a thin, clear liquid was now thick and white. She brought the fingers to your lips and you obediently took them into your mouth. “Do you know why it looks like that, sweetheart?”

You shook your head, quietly moaning at your own taste.

She leaned forward, whispering into your ear. “It’s because your body wants mama to give you babies.”

Just the raspy way the words left her mouth sent your hips flying off the mattress in a jolt of arousal. She stilled them with her hands, moving to kneel between your legs.

You had always had a pretty strong preference for missionary. You like to wrap your arms around Wanda’s waist and bury your face in her neck to stifle any sounds that she pulled out of you. This time, however, Wanda grabbed your legs and pushed your knees to your chest, gripping your thighs just below the underside of your knee.

You whined, feeling too far away from her, but she bent forward and kissed your head. “Shshsh. It’s okay sweet girl. Mama’s got you.”

You almost wanted to protest, but as soon as the tip of the toy hit your skin, any objections melted away. It was bigger than the toys you typically used, but you were so soaked the first four inches still slid in with ease. Your body momentarily seized and you breathed out a straggled moan.

Wanda took it slow at first, leaning forward to kiss your face and whisper words of encouragement as she gently eased the toy deeper and deeper with each thrust. “That’s it. That’s my pretty girl,” she cooed. “You look so pretty stretched out around mama’s cock, baby. Does it feel good? Is this just what you needed from mama?”

“Uh huh,” you moaned, eyes already starting to roll backwards. Your face flushed red when you realized you had nothing to cover your mouth with, leaving you squeaking and whining uncontrollably with each thrust.

Your mouth opened in a silent scream as Wanda bottomed out. You quickly realized the reason Wanda had you folded over like this: the strap could go impossibly deep, stretching you out in ways you’d never felt before. It was like she was kissing your womb with every stroke.

She groaned, slowly but firmly thrusting in as far as she could and holding it there before pulling back again. “Look at you, honey. Mama’s got you nice and ready. Are you gonna be a good girl for mama and let me give your body what it needs? Are you gonna let mama give you her babies?”

You bit down hard on your lip. You didn’t really understand what she was talking about. She couldn’t actually get you pregnant, but you did not care. You nodded eagerly, looking up at her with pleading eyes. “Mhm.”

“Say it for me. Tell me you want mama to fill you with her babies,” she commanded gently, continuing her slow and careful thrusts.

“I want… I want your babies mama. Please. Please mama I want you inside me forever,” you whined. Still you didn’t exactly understand what you were begging for, but the glare in her eyes told you that must have done the trick.

She leaned forward, pressing her whole body against yours and pinning you to the mattress. Your feet went up over her shoulders, keeping you trapped in the position even as her hands moved from your legs to the mattress. What had previously been slow, shallow strokes turned into faster, brutal thrusts. She pulled the toy nearly completely out of you before slamming it all the way back in. Her hips met yours in a merciless rhythm that left you shaking.

“Fuck! Mama… Mama!” You screamed, trying to reach out and grab her, but unable to get your hands out from under your legs. “Mama… I love you. I love you mama.”

“I love you too, sweet girl,” she said, nearly grunting with the intensity of her movement.

There was a shift that happened sometimes, when things got particularly intense between the two of you. It was like the slipping of a mask, but not in a scary or malicious way. Just Wanda so brutally intoxicated with you that she lost control. Her eyes narrowed and her face hardened. Her breaths came more as grunts than light moans. Her grip on you tightened into something more possessive and domineering. It never failed to drive you crazy.

“Fuck,” she growled, leaning back and moving her hand to your throat. “I’m gonna breed you. I’m going to keep filling you up until you can’t do anything but lay here and wait for me to come back and fill you up again. I’m gonna keep you leaking with my cum until this sweet little belly is all nice and swollen. Would you like that, angel? Do you want mama to keep you nice and full?”

“Yes mama!” you cried. “Please… please mama. Mama I’m gonna cum for you. Please cum inside of me mama. Please cum in…” you were cut short by an orgasm tearing through your body, leaving you speechless and dumb.

Wanda did not let up, continuing to chase her own pleasure. You tried to speak, but you couldn’t get out anymore than incoherent babbles. Wanda grabbed the vibrator she had given you earlier from your hand, turning it on and holding it to your clit. You writhed underneath her, jerking and spasming off the mattress, but she held you firmly in place.

Neither of you could do anymore than whimper or squeak. The only sound in the room was her hips hitting yours and the low thrum of the vibrator.

She let go of your throat, leaning forward again so she could kiss your face. “You're so beautiful, angel. And you feel so good on mama’s cock.” She turned up the setting on the vibrator, burying herself inside of you as deep as she could go. She could feel the vibrations against her own clit now. “Oh angel, mama’s gonna cum inside of you. Mama’s gonna fill you up and give your body everything it wants.” She squeezed the strap as she came, filling you with a warm, thick liquid unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

Wanda slowly pulled out, and gently guided your legs down to a more natural and comfortable position.

You shuttered as you felt the liquid leak out of you and drip down the crack of your ass. You furrowed your brow in confusion. “Mama…” you whined. You were so exhausted you couldn’t do anything but turn your head to look at her.

“Yes, little love?” She said, leaning forward to gently wipe the stray hairs from your sweaty forehead.

“What was that?” You asked breathlessly. “Feels funny…”

“Mama just came inside of you, sweet girl,” she explained quietly, bending down to kiss your head.

“It’s so… warm,” you noted, rolling your head to the side. Your nose pinched uncomfortably as you felt the thick liquid dripping down onto the bed sheets.

Wanda reached her hand back down between your legs, collecting the cum on her fingers and pushing it back inside of you. You whined.

“Shshsh angel,” she cooed. “Mama’s just making sure you stay nice and full, sweetheart. You remember what we talked about, yes? That’s why you’ve been so needy for mama all afternoon. This is what your body wants.”

When she was satisfied, she discarded the strap and laid down behind you, putting her arms under yours and methodically rubbing your stomach. She imagined your stomach swelling with life you created together. What a beautiful display that would be, of your love for each other. She moved your hair aside so she could kiss the back of your neck and the spot up under your ears.

You laced your fingers in hers, resting them just below your navel. “Do you really have to go back to work, mama?” You couldn’t handle it if she left you in here alone, all sweaty and still leaking cum. Surely she would at least carry you to the bathroom, maybe run you a bath and get you cleaned up.

Wanda chuckled and kissed your shoulder blade. “I think Tasha can handle it on her own.” She pulled you closer, rubbing her cheek against your shoulder. She wasn’t exactly sure how she would explain this to her coworker in the morning, but she would be sure to start taking a day off around the same time every month.

—---------

“You want me to…” you asked nervously, but even the idea made your pupils dilate. You had never used that particular strap inside of her. She’d only ever used it on you. It was honestly still a mystery to you, how the thing worked.

Wanda bit her lip and nodded, pulling your hand from her pants. “I mean, only if you-”

“I do!” you interrupted.

She raised her brows and opened her mouth like she was getting ready to chastise you for interrupting, but when she saw the eager, innocent excitement in your eyes, she just sighed. “Okay angel. Let’s go up to your room.”

You practically jumped up off of the couch and raced upstairs, grabbing the strap and shedding your clothes before she could even make it up the stairs. She merely chuckled at your overeager behavior, casually stripping off her own clothes while you fiddled with the harness.

She sat down naked on the end of the bed, helping you secure it around your waist. She pulled at the straps you had already managed to get twisted and tangled, adjusting and tightening it to your body. “Is that too tight?”

You shook your head, waving your hips back and forth to make sure it was snug.

She led your hand to a bulge at the base of the toy. “Now when you’re ready, you’re gonna squeeze right here, okay?”

You nodded, feeling the unfamiliar shape with the pads of your fingers.

Wanda scooted backwards until her head hit the pillows. You followed, crawling on your knees until you were nestled comfortably between her legs.

You were always a little awkward, trying to get the toy in. Luckily Wanda was right there to help. She eased the tip in herself, biting her lip to contain a moan as she did so. “Okay now remember, just start nice and slow.”

You leaned over her, putting your hand against the mattress on either side of her. You stuck your tongue out slightly in concentration, trying to focus on finding a good movement. If you were being honest, you were never particularly good at this part either. But what you lacked in skill, you made up for in determination. You found a slow, and slightly awkward, but steady rhythm.

Wanda hummed delightedly, pulling you down against her. “Mmm… that’s it angel. Nice and slow. Give mama some time to adjust.”

As you continued your easy, slow ministrations, you found yourself being able to go deeper with each stroke. It was only a minute or two before you were all the way inside. If you weren’t actually trying to make her cum, you might just stay like that forever, deep inside of Wanda, feeling her body clench and pulse around you. It felt so natural. More natural to you than anything else in the world. Your bodies fit together like perfect puzzle pieces.

You took the opportunity to crane your neck downward and trace your tongue over her sensitive nipples. She gasped, squeezing her eyes closed and burying her hands in your hair. You sucked the hardened bud into your mouth and gently flicked it with the point of your tongue. Her body was taut like a bowstring, hardly moving under you aside from a few swallow gasps. You moved to the other side, gently circling the exposed one nipple with your fingertip while you did the same with your tongue on the other.

“Keep going, baby,” she panted, arching her chest up into you. She reached one of her hands down to play with her clit. “That feels so good. Mama is so sensitive for you. Mama’s body knows you’re her baby.”

You moaned at her words, your mouth and fingers doubling down. Her body shuttered and you felt her start to pulse around the strap. You felt a surge of warmth pool between her legs. You pulled your head up to look her in the eyes. “Did you just…”

She nodded and chuckled a little bit. “I told you I was sensitive.”

Your eyes went wide. You had never made her cum so fast. But a certain pride swelled up in your chest as you watched her body react to what you were doing. You gained a bit of confidence: enough to start rolling your hips in a steady motion against hers.

The smug chuckle immediately stopped as the strap started to scrap her sensitive walls. The toy was traced with vein-like bumps that scratched at that special spot inside of her. Her hands shot up and wrapped around your back, clawing gently at your shoulder blades and the length of your spine. “Ah!” she squeaked in pleasant surprise. You’d never quite taken initiative like this before. “Good girl. You're making mama feel so good. Keep going, just like that.”

She wrapped her legs around your waist, keeping your thrusts shallow and deep. “Oh god. I want to feel your cum inside of me, angel. You’re gonna make mama feel so full and happy. Tell me you want to cum inside me, sweet girl.”

“I wanna cum inside you mama. I wanna make you feel so full and… and happy. I’m gonna do such a good job for you mama. I promise,” you stammer. The sounds she was making were music to your ears. Her heels dug into your thighs in tandem with her nails on your back. She was everywhere, surrounding you in every way possible. You looked down between her legs, watching the strap slide in and out of her pussy. That was your cock inside of her.

Suddenly, as if it were some trick of your brain, you could feel it, warm and wet, drawing you in again and again. She wanted you to cum inside of her. You wanted to cum inside of her. You wrapped your arms around her back, pulling her slightly up off the mattress as you started to go faster. You buried your face into her neck, muffling your noises.

“Oh fuck,” Wanda panted, bury her hand in your hair. She cradled your head just over her shoulder. “Fuck… you would give me such beautiful babies.”

You whimpered and rutted into her so hard and fast she nearly hit her head on the headboard. She smiled breathlessly. Clearly she got you riled up.

“Did that make you happy? The idea of giving mama a baby?” She asked, turning her head so she was only inches away from your ear.

You whined and nodded, rutting into her again. This time she let out a deep, satisfied moan as she felt the tip of the toy kiss her cervix. “You want to put a baby inside of mama?”

You knew it wasn’t possible, of course. Wanda couldn’t have any more children, and even if she could you certainly couldn’t get her pregnant. Still, the idea tickled your brain in all the best ways. It would be a part of you inside of Wanda. You nodded eagerly, biting your lip. “Mhm.”

You wrapped yourself even tighter around her waist thrusting your hips into her with a new determination. “I wanna hear you say it baby…” she gasped. “Tell mama what you want.”

That was all she needed to say to get the dam to break. As soon as you open your mouth, the words flowed out of you in a flurry of desperation. “I want… I wanna fill you up mama. Please. Please, I need it. Please mama.” You were bucking into her like a virginal teenage boy, erratic and sloppy, like you could actually feel yourself inside of her. “You feel so good, mama.”

“I’m so full,” she breathed. She was so sensitive. You were hitting every spot inside of her while simultaneously laying on her aching chest. “Fuck, angel, you’re filling me up so good. Do you want to feel mama cum on your cock? Do you wanna make mama cum?”

“Yes. Please yes,” you begged, rolling your hips into hers. You sat up a little more, getting a better angle that allowed you to get even deeper inside of her. There was a surge of hunger that shot through you at the sight of her, absolutely beside herself with pleasure underneath you. You reduced her to this. You are the reason she feels so good. In a feeble attempt at dominance, you took her wrists in your hands and pinned them to the bed.

“Yes, baby. Hold mama down and make her take your babies,” she moaned.

You whimpered. You were far too small to even attempt to actually hold her down, but the sentiment still drove you both crazy. You buried the strap as deep as it would go, squeezing the base and releasing inside of her.

She arched up off the mattress, mouth fixed in a perfect “o” shape as she came around you.

You stayed like that for a second, buried inside her until she stopped shaking and collapsed back onto the bed. Slowly, you eased yourself out of her, watching your seed spill out of her. You hadn’t expected it, but there was a certain level of discontentment you felt, seeing your essence drip onto the mattress. You gathered what you could onto the tip of the toy and gently pushed it back in.

She groaned, exhausted and unable to move. You gently eased yourself down to lay on her chest, careful to avoid her tender breasts. You went limp on top of her, merging together in a boneless and sweaty pile of heavy breaths as you both tried to recover.

When she regained the ability to move, she scooted back to sit up against the pillows and moved to stroke your hair. The toy slowly fell out of her, and the warm remnants of your orgasm started to pool on the sheets below. After a long moment of lying lifelessly sprawled out on top of her, you heard her chuckle. You lifted your head to find her smiling down at you in an ecstatic giggle.

“What?” you asked, confused as if you had missed some joke.

“Nothing,” she replied. “I’m just happy.” She craned her neck so she could see your face. She was grinning ear to ear. I was a true smile: one she couldn’t even repress if she tried.

“About what?” you asked, confused. Sex, even good sex, had never left her with such a cheery disposition before.

“Just…” she paused a minute, trying to figure out how to best phrase what she wanted to say. “My body is aching for a baby and then I look down and… you’re here.”

You smiled at that, feeling that you had filled some deep biological need within her just the same as she filled one in you. You looked at her swelling breasts, and you nosed at them in a silent question. She guided your head towards her nipple in a silent answer. Your lips wrapped delicately around the hardened bud, naturally massaging it with your tongue. Much to her dismay, there still wasn’t any milk, but there was a different type of magic to knowing there would be, eventually.

The two of you were working together to create a beautiful thing. It was a sort of tangible proof that her body was responding to you, claiming you as her own. Her breasts were growing for you. Filling with milk they made for you. Because she was your mama, and you were her baby.

[mythblossoms]

to come home

pairing: zayne x gn!reader

content: fluff and comfort, soft yearning, kissing, suggestive if you squint?, lighthearted, established relationship, unedited

a/n: i just think zayne deserves a quiet life where he can be the little spoon ♡ coming back to writing after so long is scary but hi ♡

wc: 1.1k

It’s 11:01, the harsh blue glow of his computer screen illuminates his office, and Zayne is thinking of the comfort of home. 

Not the physical structure - all concrete and glass, hard walls enclosed around structured spaces that begged for routine, but the warmth that often resided within.

You, curled up on the couch, book in hand and eyes slowly skimming through the words. You, perched on the counter top, sipping a sweet latte and sighing contently. You, watering the plants on his windowsill and whispering little words of encouragement. You, a warm sun that cast light into every room you stepped into, leaving the space a little darker, colder when you left. 

It’s 11:05, as Zayne stares at the remnants of a hazelnut latte sitting on the corner of his desk - delivered to him by you several hours earlier. A drawing of a little snowman poking its head over the sleeve of the cup. A small dose of warmth in an otherwise blurry day. He missed you. Not that you hadn’t seen each other, but this was different. Rushed, fleeting moments existed — small, sweet treats that left behind a craving. Truthfully, he didn’t think he could ever be fully satisfied, not when the treat was gone but the sweetness still lingered on his tongue.

It’s 11:15, and the soft ping of his phone is notifying him of messages from you with hidden notes tucked tenderly between the letters.

- ping

Have you eaten yet? (I miss you, take care of yourself)

- ping

Let me know when you’re on your way! (I care about you, please come back safely)

He had grown accustomed to these secret words and meanings interwoven into the space that was you and him. With each message, his heart ached a bit more. 

It’s 11:27, and the lights of Zayne’s office are off. A cup with a snowman drawing is gently placed in a waste bin. His bag and coat are missing from the coat rack by the door and he’s driving to his home. 

It’s interesting how home can be anything. Home can be a house, the things gathered to create a space that belongs to the person living there. It can be a family or a person, the people who hold the hearts of their loved ones close. How odd that Zayne never thought of home before you. 

Seeing you silhouetted in the ambient light, his cardigan draped on your figure - too big in the shoulders, too long for your frame - the smell of mint tea hanging in the air — this is what it meant to be home. His heart swelled as you turned, that bright smile welcoming him home. 

“I see someone has found a sweater to their liking.” 

“Yep,” you quipped, hugging the cardigan closer to your body. “I think it likes me more than its current owner. It wants to live with its friends back in my closet.” 

Zayne smiled slightly, stepping into the warm kitchen as you placed two mugs on the counter. “Is that so? Well, I suppose I shouldn’t keep it from its true desire.” 

His arms circled around your waist, pulling you back securely against him. He tucked his head into the crook of your neck - settling into the warmth and pressing one soft kiss onto the collarbone peeking out from the collar of the cardigan. A contented sigh leaving your lips as you leaned into him, cupping the warm mug in your hands. 

“Thank you for this,” he murmured, attempting to stitch every unspoken feeling along those four words. ‘Can we stay like this a little longer?’ ‘I want to be with you - always.’ ‘You’re home to me.’ You had a way of weaving these declarations tenderly into your actions and words. Zayne hoped, by closing his eyes, by holding you closer, these unsaid words would flow to you. 

Gently, you turned in his arm to face him, one hand still clasped around your mug. You gazed up at him, placing your other hand on his chest, feeling the warmth there. “I’m glad you’re home,” you whispered. No hidden meanings - stated so honestly as you smiled. 

Zayne took the mug from your hand, setting it on the counter behind you, and dropped his forehead to yours. “If I can be a bit…selfish,” he breathed, ghosting his lips over yours. “There’s one more thing I would ask for.” His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing against your cheeks, and guided your lips to his. Slowly, his lips moved against yours. His hands, cool on your warm face, moved down your shoulders, dipping underneath the oversized cardigan and caressing your waist. Each movement intentional, as if his fingers had memorized the curve of your body - the feeling of you under his hands grounding him. 

Again, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing slowly as he released the kiss. His eyes locked on yours, dazed, as his hands tightly held your waist. Words were no longer needed, every movement proclaiming every feeling Zayne had tried to contain. He leaned down to grasp your waist, lifting you onto the counter. 

“Oh-”, you mumbled as you felt the cup behind you. “Your tea!” 

“Tea,” he said, pressing another kiss to your jaw, “can wait. Right now - I just need you.” His voice was soft as he slowly trailed his lips up your jawline, punctuating each sentence with a light kiss. 

Zayne was always so patient, quiet in a collected way. Need was a new word - and your heart ached as his hands pressed in your lower back. Your arms found their way up around his neck, running your fingers up and through his hair. “I’m here,” you whispered, pressing light kisses up his jawline to the shell of his ear. “You have me.” 

Zayne took a deep, controlled breath as he ran his hands up your spine, fingers tracing the arch of your back. “I like it when you’re here,” he murmured. His lips found yours again, savoring the way they melded together — relishing in the small sounds you made as he deepened the kiss and held you as though you were keeping him afloat. 

He hesitated again, his eyes still closed and hands still pressed against your back. “It would be even better, if you were here all the time.” He chanced a look at you then, barely opening his eyes. 

And you were smiling at him, pulling him closer still and cupping his face in your hands. “Is this your subtle way of asking if I would like to move in?” Your lips, still pink from the previous kisses, pressed one small kiss to the tip of his nose - an unspoken answer of ‘I want to be with you all the time too.’

Zayne looked down, the corners of his mouth slightly turning up. “How else will I retrieve all my missing sweaters?” He hooked his hands under your thighs, lifting you off the counter. “I think I’ll start with this one.” 

Your warm laughter filled the air as he carried you to his room, the mint teas left to cool on the counter.

[spencewalterreid]

what if…don’t hear me out on this, i’m sleep deprived and projecting…reader is something of a favorite student of spencer’s whom he confronts about the, erm, suspiciously increasing bandages he’d been noticing on their leg or smt? he’d probably frantically point out the abundance of arteries there at some point 😭 please ignore this so hard if you don’t feel like it lmao

In The Morning, I'll Make Cereal

Summary: When Spencer notices you've been in a daze, he checks on you and finds bandages on your arm.

Pairing: Professor Reid / Reader (p)

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Suicidality, self harm, scars, surviving an attempt

Word Count: 2,262

Author's Note: I loved this prompt. I hope you appreciate my interpretation of it:) it wasn't very specific but I did what I could!

It had been a long fucking week. Finally, at long last, it's your last class on Friday, But Professor Reid has been rambling for the last two hours. This class is only supposed to be an hour and forty-five minutes, but good God, this man can drone. Generally, you wouldn't mind it. On a better day, you would relish in his tangents, on and on about victimology and how parents not kissing their children enough makes them kill people or whatever, you're just not into it today.

Squinting, you scratch a few more lines of graphite into the head of the portrait you're drawing in the margin of your notebook, trying to shape the hair properly. It's giving you fits. You knock your knee against the side of your desk absentmindedly to the rhythm of the music in your wired headphones.

Spencer pauses mid-sentence, his brow furrowing as he sees you. There’s at least a hundred kids in this room, so he hadn’t noticed it before now. His amber eyes scan the classroom as they always do, but keep returning to you; head in your notebook and your bouncing knee. He sighs softly, rubbing his temple before continuing his lecture.

"…and as we've discussed, the lack of proper familial affection in the formative years can lead to a host of psychological issues that may manifest in aggressive or criminal behavior later in life. Take, for instance, the case study of Ted Bundy, who…"

Spencer's voice drones on, the words blurring together as you tune out, focused on the intricate details of the portrait taking shape beneath your pencil. You lean forward slightly, squinting as you shade a particularly difficult shadow, your tongue poking out the corner of your mouth in concentration.

"That's all. Thank you for your patience, I know today ran long. I'll see you all on Monday," Reid says, his gaze lingering on you. You’re always so attentive, hanging on every word. What the hell? He waits a moment at his desk, looking over the notes the students had dropped in the tray before leaving, but keeps glancing up. A few minutes pass and you’re still scribbling away, making no move to pack up. His face pinches in worry.

“Hey, class is over now. We just ran a bit over today," he says, projecting his voice to reach you.

Spencer stands up, straightening his suit jacket as he walks over to where you sit when you don’t reply, still scribbling away. He glances down at the notebook, his eyebrows raising as he recognizes the portrait beginning to take shape.

"I didn't realize you had such skill," Spencer comments, unable to hide the note of surprise in his voice. He leans down a bit closer to get a better look.

You don't reply at all until he leans down and you finally notice his presence. Your pencil scrapes across the portrait when you damn-near jump out of your skin. "Jesus!" you gasp, then place your hand over your heart. "You scared me." The corner of your lip twitches up into a smile, and caught up in your embarrassment that he saw the portrait of him, you didn't even realize that your long-sleeve shirt rode down a bit, revealing a bandage wrapped firmly around your forearm.

Spencer takes a step back, looking mildly alarmed at having startled you so severely. "I apologize, that was not my intent. I didn't mean to frighten you." His gaze drifts down to your wrist, his eyes widening briefly as he notices the bandage. "Are you… are you alright? That looks bad," Spencer asks, taking a knee and reaching for your hand to take it in his to assess the damage before you subtly pull it away.

Your heart falls through the bottom of your ribs, clashes against your intestines, and tumbles straight out your ass. "Uhm." Words. Form them. Hang on, do I even know any? Shit. You force a wry chuckle, dropping your hands to your lap and wringing them together, knocking your sleeves down enough to cover your wrists again. "I just." Ahem. "I just dropped a knife last night when I was making dinner. No biggie." Please, Please believe me. You thank any God that might be out there for having everyone else clear out before he approached you.

“Okay,” he agrees with a nod, letting you believe that he buys it. “Uh, you should be more careful, though,” he continues hesitantly. He reaches for your arm again and you let him. He pushes up your sleeve, and you swallow an argument. “Right here,” he says, dragging a finger gently along your forearm, the inner part of the left side, along the outer part of the bone. “This is the ulnar artery. You’ve got a lot of smaller veins in your arm, too, that could be dangerous if nicked, but that could have been really bad.” You don’t tell him how close his finger was to the gash made only hours ago.

Spencer wanted to pretend not to notice all the smaller scars dotted along the base of your wrist, and a couple on your hands that you could more believably wave off as accidents. He rests his elbow on your lower thigh, above your knee and a bit inward, making you wince. Again, he doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

“This,” he draws another line, this time down the side of your arm, “is the anterior condylar vein, or ACV. Easier to hit because it’s more shallow.” Spencer sighs, dragging a thumb across one of the smaller, now raised and white nicks. “I didn’t want to say anything, but-”

“I know,” you interject. “You have to report this. I get it.” The beginnings of tears nudge at the back of your throat, agitating a lump into it, and threaten to fill your eyes. “It’s okay,” you add, yanking your cheeks up into a suggestion of a smile.

The professor huffs again, revoking his touch and shifting from a one-legged kneel to a squat, resting his elbows on his own knees and looking up at you. “I’m not going to report you. I don’t think-” He runs a hand through his dark curls and puts it back on his leg. “That has only exacerbated the issue, in my experience. I need you to know… to know that I care.”

You shift uncomfortably, staring at your fingernails as you drag dirt out from under them. “Okay,” you mumble. To say you believed him in the slightest would be a falsity of the highest order.

“I do,” Reid insists as though he read your mind, craning his neck down and chin up to catch your eyes under the curtain of your hair. “I do care. I know you’ve been going through something, and I’m sorry, but I’m here.”

Spencer reaches out to gently tilt your chin up with his fingers, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that managed to escape. The empathy in his eyes makes your stomach churn. He’s just so genuine.

"Listen to me. I know you're hurting. I know you feel alone. But you're not alone right now, do you understand that? You have me, and I promise I will help you through this, any way I can. My offer to talk stands, anytime, anywhere. My door is always open to you."

“I heard you.”

“No, I know you heard me. I asked if you understood me. There’s a difference.”

Your lip wobbles against your will and you know you’re about to cry. You squeeze your eyes shut and turn your head away from him, a last ditch effort to hide your face. “I can’t-”

He leans in, pulling you into him, his voice lowering to a low, soothing murmur. "Please, don't let anyone else see these scars. Not until you're ready. I need you to take care of you. You're stronger than this. You have so much potential, so much to offer the world. Don't throw that away. Not now, not ever.”

Sobs wrack your body, and as the breaths leave your lungs in short, desperate hiccups, his embrace is an anchoring force. “You’re okay,” he whispers. “You’re okay. This isn’t your fault.” One of Spencer’s hands card through your hair, gently massaging your scalp. “I’m here, alright?” He doesn’t expect you to answer.

“I almost killed myself last night,” you sob, pulling away with great reluctance.

Okay, he really wasn’t expecting that. The look in his eyes, despite his trepidation, encourages you to elaborate. He only now notices how pale you are, and the dots connect.

“I–” You take a deep breath, centering yourself before you continue. “I had a spiral. I called- called everyone. My mom, my best friend, even the fucking hotline. And you know what? It was busy,” you laugh incredulously. “The suicide hotline was busy!”

He doesn’t get a word in, you’re too busy in a tear-fueled tangent. “And I- I cleaned my room. Spotless. I made my bed, and put on a good outfit, and I wrote a letter, and I, uh-” you smile, and it’s sad, a macabre thing. “I knew about the arteries.” Your spine straightens. “Anyway. I ended up sleeping in, so I guess that’s good, but when I woke up… it felt… it felt so dull.”

“What do you mean?”

“It felt small. My arms had scabbed over, miraculously, and I got up. I wrapped them, and I brushed my teeth, and I made cereal. I got in the car and drove 120 on the highway to get here, and I didn’t crash. I jaywalked across a busy street and nothing happened, and I just-” a shaky breath flowed over your lips and you slumped down in your seat. “I failed, and the world kept turning. I could have died last night, should have, and… nothing changed. Nothing at all.”

Spencer listens intently, his face twisted in something that looks an awful lot like heartbreak. When you finish speaking, he takes a deep breath, choosing his next words carefully.

"I'm so sorry you felt you reached that point, but I'm nothing short of relieved at your survival. You did the right thing by reaching out, even if the support you needed wasn't immediately available. That takes courage and strength."

He places his hand on your shoulder, warmth seeping through your jacket, and squeezes. "Feeling small and insignificant after a crisis like that is completely normal. It's a common reaction, but it's a lie. Your life has value. Your existence matters, and the world changing or not is not a reflection of your worth."

Spencer studies you like at any moment, you could fade into smoke. "You didn't fail last night. You survived. That's not a small thing, it’s significant. It means you have the strength to keep going, to keep fighting. And I will be here to support you in that fight, in whatever way you need. It means,” he pauses to gently jab a finger at your chest, above your heart. “It means that this doesn’t care about your feelings, and I apologize if that sounds harsh. When you… When you did that, your baroreceptors activated, which monitors your blood vessels, and caused your heart to start taking blood away from your limbs to keep it in your core, keep you warm. That caused vasodilation and a decrease in heart rate, which lowered your blood pressure back to a survivable rate.”

“What’s your point, Professor?” you ask, rolling your eyes in frustration.

“My point,” he continues firmly, “Is that your body is stronger than your mind sometimes. It fought to keep you alive, even when you felt you wanted to let go. That's a testament to your innate will to live, to survive. It's not a reflection of your feelings or wishes, but it's a part of you that can't be ignored."

Spencer takes your hand, covering it with both of his. "Please don't dismiss your survival as insignificant. It matters, and I believe it's a sign that you have the strength to keep going, to keep living. I know it's hard, and I know grief and pain can feel all-consuming at times, but you have so much life ahead of you. Your mind and your body are connected, but they are also their own beings in a way. Your body has carried you your whole life. Your blood cells have fought sickness, your muscles have soothed their own aches, and your bones have held you up. Your body isn’t attacking you, but you’re attacking it. How is that fair?”

You’re not sure what to say to that.

Spencer looks at you intently, pressing your hand in his tightly to ground you. "I know this is difficult to process. I know you're hurting. But I need you to understand that your body and your mind are not your enemies. They are part of you, and they need your care and compassion. I’m not going to make you promise me you’ll seek help, or that you’ll stop. I know it isn’t that simple. But I will ask this,” he says, and your heart contracts. “Be kind to yourself. Have compassion. Try to put things in perspective. You deserve so much better than this.”

“Can you feel that?” he asks, tilting his head to your hand.

You consider it, and you notice the steady throbbing from his unforgiving grip. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna be okay,” he whispers, and the sweet look in those beautiful brown eyes almost makes you believe it. “You’re gonna save your life, and I’m gonna cheer you on.”

[vincentbriggs]

hello! enjoyed watching your projects for a while, and wanted to ask: do you have any advice for how to do the work of sewing without busting your hand/wrist? or at least how you minimize it?

Hello! I actually haven't gotten much hand pain from sewing. When it happens it's almost always from too much drawing and/or video editing.

When I do get it from sewing it's typically my left hand (I'm right handed), because if I'm hand sewing then my left hand is often holding things still, and if it clamps on tightly for an extended period of time then ouch. It's especially bad if I'm making small thread covered buttons, but holding onto an embroidery hoop does it too.

For the drawing & video editing table height in relation to chair height is SUPER important, you've gotta make sure the work surface is no higher than your elbows are when sitting. I've been fine in that regard ever since I took the legs off my big old desk. (Also, drawing from the shoulder is good advice, both for wrist preservation and for making nice big lines! I try to remember to do it when sketching! You do need to do shoulder stretches though because then your shoulder gets all tight. Anyways, sewing!)

Really the best thing to do is vary up the tasks. It can be very frustrating when something's coming along super well and you don't want to stop, but it's better to stop for a shortish time upon getting a tiny bit of hand pain than to be forced to stop for a longer time because of a lot of it. I don't like having to put down an interesting project, but I extra extra did not like the time I had to stop drawing for a week because I did too much at once.

I actually don't often end up doing one task for a very long stretch of time, since there are so many different projects and chores to do, but if I notice an ache then I'll go switch to a different task on purpose. A few days ago I spent at least 5 or 6 cumulative hours cutting stencils with an xacto knife, and it was getting crampy after a while, so I stopped several times to go read a reference book.

Also stretches are good, and I really do not remember to do them anywhere near often enough.

[ratatoastwrites]

Habits and Distractions

Spencer Reid x wife!reader

nsfw, 18+ MDNI

Synopsis: Your oral fixation has been getting out of hand, and your husband is concerned enough to take matters into his own hands

cw: professor Reid (but it’s like only briefly referenced), also he teaches at harvard (even more briefly referenced, like barely at all), reader has an oral fixation, chewing on lips, mentions of viruses and bacteria, pet names (angel, sweetheart, etc), some terms of degradation (slut, whore) BUT it isn’t meant in a degrading way, use of ‘Sir’ (once), like maybe one religious imagery ?, oral (m receiving), oral cockwarming, shoe humping, coming in underwear, face fucking, softdom!Spence

a/n: ughhhh this is so self-indulgent lmao 🥸 also, my reqs are open, so check out my masterlist for guidelines if you’re interested 🤟

wc: 2.8k

The grandfather clock ticks quietly in the corner of your shared home-office with Spencer, the room illuminated by the warm light of the setting sun. You’re both already home, sharing space in the quiet study, content with being in the same room, even without any conversation.

You don’t have any paperwork left to finish, so you’re curled up on the loveseat, drawing the outlines of a future painting on a canvas. Spencer is sitting at the big mahogany desk, glasses low on the bridge of his nose, as he grades some essays from his students, his lips moving quietly as he reads, mouthing the words on the paper. There’s something you’ve always found endearing about it, and you once told him that it was like he needed to taste the words, to fully take them in.

You don’t realise that you’re staring, at least until his lips stop moving, and when you glance up into his eyes, you find warm hazel irises looking right back at you.

“You’re doing it again,” he says softly, making your nose scrunch up a little.

“Sorry. I can’t help it, y’know. Try having such a pretty husband and not staring at him all the time.”

His lips curl into a soft smile, a fond huff leaving his nose as he shakes his head.

“I already have a gorgeous wife, so I understand the struggle.” His words are sweet, but you can tell that there’s a lingering ‘but’ in there somewhere. “That’s not what I was talking about, though.”

And there it is.

“What do you mean?” You ask, teeth sinking into your plush lower lip, which prompts a pointed look from your husband. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” His words aren’t mocking by any means, his tone is soft and indulgent. Still, your eyebrows pinch together, your lips twisting into a small grimace.

“You’ve been doing it a lot more lately,” Spencer points out, his gaze gentle, but observant, as he looks at you. “You did it approximately ten times just in the last hour. And that is not accounting for the nearly twenty times you chewed on the end of your pencil.”

You sigh softly in frustration, raking a hand through your hair as you glare down at the pencil in your lap, like the piece of wood is the real villain here. Spencer’s quick to cut off your negative thoughts before they can even form, completely attuned to your micro expressions.

“I’m not saying this to embarrass you, sweetheart. I’m just worried. For one, chewing on random things like pencils and pen caps can damage your teeth and cause several infections transmitted by bacteria. Did you know that, for example, a cold virus can survive on a pen cap for over a week, with bacterial strains surviving for up to a month?”

“I guess not.”

“Yeah. And that’s not even mentioning your lips.”

You reach up a hand to run your fingers along your lips, hissing softly at the sting. You habitually chew on your lower lip, but these days your top lip hasn’t been safe anymore, either. You have all sorts of chapsticks and lip balms lining your vanity, laying in your purse, decorating the bathroom counter. Still, it’s never enough, not when you aren’t giving your lips the chance to recover.

“You know I’m not judging you, angel. And I know this isn’t a new development. But you’ve been doing it more frequently, and I want to know if I can help you somehow.”

He sounds so genuine that it makes your heart squeeze in your chest. It also, coincidentally, makes a familiar heat flicker in your lower abdomen.

You stand up from the loveseat, smoothing down your skirt and the Harvard sweater that you stole borrowed from his closet, before sauntering over to where he’s sitting behind the desk.

“I don’t know,” you reply with a heavy sigh, leaning your lower back against the mahogany. “I guess I’ve just been more stressed about work lately. I know that I should try to redirect my frustrations, but I don’t know how. Lollipops aren’t my thing, and they aren’t good for my teeth either. Chewing gum only works for a while, and if I have too much, my stomach starts rioting. I’m all out of options here.”

You know that you’re being very transparent about your faux dilemma —which isn’t completely fake, actually, but you’re definitely playing it up. He catches on immediately, of course, raising one of his eyebrows as his lips twitch into an amused smirk. Being the indulgent, sweet husband he is, though, he doesn’t point it out. Instead, he pushes his chair away from the desk, making space for you as he spreads his legs.

“I think I know just the thing you need.” His tone is still mellow, but there’s a darker edge to it now, something that you know to recognise as desire. “Kneel down for me, sweetheart.”

You’re on your knees before he even finishes his sentence, making him chuckle fondly while you blink up at him. You reach out a hand to touch the bulge that’s formed in his slacks, and while you know that it never takes much from you to turn him on, you have a sneaking suspicion that watching you chew on your pencil and bite your lips for the past hour may have been what got him so worked up in the first place.

You retract your hand when you see his raised eyebrow, understanding the warning without him having to tell you. He smiles at you in approval, and it does nothing to quell the growing need in you.

“Please, Sir,” you plead in a whiny tone, making him let out a sigh of exasperation. You know it’s just for show, and he confirms your theory with his next words.

“Only because I appreciate your manners, princess.”

Spencer finally unzips his slacks, pushing down his briefs just enough for his heavy cock to spring free. Just the sight of his length has you salivating, looking at the flushed tip and prominent veins like you are seeing the second coming of Christ himself.

“Look at you, drooling over yourself just from seeing my cock,” Spencer murmurs softly, carding a hand through your hair gently. “You want it that badly, huh? You dirty little slut.”

All you can do is nod enthusiastically in response, biting down on your lip. Noticing this, Spencer cups your jaw gently, his thumb swiping over your abused skin, freeing it from your teeth.

“None of that, sweetheart. Come here.”

He guides you closer to his erection, your thighs rubbing together from anticipation. Your lips are so close that you can taste him in the air, but you don’t do anything yet. Not until he gives you the word.

“Such a good girl. So patient for me.” Spencer’s tone is close to reverent as he praises you, watching with something akin to fascination as your gaze briefly leaves his cock, in favour of looking up into his eyes.

“Go on, baby. Take what’s yours.”

You’re on him as soon as he gives you the permission, moaning whorishly at his taste. You lick a fat stripe along the underside of his length, before swirling your tongue around his tip. You repeat the sequence a few times, feeling rewarded by the sounds leaving Spencer’s lips, and you can already feel your panties sticking to your dripping cunt, even though he hasn’t even touched you yet.

When you finally wrap your lips around his flushed, leaking tip, Spencer and you moan at the same time. You swirl your tongue and suck like he’s your personal lollipop, whining obscenely, like you are the one getting head.

His hand moves to the back of your head, his fingers twisting into your hair, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t make you take him deeper. He just lets you enjoy yourself on his cock, hissing out a curse when you finally take more of him into your warm mouth.

“You’re doing so good, angel. You look so beautiful like this, fuck. You needed this, huh? Needed that pretty mouth stuffed full of my cock.”

You moan around him pornographicaly, your eyes glazing over as you look up at him, your throat bobbing around him as you nod, making him let out a delicious sound in return.

You take more of him, as much as you can, your tongue continuing to run along his shaft, as you bob your head slowly up and down his length.

“Jesus Christ, baby, you’re an absolute vision,” he whimpers out the praise, his fingers tightening in your hair to ground himself, head tipping back against his chair. “Go on, sweetheart, just like that.”

You would love to do as you’re told, but you know that if you continue on like this, it won’t take long before he cums, and this ends. And you simply never want it to end, never want his beautiful length to leave the confines of your throat.

You humm around him apologetically as you still your movements and lay your head down on his thigh, with his cock still inside your mouth. Spencer looks down at you with a quizzical expression, to which you only respond with innocent puppy dog eyes, that are hazy with lust, and your cheeks hollowing around him for a second, before relaxing your mouth around him.

Spencer huffs in amusement and fondness, his free hand moving to caress your face gently, his thumb brushing over the bulge in your cheek, from having him in your mouth.

“Aw, you just need me in your mouth for as long as possible, right sweetheart? Warming my cock, while you hump my foot like a bitch in heat. My perfect little cock drunk whore.”

You don’t even realise what you’re doing until he calls you out on it, making you whimper around him needily. And true enough, somewhere along the line, your thighs parted around his leg, your hips grinding your wet pussy against his dress shoe, making the material shiny with your slick. You can’t bring yourself to feel bad about it though, matter of fact, your hips only pick up the pace, once you are aware of what you’re doing.

“That’s it, baby. Make yourself feel good.” Spencer’s soft encouragement has you whining around him as you grind your throbbing pussy against his shoe, your moans and whimpers vibrating around his shaft. “Mmh, so good for me. You gonna cum like this, angel? Is my perfect slut going to cum on my shoe, with my cock in her mouth, like the dirty little whore she is?”

You can’t answer him properly, but the need in your eyes definitely does. He continues stroking your hair tenderly as you get yourself off on his foot, and it isn’t long until you’re squeezing his ankle between your thighs, your whole body shuddering as your orgasm wracks through your body. Your throat relaxes around him, until your nose is buried in his neatly trimmed pubic hair, his moan loud enough to cover up your quiet gagging.

“Good girl. Did so well for me. You’re so beautiful, just for me.” He continues murmuring soft praises as you come down from your high, before he pulls you off his cock, just enough so that you aren’t deep throating him anymore, letting you catch your breath, as much as you can.

“You did so good, my love. Do you need me to take over for you? Want me to fuck your throat, sweetheart?”

The idea nearly makes you shiver in anticipation, managing a small nod in response. He gives you a soft smile, before standing up from his chair, tapping your cheek twice to make you open your mouth. You do so obediently, sticking out your tongue, that earns you a reverent “good girl”.

“You know what to do if it’s too much,” he says, his fingers tightening around your hair, and you barely have the time to nod, before his hips snap forward harshly.

Spencer doesn’t fuck your throat often, he likes watching you take his cock at your own pace and volition, and ultimately, he prefers going down on you anyways. But when he does, there is nothing hesitant about it. He fucks your mouth like he fucks your cunt, with deep, precise thrusts, holding you still, so you can’t squirm away. Your eyes fill up with tears from gagging around him, which he seems to enjoy, his eyes dark and heated as they take in your appearance.

That’s not to say that he has no compassion. Though he isn’t particularly gentle, after every deep thrust, he pulls back just enough to let you breathe, and he even reminds you to relax your throat from time to time.

“Mhm, there you go, sweetheart. Just breathe for me, yes, good girl. You’re so perfect, baby, you were made to take my cock.”

His praises come in the form of sharp gasps and whimpers between pants, looking absolutely gone as you look up at him. His eyebrows are pinched, his lips parted, and his nose scrunches up every time he has to remind himself to open his eyes, not wanting to miss the sight of you on your knees, with a mouthful of his cock.

It doesn’t take long for him to cum like this, twitching harshly in your mouth, making you dizzy with the taste of precum he’s leaking on your tongue. Your only warning is a choked “fuck, baby, gonna—“ and then his hips buck against your face, his tip spurting warm cum down your throat, as he trips over the edge with a moan of your name. You attempt to swallow as best as you can, your tongue tracing his shaft to clean him off, before you finally pull off, letting out a few shaky coughs as you try to catch your breath.

He is on his knees in front of you in a second, large hands cradling your face, like you are the most precious thing on the planet. Even through the fog in your brain, you have enough brainpower to think ‘holy fuck, I’m married to the most beautiful person in the world’. His face is flushed, his hazel irises looking almost black with how wide his pupils are from the lingering effects of his high. His brows are furrowed in slight concern, and his glasses sit a little crooked on the slope of his nose. His lips are red from the way he was biting them —ironic, huh?— and they’re also moving, making you realise that he’s talking to you.

“…you listening?”

You barely catch the end of his question, blinking a few times as the haze finally clears from your brain, shaking your head to snap yourself back into reality.

“Sorry, what?”

Your voice is a little hoarse, which makes his eyebrows furrow even more, despite the small twitch of his lips.

“I asked if you’re alright, sweetheart,” he says, with a tone so tender that you can’t help leaning forward to kiss him gently. He kisses you back just as softly, one of his hands sliding down from your face to your neck, caressing your throat with his thumb, like he’s trying to soothe it from the outside.

“I’m okay. I was just a little… out of it,” you murmur finally as you pull back, tilting your forehead against his.

“Mhm, I know. Your voice is a little rough, baby. Does it hurt?”

You just shrug, leaning in for another kiss, and he indulges you, just like he does about everything. He pulls back before the kiss could deepen, swiping a thumb across your bottom lip when it juts out into a pout.

“Please don’t shrug this off. I want to take care of you, angel girl.” His voice is still so achingly careful, like you’re made of fine china, and you’d crumble from so much as a harsh word. You’re putty in his hands now, unable to say no to him when he asks so sweetly.

“Okay. I’d like that.” The smile he gives you after your mellow reply is radiant in the gentlest way, his adoration lighting up the room like the pinkish orange hues of the sunset.

“Can you stand up for me, darling?”

He helps you up to your feet gently, pressing careful, soothing kisses to your red knees, his hands massaging your thighs. He makes you drink some water from the glass on his desk, and then reaches into one of his drawers to give you a honey flavoured throat candy, ignoring your raspy claims of being just fine.

And then he pulls you into his lap, turning on the desk light to continue grading the essays, even after the sun has set, letting you curl up against him, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead with every paper he finishes reading. You fall asleep to the sound of his pen gliding on the paper, the grandfather clock’s rhythmic ticking, and the soft voice of your husband, telling you that he loves you more than anything.

[soulofapatrick]

Protect You - Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Summary: You come into work injured and Hotch accidentally outs your relationship

Words: 1.8K

Warnings: None really

Notes: I honestly don't know where this one came from but enjoy hehe

Y/N’s POV

As I step into the familiar confines of the BAU bullpen, a sigh of relief escapes my lips upon noticing it’s only Spencer present as the others always arrive later. Hotch and Rossi must be holed up in their offices, shielding them from witnessing the bruised left side of my face and the split lip that I’m trying to conceal with my hair, keeping my head down. I would try make-up but they’re profilers, we’re profilers, there’s no point hiding any of it as they’ll work it out. 

Every moment reminds me of the ache throbbing on my face, a constant reminder of the altercation that occurred early this morning. I try to mask the discomfort with a tight-lipped smile, but I know Spencer sees through it the moment his gaze flickers up from the file he’s absorbed in. His eyes widen in concern, and he’s on his feet so fast his chair clatters to the ground, abandoning his document to rush to my side. 

I appreciate his silent understanding, his quick grasp of the situation without needing an explanation. It's moments like these that remind me why the BAU feels like family.

“Hey,” Spencer’s voice is gentle, his concern palpable as he takes in my appearance, eyes flickering over the bruises, assessing whether I need medical or not, “What happened to you?” 

I offer a weak shrug, sliding onto my desk so Spencer can slide into my chair like we usually sit, waiting for Emily, JJ and Morgan to arrive, “Oh just a little accident.” I murmur, trying to downplay the severity of it, though the pain pulses with each word. Spencer raises his eyebrows, scoffing lightly, drawing a heavy sigh from me, I relent, knowing I can’t actually keep it from my best friend, “Jessica might have found me in Hotch’s bed this morning after he left to be here early,” I pause, letting that sink in first, the fact I was in our boss’ bed, “She… well, she punched me and I just left her… she’s still grieving and it’s been just over a year now…” 

Spencer's hand finds mine, a silent gesture of solidarity amidst the chaos. And in that moment, I'm grateful for his unwavering support, his quiet strength anchoring me to reality when everything feels like it's spiralling out of control, “Are you going to tell Hotch?” 

Before I can respond, the authoritative timbre of Hotch’s voice cuts through the air, drawing my gaze towards his office. Instinctively, I turn my head away, a futile attempt to shield him from the truth of what his ex-sister-in-law had down to me. But it’s too late. The damage is already written across my bruised face, a stark reminder of the violence that had erupted in the early hours of the morning. 

Hotch strides into the bullpen, his gaze sweeping over the room before settling on me, his expression a mixture of concern and confusion. "Tell me what?" His voice is clipped, demanding answers that I'm not ready to give. Spencer gets up from my chair and moves over to where the coffee station is, staying within hearing distance but giving us enough privacy. 

I swallow hard, feeling the weight of Hotch's gaze bearing down on me like a heavy burden. "It's nothing, Hotch," I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper as I keep my head bowed, unwilling to meet his gaze. But I can sense his skepticism, his unwavering determination to uncover the truth lurking beneath my hesitant words.

Before I can protest further, Hotch grips my chin with a gentle finger and thumb, forcing me to raise my face and meet his gaze. The shock that flashes across his features sends a shiver down my spine, his expression morphing from concern to horror, then to simmering anger barely contained beneath the surface. 

His voice is low, a dangerous undercurrent lacing his words as he practically growls, “Who did this to you?” 

I try to shake my head free from his grip but he won’t let me, cognac eyes full of anger as he searches my face. Every part of my wants to submit to him but I can’t ruin the last bit of Haley he has left by telling him and he finally sighs. He takes a risk and presses his forehead to mine, eyes closing and taking a deep breath before he’s letting me go and taking a step back just as the bullpen doors open. With one final lingering look he turns to the others and tells them to meet him in the meeting room in ten. 

As Spencer intercepts Hotch on his way back to his office, a sense of foreboding settles over the bullpen, amplifying the tension already thick in the air. I watch, heart sinking, as Spencer murmurs something to Hotch, the words lost in the charged atmosphere. Hotch's head snaps up, his entire demeanour shifting in an instant. Even from behind, I can sense the fury radiating off him, a palpable force that sends a shiver down my spine. Whatever Spencer said has stirred a tempest within Hotch, one that threatens to consume everything in its path.

Before I can comprehend the gravity of the situation, Derek's voice breaks through the tense silence, his concern evident in the way he addresses me. "Oh shittt, what happened to you, baby girl?" he asks, his usually jovial tone replaced by genuine worry. 

Spencer slumps back into my chair, his expression somber as Derek rounds the desk to his, drawing Emily and JJ's attention in the process. In moments like these, the boundaries between colleagues blur, replaced by the unspoken bonds of friendship and camaraderie that define us as a team. They crowd around me, their questions a chorus of concern as they inspect the bruises marring my skin. Despite their genuine care, I can feel the weight of their stares, the unspoken questions lingering in the air like a heavy fog. 

Just as I'm about to ask them to drop it, a voice cuts through the chaos, echoing from Hotch's office with a force that silences the entire bullpen. "HOW DARE YOU LAY A HAND ON HER?!" Hotch's voice booms, despite his door and blinds being shut, reverberating off the walls with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt.

A stunned silence settles over the bullpen, the air thick with tension as Hotch's voice echoes through the confines of his office, despite the closed door and drawn blinds. His words hang in the air like a heavy pall, commanding attention and demanding justice. The sudden yelling draws Rossi out of his office, his expression a mix of concern and confusion as he surveys the scene unfolding before him. It's rare to witness Hotch lose his composure, and even rarer to hear him raise his voice with such raw intensity. 

But, as the seconds tick by, the tension in the air becomes almost palpable, a tangible force that hangs heavy around us. We exchange uncertain glances, the weight of Hotch's anger casting a shadow over the once tranquil atmosphere of the bullpen. And then, just as quickly as it began, Hotch's voice rises again, the sound muffled by the closed door of his office. Despite the distance, his words carry with them a sense of finality, a declaration of his unwavering resolve, “I CAN DATE WHO I WANT, YOU DON’T GET TO DICTATE IF Y/N IS GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME.” 

As Hotch's voice reverberates through the closed door of his office, his words cut through the heavy silence like a knife. The weight of his declaration hangs heavy in the air, leaving us all stunned into silence.

Derek's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his mouth slightly agape as he processes the implications of Hotch's words. Emily's eyes widen, a mixture of shock and admiration reflecting in her gaze as she exchanges a quick glance with JJ. Spencer, ever the observer, remains stoic, his expression unreadable as he absorbs the gravity of Hotch's statement. 

The realisation settles over us like a heavy blanket, each of us grappling with the implications of Hotch's unwavering resolve. In that moment, it's clear that he's not just defending my honour; he's asserting his autonomy, refusing to be swayed by the opinions or judgments of others. And as the echoes of his words fade into the background, we're left in a stunned silence, the weight of the moment pressing down upon us like a tangible force. For a brief moment, the chaos of the world outside fades away, replaced by the quiet intensity of the bullpen. 

But our reverie is short-lived as Hotch reemerges from his office, his face flushed with anger and frustration. His gaze sweeps over us, a silent command to gather ourselves and move forward. Without a word, he gestures towards the conference room, his authoritative presence brooking no argument. 

As the rest of the team practically rushes towards the conference room, driven by the urgency of the moment, I find myself lingering behind. The weight of everything that has transpired settles heavily upon my shoulders, anchoring me to the spot as I struggle to process the whirlwind of emotions swirling within me. I remain perched on the edge of my desk, head bowed, my hands suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. The sound of familiar footsteps draws nearer, the rhythmic cadence echoing through the empty space of the bullpen. And then, like a beacon in the darkness, Hotch's shiny smart shoes appear in my line of sight, his presence casting a warm glow against the backdrop of uncertainty. 

He says my name softly, a gentle reminder that I'm not alone in this moment of vulnerability. I lift my gaze to meet his, finding solace in the depths of his unwavering gaze. There's a tenderness in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the tumultuous journey we've embarked upon together. 

In that moment, he looks at me like I've hung the stars, like I'm a goddess deserving of reverence and adoration. It's a gaze that speaks volumes, a silent confession of the depth of his feelings. And then, with a gentle touch, his hand reaches out to cup my unbruised cheek, his touch a balm against the ache of the morning's events. In the stillness of the bullpen, he draws me into a soft kiss, a silent promise of solidarity and unwavering support. In that fleeting moment, time stands still, the chaos of the world fading away as we find solace in each other's embrace. And as we pull away, the weight of the world feels a little lighter, buoyed by the strength of the bond that binds us together.

With a silent understanding, we rise from the tumult of the morning, ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead. And as we make our way towards the conference room, hand in hand, I know that no matter what the future holds, we'll face it together, united by the unbreakable ties of love and loyalty.

Criminal Minds Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

@guacam011y @rosaliedepp @kajjaka

[dannydoesthisthing27]

Lasko and Dear (and Gavin/FL) spicy headcanons (masc dear they/them pronouns)

Lasko has three favorite scenes when it comes to him and Dear

The first is when they get him on his knees. He loves when their fingers are in his hair pulling and pushing him where they want

The second is when they lay across his back and wrap their arms around his waist, one slipping a little lower to get him slick with his own pre and their spit. Lasko loves the feeling of control they have over that situation, and he knows how much they love teasing him from behind. They'll press into him all the way and pause until he's squirming and starting to whine, and then they'll go slow as possible to draw it out

The third is the rare occasions he's in control. Usually its a more gentle scene focused on their pleasure, but sometimes he's able to give a little more intense performance when they want it. It starts slow, him just barely pushing their legs apart, hands gripping their thighs. If they're both in the mood, he will tease them with his hands and mouth for as long as he wants. When it's Lasko in control Dear will melt into the pleasure so easily. Their expression blissed out, and hair a mess as they look up at their man, who is equally blissed out.

Lasko loves being tied up under the right circumstances. He especially loves a bondage/blindfold duo because he can only tell where his Dear is based on their aura/physical proximity

Dear has hooked up with demons before and bumped into Gavin one time at a demon feeding club in McKinley, but neither of them realized it was the other until about six months after Dear was introduced to the crew

When Gavin and Lasko met at that 7/11 Lasko was so anxious he actually had a panic attack trying to explain why he was there. Gavin at the time wasn't the best at softer interactions in the bedroom (even if it was what he preferred) but he made the effort for the breathless air elemental who clearly needed a second to unwind

What ended up happening was Lasko brought Gav to his apartment (which st the time was still close to that particular 7/11) and Gavin spent an hour and a half breaking Lasko down to the most mind melted state he's ever been in. Gavin had to go afterwards but came back shortly after wanting to check in on him, only to find Lasko already recovered (short refractory period king) and was jerking himself off in bed

Gavin was caught off guard but very eagerly crawled back up the bed to settle in between his legs and forced Lasko to keep going while he watched (which was what resulted in the stains FL teased him about)

When Dear was told the story, they were thoroughly impressed by Gavins abilities (as recounted by Lasko) and at one of the crew get togethers they told him as much

Dear isn't easily embarrassed when it comes to sex, however the second Lasko starts praising them, they start squirming. Not because they don't believe him but because they're still trying to convince themselves it's ok for them to believe him

They and Gav have casual conversations about sex (they talk about it the same way some people talk about their favorite movie)

Gavin and FL (in my mind) are an open relationship. As a result of that Gavin has several charges outside of the relationship (for pick me ups and such) and he has left the offer open to Lasko and Dear if they wanted

Lasko gets so turned on when Dear wears suits its ridiculous. He's blushing, stumbling over his words, trying not to stare, failing, and dropping his head on their shoulder with a whine as they grab his hips to pull him in

Gavins favorite position is against a wall (taking or giving) (he loves being pressed against the wall while FL drills him into oblivion)

Dear loves jerking themselves off while making Lasko watch because he gets real needy real fast when he's not allowed to touch himself or them

Dear will also occasionally make Lasko sit under their desk and they'll fuck his throat slowly while grading papers (they always double check the grades after)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Locked Out of Heaven 9

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father invites a work friend to the neighbourhood barbecue.

Characters: Nick Fowler (Dad’s friend trope)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Abruptly, you still your hand. You close your eyes and temper out a breath through your nose. Your insides twist around the vibrating toy as it sends ripples through your muscles.

You shudder and bite your lip as it stops. You blink between the lines of the notebook and the columns of text in the textbook. You haven't got much done in the last hour.

"Got a lab review coming up." Your dad strides in behind you.

You nearly yelp. You swallow down the surprise and clench. You nod as you make yourself copy the words without truly understanding them.

"Mid-semester eval," your voice is thin. You wait for him to comment on it. He doesn't.

"Good you're studying." He says.

"Yeah, er..." your phone lights up and your eyes wander to the screen. It's Nick; 'how ya feeling, baby?' You resist the urge to hit the side button to hide it, not wanting to draw attention to it.

"In the way though." He leans on the table and squints at the textbook. "Shouldn't have your phone out for studying."

"Sorry, dad. I... I set a timer. That's all." You lie. "I'll move my stuff."

"Good." He taps the table and marches away.

You push your lips out in muted confusion. Why would you be in the way? You never eat dinner at the table. Not like a family. If anything, Austin and your dad will eat outside when they barbecue but you eat alone most days. If you remember to do so.

You close up the textbook and recoil. You grab the arms of the chair as the toy quakes again. That's a big one. He's torturing you. You didn't answer him!

You snatch up your phone and unlock it. Your hands shake and it takes several tries to type your response. 'Good. Studying.'

You hit send. His message isn't too far behind. 'You feeling me?'

Your eyes round. You stack your books and your laptop and balance your phone on top. You quickly retreat to your room as your core boils.

You snap your door shut and hurry to your bed. You put your stuff on the end and grab the cell. You answer him.

'Yes. I feel it.'

'Good girl.'

You don't know how to reply so you send a heart emoji. You wait but don't see those three dots. You grab your books and bring them to the desk. You'll hide in here. Your dad must have some plans. He never really warns you.

The doorbell chimes as if to confirm your suspicions. You sit and the toy surges inside you. You squeak and keel forward. You squeeze your thighs together and murmur senselessly as the pulse throbs inside you. You put your head to the desk and whine. It's just enough to put you on the edge, but not over.

Your father bellows from below, jerking you up from your rather literal internal struggle. You hiss and grip your skull. You're dizzy as the toy stops. You check your phone as you stand to meet your father's demand. It's hard to balance both.

Your legs are unstable as you force them to move. You pull open the door and stumble. Get yourself together. You take another big breath. At the top of the stairs, you find a semblance of normalcy. Your father's typical apathy will for once work in your favour.

You descend and slow as you get midway. You recognise the voice droning through the entryway. Sure enough, Nick is right there, chatting with your dad. You blink dumbly as his blue eyes meet yours over your father's shoulder. You gulp.

"There she is," Nick chirps. "Where's that other brat?"

"You're too nice, Fowler. How'd you ever get in at the Agency?" Your dad challenges.

"Only nice when I need to be." Nick chuckles and turns his attention back to your dad. "Figure I'd pay you back for the barbecue."

"Uh huh," your father's skeptical tone can't pierce his guest's sauve veneer. Your dad turns to you. "Nick brought dinner." He nods sideways to the console table. There's two large paper bags with handles; from TiTi's. "Set the table."

"Oh okay," you continue down to the bottom of the stairs and go to grab the bags.

"I got it," Nick scoops up the bags before you can. "Got lots so... bit heavy."

"I'm sure she can manage." Your dad sniffs.

"I know they don't give etiquette lessons down at the Agency, Chuck, but I know mine," Nick retorts. He gets a derisive snort from your father.

"I'll find the boy," your dad mutters.

You snake around the banister and head for the kitchen. Nick is like your shadow. The bags crinkle as you go to the cupboard. You pull the doors open and suddenly, your legs are jelly. You smother your mouth as you lean into the counter heavily. You turn to Nick as he rests one elbow on the island, right by the paper bags, and thumbs at his phone. The vibration is so intense it makes your teeth rattle.

"Look at you. Being a good girl." He hums.

You drop your hand. "Nick, I... what are you doing here?"

He presses his thumb down and you nearly collapse. You whimper. He chuckles.

"Asking me questions?" He tuts.

"N-no. I... I didn't expect--" he flicks his fingertip and the pulse mellows out but doesn't stop completely. "Can ya blame me, princess? I wanted to see you. Last night's got my head all fucked up over you."

You stare at him. You didn't expect him, worse you're not sure how to deal with him right now. Your father, schoolwork, the toy.

"I'm... sorry." You utter.

"Don't be sorry. Be a good girl," he winks. "Maybe you'll get a treat."

You shake your head in confusion. You force a smile and rock on your feet. "Okay, I'll...be good."

You turn to take down four plates. You focus on the task if only to keep from melting into the tile. The bags crinkle loudly.

"Should I take this out to the table?" He asks.

"Sure, er, please," you glance over your shoulder.

"Whatever you want, princess."

He lifts the bags and struts out. You stare after him. He's wearing a short-sleeved collar shirt; faint blue lines on white, and powder blue slacks. Everything about him is always cut to a tee. His ring matches his watch and the chain around his neck.

You nearly drop a fork. Stop. Just get through this. You eke out another tight breath. Isn't this awkward for him too?

You go out with the plates and cutlery. Nick unpacks the togo containers calmly, grinning at your appearance. You set down the stack and retreat.

Glasses, napkins... you put those out with the rest and make a third trip. You grab the jug of filtered water with lemon slices and return to the dining room. Your dad sits across from Nick as Austin yawns and pulls put a chair.

"Got a nice family, Chuck," Nick comments as he rests his hand on the back of the empty chair next to him. You hesitate. If you sit further down, it might draw more attention. You near and Nick stands. "I'll get it."

He pulls out the chair as you set down the water pitcher. You thank him, staring at the table as you do, and lower yourself onto the seat. You swallow down a yipe at the reminder of the humming fullness inside.

"Thanks for letting me intrude on it," Nick says.

"Your choice," your dad grabs the container of steaks and claims the biggest one. "Not very exciting."

"Nice to have someone. Figured you more the loner type," Nick rebuffs your father's indifference.

"I guess. What about you? Bit overdue to settle down?"

"Thought about it," Nick offers you some salad and you nod. Then he serves himself. You watch your dad. He is entirely disinterested what's going on. Austin is on his phone. "Who knows. Not too late."

"Get a wife, skip the kids," your dad scoffs.

Nick laughs, "right."

You stay silent. Your father's resent is well-known. You've always been keenly aware of it. It's embarrassing when he announces it in front of others.

Nick sits back and shifts. You peek over. His phone rests on his thigh as he drops his hand under the table and taps. You feel the jolt inside you.

You reach for the seasoned potatoes and cough. You nearly drop the container. You steady it and scoop out a serving.

You don't fill your plate. You know better. Your dad is an expert at finding something to hate you for. He'd as soon accuse you of being greedy.

You wait until everyone else is settled innbefore you touch your food. Austin isn't so patient or modest. His noisy chewing distracts you from the stirngent small talk between the men. That and the contant buzzing in your guts.

"Excuse me a moment. I need your restroom," Nick sets down his fork.

"Sure," your dad sits back.

Nick stands and swiftly skips his phone in his pocket. You feel the vibration speed up. You bite down on a moan. You squirm, unconfortable and wet, as he steps around your chair. The smell of his cologne suffocates you.

You cross your legs and immediately regret that. You sit flat again and struggle not to rock. The tempo slowly builds and builds only to relent and start again.

Theres another buzz. Not from inside. You take out your phone and bow your head. You open the message waiting and nearly squeal. You bat your lashes and hold your breath.

It's a picture of Nick. You recognize the backdrop of the bathroom. He has his shirt off, the gold chain just above his chest, muscles flexed, a devilish sparkle in his eyes. Not fair.

Your name darts over the table. You flinch as you look at your dad. "Phone."

He snaps his fingers at you. You pout and quickly lock the screen. You stare at him.

"It's rude to have it out at the table," he reprimands.

You grimace and look at Austin. Your dad wiggles his fingers expectantly as he holds out his hand. You sigh and hand it over, praying he doesn't find a way to unlock it.

"Sorry."

"When we have company, try not to be dumb." He growls.

You wince. Between his anger and the constant buzzing in your walls, you can barely keep from wilting away. You nod and pick up your fork again.

Nick returns with a sigh. He sits heavily behind you and rests his hand on the back of your chair. He makes it seem thoughtless but it's all that's on your mind.

"So, Chuck. I'm a nice guy, you know, but I did come here with a reason," Nick lays his other hand on his thigh casually. You just keep thinking about how thick his fingers are. His thigh too. "Got a favour. Sorta."

"Of course you do. I'm not new to the game." Your dad gives a wry look.

"Well, you know, I've been running myself ragged and Chuck, you been sitting on a desk..." he clucks and huffs. "You wanna go to Havana?"

"Havana?" Your dad chortles.

"Sure. You must miss the field work. I really don't wanna drag my ass out again. I'll bring ya another bottle of scotch," Nick barters.

His hand grips the back of your chair. You make yourself small and chew on a morsel of steak.

"Bottle of scotch?"

"Did I not mention? I bought a new boat. You can have it for a weekend... or a week. Hell, make it two." Nick counters.

"Something happen in Havana?" Your dad wonders.

Nick laughs, "nothing I should put on record. Come on, Chucky. You really wanna keep sitting in meetings wearing a noose around your neck."

Your dad clicks his tongue. He crosses his arms as he thinks. "Is it a nice boat?"

"Cozy. I'll throw in a pretty lady if you want."

Austin glance up and makes a face. You twitch.

Your dad guffaws. "Any woman hanging off of you, Fowler, I want nothing to do with."

"Fair enough but you're missing out. You could loosen up, ya know?"

Your father glowers, "you're lucky I like you."

"I'm easy to like," Nick's hand slides into his pocket. You brace yourself and the vibrations throb until you can barely sit still. You suspect there's more to this than just work.

[dawns-breath]

Not Yet

Jing Yuan x Fem!Reader This is a rewritten post from my old blog Self-indulgent, domestic fluff, established relationship ♡ 605 words It’s difficult getting out of bed in the morning with someone as as clingy as the exhausted snugglebug named Jing Yuan

It’s rare that your work keeps you engaged beyond the end of Jing Yuan’s duties. On nights like these -when you’re able to work from the comforts of your shared home- your husband will often keep you company for a while, either getting ahead on his own work for the next day, or reading one of the old manuscripts he’s so fond of to pass the time. Eventually, once the clock has tolled a certain hour, he starts yawning pointedly, stating that he is going to bed.

If you do not follow him, he begins to wander back and forth between the bedroom and your desk, poking his head into your office every so often, urging you to come to bed. He’s grown unable to sleep without you after several centuries. At this point he refuses to even try unless he knows you won’t make it home for the night.

If you wave him off for too long -which is admittedly even more rare as you also yearn for sleep- Jing Yuan gets to a point in his stubborn, self-inflicted exhaustion where he throws his otherwise deeply-rooted manners to the wind and pulls you out of your seat. If you will not get up on your own, then he’ll simply have to carry you to bed.

“Leave it for the morning,” he says when you try to argue. His voice is clipped, not out of anger, but pure exhaustion. You know his fatigue runs marrow-deep; it cannot possibly be alleviated by a single night of rest. You truly believe him when he says that he could sleep for a month if so allowed.

After late nights like these, he’s always extra clingy come morning.

It starts only a moment before it’s time for you to get up, the few precious minutes you get to spend with each other before the day begins.

You roll onto your back, stretching, your eyes opening to the gray light of early dawn. The finches are already awake, clamoring for food in the adjoined garden. Next to you, Jing Yuan groans, his grip on you tightening.

“Not yet,” he croaks, voice rough from sleep.

“You always say that,” you croak back, rolling over again to face him, brushing his bangs out of his face and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

You watch as one golden eye opens to a slit, looking blearily at you for a second, before it defiantly closes again. He presses a kiss to your neck, burying his face in your shoulder. 

“We should get up soon,” you say.

He lets out a whine reminiscent of a petulant child and pulls the covers over his head, burrowing deeper into the bed. His head ends up resting against your chest, arms wrapped around your waist. Letting out a deep sigh, he relaxes against you, breathing growing deep and even. If it wasn’t for his fingers drawing patterns on your skin, you’d believe him to be asleep once more.

Your hand finds its way underneath the covers, over his warm shoulder, and into his hair. He lets out an appreciative hum as you run your fingers through the strands, your nails gently scratching at his scalp.

“Five more minutes,” you say.

Jing Yuan presses a kiss to your stomach.

“Ten.”

You’re about to answer when you hear the sound of paws padding across the wooden floor, then Mimi jumps up on your bed with a happy chirp. Under the covers, Jing Yuan groans again, hugging you close for a moment before he sits up, hair tousled, and yawns widely. 

Once Mimi arrives, the early morning peace is over.

Thank you so much for reading!! Comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated!

[avocado-writing]

What if Reader was a paranormal creature sort of like Perpetua is?

But she doesn’t really know it (maybe it’s demonic ancestry). For instance, sometimes she wakes up confused in strange places in the ministry. Perpetua is really happy about it once he realizes what’s going on.

“Oh, so it was your girlfriend who’s been chasing the ghouls for the past several nights.” —Copia

“She didn’t mean to scare them too much.” —Perpetua

gn!creature!reader x creature!perpetua

i wrote this as gn reader bc everyone wants to be a cryptid in the shadows sometimes lmao. also you are sort of aware of what you're doing rather than being totally blindsided by it!

you haven't... acclimatised to humanity as well as he has.

the two of you had been monsters, beasts of the night, creatures who stalked and skulked and clung to the shadows in a way which was unsettling at best and nightmare-inducing at worst. but then he'd been called upon to become Papa and his desire to find a home had won out over his attachment to the abyss. and because you loved him, of course, the two of you entered the Ministry hand-in-hand, your claws catching together as you morphed and shaped into bipedal forms under the light of the altar.

by day you were people, fine upstanding members of the Church. by night, you gave into your true natures.

and you had just a little bit less control over your real self than he did.

he sits in front of Frater Imperator's desk, his twin, though the man in front of him is more of a human than he could ever hope to be. Perpetua shifts under his exhausted gaze.

"you need to rein them in," he says, levelly. Perpetua sighs.

"I'm trying. they just need to... let off a little steam, that's all. it's difficult for us, being in these bodies."

"you manage it."

"there must be more human in my bloodline. I mean, we are related, correct? they don't have that luxury."

Copia makes a pained noise.

"they were chasing Siblings around after evening mass."

"... they say it's good exercise."

"they were on all fours, snarling! they bit someone, for Satan's sake!"

"they didn't draw blood!"

Copia shakes his head in despair before burying his face in his hands.

"fratello," he says kindly, and that touches a soft place in Perpetua's heart, "you need to talk to them. your parmour cannot continue to terrorise my congregation. please find a way to keep them under control."

"I will do my best," he concedes. the meeting is adjourned. as Perpetua returns to his apartments he sees the sun going down, and knows he will find you out of your daytime body.

sure enough he opens the door and finds you hanging from the rafters, tail and wings stretched out, long limbs unfolding to shake out the discomfort of only having two elbows for the past twelve hours. your eyes blink all at once and come to land on him.

"your brother is angry with me, isn't he?"

"not angry, my heart. just... he doesn't understand, not like I do."

you harrumph, admiring your claws.

"we agreed to come and take this position for him. he could cut us some slack."

you seem upset. with as little effort as it takes to remove a jacket at the end of a day, Perpetua shucks his human skin and ascends into the ceiling with you. it is easier to behold you like this. you do not blur out of reality when he is also in his true form, and he can appreciate every little detail of your body: your silky fur, your perfect talons, the razor-sharp edges of your teeth.

"come here, my love."

you collapse into his embrace, burying your face into his shoulder.

"i'm sorry, Perpetua. I don't mean to run riot. it's just hard, being in that tiny form all day. I go a little over-the-top at night."

he hums thoughtfully.

"well... perhaps I will just have to think of ways to have you burn off that energy inside the bedroom," he says. you perk up immediately at that, meeting his mismatched gaze and face bursting into a smile.

"oh... well, when you put it like that, Papa..."

he moans at the use of his title, feeling himself become aroused as you lean in. he cups your face in his palms and pulls you in for what passes as a kiss in these bodies.

that is one good thing about humans. it is easier to press your lips together without snouts.

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

The Scientific Method

Pairing: Moonknight trio x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: just a bunch of ritual things, there's mention of blood and reader cuts their hand open

Genre: angst/fluff

Summary: They are determined to go through with this mind link and you have to do everything in your power to protect them

***

You groan to yourself as you shut yet another old heavy grimoire. The more you try to research this dammed ritual the more you feel like your head this close to exploding. You're overwhelmed trying to sort through conflicting information, unclear instructions, and a seemingly never-ending list of cautions. Several times over the last few hours you debated if it'd be easier to change their minds than go through with this. The knock at your apartment door shocks you so much you practically jump out of your skin. With a sigh, you stand from your desk and walk to the door. When you open the door you barely register your boyfriend standing there, your eyes trying to recover from combing over walls of text all day.

"Hello love." Steven smiles at you.

"Hi baby, what brings you over?" You ask stretching.

"It's movie night." He frowns.

"Right! Shit, is it time already?" You shake your head.

"How could you forget?" He chuckles.

"Well someone wants so badly to risk their sanity I've been doing research all day to protect this silly individual. Lost track of time I guess."

"You've been doing research on it?"

"Of course I have. If I'm going to do this insanely dangerous ritual I need to know it so well you'd think I was there upon its creation." You say.

"What have you found out?" He asks.

"I'm sitll sifting through it, there's possibly a potion involved-"

"Well you can put a pin in it for now, because it's movie night." Steven grabs you by the shoulders and leads you to your couch to sit you down.

"I'm just worried there's some time sensitivity aspect I'm missing. Something this complex probably requires very specific circumstances in order to have even a chance of being successful. Like what if it can only be done during a solar eclipes, or when all the fucking planets are aligned or-"

"Baby you don't have to work it out all at once, we're not in a rush, plus we trust you. I don't think you have anything to worry about." Steven says gently.

"That's fine for you, I'm the one performing the ritual you just have to show up, I'm the one responsible for making sure you don't die or lose your mind or lose a limb or-"

"Breathe." Marc says grabbing your hand. You stop and take a breath.

"Marc-"

"Don't start, and don't get yourself all worked up. It's like you don't even realize how powerful you are. You're not going to kill me, or drive me insane, or steal my arms. We will absolutely come out on the other side of this for the better." Marc says firmly.

"When did you get all optimistic?" You chuckle.

"When you showed up and gave me something worth living for." He says kissing your temple.

"You're such a softie." You scoff.

"Yeah yeah, now let's get this movie night started, you can research the spell later."

"Alright alright. I'll table it for now." You sigh letting Marc pull you closer to him as he starts the first movie for tonight.

*~*

You draw the last of the symbols on the ground, checking them for the umpteenth time that you got them all correct. You drove hours out of the city to prepare and do this spell. Marc is meant to meet you any minute now, but you've already been here a while getting all the bits and pieces together. You read your notes again, as if you haven't seared them into your brain at this point, but it helps you feel in control. You've done all the research you could possibly do without having a first hand account of doing this spell. You're as ready as you can be, you know you are, but there's just so much that could go wrong it's impossible not to be nervous.

"The pacing does not bode well for your sanity." The booming voice almost makes you drop your pages.

"Holy fuck- you brought the bird?!" You clutch your chest when you realize your boyfriend has arrived and so has Khonshu.

"I am not some pet he does not bring me anywhere. He is my Avatar, if you intend to disintegrate his mind it's in my personal interests to be aware of that." Khonshu says.

"I'm not disintegrating anything you kooky old skeleton but if you insist on being here do not interrupt." You roll your eyes.

"Even if it saves him from your incompetence?"

"Marc may work for you but I don't you fucking-"

"Khonshu don't speak to her that way." Jake interrupts. "We didn't tell you about this so you could come all this way just to insult her. She's powerful and capable and we have faith in her. Your opinion on the matter is not only unwanted, it is also unfound." You look between them as Jake's words hang in the air for a moment. 

"You hold her in high regard." Khonshu hums.

"You knew that already." Jake glares.

"To see it is a different thing."

"Are you two done?" You ask.

"Sorry mi amor, I told them to leave Khonshu in the dark but no one listens to me. How are you feeling?" Jake takes your hand in his, eyes scanning your face.

"Fine. Good. As good as I can be. Everything's set. How're you guys?" You ask.

"Steven's a little nervous."

"Just Steven?" You probe softly.

"Sí just Steven. Marc is, impatient and I am, managing our expectations."

"As always." You kiss his cheek.

"Are you two quite finished with the- whatever this is?" Khonshu scoffs and you're sure if he had eyes to roll he'd probably be doing that.

"Oh I'm sorry did you mistake us for a theater show? We're not here to entertain you." You roll your eyes. You walk over to your bag and pull out a small bottle. "Drink this."

"What's this?" Jake asks.

"Step one."

"Which does what?" His eyebrow cocks up at you.

"Makes you more susceptible to the magic of the spell so it's easier." You say, that's not exactly right but the full explanation would be far too much to break down and you need to focus on getting through this not giving a potions lesson. Jake downs the murky liquid and cringes slightly. It probably doesn't taste great based on the ingredients. "Stand in the center where all the lines meet."

"How should I stand?" He asks.

"Still." You mutter walking over to your bag for your ritual dagger.

"What?"

"You asked how you should stand. Stand still." You say.

"Amor?" Jake calls, making you look up from your recitation pages. "Te amo."

"I love you too." You say. You take a deep breath to steady yourself. It's now or never.

"Ich baln kikae fineir shel cae ganel ufnae oulm antae woom bae." The circle starts to shimmer in that familiar but unnatural way that's so custom of magic. You twirl the ritual knife once in your hand before slicing open your palm. A spell meant to bind you and another person in any way almost always requires blood.

"Ich Maie fanie rach el aer wol nihar welm intalm axo tanit shway." One hard squeeze of your hand drops blood on the first of the seven symbols that make up the points of the circle. The symbol lights up and the corresponding line follows and shines from end to end.

"Baint int quare yeel fren smer worsh ufer dal krei lut isht." More blood on symbol 2 lighting it and its line.

"Pahb arth e rinethow finae ni shabnida." Your hand is starting to hurt but you squeeze blood onto the third symbol and watch it join the first 2 in brightening the circle.

"Inae fuu raunk valum dae chaw ji prosh shay zila trof renda ishan." You watch the fourth symbol light up and move on to the next.

"Urf nae inst purn wolay kirna ru gant verin herab vins tae." Five down, two more to go.

"Ich shie bruy pir exun bakiyen wishor itarm kastey." Onto the last one.

"Intraey izarnit wor bint azun oxair yerin jiha geins." The last of the symbols lights up, and you walk over to Jake in the center. You tip his head back and squeeze blood into his mouth.

"Mierda! You didn't mention anything about-" Jake doesn't finish his sentence, he drops to the ground and you gasp.

"I imagine that wasn't supposed to happen. Was it?" Khonshu muses. You roll your eyes you wish he'd shut up but at least the irritation overrode the panic bubbling. You take a deep breath and recite the last bit of the spell. It won't do you any good to leave the circuit incomplete, an unfinished spell could do more damage to Jake than whatever's already going on.

"Rahg inth der minshea loun weemae zontho ich baln kikae fineir." With the final incantation complete you watch as the spell circle burns brighter and brighter until all the symbols seemingly drain towards the center, disappearing one after the other as if Jake's body is absorbing them.

"Is it over?" Khonshu asks.

"Well the spell circle... disappeared so- I guess?"

"He's still unconscious."

"Gee hadn't noticed." You roll your eyes.

"There has to be something you can do about this you did the spell."

"Just pick him up off the ground." You say packing up your spell items.

"Why would I do that?"

"That spell wasn't easy, I don't have the strength to pick him up but it's not like we can just leave him out here overnight." You cross your arms.

"I am not carrying him all the way into town." Khonshu says.

"Why would you do that? Did you walk here?" You ask.

"The British one doesn't have a car."

"Sure but Jake does."

"Jake didn't want to have to leave the car here if something happened." Khonshu says.

"Whatever, I drove. You just need to get him to my car." You say.

"And what if I don't?"

"If you don't he spends the night out here." You shrug grabbing your bag of things and trudging away from the clearing.

"Well- hang on!" Khonshu huffs. A few moments later you hear his heavy footfalls behind you. "Would you really have left your boyfriend laying in a field unprotected."

"Of course not, the field had a bunch of defensive spells in place." You scoff.

"Why didn't you say that!?"

"I knew you wouldn't call my bluff." You say opening your car and tossing your bag in the passenger seat. "Drop him in the back please." You open the backseat door and help Khonshu fold your boyfriend across the seats.

"You had better hope they all survive your odd experimentation."

"It was their idea you foolis- you know what, it doesn't matter what you say, you have no right to pretend you value their life beyond how you can use them like a puppet of course I hope they survive I tried to talk them all out of this like 5 times. Stubborn fools." You shake your head.

"So what happens now?"

"Now I take him home and we hope for the best." You shrug getting into your car. You drive home, anxious to get your boyfriend home so you can start looking for some way to reverse this or at least help in some way.

Back at your apartment you struggle to get the body up to your place. Luckily it's incredibly late already or you'd probably have to explain this to more than just the person frowning at you from behind the front desk when you walked in. Once in the safety of your own apartment, you take a deep breath as you look at Marc passed out in your guest room.

"I don't want to get to say I told you so but you had better give me a chance to yell at you for being an idiot. You owe me that. Please wake up, you're far too stubborn to die like this. It'd be a rather pathetic way to go, given all the shit that didn't take you out." You huff. You feel so restless, you need to shower and you know you need to sleep because it's been a long and exhausting day but there's no way you'll get any rest with your boyfriend passed out indefinitely in the other room, all you want to do is sit up sifting through grimoires until the answer jumps out at you from one of the pages, you can't just leave him like that and not do anything-

"Stop." You say to yourself, hoping to stall your racing thoughts for a moment. "Okay, strategize. Realistically if you try to comb through your grimoires and things right now your eyes will literally fall out bleeding you have done entirely too much today even if you found the answer you wouldn't have the strength to do anything with it. He's physically safe and while you can't possibly know what's going on internally that'll have to be enough for now because you can't save him if you don't take care of yourself. Let's shower and try to get some sleep and we can approach this with a fresh mind in the morning."

With an acceptable game plan officially vocalized you take one more deep breath and clap your hands once to center yourself. Your shower helps tremendously which you knew it would but sometimes it's hard to regulate when so much is going on at once. You put on lotion and your pajamas and check on the trio once more before forcing yourself to go to bed. Hopefully you can get some sleep and maybe start problem solving this whole nightmare in the morning.

***

A/N: So sorry it took so long to get here my mind is a labrynth and my life has been a tornado lately, it's getting calm so what else would you like to see from this series?

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