#until it somehow clicks in my brain

[daydreamerwonderkid]

Jerry the Turkey gets some more friends :D

Obligatory click for better quality

You do NOT have permission to repost my art.

Sonic T-shirt requested by my sister. She's absolutely thrilled that Damian's a canonical weeb.

[red-hibiscus]

It's ok Yoh, I too am so oblivious I go on dates without knowing

[marciliedonato]

so my phone turns 1 today and i was checking it now and it totally glitched like 2 things overlapping out of nowhere so I closed the screen and when I tried to reopen it it only lets me either enter the code or scan my finger and unlock it anyway I can and the the screen is either blurred or there's nothing on it and I cant open anything the buttons don't respond and I cant even turn it off what the actual fuck I'm losing my mind fr

edit: i was able to force turn it off somehow bc it wasn't working and we're back random indian guys on youtube save the day once again

[chuluoyi]

✎ baby to the rescue

- gojo satoru x reader

in which gojo recruits your baby son to “save” you from a credit card salesman

genre: immense fluff !! baby gojo and dad!gojo shenanigans~

note: based on this and this reel. with this i hereby declare that anything past chapter 235 is null and void HAHA anyway, i truly want to post remarried empress au by this week but since 261 leaks hurt me so much, i need more fluff so have to postpone it to next week :') tagging @karikari19hikariiii <3

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Your husband Gojo Satoru... is handsome as hell, which means your baby son is also undeniably good-looking.

"Why do you pout at me?" Satoru poked his squirming baby's cheek while pursing his lips too. "C'mon, smile! That auntie is smiling at you!"

Everyone who passed by them in Shinjuku shopping district turned heads to admire him and his pumpkin just a little longer, and Satoru visibly enjoyed the attention. He smiled back at them, occasionally winking even.

If only they knew how pretty his wife was too...

Wait, no! On second thought, if they know how hot you are, there will be problems!

You had left him to go to the nearest pharmacy to restock some things, while Satoru decided to entertain his baby in the toy section. He basked in the starry-eyed looks people were giving him... until he heard some strange sounds and turned to his baby boy—

—who was chewing the beak of a duck toy with all his might. Satoru was mortified.

"—! Let that go! Your mama will beat me if she sees you eating this!"

Your baby paid him no mind though, desperately pushing the duck into his mouth. Satoru sat him on one of the empty racks and began the tug of war—

"Let go!" he reprimanded. "You're so naughty, gods—!"

Some people were now openly giggling at both of them. His son tried to resist by rolling, and Satoru clicked his tongue. He then yanked the toy away until his baby finally let it go, sniffling sadly that his papa wouldn't let him have the duck.

"Oh, you..." he picked him up again and consoled the pumpkin. "You can't do that, you hear? First, it's not clean. Second, mama will grow two heads to chew you and me both, understand?"

No, your son totally didn't understand a thing. Satoru sighed, seeing his little blue eyes welling up with tears. He ruffled his head and pulled him close. "There, there... I'll get you ice cream, okay? Now let's go."

Satoru was determined to turn his son back into a smiling, happy baby. But just as he was about to head towards the ice cream parlor, he encountered the most unbelievable sight—

"Miss! I guarantee you'll love this credit card features!"

You. That was clearly you, and a salesman (or a bozo, in Satoru's eyes) was trying to bother you.

You raised an eyebrow. "Uh, no— thank you—"

Yet the bozo was still persistent, like the pesky fly he was. "You can use it to pay for your monthly beauty treatments! Someone as pretty as you..." He eyed you from head to toe, blinking suggestively. "Oh my! Your skin is flawless! You have to maintain it this way! I can also give you recommendations for—"

You were wearing a flare dress that made you look so young and petite, and obviously, Satoru too was lusting after you. And true, your skin was smooth like a soft serve of mochi, but still!

You are meant for him and his eyes only! Oho, this bozo would get heavenly punishment.

He had to get to you somehow, but this was public space and if he cooked up some sort of shenanigan, you would put him in sex ban. I can't have that! so Satoru wracked his brain to think of another way...

Once again, his gaze fell on his now calm baby, who was also looking at his mama over there with utter curiosity. And an idea immediately popped up in his mind.

"Hey, kiddo, look at that, a bad man is trying to take your mama," Satoru nudged him as if trying to egg him on. "We can't let that happen. Will you help me to save her, hmm?"

"Mama..." your baby looked back at him so innocently before smiling. "Mamaaa!"

"Good boy." Gods, his baby was so adorable, he almost felt bad for doing this but...

Swallowing his guilt, thinking he would make it up later, he pinched his son's butt a little too firmly—

"WAAAA!" and suddenly, the little boy burst into tears, and even Satoru was surprised by the sheer volume of his wail.

The sudden inconsolable sound of your baby sent you scrambling in panic, your eyes wildly searching for him, completely disregarding the credit card man. "My baby!"

"Eh?" the credit card man was visibly surprised. "Oh... so, you're married...?"

You immediately made your way towards Satoru and snatched your baby from him, hugging him tightly. "Oh, there, there... What happened to you?" you shot your husband a distaste look as your son kept wailing. "Satoru, why is he crying?"

He nonchalantly shrugged. "Maybe missing his mama? Dunno~"

By now, you had completely forgotten the credit card bozo, but he still looked at the three of you in mild surprise. Satoru took this chance to approach him and whisper in his ear:

"You see, my wife doesn't need your credit card," he whistled. "My cards or lumpsum money will do more than enough."

After seeing how pale the bozo looked, Satoru chuckled darkly... before leading you and your son away from the crowd, with one arm possessively around your waist.

Epilogue

"I'm sorry— I'm sorry, okay!?"

Satoru looked down at his son in utter hopelessness, as the little boy refused to be held by him, looking at him with teary, resentful eyes, and backing away from him in his playpen.

Can babies hold a grudge? Satoru didn't know, but his son definitely was not happy with him, and he couldn't think of any other explanation other than his sin against him back this afternoon.

"I've bought you mochi ice cream!" he opened his palm to reveal the treat. "Don't you want some? Papa will give you some, yeah?"

Baby looked skeptical now, and at that moment, he resembled you so much—accusing eyes, pursed lips, exactly like the expression you would pull when you were unsure of what Satoru might do next. He almost chuckled at the resemblance, feeling giddy.

"C'mon, forgive me, yeah?" he patted his son's little beanie and offered his hand for him to take, eyes crinkling in fondness. "Now, here comes your treat, come closer?"

Your baby crawled closer, seemingly accepting him, and Satoru was all smiles, until—

Whack!

It happened in a flash. He could have avoided it, but he was too taken aback. The pain exploded in his jaw, so intense that he grunted loudly.

"What the—?! You... you—! You kicked me— in the face!"

[m0r1bund]

Night Parade of a Hundred Ghosts

My comic for “Queer Compassion in 15 Comics,” a collaborative anthology that blends social science and art to illustrate LGBTQ+ experiences of compassion. You can read it online for free, or purchase a physical copy at that link :)

I was asked to write a statement about this piece, which I will share here:

There are some difficult feelings in the comic about estrangement, belonging, and cultural longing. The story didn’t click for me, though, until I started reading the stories of others in the community from the research. There’s a lot of beauty in there, but there’s also a lot of hurt. I wanted to squeeze everyone’s hands and somehow find the perfect words of comfort— and isn’t that all that anyone wants to do when they see family going through it? So I started thinking of it as a call-and-response between you, at your lowest point, and the ghosts of your ancestors. If they could talk to you, what would they say? “Look—you’re safe and fed.” “You’re alive.” “How magnificent!” “You can cry, but wouldn’t it feel better if you did it in the shower?” “Now hold my hand and walk with me.” “Take care of yourself.” “Brush your teeth.” “Text her back.” “We love you.”

It’s surreal to share this. I began working with the anthology crew in 2021, towards the beginning of my undergrad. In just under a week, I’ll be graduating. This project has been living in the back of my brain for the past three years, a source of comfort and catharsis. Now we get to inflict it on all of you, hahahaha…!! Sincerely, I feel so lucky to have been able to participate in it. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who leaves their touch on this anthology— scientists, artists, interviewees, readers, and beyond.

[txrully]

I'M SO STUPID IN LOVE!

·˚ ༘ ꒱ summary lovey-dovey things they'd do for you!

·˚ ༘ ꒱ characters isagi yoichi , bachira meguru , itoshi rin , nagi seishiro , mikage reo , chigiri hyoma , hiori yo , shidou ryusei , itoshi sae , michael kaiser , alexis ness .

·˚ ༘ ꒱ warning lowercase intended

·˚ ༘ ꒱ song inspo stupid in love - max ( ft. huh yunjin of lsrfm )

·˚ ༘ ꒱ isagi yoichi

you know how isagi’s brain is basically soccer, soccer, soccer? well, this man rewires his ENTIRE system for you. suddenly, every time he scores a goal, he dedicates it to you. like, mid-celebration he’s shouting your name in front of thousands of people. embarrassing? a lil. cute? definitely.

he’s also the type to leave you notes everywhere. you’ll open your locker, and boom: "i hope your day is as perfect as your smile. also, pls drink water. - yoichi 🩵"

or you’ll find random sticky notes around the house with stuff like: "you're cuter than my dog. and that’s saying a lot." ( i hc he's a dog person, fight me 🫠 )

"yoichi, did you seriously compare me to your dog again?"

"is that bad?? you’re both my top priorities!"

·˚ ༘ ꒱ bachira meguru

bachira is a walking ball of chaos, and it only gets worse when he’s in love. he makes you weird handmade crafts—like a necklace with your initials carved into a random rock he found because “the vibes were immaculate.”

he’s also the king of grand gestures. once, he showed up outside your window in the middle of the night blasting your favorite song from a boombox. and no, he didn’t think it through—he got yelled at by your neighbors, but he swears it was worth it.

"meguru, why is there a rock with my name on it?"

"because i love you. duh."

"…you couldn’t just buy a necklace??"

"where’s the FUN in that?? D:< "

·˚ ༘ ꒱ itoshi rin

soft tsundere energy incoming. rin doesn’t say much, but when he’s in love, he SHOWS it. like, he’ll memorize your coffee order, your favorite book, and the exact way you like your hoodie sleeves rolled up. you swear he’s psychic, but he’s just that attentive.

he also sends you texts at random times:

"don’t forget your umbrella. it’s going to rain."

"i noticed you like this song. added it to my playlist."

you’re 99% sure his search history is “how to take care of someone without being obvious.”

"rin, did you... did you learn how to make my favorite food?"

"shut up and eat it."

"you’re so sweet it’s disgusting."

"i said shut up."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ nagi seishiro

nagi’s love language? pure, lazy dedication. he may not seem like the romantic type, but trust me—he will move mountains for you... as long as it doesn’t require getting up too much.

once, he spent HOURS figuring out how to build you a playlist of all your favorite songs, complete with a cover photo of you two. he even labeled it: "for my player 2 🕹️"

"sei, this playlist is amazing!"

"mm, yeah, it was exhausting. now can we nap?"

"you literally just sat there and clicked buttons."

"exactly. so tiring.."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ mikage reo

reo goes all out for you—no budget, no limits, no second thoughts. one time, you mentioned how pretty cherry blossoms are, and the next thing you know, he’s flying you to a festival in japan. casually might i add.

but the sweetest part? he remembers the little things. your favorite snack? stocked in his pantry. your favorite flower? delivered to your doorstep every friday. he spoils you rotten but somehow makes it feel like the most natural thing in the world.

"reo, this is too much—"

"no, it’s not. nothing’s too much for you."

"you’re literally insane."

"only for you, babe."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ chigiri hyoma

chigiri is the definition of 💌romantic aesthetic💌. he writes you poetry and leaves it in random places, like your bag or your coat pocket. sometimes, you don’t even notice until hours later.

he also takes you on dreamy dates—picnics in scenic fields, long bike rides at sunset, and slow dances in your living room when it’s raining outside. everything he does feels like it’s straight out of a romance movie.

"hyoma, did you just quote a shakespeare sonnet to me?"

"maybe."

"oh my god, you’re so dramatic."

"and yet you’re still here."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ hiori yo

hiori is the sweetest, softest boy in love. he keeps a journal where he writes down all the little things you do that make him happy. once, you caught him scribbling, and he turned BRIGHT red.

he’s also the king of quiet acts of service. your phone’s always fully charged, your favorite snacks magically appear in your bag, and you never have to ask for help because he’s already two steps ahead.

"yo, were you writing about me again?"

"no... maybe. okay, yes."

"you’re adorable."

"please don’t look."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ shidou ryusei

oh boy. shidou is CHAOTIC in love. this man would probably fight a wild animal to impress you. he’s all about making you laugh, even if it means doing the dumbest stunts imaginable.

one time, he literally climbed a tree to get you a flower. it wasn’t even a nice flower. but hey, it’s the thought that counts.

"ryu, you’re bleeding. what did you do??"

"got you this flower. cool, huh?"

"you FELL OUT OF A TREE FOR THIS??"

"worth it."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ itoshi sae

sae is the definition of quiet but deadly romantic. he doesn’t show his feelings often, but when he does? damn. like, he’ll casually fly in from another country just to spend the weekend with you because “it’s no big deal.”

he also sends you fancy gifts out of nowhere. but if you call him out, he’ll play it cool like it’s nothing.

"sae, did you just buy me an entire designer collection?"

"it’s just clothes."

"just clothes?? this cost more than my rent!"

"and you look better than rent."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ michael kaiser

kaiser loves showing off, especially when it comes to you. he’ll buy out a billboard just to plaster your picture on it with the words "the love of my life 🩵."

but he’s also surprisingly sweet. like, he’ll carry your bag, fix your hair when it’s windy, or randomly pull you into a dance in the middle of the street just because he can.

"michael, did you seriously put my face on a billboard??"

"obviously. everyone needs to know you’re mine."

"you’re ridiculous."

"ridiculously in love with you, yes."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ alexis ness

ness is a total softie. he writes you little love letters and leaves them in your mailbox, signed with his initials like he’s a secret admirer. you obviously know it’s him, but you let him think he’s being sneaky.

he’s also BIG on cuddles. whenever he sees you, it’s like he can’t function until he gets a hug.

"ness, you know i know it’s you, right?"

"…you’re supposed to pretend you don’t!"

"why?"

"because it’s romantic!"

© txrully

do not copy/translate/plagiarize/repost my works in any way. ( i will find you 😶‍🌫️ )

likes + reblogs appreciated ‹𝟹

[ozzgin]

OZZ OMG OMG OMG THAT YANDERE PRISON THING OMG OMG OMG

*jitters with excitement*

I NEED MORE AHHHHH IT TICKLED MY BRAIN THE RIGHT AND WRONG WAY AT THE SAME TIME

Like if you're nice they'll just become your dogs and if you're not nice they'll give you a very rough foursome I'm down for either OMG OMG OMG help I have problems

To quote Markiplier: "I'm not a masochist, this is about power"

*drops dead*

*instantly revives*

Ahem, I saw you mention you might come up with small plots, so I'll do the logical thing to try to inspire you:

- clueless darling ask the leaders about their gangs and whatnot. Like nonchalantly. Because they're too nice darling thought it's no big deal lol

- darling subconsciously avoid blonde man (even tho he is my favourite hahah) after seeing him beat up the guy

- darling got drunk (somehow in a prison) and either gets horny (and try to let it out under the blankets forgetting they got roommates)or innocently touchy hugging all three of them and poking their unique features, sitting in their laps and so on. Or better yet, touches/approaches other inmates in front of the roommates...

content: gender neutral reader, alcohol consumption, NSFW below the cut!

Inmates are creative. They will always find a way around the rules, and this time it happened to be a rather clumsy attempt at brewing alcohol. Had this been discovered by a guard, whoever concocted the beverage would've landed in detention.

Instead, it was you who found it, innocently assuming someone must've forgotten their water behind. You gulped down the clear liquid, thirsty after you walk, then promptly grimaced at its unexpected bitterness.

Safe to say you're now quite drunk.

That in itself would already be troublesome enough, but another thing is endangering yours and everyone else's peace: you're in a particularly flirty mood.

"What the hell are you doing?"

The officer's smile drops instantly, and he turns towards the deep voice. One of your criminal roommates glares at the sight with hollow eyes. You were clinging to the officer's arm, a dumb grin plastered on your face. The man in uniform quickly shoves you aside, his features pale and drained.

"It wasn't me who started it," he pleads.

You're quickly picked up by your bunkie, who is still staring at the guard. He won't be leaving this prison alive, that's for sure. Now, however, his priorities lie somewhere else.

The hallway spins as you're being carried away, and you shamelessly cling to your ride, feeling and groping the muscles and tracing along his tattooed skin.

"My God, at least wait until we're back to our cell," he groans with flushed cheeks.

The blonde one is trying to play it cool. Come, now, you're obviously out of it. He needs to be mature and tuck you in, or something along the line.

Easier said than done, especially with a raging boner. You're quick to notice it, and you certainly don't hesitate to point it out, making lewd gestures with your hands as some sort of offer.

"Are you sure you won't regret it tomorrow?"

"Hey now, I'm drunk, not unconscious," you bark between hiccups.

He may have interrogated you further, but the thought of your pretty little mouth struggling to take him in is too much to bear. He's essentially drooling by the time he pats his knee for you to come over.

The pierced one drops you on your bed with a flat expression. Annoyance? A closer look at his pursed lips, and one can tell he's really just struggling to maintain his composure.

"Please, I really need to-"

You hold him back by the arm and bat your eyelashes. In return, he clicks his tongue. Is this some sort of test from above? His beloved Darling is essentially begging to be fingered. Yet, he shouldn't be taking advantage of your state. He shouldn't...

Too late. You gasp at his rough fingers making their way in.

"Alright, don't be too loud," he concludes with a faint smirk.

The masked one gently places you on your bed, then plants himself before you with crossed arms.

"Nonsense. You're drunk."

"I mean it", you repeat yourself.

He does his best to look imposing. Truth be told, his knees weakened from the moment "fuck me" slipped out of your mouth. He gladly would, but he has morals. Well, when it comes to you, anyways.

Your pout seems to suggest this would be a long standoff. He sighs, then pushes you back onto the mattress.

"How about this? I'll take care of it," he explains quietly, his cloth hovering above your groin. "I'll be awaiting your offer again once you're sober."

For now, his tongue will have to do.

[Yandere Prison] | [More Yandere Stories]

[thebibliosphere]

Speaking of therapy, I say, as though we're old friends, and you're not a stranger trapped in this metaphorical elevator with me and you can hear the suspension wires starting to fray.

I've been doing a lot of work recently that's focused on imposter syndrome and the feeling that no matter how well or how much I do, I'm not good enough. That I'm somehow tricking everyone into thinking my work is actually good.

Some days it's a minor niggle in my head that I can gentle and soothe with logic and affirmations. Or smother, depending on the mood. Other times it's loud and all-consuming and the mental anguish it causes me is so real I can feel it twitching in my muscles. This desperate fight-or-flight instinct with nowhere to go and nothing to fight but myself.

Anyway, because I'm several types of Mentally Unwell™, I was switching between workshop sheets ahead of next week. Filling in different forms. (Trying to get a good grade in therapy) And I got my "recognize your harmful ADHD coping mechanisms" worksheet mixed in with the "you're not actually lying to people, you just feel like you are because your brain is full of weasels" worksheet, and seeing them side by side made something go topsy turvy in my head, and I just had to sit and breathe for a couple of minutes until the urge to scream passed. Because it clicked, it all suddenly clicked.

The reason the imposter syndrome workshops and therapy sessions aren't sticking was because I do routinely trick people into thinking I'm someone I'm not.

Because I'm masking my ADHD for their convenience.

I've always known there was something wrong with me. My neurotypical peers made it abundantly clear I didn't fit in or was failing in some way I couldn't see nor remedy, no matter how hard I tried.

So I compressed myself into a workaholic box of hyper-competence in the hopes they'd stop noticing the flaws and exploit like me instead. And then subsequently lived with the daily fear that if they looked too close, they'd realize I'm a monumental fuck up with enough personal baggage to block the Suez Canal.

If you ever need someone to burn themselves to ashes for your comfort and convenience, I'm your gal.

Or I used to. Until I had a bit of a breakdown, and the rubber band holding my brain together snapped and pinged off into the stratosphere, never to be seen again.

Unfortunately, the trauma of living like that didn't also fuck off and instead left a gaping maw where my personality ought to be, so now I get to deal with that aftermath.

And it's that aftermath that's affecting the imposter syndrome shit. Because yes, I am hyper-competent and good at what I do-- but it doesn't feel real because that is how I mask.

And the truly frustrating thing is I am good at what I do. I am not pretending. I worked hard to be good at this. It just feels like I'm dicking around because 90% of my personality turns out to be trauma masquerading as humor in a trenchcoat, and having people genuinely like something weird I'm doing is so foreign my brain has decided it's just another form of masking.

I'm pretending to be a good author so people will think I'm a good author, and my brain thinks we are in Danger of being found out. We are in Danger, and writing is Dangerous because then people will know I'm Weird and not whatever palatable version I've presented myself as for their NT sensibilities.

Like the neurotic vampire with a raging praise kink wasn't an obvious giveaway.

Anyway. I got nothing else. Thanks for listening.

I'm going to go be very normal in another room and not stare into the abyss of my own soul for a bit.

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Dead of Night - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer stumbles upon a secret dark fantasy of reader’s and does everything he can to be the one to fulfill it.

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: This is the first time I’ve ever written anything with themes like this so feedback is definitely appreciated. Not proofread cuz this is long and I’m tired ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I fully understand if the themes included in this are not for some of my regular readers and I encourage you to scroll if you’re not comfortable with any of the following warnings.

TW: perv!spencer, dom!spencer, mask kink, knife play, blood, dubcon, kind of cnc but it’s emphasized repeatedly that reader initiates and is in control of what is taking place, unprotected sex, penetration, creampie, degradation (slut), pet names (doll, angel) religious imagery, gun mention, std testing mention, fem + afab reader, soulmate talk

Rating: R, 18+

——

You knew it was wrong, you’d seen just how easily Penelope was able to track someone down through their “anonymous” profile on websites just like this one, but your desires got the better of you, and you just had to try.

Your profile was nondescript, your age, a vague physical description of yourself, and a link to a meticulously detailed account of your wildest fantasies. After weeks of back and forth, chatting with a few equally nondescript profiles, you found the one that you really clicked with, the stranger you decided you’d let sneak into your window and do whatever he wanted with you. After an std panel and the agreement of your safe word, you decided to fully commit, sending this complete stranger your address and logging off for the night.

Even though you knew this was a stupid idea, you weren’t a complete idiot, you had plans in case anything went south, including placing your handgun in your bedside table for easy access if you, god-forbid, had to use it. Placing yourself in a high-risk situation was the whole point, and you couldn’t wait to see how it turned out.

You spent the remainder of your afternoon preparing, doing every grooming ritual you’d usually do before a date, but this time felt somehow more important. You didn’t even know what this guy looked like, and yet, you wanted to be the picture of beauty for him. It was silly, but you always pictured yourself the prettiest you’d ever been when you daydreamed about being ravaged by a stranger. You wanted to be completely irresistible in every way, and you were doing everything in your power to accomplish that.

As the sun finally set, your excitement levels began to rise, anxiously awaiting the arrival of your masked suitor. You opened the bedroom window just above your fire escape, the cool night air drawing goosebumps over your exposed skin, only a thin lace slip and matching panties adorning your frame. You crawled into bed, double checking your bedside drawer before pulling your comforter over your body, eagerly drifting off to sleep.

—

Spencer had been keeping a secret, one that he did not want you to know about, until today. A few weeks ago he’d stayed late to finish up some paperwork for the last case you’d been on, when his pen ran out of ink just as he was about to sign off the last document. He walked to your empty desk, reaching across it to grab a pen from the cup next to your monitor, when his arm brushed against your mouse, causing your display to light up.

He knew he shouldn’t snoop, but curiosity got the best of him, scanning through the title of each tab open on your browser until a certain website caught his eye. He went against his better judgment and clicked the tab, his jaw dropping upon viewing your profile, and with it, the graphic description of your sexual proclivities. His brain immediately cemented that information in his mind’s eye, fit to torture him for days after the encounter.

He couldn’t stop picturing himself fulfilling all of those desires for you, having to excuse himself to the bathroom several times a day to take care of the bulge in his pants just from being around you. He eventually bit the bullet, creating his own profile on the website and messaging you as an “anonymous” suitor, beyond pleased when the two of you hit it off. He felt bad not telling you, but this was a means to an end that would surely leave you both satisfied, and the devious part of him won out this time.

He did everything you asked, getting tested so he could fuck you raw, he was apprehensive about the risks of a potential pregnancy even without the fear of std transmission, but the way you begged so beautifully in your messages for him to creampie you was more than enough to convince him. The moment he got your message with your address, he went out and purchased a mask to conceal his identity just like you asked, and anxiously waited for nightfall.

—

The graze of fabric against your skin gently woke you as your bedding was pulled down off of your body, your mind clouded from the deep sleep you’d been sunk in seconds before. You rolled onto your back, starting to lift your head until a large hand clamped over your mouth, forcing your head back down onto your pillow. Your eyes widened, darting around the room before settling on the masked figure on top of you. You tried to scream against his palm, but the sound simply reverberated back against you, muffled by his strong grip.

His free hand made quick work of cutting off your slip, the thin fabric splitting easily against the blade of the knife in his grasp. You struggled underneath him, weakly pushing at his strong shoulders, feigning defense as the heartbeat in your cunt grew stronger by the second. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening, the adrenaline coursing through your veins making you feel almost high.

“Don’t fight it.” He hushed, holding the knife flush against your neck. You slowed your movements, settling for shifting your legs against his. He removed his hand from your mouth, freeing it up to gather your hands to pin them above your head as well as give you an opportunity to use your safe-word if need be.

He trailed the knife down your body, your chest heaving with shaky breaths as the blade scratched a small cut between your breasts, warm droplets of blood forming in it’s wake. He followed the curve of your body, leaving shallow kitten scratches until he reached your hip, using the tip of the knife to carve a heart into your skin. The sting of each movement set every nerve ending in your body on fire, the wetness pooling between your thighs increasing by the second.

He pressed his thumb to the wound, smearing the blood down to the waistband of your panties, using the digit to pull the fabric before letting it snap back against your skin. You gasped, your labored breaths growing more desperate as he brought the blade to slice the fabric, exposing your embarrassingly wet cunt.

“Look at how wet you are, you love this, don’t you?” The condescension in his tone felt almost half-hearted, and the more of his voice you heard, the more familiar he started to sound, but you couldn’t quite place why. You looked down at him, watching his every move as you tried to place him.

He set the knife on the bed, using his now free hand to yank his pants down, his hard cock slapping against his thigh. Your eyes went wide at his size, looking just long and thick enough to have you a little worried about being able to take him raw, but the thought of being stretched to your limits sent another wave of arousal straight to your core and helped quell that fear ever so slightly.

“If you don’t want this, just say the word.” His words dripped from his lips like honey, sickly sweet, and in that moment you had never felt more sure of your desire for anything in your life.

—

Spencer wondered if the way he was feeling was akin to that of religious psychosis, so engulfed in your very being that he ought to worship at your altar for the rest of his life, fit to carry out any act you requested of him.

His brain kept your description of your fantasy scrolling in the back of his mind, catering to everything you had written to a T in hopes of making this a night you’d never forget. The only thing at the forefront of his thoughts, however, was the intoxicating sounds you made every time he gripped or marked your skin. Each note sought to pull his focus, threatening his plan as it tempted him to lose control all together. He couldn’t do that, his conscience too righteous in its goal to keep you as pleased as possible.

He took his time, marking you just the way you’d requested, his cock twitching with every whimper that flowed out of you until he finally reached your core, the lace of your underwear glistening under the moonlight cast through your open window from how wet you were. He wanted to sink fully into you without a care in the world, but he had to make sure this was absolutely what you wanted. He was, to your knowledge, a stranger after all, and the last thing he wanted was for you to be uncomfortable in any way.

—

You frantically shook your head in acknowledgment, spreading your legs wider for him, ready for this tall stranger to finally be inside of you. Your eagerness spurred him on, a surge of confidence washing over him as he let go of your wrists, his large hands gripping your hips and pulling you further down the bed. He lifted your legs so your knees rested atop his shoulders, his rough movements making you gasp.

He brought his cock to your core, running the shaft through your slick folds before slapping the head against your clit a few times, the repeated hits making your hips jolt ever so slightly. He hummed low in the back of his throat, lining up his tip with your entrance before thrusting forward, bottoming out inside of you in one fell swoop.

“You’re so tight.” He grunted, one hand holding an iron grip on your thigh to hold your leg up, the other digging fingerprints into your hip. You gasped once more at the intrusion, feeling more full than ever before as he set a steady but unrelenting pace. Your gasp turned to crying moans, brows furrowed in awe at the way his cock stretched you so deliciously, prominent veins rubbing against the contours of your sensitive walls.

Each snap of his hips had his balls slapping against your ass, the lude sound mixing with his grunts and the wet squelching where your bodies met in the most intimate way, the decibel level in the room reaching an all-time high.

You bit your lip, trying to quiet yourself to at least somewhat lower the noise and not disturb your sleeping neighbors, but the absence of your desperate moans was not lost on him. His pace slowed, his left hand firmly gripping your chin to force you to look at his masked face. His eyes met yours through the thin slit in the dark fabric.

You knew those eyes, those big, soft brown irises, so comforting, yet darker than you recognized, pupils far more blown than you’d ever seen before. You knew him, but there was no way. Your mind must have been playing tricks on you, because there was no way that Spencer Reid would do anything this perverse, let alone with you.

“Louder, slut.” He squeezed your cheeks, forcing your lower lip out from under your bite.

“I-I’m not a slut.” You mumbled, barely above a whisper.

“Only a slut would leave her bedroom window open, practically begging a stranger to come in and fuck her.” This was far too brazen to be Spencer, you thought, a level of blunt confidence you’d never in a million years expect from him.

“I-I didn’t mean to.” You stuttered over your words, raising your voice in an attempt to half heartedly defend your actions.

“Well then, you should really be more careful next time.” He laughed, releasing his grip on your face before playfully slapping your cheek and increasing the pace of his thrusts, his now free hand finding your clit. His calloused thumb drew broad strokes over and over and over against your sensitive bundle of nerves, a knot tightening in your stomach as you drew closer and closer to your release. You turned your head, trying to bury your face in the pillow as you writhed underneath him, your body frantically looking for relief.

“Oh don’t be shy doll, let me see how much you’re enjoying this.” His tone was almost sing-song, clearly enjoying this just as much as you were. He pressed his body down closer to yours, almost pinning your thighs against your stomach, the change in angle forcing a borderline scream from your lungs, crying out strangled ‘uh’s with every stroke. You looked him in the eye, desperate to know if this deity above you could possibly be your nerdy coworker, and every interaction you’d had with him flashed before your eyes.

Every fleeting glance he took at your chest or your ass, the way he lingered behind you in the field, feeling his presence even when you couldn’t see him. You couldn’t think of a time he wasn’t around a corner when you turned it, always near whenever you needed his help on a case. You always secretly hoped he'd make a move sooner or later, but you never thought it would be anything like this.

He was omnipotent, knowing exactly how to make you feel things you’d never felt before, pushing your body to levels of pleasure you never thought possible. You thought you might disappear, your brain short-circuiting as you tried to make sense of everything, finally understanding why the French refer to orgasms as the little death.

Your walls fluttered around him, the sounds leaving you reduced to pathetic whimpers as your vocal chords grew strained.

“That’s it, cum on my cock, angel.” He groaned, his thrusts growing increasingly desperate. The pet name surprised you, but if he saw you as an angel, how fitting considering how godlike he felt to you in that moment. You could tell he was close, and if your orgasm was what would get him to cum inside you, then so be it. Your eyes glazed over, your hands clawing at his back as you chanted ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ like a mantra, wave after wave of euphoria washing over every nerve in your body.

—

Spencer was a man possessed, his primal urges leaving his mind completely uninhibited, so lost in your body that he thought he might need divine intervention to ever leave you.

He didn’t quite understand where the sudden dominant urge coursing through his veins had come from, but he didn’t care to dwell too much on the thought, content to fuck you into the mattress until you screamed his name.

He knew that wouldn’t happen, but he secretly hoped you’d realize who he was, wishing for nothing more than for you to want him for him. His heart felt like it may burst at the thought, the desire to be wanted as he was ever-lingering inside of it, that being the very motivation behind his lingering tendencies from the start.

As your heat contracted around him, he felt an embrace like no other, hoping the myth of twin flames to be true. If this connection wasn’t proof of it, how could he rationally explain anything? He knew the scientific reasoning behind it, but it didn’t feel like enough, such a finite explanation for a feeling so sempiternal.

He wondered if you felt the same way too, so lost in his every desire that he let himself dive into the delusion, using the pet name he wished he could call you every day for eternity.

Your chants and cries as you came set him free, his hips stuttering as he finally filled your aching cunt to the brim with his seed. He hovered above you, catching his breath, watching your expression soften as you rode out your orgasm, practically glowing.

When he finally snapped out of his lust-fueled haze, he fully remembered his role, pulling out of you and quickly scrambling to stand, fixing his pants and underwear. You had agreed to his departure after, and as badly as he wanted to hold you until you drifted off to sleep, he respected your wishes more than his wants. He walked to the window, lifting his leg to climb out of it when you cleared your throat, drawing his attention. He turned, seeing you sit up, hazy smile on your face.

“Thank you.” You sighed, and he gave a nod of acknowledgement before slipping out of the window and into the night.

—

When you awoke, you had a couple minutes of doubt in which you thought the events of the night before had all been a dream, until you moved to get out of bed and winced at sting from the shallow marks adorning your body and the dull ache between your legs. You smiled to yourself, before looking at your phone and realizing what time it was. You were going to be late, and panic set in when you realized you’d have to go to work in the makeup you’d fallen asleep in last night.

You rushed out the door, checking your makeup in a compact mirror in your car, wiping a small bit of smudged mascara off of your brow bone before walking into work.

“Fun night?” Derek quipped as you walked through the doors, always the first to poke fun at your perceived escapades.

“You could say that.” You laughed, setting your handbag on your desk before joining the team to walk to the conference room.

“What happened?” Penelope asked, almost panicked, taking your arm in her hand and pointing to the only visible cut on your body.

“Oh that’s nothing, I just scraped my arm on my car door.” You reassured, smiling at her. As much as you loved your best friend, she didn’t need to know the truth of your little white lie.

“You should really be more careful next time.” Spencer’s voice came from behind you, his hand gently resting on your hip before squeezing right where the heart shaped cut from the night before was inlaid in your skin. His words reverberated in the space between your ears as your brain processed what he’d just said.

Realization hit you like a semi truck, your lips parting in shock. Your suspicions had been correct, and you almost wanted to turn around and kiss then interrogate him right there. You couldn’t do that though, having a full work day in front of both of you.

Now you just had to figure out a time and place to broach the subject with him without completely humiliating yourself.

——

part 2 can be found here

tag list: @pleasantwitchgarden @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or spencer reid taglist :)

[naomiarai]

— desperate !

╔. ■ .═══════╗

sex with your enemy

╚═══════. ■

➤ PAIRING — jake × fem! reader

➤ GENRE — pwop, slight fluff, (but literally no plot), kind of fwb? e2???

➤ WARNINGS — dom!jake, sub!reader, jake is kinda mean (?), manhandling, degradation, unprotected sex, backshots, kissing. lmk if i missed anything.

➤ WC — 1.3k

➤ AUTHOR — not proofread. i had a jake brain rot idk what happened but i put my SOUL into writing it even though it’s quite short. but again idk how i feel about it.

“I fucking hate you!” you shout, your voice shaking with anger as Jake drags you into an empty bedroom. The door slams shut behind you, the sound echoing in the small, dimly lit space.

Jake clicks his tongue in response, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Yeah? You always seem to fucking forget that when you’re sitting on my dick” he retorts, venom dripping from his words. His grip tightens on your arm, and in one swift motion, he lifts your skirt, his touch rough and demanding.

Youyr breath catches in your throat, a mix of fury and desire swirling inside you. “You’re such a jerk” you spit out, your voice wavering despite your attempt to sound resolute.

Jake’s lips curl into a cruel smile. “Maybe. But you like it, don’t you?” he says, his voice low and taunting. He leans in, his breath hot against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine despite your anger.

You struggle against him, but the resistance only seems to fuel his determination. “Let go of me” you demand, though even you can hear the faltering in your voice.

His hand moves from your skirt to your thigh, his fingers digging into your skin. “Say it again” he challenges, his tone daring you to defy him. “Tell me how much you hate me”

“I do!” you whisper, your voice barely audible as his touch ignites a fire within you that you can’t control. “I hate you”

JJake’s laugh is a dark, hollow sound. “Liar” he murmurs before his lips crash against yours, silencing any further protest.

Your hands come up to push him away, but they falter, instead grasping the fabric of his shirt. His kiss is punishing, demanding, and you respond with equal fervor, anger and desire intertwining until you can no longer differentiate them.

Jake chuckles when you pull him even closer, his tongue slipping into your mouth, intertwining with yours. Saliva starts to pool at the corners of your lips, creating a wet, heated mess between you. He pulls away, breathless, his calloused hands gripping your ass possessively. “Just like all the others, ready to spread her legs wide for dick” he rasps, his voice dripping with a mixture of disdain and lust.

His words ignite a flare of anger deep within you, your eyes narrowing as you retort, “And you’d stick your stupid dick inside any fucking hole that presents itself” The tension crackles between you, electric and charged. His gaze darkens, a predatory glint flashing in his eyes as he pulls you even closer, his breath hot against your ear.

“Is that what you think?” he growls, his hands roaming your body with a roughness that leaves you breathless. ”That I’m just some mindless animal looking for a place to stick it? When you were practically fucking Heeseung out there? You have no idea what you do to me”. The intensity of his words sends a shiver down your spine, your body betraying you as heat pools low in your belly.

You struggle to maintain your composure, your own hands clawing at his back in a desperate bid to regain some semblance of control. “Don’t flatter yourself” you hiss, though your voice wavers. “You're nothing special”

His laugh is dark and humorless, his grip tightening on your flesh. “We’ll see about that” he murmurs, before capturing your lips in another bruising kiss, his tongue dominating yours with a ferocity that leaves you gasping for air.

You melt into his touch again, cursing at yourself for doing it so easily. Jake’s hands are everywhere, rough and demanding, yet somehow the sensation of his touch makes your skin tingle. He pulls away from your lips, his breath hot and ragged, and you see the flicker of raw desire in his eyes. In one swift motion, he spins you around, pressing your chest against the cold, hard surface of the nearby table.

The unexpected pressure against your body sends a shiver down your spine, your pussy throbbing and pulsating with need. You can feel your arousal soaking through the delicate fabric of your white thong, and you bite your lip to stifle a moan. “So fucking wet already” he murmurs mockingly, his voice a low, seductive growl that sends waves of pleasure straight to your core. His hand lifts your skirt, exposing your soaked underwear to his hungry gaze.

Your breath catches in your throat as you decide to push his buttons, a dangerous game that excites you to no end. “Heeseung probably has a bigger dick” you whisper, your voice dripping with defiance and mischief. The words hang in the air, a clear provocation meant to stoke the flames of his jealousy and possessiveness.

Jake's grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh almost painfully. You can feel the tension radiating off him, a mixture of anger and arousal that makes your heart race. He leans in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. “Is that so?” he growls, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. “Then let me know if he fucks you like this”. He zips down just enough for him his cock to spring out, tip red and angry, leaking precum

With a rough tug, he tears your thong away, the sound of ripping fabric mingling with your gasp. His hands spread your legs wider, positioning you perfectly for him. You feel the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and you can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips.

Jake thrusts into you without warning, filling you to the hilt in one hard, punishing stroke. The sudden invasion makes you cry out, a mixture of pain and pleasure that leaves you breathless. He sets a relentless pace, each thrust deep and forceful, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

“You like that?” he growls, his voice harsh and breathless. “You like being fucked like this? Like a slut?” His words send shivers through you, the degradation only heightening your arousal.

“Yes—god” you gasp, barely able to form the word as he continues to pound into you. “Jake p..please! —hnng”

His hand slips between your legs, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing it in quick, tight circles. The combined sensations are overwhelming, pushing you toward the brink of ecstasy. You can already feel your orgasm building, a tight coil of pleasure ready to snap. One of Jake’s hand grabs at your asscheeks, spreading it open to sink how cock in deeper, causing you to let out a string of moans.

“Mmhm— right there! don’t stop” you moan out with a string of moans. Jake laughs at you meanly, “Stupid slut, look at you going clueless now” he says but you’re too out of it to give him an answer.

“Cum for me” Jake commands, his voice rough with his own need. “C’mon, aren’t you desperate to milk this cock baby?”

His words are your undoing. With a strangled cry, you fall over the edge, your body convulsing around him as waves of pleasure crash over you. Jake follows soon after, his thrusts becoming erratic as he finds his release, spilling into you with a groan.

For a moment, the world is a blur of sensation, the intensity of your shared climax leaving you both breathless and trembling. As the waves of pleasure subside, Jake pulls out of you slowly, his hands gentle now as he helps you stand.

You turn to face him, your legs still shaky, and meet his gaze. There’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes, a hint of vulnerability that makes your heart ache. Without a word, he pulls you into his arms, holding you close as you both catch your breath.

In that moment, you realize that despite the intensity, despite the games and the jealousy, there’s something deeper between you and Jake. Something that goes beyond the physical, something that might just be worth exploring.

But for now, you’re content to just be in his arms, savoring the afterglow of your shared passion.

[stylesonfilms]

the days are long, the days are hard [h.s]

word count: 4.5k

after a long, excruciating week at work packed with bad news, all you want is your husband, harry.

(inspired by one of my moots that has had a rough few days, hope this brings some comfort!)

warnings: none, just fluff!

Your week started off rough—rougher than most, in fact. The kind of week that clings to your chest like damp fabric, making it hard to breathe and even harder to find the energy to push through.

Monday was everything you’d expect a Monday to be: sluggish, jarring, and unforgiving. Getting back into the groove of things at the office after a much-needed holiday break felt like trying to climb uphill in heels on black ice. Your inbox was flooded, your calendar double-booked, and your brain resistant to the demands of corporate life. The fluorescent lighting overhead seemed brighter than usual, glaring down at you as though it wanted to mock your every misstep.

By Tuesday, the headache that had been brewing since the start of the week blossomed into a full-on throbbing migraine. You powered through with your phone glued to your ear, making calls and leaving voicemails to important individuals who somehow never seemed available. The phone grew slick in your clammy hands, and you found yourself gripping it tighter as though that would keep it from slipping away along with your patience.

Wednesday hit like a freight train. You walked into the office, already dreading the growing to-do list, only to be blindsided by the news that you’d be giving not one, but two speeches at back-to-back meetings. Meetings that you didn’t even know existed until that very moment. You had smiled through clenched teeth and nodded at your boss, silently berating yourself for not anticipating this kind of curveball. The weight of your own expectations pressed heavily on your shoulders, making the simple act of breathing feel like a chore.

Meanwhile, Harry was a ghost in the rhythm of your week. He left before the sun rose, his coffee cup rinsed and drying in the sink by the time you wandered into the kitchen each morning. By the time he returned home, long after the sky had surrendered to darkness, you’d already have dinner waiting—his plate warm, yours half-empty. Conversations were quick and superficial, exchanges of how-was-your-day glossed over in favor of tired smiles and heavy eyelids.

Friday arrived, and with it, the chaos of the city seemed to mirror the storm inside you. Your phone buzzed incessantly in your purse, vibrating against the side of your hip as you weaved through the swarm of New Yorkers hustling to get wherever they needed to be. The cold January air stung your cheeks, and the weight of your tote bag dug into your shoulder as you dodged elbows and briefcases. You muttered an apology to someone who bumped into you, though you couldn’t bring yourself to look up from the sidewalk until you reached the revolving doors of your building.

Once inside, you let out a sharp exhale, your breath fogging up the glass as you took a moment to compose yourself. Tugging at your blazer, you smoothed it over your pencil skirt before running your fingers through your hair, trying to tame the frizz that had been building from the morning’s commute. Your heels clicked sharply against the marble floors as you made your way to the elevator, the sound echoing faintly in the open lobby.

“Hi, Martha!” you chirped at the receptionist, flashing her a smile that felt paper-thin.

“Morning! Good luck today!” she called back cheerfully, though her voice felt like it was coming from underwater.

You loved her, truly. She was one of the few people in the office whose presence didn’t add to your stress, but today, you could barely muster the energy to respond with more than a quick wave. Your nerves had been stretched to the breaking point, and your usual confidence felt like it had been replaced by quicksand.

If it had been any other day, Harry would’ve held you the night before, grounding you in the warmth of his arms as he peppered light kisses across your face. He would’ve whispered words of reassurance into your temple, his voice low and steady as he reminded you of just how capable you were. His hands would have found the curve of your back, his thumb tracing soothing circles into your skin until your worries melted into the sheets.

But last night, you hadn’t let him in. Despite his gentle prodding and his furrowed brows that silently begged you to confide in him, you had brushed him off with excuses of being overtired. You’d told him about your unreasonable bosses, blaming your frustration on the endless pile of work. He didn’t believe you—Harry never did when it came to half-truths. He knew you too well.

He’d pressed his lips into a thin line, his silence carrying the weight of his concern, but he had let it go, probably sensing you didn’t have the energy to delve into your worries. And maybe you should have let him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to add to the weight he was already carrying. With two employees down at his job, he’d been shouldering triple the workload, yet he still came home each night with that same lopsided smile.

You thought about the time, three years ago, when you asked him how he managed to leave the stress of work at the door. His answer had been so simple, yet it had stayed with you ever since.

“Because,” he’d said, pulling you into his arms, “at the end of the day, no matter how bad it gets, I get to come home to you. And that makes everything else feel small.”

The memory brought a faint smile to your lips, even as you stepped into the elevator and prepared yourself for another long day.

You sighed as the elevator dinged softly, floor by floor, the sound seeming to echo in the confined space. It was a rhythmic, monotonous chime, yet it only heightened your sense of dread. Fishing your phone out of your purse, you let the leather strap slide from your shoulder and settle in the crook of your arm. The screen lit up immediately, bathing your face in a cold glow, and a notification blinked persistently at the top. A voicemail.

Your stomach tightened when you saw the name attached: Martin Mayer-Harvey. The name alone carried weight—a man whose influence stretched across six major publishing branches, a figure both revered and feared in the industry. His voice had been a beacon of hope during your one-on-one interview, one you had approached with equal parts trepidation and determination.

Harry had been ecstatic when you first told him about the opportunity. He’d grinned so wide his dimples had cut deep into his cheeks, his enthusiasm bubbling over as he pulled you into a celebratory hug. “This is it,” he’d said, his hands cradling your face. “This is the door opening for you, babe. And you’re going to crush it.” He’d even gone the extra mile to send recommendations on your behalf, his faith in you unwavering.

But now, standing alone in the elevator, the air felt thick with foreboding. With a swipe of your thumb, you tapped the notification, bringing the phone to your ear as you turned the volume up. Another ding. Another floor.

The voicemail played, Martin’s voice smooth and clinical, like velvet stretched too thin.

“Mrs. Y/N, thank you for your time and the professionalism you demonstrated during your interview. I regret to inform you that you have not been selected as an employee for this upcoming year. Nothing personal, it just comes down to the finer things—successes and ethics, and all. Thanks again. Your time was appreciated.”

The words hit you like a gut punch. Your stomach churned, a nauseating wave rolling over you as your breath caught in your throat. Not selected. You repeated the phrase in your mind, the syllables heavy and jagged, cutting deeper with every repetition. Successes and ethics? What did that even mean? Was he saying you weren’t accomplished enough? That you lacked whatever intangible quality he deemed essential?

You swallowed hard, but the lump in your throat refused to go away. When you’d shaken his hand after the interview, his words had brimmed with promise, his smile so genuine you’d dared to believe the position was yours. Yet now, the sterile tone of his voicemail made you feel like just another name crossed off a list.

The elevator dinged again, jolting you out of your spiraling thoughts as the doors slid open with an indifferent hum. The bright fluorescent lights of the seventh floor spilled in, harsh and unforgiving, making you squint as you stepped out into the long hallway. Blinking rapidly, you shoved your phone back into your purse, gripping the strap tightly as if it could somehow anchor you.

Your heels clicked against the polished tiles, the sound sharp and deliberate as you forced yourself to move forward. The walls, painted a dull beige, seemed to close in on you with every step, the air growing heavier as you approached your office.

When you finally stepped inside, the familiar scent of stale coffee and printer ink greeted you, a small comfort in an otherwise dismal moment. Dropping your purse onto the desk with a dull thud, you leaned against the wooden frame, your fingers curling around its edge as if it could keep you upright. Your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths as you closed your eyes, willing yourself to regain control.

The weight of disappointment pressed down on you, a suffocating heaviness that made your fingers tremble as they tightened around the wood. You hated this job. Loathed it, really. What had once been a golden opportunity now felt like a gilded cage. Five years of grunt work had left you disillusioned, the spark of ambition dimmed by endless busywork and little recognition. You had learned, yes, but at what cost?

Your thoughts were interrupted by the creak of the door swinging open, followed by a brisk knock. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Let’s go,” your boss grunted, his voice clipped and devoid of warmth. A briefcase dangled from his hand as he nodded toward the hallway. “You’ve got work to do.”

The meetings were as grueling as you’d anticipated. Standing in front of the room, under the scrutinizing gaze of your colleagues, felt like being trapped under a spotlight. The projector whirred faintly as you fumbled with the remote, your palms damp as you flipped through slide after slide. Words stumbled out of your mouth, tangling together as your nerves got the better of you. Every time you glanced at the room, the blank faces staring back only made your stomach twist further.

You kept replaying Martin’s voicemail in your head, the words looping like a broken record, distracting you at every turn. The disappointment, the humiliation—it all burned, settling low in your gut like a stone.

By the time the meetings ended, you could barely muster the energy to exchange handshakes, your smiles forced and brittle as you bid everyone a good day.

You checked the dainty watch on your wrist—a delicate silver piece Harry had gifted you on your one-year anniversary. It read 5:30. You sighed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you snapped your case closed on the meeting table.

“What happened out there?” your boss asked, his tone sharp and unimpressed. His gaze swept over you, narrowing slightly as though he could see every crack in your armor. “I thought you were prepared.”

You gave me just under two damn days, you thought bitterly, though the words never left your lips.

Instead, you offered a tight-lipped apology. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I let myself get distracted.”

Your boss lingered for a moment, his eyes scanning your face before letting out a quiet “hm.” He turned on his heel and left without another word.

The breath you’d been holding escaped in a shuddering sigh. The weight of the day bore down on you, your muscles aching under the strain. All you wanted was to go home. To take a long, scalding shower and let the steam wash away the tension clinging to your skin. To crawl into bed, pull the covers over your head, and pretend for a moment that the world wasn’t so heavy.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The hot water cascaded over your skin in steady rivulets, steaming against the cool tiles and filling the bathroom with a dense, comforting warmth. Each droplet hit your shoulders and back with a soothing rhythm, dissolving the tension knotted in your muscles from the week’s troubles. You leaned forward slightly, pressing your palms against the wet shower wall, letting the stream ripple through the strands of your hair and drip down to your toes. The scent of pomegranate and shea butter from the body scrub filled the air, sweet and creamy, wrapping around you like a gentle embrace.

You had gotten home just over half an hour ago. The house had been quiet, the kind of stillness that usually greeted you on Fridays. Harry’s car was absent from the driveway, as expected—he always stayed late at the end of the week, wrapping up whatever loose ends needed his attention. The emptiness of the house had been neither comforting nor unsettling; it simply was. You’d set your bag on the kitchen counter, slipped off your heels, and headed straight for the shower, bypassing the bedroom entirely.

Your clothes lay in a careless heap on the tiled floor, a small pile of the day’s exhaustion. You’d scrubbed at your scalp with your fingernails, washing your hair thoroughly not once, but twice, as if doing so could cleanse not just the grime of the day, but also the weight pressing on your mind. You busied yourself with every task you could—shaving over every inch of skin, exfoliating with the grainy scrub until your arms and legs felt soft and raw, then lathering up with the matching body wash, its silky foam sliding over your skin before being washed away in swirling streams.

When the water finally stopped, you stood for a moment in the silence, the air heavy with steam and the faint aroma of your products. You wrung out your hair with practiced motions, droplets splattering onto the shower floor as you reached for the towel. With a flick of your wrist, you flipped your hair forward and wrapped it into the plush fabric, the soft pink standing out against the misty haze. Another towel—this one a little coarser—was pulled from the rack, and you pressed it to your damp skin, blotting and drying before wrapping it securely around your body.

The bathroom was your sanctuary for the next hour. You took your time moving through your routine, dabbing on lotions and serums, brushing out your hair, and slipping into a pair of soft, oversized pajamas. The familiar scents of lavender and coconut oil mingled with the lingering steam, grounding you as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Your heart still carried the same heaviness it had since hearing the voicemail, a quiet ache nestled in your chest. But now, it felt distant—muted, like background noise to the slow hum of your movements.

By the time you left the bathroom, the house felt cooler, the air outside the warmth of the shower almost brisk against your skin. You padded down the hallway barefoot, the soft patter of your steps swallowed by the carpet. The living room was dimly lit, the glow from the TV casting flickering shadows against the walls. You curled up on the couch under the throw blanket, its weight comforting as it settled over you. Your comfort show played softly in the background, the familiar voices blending seamlessly into the quiet. A well-loved book rested by your side, its pages slightly worn, ready to pull you in if you felt like retreating further into your own world.

Around seven PM, the sound of the front door opening broke the silence. The subtle click of the latch, followed by the rhythmic clack of Harry’s work shoes against the hardwood floor, was a melody you didn’t realize you’d been waiting for. His keys jingled briefly before landing with a soft clink in the bowl by the door, and the heavier thud of his briefcase settling onto the dining table made your heart lighten just a little.

Relief bubbled in your chest, warm and effervescent, as you shifted under the blanket. Your arm hooked around the back of the couch, your head tilting to look over your shoulder as Harry rounded the corner. The sight of him brought an instant smile to your face.

He was still in his work suit, the sharp lines of his dark grey blazer and slacks softened by the slight dishevelment that came with a long day. The plain black button-up underneath was unbuttoned at the collar, and the sleeves were cuffed up just enough to reveal his wrists. His hair was slightly mussed, a few strands falling across his forehead.

His lips curved into a familiar, easy smile when he saw you, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he lifted a bag of takeout into the air. “I brought takeout,” he said, his voice warm and teasing as he walked over to you. “Figured tonight was one of those nights.”

Your chest swelled with gratitude— he knew you so well. He always had.

You murmured a quiet thank you, your voice soft and a little worn, and let out a contented sigh as he sank onto the couch beside you. His arms wrapped snugly around you, pulling you close as the weight of the day melted away. You leaned into him, your head resting against his chest as his familiar scent— something clean, woodsy, and uniquely him— enveloped you. His nose brushed against your damp hair, and the warmth of his presence grounded you in a way nothing else could.

For the first time all day, you felt like you could finally exhale.

“You smell good, baby.” Harry’s voice was a soft murmur, his accent thick and lingering in the air like honey, each word wrapped in warmth. His large hands splayed across your back, their weight grounding you as they roamed gently over the sleek fabric of your pajama set. His touch was tender, deliberate, as though he was trying to smooth away the burdens of your day. You melted into him, your arms winding around his torso, clinging to him like he was your lifeline. The familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around you, blending seamlessly with the faint aroma of soap lingering on your own skin.

Your face nestled into the crook of his neck, the warmth of his body radiating into yours as you fluttered your eyes shut. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath your cheek, his heartbeat a gentle, soothing rhythm that seemed to lull your own into sync. Being here, in his arms, felt like finally exhaling after holding your breath all day.

Harry’s lips pressed into a small frown, the pinch of his brows betraying his concern. His hands, broad and steady, paused on your back, giving your shoulders a reassuring squeeze before he pulled back slightly to study you. One hand slid beneath your chin, his touch feather-light but firm, guiding your gaze up to meet his.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked softly, his green eyes searching yours with an intensity that felt like he was looking straight into your soul. His voice was gentle, but the concern etched into his expression made your chest tighten. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone in a slow, comforting stroke, its warmth grounding you even as you struggled to hold his gaze.

You let out a small, weary sigh. “Meetings,” you mumbled, though even to your own ears, the excuse sounded thin. Still, you nuzzled into his touch, seeking comfort as your words trailed off.

Harry’s hand cradled your jaw now, his thumb continuing its soothing path along your skin. His other hand found its way to your bare thigh, his palm warm and steady as it swept up and down, brushing lightly under the hem of your sleep shorts. His touch was instinctive, effortless, but it carried with it a deep well of care that threatened to unravel you.

“You don’t get this worn and torn over meetings, love,” he said quietly, his voice like a low hum of thunder, steady and grounding. “Is there something else?” His green eyes held yours, steady and unyielding, like a comforting fire that wouldn’t burn but would warm you to your core.

Your lips parted, but the words caught in your throat. You sighed again, this time deeper, your shoulders slumping under the weight of it all. His hands never wavered— one cupping your face, the other continuing its soothing rhythm against your thigh.

Finally, you spoke, your voice trembling with a mix of sadness and resignation. “That job at Mayer-Harvey completely fell through,” you admitted, your breath hitching as the words spilled out. “He said... he said I wasn’t qualified enough, not accomplished enough, just… not enough.” The words felt heavier the more you said them, the ache in your chest twisting a little tighter.

Harry’s frown deepened, the lines on his face etched with quiet frustration— not at you, but at the world that had made you feel this way. His thumb stilled for a moment before resuming its gentle sweep across your cheek. When your gaze dropped to your hands, which were busy fiddling with the edge of his blazer, he tipped your chin back up with tender insistence.

“Baby, you know that’s not true, right?” His voice was firm but still soft, his words laced with conviction. “None of it. He doesn’t know an ounce of what he’s talking about.”

You shook your head slightly, your brows furrowing. “H, he owns six different branches. I would say he—.”

“No.” Harry’s voice interrupted gently but firmly, his head shaking in disagreement. “Just because he owns them doesn’t mean he knows how to work them. I can guarantee you, in two months, he’ll realize just how badly he messed up by letting you go. He’ll regret it, love, because no one brings what you do to the table.”

Your lips wavered into a faint pout, sadness glazing over your eyes as you tried to swallow the lump in your throat. “I just… I have to keep looking, I guess. Maybe I wasn’t meant to work there anyway.”

“But you damn sure wanted it,” Harry said, his voice softening, though the conviction in his tone remained. His hand on your thigh paused to squeeze lightly before resuming its gentle strokes. “And you deserved it. Y/N, I’ve seen your work. I’ve seen how dedicated you are, how much effort you put in, even when it’s for a company that doesn’t deserve you. And I know,” he paused, leaning a little closer, his eyes locking onto yours, “I know you’d pack a bigger punch for a company that’s actually worth it.”

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, slowly loosening the knot of doubt and hurt in your chest. Maybe he was right.

You nodded slowly, your fingers tracing the lapel of his blazer as you whispered, “I really wanted it, H.”

“I know, baby.” His voice was soft, his lips brushing against your forehead in a kiss that was as much a promise as it was an act of comfort. He kissed the bridge of your nose next, lingering there for a moment. “But don’t worry, darling. We’ll find you something better— something that deserves you. And listen, if you want to leave that job now, I’d be more than happy to support us. All I want is to take care of my girl. That’s it.”

Harry’s hands framed your face, his thumbs stroking softly against your cheeks as he looked at you with an intensity that made you feel seen in a way no one else could make you feel. Then, slowly, he leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss so gentle, so tender, that it made your heart swell and your worries ebb away.

With Harry by your side, it didn’t matter what the world threw at you. His unwavering support, his patience, his love— it was all you needed.

“Now c’mon,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to press another kiss to your forehead. “Let’s have dinner, yeah?”

You spent that night cooped up under his arm, the fabric of his suit soft but slightly wrinkled from your cuddling. Neither of you cared. All that mattered was the comfort of being close, the way his steady heartbeat became your lullaby as the hours ticked by. The movie played quietly in the background, but neither of you was paying much attention. Harry’s fingers absentmindedly traced little patterns along your arm, while you nestled deeper into his side, letting his warmth soak into your skin.

When dinner was done and the plates had been set aside, Harry stood, stretching dramatically before grinning down at you. “Don’t move a muscle,” he teased, his green eyes crinkling with affection as he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

He took care of the cleanup, tossing the trash and rinsing the dishes with that same effortless grace he did everything else. You watched him from the couch, your heart swelling as he moved around the room, sleeves rolled up, that signature Harry charm shining through even in the simplest of acts. He looked over his shoulder to catch you staring, a cheeky smile tugging at his lips. “What’re you looking at, huh?”

“You,” you said softly, your voice carrying a warmth that made his smile widen.

“Good answer,” he chuckled, before walking over and scooping you up effortlessly. You let out a small squeal, laughing as he carried you bridal style toward the bedroom. “C’mon, love. Time for a proper cuddle.”

Once in bed, Harry wrapped you up in his arms as if he never wanted to let go. The suit jacket had long been tossed to the side, but his tie still hung loosely around his neck, a detail that made you smile. His hand found its way to your hair, fingers combing through the strands with a tenderness that melted away the last of your worries.

“By the way,” he murmured, his voice soft and low, “I took the next few days off.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him in surprise. “You did?”

“Mmhm,” he confirmed, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. “Figured my girl needed me more than work did. And honestly, I needed this too. Just you and me for the weekend. Sound good?”

You nodded, your smile spreading as you snuggled closer, your hand resting against his chest. “Sounds perfect.”

Harry’s arms tightened around you, his lips brushing against your temple. “Good. Because I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And as you drifted off to sleep in his embrace, the weight of the world seemed to disappear, replaced by the quiet, unshakable love that only he could give.

[sherrysgirl]

heather

spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

getting spencer’s sweaters is great, but seeing spencer give his sweater to someone else isn’t.

cw : jealous slightly insecure reader, reader isn’t ashley seaver’s biggest fan…

word count : 544

note : if there was an award for dropping short drabbles you’ve written in the span of twenty minutes but don’t even like, i’d be the winner. i didn’t proofread this and english isn’t my first language but enjoyyyy maybe??? happy belated third of december btw!! did anyone celebrate????

you loved the jet. it was spacious, the seats and the couch were comfortable, the little coffee / tea corner had expensive delicious coffee you definitely couldn’t afford on your own. everything about the jet was perfect except for the fact that you always got cold.

spencer always noticed that. it would take you approximately ten minutes until you started to shiver lightly. he didn’t understand why you never just wore an extra layer when you were quite literally freezing. he’d asked you about it plenty of times but you always dismissed him. a casual “it’s fine. i’m not that cold” would escape your lips. so instead of going back and forth with you, he secretly started packing an extra sweater of his for you. it’s not like you could ever say no to him. and that’s how during almost every jet trip, he’d offer you a sweater whenever you started feeling cold.

well, that was until ashley’s arrival…

she was amazing, beautiful, smart, young and so much more. truly a sight for sore eyes, you thought.

ashley was a sweetheart. everyone in the team adored her. even jj, who wasn’t even part of the team anymore, loved her. so, you were beyond confused on why you couldn’t warm up to her yet. maybe it’s because she’s somehow supposed to replace jj? or maybe because she’s landed a permanent job at the bau right after her graduation? you didn’t know.

but then it clicked.

you sat across from spencer on the jet, right next to emily. the second she had seen you at the bullpen she insisted that you sit next to each other on the jet as she had pictures she wanted to show you. jj had sent her adorable pictures of henry during their vacation. both you and emily had stared at the screen in complete awe, noting that after this case, you’d definitely have to visit jj and her son.

engrossed in your conversation with emily, you almost didn’t notice ashley walking by and sitting next to spencer. you tried your best faking a smile at her. the blonde started talking to spencer about whatnot. just the mere sight of her and the man you’ve loved for so long talking was enough to get your brain to shut down.

you excused yourself and got up to get a cup of coffee. and that’s when you saw it.

“is it always this cold in here?”, ashley asked with a giggle.

rhetorical question, of course.

spencer rummaged through his satchel, “oh! i have an extra sweater, if you’d like.”

she gladly accepted the sweater and thanked him.

you turned around, your eyes focusing on the drink you were making. you take a few sips once it’s done, trying to ignore that whole interaction you just witnessed.

“looks like you’re not the only one getting sweaters from pretty boy anymore.”, derek pointed out in a mere cocky whisper as he passed by you.

you rolled your eyes at him in an attempt to look unbothered, but you were bothered. you were so insanely bothered, you could’ve lost your mind.

he packed that sweater for you, but he gave it to her.

now you know why you hated her.

[linddzz]

Sat here and combed through all your jayvik analysis posts giggling and kicking my feet but PLEASE tell me more about the whole dom/sub thing, especially the whole “they have absolutely not discussed that this is the dynamic, it just happens and neither of them acknowledge it” because that is genuinely so interesting. Like I could already tell Viktor had hella ‘quiet calm collected dom’ vibes especially compared to jayce’s ‘excited protective puppy who would FOLD at being called a good boy’ energy…

But the whole bit on the bridge where Viktor smacks his hand away without even looking? And Jayce EARNS BACK TOUCHING PRIVELEGES? Fucking scrumptious please tell me more.

god i need to get to writing my fic bc I feel like "talk more about it" would be solved just by me dropping the link This ended up being TOO LONG so I split it between me going feral about that bridge scene and then me going feral at other moments of nonverbal communication that I use to feed my Dom/sub "oh you two are just LIKE THAT" interpretation. So. here's part one

That bridge scene tho...im so normal about it

hhhggg god that bridge scene is one that I rotate in my brain so much because it is such a small moment that makes so much of their dynamic click. For me, specifically, it clicks the "submissive like a guard dog is submissive" dynamic, where Jayce is, on a surface level, the stronger and more forceful of the two while Viktor is the one actually holding the leash (until he's too tired to because he's dying, and I only half joke when I say that their issues at the end of season 1 are because Jayce is suddenly the equivalent of a dog holding it's own leash and getting stressed out about it.

Jayce's touching before the bridge come across as pretty overbearing honestly. He's holding his hand out to keep Viktor from speaking out...

Heck, while the still screenshot doesn't show it too well, Jayce slings an arm around Viktor with enough force that it knocks Viktor off balance for a second and shoves him forward a little.

Viktor got dragged to the hexgate when Jayce is looking into shipping discrepancies happening there, even though it obviously doesn't involve him and he does NOT want to be there.

(In hindsight this is a hilarious bit of showing that it did not occur to either of them that there's no goddamn reason for Viktor to be here. This is council business, Jayce outright says "I'm a councilor now Viktor" which does not answer why tf Viktor needs to be there. these twits just handle all problems as a unit lmao. The tragic flip is that this is could then be a breaking moment when Viktor goes back to the lab, realizing that him and Jayce are not, in actuality, a single unit anymore. because Jayce got a second job that is not Lab With Viktor oh my god you codependent dweebs)

Up until that point it would be really easy to see Jayce as being presumptive and unintentionally overpowering Viktor in personality. Heck, it's what I thought the dynamic was as I was watching Season 1, though even as I thought that it seemed somehow...not quite correct.

And then the bridge scene.

Even before the hand-smack, there's a flip on the reading up to this point that Jayce has been accidentally bowling over Viktor by force of personality/physicality. Jayce comes in hot, upset, angrily standing over Viktor and chewing him out, and Viktor is just like "....and??"

Viktor is calm if baffled and annoyed at Jayce's frustration (also; Viktor just rolling his eyes and shaking his head at the actual riot happening a few yards away? hilarious. i love him.) His almost nonchalantly confused tone when he asks "what difference does that make?" always gets me. the entire back and forth says, to me anyway, that Jayce may be more brash and socially competent, but he's not overpowering Viktor at all, actually.

Viktor is going to do whatever the fuck Viktor wants.

This is immediately made clear by the much beloved hand smack. Viktor doesn't even look up, and his smack shows that he is perfectly capable of setting a hard boundary on Jayce's touching, and that Jayce will IMMEDIATELY fold and apologize when that boundary is set. That smack makes it suddenly clear that when Jayce goes for the shoulder touch right after apologizing, Viktor consciously allows it.

idk WHY but I also love this little tiniest moment when Jayce is going for the second touch. Viktor glances back as Jayce approaches him (looking like a cat with its ears pinned back lmao), then looks away as he accepts the second touch and they move on. It's such a tiny detail of showing Viktor, who is still pretty pissed at Jayce, seeing the touch as it comes in and then deciding to let it happen. im rotating them in my mind. please send help

In my framing of them being a guard dog/handler dynamic, the bridge scene is us seeing a moment of the leash getting a sudden sharp tug to bring the guard dog to heel. It resets all the earlier instances as being ones that Viktor allows to happen, because he doesn't see a need to correct it.

fuck man this doesn't even get into the bridge scene as a major crack between them as the moment Viktor loses his trust that Jayce will understand his decision. i am unwell

[strangerstilinski]

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary; they say ‘showering together saves water’ or.. something like that.. right? otherwise known as, the one where sheer stupidity leads stiles into the shower with his very naked girlfriend. neither one of them is complaining about the turn of events.

warnings; no use of y/n, established relationship, explicit sexual content (vaginal fingering, handjobs, mentions of oral)

word count; +3k

a/n; i fear i'm going to be perpetually unhappy with this so i'm just biting the bullet and posting it and i'm camping so here it is an hour early!! — please be nice. if you’re interested in the original version cut from my Selenophiles series, you can find that here.

please think about leaving a comment/reblogging if you enjoy! i would appreciate either one to the actual ends of the earth.

Wrapped up in a softly hummed rendition of a song that had been rattling around in your brain all day, you didn’t even hear the bathroom door open or click shut again, not alerted to Stiles’ presence until his voice suddenly sounded just to the other side of the shower curtain.

“Hey.”

It was a simple greeting. Your boyfriend remaining entirely unaware as you flinched wildly in surprise and nearly slipped in the shower on the other side of the thin sheet of plastic that separated you.

“You mind if I brush my teeth real quick?” He asked.

Your heart was still pounding away in your chest from the scare but you forced out a breathy laugh as you reached for the shampoo.

“No, of course not,” You told him easily, “Why would I mind?”

Fingertips scrubbed at your scalp, the sounds of him already beginning to brush his teeth meeting your ears over the rush of the shower as he finally responded.

“I dunno,” He said, words garbled by the toothbrush and foam in his mouth, “You’re all.. naked, so-”

“Well that’s very noble of you,” You smiled softly to yourself, “But you really didn’t have to ask.”

“Noted.” He said through a mouthful of foam before spitting into the sink.

As you began to rinse suds from your hair, you heard the telltale clacking of his toothbrush against the side of the sink as he flicked beads of water away from the bristles. You were awaiting Stiles’ quick words of goodbye when there was a loud knock at the bathroom door.

“Stiles! You in the shower?” His father’s voice sounded loudly from the hallway.

Your heart thumped quick in your chest with sudden misplaced adrenaline and you found yourself poking your head outside of the shower curtain only to be greeted by Stiles already looking in your direction with wide brown eyes.

“Uh, yeah!” He called back weakly, gaze darting around the small room as if he might suddenly find a perfect place to hide.

“Does he not know I’m here?” You whispered sharply, brows pinched together in confusion.

“No.” Stiles hissed back, “I’m kind of a little bit grounded-”

“What?” You interrupted, still whispering despite your incredulity. “You’re grounded?”

“It’s an unspoken kind of thing but definitely implied and- And I didn’t think he’d be home ‘til late!” Stiles defended in an equally hushed whisper.

“Alright, well.. You mind if I just come in and grab the Asprin real quick?” Sheriff Stilinski's voice asked loudly.

Stiles’ eyes seemed to widen even further with a small squeak of distress, “Um-”

You threw the shower curtain open just enough to to fist your hand in the front of his shirt, yanking him forward until he stumbled and was forced to climb over the lip of the bathtub. The shower curtain was tugged back closed just as the doorknob turned and Stiles’ father cautiously peeked into the room through a cloud of steam.

Stiles was now the one standing directly under the spray of warm water, his pajamas quickly soaking through and plastering themselves to his body.

He was unable to help the way his eyes immediately dropped to the wet skin of your naked chest, but somehow, your instincts seemed to know exactly what was coming next because your hand found its way up to cover his mouth just before a soft groan could slip past his lips, the sound of it smothered by your palm.

“Sorry, my head’s killin’ me.” The Sheriff apologized as the medicine cabinet clicked open.

You uncovered Stiles’ mouth slowly and with caution, narrowing your eyes and tipping your head in a silent urge for him to formulate some sort of response. Brown eyes flicked between yours, his tongue poking out to wet his lips enticingly before he responded to his father.

“Nah, it’s cool, dad. Uh.. No biggie.”

Stiles’ eyes found their way to your naked chest yet again, bouncing back up to your face for a fraction of a second only for his gaze to fall back down to your breasts as if drawn there by an unstoppable force. His mind was decidedly blank, suddenly equipped with only enough brainpower to attempt to memorize the exact shade of your pert nipples in the soft light of the bathroom. A few beads of water from your hair curled their way around your collarbone, pooling in the small dip in your clavicle before welling over and cascading down to the swell of your breast.

You watched him swallow hard, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as the shower continued to spray against his fully-clothed back.

“Right. Well. G’night.” Sheriff Stilinski called out as the medicine cabinet slammed shut again.

The boy’s eyes snapped up to yours at the sharp sound, a pink flush creeping up his neck from either the warm steam of the shower, the sight of your naked body, or most likely some combination of the two.

“N-night, daddio-” Stiles replied in an admittedly high voice, shaking his head at his you in warning as he watched you pinch your lips between your teeth to hold back a laugh.

The bathroom door finally closed with a loud click and you let your head drop forward onto your boyfriend’s shoulder as you released a quiet giggle.

“Oh my god.” You breathed out.

“Sorry,” Stiles apologized, “For, uh, invading your shower.”

You lifted your head, “I quite literally pulled you in against your will.”

Stiles nodded, “Yeah. I, uh, I guess you did.”

You snorted softly in amusement and watched his eyes flick over your face in a slow trail. His gaze eventually found something of interest behind you and he seemed to hone in on it with a determined focus.

“What are you looking at?” You questioned quietly, craning your neck to examine the shower products on the shelf at your back before returning your gaze to the boy in front of you.

“I, uh.. Well. Literally, y’know.. Anything but your extremely naked body.” He choked out weakly.

A smile pulled at your lips and you inched forward to drag your hands lightly over the soaked-through cotton of his shirt, “There something wrong with my naked body, Stilinski?”

You’d said the words with a teasing lilt to your voice, but Stiles’ eyes seemed to snap back to your own sharply, “No! No, absolutely nothing-” He denied immediately.

“Okay, well, you are allowed to look, y’know,” You told him softly, like you were revealing a secret, “It isn’t like it’s anything you haven’t already seen-”

“Well, yeah but, you- You’re trying to shower and.. If I’m being totally honest, if I look now I’m gonna get painfully hard painfully fast ‘cause I’m already barely holding on here-”

At his words, you shuffled back just a fraction so you could peek down in between you, your eyes catching on the wet, tented fabric of his pajama bottoms. Your hands twitched with the desperate need to touch and you hesitated for only a second before taking ahold of the soaked material of his shirt beneath your fingers.

“Maybe you should shower, too,” You interrupted, licking your lips as you gazed back up at your boyfriend, “I mean, your dad already thinks you are, and you’re already all wet, so y’know.. We should probably get you naked-”

The moment the word left your mouth, you tightened your fingers around wet fabric and stammered quietly, ridiculously nervous considering that you were already naked. And wet.

“-And clean. Naked, to clean your- To wash your body, obviously. I mean, it only makes sense, right?” You suggested eagerly.

The fabric of his shirt inched up his torso, your deft hands revealing his hips and the thick trail of hair at his belly button, but that was where you stopped, waiting for him to give some sort of approval before lifting it any further.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s smart.” He agreed quickly, nodding for you to continue.

You stripped him of the wet article, dropping it at the opposite end of the tub with a quiet smack. When your eyes returned to his, Stiles barely held your gaze before he was cupping your face and dragging your mouth to his. He turned you back into the shower wall and you sighed in contentment as the spray of warm water finally cascaded over the side of your body once again, pleasant goosebumps erupting over your skin.

Stiles’ kisses were an enigma and they very nearly managed to catch you by surprise every time — the way he devoured your mouth with so much hunger yet was still somehow able to hold you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. His lips dragged over yours sickly sweet, thumb stroking over your cheek, fingertips digging into your scalp beneath wet hair.

You only managed to hold out for a few desperate brushes of his mouth before you were parting your lips beneath his in silent invitation. When his tongue teased against yours, you caught the taste of mint left behind from his toothpaste and you couldn’t hold back the groan that poured from your mouth into his. You suddenly found yourself craving the taste of it, prodding your own tongue between his lips on the next kiss to chase the lingering flavor in his mouth.

The wet drag of his pajama pants against your naked thighs beneath the stream of water was an immediate reminder that he was still wearing the wet article of clothing and you flicked at them idly, fingertips dipping beneath the drawstring waist. His stomach tensed beneath your hands and he pulled back from the kiss just enough to drop his forehead to yours, eyes raking over your face slowly as he attempted to catch his breath.

“What, um. What do you- I mean, do you, um..” His eyes pinched shut in frustration as his own inability to convey himself.

Your hand slid over his water-slick hip, arm circling around his waist until you could run your fingertips gently along his spine beneath the water, forcing a contented sigh from his kiss-swollen mouth at the contact.

You licked your lips in thought, “I could either jerk you off in here, or we could wait and I can blow you in your bedroom,” You offered quietly, “I’d blow you in here but I’m honestly not entirely sure how it would work with all the water in my face and-”

Stiles nearly whimpered, “You cannot say that shit and seriously expect me to not blow my load, like, immediately.”

Your mouth twisted up into a grin, “Sorry.”

You weren’t.

He dragged you just a bit closer beneath the spray, bare chests sliding against one another. A shaky exhale left his lips and cascaded across your damp cheek, his nose skating softly against clean skin as he craned down to push his face into your neck.

“No you’re not.” He shot back without hesitation.

You sighed softly, head tipping back of its own accord in an open invitation for his lips to find your skin. The soaked through material of his pajama bottoms did nothing to hide the warm, hard length of him pressing against your hip. You slipped your hand just a bit farther beneath the damp cotton until your fist found its home around him, beginning to move in firm jerks as a choked groan sounded in his throat.

“No, I’m not.” You agreed easily.

“Jesus Christ.”

“So?” You asked quietly, words spilling out toward the ceiling as your head rested against the shower wall.

“Huh?” Stiles articulated weakly, the sound swallowed up by the way his mouth was pressed into the skin beneath your jaw. A large hand slipped down the length of your spine, long fingers finding their way to your ass, merely resting there for a moment before a flick of your wrist seemed to spur him on, hand tightening over the soft flesh as he dragged you up against him just a bit harder.

Your ankle hooked around his knee easily, pulling yourself up a bit higher, warm, wet cotton still separating you as you continued to work his length beneath the material.

“Handjob in shower or blowjob in room.” You repeated the options stiffly, thoughts scattered from the feel of his fingertips digging into your backside.

“Shit.” He murmured against your neck, his hips jerking forward to meet your hand, making the movement of your wrist more difficult when it was pinned between your bodies. “I- Um.. I.. Shit-”

“It’s kinda looking like its gonna be handjob if you don’t decide otherwise pretty quick here-”

“But I-” A sharp sound was pulled from him when your hand slipped over the head of his cock, a delicious but quiet uh squeaking out onto the wet skin of your throat. “God, I really want your mouth but-” A quiet groan interrupts him but he carries on after only a brief pause, “If you stop I might die.”

He says the words so seriously that you can’t help the small laugh that pops out.

“Oh, so you want both? That’s what you’re telling me?”

“Uh-huh, yeah, fuck.. Please-”

“Seems a little-” Its your hushed words that are cut off this time, a small gasp of surprise falling from your lips when the hand on your ass creeps lower, hiking your leg up higher as two of his fingers find your wet entrance. “Little, um. A little greedy, don't you- Ah! Don’t you think?” Your teasing statement was tainted halfway through as he dipped his fingers inside, long and thick and pushing in to the third knuckle almost immediately.

He begins thrusting in time with the jerks of your hand, synchronized gasps and groans falling from your mouths for a minute before he thinks to respond.

“If you think I’m not gonna give as good as I get then-”

His words cut off with an unabashed moan against wet skin and you nosed at his jaw until he tipped his head up to meet your lips, your scolding shh silenced within the kiss.

“-Then you don’t think very highly of me, huh?” He continued as if he’d never paused at all, his words murmured between slick lips as his mouth slid against yours again and again. “It’d, uh- It’d be a fair trade-”

“Yeah?”

The whispered question was stolen from your mouth when he licked inside, hot and dirty as his nose pushed into your cheek.

“Yeah.”

His own utterance of the word was swallowed up by your gasp when his fingers crooked just so the next time he pushed them in deep. Your grip on him fell slack for only a moment before you recovered with newfound determination, matching his efforts as he sped up the rhythm of his hand.

Your thigh hitched up on his waist that much higher, all but consumed by the desperate hunger you felt to be closer. He returned the sentiment, pulling you in and crowding you back and devouring each of your sounds until it seemed as if he were everywhere all at once.

You traded kisses between stuttered breaths and heady gasps, bodies rolling into one another’s hands as you both chased after the tight pleasure coiling in your guts and building up, higher, stronger, closer–

Stiles came first, a soft whine against your tongue when your fist circled at the head of his cock, twisting and pulling his release from him in thick spurts beneath the wet cotton of his pajama bottoms. You worked him through it, taking control of the kiss as he went slack with his orgasm and finally pushing his pants to the floor of the bathtub with a wet thwack once his hips stopped twitching into your hand.

He fell back into the kiss urgently and you relinquished control without a fight, weak to do little more than throw an arm around his shoulders for support as he redoubled his efforts to make you come.

Thighs trembling, toes curling, your muscles tensed as you were worked closer and closer to your peak. His fingers hit a spot deep inside of you with every thrust and each time sparks danced up your spine with the impact, sharp noises of pleasure were dragged from your lips.

“Sti-” You whined softly, wet mouth falling against his cheek as you tried to alert him to your swiftly approaching release, “’m so close. Shit, I- ’m so close-”

“Shit,” He returned in an urgent whisper, “Shit, okay-”

He eased his hips back from your own, his free hand falling to the apex of your thighs. His lips covered yours again as he began swirling his fingertips around the swollen bud there and your whole body jolted at the sensation. Your mouth fell open with a soft cry as you came, the glide of his fingers both smoother and more sharp as he worked you through it.

As you came down you were panting, hot breaths mingling between your mouths. The steam of the shower felt almost cloying, both of you a little lightheaded from the heat and the exertion. You cracked your eyes open and found his gaze already on you, eyes hooded and heavy, the tip of his nose bumping your own.

“Holy shit.”

It came out as nothing more than a whisper against his lips, your chest heaving in time with his as you both fought to catch your breath. You loosened the tight grip your arm had taken up around his shoulders and neck, mouth slack as you tried to pull in enough oxygen to clear your head.

“That was-”

“Yeah.” He whispered in agreement, forehead falling against yours.

The tip of your thumb pressed into a dark freckle on his chest as your hand made its way down from his shoulder in a slow drag over slick skin. You swallowed around your dry mouth as your leg finally fell free from its place around him and provided instant relief to your muscles.

“You sure you can handle two more orgasms?” You questioned breathlessly, not entirely sure which response you wanted to hear as you swayed against him in the overpowering steam of the shower.

In lieu of an immediate response, his gaze fell downward and your own followed on instinct, catching sight of the long thickness of his cock, already fattening back up against his thigh with arousal.

Tongue feeling suddenly heavy, you were filled with the urge to fulfill your teasing promise, to work him toward his peak all over again with your mouth.

You voice was a breathless whisper when it finally sounded.

“Oh.”

[matsunoluvr]

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ love and deepspace men and their random habits

warnings: none!!

characters: rayafel, xavier, zayne, sylus

link to master list here!

author’s note: feeling like a short and sweet one today, sometimes writing more than i want can take the fun out of writing so i’ll stick true to myself this time 🗣️

more below the cut! ☆〜（ゝ。∂）

he like, drums his fingers a lot. you know like that rhythmic tapping on desks?

rafayel enjoys moving around his fingers and stimulating his brain in little ways whilst he’s waiting for some paint to dry to paint another layer or when waiting for you to finish an activity.

he also picks at things, paint on the wall or at scabs (bad habit, you tell him but he never stops) - he complains and says it doesn’t hurt when you bandage it up

rafayel hates growing out his fingernails but he doesn’t bite them, he tends to pick them until they peel shorter then clip them neat with nail clippers

how to combat both his picking habit and nail peeling at the same time? slap on some nail polish, he gets to peel to his hearts content and look amazing at the same time!

“Cutie, come here. I peeled off all my nail polish, can you redo it?”

i feel like in game xavier already blinks quite a lot more than all the LIs, but i can see him also doing those like, long hard reset blinks

he’ll blink loads at once then do this longer blink and then be fine, i can just see him doing this

maybe it’s because his hair looks like it’d get in and irritate his eyes lolol

when you and him get plushies he keeps the ones he keeps on his bed, i feel like he’s usually minimalistic when designing his house but his bed??

it’s like a plushie fortress, when you visit you could literally drown in them

“I like sleep, and I like you. It’s the best of both worlds, want to join me?”

zayne is the type of person to ACTUALLY rub his temples, like what person actually does that? zayne of course.

he also subconsciously clicks pens a lot, not loud and at a high frequency - but if you pay attention to his hands you’ll notice he gently clicks and then un-clicks the pen when in deep thought

he definitely does this more when he’s stressed, the feeling of the pen popping out against his thumb is therapeutic

zayne keeps around fake plants and a watering can because he somehow found a sick sense of amusement watching you water them every time you came to his office.

“Why am I smiling? No reason.”

he genuinely rubs his hands together and it makes sylus look like a fly, he just looks so sinister and mischievous when he does it

if you ask him why he rubs his hands together he just shrugs his shoulders

“Just habit, sweetheart.”

really it’s because he has sweaty palms LMAOO and he’s an old man, of course he’s gonna do old man things

i feel like sylus likes to chew on things, imagine one time you catch him clenching his jaw and decide to give him some gum

it’s not like he doesn’t know what gum is he just never really though about buying some

after that you find stacks of gum in his draws and he’s always chewing a piece, the only thing he dislikes is discarding gum.

AN; silly silly men doing silly silly things, i didn’t think too much about these just slurred random ideas and wrote them down LMAO

[solxamber]

Valentines day event woowoowoo (dont burn yourself out aye!!)

Idia, romantic, "absolutely smitten" by Dodie (if i got that right-) :]

Hope it could be a fun one ! Stay safe ayeaye

i love the pining potential in the song!!! hope you like my interpretation of it <3

"I'm absolutely smitten" || Idia Shroud

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Absolutely Smitten by Dodie

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 670

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers

Idia first sees you during orientation. Not in person, of course—there’s no way he’d willingly subject himself to a room full of loud, unpredictable people—but through his tablet, streaming the event from the safety of his dorm.

It’s routine, really, just scoping out who he’ll inevitably be avoiding for the next few years. But then the camera pans across the crowd, and he sees you.

And something unfamiliar stirs in his chest.

It’s a strange, unquantifiable feeling, something too big for him to handle, too much for his ribs to cage in. His fingers tighten around the tablet as he watches you smile at something someone says, and a thought creeps into his brain before he can stop it.

I wish that were me.

It’s over for him. Absolutely, completely, no-respawn doomed.

And when he actually gets to know you? Oh, he’s done for. Every interaction with you is a critical hit to his heart. You are bright where he is shadowed, warm where he is cold, a force of nature where he is content to be static.

And yet, somehow, you seem to like being around him. You talk to him, seek him out, sit with him even when he fumbles through his words and hides behind his hood.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Idia Shroud, the ghost of Ignihyde, the one who would rather face a boss battle on the highest difficulty than make eye contact with another human being, wants nothing more than to be close to you.

He wants to talk to you about everything that makes his mind race at 3 AM, wants to know what makes you tick, wants to kiss you until he forgets what loneliness feels like.

But he can’t. Because you are you, and he is him, and the idea of ruining what he has with you is a fear greater than any horror game could ever conjure.

So he does nothing. He pines. He wonders.

Are you just being nice?

Would you ever see him that way?

Is he even worth your time?

And yet, he doesn’t know that you are just as smitten.

The day you met him is engraved in your brain like a prophecy fulfilled. You think he’s the one. It sounds ridiculous, impossibly romantic, something straight out of a visual novel, but you can’t shake the feeling that you and Idia are meant to be.

And so, one day, when you’re sitting next to him in his room—shoulders almost touching, his leg bouncing like a loading screen buffering at 99%—you slide a little closer.

“Idia.”

He stiffens. “W-what?”

“I like you.” A pause. “I really like you.”

His brain blue-screens.

You barely have time to process his expression—wide golden eyes, parted lips—before he starts tearing up.

“Wait, wait, are you okay?” You panic, reaching for him, but he shakes his head rapidly, hands clutching his hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

“You—” His voice cracks. “You actually—?”

You nod. “I mean, yeah. Kinda thought it was obvious.”

Obvious? Obvious? He’s been agonizing over this for months, drowning in his feelings, convinced you were nothing more than a dream he was too scared to wake up from. And yet, here you are, looking at him like he’s the greatest thing to ever happen to you.

He doesn’t know what to say. But you do.

So you pull him into a hug, letting him bury his face in your shoulder as he trembles. His hands hover before finally clutching the fabric of your shirt, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he holds on too tightly.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Idia feels whole.

He pulls back slightly, and when he looks at your soft smile, something inside him clicks into place. He’s never letting you go.

And when you look at his teary-eyed grin, you think the same thing.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event