#seeing this first thing and then having to be on task at work all day 😬 ... but now I get to backread my dash & see all the cards omg

[seellove]

husband!Sukuna x reader

Insecurity strikes after becoming a new mom when your normally horny as fuck husband hasn't tried to lay a finger on you since having a baby.

WC: 1.6k. TW: pregnancy and babies, suggestive at the end

“Okay, she’s down,” your husband sighs, shutting your bedroom door behind him. He briefly glances your way as he tugs his faded t-shirt off and tosses it on the floor. 

All these years later and the sight of the black ink winding across his toned body still takes your breath away. He’s always been hot with his shredded physique and tattoos that seem to accentuate every dip and valley of those muscles.

But nothing could have prepared you for how you’d feel seeing him be a dad. 

His unwavering confidence and arrogant demeanor was what he was known for, and a part of you loved that about him. He’d never back down from a challenge, always willing to put in the work to learn and succeed at anything. 

Even parenting.

The first time he went to hold his newborn daughter was one of the few times you’d ever seen him hesitate.  However, since that moment, he took every chance he could to secure her in his arms, determined to rid himself of whatever trepidation plagued him that day. Holding her in different ways and angles, loosely, tightly, trying anything and everything to learn what this little brat preferred.

He’d be damned if he ended up like one of those men who expected their woman to do everything just because he was “uncomfortable” or “not maternal.”

“I’m not some weak-minded man,” he’d spat at one point when you’d said you could take over if he felt unfit to do a task. “I’ll figure it out and get over it. No weaponized incompetence here.”  

Attraction to him that you thought has plateaued only swelled during the last four months.

But, lately you’d wondered if his attraction for you had tapered off. Historically, he’d never been able to keep his hands off of you…even while pregnant he’d happily obliged when your sex drive was insatiable.

It didn’t help that you felt like a stranger in your own body. You couldn’t miss the stretch marks that stared back at you every time you got changed and the extra weight that hadn’t seemed to budge still kept you in clothes that were larger than the pre-baby days. 

The doctors had cleared you to be intimate months ago and you were fully expecting him to jump you that night. All you’d heard about was women complaining that their husbands were badgering them for sex, but yet, yours never initiated. Your husband seemed perfectly content to abstain. In fact, you have never once detected a hint of resentment from him.

Hell if anything your boobs were bigger than ever considering you were breastfeeding. He’d still snuggle and hold you, but his hands never wandered and his kisses never pushed the limits.

Even if you weren’t feeling up to it, it would still be nice to feel wanted. Desired.

Sukuna sets up the baby monitor on his nightstand before flopping down next to you.

“Did she go down okay?” you ask.

“Kinda. We’ll see, she seemed a little restless but after a few laps around the house she fell asleep in my arms,” his deep voice answers, turning to look at the monitor as if to reassure himself of his answer. 

Sleeping peacefully, just like he expected.

Sukuna picks up his book from the nightstand, scooting closer to you and propping himself up against the headboard. The heat of his muscular arm against yours made your skin prickle, but other than that, you go back to reading your own book.

You try to keep your mind from spiraling back to that dark place of insecurity, but after reading the same page three times, you realize it's hopeless. Closing your book, you lay it back on your nightstand.

Laying in silence, you feel your mood start to deteriorate.

“Are you still attracted to me?” you blurt out after a few moments.

You’re met with silence at first and you begin to panic, regretting speaking such a thing out loud!

But then the fabric of his pillow rustles as he turns his head. You’re met with a pair of narrowed, crimson eyes and a furrowed brow that you can’t interpret as annoyance or confusion.

“What?” he mutters. 

You just stare back at him, trembling at the intensity in his stare. He can be an intimidating and scary man, normally not to you, but you’ve seen others cower in his presence.

“Answer me, what did you say?” he presses, closing his book and tossing it aside.

“I said, are you still attracted to me?” your voice wavers just a little.

“Of course I am, you’re my wife-”

“That makes it sound like an obligation,” you interrupt him.

Sukuna scoffs, rolling onto his side and propping himself up on one arm. The tattoos on his torso are tight against his pecs, looking hotter than ever as the sheets pool around his waist.

“What is this nonsense you’re spouting at me?” He sounds irritated now. “Out with it, stop these cryptic messages because even though I’m an elite sorcerer, I can’t read your mind woman and you know this.”

Swallowing hard, you start fidgeting with the blanket, pulling it even tighter over you like it’ll somehow protect you from your husband's directness.

“You haven’t tried to have sex with me once since the baby was born. It’s weird and very unlike you. Including the difficult end of my pregnancy, it’s been over five months now. When have you ever gone five months without anything sexual since knowing you?” 

He just stares at you, jaw clenching as his mouth forms a tight line.

“I mean, I get it, I look so different now compared to before, and I realize I haven’t exactly been keeping up with my appearance. I understand if it’s not what you prefer for a woman, you’re such an attractive man and you deserve better and-”

He’s on top of you so fast that you feel his weight on you before you even see him move. Fucking sorcerer speed of his.

“You think I’m not attracted to you? Think I haven’t been wanting to fuck your brains out this whole time?” he growls, barely moving his lips as he speaks through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry! You look mad now,” you squeak in surprise before he cuts you off again.

“Yeah, not at you though. Fuck, never you,” his voice softens, brushing the back of his hand against your cheek with utmost tenderness.

“At myself,” he mutters, lowering his gaze for a brief moment before looking at you again.

Your throat feels dry as you swallow hard. You didn’t expect this to be his reaction.

“You’re mad at…yourself?” 

Sukuna lets out a heavy sigh, pink locks falling onto his forehead as he hangs his head.

“Yeah. I am. Mad that I didn’t realize you were feeling this way. Disappointed in myself for letting it get to this point,” his voice cracks as he looks at you with a shimmer in his eyes.

“I’ve never found anyone more attractive in my life than you are to me right now. Watching you fight so hard to carry and give birth to our daughter made me want you more than I thought possible. But now? Seeing you care for her, feed her with your own body, and the way you support and encourage me? It only amplifies every damn day. 

“Fuck, I feel guilty with how turned on I get seeing you be a mom every fucking day,” he drags his fingers through his hair, revealing his flushed skin, likely embarrassed at such a heartfelt confession coming out of his mouth.

You feel tears start to prick at the corners of your eyes so you throw your arms around him and bury your face in his neck to try and delay the inevitable waterworks that are threatening to start.

“Then why don’t you ever do anything,” you force out.

His arms wrap around your back, rolling you both over so now you are sprawled out across his chest, causing you to squeal in surprise.

“I-I didn’t want to bother you or put pressure on you. I know the birth wasn’t easy and you had to heal. And the strain you’re under literally using your body to feed her. I’m scared, I don’t want to hurt you. Thought you’d come to me when you were ready,” he holds you tighter as he rambles on, moving one hand to catch the tears that are now cascading down your cheek.

“Your body has never been more perfect to me. How could I ever find disgust in the evidence of you bringing our child into the world? It’s fucking hot baby is what it is, you successfully carrying my child. Knowing your body is what’s nourishing her and helping her grow? I didn’t do any of that, I’m in fucking awe of you every damn day,” he peppers your face with kisses between each word.

Your chest feels like it's swelled to twice its size as the weight of his words settle in.

“I-I had no idea, and now I feel so stupid,” you look up at him through blurry vision.

Sukuna just smirks, a deep blush dusting his cheeks.

“Join the fucking club baby, I feel like a massive idiot right now too,” his voice deepens as he squeezes your ass. 

“I mean I’ll fucking ruin you right now if you want,” he groans into your neck as he presses himself against you, making you gasp at the feeling of him hard against your groin.

The moment is quickly interrupted though as a wail breaks out over the monitor. 

You both tense up, but then start to laugh, shaking your heads with a smile.

“Your daughter seems to feel otherwise,” you giggle, planting a soft kiss on his lips before rolling off to his side.

“Little cockblocking brat,” Sukuna snickers, sitting up to reveal the damn tent in his boxers.

“I’ll go, you seem…predisposed,” you gesture at his lower half, not missing how he rolls his eyes.

“It’s not going anywhere anytime soon, it’ll be here when you get back,” he drags his hands across his face before falling back into his pillow again.

You lean down to give him a deep kiss before finally pulling away.

“I love you,” you cup his cheek as you stare down at him.

“I love you too, don’t ever question it,” he answers, never taking his eyes off of you as he watches you go.

I have no desire for kids currently but for some reason him being a dad makes me question everything. Thank you for reading!!

[am-morning-7-7]

Okay consider with me.

Built In Mental Thesaurus. It's good cause always words you need. This specifically appeals to my want to be able to quickly freestyle good burns. However, you'd be doing this for every word. Ever. when you talk you'd probably stumble over which word is the normal word or make yourself sound annoyingly smart by constantly using big words (You know the people.) I don't talk to people enough to care, I'd take this.

Remember All Of Your Worldbuilding. Well yeah, remembering is good, you wouldn't have the chance to forget and think of something better. Plus, me personally, I already remember that acceptably well so I don't need.

Banish Imposter Syndrome. This one should be a given. If you go book successful after these potions, you're gonna feel it was the potions and not you. Unless you've got a real solid plan for ridding of this, you're gonna need this potion. So obligatory chugging.

Ability To Finish Your WIP. Okay. So. I have questions. Finish it in one sitting? Because if your WIP is the whole book then my god what about sleep? That'd be a curse. Is it just in a good amount of time for whatever you plan? Is it just remembering the plot you had? If there's no time limit, then we've discovered immortality. You leave yourself a constant WIP and you never die. (This theory is debatable, but I stand my point.) Could be a curse, no thank you! Marketable Ideas. Are they new ideas or already marketed? If the only prompt you can think of is an already overdone, you're gonna be unoriginal and possibly ignored. I'd prefer I make my ideas myself and the universe decides what's marketable. Because it's always changing, no idea is marketable forever. And you don't know if you'll get the book done before the idea is no longer marketable. It's a no for me, I'd feel they weren't my own thought and at that point what thoughts are.

Never Get Tired Of Reading Your Own Work. Useful! But this does not mean you aren't objective. If you don't get bored it means you probably like it and therefore are not a fair judge. You've gotta get yourself a friend's advice either way. However I do not often get tired of my own works so this is a pass for me.

Infinite Grammar Rizz. Okay this is good. Only downside is that you'd feel you're writing isn't your own but instead a potion you drank. Unless the Imposter syndrome potion fixed this. Then no downside that I can think of. Girl I gotta gotta. Sip Sip.

Coherent First Drafts. Who is actually doing drafts besides for school or work? I mean, it's a first draft, it's meant to be messy. I can't see why you'd take its charm. I don't do drafts so Toodle Loo to this one.

2000 Words Every Day Guaranteed. Only if I want? Otherwise, curse. Imagine you lose your dog and can't look for it because you've got your daily 2000 words to write. Nuh uh. Is there a limit? Can I only do 2000? If yes, do text count? It doesn't specify for writing or typing, does this count for talking too? (I figure not.) Either way too big a risk for me to take.

Immune To Distractions. As a person with ADHD. pLeAse... plEaSe... But actually no. As good as it would be during certain times it mean completely. You'd get stuck focused on one silly task. I imagine that one kid from the movie Zapped (The one with Zendaya) if you've seen that. I simply can't ignore all the downsides. I have my greatest ideas and remembering things because of distractions. I simply couldn't take this, it aint for me.

Desire To Actually Write When You Sit Down. Always? Every time? Or just when I want? If its ever time you actually sit down, oh god no. I sit on my ass way too much for that. What about laying down? I assume this just means you can actually write when you wanna, which is perfect. Until you're in a place you physically cannot. Or in bed. If you were in bed and had an idea for your book and you knew if you got up you would write it, you'd get up, wouldn't ya? Me too. It's got downsides and no potential immortality like the WIP one even though they're fairly similar. (The ability to write when you want to vs the ability to finish writing. Really, it's just the ability to start (This) and the ability to continue and finish (WIP) They go hand in hand.) Anyways it's scary to me unless I hide where I wrote in my notes where it'll take hours to re-find but I can do this on my own. There are better potions.

Eradicate Typos Immediately. Need... Need... except typing bad is part of my texting charm. It's how I add character. Do text counts? Not a risk I can take. Little squiggle line and google will do just fine if I get to keep my silly typos. Plus, I like spelling words wrong. Kinda. Gonna. aint. ya. I have so many words that count as typos. I won't give up that personality.

I have issues.

Saw this on Twitter. What 3 potions would you drink?

I would take brown, white, and yellow!

[esote-rika]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Waldorf!reader universe | gif by the bestest @reidgif | I got this prompt “Characters are tasked with digitizing the BAU’s records... all of them... In the tiniest filing room” from this prompt list!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Waldorf!reader Category: fluff! office shenanigans! Summary: When Hotch finds out about your scheming on the previous field case, his punishment comes in the form of old records, a tiny filing room, and a genius with allergic rhinitis.  Somewhere along the way, the punishment begins feeling more like respite and Spencer shifts from your nerdy coworker to something resembling a friend. Contents: 3.9k words, reader’s personality is based on Blair Waldorf, glasses!Spencer, Derek calls you ‘princess’, father figure Hotch, one reference to this fic but you don’t need to read it to understand. a/n: First Hotch appearance in my fics, can you believe it. The little vignettes at the end were SO fun to write, also it made me crave croissants. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

“Hotch wants to see you.” 

Dreadful words for anyone to hear, but the soft whistle of surprise from Derek and the concerned glance from Spencer are somewhat of an overkill. JJ, the angelic bearer of bad news, gives you a reassuring smile as she walks away from the bullpen.

“What’d you do now, princess?” Derek inquires, though the concern in his voice is drowned by the obvious teasing, the need for gossip.

“Hey,” you glare half heartedly at the handsome, smirking man across your desk, “That implies I’ve a reputation for being in trouble.”

“Don’t you?”

“Derek Morgan, how dare you imply such a thing?”

“This is the third time since you’ve been here,” Spencer seems to think that the perfect time to volunteer his statistics is right when you’re beginning to grow nervous, “And you’ve only been with us for a month and two weeks, and—”

“I didn’t realize you were counting each and every day you’ve had the pleasure of working with me, Dr. Reid.” you tease as you rise, smoothing down your skirt.

He frowns, flushes scarlet. A few feet away, Derek laughs.

On slow days like this, it’s easy to slip into such pretenses. Exchanging quips and light remarks to alleviate the tedious piles of paperwork, like you’re working a regular office job and the most exciting thing that could happen is an inter-office affair, or someone getting in trouble.

“All of that to say,” Spencer continues, frowning at the older man, “Three meetings in under two months is rather unusual. So Morgan is correct in implying that. You do have a bit of a reputation.”  

“My, my, look at that. Do you keep track of every single thing an agent does, Dr. Reid, or am I just lucky?” you gasp. A hand pressed to your chest, a show of theatrics to disguise the growing anxiety. Spencer doesn’t dignify you with a response, shoulders slumping as he turns his attention back to his screen.

He’s right, of course, even you can admit that three in under two months is excessive, especially for such a new agent. You have an idea as to why Hotch is calling for you this time, and you know this infraction is going to require something harsher than a simple stern reminder, which had been all you got from last time.

“I’m sure I’ll survive,” you begin walking away, pointing a warning finger at Spencer, “Don’t let Morgan sneak his files into my desk while I’m gone.”

The ascent to Hotch’s isolated office is becoming frighteningly familiar. The first time he’d called you up here had been to warn you that underhanded dealings are unwelcome within the BAU. It had been a polite way of calling out your attempts to bribe Penelope into letting you have the team’s classified files. 

(The tech genius hadn’t allowed it, despite all your gifts of croissants and freshly brewed coffee from the fancy cafe she liked. You had to accept defeat, however begrudgingly. Loyalty seems to run deep within this team, something you're unaccustomed to; your last department had all been ready to stab each other in the back.)

You’d managed to get through that with relative ease, citing research and genuine curiosity as the driving factors behind your actions. 

“I simply wanted to be thorough, sir, Section Chief Strauss didn’t give me much to work with.” you had said, mustering your sweetest, most innocent smile, though even you could tell that the impenetrable Aaron Hotchner wasn’t buying it. 

Still, he was down one team member—he couldn’t afford to get rid of you, especially since you came with a squeaky clean record and near prodigious marks. Plus, you were new to the team. Your explanation is believable, though your methods to obtain the files were inappropriate. Regardless, he had given you the benefit of doubt. 

The second time should have been a non-issue, in your opinion, getting asked to refrain from wearing colored tights to work. What an embarrassment, to be dress coded of all things! Derek wouldn't let you hear the end of it, but Penelope had been sympathetic—she enjoys her own quirky fashion habits, and has gotten chewed out for them too. 

But you and Hotch had managed to come with a compromise, promising no more bright colors to work, (admittedly, the red tights were a bit much, but you had been trying to go for a bold statement) and opting from then on to wear muted hosiery.

But this third one.

Oh, you’re genuinely nervous to face him for this third infraction.

Aaron Hotchner is not an imposing man because he’s broad and stoic, though that helps. But no, it’s something in his air, the way the office space seems to shrink from his mere presence, rendered insignificant from the calm authority he wields. Being in his office always makes you feel like you’re back in high school, being reprimanded for something.

He’s writing when you enter, brow relaxed, almost casual. He doesn’t look up at your soft good morning, only says, “Sit down.”

The pleather squeaks as your weight sinks upon it, a simple chair with a sad excuse for a cushioned seat. 

“May I ask what this is about?”

Hotch looks up then, stern as ever. “I’ve reread the reports from the last case. You were the one who called for another interview with Casey Jennings?”

“That’s correct.”

“And subsequently been the one to acquire the whereabouts of the body?” 

You shift, nodding in admission. It feels like a nail in the coffin, because you know exactly what he’ll ask you next.

“Therefore, you had given the location to the local PD. Not the other way around, as you’d led me to believe.” His voice is level, but the accusation rings true. “When you arrived at the crime scene, it wasn’t because they asked you to come along; you were the one calling the shots.”

“I was under the impression that taking initiative is valued when we’re handling time sensitive circumstances.” 

Two pools of midnight black fix upon you in warning. “Obedience is also valued. I can’t have agents doing whatever they want when they have explicit instructions to do otherwise. I told you to stay with Reid at the precinct.”

“And I did, sir, until I realized Casey Jennings was a lead.”

“Then you should have let the PD handle it once you gave them the information.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, feeling very much like a child being reprimanded for something silly. Except, well, you did disobey a senior agent’s orders, and rolling your eyes would simply reinforce that childishness he seems to see in you.

“With all due respect sir, I just feel… underutilized.” you reply, fighting through the shaking in your voice, “You have me in the precincts helping Reid, when I know I could be more useful elsewhere. I have better shooting and physical qualifications than he does, I can handle myself on the field.”

“And do you think that’s a good enough excuse to go behind my back and deliberately disobey your unit chief’s orders?”

There’s nothing you can say that won’t get you into more trouble, so you shut your mouth. The silence feels like an admission of guilt, of defeat. Hotch lets it swell, allows you to sit in your discomfort. You muster as much grace as you can and stay steady. As much as you hate it, you know you wield no power in this situation. 

A mark of a good opponent is always knowing when to surrender, so you soften your expression, hoping it looks sincere. “Am I in trouble?” 

Hotch catches onto what you really want to ask—are you replacing me?

“Technically, no. You haven't broken any rules, per se, and your instincts prove to be valuable,” he says, going back to his files, “However, you’ll be on filing duty while we’re not on any active cases. We have a backlog of records that require digitizing; Reid can tell you more.”

“Reid?”

“You’ll be helping him. He’s been working on it for a few days now. Having two agents would make it go faster.”

Oh. Spencer had been disappearing off to do paperwork elsewhere. Morgan was betting it’s because he’s having a secret office liaison. “Understood, sir.” you say, unsure of what to expect. The workload couldn’t be that bad; the awkwardness between you and Spencer has melted and you have reached a sort of neutrality. Besides, scanning and typing documents feels like a light trade, considering you had, in Hotch’s own words, deliberately disobey your unit chief’s orders.

What greets you in the filing room is a dusty, cramped mess of shelves spilling with boxes upon boxes overflowing with folders. Your nose scrunches as Spencer boots up your computer. There’s barely enough space for even one desk, so you two have to work side by side, with barely two feet of space to separate you.

“God, and you volunteered to do this? Are you secretly a masochist, Spencer?”

He clears his throat, “No, it’s not that. My eidetic memory simply works well with the task—I can read the folder and memorize its contents in three minutes.”

“Uh huh, and then you take sixteen hours to type. Amazing tradeoff.”

“I don’t take that long!”

“Okay, twelve hours then.”

Spencer glares halfheartedly, “That’s statistically improbable and you know it.”

“Yet you manage to achieve it!” you pat his shoulder mockingly, before sliding into your creaky seat, “Congratulations on once again being an outlier.”

Spencer rolls his eyes. It makes you laugh; the fact that you’ve officially managed to annoy this normally well tempered man feels like an achievement in its own right. 

“Maybe that’s why he thinks I need help.” he grumbles, pushing a pile of folders to your side of the table, “You can start on the 1980s.”

“Wait,” The year catches you by surprise and you examine the pile in front of you. Papers yellowed and delicate sit neatly stacked as if they haven’t been touched in ages, but surely it couldn’t be. “1980s? Are we digitizing all the way back to the start?”

“Yep. All the records in our backlog—I’ve managed to digitize up to 1976.” Spencer is already reading his first file, fingers gliding through the blurry page. “You start with the 80s.”

“You mean to tell me no one’s bothered to digitize these before?”

He simply hums in response, infuriating you even more.

“Then this should be a team project!” you exclaim, horrified in a way that bears sincerity and not your usual exaggeration, “Two people working on decades of paperwork is inhumane.”

“Now, don’t be so dramatic,” he heaves a sigh, finally glancing at you, “We’re being compensated. Besides, nobody else wants to, it’s grunt work.”

“So we have to do it because we’re the youngest and can’t opt out?”

“No, we’re doing this because I’m apparently a secret masochist, and you’re the team’s troublemaker forced into detention.”

Despite yourself, his answer makes you laugh. And from the corner of your eye, Spencer’s lips are turned up in a self satisfied smirk.

It becomes routine. Without fail, on those treasured days where the team isn’t called on a case, you and Spencer slip off after lunch time to the filing room, spending the rest of your work hours typing away on computers that keep lagging and keyboards that have temperamental ‘P’ keys. 

Well, it’s mostly your keyboard that has this problem. You work past it easily—it just needs a little extra pressure to work and there’s a sense of satisfaction whenever you press it hard.

Admittedly, the arrangement isn’t too bad. You and Spencer both have the tendency to intensely focus when you have a specific goal, so while it’s tedious work, it’s relatively easy. Plus, you’re sequestered away from the rest of the agents, which opens up possibilities for small acts of rebellion.

Such as snacking on the clock.

“Provisions.” You plop a paper bag on top of the current pile of folders before sidestepping your way into your chair. After a week of consistent work, Spencer’s managed to finish until 1978, and you’re on 1984. 

Confused and slightly suspicious, Spencer opens the bag. Warm, buttery, and freshly-baked, the scent of croissants fill the room, and for the first time, the persistent smell of must is overpowered by something more delectable.

“We aren’t allowed to eat here.”

Of course he has to ruin it. 

“And who’s gonna stop us?”

“Nobody, but that’s not the point,” he says, adopting an exasperated tone that seems to always tinge his words whenever he talks to you, “The crumbs could mess up the files.”

“Are you that messy of an eater?”

“What? No—”

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem,” you interject, “And there’s napkins too, so you can clean up the grease and crumbs off your fingers. Come on, I did something nice to you for once, it’s rude to criticize it.”

He hums, lips pulled into a taut line that exposes his dimples. “What’s in it for you?”

“Nothing. Why would you think that?”

He’s quiet. Places the bag back on top of the pile, then shrugs. Innocent. Acting clueless.

Your eyes narrow, “Spencer Reid, do you really think every nice thing I do is transactional?”

“This was how you tried to bribe Garcia.”

Oh. 

“She told you about that?” your face feels warm. You’d been under the idea that only Hotch knew.

“Yeah,” Spencer shrugs, “Nothing really stays secret in this team.”

But that night at the film festival does. Otherwise, Derek would be teasing you with the moniker “film nerd” on top of “princess”. You can’t decide if this is a positive sign or not, this secret, chance meeting between you two. 

However, judging by the fact that he seems to think you’re using croissants as leverage or a bargaining chip, you can surmise that he isn’t the biggest fan of your character. Of course. One night watching half of a movie together isn’t enough to shatter his caution.

Stung at the realization, you snatch the bag from the desk, huffing softly. “Fine. More for me.”

A strangled sound escapes his lips, but you angle your chair away from him, the bag of pastries cradled protectively on your lap. Exaggerated click clacks of the keyboard fill the room as your fingers fly over the letters, fast and angry, the momentum only being broken whenever you encounter that stupid ‘p’.

One afternoon, your impatience with that damn keyboard gets the best of you and you’d slammed it in annoyance. 

“I’m asking Hotch for a new keyboard.” you grumble under your breath. Jaw clenched, your fingers fly over the keys, cursing heaven and hell anytime you encounter a word with the letter ‘p’ and you’re forced to press the unreliable button. 

To your left, Spencer snorts in amusement. Your leg snaps out from under the desk, catching his ankle almost playfully.

“Ow.” he says, just to complain.

“Stop finding joy in my misery.” your voice is more forceful than the kick, snappy and hissed. What he said and insinuated about you from the croissant incident still sting, despite any of your attempts to forget about it.

“Sorry, you just have a tendency to pout when things don’t go your way.” he doesn’t sound sorry at all. Your pout deepens, and he smiles, like everything’s well. “It’s kind of adorable.”

“I am not adorable. I’m highly inconvenienced by this decrepit machine, and it’s inhibiting me from doing my job, and you should reconsider why you find this amusing.”

“You know, you can’t really dictate the way I perceive you.”

You glare at him. Part of you knows he’s right, but when you’ve committed so much of your energy into curating your image to manage people’s perceptions and expectations, this casual observation is a reminder that it’s fruitless. 

The same way you can’t manufacture goodness. The same way they view your earnest attempts with lingering caution.

It’s something of a slap in the face. 

“If this is your way of making amends, it’s not working.”

Spencer sighs, nodding. “Sorry.” he’s quiet for the rest of your time together, focused intently on typing.

To your surprise, the next day, your keyboard is working immaculately even though you haven’t had the time to bring up the issue with Hotch. 

It’s only hours later when you realize that beside you, Spencer has been struggling with a certain letter on his own keyboard.

The next time you place a bag of pastries on your shared desk, his spine straightens and he twists in his seat to look at you questioningly.

You fix your eyes on your computer to avoid his gaze, deliberately angling your chair away from him again. After a pause, shuffling and crinkling paper can be heard beside you, followed by the buttery scent of the croissants.

He thanks you, voice low and soft. Pushes the bag to your side gently, like it’s the most fragile thing in the world. Somehow, you think it is. Hastily, you grab the bag, and take your own croissant.

“Don’t mention it.” Your eyes flick to the side casually, and sure enough, Spencer biting into his piece. The slender line of his neck is curved elegantly, head tilted forward as he reads through his file at that inhuman speed of his. 

As if he could feel your gaze, he looks over, and you quickly turn back to your computer. A small smile curls your lips. You hide it with a bite of croissant.

“Poor baby,” your tone is mocking as Spencer sneezes for what feels like the fiftieth time in an hour. “If I catch this from you, I’m leaving you to finish the rest of these files by yourself.”

All credit to him, he’s being as polite as he can, turning away from you and covering his mouth every time the impulse to sneeze overtakes him. But it’s always fun to tease him and watch his lips press into that familiar line, cheeks dimpling in the process.

“Luckily, allergic rhinitis isn’t contagious.” he sniffs, reaching for a bottle of alcohol to spritz his hands. “It’s just a reaction to that new box we pulled out yesterday.”

Despite being one of the newer boxes, that box had accumulated some of the worst case of dust. It didn’t help that you’d both dropped it as you pulled it out, spilling the files on the linoleum floor and sending the dust particles in a chaotic spin all around the air. You and Spencer left the door open to help the room air out, but it seems to have badly triggered his allergies.

“Sure, lucky. That’s exactly how I’d characterize this.” After a beat, you survey his face. The tip of his nose is red, his eyes watery. Grinning, you add, “You look like Rudolph.”

“Rudo—the reindeer?” he looks affronted, brows crinkling into his eyes, “Real original.”

“Would you rather be Bambi?”

“That’s an even more tenuous connection, why on earth would I be Bambi?” 

“Your eyes are big and wet, and you walk like a baby deer learning it has legs for the first time.”

He glares, but it’s so petulant that you can’t help but laugh. “Aw, look who’s pouting now.”

“Yeah, turns out that habit of yours is the thing that’s contagious.” he grumbles, turning away to blow his nose into some tissue. “We should warn the rest of the team. We can’t have the BAU being known as the department with pouty agents.”

“Whatever you say, Rudolph.”

A wad of crumpled tissue hits your shoulder. “Ew, Spencer!” you manage to complain through your laughter.

“You smell different.”

Well, that’s not something you’d ever expect from Spencer Reid’s mouth. Wild theories about the combustion of the human body, sure, morbid statistics about babies death rates in the early 90s, absolutely, but not a comment about your scent. From your position on the chair, you twist to face him, the chocolate croissant—an extra special sweet treat, since it’s Friday—held in midair. 

A mixture of confusion and utter bewilderment contorts your features. “Excuse me?”

He flushes, his cheeks now matching his ruddy nose. “You heard me.”

“Okay, creepy. I didn’t realize you were that brand of weird.”

“What does that even mean?” Spencer frowns, sniffling, gingerly unwrapping the tissue from his own pastry, “I don’t mean anything harmful by it. You always just smell like flowers and bergamot, but today you… don’t.”

Now your own cheeks burn at his words. You’re unsure what to make of this; the fact that he recognizes the notes of your perfume is both unnerving and, admittedly, a little sweet.

“You sure it’s not just your stuffy nose inhibiting your sense of smell?” you ask, feigning nonchalance. 

“No, I’m certain you still had the same perfume yesterday.” 

You shrug, lying through your teeth, “Your allergies must be getting worse today then.” 

He seems unconvinced, but you grab a new folder from your pile, ducking behind the aged pages to put an end to the conversation. 

A sense of relief fills you when he drops the topic; there’s absolutely no way you’re admitting to the fact that you skipped wearing your perfume today to avoid agitating his allergies even more, that you're trying to avoid his hay fever from getting any worse.

Nope. Better to keep that a secret.

Just when you think you’re going to go nuts digitizing the files, you and Spencer finish everything. It’s nothing short of miraculous, nearly four decades worth of paperwork accomplished in such a short amount of time. It seems like serial killers took a break to let the BAU digitize its backlog, since the team hadn’t been called on an active case once. 

It feels strange to be sat on your desk for the full day, doing research and cross examining profiles instead of mindlessly regurgitating and typing decades old data into an equally old desktop. But you’re glad. Partly.

Part of you kind of misses that secluded time with Spencer—yes, even that last stretch where he’d gotten hay fever and was sneezing up a storm. The quiet focus, his steady, 25 words per minute typing speed alongside your faster, slightly more haphazard speed. The shared croissants, the way a stubborn strand of hair falls over his forehead and—woah.

Stop.

You’re running a little late today, heels tapping loudly, hurriedly, as you try to make it before the cut off. JJ exchanges a small smile with you as you walk by her—early in the morning and she’s already up and about, one hand on her phone, the other holding two files. 

Something in her stance, her brisk and stiff gait, the tight smile, tells you that the weeks of relative quiet are about to be broken today.

You make it to your desk, still looking back at JJ’s retreating form, so lost in your thoughts that you barely recognize the small paper bag on your desk. As you lower yourself to your seat, the unmistakable fragrance of a flaky, buttery croissant fills your nose. Your teeth catch your lower lip to stop the smile threatening to consume your face. 

Slowly, shyly, you glance up, finding Spencer watching you. He grins, then lifts his left hand, as if toasting from afar with his own croissant.

thank you for reading!!! please leave a comment and reblog if you liked it, they feed my soul <3

[mrs-delaney]

Hello

I was wondering if you could do a fic on how reader struggles with her anxiety and ADHD and Joe helps her and comforts her when needed

It’s totally ok if you can’t

🏈 Joe Burrow x Reader

Wanna read all my work? Here’s the masterlist. Got a question or just wanna say hi? Drop something in my ask box. And if you wanna be the first to know when new stuff drops, join the taglist 💌

author’s note: this one’s for my people who are a little neurospicy. i haven’t had the best week with my own brain, and when this popped up in my ask box it felt like the right one to write. thank you for trusting me with moments like these ♡

The dress looks wrong.

You stand in front of your closet, holding the brown polka dot fabric against your body for the third time, and it still looks wrong. Everything looks wrong. The black jeans crumpled on your bed look wrong. The sweater draped over your desk chair looks wrong. The blue dress you tried on twenty minutes ago, now lying in a heap by your feet, definitely looks wrong.

Your bedroom looks like a tornado hit it, which isn't far from the truth. Clean laundry sits in three different piles: one folded, one half-folded, and one completely abandoned when you got distracted by your phone two days ago. There's a plate from yesterday's lunch on your nightstand next to a mug of coffee that went cold sometime this morning. Your makeup is scattered across your dresser from when you'd started getting ready earlier, then stopped, then started again.

The whole week has felt like this. Like every simple task requires a manual you don't have. Like your brain is a browser with forty-seven tabs open and none of them are loading properly.

Your phone buzzes against your dresser.

Can't wait to see you tonight ❤️

You stare at the text, phone heavy in your hand. He's being perfect and thoughtful and chose your favorite restaurant because he noticed you've had a rough week, and here you are getting irrationally annoyed that he's not standing in your bedroom telling you what to wear.

You want to respond. You should respond. You will respond.

But first, you need to put on clothes that don't make you want to crawl out of your skin.

The brown dress it is. Not because it looks good; you're past caring about that, but because it's comfortable. Because the fabric is soft and familiar and won't feel like another thing working against you.

You pull it over your head just as you hear a car door shut outside.

In the mirror, you look... fine. The dress fits. It covers all the necessary parts. Joe likes this dress; you've worn it before, and he'd said you looked pretty. But right now, looking at your reflection, all you can think is that you look exactly like someone who's been falling apart all week and threw on the first thing that felt tolerable.

The knock on your door makes your chest tight with anxiety.

"Hey!" you call out, forcing brightness into your voice as you unlock the deadbolt. "Sorry, I'm running a little behind."

Joe stands in your doorway, wearing dark jeans and a navy t-shirt, looking unfairly put together. His hair is still slightly damp like he just showered, and he smells like that cologne that usually makes your brain go quiet in the best way. Tonight, even that feels overwhelming.

His eyes do a quick sweep of your face, your dress, and then past you into the disaster zone of your apartment. You see the exact moment he clocks it all: the chaos, your energy, the way you're talking too fast and fidgeting with the hem of your dress.

"Are you sure you want to go out, baby?" His voice is gentle, no judgment in it. "We can stay in, or we can just go back to my place."

The offer makes the anxiety in your chest loosen a little, and you shake your head quickly. "No, I've had a stressful week, but we love this place and I want to go."

Joe studies your face for another moment. "Are you sure? We can go any time."

"I'm sure." You grab your purse from the counter, movements a little too sharp. "Besides, you made reservations."

He steps closer, not crowding you, but making himself available. "You know they'll hold our table, right? Or we can go another night."

For a second, you consider it. The thought of staying in, of not having to be "on" for anyone, sounds like exactly what your nervous system needs. But you've already made him go through the trouble of planning this, and you can see he's worried about you, and the last thing you want is to be the girlfriend who can't handle a simple dinner out.

"Really, I'm okay," you say, already moving toward the door. "Let's go."

* * *

The restaurant's parking lot is full, and people are gathered near the entrance, waiting for tables. Joe comes around to open your door, and the gesture that typically makes you smile reminds you that people will be watching.

Inside, the hostess recognizes Joe immediately. Her whole demeanor shifts, and she becomes overly bright and attentive.

"Mr. Burrow! Right this way, your table is ready."

She leads you past the crowded waiting area, past families and couples who've probably been waiting twenty minutes or more. You feel their eyes follow your movement through the restaurant; some curious, some annoyed, some lighting up with recognition.

The table is in the back corner, as private as you can get in a place like this. Joe slides in across from you, already reaching for the menu.

But you can feel it starting, that familiar tightness in your chest, which means your nervous system is registering a threat even when your brain knows you're safe. The couple at the table next to you keeps glancing over at you. A group of women across the room are definitely talking about Joe, phones subtly angled in your direction.

"You good?" Joe asks, noticing how you're scanning the room instead of looking at your menu.

"Yeah, just looking around." You force your eyes down to the appetizers, trying to focus on the words.

The server appears young, clearly excited to be serving Joe Burrow. "Can I start you folks off with some drinks? Maybe an appetizer?"

You order a water and the first entree your eyes land on, not really processing what it is. Joe orders his usual and makes easy conversation with the server about the game last week. Normal. Everything is normal.

Except your breathing is getting shallow, and you can't seem to take a full breath without being obvious about it. The restaurant feels louder now, with clinking glasses, bursts of laughter, and chairs scraping against the floor. Someone drops a plate somewhere behind you, and the crash makes you flinch.

More people are noticing. You can feel it like heat on your skin. The whispered conversations, the not-so-subtle phone cameras. And the worst part is knowing that you can't just be anxious. You have to be "on." Can't slump in the booth, can't look upset, can't excuse yourself to the bathroom without it being obvious something's wrong.

"Hey," Joe says quietly, leaning forward. His voice cuts through the noise in your head. "Look at me."

You do, and his eyes are steady, concerned. "You okay?"

The question hits differently this time. Because you're not okay, and he can see it, and you're tired of pretending otherwise.

"I just—" You start to answer, but your breath catches. The room feels suddenly smaller, as if the walls are pressing in closer. Your heart is beating too fast, and you can't seem to slow it down.

You grip your water glass tighter, trying to ground yourself, but your chest is getting tighter, and you can't, you can't breathe properly, and everyone is still watching and—

"Let's go." Joe's voice is calm and decisive. He's already signaling the server. "I'm going to get up really quick and get them to bag our food up and pay the bill. I'll be right back. Will you be okay if I leave to do that?"

You nod, not trusting your voice. He squeezes your hand once before standing, and then you're alone with your racing heart and the feeling that you might float away if you don't hold onto something solid.

You focus on small things. Sipping your water and scrolling through your phone without reading anything, and trying to look normal for the tables around you that are still stealing glances.

Five minutes feels like twenty, but then Joe is back, takeout bags in hand and that same calm efficiency in his movements.

"Ready?" he asks quietly, helping you up from the booth.

His arm slides around your shoulders as you walk toward the front door, past the waiting area, past all the people who watched you come in. His presence shields you from some of the attention, making you feel less exposed, but your chest is still tight, and your breathing remains shallow.

The parking lot air hits your face, and you want to feel relief, but the panic hasn't crested yet. If anything, being outside makes it worse, as if your body finally has permission to fall apart now that you're no longer performing.

Joe unlocks the car, and you slide into the passenger seat, doors closing with a quiet thunk that finally gives you privacy. But you still can't breathe right, and your hands are shaking, and you feel ridiculous for falling apart over dinner at a restaurant you've been to a dozen times.

"I'm sorry," you say immediately, words rushing out. "I'm so sorry, I ruined dinner, I don't know why I—"

"Hey." Joe's voice cuts through your spiral, gentle but firm. He turns in his seat to face you fully. "You didn't ruin anything."

"But we didn't even eat—"

"Focus on me, okay?" His hands find yours, warm and steady. "Just look at me."

You do, and his eyes are patient, not frustrated or disappointed. Just concerned.

"Breathe with me," he says, taking an exaggerated breath in. "In... and out."

You try to match his rhythm, but your breath keeps catching.

"Feel our hands," he continues, squeezing gently. "Focus on that. You're safe. We're just sitting in the car."

Slowly, your breathing starts to even out. The tightness in your chest loosens by degrees, and the world stops feeling like it's tilting sideways.

Joe waits until your shoulders drop before starting the car. "Let's go to my place."

* * *

The drive to Joe's house is quiet. Your breathing has mostly evened out, but you feel completely drained.

Joe keeps one hand on the wheel and reaches over to squeeze your knee occasionally, not saying anything, just letting you exist without having to perform or explain.

His house is exactly what you need right now: quiet, calm, no audience. You curl up in the corner of his couch while he disappears into the kitchen with the takeout bags. The exhaustion hits you all at once, that post-adrenaline crash that makes your whole body feel heavy.

"Food's ready," Joe says, coming back with the containers and settling beside you on the couch. He sets everything on the coffee table, close enough that you don't have to move much.

You open the container of what you apparently ordered—some kind of pasta you don't remember choosing. It smells good, but you're not really hungry. More like your body needs fuel even though your appetite hasn't caught up yet.

"I should have pushed hard to stay in when I saw your apartment," Joe says after a few quiet minutes of eating. "I could tell you were barely holding it together."

The admission surprises you. "You could tell?"

"Your place looked like mine does when I'm overwhelmed. And you were..." He pauses, thinking. "You get this look when everything feels like too much. Like you're trying to keep all the pieces from falling apart."

You take another bite of pasta, processing this. "I didn't want to ruin our plans."

"It's not a big deal, baby. We can go eat out any time." He says it so simply, like it really is that straightforward to him. "This is better anyway."

The matter-of-fact way he dismisses your guilt helps. You eat a little more, and the food actually tastes like something now that you're not forcing it down.

"Sometimes I get decision fatigue," you say suddenly, not looking at him. "Like today with getting dressed. I just want to not think about anything and have someone make all the decisions for me."

Joe stops chewing, considering this. "Do you want me to make more decisions for us? Like, in general?"

The question catches you off guard. Not because it's weird, but because it's exactly what you need and you hadn't expected him to understand so quickly.

"You wouldn't mind?"

"Mind? No." He shakes his head. "I like making decisions. And if it helps when you're overwhelmed..." He shrugs like it's obvious. "Just tell me when you want me to pick. Clothes, food, whatever. I can do that."

You feel tears prick at your eyes unexpectedly. Not sad tears, just... relief. That he gets it. That he's not making you feel broken or needy for having limits.

"Next time I'm going to trust my gut when I can tell you're struggling," he continues. "I won't ask if you want to stay in. I'll just decide we're staying in."

"You don't have to take care of me," you say automatically.

Joe looks at you for a long moment. "I want to take care of you."

You finish eating mostly in comfortable silence after that, the weight of the evening finally lifting. When you're done, Joe clears the containers away and comes back to find you yawning.

"Early bedtime," he says.

"Yes, please."

He helps you up from the couch, and you follow him upstairs, grateful for the quiet, for the lack of audience, for the way he seems to know exactly what you need without you having to ask.

As you're getting ready for bed, Joe appears in the doorway of his bathroom.

"You don't have to be 'on' with me, babe," he says quietly. "Not ever."

You meet his eyes in the mirror. "I know. I'm learning that."

"Good," he says, and disappears back into the bedroom.

Later, lying in his bed with his arm around you, you feel your nervous system finally settling completely. The anxiety that's been humming under your skin all week has finally gone quiet.

"Thank you," you murmur into the darkness.

"For what?"

"For seeing me. For not making me explain everything. For just... knowing what to do."

His arm tightens around you slightly. "Always."

You're quiet for a moment, listening to his heartbeat under your cheek. "I love you," you whisper.

"I love you too," he says without hesitation, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

And for the first time all week, your brain goes blessedly, peacefully quiet.

[marvixoxo]

The Blueprints

Isaac Night x Fem!artist reader.

Synopsis: Even in the brilliant mind of Isaac Night there are always bumps in the road while creating magnificent machines, with the help of his artist girlfriend he is able to see what parts are needed.

Warnings: Isaac Night is a warning in itself. N/A

A/N: reader has powers like Xavier. I couldn’t find any fics about Isaac and I felt the urge.

Isaac Night was many things, intelligent, charming and a creator, though, even after years of problem solving there were always small miss calculations he could not get over.

He could picture the finished product of his creations in his mind but not often did he put the correct parts together right the first time around.

Fiddling with a loose screw Isaac groaned in frustration, he was currently trying to put together a machine that would project holograms but could not figure out where to fit the circular glass cover without it getting caught on the very thing in his hand.

He had been at it for hours and nothing seemed to be working, how had such a minuscule part of this machine messed up the whole assembly process?

Turning back to the drawing he had sketched, which looked more like a few jigsaw pieces dotted around the paper, he tried to figure out which part was the cause of his current stand still.

Closing his eyes he let out a grumble of curses, he hated asking for help, he never needed help, so such a task was like pulling teeth for the boy.

But as the sound of soft footsteps grew closer, the rattle of old metal steps clanging throughout the clock tower, his mind raced towards the one person who might be able to rid him of this problem.

You. His magnificent creature of a girlfriend.

You had been there for him since he was crippled in a hospital bed, racing against the clock until his heart gave out. But you had been there, every single day, you had given him something to believe in, to live for, that wasn’t just another one of his creations.

You had helped him design his new heart, a part of you would always be within him, in the intricate twists and turns of pipes in his chest that was keeping him alive.

Even so, as he turned to face you his expression did nothing to hide his contempt for his coming request.

“Still haven’t figured it out yet?” The honeyed words dripped from your glossed lips, every word you spoke coated with a thick layer of homely warmth.

Isaac’s response was clipped. “No. Though I do have an idea that could help me find the problem.”

Your eyebrows drew together in thought as you nodded for him to continue.

He closed his eyes and drew in a heavy breath.

“Would you be able to copy my sketch and project it in the air while I study it for Any miss calculations?” The sentence left a sour taste in his mouth.

Of course you agreed to his proposition immediately, though the sight of your boyfriend was one you would never forget.

He looked pained at thought of even asking for your help the last time you had offered to partake in the matter a few days ago. Now here he was, stood before you like a man who had just asked you to kick him in the balls.

A snicker left your mouth before you could get your hand up to muffle it, Isaac piercing you with a glare that could send your six feet under.

“Stop that.” His words were sharp but his eyes showed the blade they ley on was blunt at the edges.

“Sorry, sorry but-

You were cut off by another bout of laughter as you watched him walk away from you with an eye roll.

You studied yourself as you followed him to the large wooden table that held all of his sprawled out supplies as well as the makeshift blueprint he had roughly drawn out.

He handed you a blank piece of paper and a snapped pencil.

“Copy that.” He pointed to his drawing that no one but himself would be able to decipher.

“Isaac.” You turned to stare at him in disbelief, “Do you really expect me to be able to figure out what all of that is.”

His eyes pierced his paper as he realised how messy his blueprints actually were. When he turned back to you his eyes were glowing with a hidden mirth as he spoke.

“Give me one minute.” He turned to face his partially made machine, lifting his hands he dismantled it laying the sheets of metal and small parts in rows.

He signalled for you to follow him to the lines rows, he pointed to each part and explained where he wanted everything to go as you tried your best to draw along with his every word.

As you finished off your version of a rough sketch, you placed the paper onto the floor after Isaac had been happy with the final result. Raising your hand you manipulated each drawn out part into the air.

“Perfect.” Isaac stated as he instructed you to fit each floating piece into the right place.

He leaned closer to the machine you had just built with floating graphite particles, inspecting each and every square inch of it, he managed to rule out many of his original thoughts on what could be the problem.

You followed him as he circled the creation, moving parts if he need to get a closer look at the inside.

Suddenly the man startled you with his clipped laugh, the sound vibrating around the room as he came from out from inside of the machine.

“One of the parts is bent causing a friction to build between the screws holding it together.” His statement ment nothing to you as you asked him to explain how that caused the problem.

“Well, my darling, that means the screws are coming loose causing them to move out of their position making them block the space needed for the lens to fit.” He explained as he forced the tiny dent in a metal slab to straighten.

“Ah, so all you need to do it straighten that and then everything will fit?” You questioned. “Well that was simpler than I expected.” You muttered.

“Yes-“ he started “Now move behind the table so I don’t accidentally slam you with a sheet of metal.”

With a huff you do as he said, watching as he pieced together the parts like it was as easy as breathing for him.

He lowered his hand moving closer to inspect the new and improved version of his hologram creator. No mistakes.

Finally.

Isaac walked back towards you with a bright smile on his face, his eyes alight with a childlike glee.

He opened his arms, wrapping them around your figure with loving appreciation. You melted into his chest, the fabric from his lab coat rubbing against your cheek.

He lifted his head and left a soft kiss of your forehead. “Thank you for your help, my love.”

You looked up at him, smiling as you pecked his lips. “I could draw your blueprints for you in the future if you want-“

He was about to interrupt but you silenced him with another kiss. “Admit it was easier for you to see them when they were in the air.”

The corners of his lips rose up as he thought over the prospect of you helping him create his future ideas. Apart of you would be intertwined with them as you were with him.

“Alright.” He agreed, a part of him exited at the thought of you helping him.

[eveenstar]

hi! i saw that you were open for requests so could i please request a thing with ghost where his masc!fem s/o is an avid gamer and has recently gotten into playing shooters (like battlefield for example) and whenever she's stuck on a quest (like having tried like 5 times to get through a segment and nothing seems to be working) she asks ghost for strat help? thank you!

hello! Here's your request, fresh out of the oven! Hope you like it, and have a nice day/night ♡

SIMON really, really doesn't like shooter games. You'd think it was because of his past and his life as a task force soldier — but no, he thinks they're for amateurs. For people who'll never see a mile of a true battlefield. Still though, he indulges in watching you play (albeit secretly. He's like one of those dads that say "I don't care about your show" and then proceed to stand in the living room watching the TV show you put on for yourself).

When you first began getting into shooting games, such as the likes of battlefield (you tell Simon it's the fault of tiktok and youtube for showing you funny clips of the gameplay, but we all know you just wanted to feel some resemblance of familiarity to his field), Simon didn't support nor shoot you down on it. In fact, if anything, after the third time you booted up the game, he'd show up out of nowhere behind you, watching you play. He didn't help you, no. He watched you struggle with a tiny bit of sadistic satisfaction — but whenever you got something right or a win? He'd give you a grunt of approval followed by a "Guess you got a bite after all."

(In his mind, he'd be one hell of a player if he DID play shooter games. Man's got a bit of an ego okay)

Over time, Simon will begin to make little comments here and there, such as which gun is better to use, that barrel you missed in the other room... and even battle tactics! Battle tactics!! For an online shooting game!!

Eventually, when you get stuck on some quest or mission (maybe you can't get past the guards, or clearing a room/the field, whichever it is — and yes, including an online round) and reluctantly ask Simon for help (you honestly think he'll say no and laugh at your misery), you'll be very surprised when he takes your controller, your headphones and claims the chair for his own.

He's fully locked in.

Fortunately (or not), Simon Riley's got the skills to match his ego. Whatever level you were stuck at, it takes him less than five minutes to finish it. You're transfixed watching him. Man uses the controller like it's his personal gun. You'd swear Simon's a secret player with 30 years of experience with the way he moves (there's no way he got that good by only watching you play, right?).

Yes, he'll mock you afterwards; "I'd like to see you in a real battlefield, love. Nothin' of that pretty pink rifle you got there to save ya."

But hey, you're no longer stuck! And you also know he had one hell of a time playing it, even if he'd never admit it.

Also, if you're ever in an online match that requires voice on, and some bastard with nothin' better to do mocks your skills or tries to act tough? All it takes is for you to get Simon on the mic. They all shut up reeeeaaaal fast.

requests are open for call of duty only!

[brbievivi]

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧 — 𝐉𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. When will my life begin with an analysis on Riddle, Ruggie, Kalim, Jamil, Silver, and Malleus. (div by @cafekitsune)

<𝟑 .ᐟ 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞. Inspired by my discussion with @adamantmaimai ! one of my og followers, I appreciate you sm <33

જ⁀➴ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠. This post includes some spoilers from book 7 - .5

ᯓ ★ ˙🧷 ̟ 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬. masterlist ᵎᵎ

Again, this post includes spoilers from book 7.5 You have been warned !

“Seven A.M., the usual morning lineup / Start on the chores and sweep 'til the floor's all clean”

Riddle wakes up early every morning, reviewing notes from a lesson yesterday, and checking to see that his dorm members are being productive and obeying the rules, like Rule #249: You must wear pink when feeding the flamingos.

It seems that Heartslabyual has a streak of rule breakers who get beheaded every day. While Riddle likes to maintain order, it can get taxing constantly having to reprimand others.

Ruggie gets up early every morning to wake up Leona, and then he carries on with his routine. Throughout the day he finds little tasks to do so he can earn any amount of money he can, saving up for his future.

As vice housewarden, Jamil has duties he must take responsibility for, and that includes Kalim. He’s always scrambling to make sure Kalim has everything he needs, whether it’s packing for a trip, homework, or basic essentials. All of that on top of his roles as vice housewarden—it all feels like a chore he can never escape from.

“I'll add a few new paintings to my gallery / I'll play guitar and knit / And cook and basically”

Jamil rarely has time to himself; we know he likes dancing, especially breakdancing. He's showed off his dancing and rap skills at the SDC; that was probably one of the rare times he got to do something he truly enjoyed without getting scolded for “taking the spotlight” away.

We know he’s amazing at cooking, but that also becomes a chore because he must make sure the food isn’t poisoned, which potentially puts his life at risk.

“I'll reread the books / If I have time to spare”

Riddle is very studious; this is not a secret to anyone. For instance, in his Relaxing Room birthday vignette, he studied the whole evening until it was time for his curfew.

Whatever time Riddle has in the afternoon, he tends to his responsibilities first, trying not to get distracted even by the cutest things, like the cute hedgehogs he has a soft spot for (seriously, they are so cute).

Silver has been training for years to be a worthy knight, and while some of the training methods by Lilia are… interesting at best… It’s without a doubt that Silver’s resilient and compassionate nature stems from having an exceptional mentor and father.

Since Silver has sleeping issues, he tries to take any time he’s awake to be as productive as he can; any time to spare is important to him, whether it’s studying, training, or helping others.

“I'm sure there's room somewhere / And then I'll brush and brush / And brush and brush my hair”

Ruggie’s life in poverty was filled with constant stress and hustle. He had the same routine over and over, and he carried that with him to NRC. Assisting others with small tasks or using cunning ways to get free things are all sets of skills he had to learn because he didn’t grow up in a cushy lifestyle.

Ruggie has had a ton of part-time jobs. From working on a cruise, being a makeup artist, being a waiter at the Mostro lounge, pet sitting, working at a bakery, working at a beach resort, being a ski instructor, etc., for him there is always room for more opportunities to earn cash and experience.

“Stuck in the same place I've always been / When will my life begin?”

Jamil’s future was written for him before he was even born; growing up always having to be second-rate to Kalim soon filled him with resentment, which was certainly present in overblot.

He represses his feelings, not being used to expressing them since everything is about Kalim, not him. While Kalim is nice and encouraging, it also gets on Jamil's nerves for that same reason.

Because of Kalim's overoptimistic attitude, he doesn’t see the dynamic (at least not yet) clearly being at play here. Jamil doesn’t want to constantly be stuck being both a friend, as Kalim claims, and a servant, as everyone else claims. He’s tired of having others tell him what he’s supposed to be. What about what he wants to be?

Kalim is very dependent on Jamil; he relies on Jamil for small to big tasks, always having faith that he can pull it off. Jamil’s overblot really opened Kalim’s eyes to the pain Jamil was experiencing, and from that point on he is trying to make an effort to be more independent.

In book 7.5 we see how Kalim is trying to fill out the school tournament form all by himself, and when others ask him why Jamil can't just do it, Kalim insists he wants to do it on his own.

Kalim doesn’t want to continue being stuck depending on everyone; he’s going to evolve into his own person, and that includes seeing Jamil as truly a friend and not both a friend and servant, because, like Jamil said, he can’t have both.

Silver’s sleeping tendencies are something we discovered more and more in book 7; we see how he’s slowly getting better at staying awake. Those multiple hours of sleeping have regressed into only a few. It’s a start.

When Silver officially became a Vanrouge, that signified the beginning of a new life for him. Lilia adopting Silver gave him more than just a last name; it freed him from feeling stuck, and it gave him a lasting family.

Malleus losing his horn is bittersweet; while he lost a part of him, he gained a new part of himself. He can now show his emotions fully without worrying about causing a storm. He also used his horn along with Silver's ring to bring Lilia back, giving someone he holds dear to his heart a second chance at life.

With Malleus having more freedom from the unintentional curses put on him by the Senate, he now gets to begin a new chapter of his life, being more than just the typical “Malleus, the future prince of Briar Valley, top 5 mage in the world,” and instead being Malleus, a student at NRC who’s growing and making connections with others different from him.

“What is it like / Out there where they glow?”

Riddle longs for more freedom; years of being sheltered and controlled fuel him inside to rebel.

Riddle is growing into his own person, and while he still cares about rules and etiquette, hopefully he will soon realize that growing into his own person doesn't mean he's a disappointment.

Malleus is growing and expanding on his path of life; getting an internship at Styx will help him make connections with others and finally see what other opportunities lie outside of the palace walls.

Years of being isolated and finally having that sense of freedom and interests will increase Malleus’s independence and help him know what it’s truly like to explore parts of the world.

[catsahoy]

Yandere Femboy:

First Date ✩

Synopsis: Marcel has been itching for a date with you and know it’s finally going to happen! Did he say date he means taking his boss out to dinner to let you know how much he appreciate you for giving him a chance.

Warning’s- nsfw,voyeurism, masturbation, workplace relations, stalking, cnc, stealing, peer pressure

Masterlist

It’s the next week and Marcel couldn’t be happier his hairs done, nails done, makeup done and he’s wearing a cute little thong so that when he bends over you can see everything. Most of all he’s made you lunch your married after all it’s his job!

Nock nock nock, “Good morning boss slept well I know I did. Say I my cook made too much food so I brought some extra!” He beams giving it to you with both hands

Looking up from your desk you take it opening it to find your favorite meal, “oh my goodness Marcel I had know idea you liked this too!” Yeah he totally had know idea

Marcel smiles his glossy lips reflecting your happy face, “I’m so glad you like it maybe after work we can go to dinner I know a great spot.”

“nom nom nom, yes I would love too I’ve been trying to go to knew places anyway you know get out my comfort zone.”

Smiling, “Then it’s a date!”

With glee Marcel actually decideds to get some work done, he doesn’t actually know what he’s doing as long as he looks sexy doing it. Bending over to get paper, grabbing you water when ever you’re thirst, killing the employee that made him look lazy and replacing them with a more competent fuck, the usual

As the sun decides to set on a long day you gather you’re things deciding to meet up with Marcel, “Hey Marcel I was wondering if you wanted to drive together to the restaurant?”

Hearing this Marcel blushes, my love is so thoughtful how did I get this lucky

“No love it’s ok I’ll give you the address, and meet you there I have to swing by my house real quick, don’t forget to save me a seat

Giggling you nod, your head waving goodbye before driving off

Marcel smiles looking up at the sunset, “aren’t you beautiful oh no sun I’m not talking to you I’m talking about my love”

Snapping out of it Marcel gets in the car “ GO JAMES!” an with that he’s off

Making it home Marcel burst through the doors, taking the quickest, shower in his life, he grooms himself like never before puts on his best makeup, best perfume and best outfit he runs to the car his heart pounding, is my hair dry, is my makeup cakey

He’s never been this nervous at least about a date

Making it to the restaurant he is led to the table looking up your eyes go wide, did he change know you feel a little underdressed

As he sits how the beautiful smell of cashmere flows through the air “you look beautiful Marcel you should have told me we were dressing up I would’ve came prepared, but that’s ok.”

Giving a shy smile Marcel wants to hear those’s words from your lips from everyone else there vain but from you they give life

“Why thank you boss, so what did you order?”

“Well I ordered-blah blah blah blah”

As the night goes on it is filled with jazz, laughter, and Marcels intense gaze

“So boss when’s the last time you’ve been in a relationship 3 years ago?”

“Hm let me think about 3 years ago but it wasn’t anything serious I hate to say it but they were a little too boring for me you know.”

“Yeah I get that it can be hard to find someone who you like, who ingesting, who’s pretty.” He says his eyes burning into yours as his hand slides to yours

Pulling away you blush, “Marcel stop you know I’m your boss.”

Rolling his eyes, “oh come on you said your last relationship was boring and besides I see how you look at me, when I bend over, when I run task for you. You remember last week I could smell how aroused you were and I know how I present myself but baby you know I’m not small.”

Your pupils dilate you almost choked

Giving you his soft doe eyes, “come on just think about it yeah, why deny yourself why deny each other?”

“I mean I would love to but I could get fired, you a public figure I know h-“

“I don’t give a fuck.” Marcel whispers however his brash tone gives off another vibe

“I’m sorry baby but I can’t live in a world where we don’t even try. I know how my fans are and I know I’m known but my suspension is almost up we just need to tiptoe for a while. At least until I get back on the runway.”

He says lovingly, going in to hold your hand but this time you don’t pull away,

“…….sure, I mean how do you know if you don’t try?”

And with that your a couple I mean you both were already one last week but this is different

This is you signing off 

“Baby you have know idea how happy I am! Here let’s take a picture to commemorate are love.” click click

Before you can process what he said the flash goes off and soft kiss is placed on your lips now stained a cherry color as he giggles placing his phone down

“Aren’t you so excited for this new chapter baby!”

You nod your head yes, “aww you’re so cute when flustered.” mwah mwah, two more one on your cheek and the other on your forehead.

“Oh don’t worry I got the bill baby you seem a little out of it my kisses can do that.”

Swiping the card, Marcel walks you to your car giving you one final kiss. “Good bye my love sleep tight.”

Driving off you try to snap out of it are you really dating your employee

As you make it home you turn on a hot bath trying to numb your nerves, its ok we’ll be careful, this is how I loose my job, his suspension is almost over, I’m going to be blacklist from every job ever

The bath isn’t working getting out you dry yourself off, deciding to pamper yourself a little you get out your favorite body butter, oil and pajama set nothing

But even after all that your a little nervous for tomorrow aha

Taking out your toy you know what will calm you down

“Bzzz zzz zzz yes AH ah oh fuck that feels so-“

fwap fwap fwap hiding behind a tree Marcel has to make sure you get home safely “ahh hm yes bab- AhH play with your pussy just like that”

Finally climaxing you pass out deciding to worry about those problems for tomorrow

Seeing your sleeping figure he pulls up his pants Marcel creeps over to your window creeek slipping in he puts your vibrator up before diving his tongue into your pussy, lapping up your fresh juices he can’t waist a drop

After cleaning you up he snaps a few pictures, pulling up the covers he gives you a kiss not before going to your hamper and fishing for your dirty panties

sniff sniff time to add this to his shrine

“Goodnight my love can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

Authors note: the people have spoken and they wanna date with Marcel! Omg hope you liked it and thank you some much for 82 likes on my last post that really means a lot you all have gotten 100 likes total!

@magicalstarsworld, @junajun4



[caitlyns-left-mountain]

Cowgirl!Sevika Headcanons

Cowgirl!Sevika who literally would do anything just so you won't have to come to the ranch. Seriously. She's someone who thrives on being alone, and besides for the occasional inspector or man that your father does business with, she gets a lot of downtime. The last thing she needs is for some stubborn, bratty, city girl to ruin her utopia of horses and cattle. At first, she thought your father was joking about bringing his daughter to the ranch to teach you some kind of "lesson," but the second time he brought it up she knew he was serious, and she said flat out "No." But your father knows if there's anyone who can fix a brat, it's going to be Sevika. She wasn't on board until your dad brought over a check, and after she requested a few more zeroes at the end of the already ridiculous number, she decided one summer wouldn't be that bad.

Cowgirl!Sevika who greets you at the main road in some kind of golf cart. At first, she was gonna bring a horse or two, maybe get you to ride one back to the ranch, but she decided to be nice just this once. Plus, it's easier to haul your bags on something with wheels. When your dad tries to introduce you, she doesn't say anything. Instead, she begins to silently lift your fancy suitcases onto the back of the cart, and if you're not fast enough she'd definitely drive away without you. It's almost like she's flat out ignoring you. Because she is. No matter how many questions you ask, the ride to the ranch is silent.

Cowgirl!Sevika who helps you bring your bags into the guest room. Obviously she gives you an hour or two to unpack. But she's eerily silent, and you don't realize she's behind you until she just goes, "Seriously?" You turn to meet her gaze and she's all crossed arms with a brow quirked up. Now you're a bit confused. Until you glance back at your suitcase and see something neon and embarrassingly sex toy shaped in said suitcase. Trying to hide your blush, you just huff and grumble for her to "fuck off." And fuck off she does. Though she isn't intrigued at first, after a month or two she wonders if you've even bothered to use it.

Cowgirl!Sevika who almost laughs when she sees your outfit for the first day of work. It was more of a huff, but you know that's the closest she'll ever be to expressing joy. Sevika decides to start some work later in the day so she can take you to the supply store. Once again, she's being nice. She helps you pick out some pairs of jeans and such, knowing which brands are good for the kind of hell she's about to put you through, and she won't tell you that she only approved the pairs that made your ass look the best. In her defense, if you're going to torture her all summer with your existence, she might as well get something out of it. Maybe that is getting to look at some ass without driving twenty minutes to the nearest bar. Sue her. She's a woman of simple pleasures.

Cowgirl!Sevika who's torn between working you to death so she never has to see you, and giving you the dumbest tasks ever so you don't mess up all the hard, important work she does. She might start you off simple with fetching water for some of the animals, feeding cattle, etc. By the end of the week she's either got you cutting the field grass with scissors in weather that could only be described as satans asshole, or scrubbing the baseboards of the house even if they're already clean. As long as you're out of her hair, it's not her problem. Sometimes it feels like she's messing with you, and she is. There's no doubt about that. Not with the way she smirks when you start grumbling again, because you both know that the work she has you doing is pointless.

Cowgirl!Sevika who has to come wake you up most of the time, especially if you ignore your alarm. The sun will be dancing on the edge of the horizon and she'll be there, uncaring of how late you went to bed, ordering you to wake up with that voice that makes your panties just a bit wet. If you ignore her she'd repeat herself before tearing the blankets from your sleeping figure, not paying any mind to what pajamas you do or don't have on. The only time she bothers to look is if you've got nothing but panties on your lower half and she can see your ass. Once again, she's a simple woman.

Hear me out, but it's hard to tell if Cowgirl!Sevika's gay or not. Now, you might take one look at her and immediately know that she's a butch, but just walk with me here. Sevika barely talks to you unless she's instructing you on how to do something. She doesn't talk about the people on tv, or any girls that check her out in the city - she's just quiet. Since she never expresses interest in anything else besides the old cow that she secretly babies, and food, it's hard to tell what exactly she goes for romantically. Plus, muscular women can be straight. It's not a crime for a woman to be a tomboy and be straight. But with Sevika, it's just...hard to tell. And one day, you just have to ask. Out of genuine curiosity, not even because you're trying to figure out if you have a chance or not.

When you finally get around to popping the question, Cowgirl!Sevika just looks at you like you're insane. Her gaze would be narrowed, and she'd probably be taking the plates back to the sink after dinner, though your question obviously made her freeze. "Yeah," she'd reply, almost fazed that you didn't get that from day one. When her back is finally turned to you she finally bothers to speak more than one word. "You thought I wasn't?" Well, now she's just making fun of you. Eventually your cheeks flush and you have to defend yourself, babbling about how you "didn't want to assume." Her shoulders shake and you realize it's with silent laughter. Maybe you weren't that bad of a nuisance after all.

Guys wtf is college PLEASE save me. SEND HELP. The only thing that's getting me through this is remembering I have to provide for my future housebutch and our beautiful daughter(s).

Lowkey I don't think these hcs are as good as they usually are but I know the arcane fandom must be fed. I'm brainstorming about caitlyn next...maybe wild west/cowgirl/sheriff Cait 😫😫😫 stay tuned

Taglist: @sevikas-whore

[haizononon]

I'm back! You said to remind me of the request and here I am, I wanted a story where the MC despairs about the curse, to the point where he even stops going on quests, I leave it to you to decide whether the ending is good or bad, whatever you want🙏

exhausted w/ zenji kotodama

note: here you go! i may have tweaked it a little bit and added zenji since you didn't specify if you wanted something with the ghouls or not, hope that's okay!

contains: possible ooc (first time writing for zenji), some body horror, spoilers up to episode 18, hurt/comfort, suicidal thoughts...

You were tired.

Tired of seeing things you shouldn't have to, of making others risk their lives for your safety, of trying to keep yourself positive despite every failure.

You kept going and going, forcing your aching body to stand up and go ahead with another day. Classes, doing tasks for faculty members or some of the ghouls, spending your time in the library trying to search for new information if there wasn't a mission, going back to bed without having made any progress... Rinse and repeat.

Now you were looking at the sky, elbows on the windowsill as the cool breeze caressed your hair.

"My dear, you shouldn't lean forward too much."

The unexpected voice almost made you slip, an ghostly arm instinctively shooting forward in front of you as if to stop your fall, but you managed to grab onto the ledge. The man floating by your side sighed in relief.

"See? As alluring as the night sky might be, it's very dangerous to let yourself be blinded by its beauty."

You try to give him the best smile you can. "Yeah, sorry, I didn't notice I was leaning so much."

The thoughts of your impending doom were too distracting, after all. So haunting that sometimes you were sure you could feel the tattoo on your back slowly grow bigger and bigger.

Just by seeing Zenji's soft expression, you prepare yourself for what you knows will follow.

"... Everyone has been quite worried about you, dear."

Of course they would be, at least those who actually seemed to care about your well-being. You hadn't talked to anyone these last few days since the Star Festival ended, not even Kaito or Luca, who only caught a brief glimpse of you during classes.

You didn't respond to any texts, be it from the ghouls who demanded something from you, others who tried to invite you over, or even those that mentioned possible details for a mission.

The disappointment you felt after seeing another chance to free yourself from the curse vanish before your eyes was... not easy to deal with.

It was just so tiring to keep hoping only to be let down time and time again: the Genesis, Yuri's medicine, Edward's attempt at making you a vampire, the Sheepdog, Shi San Long... and now, the Sky King. Some of them might have worked, if only to give you a few more months to live, but others meant sacrificing your humanity, which was what you wanted to maintain in the first place.

With every failure, you felt more and more like the Kyklos was laughing at you, watching with that giant eye you couldn't forget. Waiting in her corner for flowers to sprout from under your skin, to watch your head burst in a colorful bouquet with an eye just like hers, vines intertwining with your veins, a horrible, bloody smile on what remained of your face...

Such vision followed you every night when you closed your eyes, making you wonder if maybe it would be better to end your life before letting that despicable anomaly take over. Darwick would make sure you wouldn't survive if the curse took you, either way.

"My dear?"

Your thoughts were interrupted by a worried voice and a cold feeling against your cheek. Zenji's hand retreated, his red eyes filled with understanding and pain. Of course, he was always so empathetic, he likely had an idea of what you've been thinking about.

"I understand the despair of not knowing if you'll be able to reach your goal. You're carrying such a heavy burden..." One of his hands hovers over one of your own. There is no touch, no warmth, no physical comfort, it's akin to a breeze. "But, remember that you are not alone."

"... I don't want them to risk their lives for me anymore." You never did, but now even more so. "It's just... failure after failure. What if one of them gets hurt trying to protect me, only for me to still turn into the Kyklos?"

"That is their choice." The firmness in his voice disconcerts you for a moment but, as you glance back at him, his red eyes are still soft. "You can't tell them not to protect their beloved friend. They're very much aware of the possibilities."

You stay quiet. No words come out of your mouth, nor do sentences form in your head. You're tired, exhausted, but know that Zenji's right, you can't decide for them, and thanks to Edward everyone knew you'd become an anomaly when your time was up. Nothing was hidden from your friends.

The two of you spend some time just watching the stars, the only sound being that of the ghost's gentle humming by your side. It's calming, a lullaby to wish you the sweetest dreams and good luck.

[ussbhmfeedeetotheend]

The Laziness & Gluttony Challenge

So… I’ve started a new challenge.

The rules are simple: move as little as possible, stuff as much as possible. Every step, every ounce of effort is something I avoid. My goal is to see just how little I can actually manage to do while pumping calories into my body to ruin it as fast as possible.

The very first thing I did yesterday after I got off of work is go to the store to load up on as many easy to eat snacks as possible. I made sure to have a very heavy emphasis on sugars and carbs.

4 packs of Oreos, 2 dozen donuts, 4 12 packs of soda (cactus cooler is the best), 8 bags of chips, 3 things of jerky, 5 boxes of pop tarts, two things of chocolate chip cookies, two bags of sun chips, a jar of Nutella and a jar of peanut butter. And as an extra decadently gluttonous treat, a whole family size cheesecake that I put in my mini fridge on my nightstand.

A variable feast of everything heavy, sweet, and dense enough to slow me down further. All of it waiting to be shoved inside me while I plant myself in my bed like the lazy blob.

And the best part that's not even all that's going to be forced into this body. Four meals a day minimum doordashed to my house to maximize my laziness. Each a minimum of 4,000 calories. I must finish each meal like the good fat gluttonous hog I am. No leftovers, only painfully packed stomachs.

And it's a mere 26 steps from my bed to my door and back and 12 to the bathroom.

This whole idea came from an artist (who will go unnamed 😉), and god, it’s ruined me in the best way. The fantasy of intentionally weakening myself, making my body slower, softer, more useless, is so intoxicating. The thought of feeding myself into a state where standing up feels like punishment. Where my thighs and belly wobble with every tiny shuffle. Where my own weight crushes me into stillness.

Every bite feels like sabotage, like I’m digging myself deeper into this pit of fat and lard on purpose. And I love it. I need it. My body needs to be as useless and ruined as possible. Just a mound of fat and rolls struggling with even the simplest of tasks. I'm making the push and I hope all the piggies out there will take this challenge too for as long as possible.

[gabsandbucky]

Stumbling My Way Back To You

pairing: Adrian Chase x Gotham!Reader

wc: 1.8k

previous part: A Collision Between Two Rivals

Summary: You figured Adrian must have been avoiding you; he was, but for a different reason: he cannot stop thinking about you. Warnings: 18+, slight angst, smut, somnophilia, pussy eating, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting.

An: just a mini part two with smut again. Hope this tides you all over while I try to work on more works and my courses.

divider by: @strangergraphics-archive

The last thing you’d done with Adrian was sleep with him and invite him to stay the night. And now, well, he hasn’t called. It’s been three days–he left soon after in the morning and was absent the next day. Although you hadn’t made an effort to go see him, but then again, it was the weekend, which meant no thinking about the task force for the moment. 

So there you were, in your pjs, curled up on the couch. A cup of tea to your left, your DVD playing an action movie, and your hand under your waistband. Stupid Adrian, he had gone and gotten you all worked up. You couldn’t stop thinking about him, his lips, his sounds—the way he caressed your body. You gasped as your hand made contact with your clit.

"Nope," you frowned as you pulled your hand away. You wouldn’t masturbate to the thought of Adrian. You hated him, but you slept with him, and it was complicated, but now…just focus on the movie. 

You were in the middle of putting away your ice cream when your ears perked up; there was a soft clattering sound. Weird. You lean closer to your door as you listen to a raspy voice, mumble out your name. You pulled open the door to see Adrian leaning against your doorframe. His mask slipped to the side as he clutched his stomach. 

“Hey…can I come in?”

You blinked for a few seconds before you nodded, hurrying behind him as you watched him stumble. He removed his helmet and placed it on the table as he reached for his glasses. 

“God, you’re so pretty. I wanted to talk to you, and ask you something—" His eyes followed your body as he smiled. 

You shook your head, “Adrian, what are you talking about?”

“I think you’re super pretty, and I want to take you out on a real date.”

Your mouth opened and parted, not a sound, your appearance that of a fish out of water. 

“Oh, I misread this, didn’t I? You’re not interested…” Adrian’s eyes seemed to flatten and his body turned, before you stopped him.

“Adrian, it’s not that…I would love to. It’s just…you’re bleeding.”

He smiled into a lopsided grin as he leaned into you, “You would?”

“We can talk about this later, the blood…”

“I’ve got a girlfriend!” He chuckled before falling into your arms. You hummed as you tried to pick him, slowly dragging him to the couch. His mind was hazy, in and out. You shrugged off his suit before patching up the small wound on the side. You knew it was nothing, and that his weird fainting was mainly because of over exhaustion, but you still couldn’t help but worry. 

You tied your hair up and grabbed your first aid kit. You held a piece of gauze to stop the bleeding as you stared at his sleeping face.

“You look so peaceful,” You whispered. You gently pressed against his abdomen, checking for internal bleeding. It would be an easy fix. You closed your eyes and focused your hands over his wounds. The shadows spilled out of your hands and mended his injury. You breathed heavily before patching it up, the skin needing a few more hours under the bandage. 

You watched him stir awake as he glanced down, “Jeez, if you wanted me in my boxers so bad you could’ve said something…”

He climbed off the couch as he lifted you up by your hips, planting a wet kiss on your lips. You couldn’t help but giggle as he put you down—his hands loosely wrapped around your waist.

“Have I ever told you how pretty you are?”

Your face grew warm at his words, “Couple times.”

“Well, you’re so pretty.”

“And you’re sleep-deprived, come on.”

“You’re taking me to bed?”

“Not like that, perv.”

You couldn’t help but flicker back to the hours you'd spent with your hands down your panties, teasing yourself to the thought of him. But you wouldn’t give in now…not when Adrian would pass out mid-thrust and completely kill your sex drive.

You closed your eyes and curled into his hold, falling into a deep slumber. For now, you’d sleep, and let your mind fulfil your dirty fantasies about Adrian Chase. 

When Adrian woke up, he thought he was in heaven. He was on the comfiest mattress, his mind relaxed, and his dick pressed up against the tightest—wait, he knew where he was. He wrapped his arms around your waist, inhaling your sweet scent.

Right, he was with you. His lovely, amazing girlfriend. He frowned at his erection; he’d will the erection down soon enough. But for now, he just wanted to hold you. Such an affectionate guy, Adrian was. He couldn't help but think you might have been a succubus when you continued to move against him. Your haziness brought the subtle shift of your hips, core dragging into his swollen cock. 

He had to muffle his moans, not wanting you to wake up to thinking he was a massive perv. He couldn’t ruin this with you when you hadn’t been together for more than a day. 

In your dreams, Adrian had you face down as he ate you out. Your back arched to the ceiling. Oh boy, did he know how to move his tongue. You pushed your hips further into his mouth.

Adrian whimpered next to you, watching as you ground against him. Should he stop you? He didn’t want to, because this was probably one of the hottest things that had ever happened to him—the first being, well, you. 

You stuttered your hips as you groaned, your skin feeling hot. Adrian tugged off your shirt as he reached for your tits. His hands squeezed around your nipples, helping you in your lusty haze. 

“That’s it…so hot.”

You moaned again, as your ass jiggled faster. Adrian’s breath hitched—oh fuck, he was so close, and watching your ass, wow. Adrian pushed himself off the bed as he tugged off his shirt and pants, lazily stroking himself beneath the fabric. 

He watched as you began to stir, your hips beginning to slow. “Adrian?” 

You looked over at him, at the way the moonlight reflected his biceps, and it was like he was a chiselled statue crafted by Michelangelo.  

“Yeah?” He whispered, slowly crawling back into bed, his eyes deliberately reaching your eyes rather than your tits. 

You just dragged him closer as you pulled down your shorts to reveal your glistening pussy. “I’m a little worked up…” You pouted, your eyes fluttering. You didn’t have to say anything more because Adrian dove into your folds, his hands holding your hips down. 

“Oh shit, Adrian.”

He moaned against your pussy, his tongue circling the entire area before his lips covered your clit. He sucked hard, the pleasure striking your stomach. 

“Fuck, right there, Adrian.”

He didn't stop his fast sucking of your clit, in fact, he just added more. He slowly pushed his fingers through, the gummy walls squeezing him in. 

“Fuck, she's so wet.”

You groaned as he brought the pleasure even quicker, and without a short amount of buildup, your orgasm was rushing your body. Your legs shaking around his head, “Adrian, yes, god.”

He lapped all your juices up, his head coming back up to meet yours. You meet him in a sloppy kiss before you pull back–his eyes were filled with love, and you couldn’t help the flutter in your heart. 

“Wanna be inside her…” He pouted, his hands snaking around your waist. His boxers meet your wet pussy, your hole clenching around nothing. 

When he slipped into you, you were surprised to have it feel better than last time. Although, just imagining Adrian’s cock for a week while bound to have you yearning with the real thing. He couldn’t help the broken whimper that broke his throat, “Just feels so good.”

You smiled as you leaned back, letting his hands rest on either side of you, “It does, Adrian, feels really good.”

He looked up at you, and you gave him a reassuring nod. He smiled before no longer teasing you with just the tip, but the throbbing shaft burying down into you. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck—" You whimpered, your walls barely stretching. 

He circled over your clit as your hole began to open more, his cock now fully thick inside you. He stayed like that for a moment, this hefty weight inside you. It was the most erotic thing, being connected so close to him. 

He buried his head into your neck, soft saltwater dripping onto your neck. You look at his big eyes as well with tears. You leaned into him as you kissed him. 

“My pussy’s just too good.”

He nodded as he thrusted a bit more in, “Fuck…”

You wrapped your leg around his waist as you began to rock with his movements. He squeezed his eyes shut as he pushed in. His hands squeezed around your thighs as he tried to contain himself, “Oh my…fuck, fuck.”

You tugged his curls as he looked towards you, “You’re close, Adrian?”

He shook his head, “No, I can wait for you…”

“Can you? Last time it was a bit much for you.”

He kissed your lips before he looked at you, “Fuck, I liked it okay. Like having you using me.”

Your eyes darkened as you flipped him onto his back, “I’ll use you then.”

He bit his lip as you began bouncing, your ass meeting his thighs with every thrust. God, he must have been in sex heaven; the ever erotic slapping and moaning not helping his control. You pressed your lips against his as he kept thrusting up into you, his lips pressing against your neck before he began to whine, “Oh fuck, I’m coming, shit.”

You felt the way he cries, as your pussy tightened even more. You were gonna come too. “Oh fuck Adrian…”

“You’re so tight, shit, oh god.”

You clamped down on him as he bucked his hips impossibly deeper, all the warm seed spilling deep into you. You shook as your pussy squirted out, slipping from his cock as fluid and cum spilled everywhere. Adrian watched as your pussy clenched around nothing. He frowned—he had an obligation to your pleasure. He reached down as he thrust back into you. You both cried from overstimulation, “Adrian…you’re gonna make me come again.”

“Fuck, I want it…come on.”

You cried as he watched you shake again, your pussy now coating his cock still inside you. It was all too much, all wet and warm and…he couldn’t help the seed that spilled into you. You caught your breath as you held him tight. 

“You’ll let me take you on the date, right?”

You huffed as you nodded, “Sure, Adrian.”

He pulled out as your pussy opened, cum spilling down. You smiled at the way Adrian’s cock jumped, but he shook his head, “Down, boy.”

“You’re so weird.”

He frowned as he grabbed a wet cloth for you, “Really?”

“Weird…but also cute and sexy.”

He gently cleaned underneath you with a smile, “You think I’m cute?”

“Oh shut up.”

[stereopticons]

On This Day in Schitt's Creek: September 6

2019

36 Questions [david/patrick, E, 20,472] by @ahurston

"A practical methodology is presented for creating closeness in an experimental context. Pairs carry out self-disclosure and relationship-building tasks that gradually escalate in intensity." - "The Experimental Generation of Interpersonal Closeness: A Procedure and Some Preliminary Findings" David and Patrick go on a road trip, and work through 36 intimacy-building questions from the annals of social psychology.

All I Want To Do [david/patrick, E, 8,411] by red_crate

“You smell good,” Patrick whispered, thrill shooting up and down his spine at the crisp scent pouring off David, heavy with arousal and a little desperation. He rubbed his thumb below the point of David’s jaw and asked, “What do you need?” Or: David goes into rut, and Patrick still has to go into work.

Are You Testing Me? [david/patrick, G, 747] by @mickeysmyheart

David joins Patrick's Hockey Pool. 34: “Are you testing me?”47: “I can take care of myself just fine.”

Do You Promise? [david/patrick, E, 1,065] by @mickeysmyheart

Patrick is back home visiting a sick relative. He calls David and they have a very good talk. 26: “You’re the one thing keeping me sane right now.”40: “Do you promise?”

i can see the stars all the way from here [david/patrick, G, 625] by @thegrayness

David wakes up before Patrick on their first morning as husbands.

Pirate’s Bounty [david/patrick, E, 4,190] by @samwhambam

Patrick takes David out to dinner and David plans a night of debauchery.

Please shut up. Just shut up. [david/patrick, G, 742] by @mickeysmyheart

David shows Patrick and Stevie the movie Marie-Antoinette starring Kirsten Dunst who finally got a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. 62: "Please shut up. Just shut up."

2020

Easy Like Sunday Morning [david/patrick, G, 3,382] by SoonerOrLater

Patrick and David have their first lie in together.

I just want to stay high with you [david/patrick, E, 17,542] by @simplymarleycat

David and Patrick finish off the summer and their first year of marriage together.

I've Never Liked A Smile As Much As I Like Yours [david/patrick, T, 65,990] by @hagface

Patrick Brewer had never set foot in a craft store before. He’d had absolutely no reason to. His mother was into crafts but he wasn’t an artsy person—he didn’t paint… or crochet or… do whatever it was people did with felt. Visual art had never been his thing. Other than music, a hobby he’d effectively dropped when he started university three years ago, Patrick had no creative outlet. He needed a creative outlet. That’s what his therapist said anyway. “Why don’t you take an art class?” She’d suggested during their second meeting. “An art class?” he asked. - Or: Patrick and David are both college students and they meet when Patrick decides to take an art class.

nostalgia... [david/patrick, E, 1,974] by @startswithhope

The need to feel David’s skin against his hits him the same way a nostalgic song does when it comes on the radio, this bone deep knowledge of every note and chord and the anticipation of wanting to get to the chorus, and he unfurls his fingers from David’s so they can take their time undressing each other in the candlelight.

Wildly Unprofessional [david/patrick, E, 1,963] by EggplantSalad

“Whatcha doing there, David?” David gasped and opened his eyes. Patrick was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. That fucking fan must have covered the sound of the door opening. That or David was so lost in his fantasy that he was beyond hearing such pedestrian things as doors. Or, David tries to discreetly jerk one out at the store and Patrick catches him.

You have all my words [david/patrick, T, 2,073] by @lastchancecafe13

“Patrick you used to celebrate our anniversary by the month, I can guarantee that you have a present for me somewhere.” “Well, of course, it’s our wedding anniversary David-” “Exactly. So-” David trailed off pushing the bag towards Patrick with a bitten off smile. David and Patrick celebrate their first anniversary as husbands.

You're Everything I've Ever Dreamed of Having [david/patrick, NR, 6,616] by @egoanesthesia

A very long-winded fluffy fic about David and Patrick celebrating their first anniversary!

You’re more than just a one night stand [david/patrick, E, 2,189] by @mickeysmyheart

5. "You’re more than just a one night stand."

2021

A Splash of Desire [david/patrick, E, 2,204] by @goodiecornbread

5 times Patrick takes a shower alone. And 1 time he takes a shower with David Rose.

Because You Loved Me [david/patrick, M, 400] by @vanillahigh00

David and Patrick's Anniversary

Budget Woes [david/patrick, NR, 1,436] by nothfan

David and Patrick explore their domestic discipline relationship. David has trouble sticking to some of the rules. Patrick helps him make better choices. Will include a consensual spanking.

Full-Service [david/patrick, G, 1,921] by Siria

David's attempts to provide a hand-selected direct-to-consumer shopping experience go a little awry, thanks to customer Patrick B.

Imp of the Perverse [david/patrick, T, 2,298] by @madlori

David has a lot of thoughts, both deep and intrusive, about the vein in Patrick's neck, and of what it means to love and be loved by his husband.

Lips are for biting here [david/patrick, E, 2,265] by @kiwiana-writes

He brings two fingers to his neck, pressing carefully and moving around until he finds a tender spot at the juncture between his neck and his shoulder. And he does remember David’s mouth there last night, now that he thinks about it — remembers his teeth sinking in with a gasp as Patrick thrust up into him.

since we've got no place to go [david/patrick, E, 6,085] by @rmd-writes

“Quite frankly, I’m just relieved this isn’t the Schitt’s cabin.” Patrick smirks at him, “if I’d known that was an option-” “Absolutely not!” David snaps, but he’s smiling. “Now, can we get a fire going in this fireplace? It would really assist the aesthetic in here.” “We?” “Fine, can you get a fire started? Go outside and get some wood or-” Patrick tries and fails to hide his smile. “And that’s a thing I just said to you.” -- Patrick books a winter weekend away so that he and David can connect.

These Dreams [david/patrick, M, 2,194] by @mostlyinthemorning

What if you met the man of your dreams in your dreams? They’ve never met, but every night, David and Patrick dream about their future together. If only they knew how to find each other in real life.

Through My Mother's Eyes [patrick & marcy, G, 2,063] by @goodiecornbread

"Is it because we were so close with Rachel?" Marcy asked David. Because we really weren't, she added in her head. Patrick and Rachel's relationship through Marcy's eyes.

Your Judgements (Sign Your Own Punishment) [david/patrick, T, 1,390] by @alex-wrestling

There is a reason why David’s parents don’t know about Patrick.

2022

Love That Journey For Me [colin/penelope, T, 920] by fade_like_starlight

No one ever believes Colin's travel stories. OR That time that Colin Bridgerton was basically Alexis Rose.

2023

Sick and Injured [david/patrick, T, 982] by justspn

It really had been an accident, Patrick knew, but he was grumpy regardless. David had stretched a move a little too far last night in the bedroom and Patrick was sure that the muscle in his back was never going to recover. To top it all off, Patrick had woken up with a fever and a stuffy nose.

2024

Anal Training [david/patrick, E, 1,140] by @mammameesh

Patrick bottoms for the first time

Dizzy [david/patrick, T, 812] by @a-noble-dragon

David wakes up with vertigo. What is it that’s making his head spin? And will Patrick’s head also be spinning from taking care of him?

Stats:

No fanworks for 2017 or 2018 2019: 7 fics/36,252 words 2020: 8 fics/101,729 words 2021: 10 fics/28,256 words 2022: 1 fic/920 words 2023: 1 fic/982 words 2024: 2 fics/1,952 words Total: 29 fics/170,091 words

[mr-chatterboxs-column]

showing up late to the virtual craft party with only a moderate number of sharks 💝💝💝

enthusiastic thanks & credit to @haguenauisforlovers this is THE CUTEST!!!!

[council-of-beetroot]

There's something about say doing a whole bunch of laundry or hand washing all your dishes after cooking a large meal when you're twenty that brings me this strange childlike joy and sense of accomplishment when I do it

It's like sure, I did this stuff prior to adulthood, but that was out of obedience to my mother. Now I am an adult living on my own and now I am doing these things because I have to for me and only me and have to willingly choose to do them

And it's like wow I did it I'm so grown up!

[seventh-district]

several days and 15 thousand words later, i am relieved to report that the suffocating urge to Write Something has been sated and no longer has me in a chokehold