#surrender; I’m done

[justaghostwithbones]

Original poetry; copyright mine.

[sadiecoocoo]

Guys… I think I’m gonna have to make a whole au for Surrender your Mind… I’ve changed so much from the original story… and I can’t address it all in the fics focusing on Rex and Anakin… once you guys see the first chp of the second fic in the series you’ll understand what I’ve done. I’m so sorry, to both my mental health and to you

[acrowbyanyothername]

can’t talk writing a paper on john sheppard’s authority issues

a fic it’s a fic it’s a fic

[badolmen]

The world is so big and so dark and so heavy it crushes my heart but I am not dead and I must keep moving. The deep sea creatures cannot control the whalefall they rely on to survive. They can only keep moving in the darkness under that crushing pressure, searching until they find more or die. They keep moving, however slowly and however little to save what little energy they have to spare. The keep searching, never ignoring the taste of new flesh in the water or the change in the currents. Even when nothing good is promised, as nature never promises anything but eventual death, they’re driven by their nature to seek out the good, to wait for it, to trust it will come to pass.

[reaperseal-archive]

i knowwwww it isn’t my fault and it was just extremely bad luck and bad stuff happens and she’s getting the care she needs but damn. life is cruel etc etc smashing my head on a wall etc

[odoraful]

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄.ᐟ

what happens when you don't use their pet name to call them?

⟡ content: zayne/sylus/xavier/rafayel x gn!reader; more dialogue heavy; silly and cute

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ZAYNE ⟡

“Can you help me put this on, Zayne?”

From the reflection in the mirror, you tried not to react at the twist in his brow and the momentary confusion in his eyes. Wordlessly, he moved behind you, fingers taking the necklace out of your hand. With his gaze focused on the task before him, you could see him open his mouth, hesitating to speak.

“Did I do something wrong?” he questioned.

Zayne’s deft hands carefully laid the chain around your neck, centering the pendent between your collarbones.

You plastered on your most innocent expression, despite the twinge of guilt you felt at his question.

“Hm? Why do you ask?”

Swiftly, he clasped the ends of the chain together. His eyes flicked towards yours in the mirror.

“You’re calling me by my first name. I thought pet names were an important step in a relationship for you.”

You nodded. “Yes, Zayne, I do think it’s an important step.”

His eyes narrowed at your continual uncharacteristic responses.

Folding his arms, he mused aloud. “It took you some time to drop the title ‘doctor’ for me and to just use my name. After we became official, you were quick to call me ‘love’.”

You fiddled with your necklace, trying to, impossibly, force away the heat from your face.

“So, either I did something to make you upset, or”—he leaned in close to you, the side of his face almost touching yours—“you’re playing a trick on me.”

You gave a mock frown. He cocked his head to the side, awaiting your response.

“Okay, okay, it was a prank.” Sighing, you surrendered to his deductions. “I wanted to see how you’d react, but you saw right through me,” you mumbled.

His lips quirked. “I’ve known you for long enough to figure these things out.”

Wanting to wipe off the amused look he had on his face, you quickly planted a kiss on his cheek. His face turned into surprise. He chuckled, shaking his head at your triumphant smile.

“Thank you for helping me, my love."

SYLUS ⟡

“Sylus, could you play that new record you bought?”

You called from the sofa. Standing by the record player, he turned to face you. The offence on his face was unmistakable as he placed his hands on his hips.

“Sylus?” he scoffed. “We both know that’s not what you call me.”

Your brows furrowed, feigning confusion. “What are you talking about? Isn’t that your name?”

“Sweetie,” he levelled a look of scepticism at you, “that hasn’t been my name for the past month we’ve been together.”

“I still don’t know what you mean, Sylus.”

He paused. Gears turned in his head trying to unpack what was happening, much like he would do when reading the truthfulness of a dealer during a bargain.

“Y/N.”

You’ve never heard your own name being said in such a serious manner. Perhaps you got a taste of your own medicine.

“I’m not particularly fond of lose-lose situations.” The softness in his tone made you feel weak. “You can tell me if I’ve done something to annoy you. I won’t be angry.”

“Not at all!” you quickly blurted out. Unable to hide it any longer, you confessed. “You haven’t done anything to annoy me. I was just trying to pull a small prank.”

All the tension visibly released from his body. A relieved sigh escaped him. “You really do play some dangerous games, kitten.”

Playfulness returned to his voice. “Now then, how will you correct your mistake?”

“Honey,” you drawled out each syllable, making it sound as syrupy as the nickname itself, “could you play that new record you bought now?”

Sylus couldn’t help but laugh at your exaggeration. “Why of course.”

XAVIER ⟡

“Xavier, do you want to try this?”

Subtly glancing at his reaction from the kitchen, you saw his face immediately fall into a pout. The look was fatal, and it took all the willpower you had not to drop the ruse right then and there.

“That’s not my name,” he answered.

“What do you mean?” you chuckled, continuing to put icing on the sugar cookies you baked. “Of course it is!”

“No, it’s not,” he insisted.

Placing his book down, he walked to stand at your side by the counter. You avoided his eye contact, pretending that nothing was amiss.

Resting a hand under his chin, he began to think. “You usually call me bunny, sweetheart, sunshine, or darling.”

Your jaw dropped in amused shock. “You remember all the names I’ve called you?”

His mouth twitches. “There are some more, but… they might be a bit embarrassing to say aloud right now.”

That was enough to make you look at him with wide eyes.

“Xavier!” Your face turned pink as you slapped his shoulder. There was no force behind the hit, but enough to convey your embarrassment.

“You did it again. You used the wrong name.” He stuck his bottom lip out.

You gently poked at his cheek, trying to lift the corner of his lip upwards. “Come on, don’t be sad darling.”

Immediately, he brightened before you.

“It was just a joke I saw couples do online. I wanted to see how you’d react.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “And was my reaction satisfactory?”

“I think it was,” you smiled at him, "but it’s a shame I didn’t film it, it would’ve made for a good Moments post.”

He shook his head. “But, the nicknames we use are only for us.”

The finished cookie in your hand had a bite suddenly taken from it as Xavier leaned down to have a taste.

“I don’t want anyone else to know.”

RAFAYEL ⟡

“Are you ready to go yet, Rafayel?”

He continued to hum to himself, completely ignoring you. You folded your arms as you watched him busy himself with something trivial. He flung open a random cupboard and inspected what appeared to be an assortment of spare art supplies.

“Rafayel,” you called again.

He then turned his attention to the fishbowl in the centre of the room, where a small orange fish darted around.

“Reddie, do you hear something?” he asked, gazing so earnestly into the bowl. This fish paused its movement and stared back at his owner.

“Rafayel~” you sang his name aloud this time, extending the last syllable.

He gasped, apparently receiving some confirmation from Reddie.

“You hear something too? Thank god. I was thinking there must be something wrong with my ears.”

Surveying the room around him, Rafayel intentionally looked past you standing barely a few metres from him, tapping your foot against the wooden floorboards of his studio.

“It sounds like”—he continued—“some kind of voice. Someone familiar to me, but I can’t make out who it is.”

“Rafayel!” you shouted his name between fits of laughter. Only he could respond to your jokes with his own dramatics.

He sucked in a breath in puzzlement. “I wonder who this person is calling out to.”

“Baby,” you finally conceded, “I’m talking to you!”

It seemed like he couldn’t keep up the act either, as he started laughing with you.

“Took you long enough,” he huffed, moving towards you and linking your arm with his. “Otherwise, Reddie and I would have been searching for this phantom voice for the rest of the day.”

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[goofygubegubler]

𝑯𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝑶𝒏𝒆?

Inexperienced doesn’t mean incapable—especially when you’re bent over and begging him to go deeper.

wc: 2k | F!Reader (Established Relationship) | cw: explicit sexual content, rough sex, mild dominance/submission dynamics, inexperienced but eager Spencer, praise kink, slight hair pulling, deep penetration, overstimulation, mild dirty talk

A/N: I’m obsessed with the big useless dick trope from @esote-rika, so here’s my take—featuring a big, useless dick and a loving, overthinking, but oh-so-giving doctor. (not proof read)

Spencer had been so inexperienced when you first got together—hesitant, unsure. Just two partners before you, neither of them pushing him beyond what he knew. He was sweet, generous, and completely devoted to your pleasure, but he was stuck in his patterns. The same three positions, over and over. Missionary, him on top, or you on top—maybe a leg up if he was feeling particularly bold. It wasn’t bad. Far from it. His big, beautiful cock, thick and flushed at the tip, always left you satisfied. But satisfaction wasn’t enough anymore. You wanted something deeper. Something rougher. Something primal.

You kept thinking about last week—when Spencer had lost himself for just a second. The way his fingers wrapped around your throat as you came, his hips snapping into you harder than usual. The look in his eyes after, that flicker of something raw and untamed before he shoved it back down, had haunted you. Left you craving more.

And yet, here you were again, pinned beneath him in missionary, Spencer sweating above you, his breath ragged as he buried himself inside you with careful precision. His movements were deliberate, controlled—too controlled. You could feel the effort, the sheer determination to make you feel good, but somewhere in his need to perfect, to please, he was missing something vital. His strokes were measured and rhythmic, but they lacked the wild, desperate edge you ached for. His eyes were shut tight, damp curls sticking to his forehead, lost in his own head instead of here with you. You loved him—God, you did—but you needed more.

"Sp- Spencer," you gasped, hands trembling as they found his face, fingers pressing into the sharp angles of his jaw, guiding his gaze to yours. He nearly stopped, concern flashing in his dark, lust-blown eyes, but you shook your head quickly, tightening your grip just enough to keep him there.

"No, no, keep going," you urged, your voice a smooth plea, even as pleasure curled hot and tight in your belly, stealing your breath. Your thumb brushed over his bottom lip, feeling the heat of his breath, the slight tremble in his jaw as he obeyed. A soft, unbidden whimper slipped from him, the sound vibrating against your touch, sending a molten shiver straight through you.

His rhythm faltered, just slightly, when you spoke again. "Spencer, can we try something new?"

His brows furrowed, confusion flickering across his features as he leaned down to press his lips to your shoulder, his grip on your waist tightening like he was afraid to let go. He hesitated—that hesitation so inherently him, always second-guessing, always calculating.

But not tonight.

You didn’t give him the chance to overthink. In a swift movement, you rolled out from under him, flipping the balance of power in an instant. "Come on, genius," you teased, your smirk slow, dripping with something dangerously enticing. "You’re always reading. I know you’ve done your research."

His pupils blew wide, and for a moment, he hovered between intrigue and disbelief, his jaw tensing like he was fighting himself. Then, something shifted. Acceptance. Surrender. The sharp edge of arousal overtaking logic.

He swallowed hard, raking a hand through his hair before his fingers flexed at his sides. "You know," he started, voice lower, rougher, "research suggests this position promotes optimal G-spot stimulation and deeper penetration." A pause, his lips twitching like he was trying not to smirk. "And judging by your reaction, I’d hypothesize you already knew that."

You let out a breathy laugh, eyes fluttering as his hands found your hips, gripping, exploring. "You think too much, Doctor."

"I can’t help it," he admitted, his voice thinner now, like he was barely holding himself together. "It’s kind of my thing."

"Then let’s see if I can make you stop thinking for a while."

His breath hitched, eyes darkening as you crawled onto your hands and knees in front of him, arching your back just enough. Spencer swallowed hard, his eyes tracing the curve of your spine, the way your hips tilted up for him. He stared, visibly collecting himself, and then, in the way only he could, he gave a response that had your stomach tightening.

"Statistically speaking, rear-entry positions allow for deeper penetration and increased stimulation of the anterior vaginal wall, particularly the A-spot and the upper third of the clitoris," he murmured, his voice low, almost clinical, but edged with something rough. "They also offer better angles for prostate stimulation—not that that applies here, but still interesting."

You bit your lip, tilting your head to glance back at him, eyes dark with mischief. "Spencer," you purred, voice low and teasing, "I didn’t ask for a dissertation. Get behind me."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe himself. But any hesitation he had was gone, burned away by the heat simmering between you. His hands found your hips, fingers pressing into your skin, firm and reverent, like he was grounding himself in the feel of you.

“God, you’re unreal,” he murmured, almost like he was speaking to himself, as he lined himself up. The air between you turned electric, thick with anticipation. For a few long, breathless seconds, there was nothing but the sound of both of you breathing, the weight of what was about to happen settling deep in your bones.

Then, finally, he pushed in—slow, deliberate, filling you inch by inch. His hands tightened on your hips as a ragged groan tore from his throat.

The stretch had you gasping, your fingers curling into the sheets as pleasure spiked sharp and hot through your veins. Behind you, Spencer let out a broken, needy sound that sent a shiver racing down your spine, pooling heat low in your belly.

“Jesus,” he muttered, his fingers flexing against your skin. “The angle really does make a difference.”

A breathless laugh slipped past your lips, dissolving into a moan when he gave an experimental thrust, adjusting his stance behind you. Whatever hesitation he had left melted away, replaced by something deeper, something raw. He found a rhythm—strong, precise, every snap of his hips hitting just right. It shouldn’t have surprised you—of course Spencer would be good at this, just like he was good at everything—but still, you couldn’t help the way your body responded to him, arching into every movement like you’d been waiting for this all along.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, his fingers skimming up your spine, sending a delicious shiver rippling through you. “I don’t know why we haven’t done this sooner.”

You couldn’t even answer, too lost in the sensation of him, the way he fit inside you like he was made for it. Instead, you pushed back to meet his thrusts, earning a sharp inhale from him, his grip on your hips tightening.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, voice rough and desperate. “You like this, don’t you?”

A strangled moan was the only answer you could give, pleasure burning so hot it left you breathless. Your fingers curled tighter into the sheets, knuckles white, your entire body trembling with every deep, measured thrust he gave. He wasn’t holding back anymore—wasn’t hesitant. He had surrendered to the need coiling tight inside him, his usual restraint shattered by the slick heat of you wrapped around him.

“Yes,” you finally gasped, your voice breaking on the word.

That single syllable sent a shudder through him, a deep groan tearing from his chest. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you back onto him harder, deeper, as if he wanted to lose himself completely in you. The drag of him inside you was unbearable in the best way, his pace relentless but still precise, like he was cataloging every reaction, every sharp inhale, every flutter of your walls around him—storing it all away in that brilliant mind of his, ready to use it against you later.

“I can feel you squeezing me,” he groaned, voice thick with awe and something almost reverent. “God, you’re so—” He cut himself off with a sharp exhale, his rhythm faltering for just a second before he caught himself, the slap of skin on skin filling the air.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to glimpse him—Spencer, his hair damp and curling at the edges, jaw clenched so tight he looked like he was fighting to hold on, his hands gripping you like he was terrified of letting go. His pupils were blown wide, his gaze locked on where your bodies met, completely transfixed.

“You feel so good,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, like it was a confession. “Too good—I don’t… I don’t think I’m gonna last.”

His honesty sent another wave of arousal crashing through you, a desperate whimper slipping from your lips as your body clenched around him involuntarily. The reaction dragged a ragged sound from him, his hips snapping into you harder, his control slipping with every thrust.

“I want you to come first,” he managed, the words punctuated by sharp, deliberate movements that had your entire body winding tighter and tighter.

“You’re— you’re getting close,” you panted, the pleasure building too fast, too intense, your thighs shaking with the effort of holding yourself up.

Spencer’s hand slid from your hip, tracing up your spine before tangling into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. The sudden shift, the subtle display of dominance, had your stomach coiling impossibly tighter.

“Then let me take you there,” he murmured, his free hand slipping between your thighs, fingers finding the swollen bundle of nerves already throbbing from the friction. His touch was precise, practiced, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles that had your entire body jolting with pleasure. “Let me feel you fall apart around me.”

It was too much. The fullness of him, the pressure, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the way he was whispering praise into your skin like you were something to be worshipped—it sent you spiraling over the edge in a dizzying, overwhelming rush. Your body clenched down around him as the orgasm crashed through you, your vision going completely white, your mouth opening in a silent, wrecked moan.

Spencer groaned, the feeling of you tightening around him pushing him to the brink. His movements grew erratic, his grip tightening as he buried himself deep, his breath stuttering in your ear.

“Fuck—” The word was half a sob, his body tensing behind you as he reached his own release, his hips jerking against you in a few final, desperate thrusts before he stilled, forehead pressing against your shoulder as he panted, utterly spent.

The heat of him filled you, thick and warm, spreading deep, making you shudder in the aftermath. The sensation was almost too much—his release inside you, each subtle twitch of him prolonging your own pleasure, making your walls flutter around him involuntarily. He let out a broken groan, his fingers pressing hard into your waist like he was trying to ground himself, trying to feel every second of it, unwilling to let the moment slip away too soon.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the ragged breathing between you, the weight of his body still pressed against yours, the aftershocks still rippling through both of you, making you keen softly when he shifted just slightly inside you.

Then, finally, Spencer let out a breathless laugh, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder blade. "So, I guess that was a successful experiment."

You snorted, shoving weakly at his shoulder, though he barely budged. His smirk was lazy, smug, just a little bit cocky. "What? You were the one who encouraged me to apply my research."

Rolling your eyes, you stretched out beneath him, still catching your breath. "Never thought I’d see the day Spencer Reid goes hard."

He grinned against your skin, pressing another indulgent kiss to your jaw. "What can I say? The data was conclusive."

[kiyoomiee]

part one. part two. part three. part four.

boxer!sukuna who’s been in the training room for hours now. Sweat trickled all over his body as his arms never stopped swinging.

“Sukuna, you’ve been here for more than an hour now. That punching bag will break any moment.” Toji voiced out as he walked in.

“What’s wrong with you?” He tried to ask Sukuna.

“She’s mad at me. Been ignoring me for two days now.” Sukuna dropped his arms and sulked. Fucking hell, he misses you so much.

“Ah that pretty doll? Couldn’t imagine her staying mad that long with your annoying ass.”

“She’s my pretty doll. Don’t call her that.” Sukuna grumbled at Toji but the man ignored him.

“What’d you do?”

“Her medical director was being a misogynistic ass, so I punched him on her behalf.” Sukuna smirked, remembering how gratifying it was to punch the bastard in the face.

“Heh, would’ve done the same if I was there. But didn’t it occur to you that she might not want you to fight her battles for her?”

“Why wouldn’t she? I could send that man in a hospital without even breaking a sweat.”

“That’s exactly why asshole. Besides, you’ve seen how she handles herself in her own field. So go apologize instead of breaking our goddamn equipment.”

boxer!sukuna who corners you in your office so you can’t avoid him anymore. Locking the door close and closing the blinds so nobody could interfere. He went looking for you right after finishing his shower.

“We need to talk.”

“Not here Sukuna, I’m working. And I don’t want to talk to you right now.” You can see where this was going, tears already threatened to fall in the corners of your eyes.

“No. We need to talk right now, or else I’ll go crazy-“

“You’re going crazy? You haven’t talked to me in two days Sukuna. Now you’ll stroll in here and break up with me?”

“Break up?“ What the hell?

“Can’t handle the emotional part of the relationship? I should’ve known since you’re-“

“Since I’m what?” His voice was loud and angry. It was the first time he got mad at you.

“How could I even dare to break up with you when you’re constantly in my mind? When I’m trying my best just so you could notice me? When I’d surrender at your feet if you’d only say the word? I’ve pursued you for months and waited for you to see me. Even with countless rejections, I would’ve continued to wait for the rest of my life as long as there’s no ring on your finger yet. God, my infatuation even turned into obsession.” He sounds dejected as he chuckled to himself in pity.

“Now you’re saying I’m here to break up with you? No baby, I’m here to get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness. Because I’ll lose my goddamn mind if I don’t have your attention on me even in a split second. Why can’t you see it? I’m so fucking in love with you that the thought of leaving wouldn’t even cross my mind.” He continued on and sighed in agony.

“Y-You’re what?” You were stunned. It was the first time he said that three lettered word.

“I love you so fucking much. So please, I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I shouldn’t have interfered because I know you could stand up for yourself. But I can’t say I regret punching that motherfucker in the face.”

“I know you won’t, ‘kuna.”

“Fuck, don’t cry baby. I’m sorry I was an asshole.” He got on his knees and wiped the tears that fell from your eyes. You leaned into the warmth of his touch.

“Yeah but thanks to your little stunt, that man was fired and I won’t have to deal with his misogynistic comments anymore.” You just finished talking to the higher ups and the HR a while ago, they assured you that they’ll handle the case and that your medical director will be terminated immediately.

“I’m sorry too Sukuna, for avoiding and ignoring you. I should’ve reached out to you sooner.”

“No, it was my fault. I should’ve reached out. It won’t happen again baby, I promise.”

“Ryo.” You called him and caressed his face.

“Hmm?”

“I love you too.” His brain stopped functioning when he heard you say that.

“A-Are you sure? I’m not pressuring you just because I said it earlier-“ Ears turning red, he was now flustered and asked just to make sure he heard it correctly.

“I love you Ryomen Sukuna, I’m very sure.” You expressed lovingly, together with a quick peck on his lips.

“You sure know how to make me crazy for you, sweetheart.”

[khioneee]

caleb won't ever let you go.

‘here’s what you don’t understand,’ caleb said, his voice low and steady as he stepped closer. his gaze bore into yours, unflinching, filled with an intensity that made your heart stutter. ‘i would live a thousand lives just to get to you.’

caleb’s hand came up, and he rested it against one of your cheeks, his thumb catching your lip. you swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat, but he wasn’t done.

‘i would die time and time again, dig out my own grave if it means i can come home to you,’ he said, his voice trembling slightly with the weight of his confession.

you just witnessed your heartbreaker break into a thousand pieces, the vulnerable side of him slowly unmasked, and you saw it. he looked so, so tired. he was all pale skin contrasted with harsh colours; his eyes were bruised violet underneath, his lips were chapped to a raw red, and his usual glowing irises were a dull, cold black.

his lips were so close to yours now that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. you wanted to push him away, wanted to move out of his grasp, but you weren’t strong enough for any of it.

‘if i can’t have you in this universe,’ he murmured, his voice barely audible, ‘i’ll make sure i’ll be there in the next.’

it felt like surrender to close your eyes, to let caleb touch his lips where he wanted, to let his mouth ghost your cheek, but you were tired of the battle. he must have felt the resistance give away, because he cupped his hand purposefully around your jaw and tipped your mouth up with a finger on your chin.

he paused, his breath hitching, before backing away just enough to meet your eyes fully. his gaze softened but remained resolute, holding a depth that made you shiver.

‘you belong with me,’ he said firmly.

your unsteady heart was about to detonate. you opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat as he added, softer now, gentler, as if he were speaking a truth only he could see.

‘you just can’t see it… yet.’

his words lingered, weaving into the air around you like a thread that couldn’t be broken. you wanted to fight it, wanted to deny him, but the conviction in his voice planted a seed of doubt in the walls you’d built to keep him out. and that terrified you more than anything.

caleb blinked at you. the storm had cleared in his eyes. he almost looked surprised to see you standing there. he put his cap on, his movements slow, deliberate, as if bracing himself to leave.

‘you’re not the same person i knew,’ you said suddenly, your voice barely above a whisper. the words spilled out before you could stop them, heavy and trembling with unspoken pain.

caleb met your torn stare as you observed him closely, trying to detect what it was that was currently going through his mind.

‘not the same,’ he repeated, shaking his head with a quiet, bitter laugh. he looked at you then, his eyes heavy with something you couldn’t quite place. ‘i still love you, don’t i?’

the words hung in the air, raw and piercing, cutting through whatever resolve you thought you had left. he turned slightly, as if to leave, but hesitated, his shoulders stiff, waiting for a response you weren’t sure you could give.

but he stepped away, disheveled and breathing hard, staring harshly at you. the look in his eyes was terrible. terrifying. then, as if the silence itself pushed him to speak again, his voice low but steady.

‘i’m the same person,’ he said, his gaze locking onto yours. ‘i’m just not willing to let you go this time.’

[heavenlybodies333]

Love Bites -S.R

Spencer Reid x Hotch’s daughter!reader

Spencer Reid was many things—profiler, genius, human encyclopedia—but subtle was not one of them. Especially not when it came to hiding the fresh constellation of hickeys scattered down his neck like some kind of prize.

He walked into the bullpen with a file in one hand and his satchel slung awkwardly over the other, already rambling to Morgan about geographical profiling. Which made it all the more entertaining when Derek stopped in his tracks mid-conversation, eyebrows shooting up.

“Hold up.” Morgan squinted, leaning closer, his expression a slow grin of dawning realization.

Spencer froze with his tablet in hand, blinking. "Yeah?"

“Is that—Reid. Are those hickeys?”

"I—uh," Spencer stammered, adjusting his collar like he could somehow will the bruises away. "I didn't—it's not—"

"Oh my god," Penelope gasped. “Did our baby genius finally get laid?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, hard, to keep from laughing. Raising your eyebrows in your best imitation of wide-eyed innocence. Morgan's already circling like a shark. "Damn, kid. Didn’t know you had it in you."

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Reid stammers, tugging his collar up. That only makes it worse. One purplish mark is now clearly visible beneath the edge of his shirt.

Rossi walks by, takes one look, raises an eyebrow, and says nothin—Emily snorts audibly from behind her monitor. Reid sputters. “What—look—I—this is entirely inappropriate workplace behavior!”

“Oh, so you did get laid,” Prentiss grins. You rest your chin on your palm and bite the inside of your cheek to keep your smile from giving everything away.

“I’m not discussing my personal life with you,” Reid says quickly, shifting in his chair and tugging his collar up with a flushed, nervous hand.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t warned him, last night—his hands in your hair, your mouth on his neck, your breath hot and teasing: You’re going to have to explain these, you know. And he’d groaned, hands tightening on your hips, whispering, Worth it.

Guess he wasn’t so sure now.

Morgan wasn’t done. He leaned over Spencer’s desk with a shit-eating grin. “Oh, come on,” He laughs. “Don’t leave us hangin’. Who’s the lucky lady? We didn’t even know you had a lady!”

You slid your gaze toward Morgan, who was watching Reid intently—too intently. His eyes drifted from Spencer’s flushed face to you… and then back to Spencer. And then to you again.

A pause. Then Morgan’s smile stretched wider, far too knowing. “Oh. Oh. No way,” he said under his breath. “No way.”

You raised your brows, feigning innocence. “Something wrong, Agent Morgan?”

“Oh, hell no.” He laughed, backing away with his hands raised in mock surrender. “Hotch is gonna kill you, man.”

Hotch chose that exact moment to walk in, flipping through a file. “Morning,” he muttered. “Briefing in ten.” Everyone straightened. You took another sip of your coffee and shot Reid a knowing smile.

You got up and headed toward the briefing room, but not before leaning in, just enough, as you passed his chair.

Voice soft. Lips close. “Maybe next time,” you whispered,"you’ll wear a higher collar, genius."

“Reid,” comes the sudden, sharp voice from the stairs.

All heads snap toward Hotch, who descends into the bullpen like the Grim Reaper in a suit.

Reid jumps to his feet. “Yes?”

“I need that Georgia file you reviewed yesterday.”

“Uh—yes, yes, right here.” Spencer bolts to grab it from his desk, pushing his chair out with a screech.

Hotch pauses halfway down the stairs. Eyes looking over, your father’s eyes land on you. “You alright?”

You smile. Bright. Innocent. “Peachy, Dad.” He frowns slightly, then keeps walking.

Yeah, there was no way your dad wasn’t finding out.

a/n: spencieeee

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[rafesangelita]

♡ bitchy!kook!reader finally lets rafe fuck..

warnings: making out, slight degradation, teasing, fingering, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, praise, multiple orgasms

a/n: thank you to the anon who sent in this prompt request for my follower celly! i accidentally deleted your ask ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა

you didn’t expect things to get this heated, this fast, both you and rafe messily kissing each other in the darkness of his room, his playlist playing softly in the background while his hands didn’t leave a single inch of you untouched. you could feel his hard-on poking you through the thin lace material of your panties, your resolve crumbling more and more as you let yourself get lost in the taste of him, your desire to surrender and give into his advances only growing with each filthy sentence he spoke to you. “remember all that tough shit you were talking? ‘saying i couldn’t handle all of this but here you are fucking dripping for it..”

you whimpered, your head rolling to the side as rafe planted his lips on your neck, his hand snaking down underneath the hem of your skirt until his fingers slipped below the waistband of your underwear. “you know i can make you feel so good, baby, just give me the word..” he whispered, his teeth lightly grazing your flesh just as his fingertips dipped between your folds, a curse falling from his mouth as your slick allowed him to stroke your clit with ease. you gasped softly, your nails digging into his skin as he rubbed hard, firm circles around your sensitive bud. “come on..” rafe encouraged you quietly, “let me fuck you.”

you sighed softly, your eyes fluttering closed as he moved his lips down from your neck to your chest, his digits continuing their ministrations on your needy cunt. you couldn’t believe you were finally giving into him, all the months of begging and pleading with you to let him have his way all coming to an end once you nodded, your boyfriend cursing under his breath as he tried to his best to keep his composure. rafe’s fingers prodded at your entrance, the sensation making you panic before you stopped him. “wait—!” you panted, slightly embarrassed, “i’ve never done this before, rafe..”

upon hearing your words, rafe used his free hand to grip the back of your neck, his gaze scanning down your pretty face as his chest rose and fell in disbelief. your usual bitchy expression was long gone and was now replaced with what looked like intimidation, your brow etched with worry as you watched the realization dawn on him. “holy shit—” rafe laughed, “you’re a virgin?” you looked away from him, avoiding his burning gaze. “don’t be weird about it, you’re not special.” rafe scoffed, his jaw clenching as he pushed his fingertips into you. crying out, your nails raked down his toned chest, the burning tension making you wince.

“these are just my fingers, babe.. if you can barely handle this, just imagine when i’m fucking you balls deep.” the thought alone made you shudder, a shiver running down your spine as rafe began filling you up with digits, your walls fluttering around the welcomed intrusion. “gentle, please..” you whimpered, a hiss leaving your lips when he pulled at the roots of your hair, forcing you to look at him as he started thumbing at your clit. “gentle?” he laughed, “why would i be gentle with you? you’re not special.” rafe used your words from earlier against you before curling his digits and hitting that soft spot inside of you, your head falling onto his shoulder at the added stimulation.

“m’gonna make you cum all over my fingers, ‘get you all nice and stretched out before i fuck you stupid, yeah?” you whined, wrapping your arms around his neck as your breathing grew sporadic, the heavy tension in your core making your limbs feel like jelly. “fuckkk!” you squealed, burying your face in his chest as you felt the sudden snap in your tummy, your pussy squeezing around rafe’s digits like a vice. you saw stars behind the backs of your eyes, your thighs trembling as he held your hips down to keep you from moving away from him. “r-rafe, that’s enough,” you huffed, “s’too much now!” considering you were about to let him pop your cherry, he decided he’d give your poor cunt a break.

rafe didn’t give you nearly enough time to recover before he had your wrists pinned between tits, your ankles sitting prettily on his shoulders as he tapped the aching tip of his cock against your clit. “i’m never gonna let you live this down,” rafe teased, slipping only the tip in to watch the way you took your bottom lip between your teeth, “no one’s ever gonna fuck you like this.” was the last thing he said before thrusting into you without warning, a half scream emitting from your throat as rafe groaned, his eyes glued to where you two were connected.

“oh my god, you’re fucking gorgeous—” rafe said through gritted teeth, admiring every detail of you he hadn’t seen before tonight. you were rendered speechless, any kind of protests or smart remarks dying on the tip of your tongue as the ache between your legs dulled and melted into pure unadulterated pleasure. from pained whimpers to pleading cries, rafe’s lips found yours as he fucked into you with an unforgiving force. nipping his bottom lip, rafe hissed, cursing under his breath as you managed to get your hands out of his grip.

“not so scared anymore?” he teased, his words making you roll your eyes. “shut up, rafe— oh!” your back arched up into his chest when he changed his momentum, the long strokes of his hips making you hiccup. “tell me to shut up again.” you just about lost it when you felt his thumb return to your clit, your palms pushing against his stomach at the overwhelming pressure building up in your tummy. you hated how easy it was for him to take control of you in this moment, but god, you felt too good to care. not daring to say another word, your eyes screwed shut as rafe pushed you over the edge, his own orgasm causing his hips to stutter.

burying himself as deep as he could, you pulled rafe close as he emptied himself inside of you, your toes curling as he filled you up with his seed, the thick, hot ropes of cum painting your insides while you cried at the overwhelming feeling of your high. you felt like your head was in the clouds, your vision growing hazy as you blinked in slow motion up at the high ceiling. with rafe’s weight on top of you like this, and his moans in your ear, you reveled in the new intimacy that you two hadn’t yet shared with each other, both of you holding onto each other as your climaxes subsided.

still nestled inside of you, rafe collapsed on top of you, your hands wasting no time in moving his bangs out of his face, your heart fluttering in your chest at the sight of the smug grin on his lips. “don’t you dare say anything—”

“i can’t believe you actually let me hit.” rafe sighed, leaving a trail of kisses along your collarbone. you shook your head, a soft laugh leaving your lips as you twirled the ends of his hair with your perfectly manicured fingers. “act up and you’re not getting sex for as long as you piss me off.” you threatened, your words making his eyebrows raise. “you don’t have to worry about me acting up after this.. i can’t go on without it now.” you rolled your eyes at his dramatics before he took your lips in a kiss. “i hope you’re not fucked out just yet, i got some more rounds in me.”

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Thank god someone else sees the potential of remmick’s sub side bc 👀 that man has been looking for connection for centuries - if you were kind to him I think he’d be putty in your hands and it would be glorious. I’d love for you to explore this in your writing - I know you’d kill it and leave me screaming into a pillow haha

Let me be soft with you||Remmick x reader

Summary — remmick has never known an act of kindness in his life until he met you.

Warning smut dom!reader sub!remmick p in v reader rides remmick

Word count—1017

A/n— I LOVE SUB REMMICK AND I NEED MORE

Tagging @abriefnirvana @fuckoffbard

The wind outside howls, brushing dead leaves across the rotting windowsill. The cabin creaks around you—old wood, brittle bones, shadows so thick they feel alive. This place is half-forgotten, sunken into the ribs of the forest like a wound no one wants to reopen. No one comes here. Not anymore.

Not since he made it his own.

You shouldn’t be here.

And yet, Remmick can’t look away from you.

You’re warm. Real. Grounded in a way that mocks the rotting walls and the ghost-thick air. You stand there like you belong, unshaken by the stink of old blood or the teeth of the cold. All soft curves, steady breath, and those kind, quiet eyes that haven’t flinched once—not even when you stepped over the threshold and saw him bare-chested, blood-drenched, wild-eyed.

“You should’ve run,” he rasps, back pressed to the wall like he thinks you might burn him. “Should’ve screamed.”

You tilt your head, like you’re studying a puzzle rather than a predator. “Why would I scream? You haven’t hurt me.”

His jaw flexes. His fingers twitch. There’s blood dried like rust across his collarbone, a streak of it trailing down toward the edge of his sternum. The chain around his neck catches the firelight—dull gold, heavy. Worn not for style, but like penance. Like ownership.

“You don’t know what I am,” he growls. There’s something raw under it. Not menace—shame.

“I do.” You step closer, slow and sure. “And I think you’re tired.”

He flinches like you slapped him.

It’s the kind of answer he doesn’t know how to fight. Not judgment. Not fear. Just truth, laid bare between you. And you, offering it so gently he could scream.

“I’ve done terrible things,” he mutters, voice fraying.

“I know.”

You’re right in front of him now. He could reach you. He could snap your neck. Drain you. Feed on you until the blood runs down his chin. But he doesn’t move. His hands stay clenched at his sides, trembling with effort, nails biting into his palms.

You press your palm to his chest.

His dead heart stutters. Not a beat, not life—but something. Recognition. Longing. Ache.

“You don’t scare me, Remmick.”

And something inside him—something old and ruined—breaks.

He doesn’t remember his knees hitting the floor. Doesn’t feel the pain of it. Just the cotton-soft thump of surrender as he folds, head bowed, hands gripping the hem of your shirt like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His forehead presses into the warmth of your stomach, desperate, reverent.

“Please,” he breathes, voice so quiet it trembles. “Don’t be cruel.”

“I’m not,” you whisper. Your fingers find his hair, slow and soothing, and his whole body shudders like the simple touch is too much. “Let me be soft with you.”

He makes a sound—low, ragged, almost animal. A wounded thing trying not to bleed out in front of you. It tears out of him like a confession. Like a prayer.

You don’t stop. You hold him through it. You let him kneel. You let him need.

“I’m not good,” he says, mouth still pressed to your belly like he’s trying to hide in you. “Not clean. Not… worthy of this.”

“You don’t have to be good,” you say, gentler still. You tug on his hair, tilting his head up until his eyes meet yours—stormy, wide, afraid. “You just have to be mine.”

His breath catches.

God. He wants that.

He wants to belong. To be claimed, even if he doesn’t deserve it. Wants to forget every name he’s ever taken, every throat he’s ever torn open, every night he’s spent drowning in the dark and trying not to feel.

He surges forward, hands sliding up your waist like he’s starving for you—and you let him. You don’t flinch, don’t falter. You hold his face in your hands, and he leans into the touch like it’s holy.

Like you’re holy.

Like if he lets go, he might never find this again.

You guide him to the bed.

He goes willingly, crawling back on the creaking mattress while watching you with wide, desperate eyes. You undress without shame, your full body bathed in the flicker of firelight—and he stares like he’s witnessing a miracle. Not hunger. Worship.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes.

You smile. “You always look at me like that.”

“Because it never stops killing me.”

You climb over him slowly, pressing him down. His breath catches when your thigh settles between his legs, when your weight blankets him. He doesn’t feel crushed. He feels safe.

“Is this okay?” you ask, fingertips brushing his cheek.

He nods, too fast. “Please. I—I don’t want to think. Just tell me what to do.”

You kiss him. He sighs against your lips like he’s never been kissed soft before. Like the world always demanded he take, and you’re the first to give.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you murmur, grinding your hips just slightly. His head thumps back. “Just feel.”

He’s already hard beneath you, hips jerking helplessly, chain cold against your chest as you lean in. You drag your lips down his throat, over the metal links, to the spot above his unbeating heart.

When you rock your hips again, he moans.

“You’re so good for me, Remmick,” you whisper. “So sweet like this.”

His eyes flutter shut. “No one’s ever called me sweet.”

“Then they weren’t paying attention.”

You ride him slow, holding his wrists above his head, letting him tremble under you while his thighs shake and his whimpers fall like prayers. The praise is steady, like rain—washing him clean, softening him where he thought he was stone.

“You take me so well.”

“You’re doing so good.”

“You’re mine, baby.”

“Yours,” he gasps, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes as his orgasm builds. “Yours, yours, please don’t stop—”

You don’t. You stay with him through the high, through the cries and shudders and pleading. When he comes, he falls apart completely—back arching, mouth falling open in silent reverence, body shaking as you ride him through it, gently coaxing him to give more.

And afterward, when you lower yourself to lay on top of him, he wraps his arms around you like a lifeline.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, voice hoarse.

“You deserve everything,” you whisper back. “Especially this.”

You stroke his hair until he falls asleep.

For once in his long, dark life, Remmick dreams of peace.

[sadiecoocoo]

Last chp of Surrender Your Mind releases today! It’ll be my second chaptered fic that I’ve finished!!!

Next Friday I’ll be posting the first chp of the second part… so sorry in advance for what’s going to an agonizing wait lol

[kokomyass]

skincare routine

thinking about doing skincare on your hubby nanamin...

"Baby… sit still… I'm almost finished," you murmur, your voice gentle as you pour a small amount of moisturizer into your hands. You rub your palms together, warming the lotion before you begin to delicately massage it into your husband's face.

Nanami sits patiently before you, his eyes closed in peaceful surrender. His strong chin rests against your abdomen as you stand between his legs, giving you full access to his perfectly sculpted features.

"Of course, my love. Take your time," Nanami’s deep, resonant voice rumbles, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

You continue to apply the moisturizer, your fingers moving tenderly across his face. His skin, smooth and radiant, glistens under the soft glow of the lights. You can't help but admire the way his freshly washed hair, still damp, clings to his forehead, with the occasional drop of water trailing down his neck.

Nanami is dressed in a loose-fitting dressing gown, the fabric parting just enough to offer you a tantalizing view of his muscular chest and broad shoulders. The sight makes your heart race, and you marvel at how incredibly lucky you are to have this Greek god of a man as your husband.

After lingering for a few moments, lost in admiration, you lean down to cup his face in your hands, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. Nanami responds instantly, his kiss warm and eager.

"All done, Nanamin," you say, a bright smile lighting up your face as you pull back slightly to meet his gaze.

He opens his eyes, looking up at you with a soft, affectionate smile. "Thank you, my wife," he murmurs, his voice filled with warmth and gratitude. His hands slide up to gently hold your waist, his touch firm yet comforting.

You chuckle softly, running your fingers through his damp hair as you feel his grip tighten slightly, pulling you closer. "Anything for you," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. His eyes never leave yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart flutter.

Nanami leans forward, resting his forehead against your stomach, a contented sigh escaping his lips. "You spoil me, you know that?" he says, his voice muffled but rich with affection.

You brush a stray lock of hair from his face, your heart swelling with love. "You deserve it," you say simply, the sincerity in your voice clear.

He tilts his head up, capturing your lips in another kiss, this one deeper and more lingering. When he finally pulls away, there's a softness in his expression that takes your breath away. "I’m the luckiest man in the world to have you," he says, his voice filled with quiet conviction.

Your cheeks warm at his words, and you can’t help but smile even wider. "And I'm the luckiest to have you, Nanami," you whisper back, your heart overflowing with emotion.

The two of you stay like that for a moment longer, wrapped up in each other's presence, before he finally stands, pulling you into a warm embrace. As his arms envelop you, you realize that moments like this—simple, tender, and filled with love—are the ones you cherish most.

credit to artist ayushnz

[sourappl3s]

are my words going in one and ear and out the other? when i say you have your desires i genuinely mean it. i’m not saying it to get your hopes up or to make you scream and shout with joy, but i’m being so fr rn YOU HAVE WHAT YOU WANT 😭. i stress surrendering to imagination so much because that’s literally all you have to do.. i keep seeing people say “oh after i manifest this i’ll feel etc etc” or “i can’t wait until i have my desire so i can do this and etc etc” NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. imagination is everything, ITS EVERYTHING!! if you come to me saying “oh well i’ve being doing everything right and i’ve been persisting in my assumption and i see no movement” 1. you’re dwelling on trying to see movement on any fact that your desire is coming to you. 2. you just reaffirmed failure “i see no movement” 3. you’re seeing your imagination as a technique to try and get something faster in the 3D. 4. you didn’t change self. change self and the world follows, YOU HAVE WHAT YOU WANT ALREADY AND I WILL SLAM THE DOOR IN YOUR FACE EVERY TIME UNTIL YOU ACCEPT THAT FACT. IMAGINATION IS THE ONLY THING YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO WORRY ABOUT, ONCE YOU CLAIM IT IN IMAGINATION THEN ITS ALREADY DONE. YOU EXPERIENCED IT ALREADY. STOP RELYING ON THE 3D ITS ONLY DOING ITS JOB WHICH IS TO REFLECT WHATS GOING ON WITHIN. IMAGINATION IS THE ONLY REALITY, SO I GENUINELY MEAN IT WHEN I SAY YOU HAVE WHAT YOU WANT ALREADY!! GET OFF OF TUMBLR, THE MATERIALIZATION IS DONEEEEEEE.

- last post for a while, because i’m not gonna spend my time on here. i slammed the door in your face already so this should be a wake up call. if it isn’t, do not knock on the door again because i WILL NOT ANSWER.

[jaesblogstuff]

You know where home is at, don’t you now. (RAWR)

⸻

You don’t text him. You just show up.

You knock twice, the way he taught you, before slipping into the apartment like it’s your own. It isn’t. But that’s never stopped you before. Nothing about this should work. But here you are.

Same black hoodie. Same Glock under the pillow. Same grin he doesn’t bother to hide when he sees you in that skirt.

“Thought you had plans with your man,” Simon mutters, kicking the door shut behind you.

“I do,” you say. “They just changed.” He laughs once, low and sharp. Pulls you in by the waist and slaps your ass like you’re late to something.

“He know you wear that shit for me?” You hum against his mouth. “He don’t need to know everything.”

Simon Riley came from chaos. He never hid it. Said he was born somewhere hot and broke and loud. Said he had a couple acres out there, some fake papers, and a name that didn’t exist on any real record. Told you in that lazy, deep tone, like it was nothing. Like surviving shit like that was just how it goes.

“Heartbreakers,” he called them. “Women like you.”

But you were the one who stitched him back together. Drove him to court dates. Held his phone when he couldn’t stop shaking. Slept beside him when he woke up screaming from the past. You took him to Belgium once, just to say you did. Showed him a world where no one knew what he’d done. Or who he’d killed.

You made him feel safe. And that’s dangerous. Because now he needs you. And Simon Riley does not like needing anyone.

He doesn’t say much when you push him back onto the mattress, straddle him with nothing on under the skirt. He just grips your hips and grinds up once, slow and cruel, watching your mouth part around a breathless little sound that isn’t a moan but close.

You ride him until your legs shake. Until the room smells like sweat and smoke and that damn hoodie is halfway off and his tattooed arm is flexed around your waist. Until you’re ruined. Gutted. Fucked open and sore. And still, it’s not enough.

Later, when you’re on your back and the sheets are wet and the cigarette’s burning slow in his hand, he doesn’t pass it. Just lets it dangle from his lips while he stares at the you from the chair.

“You still fuckin’ him?” he asks, casual as sin. You don’t answer. Not right away. Just stretch like a cat, long and slow, letting him watch every inch of you shift under his gaze.

“Why?” you murmur. “You jealous?”

He scoffs, eyes half-lidded. “Nah. Just like knowin’ who I’m takin’ it from.” And maybe that should sting. But it doesn’t. Not from him. From him, it drips like honey. Dark, possessive, and thick with truth.

You slide off the bed, sore between the legs, and you make him wait. You don’t speak. Don’t ask. You just start to crawl. Palms to the cold floor. Eyes locked on his knees. You move slow, deliberate, like every step is a confession. A promise. A surrender.

Simon watches, legs spread wide, smoke curling around his face like a crown. “You done actin’ like you got options?” he mutters, voice rough and low. You smile up at him, teeth bared like a threat. “You scared I might?”

He leans forward, catches your jaw in one hand, thumb pressing against your lip. “Nah,” he says. “I know you won’t.” He slips two fingers into your mouth—down your tongue, past comfort. Until you gag just enough to make his eyes gleam.

“That’s my girl.”

And God help you, but you like the way that sounds. You always have.

You crawl into his lap, straddle him again. The cocky tilt of your mouth dares him to keep playing. “I didn’t fuck him,” you finally answered. “But you were thinking it.”

Simon doesn’t even blink. Just grips your waist like a man anchoring himself. “I was thinkin’ you’ve got a smart fuckin’ mouth for someone who crawls back to me beggin’.” You laugh, breath hot against his cheek. “That's why you kept beggin’? Couldn’t take not having me?”

“Beggin’?” He grabs your ass, lifts you, and drops you on his cock in one rough motion that punches the air from your lungs. “Sweetheart,” he growls, deep and close, “I own you.” And the sick part? You love how true that feels.

You fuck like it’s the last time. Like this is a war and he’s claiming the only piece of ground that ever meant anything. Your body is his battlefield, and he doesn’t just win—he conquers.

“You like when I crawl to you,” you whisper. Simon grins. “I like remindin’ you where you fuckin’ belong.”

You bite his shoulder. “Then remind me.”

He flips you, fucks you harder.

And you never forget.