#the sharpest point

[all-yourn]

♱ 𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔲𝔡𝔦𝔞 ♱ 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔭𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔰 ♱

[moeblob]

Threes Company

[filmgad]

[bottominerights]

all my favorite akashi ships truly boil down to bringing common sense into that young man's worldview, doesn't matter which akashi we are talking about:

akafuri, the epitome of akashi getting himself a boyfriend who's Just A Guy and who therefore can teach him things he could never learn from someone of his own status,

akamayu, where the Just A Guy is his own flavor of special still and also he has the sharpest tongue in the west and will not hesitate to disrespectfully point at the ridiculousness of akashi's mere existence where needed,

and akakaga, where kagami not only is Not Just A Guy and through and through his equal, he's also responsible for his defeat and the first in line to not put up with bullshit from any basketball chuuni in the radio of a mile and equally as willing to act defiant

pretty much all different flavors of "kind of hard to deny that i like you at this point but also jesus christ my guy, wth"

[fantasticalleigh]

do you ever feel like you have too many teeth

[shouldprobablybereading]

I’m reading this paranormal horror/romance novel and so far the most unrealistic part is that this girl living in the 2020s didn’t recognize or think to google any of the things she was seeing. Like I’m sorry you hear a violin play by the stream and then people start mysteriously dying? It should not be a surprise what you are dealing with

[dead-potato-monster]

the audacity of me from a year ago

[alittleannihilation]

sleep live on stage 2024 two times. can we make some noise.

[gethellbcnt-m]

benny can be many things, but he can't be handsome, emotionally-adjusted, and smart at the same time

guess which one is his dump stat

[graviconscientia]

Rumor has it those swords aren’t just for aesthetic

They're not. I keep friends close, enemies closer, and a dagger closest. If you'd ever like to see an expert swordsman in action, I am always willing to show what I can do. I very rarely say no to a good fight!

[sirfrogsworth]

This is frustrating.

I love the comparison, but I hate how they are comparing.

They are acting like she is using optics to give herself an advantage. But the device she is wearing is just for comfort and essentially does the same thing as closing one eye and squinting the other.

The little thing over the left eye is basically like an eye patch.

And the thing over her right eye is a mechanical iris, like in a camera lens, but it is NOT a lens.

Different lighting environments are going to be brighter or darker and you may have to squint more or less to let in the same amount of light into your eye. Squinting allows the shooter to get the sharpest possible vision in order to shoot a bullseye the size of a 12-point Times New Roman period.

But if you have to squint for hours for practice and in competition, this can strain your face muscles and become uncomfortable. So this iris basically squints for you.

It's more like wearing comfortable shoes so your feet do not hurt than a lens magnifying the target and giving an advantage.

Both athletes have access to these items. One felt more comfortable without them. The other didn't feel like getting a muscle cramp from squinting all day.

Either would have shot the same if they had or had not used these devices.

Just a funny difference in gear preference.

I should also add, the Turkish dad is the only one using lenses.

[canibalistic-brownie]

.

[deathofacupid]

★ biker!sukuna who's lovesick for bimbo!reader <33 › more for this dynamic here !

biker!sukuna's friends tried to warn him. they told him you weren't the sharpest tool in the shed, that you had a reputation. it didn't work. sukuna's never been one to listen, so they gave up on warnings and went straight to making fun of him instead.

they teased him endlessly about how you'd managed to wrap the king of the streets around your pretty, perfectly manicured finger.

gojo would point out the way sukuna literally blushed when you kissed his cheek. toji would poke fun at him for nearly snapping his neck just hearing your name in conversation. even nanami, the ever-stoic man, couldn't help but mention the genuine heart-eyes sukuna got whenever you walked by.

it's annoying to him, but what's even more annoying is how true it all is. yeah, he's down bad. yeah, he's addicted. so what? you get him higher than any drug, with the sweet scent of your shampoo and the even sweeter taste of your lips.

what's most irritating is that he's completely accepted it. he's yours, all yours. he parades it around like a known fact: the lipstick stains on his collarbones, the several annoyingly pink bows you've tied to all his belongings. (he's talking bike handles, helmet, backpack, dog-tag chains — everything.)

and sure, you weren't some rocket scientist, but who cares? it's kind of refreshing, actually. you live in this little, glittery, naive bubble. you don't know the horrors out there. when he comes home to you, you don't smother him or ask where he's been. you don't assume the worst because you're simply not aware of it.

he used to call you princess in a snarky way. you had your daddy's money, always used to getting your way. he thought he knew you, knew your kind—the filthy rich elite.

but when he really got to know you, he realized he was wrong. you smiled at every stranger, fed stray cats, and were even nice to kids, who are usually a pain in the ass. the nickname stuck, but now it was endearing.

he'll follow you around on your shopping sprees, more often than not shooting death stares at any man who even glances at you. it’s an odd sight: such a broody, large man covered in tattoos... right next to a sweet, pretty doll draped in baby pink. it's an oddity, but anyone who wants to keep all their limbs intact won't utter a word.

"'kuna," you hum, glossy lips pursed in thought. "which shade should i get?"

half-heartedly, he looks up from his phone, shifting his weight from one foot to another. the many, many shopping bags rustle in his hold.

sukuna grunts, shrugging. "what do i care?" briefly, his eyes skim from one end of the aisle to the other. every tube of lipstick looks the same to him.

you pick one up, inspecting the color. not even looking up, you chirp, "it's your cock that'll have the ring of it around." you say it like it's a fact, like you have no idea what you do to him.

"oh, jesus," he mutters, nearly choking as he shoves his phone into his pocket. sukuna sticks his hand out, swiping it across the entire top row; the lipsticks clatter into the plastic of the basket.

oh, well, okay then. all of them it is. you won't be caught dead complaining, anyways.

[hoe4hotchner]

the team meeting aaron's lawyer!wife who's personality is similar to his + she's the best in her field

Langston & Bell | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Lawyer wife!reader | WC: 1.2k | CW: Not really anything except for a little law jargon and mentions of a case the BAU is working on.

A/N: My brain hurts from looking up law terminology, and I'm not even sure if I used all the words correctly

The glass doors of Langston & Bell opened as Hotch led the rest of his team inside. The air felt heavy—as they entered—from the scent of freshly brewed coffee and a faint lemony aroma.

The firm itself was one of the most prestigious ones in all of Virginia, and its reputation suited it. Everything about the space was designed to impress—shining marble floors in the lobby, towering bookshelves filled with thick leather-bound volumes of law books and journals, and abstract art that screamed of a space aimed to do business with rich and pretentious people.

Emily glanced around, clearly trying to process how they’d ended up here. “Langston & Bell?” she muttered under her breath. “Isn’t this place out of our league?”

“They’re not dealing with criminal justice,” Spencer pointed out. “They specialize in corporate litigation and high-profile estate law. The firm is known for taking on cases that require absolute discretion.” Emily tried her best not to roll her eyes at Spencer's outburst of knowledge but failed.

Hotch didn’t respond, he kept his pace steady as he approached the front desk. His usual stone-faced demeanor was on full display, his features—although set not completely in a frown—were unreadable. He seemed unbothered by the hushed stares they received from the staff as they had entered with their badges held out in front of them.

The receptionist, a young woman with a straight posture and a sharp smile, greeted them. “Good afternoon. How may I assist you?”

Hotch stepped forward, his voice even. “We’re with the FBI. We’re looking for the attorney who handled the probate case for Samuel Larkin.”

The receptionist’s fingers danced quickly over her keyboard, her expression unchanged. “That would be Attorney Hotchner.”

Dead silence.

Emily blinked. “I’m sorry, did you say Hotchner?”

“Yes,” the receptionist replied, unfazed, almost on the brink of annoyance. “Would you like me to see if she’s available?”

“She,” Morgan echoed, his brows furrowing a little as his gaze flipped from the receptionist to Hotch.

Before anyone could recover from their shock, the sound of sharp heal clicks echoed through the lobby.

“Aaron,” came a clear voice from behind. “If this is your idea of surprising me, I’ll admit it’s more creative than flowers. But I have a deposition in thirty minutes.”

The team turned as one, their collective gazes landing on the woman who had just entered the room. You were dressed in a tailored navy suit that emphasized your poised demeanor. Your expression was both curious and faintly amused as your eyes locked on Hotch.

“Counselor,” he greeted smoothly, his tone carrying a subtle warmth that the team rarely heard.

“Counselor?” Rossi asked, a slow grin forming as his gaze flicked between you and Hotch.

Your lips quirked up in a small smile as you approached, your heels clicking against the marble with each step. “I assume this is your team?”

“It is,” Hotch confirmed.

You turned your attention to the group, giving them a brief once-over with an expression that wasn’t unkind but clearly measured. “Well, where are my manners? I’m Y/N Hotchner, senior litigation partner here at Langston & Bell. And yes, I can see the wheels turning in all your heads.”

Morgan crossed his arms, already grinning. “Oh, I’ve got a lot of questions right now.”

You raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Feel free to ask them, Agent Morgan. I’ve been cross-examined by some of the sharpest minds in the country—I’m sure I can handle you.”

JJ stepped forward, clearly trying to keep her surprise in check. “Wait, you’re married?”

You tilted your head toward Hotch, your expression softening just a fraction. “You didn’t tell them?”

“It never came up,” Hotch replied with a shrug, though the faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes didn’t escape you.

You shook your head, exhaling a soft laugh. “Aaron’s great at compartmentalizing, isn’t he? Well, to officially answer your question—yes, I’m his wife. And judging by your expressions, this is news to you.”

“Big news,” Emily muttered, still processing.

Hotch cleared his throat, subtly redirecting the conversation. “We need access to the probate records for Samuel Larkin. Anything that might help us build our case.”

Your demeanor shifted instantly, professionalism overtaking the playful edge. “Aaron, you know I can’t just hand over client information without a court order.”

“We’re only asking for publicly available records,” he clarified.

You studied him for a moment, a silent exchange passing between you. Then you turned to your assistant, who stood nearby. “Jane, pull the Larkin docket and bring me all publicly filed documents. Annotate them if you have time, and leave them on my desk before your shift ends.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jane replied, already moving toward the elevator.

“You always find a way around the rules,” Hotch said, his voice was low but carrying a note of fondness.

“And you love that about me,” you shot back with a wink, your eyes glinting with mischief.

Morgan leaned closer to Emily, his voice just loud enough for her to hear. “I don’t know what’s more surprising—the fact that he’s married, the fact that she's a lawyer, or the fact that she might be scarier than him.”

Although Jane hadn't gone through the records yet, she sent you a digital copy as soon as she had found them. You walked the team through them with ease. Every legal term you used was calculated, giving away as little about your client as you could, while still helping your husband and his team. You made sure to translate every dense legal jargon into actionable insights every time you saw one of their faces pull an expression.

“Here,” you said, pointing to a transaction on the financial statement. “These wire transfers are from an offshore account linked to Larkin. It’s not evidence of criminal activity, but it raises enough red flags to warrant further investigation.” If Larkin found out you had helped the feds, you could be in big trouble, you thought as you revealed the account.

Spencer leaned in, his eyes lighting up with understanding. “If we trace the accounts, we might uncover a connection to our unsub.”

“Precisely,” you replied, offering him a small nod of approval.

By the time the team wrapped up, they had everything they needed to move forward. As they gathered their materials, you leaned against the edge of the table, folding your arms as you looked at Hotch.

“Dinner at seven?” you asked, your voice softer, the edge of professionalism giving way to something more personal.

“Seven,” he confirmed, his tone lighter than usual.

You smiled, leaning in just enough to lower your voice. “Try not to scare anyone off before then, okay?”

“No promises,” he replied, his lips twitching upward in the faintest of smiles.

As the team exited the building, Morgan shook his head in disbelief. “She is definitely scarier than Hotch”

Emily grinned. “I think I like her better.”

“I like her too,” Rossi added with a chuckle.

Hotch walked ahead, the faint smile still playing on his lips, but he didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. The team had seen enough to know he’d married his perfect match—an equal who could still challenge him enough to keep him on his toes.

[angelscribes]

thinking about f1 racer! gojo satoru and how you're his pretty little good luck charm.

while other f1 drivers took the time before the race to meditate or maybe talk to their race engineers and pit wall about their car, satoru would find himself knuckles deep into your pussy.

"a-ah– toru!" you mewl, manicured nails braced against the wall of the waiting room as you let your boyfriend work out all of his racing stress on you. the sound of your dripping cunt is lewd and loud, juices trickling down your thighs as you quiver in your heels, panties bunched at your ankles.

"shh, baby," satoru coos against the shell of your ear, lips brushing against it as his free hand snakes to cover your mouth. "you don't want everyone outside to hear how good i'm making you feel, right?"

of course, you were worried that satoru's engineers outside could hear you. after all, you were only separated by a door that may or may not be unlocked – satoru never confirmed or denied it. his race engineer or his personal trainer could walk in any moment and all they'll see is your teary eyes and how your cunt was greedily sucking in satoru's long and deft digits.

you shake your head, unable to coherently form an answer while satoru rearranges your mind and guts with only his fingers. your lover knew your body like every race track on the grid, the sharpest corners, the flat-out straights, the quickest ways to get you to cum.

call it performance anxiety, but he could never do well on race day until he manages to get you to squirt all over his fingers at least twice.

"c'mon, pretty girl," you hear your boyfriend's honeyed voice through the haze of pleasure as his fingers bully your g-spot, almost like a wake-up call, making your body clench around him. "i don't have much time left before i gotta get into the car. you're not going to deny me my championship win, are you?"

you shake your head once more, drool catching at the corners of your mouth. eyes rolling back and hips thrown back, you could only whimper and whine as you barrel towards your second? third? orgasm of the day, rendering you weak to the whims of your boyfriend.

satoru's fingers curl against your gummy walls before stretching them out, a dragged out and cocky "yeaaah" from your boyfriend as he stares at your glistening cunt with an almost prideful look. your pussy seizes satoru's fingers when your orgasm finally crashes over you which sends your knees buckling towards each other and satoru's hand slipping from your mouth to wrap around your waist quickly.

drivers and their reaction speeds.

"woah there," satoru chuckles dreamily, an almost boyish tone to his laugh when he watches you tremble like a newborn foal, his arm strong against you to steady you. "maybe i can put world orgasm champion to my resume, huh?"

you glare at him weakly over your shoulder as your body comes down from your pleasurable high despite the empty feeling of satoru withdrawing his digits from your sopping cunt. strings of your essence stretch as he pulls away, and you watch your boyfriend clean his fingers up with a gleeful hum.

"oh, come on, don't at me like that," satoru coos as he manhandles you into standing straight so that he can crush his lips against yours, letting you taste just how sweet you are. "you know it'll just get me going again, pretty girl."

you can't help but roll your eyes a little but you kiss him back nonetheless before pulling away with a sweet 'mwah'. the two of you make quick work of making yourselves presentable again, a routine at this point where satoru cleans you up with a towel while you adjust your clothing before slipping your panties back up, business as usual.

"are you sure you don't want help with that, toru?" you ask him, eyes darting down to the almost painful looking bulge in his race suit before you look back up.

"nah," satoru dismisses your concerns before he suits himself up and then flashes you a cocky smirk.

"it's my motivation for driving fast."